08-31-2020 12:12 pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning


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Kate looks unreal on the screen right now. I could fuck her shoes.

Trouble. After chronicling my experience of the theatres, gushing over whatever may appear on the television screen from time to time, and realizing that all of the past adventures are not to return, I do not know where to go. And yes, I am still actively searching for both Jaime and the rollercoaster girl. I can't help but dream. But what is the dream? The past coming back? The machine that I need to find happiness without issue? Or is it just the control? Jaime is a real woman. Flesh and blood and everything which comes with it. Her own mind, heart, and soul. Would that eventually go bad because she is real? I have been with other women throughout years. They were not machines. I realize that my thinking has changed dramatically in the last several months, though. I am very different now. After rediscovering the images of her and then connecting the dots of my experiences in life, the machine coalesced into a singular idea. The first was in the eighties, the second almost three decades later, and there were little snippets in between. Everything hit me at once out there in the new office one morning and I ran with it. Now? I have gone too far with the idea to backpedal. I cannot simply forget the dream of living sans issues. Problems. And no matter their individual origins, they are here to stay and will continue to cripple me until such time as I can realize the dream or die. That is it. So, why do I keep going in the same direction? Good question. I honestly do not fucking know. So tired now.

Yesterday in the city.

'I'm looking at her right now. Several minutes have passed since she walked by my car deep in the city. Black Capri jeans, black top, beige sandals with two-inch heels. Long black hair all over the place in the cool breeze. And there she goes in a car. I wonder if she knows what type of impact her walk and appearance can have on another. Who can say? She's obviously going somewhere of note. Lots of primping and looking at herself in the phone glass. I could have told her volumes. Tons of details. And therein lies the rub of the century... I will drive home soon with a head full of her beautiful, flowing look and nothing will ever come of it. Nothing. Not one fucking thing. Too many times have found me gazing and then falling down over not knowing. The woman moments ago was just one of many, and stood there looking stunning. I sincerely hope someone tells her as much. She tried to make herself look nice and accomplished it. More. Much more.'

Naturally, she was tall, dark and beautiful. Head to toe. Everything. All of the primping led me to believe that she had been going to meet someone or possibly work. A job interview? Maybe. I will never know. She looked at my car, stepped to the rear, looked again, and then walked to the corner. She was obviously waiting for a ride. When it arrived, it was a match to my car. Heh. That was funny. Same wheels, too. She thought I was her ride. If only. When she walked across the street, her hair was flowing in the breeze and all over the place, just like my brain. Into the car and gone. That was that. I do not usually see many people other than a few walking their dogs or going to the market. The woman caught me off guard by approaching from behind and looking like a dream. You know all about it so I need not gush. The entire event is just another of what has taken place on more occasions than I care to admit. The dog walker by my house, the Russian girl with her enormous stroller, all of it. My head keeps going in such a direction and I am certain that I can no longer change my behavior. For what reason would I? To save myself? Nope... The issues remain. Nothing changes. Nothing. Would ending every paragraph with 'I do not know what to do' be a bad idea?

Don't answer that.

I miss Ashley this morning. After spending hours and days reformatting parts of that long fucking story, I can see her big eyes looking at me while lying on her side in my hotel room. She was so tall that I had trouble focusing, but her eyes were the key. So much feeling, understanding and emotion shot at me like the most desirable machine gun ever. She telegraphed everything so quickly and fully that I melted into her over and over. Yes, we were physical, but the best feeling in the world was being up against her warmth of heart. I still don't understand her wisdom at such a young age. Almost sixteen years younger than me, yet she could freeze my thinking with a glance. What a person she was. God damn do I ever need her now. None of that anymore. Nothing of the sort. She was so unique that the mere thought of how I felt in her wonderful company only causes pain. Did I appreciate her enough at the time? Did I tell her as much? Never again.



All measure of difficulty within me now. Issue two is always there, albeit sometimes stronger than others, but right now it is flaring as it did some weeks back after that fucking comment and subsequent difficulty in my heart. Today is similar, but due to another cause, and something unexpected. I cannot describe it, either. I have to leave out so many details that this exposition is turning into an exercise in puzzle-solving. I just cannot blurt things because the fear will be superseded by another. Yes, the type of situation in which one takes over another and pushes it back. Like back when we camped a dozen times per year and I was deathly afraid of several varieties of flying insects, yet held it together in front of others out of worry that I would appear weak or foolish. No one else seemed to react as I did, although I do need to keep in mind that they may have been dealing with something similar. I'll never know because I cannot speak to anyone about issue two. The magnitude of each occasion seems to be amplifying. Growing out of control and then causing me to withdraw further. And I am pretty fucking deep into it now. All of the writing since discovering Jaime's images has touched upon terrible and crippling aspects of what is now the king of my problems. Even while in mind of those women I do not even know personally, I fall off a cliff. All the way back to a film in the mid-nineties and a phrase uttered quietly from a seat nearby. I recalled that visit to the theatre just the other day when the movie was on one of my premium channels. It is an excellent story, created and put to the screen with much talent. The main characters are portrayed by the filmmakers, believe it or not. And both are young for having accomplished an Oscar-winning movie. That trip slammed back into my head and I still hear the woman's words as if she is next to me now. Someone with whom I am unfamiliar, and just another person sitting there watching. No big deal? Well, it's still inside me after more than two decades and may have created an engram I cannot avoid or destroy. The lesson is to come to terms with such a thing in order to alleviate the feelings and understand, rather than recoil and hide in fear. Unfortunately, I am capable of neither. Here I sit even weaker and further out of balance than way back when. Splendid. The flare today just happened a short while ago, and now I am being forced to analyze every such moment in memory. Fuck.

Issue one seems like an ant on the sidewalk right now. Damn it anyway. I hate this, but it is me, through and through. The fear of appearing weak is again driving me to keep it inside. Much has been discussed here for years, but the four issues must remain partially veiled.



I do not have anywhere to turn. Ashley was there but knew little of me due to the short visit. Mere days had us together. Maybe I should indeed have thrown her into the car and driven home as I said while writing of her. God damn it anyway. Ahh... That would have gone bad because I destroy every chance with my insecurity and paranoia. Shall we go back to the fucking machine? Did I cover that enough? Probably. Heh. But honestly, there is no other way. I cannot simply accept things and move forward. There has to be a line or my head will run with the slightest bump in the road. That is what is happening today. Just a reference is all it took to send me off the deep end again. It was nothing in the grand scheme of the world. Nothing. A few words and my head manufactured possibilities without limit. They are still going, piling upon each other and driving me into the fucking soil at terminal speed. I already published 'Fallen', yet it is still happening. 'Falling Away' was a journey that is still going. 'Fallen' exudes finality. There is none. Nothing has stopped. My head is in full production right at this moment and I am helpless to pull the red chain. The line is unstoppable. Just words. And then my brain creates galaxies of shit which do not go away. I have not fallen... I am still falling. The titling was incorrect. Does it matter? As most of my questions birth, the answer is no. A resounding no. Lots of them, actually. In the ground yet again. This time may be the last. That means it will no longer take pause. Instead of diving into a deep chasm with my fears and then rising for a time, the string of events has been both lengthened and broadened to encompass each moment of a given day. One long, veering path with reminders at each turn.

Ashley was but one of several and they are all gone. I cannot easily define the reasoning behind why each became a savior, either. They were all different. And none of them have related to anyone else in my life as of this writing. I just don't understand why things unfolded in such a manner during those trips, and the only smidgen of a conclusion is that I was different. While with each of them -- most notably from Juliette to Ellie -- there were no apparent issues within me. Nothing took place to drive me down. I walked with them and felt no intimidation, no matter what was around us at the time. Nothing happened. We were all over the place, and in the case of Andrea, the period was weeks. I remember when she blurted 'yes' to dinner with the dipshits in Florida, and when we were in their presence, I felt no worry. Neil was right there absolutely gushing and lusting after Andrea, but in my head was only my appreciation for how she felt toward me. Neil was not a problem at all. His wife? Less so, as I am rarely threatened by a woman (there is a distinction which should go without saying, of course). I wasn't even concerned with the younger guys -- closer to Andrea's age at the time -- in the line who were all smitten. Nothing. Maybe due to our connection, or perhaps I felt differently than I do now. Honestly, I just don't get it. But one thing is certain, and that is the sheer weight of this problem and how quickly it can break me in half. All of the time with Andrea was a year after the Brunette and the idea now is that perhaps all of the fear and insecurity I felt while with the Brunette simply tired me out. Or I was afraid of her leaving me. One leads to the other... The fear overpowers and creates paranoia, and then the woman in question backs off because paranoia is not attractive. Confidence is attractive. I will not comment further.

Maybe I should digress.

Sunday. Days have passed without me sitting here and writing anything new due to working on older entries. I have been trying to streamline and format each file so they are matching well enough to ensure the master reference is accurate. Sometimes things go awry and getting everything organized is tedious, so I push it off. Months later I have a mess. Plus, I am very unhappy and opted to think rather than gush. Many of the things in my head wind up here, but that does not mean I need to expel everything and constantly bitch. The flow must remain consistent, no matter how I may feel from one day to the next. Issue two just took up three fucking paragraphs and that is merely scratching the surface. Going on and on about the same thought will drive me nuts. I have to turn a corner sometimes. Again, today is Sunday and most of my business is complete. Just a few details and the afternoon should prove relaxing. Earlier I fucked up the balance in our washing machine and had to wring out the sheets and hang them for excess water to drain before tossing them into the dryer. I think I just did not have my head in the right place when I washed them. Not a big deal. They are all dry now. Shortly thereafter was when the slam took place and thank Christ I took care of the problem before my brain exploded. I also had what I like to refer to as a 'dish Russian', or White Russian that always goes well with cleaning the kitchen. I have to be careful with that sort of thing, though. The past has shown me that too many cocktails early means whatever may be occupying my thoughts will expand out of control due to being tipsy. I feel bad enough as it is, so one is all there can be prior to the evening. I have been alone for several hours, and mixing my heart with hard liquor in the middle of the day will lead to the headphones, and then right off a very high cliff. Fortunately, I enjoyed the dish drink without driving myself crazy.


I have the show in the background. The entertainment is about as safe as it can be without switching to Mister Rogers. I wish that was funny. The slightest bump in the road right now could send me flying and leave scars. Enough of those are apparent already. I need no more of this shit and am about one thin hair from shutting out the world. And I mean everyone. Socializing and work be damned, I have to save myself. The flash earlier is working its way through me like a fucking parasite, and despite my inner strength and the fact that I have survived this long, I feel it right there like Jung's shadow. The television must remain in line or I'll flip the fuck out. Of course there are tidbits here and there throughout the course of all five series', but I can't avoid everything, and overall those issues are minor. I am too familiar with the characters and stories for much worry to develop these days. In the evening when we sit for dinner and watch our ongoing series from nearly four decades back, there is little concern at all. Not because of the programming age, but because after many years I know what is going on (enough of it, anyway). Others? I must trust, and such a thing is floating away and traveling across an endless sea, never to return. Soon enough my brain will shove everything that comes out of a woman's mouth into a small space for rapid incineration. I see no other options. I don't know how soon to expect the shutoff, but believe me when I say that the need is absolute, just like my fucking attitude. Cocktail, soon. Ugh.


No trust. Do you know what that means? There can be no basis for anything as a result. No trust, no nothing. Such is the way it must be. I am already resigned to so many fucking negatives that piling on another is not going to matter. In fact, I expect there to be more negatives and stipulations added to my lifestyle as the days roll under my wheels. No illusions. Even if issue two indeed destroys my ability to speak with another human being, I already know I will end up in the same soup no matter the circumstances. Speaking, being silent, none of it matters anymore. The problem will come out of nowhere and stall my hope, so I may as well just shut it all off anyway. Right? I thought so. Shut up.

This is so tiring but the only avenue which does not bite back. The site is completely one-sided and structured such that I can spout here forever and no one can do a fucking thing about it. Recently someone observed that the manner in which I communicate with 'the world' through this medium is selfish. Well, I don't give a shit. Don't like it? Go somewhere else. I write what I feel and if this does not align with a person's expectations, perceptions, wants, needs, visions, guidelines, ethics, morals or any other fucking descriptive term, the reading of the content must cease immediately. This site is not going to become any more friendly.

blue ball

Enough lashing toward others.

No clue as to what I am anymore. I thought that being home for a couple of months during the shit storm was going to cause anxiety, and it did a while back... That one day when I was so distraught that I drank ten beers and started building wooden projects in the garage while the music blared. That helped, and then the following days became eased because I let loose. I may have to do that again, but in the meantime, I have become more worried in the last week than I was at the outset of the first shelter order. That was more than five fucking months ago and feels like years. I am no longer worried about the virus at all. We know what to do after all this time and having guidelines thrown at us for months. This is different, as if seeing the images of Jaime and relating her to a machine began a process that continues to snowball. I just don't know for sure, though. I feel like something more is at work now. I have turned inward more dramatically than in the past, and I believe it is due to two. Everything seems to be directed by that most ferocious of issues. My daily routine is now derived from whatever I may need from one second to the next in order to maintain my comfort, both inner and outer. The inside? All fucked up. Trust has burned away, I do not wish to see anyone or hear them speaking, and no matter the depth to which I involve myself in any work, it is still there. Right below the fucking surface of everything. Each activity upon which I concentrate is followed by fleeting thoughts and fears that will not fucking go away no matter the effort. This is going to destroy me, mark my words. And don't think it's one of those desperate items that is mentioned here and then never returns. Count on it. I see no other way.

What am I? Was this always there and waiting for the right time to ruin me?


I may not drive in the morning. Right now I am not feeling good about it. Remaining here might prove fruitful if I have the typical head full of words. The interruption often leaves me bereft of inspiration and my memory is bad enough already. I don't need to keep losing track of the flow. The morning will be crap either way, really, so I don't even know from where the idea stemmed. Maybe sitting here right now seems more productive. Fuck, I don't know. Perhaps a recap is in order. First was the obsession and the Raven, then stories of all the stupid, damaging, and reckless things I've done, then more of the same as I intertwined subjects, and then I tried to describe God-knows how many visions which struck me upside the head and accomplished nothing (like this sentence), and then I found the woman and called her Jaime after the one in the story, and then machines, and then who gives a fuck, and blah, blah, blah. Within all that shit (as if that's not enough), I threw my opinion (read: correct) to the screen whenever the mood struck to tell people off. Well, quickly the issues took over -- far beyond the first -- and now I can't seem to steer the sinking ship in another direction. Sound about right? You would know because you're the ones reading. Or are you? Anyone? Anything? Did I successfully push everyone away? Does any of this matter? One aspect I mentioned recently is the idea that this helps me. The exploration, lengthy exposition, and attempts to find answers. Hmm... Do I sound better for the effort? Improved? I thought so. This is accomplishing exactly fuck-all right now. I am saying the same fucking things over and over and going nowhere fast. Yes, the site is eighty-plus-thousand lines deep now, but what is all of it? Anything useful? Again... I thought not. Maybe I just like typing and don't give a fuck about anything anymore. That might be the only real statement in years.

What am I? A man? Something else? Do you know? What about you, over there in the corner? I didn't think so.



I need more shit stuffed into my head like I need more reproductive issues. Remember 'Set it on Hell'? I do. There were very haphazard groups of statements in that entry which still reverberate to this day. Everything set afire, heated, burned away. Maybe that was 'Ignition'. Well, it doesn't matter because I pulled the fucking train series out of fear. That's right, mister 'fuck everyone' removed something because of worry over being ridiculed. Is anyone even reading this shit anymore? I see the analytics and they are going in circles, like the content. Good thing I returned the truck section to the site. Those are the only words with meaning.

I am indeed going to drive in the morning. That way I can blare the orchestral drama again (which moves me more than I could ever describe here), and maybe I'll see another tall example of the most elusive fucking objects on the planet. I will never know. The numbers, equations, ratios... None of it. It has all gone by the wayside in favor of my brain needing enough power for trying to push issue two away. Said push will not happen if I live to be three hundred thousand years old. The only benefit to such an age is the idea of seeing more visions and falling on my face over and over. That means a stronger possibility of dying from blunt force trauma. Not bad, huh? The woman on the corner yesterday struck me like always, but never became out of control. I kept myself back a bit. The thinking of her features -- especially her face -- failed to move me in the direction of caring. Very good. I don't need mansion dreams with someone in my heart running away from me or hiding in the dark. I need that woman in the dream to remain enticing in the physical sense or I will lose my shit completely. The beauty yesterday was vastly different than the girl down south in the parking lot. Her eyes spoke to me and caused me to recoil and back the fuck off from staring all the time. She's cute and a person, but a person first. The woman yesterday did not get that far, thank Christ, and remained as an example of numerical beauty. When she walked, my brain turned into an adding machine from the seventies and I tried to see the numbers. Well, that did not happen because she vanished too quickly. A few more minutes of seeing her face as she tried to check her appearance and I would have felt something deeper. Not good. Not even a little. She is not an object, just detached. That is of dire importance now. The girl in the parking lot became a person very quickly while others pushed themselves into the obsession. Desire, too, but you've already read that.


Did the last paragraph accomplish anything? Sam Kinison: SAY IT!! SAY IT!!

digital ink

I no longer care what others think of this space. The massive images of labia weeks ago should have emphasized the idea that my wishes are paramount, but not only that. The Brazilian test has not ended, as the imagery remains there for the duration. Until such time as I feel the strain begin to ease, those gorgeous and intimate delicacies will stay afloat in all their picturesque glory. Go back and look at them again. Does the graphic display of raw sex create problems? Look at some of the other shit spewed about the Internet and then answer. That's right. Artful, to be sure. Anyway, exercises of control aside, the fact is that I must continue here because as I have stated in spades, this is all I have. The occasional pizza, the drink sitting next to me that I can smell from three feet away, and those little breaks during the housework when I head out to the new office for a smoke with the show audio following me. This is it anymore, and likely for all time. As long as I can pay the recurring bills, here we are for the duration. So, I cannot afford to tailor anything related to the site to others' preferences, whatever they may be. 'Sorry, folks, park's closed. Moose out front shoulda told ya.'


Morning again. And there is Dennis fucking Farina, God bless his amazing talent. And DeNiro. Damn.

Right back where I was yesterday. Still underneath a blanket tainted with discomfort. Two entries back I stated that ceasing this may be a good idea because it isn't going anywhere. Well, the idea is looking better and better. The site will suffer badly if I keep going over the same things day in and day out. I cannot have that. Yes, there is the fiction, and I do need to push forward with it soon, and knowing I can create those stories out of this air (and my sordid memories, heh) helps me to see a future for this space beyond what has taken place since the shelter. Machines, indeed. Everything wonderful is also impossible. Everything impossible is also necessary.

The reference mentioned above which caused the issue to flare has faded. I know that when compared to the enormity of life, it is unimportant and mostly (if not completely) inside me. I developed the problem myself despite others' words or actions sending me flying in the very beginning. The fact is I can't help it. The not knowing is key, and that is precisely what began the process yesterday. Oh, of course it is always there, floating just beyond my eyesight, but the flare quickly became overwhelming as the thoughts swirled. I did not know, cannot know, will never know, and must trust. Nope. Not happening. I have shut that off to a degree which no one will ever touch. The fact is that I have to protect myself, and I realize how ridiculous that may sound after all the issues affecting me for years, but it's true. I am the only one who can do it. No one else can get in there in a positive light. They only bring problems. Big or small, just problems. Up to and including yesterday, I have been hit with those feelings so many fucking times that I am now exhausted from trying to maintain myself and stay up while in contact with people. What comes to mind almost immediately is to speak my mind -- the real words that I rarely, if ever, express -- and throw it at high speed toward whomever happens to be standing before me or on the other end of the phone. It's going to happen, and then no one will wish to be near me. That's fine. I have what I need to physically survive for the time being. Everything else can simply go away for all time. And before you even begin to think it, I realize that much of my trouble stems from being overly sensitive about matters which many people seem to take in stride. I know it, so don't say it. Just because I sit here and try to analyze all this shit doesn't mean I know everything. I am at a loss.

I said it faded. That is good and usually happens after some time passes. And mornings help, too. Sitting here with my coffee and a funny movie in the background is comfortable. Yesterday I was on the fence about driving, but I believe keeping my routine steady is the best option right now. Too much time alone can lead to booze and then music and then tantrums. My time is truncated if I drive. That helps to keep my head out of the din. Somewhat, anyway.

Faded, or just pushed back a little? I don't know, but it will return one way or another. Watching Dennis Farina walk through his hotel room reminded me of a million conversations with the Brunette and her vast knowledge of all things physical. Some good, most bad, a few having caused me to feel suicidal at the time, but still our exchanges were for good reason and I learned from them. As threatening as that woman could be, she still had a huge heart. And when I say threatening, I do not mean it in a negative way. I was half of that, if not more. Probably more, in fact. I was very needy and broken back then and latched to her as if she could save me from myself. I soon learned that the saving was not up to her or anyone else. Everything was inside me, and much of it still is. What took place yesterday was a reference, as simple as can be, and then my brain railroading the words so much that scenarios developed in seconds and crippled my ability to rise and let the original idea go away. It was unimportant, anyway, but my coping abilities are so out of order right now that there was just no avoiding the snowballing effect upon my senses. By early afternoon I was a wreck. I did it. Me. That is what I have become. I cannot be any more specific or I will become worse due to embarrassment. Just leave it. I go as far as I can.


Dennis is such a fine actor. Every role is excellent. Even when he was so goofy.

I really need to move along past yesterday's pitfall. Today can be different if I force the issue. I'm good at that, at the very least. I have my usual business and plan to sit here for a little while so I can get this crap to the production environment, as the industry calls it. Pause. Drive.

Ugh. A bit of a delay heading south due to a car which went off the slide and was stuck in the rocks halfway to the ocean. Tons of emergency vehicles. I sincerely hope the occupants are ok. I can't stand to see people hurt.

Home is quiet and peaceful. Laundry, dishes, and this. I have one of the shows in the background, like always, and actually realized that though I watched this series all the way through just a couple of months back and paid attention, still there have been at least two episodes of which I was unfamiliar. I guess I need to do better. Nothing threatening, really, although I know later on there will be a few scenes and shots which cause me difficulty. Knowing the franchise (canon, really) as well as I do, things which tend to bother me are not new and generally bring less harm to my head. It's not bad, honestly. Not like some things which others tend to gravitate toward on a daily basis. This morning I am thinking that though society has become overly desensitized throughout the decades -- partially due to both social media and 'reality' programming -- I have gone in the other direction. I cannot blame others when I have trouble with the issues, or when reminded of them because people do not know. I don't know them well, either. The truth is that I feel very different than in years passed. I am hyper-sensitive to many things which were commonplace long ago. Partially due to my experience, and somewhat due to my own manufacturing mind. Fear is the key. If there is something to fear, it will hit me at some point and force me away. The single most important event in my life was displayed in excruciating detail just over a year ago and has since been removed. I do not know if I will ever have the drive to return that story to the screen. I pulled it just days ago, too. Too afraid of the wrong type of reaction or someone trivializing my experience. That would be very bad, to say the least. As of this writing, I know of only two individuals who are aware or have read it. There may be others, and since I cannot know, it's gone. Likely for good. I am proud of it, but again... One fear wins over another. Fear is in control of my existence because I allow it. And don't fucking argue the point or the entire shitaree will disappear... Me along with it. Don't even ask.

Okay then!



There is an image I cannot extract from my mind. It comes and goes. When I am reminded, I feel like dying.

I am no longer going to comment upon my music of choice while driving each day. Generally the selections are very personal for one reason or another, and I simply cannot have others listening without the proper context. I have no control over them and what they may do with it. Just like a masterpiece of a film winding up on the shelf of a convenience store. Not good. None of it can mean the same thing to more than one person anyway, so if I gush over a track and how it affects my heart, others cannot replicate it. So, no more of that. I will only bring up media which is common. Such music is rare in my car, but it happens.

Today is already showing me weakness. I need to maintain myself in an upright position with regard to the chores and free time or the hard liquor will begin to flow. Headphones, too. Very bad. I have refrained from donning those since the television became operational in the kitchen. One of my daily habits was to grab a drink and the music and then hit the kitchen. The music kept the dishes from becoming boring, however the television is now king of the room. Much better than music and way better for my ears. Back when I had the desktop computer in the old office, the booze would flow by mid-morning on a typical Saturday, after which I would fall off a depressive cliff and wallow into the afternoon. That is dangerous most of the time because possibilities seem to melt away and send me far down. I have not been there in a long time because I actually chose to rise. There is enough going on in the world and in my life without diving down into the ground these days. The only possibility is audiobooks. I may go in such a direction soon. During the days of delivering auto parts, some of the drives were lengthy and the stories kept me company. That was nice. As a child of the seventies, entertainment is very important to me. Almost constant entertainment, as pathetic as that may sound. But I don't care. If it keeps me above the soil, it's a good thing. Period.

I did have a splash of Irish cream in the coffee, though. Heh. Good stuff, and not terribly strong.

'Fallen' mentioned that this is going nowhere. I can no longer deny such an observation, nor am I feeling like typing this crap for the rest of my life. The idea of stopping and focusing upon the fiction seems the only way of keeping the site interesting for others, however many that may be in these late days. I just don't know. I've analyzed as much as I can. The fiction relates to all this shit anyway, so writing both has become pointless. At that point I felt fallen. Alas, that was untrue. I have arrived late.

Expect nothing for a long while. Nothing more. I should have stopped before Jaime.