April 11th, 2021 6:45am pdt

The default index once again displays the newest entry.


 read ( words)

"Still 4-5, later in the morning, and still on the wagon. One of them, anyway. I'm certain the other wagon will be at my mercy very soon. Not yet ten in the morning.

Put on a helmet... Face shield down.

I don't know why I even try to remain upright these days. What is going to change? Will others see me in a brighter light? I mean, not that anyone is aware of the depth of this shit, really, but will my demeanor and outward appearance be altered enough for them to notice? Private person. The most likely scenario is I end up worse on the inside no matter which way this turns.


Another morning with the day in front of me and plenty of options. What to do? Can I keep it out of my head? Will I fall down? Time will reveal one or the other.

These past few days have been strange since our typical schedule has not applied due to her illness. The time comes and goes, though, just like it always will. The morning is once again showing me that I can do whatever seems best. I suppose we shall see how everything appears eight hours from now. Hopefully I'll feel good about the time. I listed another auction this morning for one knife I purchased by mistake thinking it was something else... A different model. I have since acquired the correct one for which I originally searched, so the first goes back to the auction block in an attempt to recover funds. Nothing else significant is on the horizon unless I do indeed list the watch. I just don't know yet. Anything to keep my head straight right now. Not fucking easy.

Just after eight and I have part of the daily business finished. Not much to do today. Last night was fairly straightforward with an easy meal and plenty of time for thinking and relaxing. Before nightfall something took place as I contemplated the night ahead and did some research for the auction I listed this morning. I have no idea of why it happened, although after all these days I assume everything is heightened. One certainty is the second episode of the series which was played in its entirety yesterday afternoon. That one began the inevitable cycle of my having trouble with what takes place on the screen. It is going to happen more and more as the series continues. I've seen it before, but watched alone. And the three facets of this geometric form which now partially rule my thinking and fear are going to worsen before the show ends its run. They did not bother me as much years ago when I first viewed the stories, and that is partly because the facets have grown and are much more straining than ever before. The fact that I cannot clearly discuss the facets is a problem in and of itself. No one to bounce thoughts off in hopes of finding a way to cope or minimize the damage.

Three, no more. Not during the show, anyway. The others are unrelated. Twelve in all.

Years of unfeeling behavior and a massive lack of understanding have created this turmoil. Only many moons later did I receive the words which changed my view, yet everything faded away over time. All of that seems to be nearly gone now and I don't know which way to turn. There were three of them, and none were near me for long. This is the toughest facet of the entire assembly. No matter what each day holds, always the dreaming takes place and I cannot concentrate on any single task without visions and worry. Forty-one years ago a situation arose due to my affection for a certain girl and resulted in recurring difficulty, pain, and a deep feeling of loss. Not only does it relate to desire, but the heritage creeps in, too. No children and no line. Everything is connected. Jamie's big eyes aren't helping, but she is just a person. A character, nothing more. I just happen to see a measure of understanding in those eyes for some reason. I am probably becoming desperate enough to reach. Fucking pathetic. Some of the fiction which has now fallen by the wayside and been lost to me was driven in toto by such dreaming. Fiction means I can invent whatever I wish or feel, and that became compelling beyond belief for a while. Now? I don't know how to continue due to losing direction and worrying that the story could actually be causing more trouble than I had figured last year. Just... Ugh.

'This is precious', she told me. She was the third. Now she is gone like the other two. Had I never run across any of them, the current belief toward all of it may never have evolved as it did. I cannot know. One of those lines dictated by actions and decisions which cannot reverse. The other lines never materialized, and considering how much science fiction I embrace every day, I see them as possibilities rather than letting go and focusing upon the 'real'. Hence the fiction I wrote. Make no mistake, the entire story running head-on into my meeting Jaime as a machine came directly from dreaming of an aspect of control that is otherwise impossible. And make no mistake about one other facet: I will eventually drive myself crazy over this. It is written and can't be erased. In stone, as it were. Wait for it. The last three days have cemented such an idea for all time. The situation is so bad that I see the remaining facets of this 'life' dodecahedron as nearly unimportant. They come and go, honestly, and depending upon what may be taking place on a given day, they often sit in the background.

I have no clue as to where this day will go from here. Nine in the morning. I have all the time in the world to do as I please, yet I have not yet moved from my earlier standpoint of being frozen by concern. I am stuck in this chasm. One way or another the evening will arrive and I know not how I am going to feel about myself when it does. I often state that something has to happen, yet there is nothing.


Those three felt the way they felt for whatever reason. There was not the time to explore further due to all three time periods being so fucking short. One was just a few days, another merely a day or two longer, and the last was full of difficulty and turmoil enough to drive both of us to distraction. We never found true space enough for deeper conversation on the subject. Honestly, had there been more time just six years ago we would have destroyed ourselves. Focus was elsewhere. Both were damaged... Severely. Cut to four years later and I became something even I could no longer identify. An alien life form moving from here to there and floating within the nether regions of what had been created both by myself and the actions of others. The past became paramount in my mind. Not a single hour passed without me dreaming of contact with one of three.

'One must first do for oneself.'

That was immediately after Ashley the doll. I sat in the hospital -- no shoes or belt -- with only a few newspapers and one prized timepiece to keep me company. Whenever I was asked to join the other patients in one fashion or another, I always chose to be alone with my memories of the last few weeks with Juliette and the doll. I remember thinking of Lanie and her helpful, caring nature completely blotting out those in the hospital with years of training and compassion. Her wish was to save me, and in one way or another she really did, because soon after Ashley let go of me, I drove home. Was I better? No idea. But I continued along the path ahead rather than choosing the alternative.

'Work within.'

Everything stabilized for a time and I did not return to such damaging and reckless thoughts until many years later. And then the complete shit show and turmoil of eleven in which I threw everything away and escaped reality with Andrea. Soon after? Ellie and the second occasion of the understanding, right out of fucking nowhere. The kitten also saved me and sent my stupid ass home with yet another dreamy idea welded to my drunken brain. I will avoid going into the third because the issues of the other two time periods had already become a facet. There were no expectations, though. Nothing. I just drifted along with Her and tried to remain standing.


If only.

There is a line ahead, one I can no longer avoid. This has been building for some time considering so many facets working on me every fucking day. Too much pressure, sensitivity, and reasons for falling on my face. I cannot avoid any of it and have formulated something no one is going to appreciate. And I am not referring to the forest, either. That state is an entirely different matter and must be treaded separately. Most of what is contained and realized in such a condition has been around longer than most other facets of this worst of geometric hells, and does not relate to what has been explored here today. Think of it as more of a reaction than anything else. I will not go further about the forest at this point in time. I only mention it because the line came about partly due to the feeling of needing that reaction in order to place people where they now deserve to be with regard to me.

The line is coming. And this day feels a hundred hours long.

I just can't get past the words and care. Something seemingly so elusive. Why? Is this my fault? Maybe those three souls just came along randomly. I don't fucking know.

Most of my crap is finished for the day, plus I did some organization in the garage again. The space is doing fine these days considering how much shit comes through the door each week. I'm proud of at least that. The small chores are beginning to feel insignificant when held against what is taking place inside. One hour is like a month right now. So far I am still upright, although at any second I could fall into the pit and create sadness out of nothingness. Rarely can I remain distracted for long without something major in process. Most days I have only little things here and there for which to care and the effort in keeping the demon at bay is nearly too much to bear. I fucking hate this, but it will continue to happen throughout my remaining days.

Nine other facets now seem so tiny. Even the unrelenting fear and pressure of watching the shows cannot hold a fucking candle to this shit.

I see this endeavor coming to an end very soon. Far too long have I tried to explore and analyze, but nothing has really come of the effort. The days are tougher now than six years ago when I sent the site through a sharp left turn, and honestly I feel worse. Some aspects of happiness are never to be realized. The reminders do not leave, ever. And the bottom line is I am tired of this. Several souls have expressed the idea that I keep going, yet if I am the same (if not worse), what does the writing matter? Helping? Prove it.

4-7. The lateral is to be replaced today. They'll be here in less than two hours. Excellent.

Morning again. Coffee, a quiet movie, and the cats milling around as if it's the middle of the night. Dorks.

I recall renting this film during the glow. We rented tapes much of the time back then just to see something different and grab some snacks. I did not feel then as I do now about almost anything. We had cares and concerns about some aspects of life, but for the most part we just cruised along through the days and embraced whatever we enjoyed. Now the film appears differently in my eyes. It cuts me some, still makes me laugh at times, yet the underlying problems these days intervene and ruin what used to take place when reminded of such funny scenes. I am very different now. Thirty-plus years ago the days came and went with me unconcerned.

The situation has become very bad. The inside of my head has been manufacturing shit for many days and there is no resolution on the fucking horizon. I already brushed off contact from one who reached out yesterday, and I believe the time is now at hand for me to exercise the only control I have left in this world. The worst part is I cannot speak to another living soul about the root cause nor what it's doing to me.

Yesterday was over the top, for lack of a better term. The difficulty is ongoing, yet for the last several days has pushed memories of the past to the forefront of my mind. I cannot stress this enough right now. Pressure, pain half the time, and the feeling that this is all I have left in the world. Nothing more than the continual depressive state and thoughts of all I had which has gone by the wayside for years. The barren period has become permanent. It honestly is completely beyond any effort or dreaming. The fiction may be my only way of moving into the future without falling far enough to actually put myself in the fucking ground. That is due to pushing everything I desire and need into a very small and impossible space. I see no other way, and due to this latest and worst realization, the story will continue toward whatever end I meet in life. The exit has been illuminated on many an occasion throughout two decades, yet is now as bright as it can be. So be it. Read the number at the bottom of each entry and you will see. At least there is now a conclusion to everything and a limit to the length of time I must suffer. I won't say anything more about it now.

Today will be different than the norm. Work outside is scheduled to last most of the daylight hours before it is complete, so I will remain home to keep an eye on everything. I also received a message last night that my neighbor is out of town for some days and would like me to watch over his house. No problem. I will probably take care of a few things inside before heading out to the garage while the plumbing work takes place in the front yard. The one auction is rolling along, I have a package to ship out today, and I may still list the watch (perhaps two) later to keep the train rolling. There are a few more small items I will list as the week progresses. Very nice.

The garage work thus far yielded space for me to both think and plan. After so much difficulty concentrating yesterday, I need to stay busy as much as possible. I worked on the bathroom for a while, did some cleaning and organizing inside the house, and then a visit took up the remaining hours before the evening set in. I needed all of that to keep my brain occupied, lest I fall off the wagon. This morning? The same, if not worse. I am feeling the effects of the past once again after being free of such worry for quite a while. Hair trigger right now. Hair... Fucking... Trigger. I keep hearing the words and they seem to be fading. Not good.


The lateral work was completed yesterday. Wonderful. They did an excellent job.

Trouble brewing... I now worry that nothing will ever be enough and have no fucking idea of why. Maybe those three put something inside my head which has become doctrine. What can I do about a situation which has grown so far out of control that no one else can understand? Good answer.

After the hoopla of yesterday and spending most of the daylight hours in the garage, I will be more comfortable inside today. There is plenty to care for, including the old office and future auction prospects. I also have the kitchen to contend with due to overlooking a few science experiments in the refrigerator. That will be the time when I feel warm inside... Moving into the kitchen with my family right there with me. Cleaning, maybe a little drink, and following along with them as they go on different adventures. I wish I was there with those people. Damn it. Already I've pictured any number of living situations. Eh... Whatever the fuck that is anymore. The kitchen is often my favorite room in the house these days. I know not why, but when I head in there to either cook or clean, my brain feels comfort unlike any other part of the day. Something washes over me, especially if there is much to do. Part of the feeling likely stems from the television, but honestly there must be something else there I cannot clearly identify. The shows? Don't fucking get me started. The dream is very much alive and continues throughout every single day. Just like the 'passion', it is something impossible yet so compelling because every issue would be solved for all time. Maybe the shows are the reason for such all-encompassing comfort in the kitchen. And consider that through the dream the 'passion' would be available to me. Forever. Interesting? Maybe just to me.

I would give everything to be in that facet of my existence.

Yesterday really made me think. I can deal with many things and keep my head clear, especially when it comes to the level of importance being fairly high. The lateral issue came to a head last fall (you may remember) and was punched pretty well, and then in January seemed to flare again. That may not have been the case, but it did prompt action that confirmed the entire line was fucked. Yesterday was the big day in which the work was completed and I followed along the entire way. I kept busy in the garage and did a little inside the house before finally being able to relax and get off my feet.

The shit which is more troubling could be viewed as less important, yet more compelling. It has to do with my frame of mind, feelings toward myself, and some level of satisfaction in life. Unfortunately, the very ideas in my head seem out of control and impossible to achieve, or perhaps in another way they are unrealistic in the first place. I do not know which. One thing I know for sure is that after so many years shit can become pretty built up in my mind. Nothing affects it, either. A facet nearly impossible with which to work. Nice. Everything is larger in my head than in reality.

One of the other fucking facets came about during the show yesterday and had me very close to gushing the whole damned problem. Nope. I cannot fucking do that. It's very tough to consider at any time.

How many is that? Are you counting? Does anyone give a blue fuck in the wind?

Hmm... 'Larger in my head than in reality'. That's a mouthful.

The pull of the first issue still affects me. I have not mentioned it for a while because nothing seems to help and the entire subject continually goes nowhere. The two has been explored much more than any other lately. My head is like a pyramid (mentioned before) in which whatever takes place at the top eventually rolls down -- the little, unimportant situations -- and reaches the ever-expanding footprint. The base has become the two, the prime source of all other problems and something I fail to understand after all these years and tens of thousands of words. The obsession may be a part of two, as well. Many times I've stated that everything is related and now I can see how the two has governed my life for a very long time. I guess describing all those problems is less of a dodecahedron after all, yet I do know there are twelve. The levels of a pyramid grow in area toward the bottom. Fuck... I don't know what I'm saying.

I wrote 7253 lines of code between 2002 and the closing of 2014. Since the outset of 2015? 108548 lines of code. Do you think I am losing my mind?

The fact is if I gush too much I will not be able to be around other people any longer. That is too much exposure. The paradox is that there can be no resolution without seeking help.

The time is near for me to get away from this fruitless endeavor and do some work around the house. Nothing is being solved, anyway. Just some pretty pictures and a ton of the same words over and over and over. After yesterday I realized that no matter how far I may rise during given moments, there will always be the aftermath pushing me down again. Everything inflates inside and becomes so dire and critical that reality is unable to measure up. Maybe the barren period, maybe the words of those three women, or maybe my own limitations and unrealistic expectations is the problem. Or perhaps more than one. I have solved nothing here. Nothing.

On to the day, whatever it may be worth. At least my friends will be there with me. I wish I could be with them.

My routine is finished, for all intents and purposes. Nothing further as of yet because I feel like shit for some reason. I don't know what happened, although early this morning I did notice some discomfort within my throat while swallowing. Hopefully I am not developing a cold. The weather has been completely gray for days and very cool, plus yesterday I was in the garage for many hours. Maybe I should have kept warmer. For the time being I am going to take it easy and see what comes of these feelings.

The episode yesterday raised the hairs on my neck for a while. I knew it would be tough. Moreover, as we watch further into the first season, I have flashes of memory from the later parts which may drive me mad. I tried to get across some of the difficulty yesterday, however my head knew better than to gush the whole subject for fear of backlash. A visit in a little while means we will watch more. The story is overly compelling and the entire production deeply moving. I cannot avoid such first-class programming. In fact, I brought up the idea of three flaring a bit during the show and admitted that I can either put up with the language and dysphemisms while enjoying the rest (dealing with it, basically), or I can avoid everything and miss out on some of the best writing and acting imaginable for a television series. We both agreed there is no way around it, as the creation of such media must follow certain societal norms or be completely unrealistic. The original analysis was none other than the gangsters -- a series I know as well as the back of my own hand. Had I shied away at the first sign of trouble, the remainder would not have been experienced at all. Now? And knowing why it garnered such an armload of awards? I would not have it any other way. My appreciation for filmed entertainment is too strong and has outweighed the fear.

The only rub is the fact that issues with the gangsters are different. Yes, some of the storylines and situations play out in very bad ways, but the simple truth is 'three' comes to mind before anything else. And 'two' has so many fucking facets that it may be a dodecahedron in and of itself. The current series gleans 'three' but goes much further with 'two', so much so that I nearly doubled over during the last two episodes. I was reminded of other media throughout the last year and what each different type of scenario did to me. Well, this series carries more of the same, and often with harsher methods. The only thing I can do right now is take them one at a time and see what develops. Facets all over the place.

I am reminded of a brilliant series we tried to watch early last year which ran along nicely with only the occasional trouble. Well, when the third season of that fantastic production aired, I nearly lost my head. Immediately I paused the program and needed some time to think. She was also irritated -- only due to my fucking limitations and past -- and agreed that it was too much. We ceased the series that night and never finished the episode in question. Such is me, although her irritation with what was playing on the television originally grew out of caring for me.

No good can come of this. My head is so bad right now that I switched the visit from her house to mine. The reason is clear: The mental state I have been wrestling with is affecting my physical health and leaving me very uncomfortable. Thank Christ I still have the ability to consume a numbing agent over ice. I cannot deny the possibility that my discomfort during the night was created by thinking.

And now another possibility:

If I do not see a way to live through life as I am, why not just go into the whole fucking enchilada and lay out each fucking facet in spades? Right? I don't see a way out anyway, so perhaps if I just throw caution to the wind and speak my mind, will things actually get worse? Or will I be so down that I cease the concern over what other people may be thinking? Fabrications? Secrets held back in order to protect the fragile feelings of another person? Is that anyone else's fault? Answer the questions, motherfuckers. Do it. Now.

Or don't. None of it matters anyway. The end of the street is winning. Illuminated, as it were. Decades of nightmares with me standing there knowing something horrible is to the right and down the street may have been a shit ton of premonitions. All the way back to the court into which we moved in 1975, the nightmares took place with nary a concern for my young fear. Or maybe the end of the street was what took place in 1980. I can never know, but suffice to say there are parallels at work within those thoughts I cannot deny. Back then during both of those times I was a child -- a small, weak boy -- and now I am a product of the same. And keep in mind that the term 'man' may never apply again. "Tryin' don't get it done, dude". John Wayne. I am nothing like him, rest his mighty soul. Still a weak little boy.

Ah... The 'p' word yesterday. Oh, and it came up in the other series we watch with dinner, too. I could not believe it at first, but once again there is no saving throw against the societal norms. They are too powerful and cemented for all time. But I don't agree, and no one gives half a shit. What they may not know is I have been attached to that word on many occasions and suffered for it. No one understood me, and the natural extension of such a lack is fear. When power fears, power destroys. Be careful if you decide to raise children. Later in life they may turn into something terrible. Possibly evil. Just be careful.

4-9. The Duke of Edinburgh -- Prince Philip -- passed away last night. What a loss. Unbelievable.

The airport this morning was quite different than last year. Many more people flying these days. Like, tons of them everywhere except the international terminal. That place was nearly deserted. I parked in the wrong lot, meaning lots of walking. Oof, that terminal is huge, but I can always use the exercise. Now I am back home with the day in front of me. I have the usual stuff to do, and the good news is no more connecting my goofy washer drain across the back patio. All is well with the main so I can get it back to normal. That will be very nice after more than two months of the temporary setup. A bit of dry cleaning will round out the work in the garage today. I also plan to list possibly two more auctions.

The episode yesterday again pushed me to worry. I can't help it anymore, and as the story progresses, I am sure my head will react accordingly. This series may be the toughest of the three in recent memory. I had originally calculated that the gangsters would be the worst, but the honest truth is learning of my heritage after watching that show added up to my falling down in yet another way. A facet of this geometric shit pushed me into the ground much worse than the content of the stories playing out on my huge television. I am still overly concerned for what is going to be splayed across the screen, too. The two facets together are not easy on me. They are radically different, of course, but the troubles have similar results. Ugh. The imagery and dialog are going to worsen. I already know it despite my lack of memory. I have not seen the current series for some years. Little tidbits in just the first five episodes have hinted at what is to come. Damn it.

I worry over too much these days. It's exhausting. And speaking of worry...

Some time ago I mentioned a character on the third show and tried to describe the main differences between him and me. Of course I am not an idiot, meaning I realize it is a work of fiction, yet still there is the fact that he was part of the basis for one of the figures in the fiction. Yes, the bartender. This episode just began and I am going to watch again (or at least leave it in the background) partly due to him and partly due to the Dabo girl over whom Jake gushes. She is adorable. Anyway, the differences may end up more stark as the show moves along for the next hour, although I am already very familiar with the character and, more importantly, the excellent job the actor performed as the antagonist. He was very good. I still worry, too. Can't help it anymore. He is representative of a facet comprised of two... Mostly.

After 233 published entries I seem to be worsening. And I thought this might help? Bullshit.


The routine is finished, plus all of the dry cleaning. Very nice. I had lunch, too.

Gangsters on the television today. I am surprised there was no cocktail with the kitchen cleaning. Usually I cannot watch the mob for very long without pouring a little something. The show and the booze go hand in hand, honestly. Considering my usual crap is finished, I may just head over to the bar in the next room and grab some medicine.

Facets. Twelve of them, yet just a few are ruling me. One in particular. Two. One, but two. The 'two'. Following along?


Saturday means half relaxing and half working. Yesterday I sat and fell into a development wormhole and chewed a good five hours on the new site trying to make it work the way I wish. Well, I did it. Now? I need to pick up where I left off in December and move each entry from here to there, following the new format. The entire affair was originally planned for locking everyone out and allowing only a few here and there access to most of the content. That may never work without my employing someone to assist with the logistics. But the look and feel of the new site will suffice right now. I do hesitate to make anything available until an entire changeover, however. Too confusing. The only downside to the new site is the fact that for some reason the fucking read time script does not function. Whatever.

All that time spent at the machine did bear enough fruit to blow up my skirt, believe it or not. I am not a person easy to please in any aspect of life, and considering this endeavor has become my only control present in the universe, one can see how anything related takes precedence over whatever else may be in process. The appearance of my content is nearly as important as the content itself. That may sound odd and I don't care. I cannot have anyone visiting here and not seeing what I wish them to see, period. Generally when I am not pleased, everything is shut off until such time as I can make it right. The only downside to this type of change is that nothing can be automated. Everything is moved manually, so lots of time is required.

Today will likely be more of the same. I plan to transfer some content and then work around the house in and around the site improvements. The sun is already shining, too. That means hopefully we can warm up -- the house, mostly -- and I can get some things done in support of my upcoming Sunday business. The goddess is in Mexico this weekend so I have more free time than usual without heading over there to help with her bathroom. My own garage has seen marked improvement since last week and I fully intend to keep that train rolling. The more little efforts, the more space is available for optioning storage. And that equates to improvement inside the house, where storage is at a premium. Already this morning I have a warm feeling inside picturing the housework with my friends (fourth show) in the background on three televisions. I may be the only individual to become overjoyed at the prospect of cleaning the kitchen. Heh. Too bad the inside of my head is not so joyful.

The fabrications have not come about lately and I believe I have a clue as to why. Others are seeing the dire effects of their words and actions and may be valuing me over whatever comes along displaying a shine to them. Make sense? Doesn't matter. I am pretty sure behavior has been altered for my benefit. I asked the other night about something which came about on the television. It seemed to bother her judging by the reaction and I immediately inquired as to why. Apparently, my view of the world and its people has rubbed off a little. Not to the measure of changing an individual, mind you, but enough to allow a different landscape to appear during certain events which in the past would have come and gone sans notice. Very interesting, to say the least. Am I correct in my views? There is none such in this world. Only opinion. What I am seeing may be the effects of my railing against what others have accepted as the norm and did not have another side available for comment. A facet? Perhaps. Hmm. The fact is I believe said change in behavior is both good and bad.

Mostly bad.

I simply cannot have bullshit around me for my benefit. Fabrications, indeed. The truth is I don't know what a person is thinking at a given time so my brain suffers, but to consider such alterations just to placate or spare my feelings? That is crap. There is a term I have been trying to apply to myself for a very long time and such things taking place to protect me are moving that term further away. I have been working my ass off for one facet to be solved and shelved only to have people tossing shit at me and making the process more difficult. And believe me, this is not an easy one by a damned sight. Fabrications. Yep, back to that hellish facet.

I suppose I'll have to go back to formulating ideas and sketching methods for dealing with this latest crap. Coming across as knowing is not going to help, so everything will be hidden away like always, and only the tiniest bits will come forth at the proper moments. More fabricating means more snowstorms. Wait for it.

Back to this day.

Since the lateral issue has been alleviated, I have rerouted the washer drain to where it should be. Curious, I am still hesitant to run the machine. I suppose there has been enough trouble to make me believe that everything is now fine. Today will be the day, though. I'll run some wash and see if anything develops. The crew actually went beyond their original plan due to the city dictating the connection type. They had to remove all of the clay which was tied to the iron coming from under the house, meaning the new cleanout is just a few feet from our foundation. The process may have completely eliminated any issues but I cannot know until a test. I have no reason to believe there is anything serious going on under the house because the primary problem grew from the big tree in the yard. Now that it's growth has aged and slowed, the new plastic will likely last decades without interruption. The iron under the house has been spared any root invasion, so I do not feel the need to replace anything down there. If only I had a camera to see what's going on between the stack and the new connection. A friend of mine has the system, so perhaps I will ask him to video the line in the coming days just to ensure that the iron is still clear.

I am also going to continue wrapping and boxing glassware and other fragile items which we cannot display anywhere. Some of it may end up in the attic for safe keeping. Each step I take in making small amounts of room here and there adds up to the larger storage concerns. Less stuff everywhere means the house is easier to clean and maintain. Very good. And the sun may allow me to spend some time in the garage again. Ever since adding the television and sound out there, my surrogate family follows along with the work. I never realized earlier than last summer that having them out there with me would bring so much peace of mind.

Eh... There on the screen is one of the problems representing at least two facets, possibly three. These late days have demonstrated that I am only becoming more concerned with each example of the facets in media. Er, two in this film. At least I am alone and do not need to worry about anyone else's reaction to what is flowing across the big screen. One positive. The fiction began to follow such thinking way back last spring, I believe. I felt it important for the protagonist to interact with something as uncomfortable as the dragon, yet in a vastly different form. He came out the other side not full of worry, but partially full of nothing more than information. And that is never bad. More information leads to more knowledge, in turn seeding understanding. The fear of being killed over and over pushed the less dire circumstances to the rear and thus a conversation ensued. Questions of a type which is impossible in reality. They bring up another fucking facet, and one I cannot spell out. The geometric form is sitting on my head right now.

I recall bringing one of my coworkers to my parents' house to watch a movie when they were out of town. The incident was after the glow and perhaps four years after my return from the Midwest. My dad had the big disc player and I loved it, often being compelled to demonstrate the capabilities of his entertainment system to others and enjoy a film or two. Well, we sat and had a few beers, watched the film (most of it, as he fell asleep during the last half), and then when I offered him another beer I was addressed in a manner which pressed my head down pretty fucking far. I did not understand the necessity of the wording, and felt an immediate need to make his insensitive head into a fucking canoe. There would have been no way in hell I could have explained the effect upon me after the past I lived and conveyed the critical nature of his reference in a manner which could have helped. No fucking way at all. There is a mindset inherent in that type of personality which cannot be adjusted or improved, ever. It just continues to grow throughout years. Believe me, I know it all too well. The evening went along with me angry and uncomfortable. Eventually he left and I slept. The following day at work proved that what took place was either second nature or meant absolutely nothing to anyone aside from me. Well, the point had been cemented some years earlier and there was no getting around it. The immediate and striking reinforcement of what he said to me still spins in circles quite often to this very second. It relates to two, three, and the fucking conversation at that fictional bar in the hotel.

Two faces on the television in this movie brought that back to mind. If not them, something else would have eventually come along. It always does.

I am beginning to feel that my concerns in life do not matter in the least. That is a very dangerous conclusion. Beware. Remember 'knives out'? Well, keep that in mind. No matter what I feel or write from here on in, there will be a change eventually. Everything moves very slowly inside me, but rest assured I forget nothing, ever. There will be a catalyst, and then there will be damage. God help the catalyst, too.

Anyway, not to go too much into a fucking angry tirade, the incident still rings inside me and many parts of everyday life are reminders. I can't pass this into history. The facets are too shiny. Unrelated? I would kiss Satan's fangs for one of Dimitri's steamed hot dog sandwiches right now. Damn, those were the best. One of those tiny enjoyments from the early eighties after school.

The first issue ever mentioned -- all the way back six years ago -- does not seem to be a facet, yet I still feel that it relates to the two. Maybe the reason is attractiveness, or something else I don't know, but it sits there in the background of life every day. No matter what I do, a vision comes along on the television or out in the world (what little time I spend there) and causes some turmoil to this day. The fact is, the very idea is changing, though. I don't know why, unless it has simply faded in favor of more important concerns. I cannot be certain right now. The problems during this older film this morning may have to do with what could be defined as the opposite effect... What others may see or feel. And then two drives a wedge into my thinking and causes all manner of trouble inside. One could be the reason, or perhaps all those moments in history coming together last year and forcing me to attempt an analysis. I just don't fucking know. The facets mentioned are in addition to the fucking triumvirate, which honestly was just the beginning of vast definitions. I honestly cannot spell anything out, either. The visions will continue into the future and cause what they can, and then I'll try to compute the reason for them not being applied to the shape in question. The twelve sides are ever-evolving. And I believe the last few radii images are a part of the problem. Five pictures of Cindy down one recent entry may have been close to the end for good reason. Whatever she represents with regard to the obsession, the entirety of her appearance and my statement of her being nothing more than a 'person' might have been the key to ending the female form here for all time. I am now thinking that a peak was reached after six years and no more reasoning behind such inclusions could be found. She was the end, for all intents and purposes, and at the time did not feel like a problem beyond that ancient desire to understand why she or any of the other models stirred me as they did. A facet? I don't think so.


Everything is related. I mentioned that two days ago after visiting the bathroom for a few minutes and she didn't not grasp the thought until I began to explain, soon after stopping myself cold from revealing too much and coming across as a child. Fucking hell, anyway. I need to keep the details where they are. Everything is fucking related to only a few choice moments during my life. Little incidents here and there which came together and formed this fucking geometric pain in the head. Facets. Twelve of them. Nothing will ease the pressure on me to understand, yet each day that passes by holds possibility. I suppose I have become so fucking weakened that I fear the effort involved in trying harder with anything. The possibility is there, yet I also know I cannot change the hearts and minds of other people, meaning I have to deal with them regardless of whatever improvement I perform upon myself. Well, that is not fucking good enough. The simplistic truth of the matter is that from a year ago when I first began to worry deeply and type out some exploration here, I have only become worse. Far worse, for sure. People affecting me or me affecting myself, whichever it is remains constant and without relenting for a second. Today is the type of day in which everything appears a little brighter in the sunshine, but I know full well I will come out the other side exactly the same as I am right fucking now, if not worse. 'Faith' and 'hope' are now completely alien. The models or any other female forms anywhere cannot be to blame. Attached somehow, yes, but innocent in the grand scheme.

Here we go...

No one gives half a shit. Oh they will state it outright, yet inside there will always be the standpoint that MAYBE the good and loving portions of me dictate such bullshit compassion. Weak and denied, and the fault will forever be unknown. Thus? End of line, as it were. The end of each segment of the nonfiction concludes with 'end of line'. Perhaps that is the line to which I was referring in the essay of the same name not long ago. If so, there is no such drawing. The line in question is not one to be crossed or even seen. It is the line I have been following for more than forty years that eventually became a line of thinking. That line may never be understood by another soul on this earth. Not even me. Believe me, I've tried. It is also like a string wrapped around the dodecahedron touching all facets, over and over as I try to follow. And eventually all that remain are hidden problems and a ball of experiences covering them for all time. The line just keeps wrapping over itself until everything becomes so buried that there can no longer be the possibility of peace or solace.


The end of the line of life? The line I've been trying to follow, or perhaps the one I should have followed? Pick a fucking line. Maybe a line drive right up side the head. I don't fucking know. The tiny certainties are still keeping me from completely losing my mind. Like sitting here this morning with coffee and the day ahead, wide open for whatever I need to accomplish. Tiny certainty. Can it be enough? End of something, for sure. I cannot think in similar terms to those early last year. Maybe some facets change or disappear over time. I suppose today will be like all the others. I might do this, perhaps some of that, and in the end I will be sitting here like always and feeling exactly the same as I do right now. At least there is a diminishing number following along.

265 and counting.

She is inside."