May 13th, 2021 9:23am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Blue Dress read ( words) "I slipped up and it wasn't the end of the world, yet I still don't like feeling weak. Not very important. Still 5-11. What is of major fucking importance is the slip took place on the heels of realizing everything is impossible these days. I was aware before the fact and probably let fly the words because I knew there was nothing to lose. I just don't fucking care any longer. After yesterday? Reckless as hell. I fucking knew it and waited for the safe to fall on my head anyway. This is the end of all things, in a manner of speaking, and inevitable. I put myself in a position of danger, willingly sitting day after miserable day and awaiting the slam. And then there it was when I was paying little attention. A simple thing, really, but one which will resound until the end of me. And that right soon, assholes. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. As of this latest and largest of stabs, I am worn. I stated above that I knew it the whole time, meaning all the way back to that Godforsaken restaurant visit which I cannot even localize. Something took place there which actually related to little things in the past, yet I did not fathom the bigger picture until more recently. The fact is I do not know all of what takes place in there... I can't. Impossible, really. This is the shit which I said brushes trust and they walk the line hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand (thank you, Samuel). And then the fucking line moves along to another problem, which is others censoring words. I can't have that, but I can't fucking hear it, either. There is no fucking solution to anything going on in my head. At the outset of the visit to the restaurant, everything was all roses and rainbows, afterward turning to shit. Had I thought about it more and not become clouded and distracted by being physical, the solution may have presented itself just as I can see it right now. I should have taken issue and shut everything right the fuck down when it first began to unravel. Had I expressed the feelings the way they float in my head at this very moment, perhaps the next many months would have gone differently. Worst case? No one near me because of labeling and the idea that I cannot be trusted to remain calm during troubling situations. Well, I really don't give half a purple shit about that now because regardless of the feelings inside other people, I am going back into the cavern where my blue dress lays in the mud and grabbing all the knives. The verbal stabbing will begin when this is published, if not sooner. Necessity and discomfort will dictate. Later, same day. The problems are going to be there no matter what I am doing. Either something will come across the screen and remind me of past issues, or my mind will drift toward a situation which caused me to fall. It's been happening all day. Even a passing scene of the gangsters just went right on by -- a situation during one episode I've seen a million fucking times -- and brought a few things to mind which had been dormant for a few hours. The shade is down and I am hiding despite warm weather. I do not wish for anyone to see me right now. I even went so far as to visit the little market instead of the Safeway to remain away from prying eyes. This situation is very bad. I am so fucking vitiated and degenerated that I can barely think straight enough to get through a weekday. This is fucked. I cannot blame people for the way they think. Each personality is a product of upbringing combined with external events over which there can be little control. The problem is that I cannot deal with said thinking because I do not know what is going on and must trust the fucking words emanating from a person's worthless maw. Simple, right? Bullshit. Too much fucking Goddamned fear all the time. And the previous entry pretty much spelled out the reasoning. Parts missing, like a little piece of shit car constantly falling apart. I am falling apart. There can be no resolving this. Not anymore. People are not to blame. Not even a bit. My beloved blue dress -- the one saving throw against any possible threatening scenario -- is lying in shit, blood, and water. I can't do a fucking thing about it right now. I worked on the Porsche and ended up finishing the entire model. Now I have to get another kit so we can continue. The building has become therapeutic, unlike everything else throughout my days. They are expensive, though, meaning the selling must continue shortly. I need distractions like never before. 3:59pm and the house is no longer mine. I completed some work in the garage earlier but ended up cut short on time. The shelf is finished, the wiring for my glass thermometer is in place and secured, and the clothing rack now holds a threaded rod up high for spare hangers. All in all I did good out there. Alas... Not being alone affects me. The blue dress is once again before my eyes... Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. The incident involving few words has returned to the mindset of shit. I am at a loss. LOSS. The previous entry contained wording which included 'toto' and the idea is now epoxied for the duration. The two words from last year are directly related, as well. Add to that the fricass at the fucking restaurant and my conclusion is worse than I could have imagined. I am now hurt, minimized, marginalized and smaller. The missing parts inside? Expansive. There is no solution. The idea of continuing along my daily path means I must deal with it, gush, or shut the fuck down. Difficult... Frightening... Acceptable. Blue dress. She is not there. She can never be there. Does she even exist? Close, no doubt, but wholly? Impossible. The realizations and subsequent changes to my psyche are going to force the most unpleasant 'me' ever. Believe it, motherfuckers. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. The bald guy. Originally he was hilarious and had us in stitches. Now? Three bald guys. Don't fucking ask. The caverns may have to return. I am angry now. Gangsters still on the television and me on the sofa with a cocktail and this crap. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted. In the cavern right now with the wind blowing the dress all over through the mud and muck and detritus and all of the dead rats as they decompose in the darkness and the water completely inundated with minerals and fraught with the remains of so many earlier lives gone and forgotten to the point of being hellish and disgusting to the ears and the eyes and the touch like moldy bread that has been saturated with the tears of years and sitting dormant until an unseeing soul comes along with its innocent touch and bright eyes even though there is no brightness in this place and they cannot be stricken down like the rats and their glassy eyes and puffy tails until the end comes and takes everything away as it should and as it can and as the sun sets on happiness and the ideals which once brought light. Manson lamps. Heh. Are you paying attention? The light went away far away just like the vitae and spe and the possible outcomes as they lay there in the cold mud and look on while the maggots devour as they do and the flies shit as they do and the ants swarm as they do and the people ignore. Nothing is there. Nothing real. People are there and they don't fucking matter because they don't care and they pretend to and then they speak as if someone hears but no one hears any of their shit because it is just shit and the end begins to brighten and then it dims because someone said it should dim because someone else said it matters but it doesn't matter... Right? Where are you? Do you see what is happening in the cavern? Darkness and cold and sadness and longing and heartache and loss and despair and blackness following all of it just when the brain sees an out or an exit to a better place for both heart and mind and all of the frilly shit that goes with them and then the illusion stops and everything disappears and the angels all die and the vision of that guy up there who can fix everything turns out to be a giant fake balloon in the parade of what we do or do not call life and the strings are not strong enough to hold it down and the lift becomes too much as the people holding the strings lose grip and the balloon floats up high into the black sky and the pressure inside overcomes the pressure outside and it explodes like a giant bomb made up of hopes and dreams and all of the little figures which carry all of those falsehoods and bright thoughts fall out like plastic army men from someone's childhood and rain down upon the wet soil and then cover the dress with their vacant expressions while the huge clouds unload their onslaught of endless tears from the sky and the water permeates the dirt and buries everything right where it should have been in the first place because the ideas and thoughts and visions have been all combined into yet another giant balloon that never had enough displaced nitrogen and oxygen to lift in the first place and then the controls are pushed beyond their limits in a futile attempt to rise and the fire for creating the hot air becomes overpowering and destroys everything which came before or was to come after or ever seemed possible like returning to the little army men from childhood and their never-changing faces and then seeing that everything was shit from the fucking beginning. Pain. Bad. Down. Hurt. Afflicted. The bald guy is not at fault. He is better than that. But he was at the outset... The bleach box... The dawn of an era which became as hell on earth for just one soul who tried to work with the information and the problems and the visions on the television and then the words from below that came along and matched that fucking phrase and appreciation stemming from cold detachment and unfeeling demeanors and the icy forthright statements brought along the path of life lacking regard for the inner turmoil and fear and isolation causing one person to drown and never recover from anything... Not even those never-ending platitudes and attempts to circumvent the very fucking stance which brings everything in life that can now remain unending and disenchanting and un-everything because the ice destroys all that had possibility and hope and life and rise and sky and sun and moon and stars and the entirety of what a person needs to retain the tools for living and breathing and relishing delights and all examples of loving from the simplicity of an understanding hug to the drama and exclusivity of the most uplifting feelings in existence because the alternative is death and decay and hatred and anger and all those little pieces of a heart that have been separated and strewn about the earth and will likely be forgotten like any other discarded piece of trash rolled over by an expensive car traveling to its next glorious and glamorous destination through which the lesser people are forgotten. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Satan's fraud from that place of which no one wants an awareness. Believe it. Learn it. Bewail it. In toto. The remainder of this day will be my bidding. I need to express and expound the idea that my feelings must be at the forefront at least some of the time. Otherwise I will remove myself from the equation the others have constructed for their own benefit. The ceiling fan is cooling this room at my command. My phone is to the point of controlling no less than seven facets of the house. This is good. At some point in the future, the end result of all my effort will become apparent to others. That's right... A representation of the Barcalounger way of life. My own version, honestly. The gears are already meshing. One year ago I felt more. Now? Much less than I had ever thought possible. Due to all of the pressing thoughts and shit situations, the days MUST fall to my bidding. Or else. 5-12. And first thing this morning is yet another prime example of my fear. Right out of the fucking gate, people. Wondering why I can never find a way to make peace with this shit? Stop it. There is nothing I can do. I will have some time to myself today, and unlike yesterday the last of the models is completed so I won't have that awaiting my wishes later when the routine is finished and I can relax. Damn. I'll have to come up with some other little reward for my efforts. The garage might be advanced too, I guess. Right now I really don't know. After yesterday's meltdown and my subsequent bullshit here, there can be no way of knowing the future. Nothing is certain anymore... Not even my coffee in the morning. But it is next to me anyway. I have to embrace each tiny detail in order to keep my head up. Everything... From the morning quiet to the little projects which can take more time because I have it. The kitchen work continues to bring a bit of comfort, as well. Whatever began to happen months back while walking in there to either cook or clean is still moving me. Just last night I went to prepare a sandwich and felt the warmth again. I don't know why, but it's there nonetheless. The kitchen is one of those things I have to hold tight, lest the remainder of the day and all those demons get the best of me and force my hand. I just can't have that. Not now. The quiet morning time is still nice. I have to go to the hardware store later this morning for some light bulbs. Last night I became somewhat pissy and difficult after a conversation involving said bulbs, after which I decided to go to sleep. All this time at home for more than a year now has me on edge a bit, although I can still deal with it. I just have to maintain sight and a path to which other people can relate. I must be careful and hold the bad stuff inside while showing them courtesy. I may be all fucked up, but that does not give me license to be unfair. This is not their fault. So, off to the store in a little while. People count on me to help. I will continue to help until I can't any longer. Helping myself is another story. Ugh they just keep popping up. Safety and security? Not always available to me. The media and systems are at my command, but there are only so many choices. Day after day I keep things manageable on the screens and all in the name of emotional comfort. And speaking of comfort, such is absent. I went there (tried), but to no avail. I opened the door a bit but there was nothing to see on the other side. I further attempted to describe what happens within and that went nowhere, so my conclusion is nothingness. A void. A space enough for only me and my feelings. Relegated, stuffed into this place, and disregarded. Such is the living as opposed to the unreal. Understand? Nope. And the space relates to the beginning of this paragraph because I often need some type of defense mechanism as a saving throw versus the examples continuing to plague my days. There is nothing which can actually help, but for a few precious moments the idea is sound. Unfortunately, I often come out the other side with even more to deal with. Alas, such is the way I must live my days in this current period. I know of no alternatives for keeping myself upright at least part of the time. They will keep popping up, I will have to deal with the larger issues when I am unable to be alone, and then while actually alone I will do whatever is necessary to feel better (somewhat). This entire site has boiled down to one long-winded and half-empty analysis of a single problem. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. This is a dead end. Yes, there was something flaming inside me at each of the three occasions and I kept it all to myself. Yes, I did that. Do I feel one way or another about it? Not anymore. There is nothing. What I have retained is the difference between me and other people. At least, as it appears to me. I try to look through another pair of eyes from time to time and usually end up confused or simply wondering what is happening in there. That is a bad position, especially now, because I've grown into one giant ball of worry at times. Mostly I have to keep that crap to the rear and focus upon hiding away my truths and keeping everything safe. Right now is a good example as the months have passed and helped me to secure what I need and shut the rest out completely. Those flaming periods came and went (and yes, the one down south was the most powerful and damaging fucking pull ever) and I am glad they are gone. Every now and again I see another problem, but honestly the work has been eased over time. Too much practice and damned little choice. This is unlike the other impossibility because that one is out there in the world... Existing as a shining example of the definition. My dead end carries on each day -- sometimes strong and other times merely in the background -- and each moment spent considering where I reside has been summed with the previous. Cumulative. Days and days and days... Lost forever and causing me to see even more missing from my life. I look forward and see only a wall. A buffer stop. The end of the line. I must remain mindful of the feelings of others, especially now that I am but half of whatever I was a year ago. Just because I feel the way I do does not mean I can handle the same in them. Yep, unfair. For the most part, anyway. But at least I fucking KNOW, people. I really do. I am going to continue with the little things today. Larger items must wait until I feel better. After last night added to the shit from the other day, I really need to think. That made me hurt, angry, self-conscious, and several other very uncomfortable feelings went flying through me like out-of-control birds at a gunshot. Some of them are still flying in circles, too. That little moment took years of fear and worry and caused them to sum. Permanent. If I take issue with what transpired on and off throughout these last few years and nothing comes of it, the anger will advance to the point of my causing more difficulty for people than I care to admit right now. I will not be able to control what comes out of my mouth. Not even a little. That kind of snowstorm will not be tolerated. I moved the windows around to check this in the browser and saw half of Jamie's face for a second. That reminded me that her fortieth birthday is in three days. I wonder what she will be doing. Eh... I know very little of that woman. The character was the thing. 5-13. So much for the safety and security. Now I really have to think. I partially caved in upon myself for a little while. Cannot have that anymore. Not good. Thank Christ for this day, the quiet and isolation. We are merely three days into the week but this will likely be the best feeling for a morning in a very long time. I need this. I also need to be alone, although I don't get there for about an hour. It's going to feel well-deserved. Hours to do whatever I need. Maybe hours of this, as well. 'I pushed her out of my head quickly but she returned in a different outfit. No, not the blue dress. That one is already in use as a representation of more than I care to explain. This woman came back wearing jeans and a black tank. She appeared out of nowhere, too. I was caught off guard for a moment until pulling focus upon her eyes and realizing I knew the face. And once I knew? The fear, like I had done something wrong or violated a rule of some sort. Her face was the reverse of mine... Powerful, forthright, and damning. I had to get away but there was nowhere to go. Walled in. I threw her a compliment (which always brought a smile while in Vegas) thinking I could break the edges of the situation. Her eyes turned red. That rhymes with dead.' The work yesterday went very well. I added one of the new outlets in the garage and freed up a wall plug while doing laundry. Very good. And I am glad things worked well here before opening a door I cannot close. Not only am I unable to close it, the fucking thing seems to have disappeared. I cannot shove shit back up the pipe. The one chance has been burned down like so many past situations involving my brain and some sort of test. I did this of my own accord and now feel like a partial failure. This is not good after a year of working with everything at home and caring for people during the fucking pandemic. I dropped the wall and spoke for a little while and now all I see is a huge mistake. There is no going back, erasing thought, or any other saving grace which can fix the leak. Tools are unavailable. I guess all I can do now is study the results and learn of what may be done in the future to alleviate this feeling. One positive is finishing some work before the bullshit began, plus we were still able to watch the show for a little while before the evening came down. Maybe I can do more work today. Right now I am unsure of anything. The house is mine for hours. The usual routine plus a bit of research on selling a few more items. I have to sit here a while first, however, while the feelings are fresh... Those stabbing, nagging thoughts of yesterday. The conversation seemingly began the fleshing of one problem in my head (long-term, honestly) but after the fact feels like an unnecessary digression from simply watching an episode of the series. That was my weakness and entirely my idea. The problem remains. There are far too many facets to expect any kind of solution to birth from one afternoon of discussion. I believe my head became so clouded that everything moved into surreal territory and I lost the way. Now, and after hours of considering everything spoken, I am lost again. There is just too much. The blue dress, in the cavern, and here we go again... Just like late last year when I could not form sentences. Rudderless. Displaced thinking. Worry? Amplified ten-fold. Fraught now. Just... Fraught. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' My head is now so full of crap that I do not know which way to go. All those words keep resounding inside like little fucking knives, stabbing over and over. I cannot even type them here. Remember 'Keywords'? Some were within that sordid writing but there are so many more that I know not what to do anymore. Yesterday I brought one up (not during the mistaken conversation, either) but I believe it came and went like a leaf in the wind. Part of me is glad it floated away, contrarily another part wishes it had been fleshed out to the limit. Right now I don't even know if I can open any other doors without losing it completely and demonstrating my penchant for silence and issue of eyes only. There are images that won't leave me alone, each attached to one of those damned words. This is a bad time. Ah... Dr. Melfi... 'Tide of memories' indeed. Thanks, hon. I wasn't even eating a cookie for Christ's sake. Definitely a bad time. I had thought things were turning to shit a week ago, but alas whatever is out there in the ground, on the surface, in the sky or beyond, has plans for me. The loss of my sense of taste in the evening was only the beginning. Feelings toward my own rampant and ever-expanding weakness are far worse and indicative of much more as I travel along these rails. This is a bad time. I never should have tipped off the first fucking syllable, strength of will be damned to hell. Now I have another pile of worry on top of everything else. Peachy. Better to have stayed broken in the first place. I still see the dress there in the cold mud and want it to help me, but there is no feeling now. I do not sense that the dress is near even though I see it right before my tired, watery eyes. What the fuck happened? All those 'Caverns...' entries pointed to one conclusion, and that is to push everyone away forever and embrace the dreams, doing it in a manner consistent with my talent for forceful and leveraging commentary. But now I don't know if I am able to accomplish such a feat. The blue dress may remain empty for all time... Lying there all filthy, laughing at me, taunting my efforts, and minimizing my stance among a mass of males. 'And then she told me I am a walking cliché and nothing can ever change such a fact. She looked like Justine, but I cannot be certain. Everything is dark and foggy. The temperature is dropping. The snow is beginning to float down. Her eyes red, I may be finished. "Trying don't get it done, dude." Indeed. The woman in the black tank has a knife.' The remainder of this day will be sullen and gray, just as the sky outside. Cold, wanting, worried. I have no recourse any longer. I already did it, and there is no going back. Does this mean that the feelings are far enough into the air to keep going? Should I 'let slip the dogs of war'? Will anything improve this churning of shit inside? Tune in next time for even more down, black, ash, decay, shit... Whatever. Or don't. I care not either way. In the meantime... Vaffanculo." 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
May 13th, 2021 9:23am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Blue Dress read ( words) "I slipped up and it wasn't the end of the world, yet I still don't like feeling weak. Not very important. Still 5-11. What is of major fucking importance is the slip took place on the heels of realizing everything is impossible these days. I was aware before the fact and probably let fly the words because I knew there was nothing to lose. I just don't fucking care any longer. After yesterday? Reckless as hell. I fucking knew it and waited for the safe to fall on my head anyway. This is the end of all things, in a manner of speaking, and inevitable. I put myself in a position of danger, willingly sitting day after miserable day and awaiting the slam. And then there it was when I was paying little attention. A simple thing, really, but one which will resound until the end of me. And that right soon, assholes. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. As of this latest and largest of stabs, I am worn. I stated above that I knew it the whole time, meaning all the way back to that Godforsaken restaurant visit which I cannot even localize. Something took place there which actually related to little things in the past, yet I did not fathom the bigger picture until more recently. The fact is I do not know all of what takes place in there... I can't. Impossible, really. This is the shit which I said brushes trust and they walk the line hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand (thank you, Samuel). And then the fucking line moves along to another problem, which is others censoring words. I can't have that, but I can't fucking hear it, either. There is no fucking solution to anything going on in my head. At the outset of the visit to the restaurant, everything was all roses and rainbows, afterward turning to shit. Had I thought about it more and not become clouded and distracted by being physical, the solution may have presented itself just as I can see it right now. I should have taken issue and shut everything right the fuck down when it first began to unravel. Had I expressed the feelings the way they float in my head at this very moment, perhaps the next many months would have gone differently. Worst case? No one near me because of labeling and the idea that I cannot be trusted to remain calm during troubling situations. Well, I really don't give half a purple shit about that now because regardless of the feelings inside other people, I am going back into the cavern where my blue dress lays in the mud and grabbing all the knives. The verbal stabbing will begin when this is published, if not sooner. Necessity and discomfort will dictate. Later, same day. The problems are going to be there no matter what I am doing. Either something will come across the screen and remind me of past issues, or my mind will drift toward a situation which caused me to fall. It's been happening all day. Even a passing scene of the gangsters just went right on by -- a situation during one episode I've seen a million fucking times -- and brought a few things to mind which had been dormant for a few hours. The shade is down and I am hiding despite warm weather. I do not wish for anyone to see me right now. I even went so far as to visit the little market instead of the Safeway to remain away from prying eyes. This situation is very bad. I am so fucking vitiated and degenerated that I can barely think straight enough to get through a weekday. This is fucked. I cannot blame people for the way they think. Each personality is a product of upbringing combined with external events over which there can be little control. The problem is that I cannot deal with said thinking because I do not know what is going on and must trust the fucking words emanating from a person's worthless maw. Simple, right? Bullshit. Too much fucking Goddamned fear all the time. And the previous entry pretty much spelled out the reasoning. Parts missing, like a little piece of shit car constantly falling apart. I am falling apart. There can be no resolving this. Not anymore. People are not to blame. Not even a bit. My beloved blue dress -- the one saving throw against any possible threatening scenario -- is lying in shit, blood, and water. I can't do a fucking thing about it right now. I worked on the Porsche and ended up finishing the entire model. Now I have to get another kit so we can continue. The building has become therapeutic, unlike everything else throughout my days. They are expensive, though, meaning the selling must continue shortly. I need distractions like never before. 3:59pm and the house is no longer mine. I completed some work in the garage earlier but ended up cut short on time. The shelf is finished, the wiring for my glass thermometer is in place and secured, and the clothing rack now holds a threaded rod up high for spare hangers. All in all I did good out there. Alas... Not being alone affects me. The blue dress is once again before my eyes... Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. The incident involving few words has returned to the mindset of shit. I am at a loss. LOSS. The previous entry contained wording which included 'toto' and the idea is now epoxied for the duration. The two words from last year are directly related, as well. Add to that the fricass at the fucking restaurant and my conclusion is worse than I could have imagined. I am now hurt, minimized, marginalized and smaller. The missing parts inside? Expansive. There is no solution. The idea of continuing along my daily path means I must deal with it, gush, or shut the fuck down. Difficult... Frightening... Acceptable. Blue dress. She is not there. She can never be there. Does she even exist? Close, no doubt, but wholly? Impossible. The realizations and subsequent changes to my psyche are going to force the most unpleasant 'me' ever. Believe it, motherfuckers. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. The bald guy. Originally he was hilarious and had us in stitches. Now? Three bald guys. Don't fucking ask. The caverns may have to return. I am angry now. Gangsters still on the television and me on the sofa with a cocktail and this crap. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted. In the cavern right now with the wind blowing the dress all over through the mud and muck and detritus and all of the dead rats as they decompose in the darkness and the water completely inundated with minerals and fraught with the remains of so many earlier lives gone and forgotten to the point of being hellish and disgusting to the ears and the eyes and the touch like moldy bread that has been saturated with the tears of years and sitting dormant until an unseeing soul comes along with its innocent touch and bright eyes even though there is no brightness in this place and they cannot be stricken down like the rats and their glassy eyes and puffy tails until the end comes and takes everything away as it should and as it can and as the sun sets on happiness and the ideals which once brought light. Manson lamps. Heh. Are you paying attention? The light went away far away just like the vitae and spe and the possible outcomes as they lay there in the cold mud and look on while the maggots devour as they do and the flies shit as they do and the ants swarm as they do and the people ignore. Nothing is there. Nothing real. People are there and they don't fucking matter because they don't care and they pretend to and then they speak as if someone hears but no one hears any of their shit because it is just shit and the end begins to brighten and then it dims because someone said it should dim because someone else said it matters but it doesn't matter... Right? Where are you? Do you see what is happening in the cavern? Darkness and cold and sadness and longing and heartache and loss and despair and blackness following all of it just when the brain sees an out or an exit to a better place for both heart and mind and all of the frilly shit that goes with them and then the illusion stops and everything disappears and the angels all die and the vision of that guy up there who can fix everything turns out to be a giant fake balloon in the parade of what we do or do not call life and the strings are not strong enough to hold it down and the lift becomes too much as the people holding the strings lose grip and the balloon floats up high into the black sky and the pressure inside overcomes the pressure outside and it explodes like a giant bomb made up of hopes and dreams and all of the little figures which carry all of those falsehoods and bright thoughts fall out like plastic army men from someone's childhood and rain down upon the wet soil and then cover the dress with their vacant expressions while the huge clouds unload their onslaught of endless tears from the sky and the water permeates the dirt and buries everything right where it should have been in the first place because the ideas and thoughts and visions have been all combined into yet another giant balloon that never had enough displaced nitrogen and oxygen to lift in the first place and then the controls are pushed beyond their limits in a futile attempt to rise and the fire for creating the hot air becomes overpowering and destroys everything which came before or was to come after or ever seemed possible like returning to the little army men from childhood and their never-changing faces and then seeing that everything was shit from the fucking beginning. Pain. Bad. Down. Hurt. Afflicted. The bald guy is not at fault. He is better than that. But he was at the outset... The bleach box... The dawn of an era which became as hell on earth for just one soul who tried to work with the information and the problems and the visions on the television and then the words from below that came along and matched that fucking phrase and appreciation stemming from cold detachment and unfeeling demeanors and the icy forthright statements brought along the path of life lacking regard for the inner turmoil and fear and isolation causing one person to drown and never recover from anything... Not even those never-ending platitudes and attempts to circumvent the very fucking stance which brings everything in life that can now remain unending and disenchanting and un-everything because the ice destroys all that had possibility and hope and life and rise and sky and sun and moon and stars and the entirety of what a person needs to retain the tools for living and breathing and relishing delights and all examples of loving from the simplicity of an understanding hug to the drama and exclusivity of the most uplifting feelings in existence because the alternative is death and decay and hatred and anger and all those little pieces of a heart that have been separated and strewn about the earth and will likely be forgotten like any other discarded piece of trash rolled over by an expensive car traveling to its next glorious and glamorous destination through which the lesser people are forgotten. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Satan's fraud from that place of which no one wants an awareness. Believe it. Learn it. Bewail it. In toto. The remainder of this day will be my bidding. I need to express and expound the idea that my feelings must be at the forefront at least some of the time. Otherwise I will remove myself from the equation the others have constructed for their own benefit. The ceiling fan is cooling this room at my command. My phone is to the point of controlling no less than seven facets of the house. This is good. At some point in the future, the end result of all my effort will become apparent to others. That's right... A representation of the Barcalounger way of life. My own version, honestly. The gears are already meshing. One year ago I felt more. Now? Much less than I had ever thought possible. Due to all of the pressing thoughts and shit situations, the days MUST fall to my bidding. Or else. 5-12. And first thing this morning is yet another prime example of my fear. Right out of the fucking gate, people. Wondering why I can never find a way to make peace with this shit? Stop it. There is nothing I can do. I will have some time to myself today, and unlike yesterday the last of the models is completed so I won't have that awaiting my wishes later when the routine is finished and I can relax. Damn. I'll have to come up with some other little reward for my efforts. The garage might be advanced too, I guess. Right now I really don't know. After yesterday's meltdown and my subsequent bullshit here, there can be no way of knowing the future. Nothing is certain anymore... Not even my coffee in the morning. But it is next to me anyway. I have to embrace each tiny detail in order to keep my head up. Everything... From the morning quiet to the little projects which can take more time because I have it. The kitchen work continues to bring a bit of comfort, as well. Whatever began to happen months back while walking in there to either cook or clean is still moving me. Just last night I went to prepare a sandwich and felt the warmth again. I don't know why, but it's there nonetheless. The kitchen is one of those things I have to hold tight, lest the remainder of the day and all those demons get the best of me and force my hand. I just can't have that. Not now. The quiet morning time is still nice. I have to go to the hardware store later this morning for some light bulbs. Last night I became somewhat pissy and difficult after a conversation involving said bulbs, after which I decided to go to sleep. All this time at home for more than a year now has me on edge a bit, although I can still deal with it. I just have to maintain sight and a path to which other people can relate. I must be careful and hold the bad stuff inside while showing them courtesy. I may be all fucked up, but that does not give me license to be unfair. This is not their fault. So, off to the store in a little while. People count on me to help. I will continue to help until I can't any longer. Helping myself is another story. Ugh they just keep popping up. Safety and security? Not always available to me. The media and systems are at my command, but there are only so many choices. Day after day I keep things manageable on the screens and all in the name of emotional comfort. And speaking of comfort, such is absent. I went there (tried), but to no avail. I opened the door a bit but there was nothing to see on the other side. I further attempted to describe what happens within and that went nowhere, so my conclusion is nothingness. A void. A space enough for only me and my feelings. Relegated, stuffed into this place, and disregarded. Such is the living as opposed to the unreal. Understand? Nope. And the space relates to the beginning of this paragraph because I often need some type of defense mechanism as a saving throw versus the examples continuing to plague my days. There is nothing which can actually help, but for a few precious moments the idea is sound. Unfortunately, I often come out the other side with even more to deal with. Alas, such is the way I must live my days in this current period. I know of no alternatives for keeping myself upright at least part of the time. They will keep popping up, I will have to deal with the larger issues when I am unable to be alone, and then while actually alone I will do whatever is necessary to feel better (somewhat). This entire site has boiled down to one long-winded and half-empty analysis of a single problem. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. This is a dead end. Yes, there was something flaming inside me at each of the three occasions and I kept it all to myself. Yes, I did that. Do I feel one way or another about it? Not anymore. There is nothing. What I have retained is the difference between me and other people. At least, as it appears to me. I try to look through another pair of eyes from time to time and usually end up confused or simply wondering what is happening in there. That is a bad position, especially now, because I've grown into one giant ball of worry at times. Mostly I have to keep that crap to the rear and focus upon hiding away my truths and keeping everything safe. Right now is a good example as the months have passed and helped me to secure what I need and shut the rest out completely. Those flaming periods came and went (and yes, the one down south was the most powerful and damaging fucking pull ever) and I am glad they are gone. Every now and again I see another problem, but honestly the work has been eased over time. Too much practice and damned little choice. This is unlike the other impossibility because that one is out there in the world... Existing as a shining example of the definition. My dead end carries on each day -- sometimes strong and other times merely in the background -- and each moment spent considering where I reside has been summed with the previous. Cumulative. Days and days and days... Lost forever and causing me to see even more missing from my life. I look forward and see only a wall. A buffer stop. The end of the line. I must remain mindful of the feelings of others, especially now that I am but half of whatever I was a year ago. Just because I feel the way I do does not mean I can handle the same in them. Yep, unfair. For the most part, anyway. But at least I fucking KNOW, people. I really do. I am going to continue with the little things today. Larger items must wait until I feel better. After last night added to the shit from the other day, I really need to think. That made me hurt, angry, self-conscious, and several other very uncomfortable feelings went flying through me like out-of-control birds at a gunshot. Some of them are still flying in circles, too. That little moment took years of fear and worry and caused them to sum. Permanent. If I take issue with what transpired on and off throughout these last few years and nothing comes of it, the anger will advance to the point of my causing more difficulty for people than I care to admit right now. I will not be able to control what comes out of my mouth. Not even a little. That kind of snowstorm will not be tolerated. I moved the windows around to check this in the browser and saw half of Jamie's face for a second. That reminded me that her fortieth birthday is in three days. I wonder what she will be doing. Eh... I know very little of that woman. The character was the thing. 5-13. So much for the safety and security. Now I really have to think. I partially caved in upon myself for a little while. Cannot have that anymore. Not good. Thank Christ for this day, the quiet and isolation. We are merely three days into the week but this will likely be the best feeling for a morning in a very long time. I need this. I also need to be alone, although I don't get there for about an hour. It's going to feel well-deserved. Hours to do whatever I need. Maybe hours of this, as well. 'I pushed her out of my head quickly but she returned in a different outfit. No, not the blue dress. That one is already in use as a representation of more than I care to explain. This woman came back wearing jeans and a black tank. She appeared out of nowhere, too. I was caught off guard for a moment until pulling focus upon her eyes and realizing I knew the face. And once I knew? The fear, like I had done something wrong or violated a rule of some sort. Her face was the reverse of mine... Powerful, forthright, and damning. I had to get away but there was nowhere to go. Walled in. I threw her a compliment (which always brought a smile while in Vegas) thinking I could break the edges of the situation. Her eyes turned red. That rhymes with dead.' The work yesterday went very well. I added one of the new outlets in the garage and freed up a wall plug while doing laundry. Very good. And I am glad things worked well here before opening a door I cannot close. Not only am I unable to close it, the fucking thing seems to have disappeared. I cannot shove shit back up the pipe. The one chance has been burned down like so many past situations involving my brain and some sort of test. I did this of my own accord and now feel like a partial failure. This is not good after a year of working with everything at home and caring for people during the fucking pandemic. I dropped the wall and spoke for a little while and now all I see is a huge mistake. There is no going back, erasing thought, or any other saving grace which can fix the leak. Tools are unavailable. I guess all I can do now is study the results and learn of what may be done in the future to alleviate this feeling. One positive is finishing some work before the bullshit began, plus we were still able to watch the show for a little while before the evening came down. Maybe I can do more work today. Right now I am unsure of anything. The house is mine for hours. The usual routine plus a bit of research on selling a few more items. I have to sit here a while first, however, while the feelings are fresh... Those stabbing, nagging thoughts of yesterday. The conversation seemingly began the fleshing of one problem in my head (long-term, honestly) but after the fact feels like an unnecessary digression from simply watching an episode of the series. That was my weakness and entirely my idea. The problem remains. There are far too many facets to expect any kind of solution to birth from one afternoon of discussion. I believe my head became so clouded that everything moved into surreal territory and I lost the way. Now, and after hours of considering everything spoken, I am lost again. There is just too much. The blue dress, in the cavern, and here we go again... Just like late last year when I could not form sentences. Rudderless. Displaced thinking. Worry? Amplified ten-fold. Fraught now. Just... Fraught. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' My head is now so full of crap that I do not know which way to go. All those words keep resounding inside like little fucking knives, stabbing over and over. I cannot even type them here. Remember 'Keywords'? Some were within that sordid writing but there are so many more that I know not what to do anymore. Yesterday I brought one up (not during the mistaken conversation, either) but I believe it came and went like a leaf in the wind. Part of me is glad it floated away, contrarily another part wishes it had been fleshed out to the limit. Right now I don't even know if I can open any other doors without losing it completely and demonstrating my penchant for silence and issue of eyes only. There are images that won't leave me alone, each attached to one of those damned words. This is a bad time. Ah... Dr. Melfi... 'Tide of memories' indeed. Thanks, hon. I wasn't even eating a cookie for Christ's sake. Definitely a bad time. I had thought things were turning to shit a week ago, but alas whatever is out there in the ground, on the surface, in the sky or beyond, has plans for me. The loss of my sense of taste in the evening was only the beginning. Feelings toward my own rampant and ever-expanding weakness are far worse and indicative of much more as I travel along these rails. This is a bad time. I never should have tipped off the first fucking syllable, strength of will be damned to hell. Now I have another pile of worry on top of everything else. Peachy. Better to have stayed broken in the first place. I still see the dress there in the cold mud and want it to help me, but there is no feeling now. I do not sense that the dress is near even though I see it right before my tired, watery eyes. What the fuck happened? All those 'Caverns...' entries pointed to one conclusion, and that is to push everyone away forever and embrace the dreams, doing it in a manner consistent with my talent for forceful and leveraging commentary. But now I don't know if I am able to accomplish such a feat. The blue dress may remain empty for all time... Lying there all filthy, laughing at me, taunting my efforts, and minimizing my stance among a mass of males. 'And then she told me I am a walking cliché and nothing can ever change such a fact. She looked like Justine, but I cannot be certain. Everything is dark and foggy. The temperature is dropping. The snow is beginning to float down. Her eyes red, I may be finished. "Trying don't get it done, dude." Indeed. The woman in the black tank has a knife.' The remainder of this day will be sullen and gray, just as the sky outside. Cold, wanting, worried. I have no recourse any longer. I already did it, and there is no going back. Does this mean that the feelings are far enough into the air to keep going? Should I 'let slip the dogs of war'? Will anything improve this churning of shit inside? Tune in next time for even more down, black, ash, decay, shit... Whatever. Or don't. I care not either way. In the meantime... Vaffanculo."
May 13th, 2021 9:23am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
The Blue Dress
read ( words)
"I slipped up and it wasn't the end of the world, yet I still don't like feeling weak. Not very important. Still 5-11. What is of major fucking importance is the slip took place on the heels of realizing everything is impossible these days. I was aware before the fact and probably let fly the words because I knew there was nothing to lose. I just don't fucking care any longer. After yesterday? Reckless as hell. I fucking knew it and waited for the safe to fall on my head anyway. This is the end of all things, in a manner of speaking, and inevitable. I put myself in a position of danger, willingly sitting day after miserable day and awaiting the slam. And then there it was when I was paying little attention. A simple thing, really, but one which will resound until the end of me. And that right soon, assholes. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. As of this latest and largest of stabs, I am worn. I stated above that I knew it the whole time, meaning all the way back to that Godforsaken restaurant visit which I cannot even localize. Something took place there which actually related to little things in the past, yet I did not fathom the bigger picture until more recently. The fact is I do not know all of what takes place in there... I can't. Impossible, really. This is the shit which I said brushes trust and they walk the line hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand (thank you, Samuel). And then the fucking line moves along to another problem, which is others censoring words. I can't have that, but I can't fucking hear it, either. There is no fucking solution to anything going on in my head. At the outset of the visit to the restaurant, everything was all roses and rainbows, afterward turning to shit. Had I thought about it more and not become clouded and distracted by being physical, the solution may have presented itself just as I can see it right now. I should have taken issue and shut everything right the fuck down when it first began to unravel. Had I expressed the feelings the way they float in my head at this very moment, perhaps the next many months would have gone differently. Worst case? No one near me because of labeling and the idea that I cannot be trusted to remain calm during troubling situations. Well, I really don't give half a purple shit about that now because regardless of the feelings inside other people, I am going back into the cavern where my blue dress lays in the mud and grabbing all the knives. The verbal stabbing will begin when this is published, if not sooner. Necessity and discomfort will dictate. Later, same day. The problems are going to be there no matter what I am doing. Either something will come across the screen and remind me of past issues, or my mind will drift toward a situation which caused me to fall. It's been happening all day. Even a passing scene of the gangsters just went right on by -- a situation during one episode I've seen a million fucking times -- and brought a few things to mind which had been dormant for a few hours. The shade is down and I am hiding despite warm weather. I do not wish for anyone to see me right now. I even went so far as to visit the little market instead of the Safeway to remain away from prying eyes. This situation is very bad. I am so fucking vitiated and degenerated that I can barely think straight enough to get through a weekday. This is fucked.
I cannot blame people for the way they think. Each personality is a product of upbringing combined with external events over which there can be little control. The problem is that I cannot deal with said thinking because I do not know what is going on and must trust the fucking words emanating from a person's worthless maw. Simple, right? Bullshit. Too much fucking Goddamned fear all the time. And the previous entry pretty much spelled out the reasoning. Parts missing, like a little piece of shit car constantly falling apart. I am falling apart. There can be no resolving this. Not anymore. People are not to blame. Not even a bit. My beloved blue dress -- the one saving throw against any possible threatening scenario -- is lying in shit, blood, and water. I can't do a fucking thing about it right now. I worked on the Porsche and ended up finishing the entire model. Now I have to get another kit so we can continue. The building has become therapeutic, unlike everything else throughout my days. They are expensive, though, meaning the selling must continue shortly. I need distractions like never before. 3:59pm and the house is no longer mine. I completed some work in the garage earlier but ended up cut short on time. The shelf is finished, the wiring for my glass thermometer is in place and secured, and the clothing rack now holds a threaded rod up high for spare hangers. All in all I did good out there. Alas... Not being alone affects me. The blue dress is once again before my eyes... Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. The incident involving few words has returned to the mindset of shit. I am at a loss. LOSS. The previous entry contained wording which included 'toto' and the idea is now epoxied for the duration. The two words from last year are directly related, as well. Add to that the fricass at the fucking restaurant and my conclusion is worse than I could have imagined. I am now hurt, minimized, marginalized and smaller. The missing parts inside? Expansive. There is no solution. The idea of continuing along my daily path means I must deal with it, gush, or shut the fuck down. Difficult... Frightening... Acceptable. Blue dress. She is not there. She can never be there. Does she even exist? Close, no doubt, but wholly? Impossible. The realizations and subsequent changes to my psyche are going to force the most unpleasant 'me' ever. Believe it, motherfuckers. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. The bald guy. Originally he was hilarious and had us in stitches. Now? Three bald guys. Don't fucking ask. The caverns may have to return. I am angry now. Gangsters still on the television and me on the sofa with a cocktail and this crap. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad, down, hurt, afflicted. Bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted bad down hurt afflicted. In the cavern right now with the wind blowing the dress all over through the mud and muck and detritus and all of the dead rats as they decompose in the darkness and the water completely inundated with minerals and fraught with the remains of so many earlier lives gone and forgotten to the point of being hellish and disgusting to the ears and the eyes and the touch like moldy bread that has been saturated with the tears of years and sitting dormant until an unseeing soul comes along with its innocent touch and bright eyes even though there is no brightness in this place and they cannot be stricken down like the rats and their glassy eyes and puffy tails until the end comes and takes everything away as it should and as it can and as the sun sets on happiness and the ideals which once brought light. Manson lamps. Heh. Are you paying attention? The light went away far away just like the vitae and spe and the possible outcomes as they lay there in the cold mud and look on while the maggots devour as they do and the flies shit as they do and the ants swarm as they do and the people ignore. Nothing is there. Nothing real. People are there and they don't fucking matter because they don't care and they pretend to and then they speak as if someone hears but no one hears any of their shit because it is just shit and the end begins to brighten and then it dims because someone said it should dim because someone else said it matters but it doesn't matter... Right? Where are you? Do you see what is happening in the cavern? Darkness and cold and sadness and longing and heartache and loss and despair and blackness following all of it just when the brain sees an out or an exit to a better place for both heart and mind and all of the frilly shit that goes with them and then the illusion stops and everything disappears and the angels all die and the vision of that guy up there who can fix everything turns out to be a giant fake balloon in the parade of what we do or do not call life and the strings are not strong enough to hold it down and the lift becomes too much as the people holding the strings lose grip and the balloon floats up high into the black sky and the pressure inside overcomes the pressure outside and it explodes like a giant bomb made up of hopes and dreams and all of the little figures which carry all of those falsehoods and bright thoughts fall out like plastic army men from someone's childhood and rain down upon the wet soil and then cover the dress with their vacant expressions while the huge clouds unload their onslaught of endless tears from the sky and the water permeates the dirt and buries everything right where it should have been in the first place because the ideas and thoughts and visions have been all combined into yet another giant balloon that never had enough displaced nitrogen and oxygen to lift in the first place and then the controls are pushed beyond their limits in a futile attempt to rise and the fire for creating the hot air becomes overpowering and destroys everything which came before or was to come after or ever seemed possible like returning to the little army men from childhood and their never-changing faces and then seeing that everything was shit from the fucking beginning. Pain. Bad. Down. Hurt. Afflicted. The bald guy is not at fault. He is better than that. But he was at the outset... The bleach box... The dawn of an era which became as hell on earth for just one soul who tried to work with the information and the problems and the visions on the television and then the words from below that came along and matched that fucking phrase and appreciation stemming from cold detachment and unfeeling demeanors and the icy forthright statements brought along the path of life lacking regard for the inner turmoil and fear and isolation causing one person to drown and never recover from anything... Not even those never-ending platitudes and attempts to circumvent the very fucking stance which brings everything in life that can now remain unending and disenchanting and un-everything because the ice destroys all that had possibility and hope and life and rise and sky and sun and moon and stars and the entirety of what a person needs to retain the tools for living and breathing and relishing delights and all examples of loving from the simplicity of an understanding hug to the drama and exclusivity of the most uplifting feelings in existence because the alternative is death and decay and hatred and anger and all those little pieces of a heart that have been separated and strewn about the earth and will likely be forgotten like any other discarded piece of trash rolled over by an expensive car traveling to its next glorious and glamorous destination through which the lesser people are forgotten. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Satan's fraud from that place of which no one wants an awareness. Believe it. Learn it. Bewail it. In toto.
The remainder of this day will be my bidding. I need to express and expound the idea that my feelings must be at the forefront at least some of the time. Otherwise I will remove myself from the equation the others have constructed for their own benefit. The ceiling fan is cooling this room at my command. My phone is to the point of controlling no less than seven facets of the house. This is good. At some point in the future, the end result of all my effort will become apparent to others. That's right... A representation of the Barcalounger way of life. My own version, honestly. The gears are already meshing. One year ago I felt more. Now? Much less than I had ever thought possible. Due to all of the pressing thoughts and shit situations, the days MUST fall to my bidding. Or else. 5-12. And first thing this morning is yet another prime example of my fear. Right out of the fucking gate, people. Wondering why I can never find a way to make peace with this shit? Stop it. There is nothing I can do. I will have some time to myself today, and unlike yesterday the last of the models is completed so I won't have that awaiting my wishes later when the routine is finished and I can relax. Damn. I'll have to come up with some other little reward for my efforts. The garage might be advanced too, I guess. Right now I really don't know. After yesterday's meltdown and my subsequent bullshit here, there can be no way of knowing the future. Nothing is certain anymore... Not even my coffee in the morning. But it is next to me anyway. I have to embrace each tiny detail in order to keep my head up. Everything... From the morning quiet to the little projects which can take more time because I have it. The kitchen work continues to bring a bit of comfort, as well. Whatever began to happen months back while walking in there to either cook or clean is still moving me. Just last night I went to prepare a sandwich and felt the warmth again. I don't know why, but it's there nonetheless. The kitchen is one of those things I have to hold tight, lest the remainder of the day and all those demons get the best of me and force my hand. I just can't have that. Not now. The quiet morning time is still nice. I have to go to the hardware store later this morning for some light bulbs. Last night I became somewhat pissy and difficult after a conversation involving said bulbs, after which I decided to go to sleep. All this time at home for more than a year now has me on edge a bit, although I can still deal with it. I just have to maintain sight and a path to which other people can relate. I must be careful and hold the bad stuff inside while showing them courtesy. I may be all fucked up, but that does not give me license to be unfair. This is not their fault. So, off to the store in a little while. People count on me to help. I will continue to help until I can't any longer. Helping myself is another story. Ugh they just keep popping up. Safety and security? Not always available to me. The media and systems are at my command, but there are only so many choices. Day after day I keep things manageable on the screens and all in the name of emotional comfort. And speaking of comfort, such is absent. I went there (tried), but to no avail. I opened the door a bit but there was nothing to see on the other side. I further attempted to describe what happens within and that went nowhere, so my conclusion is nothingness. A void. A space enough for only me and my feelings. Relegated, stuffed into this place, and disregarded. Such is the living as opposed to the unreal. Understand? Nope. And the space relates to the beginning of this paragraph because I often need some type of defense mechanism as a saving throw versus the examples continuing to plague my days. There is nothing which can actually help, but for a few precious moments the idea is sound. Unfortunately, I often come out the other side with even more to deal with. Alas, such is the way I must live my days in this current period. I know of no alternatives for keeping myself upright at least part of the time. They will keep popping up, I will have to deal with the larger issues when I am unable to be alone, and then while actually alone I will do whatever is necessary to feel better (somewhat). This entire site has boiled down to one long-winded and half-empty analysis of a single problem. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. This is a dead end. Yes, there was something flaming inside me at each of the three occasions and I kept it all to myself. Yes, I did that. Do I feel one way or another about it? Not anymore. There is nothing. What I have retained is the difference between me and other people. At least, as it appears to me. I try to look through another pair of eyes from time to time and usually end up confused or simply wondering what is happening in there. That is a bad position, especially now, because I've grown into one giant ball of worry at times. Mostly I have to keep that crap to the rear and focus upon hiding away my truths and keeping everything safe. Right now is a good example as the months have passed and helped me to secure what I need and shut the rest out completely. Those flaming periods came and went (and yes, the one down south was the most powerful and damaging fucking pull ever) and I am glad they are gone. Every now and again I see another problem, but honestly the work has been eased over time. Too much practice and damned little choice. This is unlike the other impossibility because that one is out there in the world... Existing as a shining example of the definition. My dead end carries on each day -- sometimes strong and other times merely in the background -- and each moment spent considering where I reside has been summed with the previous. Cumulative. Days and days and days... Lost forever and causing me to see even more missing from my life. I look forward and see only a wall. A buffer stop. The end of the line. I must remain mindful of the feelings of others, especially now that I am but half of whatever I was a year ago. Just because I feel the way I do does not mean I can handle the same in them. Yep, unfair. For the most part, anyway. But at least I fucking KNOW, people. I really do. I am going to continue with the little things today. Larger items must wait until I feel better. After last night added to the shit from the other day, I really need to think. That made me hurt, angry, self-conscious, and several other very uncomfortable feelings went flying through me like out-of-control birds at a gunshot. Some of them are still flying in circles, too. That little moment took years of fear and worry and caused them to sum. Permanent. If I take issue with what transpired on and off throughout these last few years and nothing comes of it, the anger will advance to the point of my causing more difficulty for people than I care to admit right now. I will not be able to control what comes out of my mouth. Not even a little. That kind of snowstorm will not be tolerated. I moved the windows around to check this in the browser and saw half of Jamie's face for a second. That reminded me that her fortieth birthday is in three days. I wonder what she will be doing. Eh... I know very little of that woman. The character was the thing.
5-13. So much for the safety and security. Now I really have to think. I partially caved in upon myself for a little while. Cannot have that anymore. Not good. Thank Christ for this day, the quiet and isolation. We are merely three days into the week but this will likely be the best feeling for a morning in a very long time. I need this. I also need to be alone, although I don't get there for about an hour. It's going to feel well-deserved. Hours to do whatever I need. Maybe hours of this, as well.
'I pushed her out of my head quickly but she returned in a different outfit. No, not the blue dress. That one is already in use as a representation of more than I care to explain. This woman came back wearing jeans and a black tank. She appeared out of nowhere, too. I was caught off guard for a moment until pulling focus upon her eyes and realizing I knew the face. And once I knew? The fear, like I had done something wrong or violated a rule of some sort. Her face was the reverse of mine... Powerful, forthright, and damning. I had to get away but there was nowhere to go. Walled in. I threw her a compliment (which always brought a smile while in Vegas) thinking I could break the edges of the situation. Her eyes turned red. That rhymes with dead.'
The work yesterday went very well. I added one of the new outlets in the garage and freed up a wall plug while doing laundry. Very good. And I am glad things worked well here before opening a door I cannot close. Not only am I unable to close it, the fucking thing seems to have disappeared. I cannot shove shit back up the pipe. The one chance has been burned down like so many past situations involving my brain and some sort of test. I did this of my own accord and now feel like a partial failure. This is not good after a year of working with everything at home and caring for people during the fucking pandemic. I dropped the wall and spoke for a little while and now all I see is a huge mistake. There is no going back, erasing thought, or any other saving grace which can fix the leak. Tools are unavailable. I guess all I can do now is study the results and learn of what may be done in the future to alleviate this feeling. One positive is finishing some work before the bullshit began, plus we were still able to watch the show for a little while before the evening came down. Maybe I can do more work today. Right now I am unsure of anything. The house is mine for hours. The usual routine plus a bit of research on selling a few more items. I have to sit here a while first, however, while the feelings are fresh... Those stabbing, nagging thoughts of yesterday. The conversation seemingly began the fleshing of one problem in my head (long-term, honestly) but after the fact feels like an unnecessary digression from simply watching an episode of the series. That was my weakness and entirely my idea. The problem remains. There are far too many facets to expect any kind of solution to birth from one afternoon of discussion. I believe my head became so clouded that everything moved into surreal territory and I lost the way. Now, and after hours of considering everything spoken, I am lost again. There is just too much. The blue dress, in the cavern, and here we go again... Just like late last year when I could not form sentences. Rudderless. Displaced thinking. Worry? Amplified ten-fold. Fraught now. Just... Fraught. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' My head is now so full of crap that I do not know which way to go. All those words keep resounding inside like little fucking knives, stabbing over and over. I cannot even type them here. Remember 'Keywords'? Some were within that sordid writing but there are so many more that I know not what to do anymore. Yesterday I brought one up (not during the mistaken conversation, either) but I believe it came and went like a leaf in the wind. Part of me is glad it floated away, contrarily another part wishes it had been fleshed out to the limit. Right now I don't even know if I can open any other doors without losing it completely and demonstrating my penchant for silence and issue of eyes only. There are images that won't leave me alone, each attached to one of those damned words. This is a bad time. Ah... Dr. Melfi... 'Tide of memories' indeed. Thanks, hon. I wasn't even eating a cookie for Christ's sake. Definitely a bad time. I had thought things were turning to shit a week ago, but alas whatever is out there in the ground, on the surface, in the sky or beyond, has plans for me. The loss of my sense of taste in the evening was only the beginning. Feelings toward my own rampant and ever-expanding weakness are far worse and indicative of much more as I travel along these rails. This is a bad time. I never should have tipped off the first fucking syllable, strength of will be damned to hell. Now I have another pile of worry on top of everything else. Peachy. Better to have stayed broken in the first place. I still see the dress there in the cold mud and want it to help me, but there is no feeling now. I do not sense that the dress is near even though I see it right before my tired, watery eyes. What the fuck happened? All those 'Caverns...' entries pointed to one conclusion, and that is to push everyone away forever and embrace the dreams, doing it in a manner consistent with my talent for forceful and leveraging commentary. But now I don't know if I am able to accomplish such a feat. The blue dress may remain empty for all time... Lying there all filthy, laughing at me, taunting my efforts, and minimizing my stance among a mass of males.
'And then she told me I am a walking cliché and nothing can ever change such a fact. She looked like Justine, but I cannot be certain. Everything is dark and foggy. The temperature is dropping. The snow is beginning to float down. Her eyes red, I may be finished. "Trying don't get it done, dude." Indeed. The woman in the black tank has a knife.'
The remainder of this day will be sullen and gray, just as the sky outside. Cold, wanting, worried. I have no recourse any longer. I already did it, and there is no going back. Does this mean that the feelings are far enough into the air to keep going? Should I 'let slip the dogs of war'? Will anything improve this churning of shit inside? Tune in next time for even more down, black, ash, decay, shit... Whatever. Or don't. I care not either way. In the meantime... Vaffanculo."
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