Justine Part Three Mature content No. 109 Published January 3rd, 2020 1:22pm pst read ( words) Past entries "Right over there, a woman who has the ability to remove my need to leave this world. Things are less than ideal at this moment, to say the least, and she is there yet unavailable. The most beautiful woman upon which I have ever laid eyes. Like a combination of all of them. Like Julie? No... That is fiction. Like the Raven? No... Different. Right there and out of reach for all time. I have been fucking slamming my stupid head against every single idea that comes along and emerged scathed and beaten. Others have beat me up, I have beat myself up, and still this shit continues unimpeded and harsh. Yes, I am used to it just as I am used to running out the fucking door every time things get too difficult and search for that elusive comfort and atmosphere of the past, however this day is compounded by the end of the year and my realization that all of the good I have considered giving away has only fucked up everything. Each person. My life. Every fucking step. Each day. Those meals, that booze, the television, the sofa, this keyboard. Every single fucking thing I have ever touched. I have done no good, and I can do no good. And Justine is right there, looking stunning. Don't worry. The next long story will be up here very shortly. I had to push this, though. I had to push it right now. Her slender finger points to me. It always does. I see her eyes, shaded slightly by that mass of hair, and I know behind them can be forgiveness. But I do not agree. I want to slap her silly and make her understand that I am not the one with which to be toyed. She doesn't care anyway. She won't listen. Justine will simply stand there and await my good sense. Just to see what may happen, I ask her to pose so I can look upon the ruling lines of my existence and she responds with a condescending fucking smile. Her arms are folded in anger and that only makes her look more beautiful. I remember when the Brunette and I argued horribly and she stood as strong as possible right in my stupid face and railed me to no end, all the while her eyes made me wish to lie in her arms and die at her feet. Maybe I should have. So much could have been avoided. Back then no one knew me here and that means very little fanfare for the common idiot. Fuck me, what a great idea that could have been. Yep... Regret and fear. Killing me as you read these words. And the woman on the television is removing my insides like a giant pair of the worst possible tongs. She is not the problem. I am. Justine is there, too. Out there in the distance, yet within view of my damaged eyes that have seen far too much. Considering how many occasions have found me here with hands on the keyboard and brain within a woman's soft clothing, I am surprised to be doing it again. Justine pushed me. She still pushes. Why? Well, that is up to her. I do not understand her any more than I can understand myself. The effort is for naught, as always. But I keep going, and continue to think that something will change. If I do not change, can something on the outside cause improvement? Or am I destined to wallow? She knows everything but will not let me get close enough to ravage her and ascend into that ethereal place where the world and my issues melt away. I know that place is there. I have been there, albeit for very short periods of time. My brain knows, remembers, but still I have no control over visiting something so wonderful. Justine makes me wish to be there at this moment and let all of the bad fall away. I cannot. The Raven watches from above. I hope She is not judging me, but at the same time I believe that I deserve such. Do you see? I hate everything. Even Justine, that goddess onto which I wish to jump. But I love her like nothing else. As a physical and emotional representation of so many other souls, I cannot simply move along and not acknowledge her beauty and impact upon my life. Years and years of being thrown into the mix of that exotic atmosphere within which every conceivable desire is available has fucked me up for good. I dream constantly, chafe against daily life and routines, and then sit here and toss all my shit to the screen. For all the good it may achieve, I end up worse off than when I begin. Each entry, every story, and all that fiction just fucks me up without end. And then more and more, as if something is going to change. I know of the impossibility, and not just as it relates to the passion. That is another story which has been taken down for technical reasons. This is worse. Very bad. Justine is so beautiful. I need to dine on her lingerie. Heh. Sound familiar? How many fucking times have I lunged and leveraged others in order to be there? The draw is unlike anything, and ever since Ashley's little ass was within my eyesight the damaging behavior has expanded. I threw my entire life away to pursue the heroin and a pair of loving arms. Now look at me. Off in the hazy distance I see Justine waving her finger in disapproval. The motion makes her round breasts jiggle back and forth. I think she hates me. The twin issues are joined by a third. I am not referring to the second day of the new year, I am speaking of something I did not expect. The first issue is very old and has been easing somewhat over the past few months. For that I can be thankful even though I do not know why. Issue number two still rules the others, and third has appeared this morning. Yes, I have a problem with the beginning of the year, the approach of my fucking birthday, and the return of the routine in the next two weeks, however none of that is new. You know and have known. There is still a 'why' attached to the obsession and I am tired of trying to uncover the genesis of that shit. There is no 'why' related to the beginning of the year as I have written over and fucking over about fall being the best time of year. That is not surprising. Football season is just about over and we will be in the playoffs next weekend. The beginning of the end is that fact combined with the last night of the calendar year. There is nearly no good left, and Justine keeps her distance as a lesson in all that I cannot achieve. Fuck me anyway. Justine. A combination of the vast beauty both near and far. Close to home, on top of me, across the room, spread out all over Vegas, and those few that have been just out of reach. God damn is she ever enticing. I just need it. Nope. Back to the twins. No, not the pair in Justine's silk blouse, the twin moons that circle my head and pull sense back and forth like the tide. I am swayed and it is out of my fucking control. Issue one is always there and issue two comes and goes. Again, the tide. Unfortunately, I cannot simply step up the beach and avoid it. It will engulf me. Perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even next year, but I will die from it eventually. There is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid it. Justine turned away from me to display something I may never have again. That fucking woman. God love her. Issue two is the problem here, as I have demonstrated by continuing to write about the obsession as it presses me down. I keep going. The other one? Not the same at all. It is both internal and external and the only way to save myself is to keep the catalyst far from my ears and eyes. I do not even know how to do that. If the truth is that every problem I experience is my own doing, I am completely fucked. There will be no way out and the only path I see is sitting here blathering on for months or years and ending up treading the same fucking circle that I created years ago. I keep looking toward Justine but she just stands there posing with one foot further to the left and allowing me to see all that fucking artwork. Damn her, anyway. So beautiful. It hurts. Forty-plus thousand lines of stories and exploration and I am right where I started with even more sewage in my brain. Keep saying this helps me and I will open your fucking head like a canoe. Fuck you. Do you understand? January the second. Fuck you too. Maybe I can speak with Justine rather than staring like a cat about to pounce upon a disabled mouse. Maybe not. I don't even know if she gives a shit. She turns back to face me with a mass of hair swirling along. Issue one is staring me down like I made it happen. Jesus. Issue two may be completely out of my reach. Why not? I do not expect relief, nor do I believe I deserve it. Putting others through so much shit for years may be the reason things are coming back and removing my brain cells. The good ones, too. Or maybe none of them are good. I don't fucking know anymore. Justine stands there looking like a dream and the end of the world at the same time. I know what she represents... The last of days, the buffer stop, the door to that place I knew would appear. I have felt it for years. Justine is here to show me the end of the year and the beginning of the next. Perhaps she will ask if I am to survive the date change again. The fucking woman should know full well that the only time of year which means anything to me is from the outset of football season to the end of the first day of January. Beyond that? Nothing. Yes, I have made it this far and past God-knows how many of these occasions, however the truth is that each is a trial. Two days prior to the last day, I am generally not the most pleasant person in the group. I am negative, distraught, down, and unwilling to move forward out of deference to the passage of time. And I am sick of the typical societal platitudes which accompany this time of year. There is nothing wrong with feeling positive when a line in the sand comes along, I just do not feel that way. My head is mired in the past. The shadow does not go away. Ever. Others choose to push it back and make the best of what may lay ahead but I do not think in those terms. Ever worse. This has happened before. Now, unfortunately, I am older and far less resilient. The largest section of my brain dedicated to just living without losing my mind is also older and weaker. The knowledge is all still there, just shoved off to the side and nearly inaccessible most days. My focus is not sharp on things I want and need to accomplish because the issues are pushing harder and I am running out of strength. I fear that soon I will run out of willingness. And then I will run out of life. I suppose it is better to be happy with myself and unhappy with everyone else as opposed to no happiness whatsoever. As an example, yesterday morning was tough beyond belief (more and more often this is happening). I damned-near walked out of my job for good. The realization that my concerns of the last couple of years have fallen on deaf ears is quite disturbing and drove me out the door mid-morning. Had I not left with the simple reasoning that I felt out of sorts, I would be in a much worse place this morning. Much. Worse. All of the societal issues about which I have spewed many blogs in the past are actually demonstrated in spades there within my job. Of course, I can leave whenever I wish. That is just not acceptable anymore, however. I do not wish to leave and see nothing change, thus placing myself in a position of uncertainty. That would not be wise. Plus, I am too much of a crap disturbing person to go and not leave a mark -- at least something which shows that I have had an opinion and some decent solutions to problems. Does that add up to happiness? Or am I using the incorrect wording? Ok, fuck the happiness. Such a state is impossible for me anyway. But then who cares? I do not, although this analysis likely telegraphs caring. Nope. Do not misread. No happiness. Do you care? Not long now. The second has passed and that means another line behind me. Another. How many have there been? Years ago the line moved around quite a lot, and that kept me guessing. And I mean many years back. The other side of the line was uncomfortable, but nothing when compared to the current period. The steps I have taken to arrive in this place have worsened the effect of the thinning line and left me very distraught and depressed at the outset of the year. The beginning, the bleach box. Several issues are contributing to this, not the least of which is me becoming weaker and turning inward as took place in the past. Far enough inward, in fact, to deny me any chance of relaxing in public. I am fallen. Far. Imagery just keeps pushing and I am frightened. The societal standards and media focus is slowly diminishing in sensitivity. Such a fact is illuminated nearly every second, somewhere. I don't give a shit what you do or where you may go... All of it is there and has worsened throughout the last decade. The slide takes place very slowly. Once in a while something comes along which seems at the edge, and then it is smoothed over enough to be 'ok' with the surplus population. I have remained stagnant with regard to these fucking changes and now sit far outside the norm. Others may give a shit, but they do not show it. If you are going to be a genuine person and scrape upside the moving wall of society's messages, do not fucking cover it and freeze behind a facade. Say something so the few of us that are enraged by such things can see that there is a chance. Combine those statements with the two ongoing races in my head and, well, you know where the sight is pointed. I am being defeated to the point of giving in. As of this writing, I do not see a path to survival. Things are worsening quickly and each occasion damages my head and heart in ways difficult to describe. All I can say is the pieces falling away and burning to ash cannot be recovered. I will not rise, and even those times when the positive creeps in (sometimes daily, believe it or not), they cannot and do not last. Defeat. Deflagration. Detonation. I am going to push a bit and see if I can't get myself in a better position for taking control. That push began yesterday with a whimper and by the end of wild card weekend it will be in full swing. Simplicity, warmth, clarity, and silence are going to be amassed to help me survive long enough to tell the world off. People? They get nothing. Just this mess of unclear words and lack of detail. Questions will fall at my feet unanswered. All of them. Think of this as a delayed reaction to the second of January. Expect more. Every year begins in a similar manner. As others try to make positive changes, I head in the opposite direction. Down. This year is no different. Who is she? Justine? Don't ask. The fucking answer has been buried deeper than imaginable. Just sit there and wonder for the rest of your life. Not only do I find it difficult to care, but this is not the mystery that will be tough to work through. This is easy. Easy as pie, they say. They are correct. Wait for more. Wait and see what takes place at the outset of January the second. Past readers know full well what that day means, and this year will take the fucking moldy cake. Justine, that goddess with the eyes that will kill me very soon. I just want a hug but she will slice me to ribbons instead. I need to rip off her pants and dive for all I am worth, yet her hands will not slap the back of my head. They will grab a rusty knife and take me apart like a cold chicken. God bless her for at least giving me something lovely upon which to gaze before allowing my demise to come fruition. Justine will return, no doubt. One way or another, and for one reason or another, it's all gone. Will you miss me?" Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Justine Part Three Mature content No. 109 Published January 3rd, 2020 1:22pm pst read ( words) Past entries "Right over there, a woman who has the ability to remove my need to leave this world. Things are less than ideal at this moment, to say the least, and she is there yet unavailable. The most beautiful woman upon which I have ever laid eyes. Like a combination of all of them. Like Julie? No... That is fiction. Like the Raven? No... Different. Right there and out of reach for all time. I have been fucking slamming my stupid head against every single idea that comes along and emerged scathed and beaten. Others have beat me up, I have beat myself up, and still this shit continues unimpeded and harsh. Yes, I am used to it just as I am used to running out the fucking door every time things get too difficult and search for that elusive comfort and atmosphere of the past, however this day is compounded by the end of the year and my realization that all of the good I have considered giving away has only fucked up everything. Each person. My life. Every fucking step. Each day. Those meals, that booze, the television, the sofa, this keyboard. Every single fucking thing I have ever touched. I have done no good, and I can do no good. And Justine is right there, looking stunning. Don't worry. The next long story will be up here very shortly. I had to push this, though. I had to push it right now. Her slender finger points to me. It always does. I see her eyes, shaded slightly by that mass of hair, and I know behind them can be forgiveness. But I do not agree. I want to slap her silly and make her understand that I am not the one with which to be toyed. She doesn't care anyway. She won't listen. Justine will simply stand there and await my good sense. Just to see what may happen, I ask her to pose so I can look upon the ruling lines of my existence and she responds with a condescending fucking smile. Her arms are folded in anger and that only makes her look more beautiful. I remember when the Brunette and I argued horribly and she stood as strong as possible right in my stupid face and railed me to no end, all the while her eyes made me wish to lie in her arms and die at her feet. Maybe I should have. So much could have been avoided. Back then no one knew me here and that means very little fanfare for the common idiot. Fuck me, what a great idea that could have been. Yep... Regret and fear. Killing me as you read these words. And the woman on the television is removing my insides like a giant pair of the worst possible tongs. She is not the problem. I am. Justine is there, too. Out there in the distance, yet within view of my damaged eyes that have seen far too much. Considering how many occasions have found me here with hands on the keyboard and brain within a woman's soft clothing, I am surprised to be doing it again. Justine pushed me. She still pushes. Why? Well, that is up to her. I do not understand her any more than I can understand myself. The effort is for naught, as always. But I keep going, and continue to think that something will change. If I do not change, can something on the outside cause improvement? Or am I destined to wallow? She knows everything but will not let me get close enough to ravage her and ascend into that ethereal place where the world and my issues melt away. I know that place is there. I have been there, albeit for very short periods of time. My brain knows, remembers, but still I have no control over visiting something so wonderful. Justine makes me wish to be there at this moment and let all of the bad fall away. I cannot. The Raven watches from above. I hope She is not judging me, but at the same time I believe that I deserve such. Do you see? I hate everything. Even Justine, that goddess onto which I wish to jump. But I love her like nothing else. As a physical and emotional representation of so many other souls, I cannot simply move along and not acknowledge her beauty and impact upon my life. Years and years of being thrown into the mix of that exotic atmosphere within which every conceivable desire is available has fucked me up for good. I dream constantly, chafe against daily life and routines, and then sit here and toss all my shit to the screen. For all the good it may achieve, I end up worse off than when I begin. Each entry, every story, and all that fiction just fucks me up without end. And then more and more, as if something is going to change. I know of the impossibility, and not just as it relates to the passion. That is another story which has been taken down for technical reasons. This is worse. Very bad. Justine is so beautiful. I need to dine on her lingerie. Heh. Sound familiar? How many fucking times have I lunged and leveraged others in order to be there? The draw is unlike anything, and ever since Ashley's little ass was within my eyesight the damaging behavior has expanded. I threw my entire life away to pursue the heroin and a pair of loving arms. Now look at me. Off in the hazy distance I see Justine waving her finger in disapproval. The motion makes her round breasts jiggle back and forth. I think she hates me. The twin issues are joined by a third. I am not referring to the second day of the new year, I am speaking of something I did not expect. The first issue is very old and has been easing somewhat over the past few months. For that I can be thankful even though I do not know why. Issue number two still rules the others, and third has appeared this morning. Yes, I have a problem with the beginning of the year, the approach of my fucking birthday, and the return of the routine in the next two weeks, however none of that is new. You know and have known. There is still a 'why' attached to the obsession and I am tired of trying to uncover the genesis of that shit. There is no 'why' related to the beginning of the year as I have written over and fucking over about fall being the best time of year. That is not surprising. Football season is just about over and we will be in the playoffs next weekend. The beginning of the end is that fact combined with the last night of the calendar year. There is nearly no good left, and Justine keeps her distance as a lesson in all that I cannot achieve. Fuck me anyway. Justine. A combination of the vast beauty both near and far. Close to home, on top of me, across the room, spread out all over Vegas, and those few that have been just out of reach. God damn is she ever enticing. I just need it. Nope. Back to the twins. No, not the pair in Justine's silk blouse, the twin moons that circle my head and pull sense back and forth like the tide. I am swayed and it is out of my fucking control. Issue one is always there and issue two comes and goes. Again, the tide. Unfortunately, I cannot simply step up the beach and avoid it. It will engulf me. Perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even next year, but I will die from it eventually. There is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid it. Justine turned away from me to display something I may never have again. That fucking woman. God love her. Issue two is the problem here, as I have demonstrated by continuing to write about the obsession as it presses me down. I keep going. The other one? Not the same at all. It is both internal and external and the only way to save myself is to keep the catalyst far from my ears and eyes. I do not even know how to do that. If the truth is that every problem I experience is my own doing, I am completely fucked. There will be no way out and the only path I see is sitting here blathering on for months or years and ending up treading the same fucking circle that I created years ago. I keep looking toward Justine but she just stands there posing with one foot further to the left and allowing me to see all that fucking artwork. Damn her, anyway. So beautiful. It hurts. Forty-plus thousand lines of stories and exploration and I am right where I started with even more sewage in my brain. Keep saying this helps me and I will open your fucking head like a canoe. Fuck you. Do you understand? January the second. Fuck you too. Maybe I can speak with Justine rather than staring like a cat about to pounce upon a disabled mouse. Maybe not. I don't even know if she gives a shit. She turns back to face me with a mass of hair swirling along. Issue one is staring me down like I made it happen. Jesus. Issue two may be completely out of my reach. Why not? I do not expect relief, nor do I believe I deserve it. Putting others through so much shit for years may be the reason things are coming back and removing my brain cells. The good ones, too. Or maybe none of them are good. I don't fucking know anymore. Justine stands there looking like a dream and the end of the world at the same time. I know what she represents... The last of days, the buffer stop, the door to that place I knew would appear. I have felt it for years. Justine is here to show me the end of the year and the beginning of the next. Perhaps she will ask if I am to survive the date change again. The fucking woman should know full well that the only time of year which means anything to me is from the outset of football season to the end of the first day of January. Beyond that? Nothing. Yes, I have made it this far and past God-knows how many of these occasions, however the truth is that each is a trial. Two days prior to the last day, I am generally not the most pleasant person in the group. I am negative, distraught, down, and unwilling to move forward out of deference to the passage of time. And I am sick of the typical societal platitudes which accompany this time of year. There is nothing wrong with feeling positive when a line in the sand comes along, I just do not feel that way. My head is mired in the past. The shadow does not go away. Ever. Others choose to push it back and make the best of what may lay ahead but I do not think in those terms. Ever worse. This has happened before. Now, unfortunately, I am older and far less resilient. The largest section of my brain dedicated to just living without losing my mind is also older and weaker. The knowledge is all still there, just shoved off to the side and nearly inaccessible most days. My focus is not sharp on things I want and need to accomplish because the issues are pushing harder and I am running out of strength. I fear that soon I will run out of willingness. And then I will run out of life. I suppose it is better to be happy with myself and unhappy with everyone else as opposed to no happiness whatsoever. As an example, yesterday morning was tough beyond belief (more and more often this is happening). I damned-near walked out of my job for good. The realization that my concerns of the last couple of years have fallen on deaf ears is quite disturbing and drove me out the door mid-morning. Had I not left with the simple reasoning that I felt out of sorts, I would be in a much worse place this morning. Much. Worse. All of the societal issues about which I have spewed many blogs in the past are actually demonstrated in spades there within my job. Of course, I can leave whenever I wish. That is just not acceptable anymore, however. I do not wish to leave and see nothing change, thus placing myself in a position of uncertainty. That would not be wise. Plus, I am too much of a crap disturbing person to go and not leave a mark -- at least something which shows that I have had an opinion and some decent solutions to problems. Does that add up to happiness? Or am I using the incorrect wording? Ok, fuck the happiness. Such a state is impossible for me anyway. But then who cares? I do not, although this analysis likely telegraphs caring. Nope. Do not misread. No happiness. Do you care? Not long now. The second has passed and that means another line behind me. Another. How many have there been? Years ago the line moved around quite a lot, and that kept me guessing. And I mean many years back. The other side of the line was uncomfortable, but nothing when compared to the current period. The steps I have taken to arrive in this place have worsened the effect of the thinning line and left me very distraught and depressed at the outset of the year. The beginning, the bleach box. Several issues are contributing to this, not the least of which is me becoming weaker and turning inward as took place in the past. Far enough inward, in fact, to deny me any chance of relaxing in public. I am fallen. Far. Imagery just keeps pushing and I am frightened. The societal standards and media focus is slowly diminishing in sensitivity. Such a fact is illuminated nearly every second, somewhere. I don't give a shit what you do or where you may go... All of it is there and has worsened throughout the last decade. The slide takes place very slowly. Once in a while something comes along which seems at the edge, and then it is smoothed over enough to be 'ok' with the surplus population. I have remained stagnant with regard to these fucking changes and now sit far outside the norm. Others may give a shit, but they do not show it. If you are going to be a genuine person and scrape upside the moving wall of society's messages, do not fucking cover it and freeze behind a facade. Say something so the few of us that are enraged by such things can see that there is a chance. Combine those statements with the two ongoing races in my head and, well, you know where the sight is pointed. I am being defeated to the point of giving in. As of this writing, I do not see a path to survival. Things are worsening quickly and each occasion damages my head and heart in ways difficult to describe. All I can say is the pieces falling away and burning to ash cannot be recovered. I will not rise, and even those times when the positive creeps in (sometimes daily, believe it or not), they cannot and do not last. Defeat. Deflagration. Detonation. I am going to push a bit and see if I can't get myself in a better position for taking control. That push began yesterday with a whimper and by the end of wild card weekend it will be in full swing. Simplicity, warmth, clarity, and silence are going to be amassed to help me survive long enough to tell the world off. People? They get nothing. Just this mess of unclear words and lack of detail. Questions will fall at my feet unanswered. All of them. Think of this as a delayed reaction to the second of January. Expect more. Every year begins in a similar manner. As others try to make positive changes, I head in the opposite direction. Down. This year is no different. Who is she? Justine? Don't ask. The fucking answer has been buried deeper than imaginable. Just sit there and wonder for the rest of your life. Not only do I find it difficult to care, but this is not the mystery that will be tough to work through. This is easy. Easy as pie, they say. They are correct. Wait for more. Wait and see what takes place at the outset of January the second. Past readers know full well what that day means, and this year will take the fucking moldy cake. Justine, that goddess with the eyes that will kill me very soon. I just want a hug but she will slice me to ribbons instead. I need to rip off her pants and dive for all I am worth, yet her hands will not slap the back of my head. They will grab a rusty knife and take me apart like a cold chicken. God bless her for at least giving me something lovely upon which to gaze before allowing my demise to come fruition. Justine will return, no doubt. One way or another, and for one reason or another, it's all gone. Will you miss me?"
Justine
Part Three
Mature content No. 109 Published January 3rd, 2020 1:22pm pst read ( words) Past entries
"Right over there, a woman who has the ability to remove my need to leave this world. Things are less than ideal at this moment, to say the least, and she is there yet unavailable. The most beautiful woman upon which I have ever laid eyes. Like a combination of all of them. Like Julie? No... That is fiction. Like the Raven? No... Different. Right there and out of reach for all time. I have been fucking slamming my stupid head against every single idea that comes along and emerged scathed and beaten. Others have beat me up, I have beat myself up, and still this shit continues unimpeded and harsh. Yes, I am used to it just as I am used to running out the fucking door every time things get too difficult and search for that elusive comfort and atmosphere of the past, however this day is compounded by the end of the year and my realization that all of the good I have considered giving away has only fucked up everything. Each person. My life. Every fucking step. Each day. Those meals, that booze, the television, the sofa, this keyboard. Every single fucking thing I have ever touched. I have done no good, and I can do no good. And Justine is right there, looking stunning. Don't worry. The next long story will be up here very shortly. I had to push this, though. I had to push it right now. Her slender finger points to me. It always does. I see her eyes, shaded slightly by that mass of hair, and I know behind them can be forgiveness. But I do not agree. I want to slap her silly and make her understand that I am not the one with which to be toyed. She doesn't care anyway. She won't listen. Justine will simply stand there and await my good sense. Just to see what may happen, I ask her to pose so I can look upon the ruling lines of my existence and she responds with a condescending fucking smile. Her arms are folded in anger and that only makes her look more beautiful. I remember when the Brunette and I argued horribly and she stood as strong as possible right in my stupid face and railed me to no end, all the while her eyes made me wish to lie in her arms and die at her feet. Maybe I should have. So much could have been avoided. Back then no one knew me here and that means very little fanfare for the common idiot. Fuck me, what a great idea that could have been. Yep... Regret and fear. Killing me as you read these words. And the woman on the television is removing my insides like a giant pair of the worst possible tongs. She is not the problem. I am. Justine is there, too. Out there in the distance, yet within view of my damaged eyes that have seen far too much. Considering how many occasions have found me here with hands on the keyboard and brain within a woman's soft clothing, I am surprised to be doing it again. Justine pushed me. She still pushes. Why? Well, that is up to her. I do not understand her any more than I can understand myself. The effort is for naught, as always. But I keep going, and continue to think that something will change. If I do not change, can something on the outside cause improvement? Or am I destined to wallow? She knows everything but will not let me get close enough to ravage her and ascend into that ethereal place where the world and my issues melt away. I know that place is there. I have been there, albeit for very short periods of time. My brain knows, remembers, but still I have no control over visiting something so wonderful. Justine makes me wish to be there at this moment and let all of the bad fall away. I cannot. The Raven watches from above. I hope She is not judging me, but at the same time I believe that I deserve such.
Do you see?
I hate everything. Even Justine, that goddess onto which I wish to jump. But I love her like nothing else. As a physical and emotional representation of so many other souls, I cannot simply move along and not acknowledge her beauty and impact upon my life. Years and years of being thrown into the mix of that exotic atmosphere within which every conceivable desire is available has fucked me up for good. I dream constantly, chafe against daily life and routines, and then sit here and toss all my shit to the screen. For all the good it may achieve, I end up worse off than when I begin. Each entry, every story, and all that fiction just fucks me up without end. And then more and more, as if something is going to change. I know of the impossibility, and not just as it relates to the passion. That is another story which has been taken down for technical reasons. This is worse. Very bad. Justine is so beautiful. I need to dine on her lingerie. Heh. Sound familiar? How many fucking times have I lunged and leveraged others in order to be there? The draw is unlike anything, and ever since Ashley's little ass was within my eyesight the damaging behavior has expanded. I threw my entire life away to pursue the heroin and a pair of loving arms. Now look at me. Off in the hazy distance I see Justine waving her finger in disapproval. The motion makes her round breasts jiggle back and forth. I think she hates me. The twin issues are joined by a third. I am not referring to the second day of the new year, I am speaking of something I did not expect. The first issue is very old and has been easing somewhat over the past few months. For that I can be thankful even though I do not know why. Issue number two still rules the others, and third has appeared this morning. Yes, I have a problem with the beginning of the year, the approach of my fucking birthday, and the return of the routine in the next two weeks, however none of that is new. You know and have known. There is still a 'why' attached to the obsession and I am tired of trying to uncover the genesis of that shit. There is no 'why' related to the beginning of the year as I have written over and fucking over about fall being the best time of year. That is not surprising. Football season is just about over and we will be in the playoffs next weekend. The beginning of the end is that fact combined with the last night of the calendar year. There is nearly no good left, and Justine keeps her distance as a lesson in all that I cannot achieve. Fuck me anyway. Justine. A combination of the vast beauty both near and far. Close to home, on top of me, across the room, spread out all over Vegas, and those few that have been just out of reach. God damn is she ever enticing. I just need it. Nope. Back to the twins. No, not the pair in Justine's silk blouse, the twin moons that circle my head and pull sense back and forth like the tide. I am swayed and it is out of my fucking control. Issue one is always there and issue two comes and goes. Again, the tide. Unfortunately, I cannot simply step up the beach and avoid it. It will engulf me. Perhaps not today, tomorrow, or even next year, but I will die from it eventually. There is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid it. Justine turned away from me to display something I may never have again. That fucking woman. God love her. Issue two is the problem here, as I have demonstrated by continuing to write about the obsession as it presses me down. I keep going. The other one? Not the same at all. It is both internal and external and the only way to save myself is to keep the catalyst far from my ears and eyes. I do not even know how to do that. If the truth is that every problem I experience is my own doing, I am completely fucked. There will be no way out and the only path I see is sitting here blathering on for months or years and ending up treading the same fucking circle that I created years ago. I keep looking toward Justine but she just stands there posing with one foot further to the left and allowing me to see all that fucking artwork. Damn her, anyway. So beautiful. It hurts. Forty-plus thousand lines of stories and exploration and I am right where I started with even more sewage in my brain. Keep saying this helps me and I will open your fucking head like a canoe. Fuck you.
Do you understand?
January the second. Fuck you too. Maybe I can speak with Justine rather than staring like a cat about to pounce upon a disabled mouse. Maybe not. I don't even know if she gives a shit. She turns back to face me with a mass of hair swirling along. Issue one is staring me down like I made it happen. Jesus. Issue two may be completely out of my reach. Why not? I do not expect relief, nor do I believe I deserve it. Putting others through so much shit for years may be the reason things are coming back and removing my brain cells. The good ones, too. Or maybe none of them are good. I don't fucking know anymore. Justine stands there looking like a dream and the end of the world at the same time. I know what she represents... The last of days, the buffer stop, the door to that place I knew would appear. I have felt it for years. Justine is here to show me the end of the year and the beginning of the next. Perhaps she will ask if I am to survive the date change again. The fucking woman should know full well that the only time of year which means anything to me is from the outset of football season to the end of the first day of January. Beyond that? Nothing. Yes, I have made it this far and past God-knows how many of these occasions, however the truth is that each is a trial. Two days prior to the last day, I am generally not the most pleasant person in the group. I am negative, distraught, down, and unwilling to move forward out of deference to the passage of time. And I am sick of the typical societal platitudes which accompany this time of year. There is nothing wrong with feeling positive when a line in the sand comes along, I just do not feel that way. My head is mired in the past. The shadow does not go away. Ever. Others choose to push it back and make the best of what may lay ahead but I do not think in those terms. Ever worse. This has happened before. Now, unfortunately, I am older and far less resilient. The largest section of my brain dedicated to just living without losing my mind is also older and weaker. The knowledge is all still there, just shoved off to the side and nearly inaccessible most days. My focus is not sharp on things I want and need to accomplish because the issues are pushing harder and I am running out of strength. I fear that soon I will run out of willingness. And then I will run out of life. I suppose it is better to be happy with myself and unhappy with everyone else as opposed to no happiness whatsoever. As an example, yesterday morning was tough beyond belief (more and more often this is happening). I damned-near walked out of my job for good. The realization that my concerns of the last couple of years have fallen on deaf ears is quite disturbing and drove me out the door mid-morning. Had I not left with the simple reasoning that I felt out of sorts, I would be in a much worse place this morning. Much. Worse. All of the societal issues about which I have spewed many blogs in the past are actually demonstrated in spades there within my job. Of course, I can leave whenever I wish. That is just not acceptable anymore, however. I do not wish to leave and see nothing change, thus placing myself in a position of uncertainty. That would not be wise. Plus, I am too much of a crap disturbing person to go and not leave a mark -- at least something which shows that I have had an opinion and some decent solutions to problems. Does that add up to happiness? Or am I using the incorrect wording? Ok, fuck the happiness. Such a state is impossible for me anyway. But then who cares? I do not, although this analysis likely telegraphs caring. Nope. Do not misread. No happiness.
Do you care?
Not long now. The second has passed and that means another line behind me. Another. How many have there been? Years ago the line moved around quite a lot, and that kept me guessing. And I mean many years back. The other side of the line was uncomfortable, but nothing when compared to the current period. The steps I have taken to arrive in this place have worsened the effect of the thinning line and left me very distraught and depressed at the outset of the year. The beginning, the bleach box. Several issues are contributing to this, not the least of which is me becoming weaker and turning inward as took place in the past. Far enough inward, in fact, to deny me any chance of relaxing in public. I am fallen. Far. Imagery just keeps pushing and I am frightened. The societal standards and media focus is slowly diminishing in sensitivity. Such a fact is illuminated nearly every second, somewhere. I don't give a shit what you do or where you may go... All of it is there and has worsened throughout the last decade. The slide takes place very slowly. Once in a while something comes along which seems at the edge, and then it is smoothed over enough to be 'ok' with the surplus population. I have remained stagnant with regard to these fucking changes and now sit far outside the norm. Others may give a shit, but they do not show it. If you are going to be a genuine person and scrape upside the moving wall of society's messages, do not fucking cover it and freeze behind a facade. Say something so the few of us that are enraged by such things can see that there is a chance. Combine those statements with the two ongoing races in my head and, well, you know where the sight is pointed. I am being defeated to the point of giving in. As of this writing, I do not see a path to survival. Things are worsening quickly and each occasion damages my head and heart in ways difficult to describe. All I can say is the pieces falling away and burning to ash cannot be recovered. I will not rise, and even those times when the positive creeps in (sometimes daily, believe it or not), they cannot and do not last. Defeat. Deflagration. Detonation. I am going to push a bit and see if I can't get myself in a better position for taking control. That push began yesterday with a whimper and by the end of wild card weekend it will be in full swing. Simplicity, warmth, clarity, and silence are going to be amassed to help me survive long enough to tell the world off. People? They get nothing. Just this mess of unclear words and lack of detail. Questions will fall at my feet unanswered. All of them. Think of this as a delayed reaction to the second of January. Expect more. Every year begins in a similar manner. As others try to make positive changes, I head in the opposite direction. Down. This year is no different. Who is she? Justine? Don't ask. The fucking answer has been buried deeper than imaginable. Just sit there and wonder for the rest of your life. Not only do I find it difficult to care, but this is not the mystery that will be tough to work through. This is easy. Easy as pie, they say. They are correct. Wait for more. Wait and see what takes place at the outset of January the second. Past readers know full well what that day means, and this year will take the fucking moldy cake. Justine, that goddess with the eyes that will kill me very soon. I just want a hug but she will slice me to ribbons instead. I need to rip off her pants and dive for all I am worth, yet her hands will not slap the back of my head. They will grab a rusty knife and take me apart like a cold chicken. God bless her for at least giving me something lovely upon which to gaze before allowing my demise to come fruition. Justine will return, no doubt. One way or another, and for one reason or another, it's all gone. Will you miss me?"
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