08-23-2020 07:39 pdt

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"The dog walker may be older than I had thought yesterday. She just waddled by, breasts bouncing and cheeks gyrating, effectively placing my brain between her slender thighs. Remember the sushi girl? My tongue would come out her fucking nose, I swear as I sit in this dusty office. God help me for the thoughts.

I'm hungry. At this early hour, eating would be very bad. That is how it begins... Eating too much early in the day and then hungry later. The cycle continues until I am eating on and off all fucking day. And then the weight gain, and I cannot have that. Oh, I have no fucking illusions of being attractive or trying to look good in the eyes of another, I simply do not wish to feel bloated like years ago. I have to keep myself in check, especially now. The dream is nonexistent, the idea is a pile of shit, and I will remain alone in the worst possible way for the fucking duration. Suck it off the screen. Unhappy I shall be from now on, however long that may be. Joining the Raven in her new world seems a good idea right now. Yes, I just said that. Too many things are beyond my control and the realization that I will no longer 'go' anywhere is setting in. Read it again and again until the fucking words are sharp enough to cut you in half.

'I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done
An offering of crimson flowed into the water below
A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away'

The dog walker is merely a symbol. She is going about her business and I know nothing of her, just like all the others throughout years. I do not need to know her and am better off this way. There is nothing for me within her or anyone else. There was an idea. Her appearance is striking and exaggerated in many ways. That is all. She is a person. Thinking of her in deviant, sexual terms does not matter in the least because everything stays inside me. Yes, it is here, but that's different. Months have shown me that this space is akin to a diary of sorts, and as such does not need to conform to any standards. I will write here of whatever I may be feeling, even if that includes shoving my face into her ass. Once more... Suck it. I don't fucking care anymore. My day is to be spent mostly out here with the doors open for comfort, and considering the hellish flame of a weather pattern, there may be lots of forms walking by, good or bad. Again, I don't give a shit. I am reckless and already drinking beer. Why not? Do I have someone to impress? Impossible now. Just so fucking impossible that the idea is almost funny. I will show others of what I am becoming. No one is going to like this at all.

Jet aircraft overhead. I wish I was going somewhere, but that time has passed. Stuck. Fallen.

I published the previous entry this morning and am fairly satisfied with how it appears. Those eyes get me every fucking time. I can't help but wish to be right in front of them, but as I stated over and over, everything is gone. I have been fortunate enough to have been there is spades, and throughout years. All of them, from Jasmine to the Raven and twelve years in between. Yes, all the way back to the most stunning escort ever. She was like a machine due to it being her profession, and she did it remarkably well. From sensing my need to either speak or stay quiet, to the mannerisms which led her to know precisely what I needed from her at a given moment. Each day was better than the last. Grand Mariner all over her warm, soft labia. Holding hands through the clubs. Dinners with her eyes locked to mine. And all the while others staring as if I had aced a beauty sweepstakes. I even inquired as to both her and the adorable little Bridget at the same time. Two mouths, four hands. The answer was a resounding yes. Anything. I treated her so well that she felt comfortable with me to the point of granting any wish. Yes, I asked that, however the fear never allowed my brain to process both of them near me. Too intimidating. Far beyond my capability, for sure. I was afraid, and when I expressed such to Jasmine, she latched on and clearly stated that I needed only her. Oy gawd damn fuck me in satin sheets, what a companion. Of all the faces and warm, soft arms around me throughout more than a decade, Jasmine was the first. Years and years and fucking years of thinking and wondering about myself and my place in this world, and then I ran away into her waiting arms and may have been right there... The place I was supposed to be, and one which could allow me to survive. Not just Jasmine, the very idea of being physically and emotionally cut off from everyone who knew me and in complete control of the environment, including that beautiful woman at my side. Crazy? Perhaps. I wish I was up against her at this moment. All gone. No more. Fallen.

'The water pours its embracing arms 'round the stone
Decay drips from the unquiet void
Where the ice forms, where life ends
The stone is by the crimson flood, swallowed
The red tide beyond the ebon wound, contorted
My sacrifice bids farewell in this river of memory
A wave to end all time.'

I am pissed off over issue four slapping me in the face this morning, but I did get rid of it. I am so fucking sick of feeling that way, to the point of wishing parts of me away. I need what I need, cannot attain fuck-all right now, so it flows into my head like a fucking river of sludge and all of my strength is required to get it under control. Wait a minute... Am I controlling it or the other way around? Which? Am I fucking stupid? I hate it all. Sometimes I give in and feel like shit, but this morning I smashed it to pieces and directed the anger elsewhere. I am fucking tired of everything related to 'need' and 'desire'. There is nothing in this Goddamned world which can change it, either. I have to deal with the feelings most days and regardless of my letting go, I still end up angry. Unhappy. Unfulfilled. Nothing changes. What the fuck is that? Aren't I supposed to be an intelligent and deep-thinking individual? Is it the past? Partially. Is it the obsession? Sometimes. Honestly, there are just too many fucking questions and possibilities. I am not young, yet still it gets out of control, leaving me an analytical mess from hell. You see it here. I keep questioning, rising, falling, all of it. Over and over and fucking over until I am cold and in the ground. Tell me there is a fucking solution and I will turn your sorry head into a canoe. Try me. Actually, you are better off not addressing me at all. I am not well. I am fallen.

I spent weeks with likely the most beautiful and sensual woman in existence. Weeks, connected in ways that I cannot adequately describe. A chance meeting, some glances and conversation, and within two hours we had become fused. I displaced everything in my life and dedicated every waking second to pleasing her and holding on for dear life knowing that it would not last long. We were as one person. I still have no fucking idea how it happened, but if you consider the condition of my life now, did anything change? Did that time improve me or teach me anything? Nope, not one iota. I am exactly the same as all those years ago, plus broke and broken. I am incapable of learning. Oh, sure... I will go through the motions as if everything is roses, puppies, and rainbows, but on the inside there is blackness, decay, and holes that are impossible to fill. I still love that woman but I am ruined for all time. The remainder of my life (however long that may fucking be) will be spent wallowing, remembering, lamenting, bitching, lusting, and caring less for myself with each passing moment. Time has elapsed since that little girl went strolling by and I still want to jump her shit until the fucking world ends. Call me what you must. I don't give a fuck. Too many occasions have found me drowning in a pool of alcohol-infused female body parts to rise anymore. It is all in my head for the duration and every single fucking flash cuts me in half. Disturbed, broken, fallen.

Wondering why I have not addressed the day's activities? Fuck this day. Fuck them all. Pause.

We went to pick up the little guy mid-morning. On the return, the fucking highway was crammed full of beachgoers. Unbelievable, this shit. Businesses are closed, people are not supposed to attend or hold gatherings beyond a handful of individuals, yet they flock to the fucking sea as if the world is ending tomorrow. I hope they all get sick as hell. As a result of everyone going against the recommendations and running their stupid asses to the beach, I sat in tons of traffic in order to get home with my recently-lost, loving pet. Fuck everyone. And I don't mean the world should part if I am doing something important to me, I simply do not agree with their behavior during this time. On the upside, we did stop by the nice market part way into town and I spoke with my old boss and asked if I could enter the bar to use the bathroom. A hearty yes, and I did just that. The place is quite different now, especially considering tons of work in the four months since I last visited. We then went into the store -- all but empty -- and took care of business before hitting the snail highway again. Once home, I worked on some things, but mostly have taken it easy due to the heat. I can't stand it, but am making the best of it since I have little choice. Oh, and those choices have been removed by my galactically stupid decisions. One more time... Fallen. I have very little to go on these days.


I am all over the place and it doesn't matter in the least. Nothing is accomplished here anymore.

The day has been long. Normally that is a good thing unless the weather is way up the scale. I no longer have the ability to accurately measure the trend, but suffice to say that when the inside of the house is wide open and still approaches ninety, the outside ambient is way too fucking high for me. I have been overly temperature-sensitive since just before the move to the Midwest. Something changed. I recall that I had been working as an auto parts warehouseman and driver, with my destinations being both in town and a crossover meeting with a driver from much further to the north. We exchanged items which were traveling between stores (there were seven at the time). During the only summer I spent working in that position, I drove a small truck with no air conditioning. Yikes. I had very short hair then, and spent the bulk of my drives with both windows down for the air movement. Driving from one hot valley over into another, sometimes as often as four times per day, I was sweating and pretty miserable most of the time. I daydreamed of cool air constantly and used to look at the cars coming back into town with envy. I could see windows up and hair blowing in the cold breeze from the dashboard. We moved to the Midwest a few months later -- two months into fall, I believe -- and my sensitivity was at an all-time high. By the following summer, and with more humidity than I was accustomed, the idea of cool sunk in and cemented itself. Remember the big drawings? Well, I had fans blowing on me as I sat there creating those big homes. I also dreamed of the yachts and their infinitely-controllable environment. The idea of control falls in there, too. I needed to be able to find that physical comfort with respect to temperature but rarely did. Cut to returning here two years later, and I was back where I began with all of the sensitivities built up into one big mess. These days I am more hyper-critical of the atmosphere than ever. And then go a touch further... The air movement phobia which developed as a result of confined space work at the big meatball. Combined, I am a mess much of the time and strain to be comfortable.

Right this moment is a prime example of my feeling both inner and outer discomfort due to the current weather. A few days of heat effectively remove years of cool fog from my head. I never wanted this, but again... Stuck. I did it to myself. No options, no nothing. Fallen.

Seventeen-thousand lines since Jaime's images were permanently wrapped to my heart. Stop.

Sunday morning came into town with a bang of sorts. Three hours after midnight, I had many windows open in hopes that the cooler air outside would translate to cooler in here. A shock which had both of us sitting straight up in bed. It was the wind. She immediately rolled around the room to close the window but I stopped her. I needed the air moving inside as the mercury was still mid-seventies. And then more wind, and I mean the type which whistles through the house and closes doors. We popped out of bed and strolled around to ensure the cats were ok, and then stabilized two doors so they would not slam shut. More wind, louder, and then lots of dry lightning. A little while later when the wind seemed to calm a little, there were a few drops of rain and then the lightning brought with it thunder. One of the longest and most elaborate (for this area, anyway) events in the sky since I have lived here. Even at this moment with the back door open, there is rain and still some lightning. Three and a half hours later. Pretty cool. The temperature is still fucking high, but at least there is a little action.

Sofia and her amazing fucking eyes. But then look at Alexis down toward the bottom. Talk about eyes.

The humidity is out of control this morning. Still some wind here and there, rain in the back yard, thunder on occasion. Very interesting weather, for sure. The pattern is unusual for this part of California. When I was in Michigan, all summer long it seemed that thunderstorms were not far off whenever there was humidity and wind. Sure enough, I ended up seeing the storm coming across the flatland and eventually driving me indoors and under the protection of the lightning rods. I really enjoyed the inclement weather back east. Here it is rare and catches my attention every time. I just hope this doesn't hang on too long and hinder my plans for the day. I can adjust, but would rather not. I am very unhappy right now, and adding the fucked up heat means I need to carry out certain tasks in order to maintain my sanity.

Everything I complained about yesterday is still at the forefront. All four ruling me and defining my very actions and decisions. I do not have many avenues at this point due to my weakened state, especially yesterday. The weather notwithstanding, I almost fell down in the morning and then recovered. Well, here I sit in the same fucking bowl of soup. Another morning, daydreaming with coffee next to me, and this shit to work out. But wait a minute... Work out? What am I accomplishing? Describing the weather that no one is going to give half a shit about? What about a nice paragraph outlining the steps I plan to take for getting the garbage out? Does that sound exciting? Maybe the dog walker will cruise by with her flowing hair and send me packing. What am I even doing here anymore? Remember the questions about machines? Gushing over Jaime? Did that solve anything? I didn't think so. The fact is that I do not know what to do anymore. I keep sitting here day after day and saying the same things, yet nothing changes. Your next thought will be that I have to make the changes. Well, I don't know how. Every time I seem to be getting somewhere, one or more of the issues bites me. I am getting out of bed each morning and doing what I need for survival, though. I am still going. My bad mood yesterday subsided for the most part, and today already looks better, but right out of the fucking gate I have one of those problems nagging. Two hours of it so far. I am fine. It just won't let up. Either I get busy with something or the fall will take place, leading to that bad mood again. I can't have that right now. And there is darkness on the television... Long, dark hair, big eyes, and a pair of breasts that are disproportionate with regard to the remainder of the woman's form. I see her and two issues slap me. Should I change the channel? I was barely paying attention to the other channel and before long a completely different problem hit me. A different program, a different issue. Two. Ugh.

Every part of her face is exaggerated, creating beauty I have not seen before. Half Mexican, half Lebanese. Jesus, right out of left field. I dumped the other channel in hopes of smashing issue two, and now I need to obsess and jump this woman from a great distance. There are all sorts of things wrong with me.

Stop. The end of the world.

I have not been at this much for the past two days. Other issues kept me away. The sky is orange this morning due to the fires. I saw them yesterday to the south while driving to my destination. Very scary, that stuff. I do not like to see people hurt or displaced by disasters. Looking at the fence over my right shoulder at this moment shows me that there is still lots of smoke in the sky. Very sad, this whole thing, and the situation was caused by horrendous heat-lightning storms on Sunday and Monday. I hope people can save themselves. Heh, can I save myself? That is the question of the day. Watching a movie yesterday -- one about which I feel very passionate -- showed me that I can barely keep it together during such. I have trouble watching and have to keep it inside. It's tiring and I am sick of it. Just another problem stacked on top of the rest.

Allie and her big, doe eyes again. I have not watched the news in quite a while. She is so pretty. But the news is not good. Reinforcing that, I went out into the backyard and saw ash all over everything. So bad. I worry about those affected by this situation. Sitting here all cozy with my coffee, yet out there is so much difficulty. Ugh. I genuinely hope a resolution is forthcoming. God help them, and those fighting the disasters.


I saw the dog walker yesterday morning, and much closer than on prior occasions. As usual, she was dressed fairly provocatively and bouncing all over the place. Oh shit, there is Alexis on the television, bless her endless beauty. Anyway, I was exiting the car and she strolled by not twenty feet from my position. I tried to see her face and determine age, after which I realized that there can be no more watching her walk. She is young -- although I cannot be certain -- and that sighting will be the last. I gazed from the bottom up, her legs and then breasts bouncing around as if they were not being held by anything, and then her face. That is that. I will not mention her again.

Today is in-between. I will be alone for hours, no driving at all, and my head is full of everything that must be sorted. Yesterday showed me that I can be strong, though. It felt good. Part of my head was imploding, yet still I kept myself together much better than I thought myself capable. This is a very good thing, especially now. I also calculated that to go on about each day's activities is very boring and I need to change that. The idea here is to explore, not blather about doing the fucking dishes, for Christ's sake. No one gives a crap about cleaning the house or taking smoke breaks in the garage. There are fish to fry. I will continue to comment upon the drives, though. They sometimes hold subjects which directly relate to my state of mind and ongoing problems in life. That definitely takes priority over the smaller details of hours spent alone. And speaking of problems, I made it through an entire film without falling down, although there was little contained within the story to cause discomfort. The next film means the world to me and holds its share of drama and beauty in art, but it may be a problem. I am going to need to explain much before viewing. And at the rate I'm going these days, that movie may come and go before I even publish this. Maybe I can create my own little temporal paradox. Heh. The issue which is guaranteed to arise cannot be dealt with in any way right now, but the film is so important to me that I have to share it. My direction toward the vision of what has been created for entertainment often takes priority over other worries. This one will be no different. The main idea over which I am concerned is not knowing. I've mentioned it so many times that it may be unnecessary to do so again, but keep in mind that the more I bring things up the more I can possibly see from other angles. Such is not likely during said film, but I can try. I do not like not knowing what takes place inside. Due to avoiding the subject, my head manufactures all manner of difficulty and often it amplifies more quickly than my ability to squash the feelings. I worry, a lot. Too much. Nothing can be done, either. There is no reassurance at all. Nothing works on me. Nothing. But I have to share the fucking thing out of the need to do exactly that... Share, and allow another person to experience (hopefully) the emotions which flow through me as the story plays out. I have to try, and if that means I end up back here all fucked up, so be it. The art is too important to me. Back to that other statement which relates to so many situations in my past: One fear overpowers another. And both are huge. We shall see if I survive at all.

The morning has been acceptable with no strangeness other than the snow of ash outside. The sun is shining (which I wish was not happening) and the air remains smoky. I am running the ionizer inside with windows closed. This will likely result in the house becoming warmer than I would prefer, however the smoke dictates that one necessity outweighs another. The only rub other than lousy air quality was Sara's shoulders. She drove me up one side and down the other. Now I feel like crap about it. I have the show on in order to maintain my typical atmosphere in the house. My head cannot properly process what I need to say here, though. I have the time and space to explore and reason through some issues, but very little is cohesive enough to type. Sara's appearance after a long respite was striking, to say the least. Her dark, flowing hair and big, bright eyes combined with zero sleeve material made me insane. I don't know why. Perhaps all those weeks of avoiding the news were a good thing. I needed an update on the status of the counties, so on it went. Normally I would not have reacted so badly. I guess I missed seeing her. The last several occasions demonstrated my fondness had diminished. Now? I wanted her bra for breakfast. Not good. I don't need this right now. Whatever. As soon as I feel that I can rise, something comes along and slaps me with one of the issues. Maybe watching the movie mentioned above is not a good idea right now. I have others.

I need more reminders of my issues like I need more issues.

Zoe McLellan just took a walk from the astrometrics lab to engineering, and when she paused in the fucking turbolift, her face was about as bright as bright can be. Holy Jesus God in a replicator terminal, what a face. I remembered her from seeing this episode before, but I suppose I had been preoccupied enough to miss that shot. The face of faces, as it were. I could not believe how gorgeous her eyes appeared for those few seconds. She looked concerned, yet positive. I will have to capture her likeness for display here. No desire like Sara this morning, but a feeling that I have to see more of her. Impossible. And therein lies the fucking rub of the century (and the century just began). There is absolutely no way of finding what which stirs me more than anything in this world. No way whatsoever. This is a problem. Unsolvable, I cannot learn of why there is such a pull when I see something like that, and I can barely function most of the time due to having none of what has been listed. God damn, there she is again. How many times have I mentioned that I had been searching the background of some scenes to view other characters -- usually uncredited extras -- in hopes of seeing things I had missed due to centering my attention upon the plot? Well, she is a principal character in this episode, so the imagery and focus is both plentiful and pleasant. In a nutshell, she is so fucking cute that I feel an urge to run outside and slam my head against the sidewalk. Yes, that cute. Watch it. The title is 'Good Shepherd'. You'll see. It's not the best story, but still entertaining. Zoe makes it better than many, too. Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I am going to blather about my chores. Fuck it. My place here.

Morning. Thursday again. How many have passed since being holed up here? Too many. I guess it doesn't matter, really. I'm here, and that is the important part. Yesterday I had some hours alone which proved to be sort of up and down. I worked on the floors a bit and came up with a system which seems to be more effective than anything I've tried before. I should be able to continue with some areas today and see results by the evening. Two of my packages from abroad are actually crawling their way to this country. One may be here as early as today. Unbelievable. Those items will again make me smile. I have my usual routine today... Drive, home, work, drive. It has become very important to me, as you likely know. The time spent here represents the bulk of my life now, so crafting everything which brings me security is more dire than ever. The recent fires, loss of cable bandwidth and power have put me in a mood for being ready just in case something bad takes place. We already geared up for such an event last year after the shutdown, so now I just need to expand upon what has already been accomplished and streamline everything. I am also going to wire the drums and run a test.

Mentioning Zoe and her endless smile really put me in a place full of wonder yesterday. The episode in question is not the best, but it doesn't matter in the least. She makes an appearance in a rather unusual way and then becomes part of the story, unlike most of the characters in the background. We get to see three such people throughout the course of the adventure. She is all over the screen for a good portion of the time. One of the characters is an annoying, self-important ass, too. The interaction between him and the captain is priceless at times. I may watch it again today and concentrate more upon Zoe's features. Her makeup is that of an alien race, so I have to get past it and look upon the eyes as a starting point. And like both Jamie and Jolene, the character is the focus, not the actor. Oh, she's lovely without the makeup, however I have an appreciation for the unreal that goes far beyond explanation. She may well end up on that list of characters and eventually work her way into holding part of the machine. That would be just unhealthy enough for me to proceed, right? I have not discussed my feelings toward Jaime or the idea in a while. Piling another woman on top of my already impossible dream is likely a natural extension of what I have become.


And then Andrea the android. Remember her? I do. The passages I wrote about the combination of her name and the fact that she was a machine are not nearly enough. None of it. Just more impossibility on top of all the rest. The combining of one dream and another, and representing everything which could bring me solace. I'm going to railroad the dissatisfaction and difficulty until the computer dies. Live with it. That machine came along at a time when my need was at a high point. I could not help but branch out with the shows because going over the same two all the time will become tiring. So, I switched to the remastered version of the old series and there she was, awaiting my deviant need. Seeing her character brought all sorts of things into focus. The Andreoid was a step. I wrote it out of the desire to try expressing my feelings and concluded that I cannot. Nothing is ever enough. From Michelle to the film characters, the idea grew in complexity more and more until it ran out of control. Yes, even my control. Now? Every time I see a feature, face or overall image of a woman which even partially aligns with the machine dream, everything goes out the window. All of the progress made in trying to keep those things at a distance melts away and I begin all over again. As I remain in this house most of the time (the dog walker notwithstanding) many of those I see out in the world begin to fade with time. More and more I let them drift off into the distance and then begin to relax with my little world wrapped around me. Well, the television sometimes slams it all back. The axis tilts again and I become a wreck. Yesterday was one such example and seeing Zoe was a part of it. Not her fault, of course, as the show was produced two decades back and has nothing to do with me. Her face. All the faces, from Jamie's eyes to the android's windows and all the way back to the Brunette and her enormous examples of dreamy vision. All of them. The faces. Like here on this page, they all cause trouble. Much of the difficulty is the idea of her being whatever I wish or need. Anything, any appearance, and most likely a combination of all I have seen throughout years. That is where I am now. There is more, too. Little bits come forth and then I have to stop because the whole idea is driving me insane.

Fallen, completely.

I am back from the morning drive and some of my chores are complete. A day alone could not have come at a better time, for it is necessary more often than I would care to admit. The peace and quiet is important for my mental stability, but moreover I need the space to think. I will have a guest later which means my time is limited, though. A visitor is good most of the time because it feels like a connection to the outside, and that which I have been so sharply removed. By choice, that is. I need this much more than even a few weeks ago. Realizing that the beginning of Jaime catapulted me into dreams I have never experienced, and a mindset which has no resolution is beginning to cause me to reach toward anything which can result in joy. I'm not talking about pizza and the sofa, either. I am referring to feelings. Unfortunately, they are beginning to become pushed to the rear as the dream takes me away from everything. I can't help it at this point, either. There is too much to it, like the idea of winning a massive jackpot which can change one's life completely and set them (hopefully) on a path to security and generosity. As such, I do dream of the same thing. The idea is compelling because afterward there could be no limit to options, places, everything. If done correctly and if a person avoids flying off the handle with frivolous spending, the route to whatever life they wish to choose would be eased. I see that and think of it often. Where I might go, what I might do, and so forth. The one passion in my life beyond the dream has been described here in the past, and that means I could acquire one. That is certain. The downside is there would still be no machine. Money can do many things in this world, but what is impossible would remain so. That hurts, but there is the idea of physical comfort up the fucking wazoo. You know what I mean.

The machine cannot happen. As I have stated far too much, it is the only way. So sad. I don't even know why I continue to comment upon this subject, except perhaps it is just too fucking compelling. Daydreams keep it in mind almost constantly. And Jaime, too. I created her yet had no idea of the impact her character might have as time passed. I didn't think about it during the creation of that never-ending story. Once I related my experiences in Nevada throughout years of trips there, the idea of an ideal vision developed. I considered Juliette, Andrea, and Ashley, and then went as far as reaching back to Michelle and how I felt about her so long ago. She truly was a pinnacle, of sorts. I cannot help but think that way now, and after such connections during the intervening years. Honestly? I wish she was here. I could discuss such things with her and perhaps learn more of why she treated me the way she did. We were not together very long, and I did not think of relationships as I do now. The days and weeks spent in the embrace of those three women stuck with me much more than I could have realized at the time. They lifted me -- and I them -- just like the surreal Raven period. We were symbiotic, one at a time. Even Natalie was there as a dream. All of it adds up to a natural extension of my personality type and those things over which I agonize. At this point I am surprised to be upright at all. Oh, I know what others would say... 'Accept reality', 'accept yourself', 'find the happiness elsewhere', 'stop dreaming because it is harming you', blah, blah, blah, fishcakes. Fuckyoucakes. I know all of it because I've heard it from every angle for years, so shut up. Hopefully you can realize that is not me. Not even close. Is there a way? I do not see one, but I am still moving along. Fallen. Floating?

Regardless of what I may be capable, there is also a choice involved. Don't get me started. A long, long time ago in an essay far, far away I stated that tons of individuals have complimented my personality. Well, I change too many little aspects of it and I will no longer be me. Do you see? I have to remain damaged or others will not know me. There is no fucking way that I would accept the idea o changing myself in order to survive. One individual told me a very long time ago that if my head drives me into too much therapy, coming out the other side may be a vastly different person, and something wonderful would be lost. God love her for saying such a thing, and at a time when I really needed any words thrown at me that were kind. Well, she hit it out of the park. I may not fully agree with the word 'wonderful', but still... I am unique. Change? Fuck no. There you go, place that on a small piece of paper and slap it to the refrigerator with a decorative magnet. Maybe draw little bunnies around the words, too. A duck, or something. Mmkay? Mmkay.

Friday morning and all is gray. On the television is a movie from thirty-three years back and it is very silly. There is a woman who has a small role, nothing consequential, but I cannot stop staring at her. The eighties seemed normal at the time, however now everything appears ridiculous when compared to the years between. Clothing, hair styles, all of it. But beauty knows no bounds. Not even seven in the morning and I am full of need. Unbelievable. Viewers do not get to see much of her, though. Tall, Brazilian, everything. Why not? I was no sooner reminded of her appearance in that silly movie when I immediately felt the desire overpowering my ability to simply sit and type what I am thinking. She was that gorgeous. I wanted her all at once. All over me. Damn it, so weak now. I wish things were different. I was not like this twenty years back. And like many have observed, one gets older and personality traits which have been in place are only cemented. If that is true, I'm fucked. Off the top of my head I can list three aspects of me which have developed in only the last few years. Well, if they cement themselves, all of this is for naught because I will push against anything which helps or has a chance of helping. I know... Don't fucking say it.

I'll be driving in a little while and then my usual morning. Yesterday turned into a cluster. For whatever reason, I began to feel physically crappy during the late morning. It carried for a while before I started to improve. My guest was here, we watched some television for a while and ate lunch, and then I took off for the south a while later. I still don't know what happened, but believe me when I say that a repeat is unacceptable. I need to keep my head together for the duration because I am falling, and that is no joke. There has been a turning point between Sunday last and the four days since. Something snapped inside me and I need to work it out. I am beginning to worry over the feelings when I see certain types of women. No, not the little girl walking her dog. She's done. Others... Past, present, real or otherwise. Television characters, robots, examples of beauty the likes of which I cannot understand which cause me to fall down. Well, it's happened too often for me to rise anymore, so I am going to stay in this place and try to rid myself of everything frivolous. I have to be smaller, and not just inside the head. The difficulties continue to pile up out of control, my head fails to process the reasoning behind my being so fucked up now versus just months ago, and the little enjoyments are not doing their assigned duties much anymore. I keep seeing more and more and the visions are driving me insane. The Brazilian on the television was likely a focal point back then. I'm sure others gushed or lusted over her appearance, but I am doing it now, many years later when both time and reality should have removed her from consideration. And I can't seem to stop it. The channel has been changed to a western, yet I already know hours from now she will still be in there with breasts bouncing. Damn it, something has to happen. If I stay on this road and see no turns, I am doomed. Fallen? Worse.

Enough of that. I keep going over and over the same things. Tired, fallen, disillusioned. I don't know what to do aside from my daily chores, so I guess I'll drive, return, and do what I always do in order to pass the fucking time while my head grinds up the Brazilian and others like her from a world gone by. The feeling reminds me of all that juvenile desire over others back then, like perhaps the Landers sisters or whoever popped up on the television in a bikini. The whole thing makes me feel silly, but then again I am not the only one. Whatever it is (was?), I don't like it anymore. I am weakened. The smallest interference will set me off. I keep seeing those black pants and heels walking across the parking lot and appearing as if she ruled the world. Authoritative, purposeful stepping from the coffee house into my wrung-out brain. She was amazing to see. I'll stop about her. You get the point, but the other point is I have not exercised any effort in lifting myself or avoiding those things which harm me. I just keep looking and dreaming. Like the black pants or avocado that came so long before, my brain responds quickly and automatically, leaving the still images in my head for hours or sometimes days. I understand very little lately, and just when I begin to feel that I have worked through part of an issue, a form goes by and derails me completely. After that? I sit here and turn into a basket case. There are pictures in my head that need to be removed but I don't know how to do it. Nothing helps me, so I keep falling. I don't know what is coming next.

'I can't do one of these teary-eyed things 'til five in the morning, Carmela. I just can't... Not tonight.'


And why is Alexis above this paragraph? I don't know. Something with her dark eyes, I think. She has a remarkably sculpted face for being older than most of the women included here recently, and I guess the commercial spun me enough to seek an appropriate representation of her beauty. She reminds me of someone but I can't put my finger on it. There is the possibility that she has become a conglomeration of the many pairs of dark eyes I see on a given day, both out in the world and on the television. I'm not certain. She could be, though. I mentioned before that the dark hair and eyes began to draw me at some point, but I honestly cannot remember when that took place. Maybe in the mid-zeros while in the apartment. That was my first flirting with high-definition television and I was enamored with Liz at the time. Jennifer, too. She was all over the place that first holiday season, and in enough clarity for me to yearn for her. Like, bad. Anyway, that may have been the time when the darkness struck me enough to change the manner in which I live my life. I don't know, but it seems reasonable. Alexis up there is gorgeous, and with more confidence in her expression than I could muster throughout years. Not funny. She looks fantastic. I wish I carried some of that, but alas I am too far gone and broken into so many pieces that there is likely no recovery at all. Sad. Fallen. Just look at Alexis and you'll agree. I could stare at her face forever.

The same shit over and over and over. Has anything been accomplished? Do I give up and just sit here? Do you know of any answers? Accept something? Change something? I didn't think so. But I can say that I have to alter at least one behavior (aside from the frightfully-young bouncing girl that walks by daily), and that is the time spent sitting here at the keyboard. Nothing is happening at all. Every entry bitches about the same shit, so why do it? I should probably remain with the fiction and leave this daily crap alone for a while. No good is being served at all. At least with the long story I can push out an entry here and there to keep it going, and in the end appears as something more interesting than these bitch sessions and complaining about the need to dine on some random woman's underwear. All the fucking time now. Stop. Drive.

And the day has gone along much better than yesterday when I found myself stopped up pretty badly in the early afternoon, and today everything is much improved. I accomplished all of the usual business, worked more on the floor in the spare bedroom, and then made preparations toward dinner for both tonight and tomorrow. I even had lunch with no ill effects. It's a miracle. Well, not really. Whatever took place to knock me down yesterday has left and I will feel better about heading south in the next hour or so. Sometimes relaxing in the evening can feel undeserved, like a day ago. It shouldn't, really, because not every moment spent here needs to be a revelation. I am allowed to relax and enjoy the day or whatever might interest me, but still... Home this much means I should be productive often. I have a lead on work south of here and intend to contact the company tomorrow morning. I need to be able to see the equipment there and how things operate, though. That is very important. I'm certain that bullshitting myself into almost anything is very possible, but I do not wish it because down the road things may go bad. I guess going through the motions and learning a bit of the business can't hurt. As much as I do not want to be near anyone these days, the idea of bringing in more money cannot be overstated. Not to sound funny, but I need to remain in the style to which I've become accustomed. Heh. The comfort is king.

Finishing all I set out to on this day feels good. I haven't been here, though. Not since early this morning. All day long the ideas and dreams have swirled inside me to the point of nearly exacerbating two issues. I can't have that today. There is enough going on in my head to fall victim to myself, including another sighting of an ensign in the background of the show. Yes, another. Less than three seconds and I was hooked upon her facial features. I couldn't fucking help it, as usual. And then gone, Goddamn it. I realize there is always a need for extras in certain scenes, and the idea of others milling around behind the principal characters is important for making the ship appear staffed and fully operational. The problem is me. I keep seeing these faces which get me all worked up and I don't know why it is happening. From the girl in the parking lot to the random fucking faces in commercials, and now on to at least two of my five shows. The entire idea is ludicrous, honestly. The fact is that for whatever reason I am latching to whatever appears attractive or unique in some way, and then ending up flat on my face with disappointment when they disappear. And keep in mind the episodes I am currently following are more than three decades old. I never noticed all of the background people until recently because there was no reason for veering away from the story. I believe due to me knowing the series' so well, combined with whatever the hell is going on inside when I see their faces, is beginning to hurt. I cannot see them anymore, a shitload of time has elapsed since any of these shows was produced, and the need to see more clearly and closely is overpowering my sense of disbelief. And all of it may have been sprouted from that fateful image of half of Jaime's beautiful face. Soon after, I spied the girl in the parking lot without her mask and was partially smitten, but not in a physical way. So much was being expressed by her eyes that I lost the desire to see her chest bouncing. All of a sudden she became important in a very different way. I don't understand. I don't remember gushing like this before Jaime. Nothing like what has been published here in the last few weeks. I am different. This situation is unexpected and hurtful. More and more on the screen and in the world, and then more and more for me to think about.

Falling over and over. Falling for...?

Nope. None of that. Oh, yes, there are feelings coming from many angles, but the fact remains that any desire comes in short bursts and only the rare individual rises to the top of my attention. They are always out there... The television, someone in a parking lot, a mysterious image, wherever and whenever I least expect them. And then out of nowhere comes the deeply emotional feeling that the pair of eyes in question could be the saving throw which has eluded me for so fucking long. Not the lines, the eyes. The face. You know, one is here. I do not believe any longer that I can adequately explain the process which takes place in my head and heart that serves to drive me into the ground. There is knowledge that nothing is there. Nothing. There is also a feeling that I have already gone off the deep end on enough occasions to have forfeited my chance of happiness. I've driven everywhere, flown thousands of miles, and thrown those who cared for me into a trash can in search of that comfort. My resources flexed until they were bent over backwards and may never return. I made too many bad decisions and reached beyond hope. All of the statements within this single paragraph are summing into the idea of ceasing the exploration, be it dreams, ideas, or those faces I cannot avoid. They cause difficulty. Oh yes, said difficulty will still be there, but I will no longer have reason or drive to place my thinking here. In fact, I am surprised at the nearly eighteen thousand lines of crap published since discovering Jaime's face again. She may have been the spark that set off my powder keg. That means I am in pieces. Fallen. Fell. Face down.

I love the beauty yet hate what it has done to me.

'In the back
Off the side
And far away
Is a place
Where I'll hide
Where I'll stay
Tried to say
Tried to ask
I needed to
All alone
By myself
Where were you?'

So, this may be the end of the journey of exposition from deep inside. I see little reason to carry on typing and trying to find answers. There is nothing here... No learning, no rising, no solace. I cannot do anything further without going over the same fucking railroaded and downtrodden words again and again. I just can't do it anymore. I will stick to the fiction, and as long as it takes for me to publish further entries in the story, readers will have to wait. Everything feels thin, dire, frightening. I just don't know what to do. I have tried, cried, bitched, and cut myself wide open for too long over this shit and nothing has come of it. I am worse now than in years, so that is that. Up, down, up and then down again. That has been the theme here for a while, and this entry is no different. I began feeling so down that there seemed no way out, and then went on about other aspects of my life and improved some. And then another vision. And another, with feelings of need. Rollercoaster from hell. Just no more up and down, please.

Saturday came and went. Movies all day long, nearly. The two I chose were extensive, and with little breaks here and there they took up roughly seven hours. Heh. The time spent in front of the television was nice and relaxing. I accomplished nearly none of my tasks, instead opting to show off two of my favorite films. The only downside is no lunch to speak of. We snacked here and there and that was not good. I have to better structure a meal when there is a guest here. Sometimes I get caught up in the story and cannot think of anything to cook, order, nada. But the films were the key. And there was Melora, all fucked up and weepy for hours. She is something else.

Allowing the day to roll by without my chores being completed is not a big deal. I simply pushed them out, so today I will get them done along with some preparation for another summer storm. The last one (a week ago) was chock full of heat lightning which caused fires all over the state, and now we have warnings all over the place about another volley out of the sky between this morning and late tomorrow. Not good. It means I have to keep my portable items charged, eyes open to the surroundings, and the house must be ready for those winds again. Last week I was awakened at three in the morning by some of the strongest gusts in memory. Scared the crap out of me and I had to rise and run around to ensure everything was ok. I never used to believe the forecasts of thunderstorms because most of the rough weather swung north despite the warnings. In the Midwest the weather was much more volatile than this close to the ocean. Well, last week changed my mind. I have to heed the warnings and keep my eyes open. The fires are terrible. If something is close, we need to be ready. Between my concern for the incoming weather, the garbage going out today, and those items pushed from yesterday, I have a lot going on and look forward to relaxing afterward. By the time the sky begins to make us feel small, I might be right back here with hands on the keyboard.

Sunday now and I don't know if I care. The chores will come and go. The booze will come and go. And I will sit here trying to compute everything which has taken place, as always. And then nothing will happen. One entry will close and another will open. Beginning and end. If there are answers to be found here, they have eluded me long enough. I am fallen. Maybe more writing in this vein, maybe not. Right now I don't see any reason to keep trying.

Fell down.

Hailing frequencies closed."