09-04-2020 06:32 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Rust read ( words) "God damn it, there is Leeta again. I could eat her underwear. Everything is red from the rust I have allowed to form all over my life. Stale. Wasted time, money, connections, everything. Wasted. Thrown to the four corners of the earth with nary a look back. Thrown, just as I threw myself in whatever direction felt comfortable. I threw my resources at all of them in hopes of being held. And they did. They all held me, from the lovely Juliette all the way to Natalie, who let me in all the way and told me everything would be ok. I believed her because my value has been derived through the words of all those women who held me. Now? Corroded beyond repair. The rust will form no matter what alloy is in question. Everything will rust given time, even the purest aluminum. Stainless is not fully stainless. There is still iron in there somewhere, and the attack is inevitable. Like the inside of me after all these years of damaging behavior, the rust is taking over and I cannot simply drive to the Handyman of the past and stare at the lamps. That used to help me look at the world as if there were tons of things to discover. The only thing I eventually discovered is the idea that I have little value anymore. I am a good person and have qualities others can only hope for, but I have thrown so much to the wind that I can no longer move forward. The rust is taking all abilities and possibilities away. Freezing them. Immobile. Nothing. As of this morning, when I look to the television and see those pretty faces, the only thinking is that they do not know me at all and are better off. There was rust on our garbage cans in the early eighties. I remember worrying that the bottom would fall out when the garbage men came to empty them on Wednesday mornings. The dog used to flip his lid upon hearing the trucks, and then I would think... 'Is this the day that I have to sweep up the garbage?'. The rust never stops. Remove it correctly and protect the remaining metal. That is the only way to slow the process. Turn away too long and it comes back, sure as hell. There is nothing anyone can do. Eventually we will all be rust. Oxidize this, assholes. Aurora. Do you see? Do you remember how many times I wrote about that fucking place? It is still there, as of last year. The goddess and I sat toward the edge of the lounge where it juts way the fuck out toward the fringe of the lobby and realized the music was too much. We then moved to the corner of the bar after a goofy-looking couple vacated their stools. And we sat for a very long time, enjoying each other, the lights and drama of the bar's appearance, and some banter with others. Aurora is a place I thought I could not visit again until the kitten forced me to find distraction. She helped me to realize that the lounge was indeed void of ghosts, and then years later the goddess helped to cement that fact. Now? I feel all of it again, from leaving home God-knows how many times and running there, to all of the kind souls who touched my life while sitting and drinking my days away. Even Nikki tried to be nice. In her line of work? Necessary, yet not always desired. The world's oldest profession means just that... Work. A job. However others may feel about it, that type of thing is here to stay. Aurora was full of those types on the weekends. The lounge is huge, too. Plenty of room to be private or otherwise. Ashley sat there next to me with knees together and looking like a lanky fucking dream. Andrea hanging all over me. Juliette's lips on the back of my neck before dinner. And then Ellie trying to save my fucking life. All right there in the center of the Goddamned universe. I still love all of them. Nothing aside from pain now, though. I do not feel that I have kept my word at all. I am a wreck now, and worse than I have been since losing the fucking Raven, bless her soul. Bad. Rusted. Immobile. Frozen, yet white hot like burning magnesium. I cannot move because I have placed myself here with all conviction and thinking that if I was comfortable everything would be fine. A little pizza here and there, some housework, and maybe a drink from time to time. Fuck me, Leeta again. I need to cram an entire breast into my mouth. Anyway, I am rusting from the inside out. That is unusual, too. The oxygen generally causes the corrosion from the outside. My rust is made up of the memories of being higher than I could have imagined and the knowledge that I will never be there again. Argue the point. Go ahead. Tell me what I can do. Try it and see where it gets you. I keep thinking of what's-her-name from the Island in the Mandalay Bay. She was gorgeous, tall, slender, and with enough of a chest to cast a shadow below. Not atypical of a server in such an atmosphere. She was really nice. We conversed on many an occasion when I was there alone, and I kept thinking that the more I looked at her breasts, the further into hell I would fall when the world ended. So I stopped. And then her eyes. Heels, walking all day long, and plenty of men at the tables making comments when she bent down to serve drinks. 'Hey honey, are you gonna show us your t---?'. I heard it more than once. She was used to it and quite strong having worked in the industry for a very long time. when she returned to the service bar, I sensed what took place and remained silent. The girl didn't need another guy in her ear, no matter the words. She looked tired, yet kept herself up with impeccable posture most of the time. In the beginning I wanted to jump her. Days later I respected her and wanted to hold her. And by the time I left the goblet? I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I really felt for her. Such a job is not easy (as I am certain many people are already aware), and I could see the toll on her face. Years earlier I loved going into the big casinos due to the smell of money and sex. Well, a few days of talking with her and I wanted to comfort those eyes. I now believe all those fucking trips are a good portion of the reason I am this way. By running away and into the arms of whomever was available and willing to spend time with me, I was slowly removing options from my future. I sit here now a wrecked human being. The illusion became reality for a time and I exhausted every scrap of resources in search of the same. It is all gone now. The early trips with Jasmine, Juliette, and Ashley notwithstanding, I blew through tens of thousands of dollars which were my future security. I spent it quickly and with nary a thought toward possible consequences. And the toll on my head and heart is infinitely worse. It is nearly beyond comprehension. I have nothing, and it hurts. I willingly and happily did it all. After almost four days with Jasmine, I thought that was a lot of money. Little did I know that there would be more spending later which made her visit seem like buying a stick of gum. Wow, a cute Cardassian. Who could have thought? Ashley pushed me out of Vegas. Ellie forced me out of Vegas. Had it not been for them, I would not be sitting here right now. The doll first, and then the kitten eight years later. Both helped me to believe that I could continue in life. They convinced me to try... I was unique and worth each word... I had to carry forward or the world would be less without me. They succeeded, for a time. Looking at that period right now? I almost cannot deal with what is left. I see the image of Aurora up there and I STILL need to sit there. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I still believe that Kelly will waddle over and sit with me, eyes wide? Her gentle kindness was just what I needed at the time, and that with Ellie meeting me later in the evening. But I secured a meeting with Kelly anyway. I knew Ellie understood me. Did she? Doesn't matter. I was close enough to Kelly's eyes to know that she was happy to be near me. Dani, too. Nikki, too, but she was working. That lounge is both captivating and haunting. Last year's visit helped me to believe that the memories would not destroy me. I didn't break down because the goddess helped. I made it just fine. We had fun, and one of the best nights in memory. Dinner, cocktails, strolling... The night was wonderful. Right behind me at each step was a group of women which is gone and will remain as such. I dream of them, see their faces, feel the arms around me as the sex flies away, and I miss each. Every fucking day a bit more rust takes over my brainpower and leaves small details corroded. Thank fucking Christ I wrote about them. Leeta again. Damn. My tongue would come out her nose. I'm going to keep saying that because nothing else seems to get the point across as sharply. Tongue. Nose. Read it again. The metal is weakening. Little tidbits return every now and again. Like sitting at the House of Blues in Florida and having chicken. The two of us were quiet as we ate, and then Andrea would take her napkin and wipe the corner of my mouth with a smile. So cute. I was out of my mind for her, and those little things are the reason. Little tidbits and behaviors toward me which warmed my heart so much that I cannot adequately express the feelings. I still have it all inside, as if she is coming back. Maybe I never saw Jaime in southern California, wherever the fuck that was. Maybe I was dreaming of Andrea more than a year before meeting her on the plane. Damn it. I don't even know what I am anymore, but the rust is one certainty. Fuck me. Juliette saved my life, literally. I drove there with the intention of not returning. Some comfort, a call girl hanging on my arm, a few agreeable meals, drinks, atmosphere, and then blackness. Sliding down the outside of the pyramid. Possibly something else. I was not to drive back home. And to add insult to injury, when she left I felt better and worse at the same time. Lanie pushed. Hard. A student of psychology and I ran across her beautiful mind just hours after Juliette let the door close on our life together. Lanie pushed because she felt empathy naturally. The studies only reinforced what she already was. A genuine, caring soul the likes of which I will never encounter again. She did her best despite my constant vocalization toward ripping off her clothes and diving for all I was worth. And then I sat there at the table with both Lanie and Ashley. Oy God that was tough. I wanted both of them and did not even begin to realize what Lanie was attempting to do. She wanted to save me and send me home. Ashley did that a couple of days later, just as Ellie shoved me to the highway after being my confidant and lover for days. They all had the same intention. And look at me now. Was I fucking worth all of that? Maybe. I actually feel better about myself as a person than I have in years. Back when I ran to Vegas, my life was very organized and there was a future. I did not see it, however, and ran away to be in control of everything until ending it all. I just could not wrap my head around being a regular person, and no one of note. The film industry dream never materialized because I was afraid of losing my security. At that time, the transition likely would have been easier than later in life because I had support. Now? Nothing. Oh I can still dream of it, but two things have killed the possibility: One, I have thrown too much away to recover enough for doing something risky, and two, the industry has changed too much and ruined my view of it. That is not my fault, though. Only the past years were my doing. Everything tossed without due consideration of the consequences. Now my options are narrowed to the point of mere survival. No frosting, wonder, or hope of being happy. And I know I am a good person despite the damage. Back in twelve I had the opportunity to slide into something more comfortable than my previous career, and a position which had more rewards than I can count. Another government job. I applied, went to a half-assed interview and partial tour of the facility, and then was instructed to complete an extensive process for being hired. At the interview, a gentleman showed me around a bit and then left me to wait for his superior. I was nervous. He welcomed me into his office and spoke with the tone that I was already approved for hiring. Wow. A little while later I left the property so happy that I almost yelled out the car window. That was going to set me up nicely until I could retire. Wonderful, all around. Well, the previous year's damage reared its ugly head once again and left me unable to work there. The aforementioned process learned that my credit score had dropped sharply in recent months and their policy would not allow any leeway. I was fucked. Eight years later I still feel it. And just as I began to rise from the wreckage of the previous year, it slammed me back again in the worst possible way. That opportunity will not return, ever. I did it again... I ruined the future in a way unimaginable at the time. I see their faces now and want to cry. But at least I know how I arrived in this hellish position in life. I made decisions which slowly built a prison. Rusty bars. Rusty brain. Corroded future, at best. All those past entries are resounding right now: This is all I have, and I deserve it. Yes, I am a good person. I have tons of qualities, sensitivities, and much to offer, however none of that is going to matter if I am sitting here wallowing and rusting for the remainder of my life. Gone I keep thinking that as long as I have a warm place to sleep, plenty of booze and pizza, I will be able to move forward, even at a snail's pace. What a fucking joke. And I have to say WOW... The four issues are taking a far-back seat to my place in the world. Who could have predicted that shit? And now let's go further. This one is not my fault, though. I mentioned some time ago (I can't remember where, nor do I give a shit) the possibility of work that is not far from home and could be right up my alley. Well, I went through the motions and set things going by offering my resume and applying. The response was that the position may be changing and to hold fast. Well, the position indeed changed and disappeared. That is that. Not my fault, but that doesn't make it any easier. Just one more delightful possibility torn away like an appendage. I swear to Christ as I sit here with the remaining cold coffee, I will fucking give up and do absolutely nothing. The position change has nothing to do with my life, but I cannot help but think of the 'K' word in which others place stock. If such a term is true, there is no reason to do anything aside from sit here. Another slap. Another notch. More rust. This day has not been good. Oh, I finished almost all of my usual shit, but there are underlying problems which are nagging and trying to steal my attention span from one moment to the next. In the middle of dry cleaning some suits, I felt an overpowering need to get in the car and leave this place for all time. Such an idea has been mentioned here a few times lately, along with the fact that I am stuck... Powerless and without the resources to do almost anything I need. Again, that is the hand of Satan swinging around and hitting me in the back of the head with my past decisions. There may be no getting around it anymore. I sit here and try to reason my way through a given day, yet beneath the desire to go through the motions of maintaining the house, there is a visceral need to take control and run. But I have nothing. There are no helpful items in my possession any longer because years of reckless and damaging behavior have left me with nothing of value. Not even my own being. All those adventures required me to throw money in a dozen different directions and I didn't give a shit at the time. And I told everyone to go fuck themselves, so any advice was ignored. Well, here I am, the product of my own undoing. To be truthful, I have never felt the need to run more than at this very moment. Even in the midst of the pandemic, I would still go far away, consequences be damned. Sound familiar? The recent position changing and leaving me on the side of the road has hit me harder than I had first though possible. The sidestepping of me in twelve was bad and still resonates daily, but this one is fresh. I am bleeding and I have nowhere to turn. As I have stated a million fucking times since Jaime, nothing is out there. Nothing for me. Every need and want is impossible. Not. Even. Fucking. Close. This day has changed my thinking. A permanent change. A mid-afternoon cocktail helped a tiny bit. Another would be bad and likely result in the headphones, so I stopped until evening. Nineteen thousand lines since Jaime graced my vision. Where am I going? Poor Neil. He tried his best to snatch the woman to his left, but alas we had an invisible beam which disallowed any outsiders, especially those wishing to remove our clothing. Heh. Andrea was so stunning in every way that he just could not stop until she flattened him with words. That was funny and sad at the same time. Andrea was unlike anyone I had ever known, let alone being a woman so beautiful that even after all these years I still do not have enough words. The loss of that connection feels more acute now than it did when I threw myself at Ellie. I have never reached for a woman more than that fateful day after seeing her booties click out of the lobby. And I mean reached, in every sense of the word. I gave her all of me, and more. I gave her every single cell of my being and she accepted. Another loss, soon after. I guess her reaction at seeing me a short time later was not surprising. From one moment to the next I had no idea if I could go on living. That little girl saved me. The kitten. I still owe her everything. Why did I bring up Neil? Because he was helpless in trying to shoehorn himself (and his wife) into our world. The act was as futile as my trying to understand and accept all that I have needed for months. He had absolutely no chance, just as I am losing grip on whatever scraps of joy are left for me. I am still reaching, albeit with much less effort than even a day ago. The fucking rust is restricting my limited motion. I need the penetrating oil of life, and it does not exist. All my dreams boil down to a similar simplification. There is nothing, anywhere. Nothing. Grab a random essay and use the search function to see how many times that fucking word repeats. Go ahead. Impossible. The dry cleaning is almost complete. I took care of the floor and cat stuff, too. Even after a fat glass of whiskey, I moved my slovenly attitude to the back of the line and pushed forward with the chores. I know that I am not all bad, but the effort involved in getting these things done today is beyond comprehension. I know that one more drink will lead to the headphones, and then I will be out back with a head full of nothing good. The show is still on, too. It is also being broadcast during weekdays on the BBC, but I learned a little while back that some of the commercials leave me weakened and defeated on more than one level. And I am not referring to the female form. Months ago when I was still working, this type of mood would drive me to announce a pizza night, after which I would sit here and stuff my face while swilling the booze. Well, we have planned our meals pretty tightly since the outset of the pandemic just in case the shit hits the fan worse than in March when people were impulse buying everything in sight. We simply cannot run out of food, so we keep track of the stock and plan accordingly. I do not believe said shit will be flung again, but who knows? People are no smarter now than they were half a year ago. I cannot trust them. And that sentence deserves a 'heh', because I trust no one anymore. Too many haphazard assholes floating around. I must protect myself. This paragraph went off the rails. What did you say? Issue two showed up? That's right, it did. A commercial. And now there is even more in my head. I have to stop thinking about things so much. Partly my fault for dwelling. Hence the show now being watched via Netflix. Totally safe. I am regressing so quickly that I see the difference from just this morning when I began this crap entry. Who cares? You? I fucking doubt it. We shall see who asks of the destination when I swing this content away from the current domain. Then the interest will be apparent. Doubtful. I am very doubtful. In the works. Believe it. Sometimes I wonder if the crap in my head is shared by others, and then I realize that I have not the power to change anything for anyone. I have enough to worry about, so I must leave it alone. I feel compassion (although my compassion was recently stepped on with little regard for my effort), but cannot do anything about it. I have enough problems without solving those carried by others. Plus, they might be the assholes I mentioned above. I feel like I am failing right now, just like most of the days since being home. In the beginning I saw the opportunity to leave my job (which had been becoming more and more difficult as I age) and remain at home to get myself together and complete some things. Well, I have done very little. I am continuing a steady, downhill slide into that same reactor within which I had been cemented in eleven, only now there are many other things working on my head. The issues were not so pronounced for quite a while and now control much of my life, the resources were there just in case I needed a change and now are gone, and my daily realizations that I may never amount to anything more are all combining to cripple and paralyze me at any moment. Those four issues are in charge often enough for me to know that I cannot rise without the correct circumstances, and then that ugly fact that said conditions are impossible. Where does that leave me? Back to the little enjoyments? They are thinning. I don't know what to do other than spout here. All this useless diatribe has gone in circles and there is no switch for me to throw and change direction. I should be elsewhere, but as I have said too often, the means are gone. My ambition is heading in the same direction... Nowhere. Nice, huh? When the moment arrives that I realize that this space is too costly, well... Pen and paper, I suppose. And then that will run out. Holy Jesus fuck in a Goddamned sports bra, the woman on the television. Fuck me. Why did I have to see her? I am proud of what I have done these last several months to ensure the house is clean and organized, with all of the day-to-day tasks which I have embraced. This has not been easy on either of us, so I felt my place was to maintain home as much as possible. For the most part, it's been good. All of the little things I do enable us to relax in the evening and enjoy meals or whatever. The drives give my days a sense of structure, too. I am still driving. None of that today, and due to another closure because of risk, I will not need to drive until Friday. Today is Wednesday. After Friday, I will not be out there until two days later. That means all this extra time to do whatever I need. It also means a ton of time for thinking, and that is not always a good thing. Today, for example, has found me all over the place here and at the same time lamenting the loss of that fucking position down south. Not that I counted on it or felt I was a shoe-in, but I would have at least liked to see the place and possibly interview, if nothing else. Now it's gone. Like the government job which still feels like a knife in my stomach, this is another which got away. The only upside is the decision was far up the ladder and had nothing to do with me. Still, there is no chance, and I am left once again with zero options. I have threatened to flip the fuck out many times. Perhaps the right reasons are all apparent now. Back to the red. Rust, inside and out. I am frozen beyond belief. While I know that some of my limitations have been self-imposed, others are surely out of my hands. They were thrust upon me by people and societal standards, as well as reckless words in my direction with lasting effects. I will be touching upon one such occasion in the fiction, although considering the way I have felt since yesterday, I honestly don't give a fuck if it ever continues. Not that the story and recurring points hit too close to home, but due to the idea that I began those chapters as an extension to the worst shit I have ever shared. Yep, the train. I have since removed those sections because I became fearful of possible reactions, but still... The story was up there for over a year and God only knows who read it. I always say I have total control over this space and endeavor, but the truth is that once published, words can go around the world without my knowledge. That story may have been available for a very long time, but I keep thinking that readership is low, so the risk is minimal, provided I leave it offline for the duration. Some of the best, most involved, and emotional storytelling I have ever attempted, but also the most damaging and worrisome. The other long-term fiction may head in the same direction if my worry takes over the desire to be creative. I don't have it in me to make something out of nowhere. I can only work on what relates to my life. So, that began in the desert and ran like hell. It felt natural and I saw myself in those situations as they developed. Out of thin air, and then deep in my heart. I just do not know if I can do it anymore. My feet are feeling the rust. I may soon be immobile. Rust. Red. Flaking, too. Oxygen breathes life, but also destroys it. Gone Back when I was a fictional half Japanese, half Hawaiian woman on the Internet (don't ask further... Long story), I had three sisters. The middle sis was a little younger than me and fucking super cute. I dreamed her up on the heels of seeing images of Ju back then. I was enamored with her appearance and facial expressions. As a model, she was all over the place in Korea at the time. Ramie, the woman in question, was modeled after Ju and stunning. She was not real, yet I lusted after her constantly and was pretty vocal about it. The youngest was Kana, modeled after the cocktail server I gushed about in the Venetian ten years ago. Holy Jesus crap in a shot glass, that girl was unreal. Kana came back into my head because I was reminded of her when I lusted after the fucking sushi girl. I can no longer see either of their faces -- one being a decade back, and the other several years -- but I know the feelings which developed for each of them... Very similar and immediate. No delay, no eyes, no nothing. I was taken aback in seconds and the desire peaked instantly. I know not why it happened with them and damned few others, but however it did, I felt strongly. Not since the car dealership in the early nineties did the desire knock me off my feet as quickly. Anyway, those times in which I became struck right away are very damaging. Rare, but still pretty fucking bad. The very thought of wishing to jump them after a glance is dangerous and sends me into odd directions, some of which have resulted in feelings of self-loathing after the fact. Everything points to weakness of mind. That is not good, ever. I won't mention the oldest, nor her genesis in the real world. Ashley drew me like a gun, right away. It may have been her playfulness, appearance, or the attitude and confidence on her face when we met, but whatever it was, the need was powerful beyond belief. All I could do was sit there and try to make nice with Lanie while my head descended into Ashley's underwear. The conversation was difficult upon seeing the tall blonde approaching from the casino floor. Ashley may have been the strongest physical desire I have ever felt. The Raven was up there as well, but at the time I do recall becoming unable to fully function in that social setting when she walked to me. The Raven drove me up the wall, but differently. Ashley's pull was unlike anything I had experienced. Her look was unreal. I could not believe she accepted dinner with me, and then after walking away I was immediately picturing her ass on my face for the remainder of the trip. Now, the reason I bring up these women and their quick pull upon my senses is because just a few hours after being unable to veer from the thought of tasting Ashley, her eyes and heart pulled at me even more. The physical feelings melted instantly as I fell down emotionally over my problems and the loss of Juliette. And how did she respond? As if her brain was reading mine from next to me, without a word. She grabbed hold and held on for dear life. She knew nothing about me at that point. Nothing! My face was a mess of emotion and she picked it up as if her destiny was to rescue me from death. Her loving manner and expressive eyes took me off my feet in seconds, and I knew we could lay there and understand without a syllable. And then it happened. Was I controlling her? Nope, not at all. We had been in each other's company for barely an hour when she grabbed me and stroked my cheek. No control, just empathy from out of nowhere. I may have loved her within minutes. A real woman, too. A dream of sorts, but real nonetheless. At the bar with her huge, playful eyes looking at me all I felt was the need to ravage her as if I had been in the desert for years. A little while later and she was holding me up like a champion. What a fucking woman, and twenty-one years old. The fuck? My entire life may boil down to her embrace, and soon. These last several days I have seen few who stirred me -- most notably the one in the city just two days ago -- and none of them lasted more than an hour before fading. I am beginning to realize that those days spent with Ashley may have been the most striking of all the trips to the goblet and beyond. Rachel was nearly the same age, and radically different. Of course, I met her adorable self many years after Ashley, but the gradient could not be more defined. Rachel was sweet but seemed like a helpless fucking baby much of the time, whereas Ashley had the wisdom of a fucking Trill, with many lifetimes behind her current self. That may sound odd, but keep in mind I watch a lot of Star Trek and the correlation is valid. Ashley just floored me in so many ways that I cannot help but think of her as my savior. She literally delivered me from the hell of myself and put me on the road home. Yes, after that I was still all fucked up, but I did not kill myself, and that is saying about as much as it can. Serious, that idea. And I was right there before leaving work to dash off to Vegas, and then again after the door closed with my loving Juliette on the other side, never to be seen again. Lanie was there, but Ashley was the key that unlocked enough of me to force a change. And here I sit, in part thanks to that living fucking doll that I will never forget. I still love her. Say what you will, but her memory is one of the most important parts of me. Like the phase lock girl the better part of a decade earlier, there was a fusion I cannot deny. A feeling which ran deeper than I can ever describe. Ashley, God love her, saved my life in seconds. I do love her. Still. Whatever takes place in the world and however long I last within it, she occupies a section of my soul which will never be denied. I fucking love her and thank the lucky stars for each second we shared. That doll made me forget the rust. From exactly seventeen years ago to this very second, she is still an influence. Fuck the rust. She would not want that. I have to keep going right now, but the doll is going to make it difficult. My one wish? Back in her loving arms. I swear to Christ fresh off the cross, if she were to appear I would make it my life's work to show her what she means to me. Ok, sorry about the gushing. I love her. I still do. Onward. The sushi girl pulled me in with her personality at work. She was adorable, and fully in charge of the mood at the table that night. I felt the desire, but at the same time I could not help but respect her work. She was amazing at reading the patrons and making the experience enjoyable for all. We had tons of fun that night, and her attitude toward my remarks was the beginning. Completely at her mercy after just a few minutes. I loved it. The desire was upon seeing more than I should have at the time, but I gazed anyway. All of her. And therein lies the problem. I did not know her and should not have been picturing her labia all over my face. I did it, am not proud of my dramatically deviant feelings in such a direction, but such is me after the decades I have lived. Not proud of it at all, but the one positive is that she did not know. No one did, although the others may have noticed my brightening every time she visited our table. The sushi girl was spared my lethal words and that is excellent. Now, to go one step further, at the time I did think of my fictional younger sister and pictured all manner of positions with someone who never existed. My thinking now is that the very idea of her -- having been created out of thin air for my own purposes -- was the beginning of dreams about all things artificial. And no, I did not think in these terms as related to the sushi girl until today. I was nuts about the Cherry 2000 so long ago, and had a bit of a thing for Gemma three decades later, but honestly the manufacturing of a woman who became a composite of those I had known or seen is another level from the sushi girl. Ramie was fictional, gorgeous, and I made her out of my own imagination. Do you see how I arrived at this? Huge problem now. Huge. Fucking. Problem. My head is awash with Ashley's influence upon my life and the idea that I am so far gone that two Japanese women were combined to create a dream... An idea... And one which is hurting me. I might have to change the title of this after the fact. Fuck the rust, anyway. Ashley fixed it like she fixed me. Refraining from absolutely over-the-top gushing over that doll is going to be a tall fucking order. All the shit I have spouted since Jaime seems to be related to an infinite number of other events from the past. The sight of Kana in the Venetian casino should have been a clue, however. I was just a day away from being married. That right there is a fucking red flag from hell. What was I doing? Thinking? Did I head to Vegas in hopes of something different? Just a trip to my favorite and most beloved destination that held all manner of trouble from years earlier? I don't fucking know anymore, but I do know that I saw her there and it was not enough. I had to fucking ask of her ethnicity and then became floored by the answer. That was a time when the Asian thingy was at its peak. What kind of person does that make me? Getting married a day away and I was looking at her as if I needed her on a plate with soy sauce. Jesus holy hell in a ramekin, batman. Did I really do that? I still remember seeing her there in her Roman dress with legs and the rest as if it was yesterday. Fuck me. The Asian thing gave way to the darkness years later, but I believe the damage is the same. What kind of person had I become? Well, I guess it doesn't matter now because I fucked up the whole thing shortly thereafter. The situation reminds me of my first wedding way back a million years ago (eighties, heh) and the days leading up to that cheap-ass ceremony in a chapel. Nothing bad, though... Just the woman who stood there next to my soon-to-be-wife. Gorgeous. And revealing this now doesn't matter. That time is more than a world away and everyone knows it. Plus, this space is so fucking unknown that it's not even funny. Traci was her name, just like my cousin in Florida. Dark hair, exotic looking, slender, tall, the whole shitaree. I met her quite a number of months earlier and wanted to dive up her shirt almost immediately. Eventually, I did. Yep, two days before the wedding up in the mountains. Was it worth it? None of that matters now. The point is that twenty-two years before I looked at Kana like she was dessert, my brain operated in a similar manner. Indeed, the two names on my forearms relate as well, but that is for another time. Laugh it up. Kana dredged up all kinds of shit. I even saw her for a second time later during the same day. We had been wandering around the Venetian and Palazzo and ended up in a small shopping area so the kids could stick close without casino issues. Upon stepping off the carpet of the gaming area and into the massive hallway, I spied a watch store. Being the wristwatch junkie I am, a peek was in order. Myself and my partner's nephew strolled into the lavish store, after which he quickly lost interest and headed back out to the family. I, on the other hand, remained inside with wide eyes. One model caught my eye and the salesman allowed me to handle the timepiece, during which I saw that it was priced just shy of a quarter million. Check, please! Oy God I got out of there and turned back toward the carpeted area, and there she was, all legs and cleavage. I swear to Christ I would have gone after her if the time and space had been available. Yes, that's right... I would have slathered her with me. What a wreck, even then. Out of control, the Asian thing flaring like never before, and a picturesque example of pure Japanese beauty right across the room. Fuck me. On the upside, the sight also intimidated me, meaning I moved the hell away and to a place where I could no longer see her. Eventually she faded completely. The lasting effects are apparent, however. All the connections, sightings which drove me insane (like the lovely Kana and God-knows how many others), and relationships I have drawn here in this writing cannot be denied. Whatever happened, the situation in my head is here to stay. Two entries back I mentioned that I can no longer trust the words coming out of someone's mouth. Hmm. Such a statement is pretty tough for some to swallow and I don't give a fuck. Live with it. Every single person out there feels that due to some past events, trials, or some such other shit between themselves and others -- like a personal connection, perhaps -- they should be exempt from being lumped in with the mass. Well, nope. There is no difference. Nothing. Each fucking person is in the same category and I don't care how anyone may feel toward that type of statement. In fact, if you can sit there and tell me exactly why I am to trust a person's word, go for it. See where that gets you. One-sided? Yep. Unbalanced? Yep. Unfair? Definitely. But understand something... I have already been mostly destroyed inside and left to suffer for my remaining days by the words and actions of those very same fucking people. I am ruined, forever. Now tell me to trust someone else. Shut up. I miss Ashley and I do not normally spend so much time considering it. Just fleeting glimpses here and there. This is way different from the manner in which I typically think of her, too. I have had many days in which her body was in my head for hours at a time, including the way she looked approaching the fucking bar the first time. Dreaming of having her all to myself without limit seems natural. Now? Her eyes and heart. That is all. She moved me tremendously back then and still does. What a human being. I need to stop writing about her or I'll drive myself nuts. But she took the rust out of the entry. I love her. Did I mention that? Heh. Gone Thursday now. The site is all fucked up due to the attempt to move it to one of the other domains. I have partial content live at this moment and need to await the clearing of some errors on the other end before going further. I do not wish to restore everything to the way it was, either. The change has been in mind for many months, pretty much since Jaime wrapped herself around my heart, but I was not motivated enough to actually do it. Between the nineteen thousand lines of gushing about everything inside and the possibility of glancing some hurtful memories via the fiction, my thinking is now at an all-time high. So many things, from the woman in the theatre (twenty-two years back, by the way) to seeing half of Jaime's face to the fucking unending threatening nature of society coupled with my mountain of fears, I have enough in my brain for a lifetime of study. Trying to think logically and work on the technical aspects of moving the content is not easy right now. Hmm... Maybe I just talked myself into leaving everything as it was. I don't fucking know. I keep hearing those words from the theatre and the catalyst just days ago which spun me into a frothy cup of insecurity, and feel void of hope. Damn it, anyway. Something has to change or I will withdraw even further. I am generally pretty wordsmithy, but right now there is not much going on inside my head other than concern. I mentioned Thursday. I don't have much to do today, so like yesterday the intention is to sit here quite a bit and spill my shit all over the screen. I am having trouble with more than one issue. Two and four, with the latter being lesser. Two. How did I turn out like this? Was it the woman in the theatre? Those outings with the Brunette and the sometimes-crass nature of her wording? That scared the shit out of me more than once and I cannot simply forget. Yes, that was her personality and I knew it early on, but all these years later none of it should be affecting me like this. She was a wonderful person. I loved her (still do, a little... It runs deep) and respected who she was. We were similar in one way -- a way which harmed our relationship -- and very different in another. At first I felt more open-minded, but later became so wrapped around her for security that I drove her away. I turned into a mess in a very short period of time. She reacted accordingly and eventually we were done. The very idea that her personality was threatening to me had absolutely nothing to do with her. That was all me, and I still wish I could apologize. She was strong, I was weak. Those words in the quiet theater more than a decade earlier kept echoing in my head every time we stepped off the train in the city to wander and exercise our cameras. Thankfully, whenever we were out and about I was able to suck down some alcohol and relax. Without the booze, I likely would have imploded even worse than I already did, but we've gone over that. I am simply trying to learn if she was a factor in my massive second issue or if I was indeed the entire genesis. I still don't know, but I have to keep trying. The woman in the theatre is still there, although I don't understand how that incident could rail me for decades. I thought at one point that I was stronger than that. Perhaps not. I still feel terrible over the way I treated and spoke to her toward the end. It may never go away. That fucking commercial just rolled by and now I am a ball of desire. Damn it. Thanks, BBC. Eh... Not their fault I am so weak. I am feeling reckless. As I said earlier, the means to do what I wish just is not there. Gone, like everything else in my life which had value. I have tossed too much to the four winds to recover in a reasonable amount of time. There is another aspect of that, too, and from the last couple of years, but I refuse to lay it out here. Honestly, everything I've done for many years has been out of a need to escape one way or another. Be it holing up in the old office, running to the other side of the hill to sit at a bar alone, or flying the coop completely and leaving everything behind, each step has been toward one of them. I sit here now as a product of the worst fucking decision-making processes imaginable. Stuck. Just me and my dreams. Keyboard. Pizza. Television. Booze. One hundred percent unfulfilling and I am the sole reason. All those memories have exploded in my head recently and I don't see a way to be content in the short term. And by the time I can fully recover myself and financial situation enough to run away, I'll be too fucking old for anything to be joyful. Just another aged fucking mess walking the casino without hope. Nice, huh? Maybe what I wrote ten years ago is true. Maybe I have nothing ahead for which to hope. Reckless no longer matters. See? Tell me what to do. Now what? Ashley is still in mind, and not her ass. Her beautiful soul. Help me. I really do not see a way to alleviate two. It just keeps coming back, sometimes when I least expect it. What irritates me is when that issue flares while I am alone. I don't understand what could have taken place to drive it deep enough to slam me when I am nowhere near a woman. Was it indeed the theatre? No answer. Was it the Brunette being so vocal? I never placed blame on her because not only did I love her, but she was a person and my issues are not her doing. The situations we were in may have had a hand in how I feel now, but still... Not her fucking fault. Everything is inside me and I cannot figure out why it's so dramatic and stirring. Something had to have taken place many years ago. All I can do is try, I suppose. I have nothing else right now. Issue one is so diminutive in comparison that I am not worried. Four is a problem, relates directly to two, but it often boils down to a choice and measure of control. Heh, that word again. I need a fucking machine to save my life, and I would love it if that machine was Ashley. God love her. Insecurity is a terrible thing, but it had to begin somewhere, damn it. Compelling? Like you would not believe. The house is completely closed up yet I smell the smoke from outside. I think the shitty door seals are to blame, but I'm not certain. The fire is still more than twenty-five miles to the south and slowly being contained by those blessed heroes, but the preponderance of haze outside is bad this morning. I can't even see the closest hills out the window right now. It's bad, but nothing compared to what is going on at the front lines. God help those who have been displaced or hurt, and those fighting this disaster. All the respect in the world. All of it. And you had better feel the same. Otherwise, go fuck yourself. After a bit of haphazard activity, I am alone in the quiet with my show on the television. I need the peaceful atmosphere of this place much of the time to keep my head upright. Considering how issue two is taking up the lion's share of my thinking these days, any hours alone and in the comfort of my cocoon are more necessary than ever. I can't help but think that more time for trying to learn of why I am the way I am is helpful, although thus far nothing seems to have been accomplished other than worry. I just don't know what the fuck I am supposed to be focusing upon, and thinking of those occasions that cut me feels hurtful rather than helpful. I am still going, though. Still sitting here. Isn't that what I should be doing? Do you know the answer? Something just came to mind, good or bad. I am hesitant, but it may be necessary. All of these entries since Jaime are full of questions, yet still the days roll by with my inbox fucking void of anything. Do I keep asking? Anyone? Anyone? 'This is Lawrence, Kansas. Is anyone out there? Anyone at all?' Look it up. This asshole had better stop calling Commander Sisko 'boy'. It will not end well for him. Heh. Society has had a hand in the way I feel and my view of everything related to attractiveness, confidence, and masculinity, so why not the realization that some of it is beyond my control? My insides are twisted and I keep thinking I did not do this, but part of it must be me. I think too much, really. I have always overanalyzed everything and been hyper-critical of others, and that means the same applies to me. Society is something which cannot be pushed. It does the pushing. The faults of society have been developed throughout eons of life here. Male, female, man, woman, roles, identity... Everything. Sex? Don't get me started. I know people will fall into routines and follow the lead of the chief sheep, and such a fact keeps everything in perspective at times. Although I am down and full of problems, I am not a sheep. I push against the standard until exhausted, and then push a bit more. I will not veer from such a position no matter how long I live. The issue with this thinking is that I am almost completely alone. Other males will never know what is in my head, however. None of it. And don't give me a blast of shit over being closed off or not realizing that I may not be alone in my lack of confidence. I have not the time nor inclination to help others. This shit takes up all of me, honestly. I care and have helped as much as I can, but there is only so much within and I have to look out for number one before others. The male ego, societal standards and accepted roles, all of it. I know because I have studied since fucking high school. That time is long gone but likely resonates inside others as it does in me. But again... I have to save myself. Every single fucking male out there, seen or otherwise. Believe it. A constant, and something which may destroy me very soon. I am told every single thing which should help, but alas... Nope. At least I shrugged off the rust. Thank you Ashley. Maybe I still need her. I basically grew up being within the fold of the gaming culture, even while too young to understand what I had been exposed to and seeing several times per year. Vegas, Reno, and the clincher... SLT. I was there often enough to know that the adults were drawn to those places. All I wished to do was experience the big, lavish dinners, scenery, and the arcades. I spent much time in those places. The fateful weekend with my grandfather during which I frequented the arcade off the lobby and was approached and subsequently frightened by a prostitute just inside the doors is still in memory. I believe I went over that incident here some time ago. Ah, yes... I did, in 'Sex and Suicide'. I still remember her and the connection I soon made between Nevada and the vision of a working woman. At the time I had no idea, but said work is legal there. Those examples of often-desperate and generally very attractive, available women are tattooed on my brain. As a young person, the options for entertainment were very narrow at the time. Not until Vegas began to embrace a more family-friendly atmosphere in the mid-nineties did the availability of underage options open wide to the world. For adults? Everything imaginable and then some. As I aged, the image of those resorts began to appear as a wonderland for whatever a person sought. Anything, as long as the money was flowing. Even the last few trips to the high country during the past several years brought me the same wonder as in the past. No sooner did I check in and clean up when the overwhelming need to drown into sex, alcohol and colored lighting began to take over and push me to think more freely than I did at home. And I still fucking feel that way. I am certain that being exposed to so much dramatic skin on display, the imagery on the machines, shows, and tons of bars everywhere has influenced the way I see society. On top of that? The roles of both sexes, along with everything that comes along with the idea of many differences. I sit here now likely a product of that upbringing and all aspects of such a sex-infused machine designed to separate a person from their money. I understand it, and though I did years before, still I drowned myself. Whatever damage came along as a result was known long before ever putting the key in the ignition or stepping aboard an airliner. I knew it all and dove anyway. Illusion, as I have so often mentioned, was everything. Perhaps that illusion is the only way I can survive. Gone Think of Jasmine and what she provided to my damaged self so many years ago. Basically, everything I wished or needed. Every fucking detail of her actions was tailored to my desires, be it silence while enjoying cocktails in an agreeable location or her posing like a doll in any manner I requested. Anything, because that was her job. And that woman was not cheap as an escort. I paid a high price for her company and enjoyed every fucking second. Sound like anything else I've mentioned here since Jaime? A machine, perhaps? That's right kids, the word comes to town again... Control. That was the operative term while I was with Jasmine, and the idea of her grew from my younger years of being folded into the Nevada gaming culture like a chocolate chip into cookie dough. Hmm... Could that be a large part of my reasoning toward a machine dream? You're damned right. I don't see any way it could represent anything else. Another little beam of light on the origin of my needs. A step. Damaging, nearly as impossible as the reality of a machine, but still a step. Jasmine was an amazing person. This is beginning to boil itself down like the fucking au jus I ruined so many Christmases ago. Prime rib came out wonderful, and good thing, too. My foray into making a wine-based sauce went to hell in a handbasket. Just like my head right now, it was reduced far too much. The lines are forming a triangle and pointing to not having a point. Heh. Get it? I mean, there may be no end to me trying to figure this out, and even if I do there is no resolution possible due to my ongoing absolute statements about the rigid facts. Machinery which does not and cannot exist. So why do I keep going? Good fucking question, but honestly you may see that I am trying to figure out how I arrived in this place all my own. No one would understand the idea of not accepting reality, but I am not just like the others that I have known. All those damned years in that atmosphere have contributed to my belief that with enough resources, a person can be or have whatever makes them satisfied. Fulfillment is supposed to come from within. Yeah, okay. For me? There is more to it and no answers. Clues, yes, but nothing concrete. And here I sit. Reduced. I am a whiskey reduction, and I wish that was funny. Control. All those flesh and blood women with beautiful souls and huge hearts have jaded me in the extreme. I am so fucking biased about beauty at this point that only a machine could live up to the insane visions in my head. Oh sure, Andrea was likely the most beautifully shaped and aligned woman ever to stand before me, and she was real. That means others exist, too, right? Somewhere? I cannot count on such a fact. Not likely. I refuse to search more because it is nearly impossible. Whatever may be out there in the world will not be seen by yours truly. Andrea was unique and our time together was a fleeting chance in the grand scheme of the world. We connected out of desperation and ran away together for weeks. Thinking of her now is pain, nothing more. Better to have...? Nope. Now I am void of everything. There is but one way to where I need to be, and it does not exist. That is that. I will still search for answers, however, because my time with the analysis is unlimited, or so it would seem. I have stated before that everything is related. You can probably connect the machine with threat easily. There would be no such thing. No worry, no fear. She would have no feelings whatsoever unless programmed as such. And yes, I am going over the same things for the tenth time. Suck it, I don't care. I need to type the words. All of the issues would be so far back that they would be much less likely to affect my sensibilities. Even if only two of them went away I could be content. Two and four. Yep, four would no longer be necessary because of having complete control over her actions. I realize how this must sound, but again... My fucking site, my fucking keyboard, and my fucking dream. Don't say it, please. I know full well what I am. Sitting here right now in the middle of the afternoon helps me to realize just how much I have shoved aside in order to be comfortable. Media. The news is only on to get updates on the fires and I generally stick to the same channel. I see Allie and Sara once in a while and both drive me nuts. Mostly Allie's big eyes. They are not a big problem now, however, because I am used to it. The commercials still spin me, but again... Not a big deal. I have completely cut myself off from anything new, and other than the occasional movie in the background while writing, I pretty much watch shows with which I am already familiar. They are safe. No worries. Others continue to move onward and upward to whatever comes along which seems interesting or different. I can no longer point myself in such a direction. I am afraid of what I may see or hear, and in the case of the premium channels, the damage may be extensive. So, the same dozen or so programs rotate on the screen depending upon my mood. I do feel limited, though, but not enough to branch out and be harmed by others' reckless use of whatever will shock people. I've had enough of it. Call me what you will, but after all this time realizing those parts of life which can scar, I made the choice to stay away. That goes for other people, as well. Some whom I have known will no longer be standing before me, no matter the circumstances. Only a select few. I am very different than months ago. I put myself in the position of having control over the environment and sunk in deep enough to know that I cannot leave. You may have noticed that the entries since Jaime are much longer on average than the past. Such is the result of me being in front of this machine and filled with more concern than ever in my life. The show, the routine, and the comfort of being holed up here are just too much now. I have done this in the interest of saving my own life. That is not a joke. Ugh. Too much. This is just too fucking much anymore. I don't know what to do. Ashley helped, though. Dreaming of her staring at me with big, compassionate eyes was the catalyst for removing the rust from this entry before it became uncontrollable. Bless her heart. I really do love her to this day and I hope she remembers me. Tune in next time for another slew of the same shit." This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
09-04-2020 06:32 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Rust read ( words) "God damn it, there is Leeta again. I could eat her underwear. Everything is red from the rust I have allowed to form all over my life. Stale. Wasted time, money, connections, everything. Wasted. Thrown to the four corners of the earth with nary a look back. Thrown, just as I threw myself in whatever direction felt comfortable. I threw my resources at all of them in hopes of being held. And they did. They all held me, from the lovely Juliette all the way to Natalie, who let me in all the way and told me everything would be ok. I believed her because my value has been derived through the words of all those women who held me. Now? Corroded beyond repair. The rust will form no matter what alloy is in question. Everything will rust given time, even the purest aluminum. Stainless is not fully stainless. There is still iron in there somewhere, and the attack is inevitable. Like the inside of me after all these years of damaging behavior, the rust is taking over and I cannot simply drive to the Handyman of the past and stare at the lamps. That used to help me look at the world as if there were tons of things to discover. The only thing I eventually discovered is the idea that I have little value anymore. I am a good person and have qualities others can only hope for, but I have thrown so much to the wind that I can no longer move forward. The rust is taking all abilities and possibilities away. Freezing them. Immobile. Nothing. As of this morning, when I look to the television and see those pretty faces, the only thinking is that they do not know me at all and are better off. There was rust on our garbage cans in the early eighties. I remember worrying that the bottom would fall out when the garbage men came to empty them on Wednesday mornings. The dog used to flip his lid upon hearing the trucks, and then I would think... 'Is this the day that I have to sweep up the garbage?'. The rust never stops. Remove it correctly and protect the remaining metal. That is the only way to slow the process. Turn away too long and it comes back, sure as hell. There is nothing anyone can do. Eventually we will all be rust. Oxidize this, assholes. Aurora. Do you see? Do you remember how many times I wrote about that fucking place? It is still there, as of last year. The goddess and I sat toward the edge of the lounge where it juts way the fuck out toward the fringe of the lobby and realized the music was too much. We then moved to the corner of the bar after a goofy-looking couple vacated their stools. And we sat for a very long time, enjoying each other, the lights and drama of the bar's appearance, and some banter with others. Aurora is a place I thought I could not visit again until the kitten forced me to find distraction. She helped me to realize that the lounge was indeed void of ghosts, and then years later the goddess helped to cement that fact. Now? I feel all of it again, from leaving home God-knows how many times and running there, to all of the kind souls who touched my life while sitting and drinking my days away. Even Nikki tried to be nice. In her line of work? Necessary, yet not always desired. The world's oldest profession means just that... Work. A job. However others may feel about it, that type of thing is here to stay. Aurora was full of those types on the weekends. The lounge is huge, too. Plenty of room to be private or otherwise. Ashley sat there next to me with knees together and looking like a lanky fucking dream. Andrea hanging all over me. Juliette's lips on the back of my neck before dinner. And then Ellie trying to save my fucking life. All right there in the center of the Goddamned universe. I still love all of them. Nothing aside from pain now, though. I do not feel that I have kept my word at all. I am a wreck now, and worse than I have been since losing the fucking Raven, bless her soul. Bad. Rusted. Immobile. Frozen, yet white hot like burning magnesium. I cannot move because I have placed myself here with all conviction and thinking that if I was comfortable everything would be fine. A little pizza here and there, some housework, and maybe a drink from time to time. Fuck me, Leeta again. I need to cram an entire breast into my mouth. Anyway, I am rusting from the inside out. That is unusual, too. The oxygen generally causes the corrosion from the outside. My rust is made up of the memories of being higher than I could have imagined and the knowledge that I will never be there again. Argue the point. Go ahead. Tell me what I can do. Try it and see where it gets you. I keep thinking of what's-her-name from the Island in the Mandalay Bay. She was gorgeous, tall, slender, and with enough of a chest to cast a shadow below. Not atypical of a server in such an atmosphere. She was really nice. We conversed on many an occasion when I was there alone, and I kept thinking that the more I looked at her breasts, the further into hell I would fall when the world ended. So I stopped. And then her eyes. Heels, walking all day long, and plenty of men at the tables making comments when she bent down to serve drinks. 'Hey honey, are you gonna show us your t---?'. I heard it more than once. She was used to it and quite strong having worked in the industry for a very long time. when she returned to the service bar, I sensed what took place and remained silent. The girl didn't need another guy in her ear, no matter the words. She looked tired, yet kept herself up with impeccable posture most of the time. In the beginning I wanted to jump her. Days later I respected her and wanted to hold her. And by the time I left the goblet? I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I really felt for her. Such a job is not easy (as I am certain many people are already aware), and I could see the toll on her face. Years earlier I loved going into the big casinos due to the smell of money and sex. Well, a few days of talking with her and I wanted to comfort those eyes. I now believe all those fucking trips are a good portion of the reason I am this way. By running away and into the arms of whomever was available and willing to spend time with me, I was slowly removing options from my future. I sit here now a wrecked human being. The illusion became reality for a time and I exhausted every scrap of resources in search of the same. It is all gone now. The early trips with Jasmine, Juliette, and Ashley notwithstanding, I blew through tens of thousands of dollars which were my future security. I spent it quickly and with nary a thought toward possible consequences. And the toll on my head and heart is infinitely worse. It is nearly beyond comprehension. I have nothing, and it hurts. I willingly and happily did it all. After almost four days with Jasmine, I thought that was a lot of money. Little did I know that there would be more spending later which made her visit seem like buying a stick of gum. Wow, a cute Cardassian. Who could have thought? Ashley pushed me out of Vegas. Ellie forced me out of Vegas. Had it not been for them, I would not be sitting here right now. The doll first, and then the kitten eight years later. Both helped me to believe that I could continue in life. They convinced me to try... I was unique and worth each word... I had to carry forward or the world would be less without me. They succeeded, for a time. Looking at that period right now? I almost cannot deal with what is left. I see the image of Aurora up there and I STILL need to sit there. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I still believe that Kelly will waddle over and sit with me, eyes wide? Her gentle kindness was just what I needed at the time, and that with Ellie meeting me later in the evening. But I secured a meeting with Kelly anyway. I knew Ellie understood me. Did she? Doesn't matter. I was close enough to Kelly's eyes to know that she was happy to be near me. Dani, too. Nikki, too, but she was working. That lounge is both captivating and haunting. Last year's visit helped me to believe that the memories would not destroy me. I didn't break down because the goddess helped. I made it just fine. We had fun, and one of the best nights in memory. Dinner, cocktails, strolling... The night was wonderful. Right behind me at each step was a group of women which is gone and will remain as such. I dream of them, see their faces, feel the arms around me as the sex flies away, and I miss each. Every fucking day a bit more rust takes over my brainpower and leaves small details corroded. Thank fucking Christ I wrote about them. Leeta again. Damn. My tongue would come out her nose. I'm going to keep saying that because nothing else seems to get the point across as sharply. Tongue. Nose. Read it again. The metal is weakening. Little tidbits return every now and again. Like sitting at the House of Blues in Florida and having chicken. The two of us were quiet as we ate, and then Andrea would take her napkin and wipe the corner of my mouth with a smile. So cute. I was out of my mind for her, and those little things are the reason. Little tidbits and behaviors toward me which warmed my heart so much that I cannot adequately express the feelings. I still have it all inside, as if she is coming back. Maybe I never saw Jaime in southern California, wherever the fuck that was. Maybe I was dreaming of Andrea more than a year before meeting her on the plane. Damn it. I don't even know what I am anymore, but the rust is one certainty. Fuck me. Juliette saved my life, literally. I drove there with the intention of not returning. Some comfort, a call girl hanging on my arm, a few agreeable meals, drinks, atmosphere, and then blackness. Sliding down the outside of the pyramid. Possibly something else. I was not to drive back home. And to add insult to injury, when she left I felt better and worse at the same time. Lanie pushed. Hard. A student of psychology and I ran across her beautiful mind just hours after Juliette let the door close on our life together. Lanie pushed because she felt empathy naturally. The studies only reinforced what she already was. A genuine, caring soul the likes of which I will never encounter again. She did her best despite my constant vocalization toward ripping off her clothes and diving for all I was worth. And then I sat there at the table with both Lanie and Ashley. Oy God that was tough. I wanted both of them and did not even begin to realize what Lanie was attempting to do. She wanted to save me and send me home. Ashley did that a couple of days later, just as Ellie shoved me to the highway after being my confidant and lover for days. They all had the same intention. And look at me now. Was I fucking worth all of that? Maybe. I actually feel better about myself as a person than I have in years. Back when I ran to Vegas, my life was very organized and there was a future. I did not see it, however, and ran away to be in control of everything until ending it all. I just could not wrap my head around being a regular person, and no one of note. The film industry dream never materialized because I was afraid of losing my security. At that time, the transition likely would have been easier than later in life because I had support. Now? Nothing. Oh I can still dream of it, but two things have killed the possibility: One, I have thrown too much away to recover enough for doing something risky, and two, the industry has changed too much and ruined my view of it. That is not my fault, though. Only the past years were my doing. Everything tossed without due consideration of the consequences. Now my options are narrowed to the point of mere survival. No frosting, wonder, or hope of being happy. And I know I am a good person despite the damage. Back in twelve I had the opportunity to slide into something more comfortable than my previous career, and a position which had more rewards than I can count. Another government job. I applied, went to a half-assed interview and partial tour of the facility, and then was instructed to complete an extensive process for being hired. At the interview, a gentleman showed me around a bit and then left me to wait for his superior. I was nervous. He welcomed me into his office and spoke with the tone that I was already approved for hiring. Wow. A little while later I left the property so happy that I almost yelled out the car window. That was going to set me up nicely until I could retire. Wonderful, all around. Well, the previous year's damage reared its ugly head once again and left me unable to work there. The aforementioned process learned that my credit score had dropped sharply in recent months and their policy would not allow any leeway. I was fucked. Eight years later I still feel it. And just as I began to rise from the wreckage of the previous year, it slammed me back again in the worst possible way. That opportunity will not return, ever. I did it again... I ruined the future in a way unimaginable at the time. I see their faces now and want to cry. But at least I know how I arrived in this hellish position in life. I made decisions which slowly built a prison. Rusty bars. Rusty brain. Corroded future, at best. All those past entries are resounding right now: This is all I have, and I deserve it. Yes, I am a good person. I have tons of qualities, sensitivities, and much to offer, however none of that is going to matter if I am sitting here wallowing and rusting for the remainder of my life. Gone I keep thinking that as long as I have a warm place to sleep, plenty of booze and pizza, I will be able to move forward, even at a snail's pace. What a fucking joke. And I have to say WOW... The four issues are taking a far-back seat to my place in the world. Who could have predicted that shit? And now let's go further. This one is not my fault, though. I mentioned some time ago (I can't remember where, nor do I give a shit) the possibility of work that is not far from home and could be right up my alley. Well, I went through the motions and set things going by offering my resume and applying. The response was that the position may be changing and to hold fast. Well, the position indeed changed and disappeared. That is that. Not my fault, but that doesn't make it any easier. Just one more delightful possibility torn away like an appendage. I swear to Christ as I sit here with the remaining cold coffee, I will fucking give up and do absolutely nothing. The position change has nothing to do with my life, but I cannot help but think of the 'K' word in which others place stock. If such a term is true, there is no reason to do anything aside from sit here. Another slap. Another notch. More rust. This day has not been good. Oh, I finished almost all of my usual shit, but there are underlying problems which are nagging and trying to steal my attention span from one moment to the next. In the middle of dry cleaning some suits, I felt an overpowering need to get in the car and leave this place for all time. Such an idea has been mentioned here a few times lately, along with the fact that I am stuck... Powerless and without the resources to do almost anything I need. Again, that is the hand of Satan swinging around and hitting me in the back of the head with my past decisions. There may be no getting around it anymore. I sit here and try to reason my way through a given day, yet beneath the desire to go through the motions of maintaining the house, there is a visceral need to take control and run. But I have nothing. There are no helpful items in my possession any longer because years of reckless and damaging behavior have left me with nothing of value. Not even my own being. All those adventures required me to throw money in a dozen different directions and I didn't give a shit at the time. And I told everyone to go fuck themselves, so any advice was ignored. Well, here I am, the product of my own undoing. To be truthful, I have never felt the need to run more than at this very moment. Even in the midst of the pandemic, I would still go far away, consequences be damned. Sound familiar? The recent position changing and leaving me on the side of the road has hit me harder than I had first though possible. The sidestepping of me in twelve was bad and still resonates daily, but this one is fresh. I am bleeding and I have nowhere to turn. As I have stated a million fucking times since Jaime, nothing is out there. Nothing for me. Every need and want is impossible. Not. Even. Fucking. Close. This day has changed my thinking. A permanent change. A mid-afternoon cocktail helped a tiny bit. Another would be bad and likely result in the headphones, so I stopped until evening. Nineteen thousand lines since Jaime graced my vision. Where am I going? Poor Neil. He tried his best to snatch the woman to his left, but alas we had an invisible beam which disallowed any outsiders, especially those wishing to remove our clothing. Heh. Andrea was so stunning in every way that he just could not stop until she flattened him with words. That was funny and sad at the same time. Andrea was unlike anyone I had ever known, let alone being a woman so beautiful that even after all these years I still do not have enough words. The loss of that connection feels more acute now than it did when I threw myself at Ellie. I have never reached for a woman more than that fateful day after seeing her booties click out of the lobby. And I mean reached, in every sense of the word. I gave her all of me, and more. I gave her every single cell of my being and she accepted. Another loss, soon after. I guess her reaction at seeing me a short time later was not surprising. From one moment to the next I had no idea if I could go on living. That little girl saved me. The kitten. I still owe her everything. Why did I bring up Neil? Because he was helpless in trying to shoehorn himself (and his wife) into our world. The act was as futile as my trying to understand and accept all that I have needed for months. He had absolutely no chance, just as I am losing grip on whatever scraps of joy are left for me. I am still reaching, albeit with much less effort than even a day ago. The fucking rust is restricting my limited motion. I need the penetrating oil of life, and it does not exist. All my dreams boil down to a similar simplification. There is nothing, anywhere. Nothing. Grab a random essay and use the search function to see how many times that fucking word repeats. Go ahead. Impossible. The dry cleaning is almost complete. I took care of the floor and cat stuff, too. Even after a fat glass of whiskey, I moved my slovenly attitude to the back of the line and pushed forward with the chores. I know that I am not all bad, but the effort involved in getting these things done today is beyond comprehension. I know that one more drink will lead to the headphones, and then I will be out back with a head full of nothing good. The show is still on, too. It is also being broadcast during weekdays on the BBC, but I learned a little while back that some of the commercials leave me weakened and defeated on more than one level. And I am not referring to the female form. Months ago when I was still working, this type of mood would drive me to announce a pizza night, after which I would sit here and stuff my face while swilling the booze. Well, we have planned our meals pretty tightly since the outset of the pandemic just in case the shit hits the fan worse than in March when people were impulse buying everything in sight. We simply cannot run out of food, so we keep track of the stock and plan accordingly. I do not believe said shit will be flung again, but who knows? People are no smarter now than they were half a year ago. I cannot trust them. And that sentence deserves a 'heh', because I trust no one anymore. Too many haphazard assholes floating around. I must protect myself. This paragraph went off the rails. What did you say? Issue two showed up? That's right, it did. A commercial. And now there is even more in my head. I have to stop thinking about things so much. Partly my fault for dwelling. Hence the show now being watched via Netflix. Totally safe. I am regressing so quickly that I see the difference from just this morning when I began this crap entry. Who cares? You? I fucking doubt it. We shall see who asks of the destination when I swing this content away from the current domain. Then the interest will be apparent. Doubtful. I am very doubtful. In the works. Believe it. Sometimes I wonder if the crap in my head is shared by others, and then I realize that I have not the power to change anything for anyone. I have enough to worry about, so I must leave it alone. I feel compassion (although my compassion was recently stepped on with little regard for my effort), but cannot do anything about it. I have enough problems without solving those carried by others. Plus, they might be the assholes I mentioned above. I feel like I am failing right now, just like most of the days since being home. In the beginning I saw the opportunity to leave my job (which had been becoming more and more difficult as I age) and remain at home to get myself together and complete some things. Well, I have done very little. I am continuing a steady, downhill slide into that same reactor within which I had been cemented in eleven, only now there are many other things working on my head. The issues were not so pronounced for quite a while and now control much of my life, the resources were there just in case I needed a change and now are gone, and my daily realizations that I may never amount to anything more are all combining to cripple and paralyze me at any moment. Those four issues are in charge often enough for me to know that I cannot rise without the correct circumstances, and then that ugly fact that said conditions are impossible. Where does that leave me? Back to the little enjoyments? They are thinning. I don't know what to do other than spout here. All this useless diatribe has gone in circles and there is no switch for me to throw and change direction. I should be elsewhere, but as I have said too often, the means are gone. My ambition is heading in the same direction... Nowhere. Nice, huh? When the moment arrives that I realize that this space is too costly, well... Pen and paper, I suppose. And then that will run out. Holy Jesus fuck in a Goddamned sports bra, the woman on the television. Fuck me. Why did I have to see her? I am proud of what I have done these last several months to ensure the house is clean and organized, with all of the day-to-day tasks which I have embraced. This has not been easy on either of us, so I felt my place was to maintain home as much as possible. For the most part, it's been good. All of the little things I do enable us to relax in the evening and enjoy meals or whatever. The drives give my days a sense of structure, too. I am still driving. None of that today, and due to another closure because of risk, I will not need to drive until Friday. Today is Wednesday. After Friday, I will not be out there until two days later. That means all this extra time to do whatever I need. It also means a ton of time for thinking, and that is not always a good thing. Today, for example, has found me all over the place here and at the same time lamenting the loss of that fucking position down south. Not that I counted on it or felt I was a shoe-in, but I would have at least liked to see the place and possibly interview, if nothing else. Now it's gone. Like the government job which still feels like a knife in my stomach, this is another which got away. The only upside is the decision was far up the ladder and had nothing to do with me. Still, there is no chance, and I am left once again with zero options. I have threatened to flip the fuck out many times. Perhaps the right reasons are all apparent now. Back to the red. Rust, inside and out. I am frozen beyond belief. While I know that some of my limitations have been self-imposed, others are surely out of my hands. They were thrust upon me by people and societal standards, as well as reckless words in my direction with lasting effects. I will be touching upon one such occasion in the fiction, although considering the way I have felt since yesterday, I honestly don't give a fuck if it ever continues. Not that the story and recurring points hit too close to home, but due to the idea that I began those chapters as an extension to the worst shit I have ever shared. Yep, the train. I have since removed those sections because I became fearful of possible reactions, but still... The story was up there for over a year and God only knows who read it. I always say I have total control over this space and endeavor, but the truth is that once published, words can go around the world without my knowledge. That story may have been available for a very long time, but I keep thinking that readership is low, so the risk is minimal, provided I leave it offline for the duration. Some of the best, most involved, and emotional storytelling I have ever attempted, but also the most damaging and worrisome. The other long-term fiction may head in the same direction if my worry takes over the desire to be creative. I don't have it in me to make something out of nowhere. I can only work on what relates to my life. So, that began in the desert and ran like hell. It felt natural and I saw myself in those situations as they developed. Out of thin air, and then deep in my heart. I just do not know if I can do it anymore. My feet are feeling the rust. I may soon be immobile. Rust. Red. Flaking, too. Oxygen breathes life, but also destroys it. Gone Back when I was a fictional half Japanese, half Hawaiian woman on the Internet (don't ask further... Long story), I had three sisters. The middle sis was a little younger than me and fucking super cute. I dreamed her up on the heels of seeing images of Ju back then. I was enamored with her appearance and facial expressions. As a model, she was all over the place in Korea at the time. Ramie, the woman in question, was modeled after Ju and stunning. She was not real, yet I lusted after her constantly and was pretty vocal about it. The youngest was Kana, modeled after the cocktail server I gushed about in the Venetian ten years ago. Holy Jesus crap in a shot glass, that girl was unreal. Kana came back into my head because I was reminded of her when I lusted after the fucking sushi girl. I can no longer see either of their faces -- one being a decade back, and the other several years -- but I know the feelings which developed for each of them... Very similar and immediate. No delay, no eyes, no nothing. I was taken aback in seconds and the desire peaked instantly. I know not why it happened with them and damned few others, but however it did, I felt strongly. Not since the car dealership in the early nineties did the desire knock me off my feet as quickly. Anyway, those times in which I became struck right away are very damaging. Rare, but still pretty fucking bad. The very thought of wishing to jump them after a glance is dangerous and sends me into odd directions, some of which have resulted in feelings of self-loathing after the fact. Everything points to weakness of mind. That is not good, ever. I won't mention the oldest, nor her genesis in the real world. Ashley drew me like a gun, right away. It may have been her playfulness, appearance, or the attitude and confidence on her face when we met, but whatever it was, the need was powerful beyond belief. All I could do was sit there and try to make nice with Lanie while my head descended into Ashley's underwear. The conversation was difficult upon seeing the tall blonde approaching from the casino floor. Ashley may have been the strongest physical desire I have ever felt. The Raven was up there as well, but at the time I do recall becoming unable to fully function in that social setting when she walked to me. The Raven drove me up the wall, but differently. Ashley's pull was unlike anything I had experienced. Her look was unreal. I could not believe she accepted dinner with me, and then after walking away I was immediately picturing her ass on my face for the remainder of the trip. Now, the reason I bring up these women and their quick pull upon my senses is because just a few hours after being unable to veer from the thought of tasting Ashley, her eyes and heart pulled at me even more. The physical feelings melted instantly as I fell down emotionally over my problems and the loss of Juliette. And how did she respond? As if her brain was reading mine from next to me, without a word. She grabbed hold and held on for dear life. She knew nothing about me at that point. Nothing! My face was a mess of emotion and she picked it up as if her destiny was to rescue me from death. Her loving manner and expressive eyes took me off my feet in seconds, and I knew we could lay there and understand without a syllable. And then it happened. Was I controlling her? Nope, not at all. We had been in each other's company for barely an hour when she grabbed me and stroked my cheek. No control, just empathy from out of nowhere. I may have loved her within minutes. A real woman, too. A dream of sorts, but real nonetheless. At the bar with her huge, playful eyes looking at me all I felt was the need to ravage her as if I had been in the desert for years. A little while later and she was holding me up like a champion. What a fucking woman, and twenty-one years old. The fuck? My entire life may boil down to her embrace, and soon. These last several days I have seen few who stirred me -- most notably the one in the city just two days ago -- and none of them lasted more than an hour before fading. I am beginning to realize that those days spent with Ashley may have been the most striking of all the trips to the goblet and beyond. Rachel was nearly the same age, and radically different. Of course, I met her adorable self many years after Ashley, but the gradient could not be more defined. Rachel was sweet but seemed like a helpless fucking baby much of the time, whereas Ashley had the wisdom of a fucking Trill, with many lifetimes behind her current self. That may sound odd, but keep in mind I watch a lot of Star Trek and the correlation is valid. Ashley just floored me in so many ways that I cannot help but think of her as my savior. She literally delivered me from the hell of myself and put me on the road home. Yes, after that I was still all fucked up, but I did not kill myself, and that is saying about as much as it can. Serious, that idea. And I was right there before leaving work to dash off to Vegas, and then again after the door closed with my loving Juliette on the other side, never to be seen again. Lanie was there, but Ashley was the key that unlocked enough of me to force a change. And here I sit, in part thanks to that living fucking doll that I will never forget. I still love her. Say what you will, but her memory is one of the most important parts of me. Like the phase lock girl the better part of a decade earlier, there was a fusion I cannot deny. A feeling which ran deeper than I can ever describe. Ashley, God love her, saved my life in seconds. I do love her. Still. Whatever takes place in the world and however long I last within it, she occupies a section of my soul which will never be denied. I fucking love her and thank the lucky stars for each second we shared. That doll made me forget the rust. From exactly seventeen years ago to this very second, she is still an influence. Fuck the rust. She would not want that. I have to keep going right now, but the doll is going to make it difficult. My one wish? Back in her loving arms. I swear to Christ fresh off the cross, if she were to appear I would make it my life's work to show her what she means to me. Ok, sorry about the gushing. I love her. I still do. Onward. The sushi girl pulled me in with her personality at work. She was adorable, and fully in charge of the mood at the table that night. I felt the desire, but at the same time I could not help but respect her work. She was amazing at reading the patrons and making the experience enjoyable for all. We had tons of fun that night, and her attitude toward my remarks was the beginning. Completely at her mercy after just a few minutes. I loved it. The desire was upon seeing more than I should have at the time, but I gazed anyway. All of her. And therein lies the problem. I did not know her and should not have been picturing her labia all over my face. I did it, am not proud of my dramatically deviant feelings in such a direction, but such is me after the decades I have lived. Not proud of it at all, but the one positive is that she did not know. No one did, although the others may have noticed my brightening every time she visited our table. The sushi girl was spared my lethal words and that is excellent. Now, to go one step further, at the time I did think of my fictional younger sister and pictured all manner of positions with someone who never existed. My thinking now is that the very idea of her -- having been created out of thin air for my own purposes -- was the beginning of dreams about all things artificial. And no, I did not think in these terms as related to the sushi girl until today. I was nuts about the Cherry 2000 so long ago, and had a bit of a thing for Gemma three decades later, but honestly the manufacturing of a woman who became a composite of those I had known or seen is another level from the sushi girl. Ramie was fictional, gorgeous, and I made her out of my own imagination. Do you see how I arrived at this? Huge problem now. Huge. Fucking. Problem. My head is awash with Ashley's influence upon my life and the idea that I am so far gone that two Japanese women were combined to create a dream... An idea... And one which is hurting me. I might have to change the title of this after the fact. Fuck the rust, anyway. Ashley fixed it like she fixed me. Refraining from absolutely over-the-top gushing over that doll is going to be a tall fucking order. All the shit I have spouted since Jaime seems to be related to an infinite number of other events from the past. The sight of Kana in the Venetian casino should have been a clue, however. I was just a day away from being married. That right there is a fucking red flag from hell. What was I doing? Thinking? Did I head to Vegas in hopes of something different? Just a trip to my favorite and most beloved destination that held all manner of trouble from years earlier? I don't fucking know anymore, but I do know that I saw her there and it was not enough. I had to fucking ask of her ethnicity and then became floored by the answer. That was a time when the Asian thingy was at its peak. What kind of person does that make me? Getting married a day away and I was looking at her as if I needed her on a plate with soy sauce. Jesus holy hell in a ramekin, batman. Did I really do that? I still remember seeing her there in her Roman dress with legs and the rest as if it was yesterday. Fuck me. The Asian thing gave way to the darkness years later, but I believe the damage is the same. What kind of person had I become? Well, I guess it doesn't matter now because I fucked up the whole thing shortly thereafter. The situation reminds me of my first wedding way back a million years ago (eighties, heh) and the days leading up to that cheap-ass ceremony in a chapel. Nothing bad, though... Just the woman who stood there next to my soon-to-be-wife. Gorgeous. And revealing this now doesn't matter. That time is more than a world away and everyone knows it. Plus, this space is so fucking unknown that it's not even funny. Traci was her name, just like my cousin in Florida. Dark hair, exotic looking, slender, tall, the whole shitaree. I met her quite a number of months earlier and wanted to dive up her shirt almost immediately. Eventually, I did. Yep, two days before the wedding up in the mountains. Was it worth it? None of that matters now. The point is that twenty-two years before I looked at Kana like she was dessert, my brain operated in a similar manner. Indeed, the two names on my forearms relate as well, but that is for another time. Laugh it up. Kana dredged up all kinds of shit. I even saw her for a second time later during the same day. We had been wandering around the Venetian and Palazzo and ended up in a small shopping area so the kids could stick close without casino issues. Upon stepping off the carpet of the gaming area and into the massive hallway, I spied a watch store. Being the wristwatch junkie I am, a peek was in order. Myself and my partner's nephew strolled into the lavish store, after which he quickly lost interest and headed back out to the family. I, on the other hand, remained inside with wide eyes. One model caught my eye and the salesman allowed me to handle the timepiece, during which I saw that it was priced just shy of a quarter million. Check, please! Oy God I got out of there and turned back toward the carpeted area, and there she was, all legs and cleavage. I swear to Christ I would have gone after her if the time and space had been available. Yes, that's right... I would have slathered her with me. What a wreck, even then. Out of control, the Asian thing flaring like never before, and a picturesque example of pure Japanese beauty right across the room. Fuck me. On the upside, the sight also intimidated me, meaning I moved the hell away and to a place where I could no longer see her. Eventually she faded completely. The lasting effects are apparent, however. All the connections, sightings which drove me insane (like the lovely Kana and God-knows how many others), and relationships I have drawn here in this writing cannot be denied. Whatever happened, the situation in my head is here to stay. Two entries back I mentioned that I can no longer trust the words coming out of someone's mouth. Hmm. Such a statement is pretty tough for some to swallow and I don't give a fuck. Live with it. Every single person out there feels that due to some past events, trials, or some such other shit between themselves and others -- like a personal connection, perhaps -- they should be exempt from being lumped in with the mass. Well, nope. There is no difference. Nothing. Each fucking person is in the same category and I don't care how anyone may feel toward that type of statement. In fact, if you can sit there and tell me exactly why I am to trust a person's word, go for it. See where that gets you. One-sided? Yep. Unbalanced? Yep. Unfair? Definitely. But understand something... I have already been mostly destroyed inside and left to suffer for my remaining days by the words and actions of those very same fucking people. I am ruined, forever. Now tell me to trust someone else. Shut up. I miss Ashley and I do not normally spend so much time considering it. Just fleeting glimpses here and there. This is way different from the manner in which I typically think of her, too. I have had many days in which her body was in my head for hours at a time, including the way she looked approaching the fucking bar the first time. Dreaming of having her all to myself without limit seems natural. Now? Her eyes and heart. That is all. She moved me tremendously back then and still does. What a human being. I need to stop writing about her or I'll drive myself nuts. But she took the rust out of the entry. I love her. Did I mention that? Heh. Gone Thursday now. The site is all fucked up due to the attempt to move it to one of the other domains. I have partial content live at this moment and need to await the clearing of some errors on the other end before going further. I do not wish to restore everything to the way it was, either. The change has been in mind for many months, pretty much since Jaime wrapped herself around my heart, but I was not motivated enough to actually do it. Between the nineteen thousand lines of gushing about everything inside and the possibility of glancing some hurtful memories via the fiction, my thinking is now at an all-time high. So many things, from the woman in the theatre (twenty-two years back, by the way) to seeing half of Jaime's face to the fucking unending threatening nature of society coupled with my mountain of fears, I have enough in my brain for a lifetime of study. Trying to think logically and work on the technical aspects of moving the content is not easy right now. Hmm... Maybe I just talked myself into leaving everything as it was. I don't fucking know. I keep hearing those words from the theatre and the catalyst just days ago which spun me into a frothy cup of insecurity, and feel void of hope. Damn it, anyway. Something has to change or I will withdraw even further. I am generally pretty wordsmithy, but right now there is not much going on inside my head other than concern. I mentioned Thursday. I don't have much to do today, so like yesterday the intention is to sit here quite a bit and spill my shit all over the screen. I am having trouble with more than one issue. Two and four, with the latter being lesser. Two. How did I turn out like this? Was it the woman in the theatre? Those outings with the Brunette and the sometimes-crass nature of her wording? That scared the shit out of me more than once and I cannot simply forget. Yes, that was her personality and I knew it early on, but all these years later none of it should be affecting me like this. She was a wonderful person. I loved her (still do, a little... It runs deep) and respected who she was. We were similar in one way -- a way which harmed our relationship -- and very different in another. At first I felt more open-minded, but later became so wrapped around her for security that I drove her away. I turned into a mess in a very short period of time. She reacted accordingly and eventually we were done. The very idea that her personality was threatening to me had absolutely nothing to do with her. That was all me, and I still wish I could apologize. She was strong, I was weak. Those words in the quiet theater more than a decade earlier kept echoing in my head every time we stepped off the train in the city to wander and exercise our cameras. Thankfully, whenever we were out and about I was able to suck down some alcohol and relax. Without the booze, I likely would have imploded even worse than I already did, but we've gone over that. I am simply trying to learn if she was a factor in my massive second issue or if I was indeed the entire genesis. I still don't know, but I have to keep trying. The woman in the theatre is still there, although I don't understand how that incident could rail me for decades. I thought at one point that I was stronger than that. Perhaps not. I still feel terrible over the way I treated and spoke to her toward the end. It may never go away. That fucking commercial just rolled by and now I am a ball of desire. Damn it. Thanks, BBC. Eh... Not their fault I am so weak. I am feeling reckless. As I said earlier, the means to do what I wish just is not there. Gone, like everything else in my life which had value. I have tossed too much to the four winds to recover in a reasonable amount of time. There is another aspect of that, too, and from the last couple of years, but I refuse to lay it out here. Honestly, everything I've done for many years has been out of a need to escape one way or another. Be it holing up in the old office, running to the other side of the hill to sit at a bar alone, or flying the coop completely and leaving everything behind, each step has been toward one of them. I sit here now as a product of the worst fucking decision-making processes imaginable. Stuck. Just me and my dreams. Keyboard. Pizza. Television. Booze. One hundred percent unfulfilling and I am the sole reason. All those memories have exploded in my head recently and I don't see a way to be content in the short term. And by the time I can fully recover myself and financial situation enough to run away, I'll be too fucking old for anything to be joyful. Just another aged fucking mess walking the casino without hope. Nice, huh? Maybe what I wrote ten years ago is true. Maybe I have nothing ahead for which to hope. Reckless no longer matters. See? Tell me what to do. Now what? Ashley is still in mind, and not her ass. Her beautiful soul. Help me. I really do not see a way to alleviate two. It just keeps coming back, sometimes when I least expect it. What irritates me is when that issue flares while I am alone. I don't understand what could have taken place to drive it deep enough to slam me when I am nowhere near a woman. Was it indeed the theatre? No answer. Was it the Brunette being so vocal? I never placed blame on her because not only did I love her, but she was a person and my issues are not her doing. The situations we were in may have had a hand in how I feel now, but still... Not her fucking fault. Everything is inside me and I cannot figure out why it's so dramatic and stirring. Something had to have taken place many years ago. All I can do is try, I suppose. I have nothing else right now. Issue one is so diminutive in comparison that I am not worried. Four is a problem, relates directly to two, but it often boils down to a choice and measure of control. Heh, that word again. I need a fucking machine to save my life, and I would love it if that machine was Ashley. God love her. Insecurity is a terrible thing, but it had to begin somewhere, damn it. Compelling? Like you would not believe. The house is completely closed up yet I smell the smoke from outside. I think the shitty door seals are to blame, but I'm not certain. The fire is still more than twenty-five miles to the south and slowly being contained by those blessed heroes, but the preponderance of haze outside is bad this morning. I can't even see the closest hills out the window right now. It's bad, but nothing compared to what is going on at the front lines. God help those who have been displaced or hurt, and those fighting this disaster. All the respect in the world. All of it. And you had better feel the same. Otherwise, go fuck yourself. After a bit of haphazard activity, I am alone in the quiet with my show on the television. I need the peaceful atmosphere of this place much of the time to keep my head upright. Considering how issue two is taking up the lion's share of my thinking these days, any hours alone and in the comfort of my cocoon are more necessary than ever. I can't help but think that more time for trying to learn of why I am the way I am is helpful, although thus far nothing seems to have been accomplished other than worry. I just don't know what the fuck I am supposed to be focusing upon, and thinking of those occasions that cut me feels hurtful rather than helpful. I am still going, though. Still sitting here. Isn't that what I should be doing? Do you know the answer? Something just came to mind, good or bad. I am hesitant, but it may be necessary. All of these entries since Jaime are full of questions, yet still the days roll by with my inbox fucking void of anything. Do I keep asking? Anyone? Anyone? 'This is Lawrence, Kansas. Is anyone out there? Anyone at all?' Look it up. This asshole had better stop calling Commander Sisko 'boy'. It will not end well for him. Heh. Society has had a hand in the way I feel and my view of everything related to attractiveness, confidence, and masculinity, so why not the realization that some of it is beyond my control? My insides are twisted and I keep thinking I did not do this, but part of it must be me. I think too much, really. I have always overanalyzed everything and been hyper-critical of others, and that means the same applies to me. Society is something which cannot be pushed. It does the pushing. The faults of society have been developed throughout eons of life here. Male, female, man, woman, roles, identity... Everything. Sex? Don't get me started. I know people will fall into routines and follow the lead of the chief sheep, and such a fact keeps everything in perspective at times. Although I am down and full of problems, I am not a sheep. I push against the standard until exhausted, and then push a bit more. I will not veer from such a position no matter how long I live. The issue with this thinking is that I am almost completely alone. Other males will never know what is in my head, however. None of it. And don't give me a blast of shit over being closed off or not realizing that I may not be alone in my lack of confidence. I have not the time nor inclination to help others. This shit takes up all of me, honestly. I care and have helped as much as I can, but there is only so much within and I have to look out for number one before others. The male ego, societal standards and accepted roles, all of it. I know because I have studied since fucking high school. That time is long gone but likely resonates inside others as it does in me. But again... I have to save myself. Every single fucking male out there, seen or otherwise. Believe it. A constant, and something which may destroy me very soon. I am told every single thing which should help, but alas... Nope. At least I shrugged off the rust. Thank you Ashley. Maybe I still need her. I basically grew up being within the fold of the gaming culture, even while too young to understand what I had been exposed to and seeing several times per year. Vegas, Reno, and the clincher... SLT. I was there often enough to know that the adults were drawn to those places. All I wished to do was experience the big, lavish dinners, scenery, and the arcades. I spent much time in those places. The fateful weekend with my grandfather during which I frequented the arcade off the lobby and was approached and subsequently frightened by a prostitute just inside the doors is still in memory. I believe I went over that incident here some time ago. Ah, yes... I did, in 'Sex and Suicide'. I still remember her and the connection I soon made between Nevada and the vision of a working woman. At the time I had no idea, but said work is legal there. Those examples of often-desperate and generally very attractive, available women are tattooed on my brain. As a young person, the options for entertainment were very narrow at the time. Not until Vegas began to embrace a more family-friendly atmosphere in the mid-nineties did the availability of underage options open wide to the world. For adults? Everything imaginable and then some. As I aged, the image of those resorts began to appear as a wonderland for whatever a person sought. Anything, as long as the money was flowing. Even the last few trips to the high country during the past several years brought me the same wonder as in the past. No sooner did I check in and clean up when the overwhelming need to drown into sex, alcohol and colored lighting began to take over and push me to think more freely than I did at home. And I still fucking feel that way. I am certain that being exposed to so much dramatic skin on display, the imagery on the machines, shows, and tons of bars everywhere has influenced the way I see society. On top of that? The roles of both sexes, along with everything that comes along with the idea of many differences. I sit here now likely a product of that upbringing and all aspects of such a sex-infused machine designed to separate a person from their money. I understand it, and though I did years before, still I drowned myself. Whatever damage came along as a result was known long before ever putting the key in the ignition or stepping aboard an airliner. I knew it all and dove anyway. Illusion, as I have so often mentioned, was everything. Perhaps that illusion is the only way I can survive. Gone Think of Jasmine and what she provided to my damaged self so many years ago. Basically, everything I wished or needed. Every fucking detail of her actions was tailored to my desires, be it silence while enjoying cocktails in an agreeable location or her posing like a doll in any manner I requested. Anything, because that was her job. And that woman was not cheap as an escort. I paid a high price for her company and enjoyed every fucking second. Sound like anything else I've mentioned here since Jaime? A machine, perhaps? That's right kids, the word comes to town again... Control. That was the operative term while I was with Jasmine, and the idea of her grew from my younger years of being folded into the Nevada gaming culture like a chocolate chip into cookie dough. Hmm... Could that be a large part of my reasoning toward a machine dream? You're damned right. I don't see any way it could represent anything else. Another little beam of light on the origin of my needs. A step. Damaging, nearly as impossible as the reality of a machine, but still a step. Jasmine was an amazing person. This is beginning to boil itself down like the fucking au jus I ruined so many Christmases ago. Prime rib came out wonderful, and good thing, too. My foray into making a wine-based sauce went to hell in a handbasket. Just like my head right now, it was reduced far too much. The lines are forming a triangle and pointing to not having a point. Heh. Get it? I mean, there may be no end to me trying to figure this out, and even if I do there is no resolution possible due to my ongoing absolute statements about the rigid facts. Machinery which does not and cannot exist. So why do I keep going? Good fucking question, but honestly you may see that I am trying to figure out how I arrived in this place all my own. No one would understand the idea of not accepting reality, but I am not just like the others that I have known. All those damned years in that atmosphere have contributed to my belief that with enough resources, a person can be or have whatever makes them satisfied. Fulfillment is supposed to come from within. Yeah, okay. For me? There is more to it and no answers. Clues, yes, but nothing concrete. And here I sit. Reduced. I am a whiskey reduction, and I wish that was funny. Control. All those flesh and blood women with beautiful souls and huge hearts have jaded me in the extreme. I am so fucking biased about beauty at this point that only a machine could live up to the insane visions in my head. Oh sure, Andrea was likely the most beautifully shaped and aligned woman ever to stand before me, and she was real. That means others exist, too, right? Somewhere? I cannot count on such a fact. Not likely. I refuse to search more because it is nearly impossible. Whatever may be out there in the world will not be seen by yours truly. Andrea was unique and our time together was a fleeting chance in the grand scheme of the world. We connected out of desperation and ran away together for weeks. Thinking of her now is pain, nothing more. Better to have...? Nope. Now I am void of everything. There is but one way to where I need to be, and it does not exist. That is that. I will still search for answers, however, because my time with the analysis is unlimited, or so it would seem. I have stated before that everything is related. You can probably connect the machine with threat easily. There would be no such thing. No worry, no fear. She would have no feelings whatsoever unless programmed as such. And yes, I am going over the same things for the tenth time. Suck it, I don't care. I need to type the words. All of the issues would be so far back that they would be much less likely to affect my sensibilities. Even if only two of them went away I could be content. Two and four. Yep, four would no longer be necessary because of having complete control over her actions. I realize how this must sound, but again... My fucking site, my fucking keyboard, and my fucking dream. Don't say it, please. I know full well what I am. Sitting here right now in the middle of the afternoon helps me to realize just how much I have shoved aside in order to be comfortable. Media. The news is only on to get updates on the fires and I generally stick to the same channel. I see Allie and Sara once in a while and both drive me nuts. Mostly Allie's big eyes. They are not a big problem now, however, because I am used to it. The commercials still spin me, but again... Not a big deal. I have completely cut myself off from anything new, and other than the occasional movie in the background while writing, I pretty much watch shows with which I am already familiar. They are safe. No worries. Others continue to move onward and upward to whatever comes along which seems interesting or different. I can no longer point myself in such a direction. I am afraid of what I may see or hear, and in the case of the premium channels, the damage may be extensive. So, the same dozen or so programs rotate on the screen depending upon my mood. I do feel limited, though, but not enough to branch out and be harmed by others' reckless use of whatever will shock people. I've had enough of it. Call me what you will, but after all this time realizing those parts of life which can scar, I made the choice to stay away. That goes for other people, as well. Some whom I have known will no longer be standing before me, no matter the circumstances. Only a select few. I am very different than months ago. I put myself in the position of having control over the environment and sunk in deep enough to know that I cannot leave. You may have noticed that the entries since Jaime are much longer on average than the past. Such is the result of me being in front of this machine and filled with more concern than ever in my life. The show, the routine, and the comfort of being holed up here are just too much now. I have done this in the interest of saving my own life. That is not a joke. Ugh. Too much. This is just too fucking much anymore. I don't know what to do. Ashley helped, though. Dreaming of her staring at me with big, compassionate eyes was the catalyst for removing the rust from this entry before it became uncontrollable. Bless her heart. I really do love her to this day and I hope she remembers me. Tune in next time for another slew of the same shit."
09-04-2020 06:32 pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
Rust
read ( words)
"God damn it, there is Leeta again. I could eat her underwear. Everything is red from the rust I have allowed to form all over my life. Stale. Wasted time, money, connections, everything. Wasted. Thrown to the four corners of the earth with nary a look back. Thrown, just as I threw myself in whatever direction felt comfortable. I threw my resources at all of them in hopes of being held. And they did. They all held me, from the lovely Juliette all the way to Natalie, who let me in all the way and told me everything would be ok. I believed her because my value has been derived through the words of all those women who held me. Now? Corroded beyond repair. The rust will form no matter what alloy is in question. Everything will rust given time, even the purest aluminum. Stainless is not fully stainless. There is still iron in there somewhere, and the attack is inevitable. Like the inside of me after all these years of damaging behavior, the rust is taking over and I cannot simply drive to the Handyman of the past and stare at the lamps. That used to help me look at the world as if there were tons of things to discover. The only thing I eventually discovered is the idea that I have little value anymore. I am a good person and have qualities others can only hope for, but I have thrown so much to the wind that I can no longer move forward. The rust is taking all abilities and possibilities away. Freezing them. Immobile. Nothing. As of this morning, when I look to the television and see those pretty faces, the only thinking is that they do not know me at all and are better off. There was rust on our garbage cans in the early eighties. I remember worrying that the bottom would fall out when the garbage men came to empty them on Wednesday mornings. The dog used to flip his lid upon hearing the trucks, and then I would think... 'Is this the day that I have to sweep up the garbage?'. The rust never stops. Remove it correctly and protect the remaining metal. That is the only way to slow the process. Turn away too long and it comes back, sure as hell. There is nothing anyone can do. Eventually we will all be rust. Oxidize this, assholes. Aurora. Do you see? Do you remember how many times I wrote about that fucking place? It is still there, as of last year. The goddess and I sat toward the edge of the lounge where it juts way the fuck out toward the fringe of the lobby and realized the music was too much. We then moved to the corner of the bar after a goofy-looking couple vacated their stools. And we sat for a very long time, enjoying each other, the lights and drama of the bar's appearance, and some banter with others. Aurora is a place I thought I could not visit again until the kitten forced me to find distraction. She helped me to realize that the lounge was indeed void of ghosts, and then years later the goddess helped to cement that fact. Now? I feel all of it again, from leaving home God-knows how many times and running there, to all of the kind souls who touched my life while sitting and drinking my days away. Even Nikki tried to be nice. In her line of work? Necessary, yet not always desired. The world's oldest profession means just that... Work. A job. However others may feel about it, that type of thing is here to stay. Aurora was full of those types on the weekends. The lounge is huge, too. Plenty of room to be private or otherwise. Ashley sat there next to me with knees together and looking like a lanky fucking dream. Andrea hanging all over me. Juliette's lips on the back of my neck before dinner. And then Ellie trying to save my fucking life. All right there in the center of the Goddamned universe. I still love all of them. Nothing aside from pain now, though. I do not feel that I have kept my word at all. I am a wreck now, and worse than I have been since losing the fucking Raven, bless her soul. Bad. Rusted. Immobile. Frozen, yet white hot like burning magnesium. I cannot move because I have placed myself here with all conviction and thinking that if I was comfortable everything would be fine. A little pizza here and there, some housework, and maybe a drink from time to time. Fuck me, Leeta again. I need to cram an entire breast into my mouth. Anyway, I am rusting from the inside out. That is unusual, too. The oxygen generally causes the corrosion from the outside. My rust is made up of the memories of being higher than I could have imagined and the knowledge that I will never be there again. Argue the point. Go ahead. Tell me what I can do. Try it and see where it gets you. I keep thinking of what's-her-name from the Island in the Mandalay Bay. She was gorgeous, tall, slender, and with enough of a chest to cast a shadow below. Not atypical of a server in such an atmosphere. She was really nice. We conversed on many an occasion when I was there alone, and I kept thinking that the more I looked at her breasts, the further into hell I would fall when the world ended. So I stopped. And then her eyes. Heels, walking all day long, and plenty of men at the tables making comments when she bent down to serve drinks. 'Hey honey, are you gonna show us your t---?'. I heard it more than once. She was used to it and quite strong having worked in the industry for a very long time. when she returned to the service bar, I sensed what took place and remained silent. The girl didn't need another guy in her ear, no matter the words. She looked tired, yet kept herself up with impeccable posture most of the time. In the beginning I wanted to jump her. Days later I respected her and wanted to hold her. And by the time I left the goblet? I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I really felt for her. Such a job is not easy (as I am certain many people are already aware), and I could see the toll on her face. Years earlier I loved going into the big casinos due to the smell of money and sex. Well, a few days of talking with her and I wanted to comfort those eyes. I now believe all those fucking trips are a good portion of the reason I am this way. By running away and into the arms of whomever was available and willing to spend time with me, I was slowly removing options from my future. I sit here now a wrecked human being. The illusion became reality for a time and I exhausted every scrap of resources in search of the same. It is all gone now. The early trips with Jasmine, Juliette, and Ashley notwithstanding, I blew through tens of thousands of dollars which were my future security. I spent it quickly and with nary a thought toward possible consequences. And the toll on my head and heart is infinitely worse. It is nearly beyond comprehension. I have nothing, and it hurts. I willingly and happily did it all. After almost four days with Jasmine, I thought that was a lot of money. Little did I know that there would be more spending later which made her visit seem like buying a stick of gum. Wow, a cute Cardassian. Who could have thought? Ashley pushed me out of Vegas. Ellie forced me out of Vegas. Had it not been for them, I would not be sitting here right now. The doll first, and then the kitten eight years later. Both helped me to believe that I could continue in life. They convinced me to try... I was unique and worth each word... I had to carry forward or the world would be less without me. They succeeded, for a time. Looking at that period right now? I almost cannot deal with what is left. I see the image of Aurora up there and I STILL need to sit there. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I still believe that Kelly will waddle over and sit with me, eyes wide? Her gentle kindness was just what I needed at the time, and that with Ellie meeting me later in the evening. But I secured a meeting with Kelly anyway. I knew Ellie understood me. Did she? Doesn't matter. I was close enough to Kelly's eyes to know that she was happy to be near me. Dani, too. Nikki, too, but she was working. That lounge is both captivating and haunting. Last year's visit helped me to believe that the memories would not destroy me. I didn't break down because the goddess helped. I made it just fine. We had fun, and one of the best nights in memory. Dinner, cocktails, strolling... The night was wonderful. Right behind me at each step was a group of women which is gone and will remain as such. I dream of them, see their faces, feel the arms around me as the sex flies away, and I miss each. Every fucking day a bit more rust takes over my brainpower and leaves small details corroded. Thank fucking Christ I wrote about them. Leeta again. Damn. My tongue would come out her nose. I'm going to keep saying that because nothing else seems to get the point across as sharply. Tongue. Nose. Read it again. The metal is weakening. Little tidbits return every now and again. Like sitting at the House of Blues in Florida and having chicken. The two of us were quiet as we ate, and then Andrea would take her napkin and wipe the corner of my mouth with a smile. So cute. I was out of my mind for her, and those little things are the reason. Little tidbits and behaviors toward me which warmed my heart so much that I cannot adequately express the feelings. I still have it all inside, as if she is coming back. Maybe I never saw Jaime in southern California, wherever the fuck that was. Maybe I was dreaming of Andrea more than a year before meeting her on the plane. Damn it. I don't even know what I am anymore, but the rust is one certainty. Fuck me. Juliette saved my life, literally. I drove there with the intention of not returning. Some comfort, a call girl hanging on my arm, a few agreeable meals, drinks, atmosphere, and then blackness. Sliding down the outside of the pyramid. Possibly something else. I was not to drive back home. And to add insult to injury, when she left I felt better and worse at the same time. Lanie pushed. Hard. A student of psychology and I ran across her beautiful mind just hours after Juliette let the door close on our life together. Lanie pushed because she felt empathy naturally. The studies only reinforced what she already was. A genuine, caring soul the likes of which I will never encounter again. She did her best despite my constant vocalization toward ripping off her clothes and diving for all I was worth. And then I sat there at the table with both Lanie and Ashley. Oy God that was tough. I wanted both of them and did not even begin to realize what Lanie was attempting to do. She wanted to save me and send me home. Ashley did that a couple of days later, just as Ellie shoved me to the highway after being my confidant and lover for days. They all had the same intention. And look at me now. Was I fucking worth all of that? Maybe. I actually feel better about myself as a person than I have in years. Back when I ran to Vegas, my life was very organized and there was a future. I did not see it, however, and ran away to be in control of everything until ending it all. I just could not wrap my head around being a regular person, and no one of note. The film industry dream never materialized because I was afraid of losing my security. At that time, the transition likely would have been easier than later in life because I had support. Now? Nothing. Oh I can still dream of it, but two things have killed the possibility: One, I have thrown too much away to recover enough for doing something risky, and two, the industry has changed too much and ruined my view of it. That is not my fault, though. Only the past years were my doing. Everything tossed without due consideration of the consequences. Now my options are narrowed to the point of mere survival. No frosting, wonder, or hope of being happy. And I know I am a good person despite the damage. Back in twelve I had the opportunity to slide into something more comfortable than my previous career, and a position which had more rewards than I can count. Another government job. I applied, went to a half-assed interview and partial tour of the facility, and then was instructed to complete an extensive process for being hired. At the interview, a gentleman showed me around a bit and then left me to wait for his superior. I was nervous. He welcomed me into his office and spoke with the tone that I was already approved for hiring. Wow. A little while later I left the property so happy that I almost yelled out the car window. That was going to set me up nicely until I could retire. Wonderful, all around. Well, the previous year's damage reared its ugly head once again and left me unable to work there. The aforementioned process learned that my credit score had dropped sharply in recent months and their policy would not allow any leeway. I was fucked. Eight years later I still feel it. And just as I began to rise from the wreckage of the previous year, it slammed me back again in the worst possible way. That opportunity will not return, ever. I did it again... I ruined the future in a way unimaginable at the time. I see their faces now and want to cry. But at least I know how I arrived in this hellish position in life. I made decisions which slowly built a prison. Rusty bars. Rusty brain. Corroded future, at best. All those past entries are resounding right now: This is all I have, and I deserve it. Yes, I am a good person. I have tons of qualities, sensitivities, and much to offer, however none of that is going to matter if I am sitting here wallowing and rusting for the remainder of my life.
Gone
I keep thinking that as long as I have a warm place to sleep, plenty of booze and pizza, I will be able to move forward, even at a snail's pace. What a fucking joke. And I have to say WOW... The four issues are taking a far-back seat to my place in the world. Who could have predicted that shit? And now let's go further. This one is not my fault, though. I mentioned some time ago (I can't remember where, nor do I give a shit) the possibility of work that is not far from home and could be right up my alley. Well, I went through the motions and set things going by offering my resume and applying. The response was that the position may be changing and to hold fast. Well, the position indeed changed and disappeared. That is that. Not my fault, but that doesn't make it any easier. Just one more delightful possibility torn away like an appendage. I swear to Christ as I sit here with the remaining cold coffee, I will fucking give up and do absolutely nothing. The position change has nothing to do with my life, but I cannot help but think of the 'K' word in which others place stock. If such a term is true, there is no reason to do anything aside from sit here. Another slap. Another notch. More rust. This day has not been good. Oh, I finished almost all of my usual shit, but there are underlying problems which are nagging and trying to steal my attention span from one moment to the next. In the middle of dry cleaning some suits, I felt an overpowering need to get in the car and leave this place for all time. Such an idea has been mentioned here a few times lately, along with the fact that I am stuck... Powerless and without the resources to do almost anything I need. Again, that is the hand of Satan swinging around and hitting me in the back of the head with my past decisions. There may be no getting around it anymore. I sit here and try to reason my way through a given day, yet beneath the desire to go through the motions of maintaining the house, there is a visceral need to take control and run. But I have nothing. There are no helpful items in my possession any longer because years of reckless and damaging behavior have left me with nothing of value. Not even my own being. All those adventures required me to throw money in a dozen different directions and I didn't give a shit at the time. And I told everyone to go fuck themselves, so any advice was ignored. Well, here I am, the product of my own undoing. To be truthful, I have never felt the need to run more than at this very moment. Even in the midst of the pandemic, I would still go far away, consequences be damned. Sound familiar? The recent position changing and leaving me on the side of the road has hit me harder than I had first though possible. The sidestepping of me in twelve was bad and still resonates daily, but this one is fresh. I am bleeding and I have nowhere to turn. As I have stated a million fucking times since Jaime, nothing is out there. Nothing for me. Every need and want is impossible. Not. Even. Fucking. Close. This day has changed my thinking. A permanent change. A mid-afternoon cocktail helped a tiny bit. Another would be bad and likely result in the headphones, so I stopped until evening. Nineteen thousand lines since Jaime graced my vision. Where am I going? Poor Neil. He tried his best to snatch the woman to his left, but alas we had an invisible beam which disallowed any outsiders, especially those wishing to remove our clothing. Heh. Andrea was so stunning in every way that he just could not stop until she flattened him with words. That was funny and sad at the same time. Andrea was unlike anyone I had ever known, let alone being a woman so beautiful that even after all these years I still do not have enough words. The loss of that connection feels more acute now than it did when I threw myself at Ellie. I have never reached for a woman more than that fateful day after seeing her booties click out of the lobby. And I mean reached, in every sense of the word. I gave her all of me, and more. I gave her every single cell of my being and she accepted. Another loss, soon after. I guess her reaction at seeing me a short time later was not surprising. From one moment to the next I had no idea if I could go on living. That little girl saved me. The kitten. I still owe her everything. Why did I bring up Neil? Because he was helpless in trying to shoehorn himself (and his wife) into our world. The act was as futile as my trying to understand and accept all that I have needed for months. He had absolutely no chance, just as I am losing grip on whatever scraps of joy are left for me. I am still reaching, albeit with much less effort than even a day ago. The fucking rust is restricting my limited motion. I need the penetrating oil of life, and it does not exist. All my dreams boil down to a similar simplification. There is nothing, anywhere. Nothing. Grab a random essay and use the search function to see how many times that fucking word repeats. Go ahead. Impossible. The dry cleaning is almost complete. I took care of the floor and cat stuff, too. Even after a fat glass of whiskey, I moved my slovenly attitude to the back of the line and pushed forward with the chores. I know that I am not all bad, but the effort involved in getting these things done today is beyond comprehension. I know that one more drink will lead to the headphones, and then I will be out back with a head full of nothing good. The show is still on, too. It is also being broadcast during weekdays on the BBC, but I learned a little while back that some of the commercials leave me weakened and defeated on more than one level. And I am not referring to the female form. Months ago when I was still working, this type of mood would drive me to announce a pizza night, after which I would sit here and stuff my face while swilling the booze. Well, we have planned our meals pretty tightly since the outset of the pandemic just in case the shit hits the fan worse than in March when people were impulse buying everything in sight. We simply cannot run out of food, so we keep track of the stock and plan accordingly. I do not believe said shit will be flung again, but who knows? People are no smarter now than they were half a year ago. I cannot trust them. And that sentence deserves a 'heh', because I trust no one anymore. Too many haphazard assholes floating around. I must protect myself. This paragraph went off the rails. What did you say? Issue two showed up? That's right, it did. A commercial. And now there is even more in my head. I have to stop thinking about things so much. Partly my fault for dwelling. Hence the show now being watched via Netflix. Totally safe. I am regressing so quickly that I see the difference from just this morning when I began this crap entry. Who cares? You? I fucking doubt it. We shall see who asks of the destination when I swing this content away from the current domain. Then the interest will be apparent. Doubtful. I am very doubtful. In the works. Believe it. Sometimes I wonder if the crap in my head is shared by others, and then I realize that I have not the power to change anything for anyone. I have enough to worry about, so I must leave it alone. I feel compassion (although my compassion was recently stepped on with little regard for my effort), but cannot do anything about it. I have enough problems without solving those carried by others. Plus, they might be the assholes I mentioned above. I feel like I am failing right now, just like most of the days since being home. In the beginning I saw the opportunity to leave my job (which had been becoming more and more difficult as I age) and remain at home to get myself together and complete some things. Well, I have done very little. I am continuing a steady, downhill slide into that same reactor within which I had been cemented in eleven, only now there are many other things working on my head. The issues were not so pronounced for quite a while and now control much of my life, the resources were there just in case I needed a change and now are gone, and my daily realizations that I may never amount to anything more are all combining to cripple and paralyze me at any moment. Those four issues are in charge often enough for me to know that I cannot rise without the correct circumstances, and then that ugly fact that said conditions are impossible. Where does that leave me? Back to the little enjoyments? They are thinning. I don't know what to do other than spout here. All this useless diatribe has gone in circles and there is no switch for me to throw and change direction. I should be elsewhere, but as I have said too often, the means are gone. My ambition is heading in the same direction... Nowhere. Nice, huh? When the moment arrives that I realize that this space is too costly, well... Pen and paper, I suppose. And then that will run out. Holy Jesus fuck in a Goddamned sports bra, the woman on the television. Fuck me. Why did I have to see her? I am proud of what I have done these last several months to ensure the house is clean and organized, with all of the day-to-day tasks which I have embraced. This has not been easy on either of us, so I felt my place was to maintain home as much as possible. For the most part, it's been good. All of the little things I do enable us to relax in the evening and enjoy meals or whatever. The drives give my days a sense of structure, too. I am still driving. None of that today, and due to another closure because of risk, I will not need to drive until Friday. Today is Wednesday. After Friday, I will not be out there until two days later. That means all this extra time to do whatever I need. It also means a ton of time for thinking, and that is not always a good thing. Today, for example, has found me all over the place here and at the same time lamenting the loss of that fucking position down south. Not that I counted on it or felt I was a shoe-in, but I would have at least liked to see the place and possibly interview, if nothing else. Now it's gone. Like the government job which still feels like a knife in my stomach, this is another which got away. The only upside is the decision was far up the ladder and had nothing to do with me. Still, there is no chance, and I am left once again with zero options. I have threatened to flip the fuck out many times. Perhaps the right reasons are all apparent now. Back to the red. Rust, inside and out. I am frozen beyond belief. While I know that some of my limitations have been self-imposed, others are surely out of my hands. They were thrust upon me by people and societal standards, as well as reckless words in my direction with lasting effects. I will be touching upon one such occasion in the fiction, although considering the way I have felt since yesterday, I honestly don't give a fuck if it ever continues. Not that the story and recurring points hit too close to home, but due to the idea that I began those chapters as an extension to the worst shit I have ever shared. Yep, the train. I have since removed those sections because I became fearful of possible reactions, but still... The story was up there for over a year and God only knows who read it. I always say I have total control over this space and endeavor, but the truth is that once published, words can go around the world without my knowledge. That story may have been available for a very long time, but I keep thinking that readership is low, so the risk is minimal, provided I leave it offline for the duration. Some of the best, most involved, and emotional storytelling I have ever attempted, but also the most damaging and worrisome. The other long-term fiction may head in the same direction if my worry takes over the desire to be creative. I don't have it in me to make something out of nowhere. I can only work on what relates to my life. So, that began in the desert and ran like hell. It felt natural and I saw myself in those situations as they developed. Out of thin air, and then deep in my heart. I just do not know if I can do it anymore. My feet are feeling the rust. I may soon be immobile. Rust. Red. Flaking, too. Oxygen breathes life, but also destroys it.
Back when I was a fictional half Japanese, half Hawaiian woman on the Internet (don't ask further... Long story), I had three sisters. The middle sis was a little younger than me and fucking super cute. I dreamed her up on the heels of seeing images of Ju back then. I was enamored with her appearance and facial expressions. As a model, she was all over the place in Korea at the time. Ramie, the woman in question, was modeled after Ju and stunning. She was not real, yet I lusted after her constantly and was pretty vocal about it. The youngest was Kana, modeled after the cocktail server I gushed about in the Venetian ten years ago. Holy Jesus crap in a shot glass, that girl was unreal. Kana came back into my head because I was reminded of her when I lusted after the fucking sushi girl. I can no longer see either of their faces -- one being a decade back, and the other several years -- but I know the feelings which developed for each of them... Very similar and immediate. No delay, no eyes, no nothing. I was taken aback in seconds and the desire peaked instantly. I know not why it happened with them and damned few others, but however it did, I felt strongly. Not since the car dealership in the early nineties did the desire knock me off my feet as quickly. Anyway, those times in which I became struck right away are very damaging. Rare, but still pretty fucking bad. The very thought of wishing to jump them after a glance is dangerous and sends me into odd directions, some of which have resulted in feelings of self-loathing after the fact. Everything points to weakness of mind. That is not good, ever. I won't mention the oldest, nor her genesis in the real world. Ashley drew me like a gun, right away. It may have been her playfulness, appearance, or the attitude and confidence on her face when we met, but whatever it was, the need was powerful beyond belief. All I could do was sit there and try to make nice with Lanie while my head descended into Ashley's underwear. The conversation was difficult upon seeing the tall blonde approaching from the casino floor. Ashley may have been the strongest physical desire I have ever felt. The Raven was up there as well, but at the time I do recall becoming unable to fully function in that social setting when she walked to me. The Raven drove me up the wall, but differently. Ashley's pull was unlike anything I had experienced. Her look was unreal. I could not believe she accepted dinner with me, and then after walking away I was immediately picturing her ass on my face for the remainder of the trip. Now, the reason I bring up these women and their quick pull upon my senses is because just a few hours after being unable to veer from the thought of tasting Ashley, her eyes and heart pulled at me even more. The physical feelings melted instantly as I fell down emotionally over my problems and the loss of Juliette. And how did she respond? As if her brain was reading mine from next to me, without a word. She grabbed hold and held on for dear life. She knew nothing about me at that point. Nothing! My face was a mess of emotion and she picked it up as if her destiny was to rescue me from death. Her loving manner and expressive eyes took me off my feet in seconds, and I knew we could lay there and understand without a syllable. And then it happened. Was I controlling her? Nope, not at all. We had been in each other's company for barely an hour when she grabbed me and stroked my cheek. No control, just empathy from out of nowhere. I may have loved her within minutes. A real woman, too. A dream of sorts, but real nonetheless. At the bar with her huge, playful eyes looking at me all I felt was the need to ravage her as if I had been in the desert for years. A little while later and she was holding me up like a champion. What a fucking woman, and twenty-one years old. The fuck? My entire life may boil down to her embrace, and soon. These last several days I have seen few who stirred me -- most notably the one in the city just two days ago -- and none of them lasted more than an hour before fading. I am beginning to realize that those days spent with Ashley may have been the most striking of all the trips to the goblet and beyond. Rachel was nearly the same age, and radically different. Of course, I met her adorable self many years after Ashley, but the gradient could not be more defined. Rachel was sweet but seemed like a helpless fucking baby much of the time, whereas Ashley had the wisdom of a fucking Trill, with many lifetimes behind her current self. That may sound odd, but keep in mind I watch a lot of Star Trek and the correlation is valid. Ashley just floored me in so many ways that I cannot help but think of her as my savior. She literally delivered me from the hell of myself and put me on the road home. Yes, after that I was still all fucked up, but I did not kill myself, and that is saying about as much as it can. Serious, that idea. And I was right there before leaving work to dash off to Vegas, and then again after the door closed with my loving Juliette on the other side, never to be seen again. Lanie was there, but Ashley was the key that unlocked enough of me to force a change. And here I sit, in part thanks to that living fucking doll that I will never forget. I still love her. Say what you will, but her memory is one of the most important parts of me. Like the phase lock girl the better part of a decade earlier, there was a fusion I cannot deny. A feeling which ran deeper than I can ever describe. Ashley, God love her, saved my life in seconds. I do love her. Still. Whatever takes place in the world and however long I last within it, she occupies a section of my soul which will never be denied. I fucking love her and thank the lucky stars for each second we shared. That doll made me forget the rust. From exactly seventeen years ago to this very second, she is still an influence. Fuck the rust. She would not want that. I have to keep going right now, but the doll is going to make it difficult. My one wish? Back in her loving arms. I swear to Christ fresh off the cross, if she were to appear I would make it my life's work to show her what she means to me. Ok, sorry about the gushing. I love her. I still do. Onward. The sushi girl pulled me in with her personality at work. She was adorable, and fully in charge of the mood at the table that night. I felt the desire, but at the same time I could not help but respect her work. She was amazing at reading the patrons and making the experience enjoyable for all. We had tons of fun that night, and her attitude toward my remarks was the beginning. Completely at her mercy after just a few minutes. I loved it. The desire was upon seeing more than I should have at the time, but I gazed anyway. All of her. And therein lies the problem. I did not know her and should not have been picturing her labia all over my face. I did it, am not proud of my dramatically deviant feelings in such a direction, but such is me after the decades I have lived. Not proud of it at all, but the one positive is that she did not know. No one did, although the others may have noticed my brightening every time she visited our table. The sushi girl was spared my lethal words and that is excellent. Now, to go one step further, at the time I did think of my fictional younger sister and pictured all manner of positions with someone who never existed. My thinking now is that the very idea of her -- having been created out of thin air for my own purposes -- was the beginning of dreams about all things artificial. And no, I did not think in these terms as related to the sushi girl until today. I was nuts about the Cherry 2000 so long ago, and had a bit of a thing for Gemma three decades later, but honestly the manufacturing of a woman who became a composite of those I had known or seen is another level from the sushi girl. Ramie was fictional, gorgeous, and I made her out of my own imagination. Do you see how I arrived at this? Huge problem now. Huge. Fucking. Problem. My head is awash with Ashley's influence upon my life and the idea that I am so far gone that two Japanese women were combined to create a dream... An idea... And one which is hurting me. I might have to change the title of this after the fact. Fuck the rust, anyway. Ashley fixed it like she fixed me. Refraining from absolutely over-the-top gushing over that doll is going to be a tall fucking order. All the shit I have spouted since Jaime seems to be related to an infinite number of other events from the past. The sight of Kana in the Venetian casino should have been a clue, however. I was just a day away from being married. That right there is a fucking red flag from hell. What was I doing? Thinking? Did I head to Vegas in hopes of something different? Just a trip to my favorite and most beloved destination that held all manner of trouble from years earlier? I don't fucking know anymore, but I do know that I saw her there and it was not enough. I had to fucking ask of her ethnicity and then became floored by the answer. That was a time when the Asian thingy was at its peak. What kind of person does that make me? Getting married a day away and I was looking at her as if I needed her on a plate with soy sauce. Jesus holy hell in a ramekin, batman. Did I really do that? I still remember seeing her there in her Roman dress with legs and the rest as if it was yesterday. Fuck me. The Asian thing gave way to the darkness years later, but I believe the damage is the same. What kind of person had I become? Well, I guess it doesn't matter now because I fucked up the whole thing shortly thereafter. The situation reminds me of my first wedding way back a million years ago (eighties, heh) and the days leading up to that cheap-ass ceremony in a chapel. Nothing bad, though... Just the woman who stood there next to my soon-to-be-wife. Gorgeous. And revealing this now doesn't matter. That time is more than a world away and everyone knows it. Plus, this space is so fucking unknown that it's not even funny. Traci was her name, just like my cousin in Florida. Dark hair, exotic looking, slender, tall, the whole shitaree. I met her quite a number of months earlier and wanted to dive up her shirt almost immediately. Eventually, I did. Yep, two days before the wedding up in the mountains. Was it worth it? None of that matters now. The point is that twenty-two years before I looked at Kana like she was dessert, my brain operated in a similar manner. Indeed, the two names on my forearms relate as well, but that is for another time. Laugh it up. Kana dredged up all kinds of shit. I even saw her for a second time later during the same day. We had been wandering around the Venetian and Palazzo and ended up in a small shopping area so the kids could stick close without casino issues. Upon stepping off the carpet of the gaming area and into the massive hallway, I spied a watch store. Being the wristwatch junkie I am, a peek was in order. Myself and my partner's nephew strolled into the lavish store, after which he quickly lost interest and headed back out to the family. I, on the other hand, remained inside with wide eyes. One model caught my eye and the salesman allowed me to handle the timepiece, during which I saw that it was priced just shy of a quarter million. Check, please! Oy God I got out of there and turned back toward the carpeted area, and there she was, all legs and cleavage. I swear to Christ I would have gone after her if the time and space had been available. Yes, that's right... I would have slathered her with me. What a wreck, even then. Out of control, the Asian thing flaring like never before, and a picturesque example of pure Japanese beauty right across the room. Fuck me. On the upside, the sight also intimidated me, meaning I moved the hell away and to a place where I could no longer see her. Eventually she faded completely. The lasting effects are apparent, however. All the connections, sightings which drove me insane (like the lovely Kana and God-knows how many others), and relationships I have drawn here in this writing cannot be denied. Whatever happened, the situation in my head is here to stay. Two entries back I mentioned that I can no longer trust the words coming out of someone's mouth. Hmm. Such a statement is pretty tough for some to swallow and I don't give a fuck. Live with it. Every single person out there feels that due to some past events, trials, or some such other shit between themselves and others -- like a personal connection, perhaps -- they should be exempt from being lumped in with the mass. Well, nope. There is no difference. Nothing. Each fucking person is in the same category and I don't care how anyone may feel toward that type of statement. In fact, if you can sit there and tell me exactly why I am to trust a person's word, go for it. See where that gets you. One-sided? Yep. Unbalanced? Yep. Unfair? Definitely. But understand something... I have already been mostly destroyed inside and left to suffer for my remaining days by the words and actions of those very same fucking people. I am ruined, forever. Now tell me to trust someone else. Shut up. I miss Ashley and I do not normally spend so much time considering it. Just fleeting glimpses here and there. This is way different from the manner in which I typically think of her, too. I have had many days in which her body was in my head for hours at a time, including the way she looked approaching the fucking bar the first time. Dreaming of having her all to myself without limit seems natural. Now? Her eyes and heart. That is all. She moved me tremendously back then and still does. What a human being. I need to stop writing about her or I'll drive myself nuts. But she took the rust out of the entry. I love her. Did I mention that? Heh.
Thursday now. The site is all fucked up due to the attempt to move it to one of the other domains. I have partial content live at this moment and need to await the clearing of some errors on the other end before going further. I do not wish to restore everything to the way it was, either. The change has been in mind for many months, pretty much since Jaime wrapped herself around my heart, but I was not motivated enough to actually do it. Between the nineteen thousand lines of gushing about everything inside and the possibility of glancing some hurtful memories via the fiction, my thinking is now at an all-time high. So many things, from the woman in the theatre (twenty-two years back, by the way) to seeing half of Jaime's face to the fucking unending threatening nature of society coupled with my mountain of fears, I have enough in my brain for a lifetime of study. Trying to think logically and work on the technical aspects of moving the content is not easy right now. Hmm... Maybe I just talked myself into leaving everything as it was. I don't fucking know. I keep hearing those words from the theatre and the catalyst just days ago which spun me into a frothy cup of insecurity, and feel void of hope. Damn it, anyway. Something has to change or I will withdraw even further. I am generally pretty wordsmithy, but right now there is not much going on inside my head other than concern. I mentioned Thursday. I don't have much to do today, so like yesterday the intention is to sit here quite a bit and spill my shit all over the screen. I am having trouble with more than one issue. Two and four, with the latter being lesser. Two. How did I turn out like this? Was it the woman in the theatre? Those outings with the Brunette and the sometimes-crass nature of her wording? That scared the shit out of me more than once and I cannot simply forget. Yes, that was her personality and I knew it early on, but all these years later none of it should be affecting me like this. She was a wonderful person. I loved her (still do, a little... It runs deep) and respected who she was. We were similar in one way -- a way which harmed our relationship -- and very different in another. At first I felt more open-minded, but later became so wrapped around her for security that I drove her away. I turned into a mess in a very short period of time. She reacted accordingly and eventually we were done. The very idea that her personality was threatening to me had absolutely nothing to do with her. That was all me, and I still wish I could apologize. She was strong, I was weak. Those words in the quiet theater more than a decade earlier kept echoing in my head every time we stepped off the train in the city to wander and exercise our cameras. Thankfully, whenever we were out and about I was able to suck down some alcohol and relax. Without the booze, I likely would have imploded even worse than I already did, but we've gone over that. I am simply trying to learn if she was a factor in my massive second issue or if I was indeed the entire genesis. I still don't know, but I have to keep trying. The woman in the theatre is still there, although I don't understand how that incident could rail me for decades. I thought at one point that I was stronger than that. Perhaps not. I still feel terrible over the way I treated and spoke to her toward the end. It may never go away. That fucking commercial just rolled by and now I am a ball of desire. Damn it. Thanks, BBC. Eh... Not their fault I am so weak. I am feeling reckless. As I said earlier, the means to do what I wish just is not there. Gone, like everything else in my life which had value. I have tossed too much to the four winds to recover in a reasonable amount of time. There is another aspect of that, too, and from the last couple of years, but I refuse to lay it out here. Honestly, everything I've done for many years has been out of a need to escape one way or another. Be it holing up in the old office, running to the other side of the hill to sit at a bar alone, or flying the coop completely and leaving everything behind, each step has been toward one of them. I sit here now as a product of the worst fucking decision-making processes imaginable. Stuck. Just me and my dreams. Keyboard. Pizza. Television. Booze. One hundred percent unfulfilling and I am the sole reason. All those memories have exploded in my head recently and I don't see a way to be content in the short term. And by the time I can fully recover myself and financial situation enough to run away, I'll be too fucking old for anything to be joyful. Just another aged fucking mess walking the casino without hope. Nice, huh? Maybe what I wrote ten years ago is true. Maybe I have nothing ahead for which to hope. Reckless no longer matters. See? Tell me what to do. Now what? Ashley is still in mind, and not her ass. Her beautiful soul. Help me. I really do not see a way to alleviate two. It just keeps coming back, sometimes when I least expect it. What irritates me is when that issue flares while I am alone. I don't understand what could have taken place to drive it deep enough to slam me when I am nowhere near a woman. Was it indeed the theatre? No answer. Was it the Brunette being so vocal? I never placed blame on her because not only did I love her, but she was a person and my issues are not her doing. The situations we were in may have had a hand in how I feel now, but still... Not her fucking fault. Everything is inside me and I cannot figure out why it's so dramatic and stirring. Something had to have taken place many years ago. All I can do is try, I suppose. I have nothing else right now. Issue one is so diminutive in comparison that I am not worried. Four is a problem, relates directly to two, but it often boils down to a choice and measure of control. Heh, that word again. I need a fucking machine to save my life, and I would love it if that machine was Ashley. God love her. Insecurity is a terrible thing, but it had to begin somewhere, damn it. Compelling? Like you would not believe. The house is completely closed up yet I smell the smoke from outside. I think the shitty door seals are to blame, but I'm not certain. The fire is still more than twenty-five miles to the south and slowly being contained by those blessed heroes, but the preponderance of haze outside is bad this morning. I can't even see the closest hills out the window right now. It's bad, but nothing compared to what is going on at the front lines. God help those who have been displaced or hurt, and those fighting this disaster. All the respect in the world. All of it. And you had better feel the same. Otherwise, go fuck yourself. After a bit of haphazard activity, I am alone in the quiet with my show on the television. I need the peaceful atmosphere of this place much of the time to keep my head upright. Considering how issue two is taking up the lion's share of my thinking these days, any hours alone and in the comfort of my cocoon are more necessary than ever. I can't help but think that more time for trying to learn of why I am the way I am is helpful, although thus far nothing seems to have been accomplished other than worry. I just don't know what the fuck I am supposed to be focusing upon, and thinking of those occasions that cut me feels hurtful rather than helpful. I am still going, though. Still sitting here. Isn't that what I should be doing? Do you know the answer? Something just came to mind, good or bad. I am hesitant, but it may be necessary. All of these entries since Jaime are full of questions, yet still the days roll by with my inbox fucking void of anything. Do I keep asking? Anyone? Anyone? 'This is Lawrence, Kansas. Is anyone out there? Anyone at all?' Look it up. This asshole had better stop calling Commander Sisko 'boy'. It will not end well for him. Heh. Society has had a hand in the way I feel and my view of everything related to attractiveness, confidence, and masculinity, so why not the realization that some of it is beyond my control? My insides are twisted and I keep thinking I did not do this, but part of it must be me. I think too much, really. I have always overanalyzed everything and been hyper-critical of others, and that means the same applies to me. Society is something which cannot be pushed. It does the pushing. The faults of society have been developed throughout eons of life here. Male, female, man, woman, roles, identity... Everything. Sex? Don't get me started. I know people will fall into routines and follow the lead of the chief sheep, and such a fact keeps everything in perspective at times. Although I am down and full of problems, I am not a sheep. I push against the standard until exhausted, and then push a bit more. I will not veer from such a position no matter how long I live. The issue with this thinking is that I am almost completely alone. Other males will never know what is in my head, however. None of it. And don't give me a blast of shit over being closed off or not realizing that I may not be alone in my lack of confidence. I have not the time nor inclination to help others. This shit takes up all of me, honestly. I care and have helped as much as I can, but there is only so much within and I have to look out for number one before others. The male ego, societal standards and accepted roles, all of it. I know because I have studied since fucking high school. That time is long gone but likely resonates inside others as it does in me. But again... I have to save myself. Every single fucking male out there, seen or otherwise. Believe it. A constant, and something which may destroy me very soon. I am told every single thing which should help, but alas... Nope. At least I shrugged off the rust. Thank you Ashley. Maybe I still need her. I basically grew up being within the fold of the gaming culture, even while too young to understand what I had been exposed to and seeing several times per year. Vegas, Reno, and the clincher... SLT. I was there often enough to know that the adults were drawn to those places. All I wished to do was experience the big, lavish dinners, scenery, and the arcades. I spent much time in those places. The fateful weekend with my grandfather during which I frequented the arcade off the lobby and was approached and subsequently frightened by a prostitute just inside the doors is still in memory. I believe I went over that incident here some time ago. Ah, yes... I did, in 'Sex and Suicide'. I still remember her and the connection I soon made between Nevada and the vision of a working woman. At the time I had no idea, but said work is legal there. Those examples of often-desperate and generally very attractive, available women are tattooed on my brain. As a young person, the options for entertainment were very narrow at the time. Not until Vegas began to embrace a more family-friendly atmosphere in the mid-nineties did the availability of underage options open wide to the world. For adults? Everything imaginable and then some. As I aged, the image of those resorts began to appear as a wonderland for whatever a person sought. Anything, as long as the money was flowing. Even the last few trips to the high country during the past several years brought me the same wonder as in the past. No sooner did I check in and clean up when the overwhelming need to drown into sex, alcohol and colored lighting began to take over and push me to think more freely than I did at home. And I still fucking feel that way. I am certain that being exposed to so much dramatic skin on display, the imagery on the machines, shows, and tons of bars everywhere has influenced the way I see society. On top of that? The roles of both sexes, along with everything that comes along with the idea of many differences. I sit here now likely a product of that upbringing and all aspects of such a sex-infused machine designed to separate a person from their money. I understand it, and though I did years before, still I drowned myself. Whatever damage came along as a result was known long before ever putting the key in the ignition or stepping aboard an airliner. I knew it all and dove anyway. Illusion, as I have so often mentioned, was everything. Perhaps that illusion is the only way I can survive.
Think of Jasmine and what she provided to my damaged self so many years ago. Basically, everything I wished or needed. Every fucking detail of her actions was tailored to my desires, be it silence while enjoying cocktails in an agreeable location or her posing like a doll in any manner I requested. Anything, because that was her job. And that woman was not cheap as an escort. I paid a high price for her company and enjoyed every fucking second. Sound like anything else I've mentioned here since Jaime? A machine, perhaps? That's right kids, the word comes to town again... Control. That was the operative term while I was with Jasmine, and the idea of her grew from my younger years of being folded into the Nevada gaming culture like a chocolate chip into cookie dough. Hmm... Could that be a large part of my reasoning toward a machine dream? You're damned right. I don't see any way it could represent anything else. Another little beam of light on the origin of my needs. A step. Damaging, nearly as impossible as the reality of a machine, but still a step. Jasmine was an amazing person. This is beginning to boil itself down like the fucking au jus I ruined so many Christmases ago. Prime rib came out wonderful, and good thing, too. My foray into making a wine-based sauce went to hell in a handbasket. Just like my head right now, it was reduced far too much. The lines are forming a triangle and pointing to not having a point. Heh. Get it? I mean, there may be no end to me trying to figure this out, and even if I do there is no resolution possible due to my ongoing absolute statements about the rigid facts. Machinery which does not and cannot exist. So why do I keep going? Good fucking question, but honestly you may see that I am trying to figure out how I arrived in this place all my own. No one would understand the idea of not accepting reality, but I am not just like the others that I have known. All those damned years in that atmosphere have contributed to my belief that with enough resources, a person can be or have whatever makes them satisfied. Fulfillment is supposed to come from within. Yeah, okay. For me? There is more to it and no answers. Clues, yes, but nothing concrete. And here I sit. Reduced. I am a whiskey reduction, and I wish that was funny. Control. All those flesh and blood women with beautiful souls and huge hearts have jaded me in the extreme. I am so fucking biased about beauty at this point that only a machine could live up to the insane visions in my head. Oh sure, Andrea was likely the most beautifully shaped and aligned woman ever to stand before me, and she was real. That means others exist, too, right? Somewhere? I cannot count on such a fact. Not likely. I refuse to search more because it is nearly impossible. Whatever may be out there in the world will not be seen by yours truly. Andrea was unique and our time together was a fleeting chance in the grand scheme of the world. We connected out of desperation and ran away together for weeks. Thinking of her now is pain, nothing more. Better to have...? Nope. Now I am void of everything. There is but one way to where I need to be, and it does not exist. That is that. I will still search for answers, however, because my time with the analysis is unlimited, or so it would seem. I have stated before that everything is related. You can probably connect the machine with threat easily. There would be no such thing. No worry, no fear. She would have no feelings whatsoever unless programmed as such. And yes, I am going over the same things for the tenth time. Suck it, I don't care. I need to type the words. All of the issues would be so far back that they would be much less likely to affect my sensibilities. Even if only two of them went away I could be content. Two and four. Yep, four would no longer be necessary because of having complete control over her actions. I realize how this must sound, but again... My fucking site, my fucking keyboard, and my fucking dream. Don't say it, please. I know full well what I am. Sitting here right now in the middle of the afternoon helps me to realize just how much I have shoved aside in order to be comfortable. Media. The news is only on to get updates on the fires and I generally stick to the same channel. I see Allie and Sara once in a while and both drive me nuts. Mostly Allie's big eyes. They are not a big problem now, however, because I am used to it. The commercials still spin me, but again... Not a big deal. I have completely cut myself off from anything new, and other than the occasional movie in the background while writing, I pretty much watch shows with which I am already familiar. They are safe. No worries. Others continue to move onward and upward to whatever comes along which seems interesting or different. I can no longer point myself in such a direction. I am afraid of what I may see or hear, and in the case of the premium channels, the damage may be extensive. So, the same dozen or so programs rotate on the screen depending upon my mood. I do feel limited, though, but not enough to branch out and be harmed by others' reckless use of whatever will shock people. I've had enough of it. Call me what you will, but after all this time realizing those parts of life which can scar, I made the choice to stay away. That goes for other people, as well. Some whom I have known will no longer be standing before me, no matter the circumstances. Only a select few. I am very different than months ago. I put myself in the position of having control over the environment and sunk in deep enough to know that I cannot leave. You may have noticed that the entries since Jaime are much longer on average than the past. Such is the result of me being in front of this machine and filled with more concern than ever in my life. The show, the routine, and the comfort of being holed up here are just too much now. I have done this in the interest of saving my own life. That is not a joke. Ugh. Too much. This is just too fucking much anymore. I don't know what to do. Ashley helped, though. Dreaming of her staring at me with big, compassionate eyes was the catalyst for removing the rust from this entry before it became uncontrollable. Bless her heart. I really do love her to this day and I hope she remembers me. Tune in next time for another slew of the same shit."
This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
legal
about
clodmaster
archive
home
