March 9th, 2021 9:03am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Errant Darkness Arrival Mature content No. 229 Published read ( words) Past entries "3-8. The clocks go forward an hour soon. Ugh. And each entry feels as if it should be the last. Another wild hair yesterday to watch a bunch of episodes of the show. The time ran right into the night as I kept it going for a while. Two days in a row, and despite trouble the previous day regarding the media, the show ended up causing more than its share of concern, in more ways than one. I'm kind of tired of this, but we have to at least finish the series without my giving up. I suppose the time has come for me to just sit tight and wait. The end will come soon enough, after which another series or films will alter the mood a bit. Maybe. I can't seem to do anything these days without feeling some sort of relationship with one problem or another. Whatever this is or whatever I've become, the strength of will is simply draining. Yesterday I finally took the initiative for cleaning that damned plastic box. Now I can get all the items shot and listed. Another couple of days and I'll list another to keep them spread out. The drill press is on our local community selling board. One bite yesterday turned out to be nothing. Hopefully that offer will soon pan out. The space is nice. So is the money. Considering my loving resort possibly disappearing in the near future, I must have something put away just in case a run is in order. The smallest scrape and I am the fuck out of this shit. No more words, images, references, or those Goddamned cutting remarks which continue to pile atop each other and weigh me down. I'm getting more angry every fucking day. Selling is all I can do right now, as well. I will feel much more comfortable in a position with options. The items need not go quickly, either. One here and there; a little at a time is fine. There is that fucking Dabo girl again. Not Leeta or the tall one, but the third. This show is perpetually running each weekday. Damn. She's not real anyway. Nothing is real anymore. 7:59am. Typical morning. I guess, anyway. The morning ritual is finished and I took out some more crap to the recycle and compost before the trucks arrive. Now I have the day to think and work at whatever seems pressing. Yesterday's foray in the garage went pretty well, although the dipshit who contacted me about the drill press fell through. Whatever. If I put it on the bigger site, I'm sure it will go away soon. Lots of organization out there, too. I might begin taking all the shit we wished to donate and tossing it in the trash each week. Nothing is open to this day, so everything piles up and irritates me. And speaking of piling, the worries from the past two days coupled with my current situation are becoming overwhelming. I can't seem to rise and cease the inner workings. Snowball again. Something has to change, yet there is nothing apparent. These are the bad days. Ah... Trucks picking up the trash. Bless them. The two flared and had me at sixes and sevens for the millionth fucking time. I don't like it at all. Too many little jabs at my insides. If the trouble is entirely caused by me, I cannot do anything about it. Too late for that kind of shit. Smaller and smaller with each passing day. I am shrinking from the inside out. Not good. Then again, what is good right now? The quiet? Eh... Sometimes. Food? Sometimes. Booze? Sometimes. My days are becoming filled with waiting, although for exactly what I do not know. I keep feeling as I did way the hell back in the nineties when my head was up and there seemed something out there... I did not know what, but the future always felt open. This current mindset is similar, but I know there is nothing. Still, I would be ignorant to state that possibility does not exist. Alleviation of the two and other problems does not seem likely. But there is a future, no matter good or bad, bright or dim. The clock continues to spin. 8:28am. This day had better show me good things or I will fucking skip town. I am fucking DYING to get out of here but the destinations are both unreal and unavailable. I do not feel toward myself as I did back in fifteen... One improvement which has carried me along for the last year or so. Unbelievable, partly. The cave was very bad, down, lonely; my rampant paranoia had me so damned preoccupied that I could not concentrate upon any activity. I had my truck, the big paintings, plenty of entertainment -- both music and video -- yet there was an emptiness caused by deriving my value through another person. That is not good at all. I cannot fully define what is different now other than people continuing to cause distress. I yearned to be near her constantly. Nothing I worked on in that wonderful little apartment could distract me from needing her. I do not feel as such now. I feel that I need no one, and the idea of such a problem driving a person's life is unhealthy. Each must hold up themselves or every part of life will be lacking in some fashion. But I am still lacking in other ways. I am a good person, just messed up. The pyramid calls me. Comfort of a type which is impossible anywhere else. I am helpless and holed up with too much desire. The machine comes to mind again. It will never go away. Forty-six thousand lines of exploration since seeing those images nearly a year ago. Has anything changed for the better? Again the idea of gushing is right there behind my eyes. As fearful as I have been about such a situation, the fact is I am partly hesitant because I do not believe anything will change. I mentioned one fear outweighing another, remember? Well, they are both too much. If I do indeed seek counsel, the result could be a worse 'me' than before the fact. As of yet I have not spoken to another soul... Only the keyboard. And due to my innate ability to type thousands of words, not much has been said here at all. I am in the worst kind of pickle. Jojo and her gorgeous hair. Whatever. Just a person, and not real. Nothing regarding the obsession or the fucking overwhelming desire is real anymore. She is beautiful and it doesn't matter in the least. A person doing her job. Anyway, if I do go into this with an actual person, the likelihood of coming out the other side better and more understanding of my feelings is nil. Naught. I just don't know if I can ever do it because the possibility of backlash, humiliation or ridicule is too weighty. It would destroy me from the inside out. 'You could run off those cowboys'. 'I could run off them whores'. Nipples. Heh. Both yesterday and Saturday had me dreaming so strongly that I was missing lines of dialog despite the volume of the show. My sound system is formidable, yet nothing when compared to the reality of three issues slamming my head into a phantom concrete abutment. Three at the same time. My head descended in microseconds and could not rise for the duration of the fucking weekend. It is still there, partially. Damn this situation anyway. Just... Damn it all. I have no options. A camel about to spit. In a corner. The sun is making an appearance. Pause. 12:39pm. All my typical shit is finished. I shot images of one watch to list and threw some laundry into the washer. Very exciting, these days. I don't have much anymore. Still a head full of shit. No outlet, no help, no nothing. All my ideas come about each morning and then die off just a few hours later. Reality? All those images and scenes floating inside today. Never me. Even back to the scene months ago with the dreamy location and situation which would pull at anyone, there is a preponderance of the word 'never'. Too much, and at the same time too little. Aurora was there for me, all medicinal help and ethereal reality. That place will go away like everything else. No more help. The imagery cuts and pushes, calls and falls flat. I do not see anything in the future in similar directions. All is darkness... Errant darkness. Everywhere, all-encompassing, and pulling at my ankles unlike anything before. The chores are only there to keep my head partially steered away from the dreams. Never me. 'How did it come to this?' Writing is accomplishing nothing. If it had a chance of being therapeutic, the illumination would have occurred by now. This is just too much anymore. I have not had a purpose in months. Only the 'Caverns' entries went outside the norm and actually had a voice. No one can understand the voice, but it was there nonetheless. All the other essays have said the same thing for a very long time. I have no outlet any longer. Narrowing. All manner of problems now. I believe the time has come to put an end to the trying in favor of only sitting here until time takes me away. I cannot deal with the problems. Wagons, indeed. Fuck the wagons. I am off both of them because nothing I try makes any difference to anyone. Nothing matters. There will be no more images of the female form on my site. None. I've had it. No resolution is to be found in the future and that fucking project which could have provided some assistance was killed a few years ago. I failed at everything. I suppose I can just ride out the time until either something dramatic happens or another person takes issue with my lifestyle. I see it all out there in the world but the distance is too great for my weakened self anymore. Those times of being vital and alive are finished. 1:16pm. Off the wagon again. I tried. The darkness took over. Off the path, too. Wait...Path? Where was I going? I guess I'll just keep downsizing all my shit for the time being. There is an image in my head of where I'd like to be. More work, less belongings. And then I'll get out of here. The process began slowly back a few months ago when I first began to list all the little things, but now the need is dire. I have nothing left in this world anymore. All the good things went away (whether or not I had a hand in some of them), the future outlook is as grim as can be, and there is no happiness in the cards. Not anymore. The unavailability of certain aspects of life is going to be the death of me. Be it sooner or later, any doubt is gone. My world used to be rife with enjoyment. Now all I have is television, food and alcohol. One watch listed. I'll be sorry to see it go, but alas the greater good must be served. I need to continue saving money. The drill press will be out of the garage within a couple of hours. It didn't last long once listed as a giveaway. Stop. 3-9, 6:07am. The drill press is gone, and along with it my desire to understand anything. Another slam. I won't go into it right now. The morning seems to be my best time lately. I can sit and think, make plans in whatever direction feels right, and then carry out my wishes here. All the bad shit is still apparent but the quiet morning does help me to reconcile and learn what I can do to get through the rest of the day with my head up. This morning I am considering drawing a different type of line. Nothing to do with anyone else, only myself. The idea is to go part way back to last spring, just before I snapped over the social media crap. I'm not going back to that, though. This is something different and relates to downsizing everything. I'll work out there in the new office just as I did while trying to shape it up. Last year was a lot of woodworking. More of that may be in order. I can hopefully keep busy enough to let go of worry. And speaking of worry... Yesterday. I was pushed a little, but nothing terrible. I sat right here and outlined the fear of revealing everything just after the drill press went out the door. There was much ambiguity and damned little clarity, though. I can't do it because thoughts will change and I have no control over them. feelings will not change, however. That is the only good thing, although even if they did I would have no way of knowing. This is not surprising and relates directly to the machinery in that I could live life sans concern over what may be in her head at a given time, mainly because there would be absolutely NOTHING in there, ever. Heh. An actual person? That is a one-eighty. Even with the knowledge that what I am doing has been harmful and causing more stress each week, I also know that the resolution could literally destroy me. Once everything is out there (say it with me), I would no longer have any sway over what may be thought of me. My appearance as a person could radically change and I could not do a damned thing about any of it. The not knowing is the worst. Right now I am pretty fucked up, yet there is the tiniest positive, and it is control. Ugh. Deep breath. So sick of this. And back to the theatre. That may have actually been the clincher because up to that point in my life I had not been exposed to such thoughts or wording spoken right out into the air. I cannot be sure, however. The phrase still revolves around my head like the oldest Paramount logo with the little plane. 'Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows'. Or, maybe nobody can do anything about it. I still hear it. The likely reason for that shit returning this morning (yesterday, actually) is a little stab that came and went. Naturally, I am screwed up to the point in which that stab is going to remain inside a while, and likely long enough to cause more problems in my head. A good portion of the two began in that theatre and then pulled me back in seconds just yesterday. I do not believe it will ever go away. Gushing? Yeah... I might as well talk to the fucking cats. The accomplishment will be similar. No point. The theatre. That sort of thing may be instinctive and hark all the way back to our beginnings as humans. I have a history of philosophical discussions with two different women and a couple of therapists in which we tried to relate many modern behaviors to those of the forebears. Much is related. Much of it began thousands of years in the past. And that little phrase in the theatre now appears as a simple extension of something very important to those people so long ago. Very simple, indeed. It could have been a 'make or break' situation for a woman at some point in her life. And while trying to analyze and understand such behavior, my feelings toward myself have changed. I was reminded yesterday afternoon, the theatre came back to mind, and now I have all of it right there awaiting a conversation. Well, good luck. I don't have the strength anymore. This is all just so fucking bad now. Coffee. Pause. 8:09am now. The morning crap is out of the way. The incident in the theatre still stirs me after all this time and often comes to mind after certain situations occur on a given day, generally while out and about. I am honestly surprised at such a dramatic effect upon me after more than twenty years, and only a few periods was it so far back that I had forgotten. Well, not any longer. Now it drives me. Honestly, those words had not been spinning until yesterday afternoon. Now they won't fucking leave. I am beginning to consider the idea of that visit and film as being one of the catalysts for my current state of mind. I am in the darkness, but not the dark. Mobsters on the television for the time being. The upside is the drill press being gone. Soon after that truck drove away, I saw myself from fifteen years ago and the manner in which I walked around my place of work. Head up, confident, and unconcerned with whatever may come along. Why did the theatre return to me? And why last year? If that night was truly a part of what shaped me into this worrisome mess, what the hell can I do about it? Talk to someone? Oy, I went over that already. Damn this condition. Just... Damn it. I cannot STAND feeling so small. Peter Bogdanovich is fantastic, as is the family from where he originated. This trouble is not going away and I already know it will limit me severely in any fucking situation from now on. I know it. Yesterday pretty much cemented the idea. I didn't need that type of reference to send me further into the fucking ground. There is already plenty of other shit sitting on my shoulders and creating fire inside my tired head. Just another Goddamned problem. The theatre relates (perhaps pushes) to the two, all of the fleeting wishes have been caused by the two, and that fucking machine which will not leave my head is directly because of the two. I see only destruction on the horizon. I am getting worse from one day to the next. Today. The usual. It's quiet now and part of my crap is out of the way. The auctions are doing very well right now, too. That is nice. I need liquidity to help me feel as if there are options incoming. They may not be real, but at least if the possibility arises I will be prepared. More things have to go, as well. I have too much crap. Pared down to the essentials is how I wish to live. Simplicity, I suppose. It happens sometimes when I sit back and realize just how much stuff I own. More auctions, too. One step at a time. Even this machine may leave me later in the year in favor of something very compact and light. The cloud helps. I guess I'll have to think about that one. As for this day, I am going to approach it just like yesterday, with one significant difference. No one is coming by to pick up anything. Very good. I don't need any more images. Ugh. Two and three at the same fucking time. Right there on the screen. Splendid. I need to pull focus upon the coming months and keep it that way. The big drags upon my motivation come from all angles and have the power (which I gave to them) to floor me and find my brain drowned in alcohol. Such a fact is something I've dealt with for a very long time and is worsening as I type these words. Part of it is the 'not knowing' and the dire need for 'trust' when my head explodes. If I can stick to the projects at hand and move through the day enjoying whatever I can, the evening may arrive and show me that I rose a bit. Yes, I realize it's a tall fucking order, but I have to do something. The images and words will not go away no matter the effort. Just a few minutes ago on the screen was a prime example, although I know it well. Today has to be good or my mood will affect others. That is not fair. Too much is getting to me now. Exhausted and full of explosives. Where is the fuse? Help me. I am within the darkness. It arrived yesterday and holds all the fucking cards. Darkness, nothing else. Frail now. Not much left. 297. She is inside." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
March 9th, 2021 9:03am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Errant Darkness Arrival Mature content No. 229 Published read ( words) Past entries "3-8. The clocks go forward an hour soon. Ugh. And each entry feels as if it should be the last. Another wild hair yesterday to watch a bunch of episodes of the show. The time ran right into the night as I kept it going for a while. Two days in a row, and despite trouble the previous day regarding the media, the show ended up causing more than its share of concern, in more ways than one. I'm kind of tired of this, but we have to at least finish the series without my giving up. I suppose the time has come for me to just sit tight and wait. The end will come soon enough, after which another series or films will alter the mood a bit. Maybe. I can't seem to do anything these days without feeling some sort of relationship with one problem or another. Whatever this is or whatever I've become, the strength of will is simply draining. Yesterday I finally took the initiative for cleaning that damned plastic box. Now I can get all the items shot and listed. Another couple of days and I'll list another to keep them spread out. The drill press is on our local community selling board. One bite yesterday turned out to be nothing. Hopefully that offer will soon pan out. The space is nice. So is the money. Considering my loving resort possibly disappearing in the near future, I must have something put away just in case a run is in order. The smallest scrape and I am the fuck out of this shit. No more words, images, references, or those Goddamned cutting remarks which continue to pile atop each other and weigh me down. I'm getting more angry every fucking day. Selling is all I can do right now, as well. I will feel much more comfortable in a position with options. The items need not go quickly, either. One here and there; a little at a time is fine. There is that fucking Dabo girl again. Not Leeta or the tall one, but the third. This show is perpetually running each weekday. Damn. She's not real anyway. Nothing is real anymore. 7:59am. Typical morning. I guess, anyway. The morning ritual is finished and I took out some more crap to the recycle and compost before the trucks arrive. Now I have the day to think and work at whatever seems pressing. Yesterday's foray in the garage went pretty well, although the dipshit who contacted me about the drill press fell through. Whatever. If I put it on the bigger site, I'm sure it will go away soon. Lots of organization out there, too. I might begin taking all the shit we wished to donate and tossing it in the trash each week. Nothing is open to this day, so everything piles up and irritates me. And speaking of piling, the worries from the past two days coupled with my current situation are becoming overwhelming. I can't seem to rise and cease the inner workings. Snowball again. Something has to change, yet there is nothing apparent. These are the bad days. Ah... Trucks picking up the trash. Bless them. The two flared and had me at sixes and sevens for the millionth fucking time. I don't like it at all. Too many little jabs at my insides. If the trouble is entirely caused by me, I cannot do anything about it. Too late for that kind of shit. Smaller and smaller with each passing day. I am shrinking from the inside out. Not good. Then again, what is good right now? The quiet? Eh... Sometimes. Food? Sometimes. Booze? Sometimes. My days are becoming filled with waiting, although for exactly what I do not know. I keep feeling as I did way the hell back in the nineties when my head was up and there seemed something out there... I did not know what, but the future always felt open. This current mindset is similar, but I know there is nothing. Still, I would be ignorant to state that possibility does not exist. Alleviation of the two and other problems does not seem likely. But there is a future, no matter good or bad, bright or dim. The clock continues to spin. 8:28am. This day had better show me good things or I will fucking skip town. I am fucking DYING to get out of here but the destinations are both unreal and unavailable. I do not feel toward myself as I did back in fifteen... One improvement which has carried me along for the last year or so. Unbelievable, partly. The cave was very bad, down, lonely; my rampant paranoia had me so damned preoccupied that I could not concentrate upon any activity. I had my truck, the big paintings, plenty of entertainment -- both music and video -- yet there was an emptiness caused by deriving my value through another person. That is not good at all. I cannot fully define what is different now other than people continuing to cause distress. I yearned to be near her constantly. Nothing I worked on in that wonderful little apartment could distract me from needing her. I do not feel as such now. I feel that I need no one, and the idea of such a problem driving a person's life is unhealthy. Each must hold up themselves or every part of life will be lacking in some fashion. But I am still lacking in other ways. I am a good person, just messed up. The pyramid calls me. Comfort of a type which is impossible anywhere else. I am helpless and holed up with too much desire. The machine comes to mind again. It will never go away. Forty-six thousand lines of exploration since seeing those images nearly a year ago. Has anything changed for the better? Again the idea of gushing is right there behind my eyes. As fearful as I have been about such a situation, the fact is I am partly hesitant because I do not believe anything will change. I mentioned one fear outweighing another, remember? Well, they are both too much. If I do indeed seek counsel, the result could be a worse 'me' than before the fact. As of yet I have not spoken to another soul... Only the keyboard. And due to my innate ability to type thousands of words, not much has been said here at all. I am in the worst kind of pickle. Jojo and her gorgeous hair. Whatever. Just a person, and not real. Nothing regarding the obsession or the fucking overwhelming desire is real anymore. She is beautiful and it doesn't matter in the least. A person doing her job. Anyway, if I do go into this with an actual person, the likelihood of coming out the other side better and more understanding of my feelings is nil. Naught. I just don't know if I can ever do it because the possibility of backlash, humiliation or ridicule is too weighty. It would destroy me from the inside out. 'You could run off those cowboys'. 'I could run off them whores'. Nipples. Heh. Both yesterday and Saturday had me dreaming so strongly that I was missing lines of dialog despite the volume of the show. My sound system is formidable, yet nothing when compared to the reality of three issues slamming my head into a phantom concrete abutment. Three at the same time. My head descended in microseconds and could not rise for the duration of the fucking weekend. It is still there, partially. Damn this situation anyway. Just... Damn it all. I have no options. A camel about to spit. In a corner. The sun is making an appearance. Pause. 12:39pm. All my typical shit is finished. I shot images of one watch to list and threw some laundry into the washer. Very exciting, these days. I don't have much anymore. Still a head full of shit. No outlet, no help, no nothing. All my ideas come about each morning and then die off just a few hours later. Reality? All those images and scenes floating inside today. Never me. Even back to the scene months ago with the dreamy location and situation which would pull at anyone, there is a preponderance of the word 'never'. Too much, and at the same time too little. Aurora was there for me, all medicinal help and ethereal reality. That place will go away like everything else. No more help. The imagery cuts and pushes, calls and falls flat. I do not see anything in the future in similar directions. All is darkness... Errant darkness. Everywhere, all-encompassing, and pulling at my ankles unlike anything before. The chores are only there to keep my head partially steered away from the dreams. Never me. 'How did it come to this?' Writing is accomplishing nothing. If it had a chance of being therapeutic, the illumination would have occurred by now. This is just too much anymore. I have not had a purpose in months. Only the 'Caverns' entries went outside the norm and actually had a voice. No one can understand the voice, but it was there nonetheless. All the other essays have said the same thing for a very long time. I have no outlet any longer. Narrowing. All manner of problems now. I believe the time has come to put an end to the trying in favor of only sitting here until time takes me away. I cannot deal with the problems. Wagons, indeed. Fuck the wagons. I am off both of them because nothing I try makes any difference to anyone. Nothing matters. There will be no more images of the female form on my site. None. I've had it. No resolution is to be found in the future and that fucking project which could have provided some assistance was killed a few years ago. I failed at everything. I suppose I can just ride out the time until either something dramatic happens or another person takes issue with my lifestyle. I see it all out there in the world but the distance is too great for my weakened self anymore. Those times of being vital and alive are finished. 1:16pm. Off the wagon again. I tried. The darkness took over. Off the path, too. Wait...Path? Where was I going? I guess I'll just keep downsizing all my shit for the time being. There is an image in my head of where I'd like to be. More work, less belongings. And then I'll get out of here. The process began slowly back a few months ago when I first began to list all the little things, but now the need is dire. I have nothing left in this world anymore. All the good things went away (whether or not I had a hand in some of them), the future outlook is as grim as can be, and there is no happiness in the cards. Not anymore. The unavailability of certain aspects of life is going to be the death of me. Be it sooner or later, any doubt is gone. My world used to be rife with enjoyment. Now all I have is television, food and alcohol. One watch listed. I'll be sorry to see it go, but alas the greater good must be served. I need to continue saving money. The drill press will be out of the garage within a couple of hours. It didn't last long once listed as a giveaway. Stop. 3-9, 6:07am. The drill press is gone, and along with it my desire to understand anything. Another slam. I won't go into it right now. The morning seems to be my best time lately. I can sit and think, make plans in whatever direction feels right, and then carry out my wishes here. All the bad shit is still apparent but the quiet morning does help me to reconcile and learn what I can do to get through the rest of the day with my head up. This morning I am considering drawing a different type of line. Nothing to do with anyone else, only myself. The idea is to go part way back to last spring, just before I snapped over the social media crap. I'm not going back to that, though. This is something different and relates to downsizing everything. I'll work out there in the new office just as I did while trying to shape it up. Last year was a lot of woodworking. More of that may be in order. I can hopefully keep busy enough to let go of worry. And speaking of worry... Yesterday. I was pushed a little, but nothing terrible. I sat right here and outlined the fear of revealing everything just after the drill press went out the door. There was much ambiguity and damned little clarity, though. I can't do it because thoughts will change and I have no control over them. feelings will not change, however. That is the only good thing, although even if they did I would have no way of knowing. This is not surprising and relates directly to the machinery in that I could live life sans concern over what may be in her head at a given time, mainly because there would be absolutely NOTHING in there, ever. Heh. An actual person? That is a one-eighty. Even with the knowledge that what I am doing has been harmful and causing more stress each week, I also know that the resolution could literally destroy me. Once everything is out there (say it with me), I would no longer have any sway over what may be thought of me. My appearance as a person could radically change and I could not do a damned thing about any of it. The not knowing is the worst. Right now I am pretty fucked up, yet there is the tiniest positive, and it is control. Ugh. Deep breath. So sick of this. And back to the theatre. That may have actually been the clincher because up to that point in my life I had not been exposed to such thoughts or wording spoken right out into the air. I cannot be sure, however. The phrase still revolves around my head like the oldest Paramount logo with the little plane. 'Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows'. Or, maybe nobody can do anything about it. I still hear it. The likely reason for that shit returning this morning (yesterday, actually) is a little stab that came and went. Naturally, I am screwed up to the point in which that stab is going to remain inside a while, and likely long enough to cause more problems in my head. A good portion of the two began in that theatre and then pulled me back in seconds just yesterday. I do not believe it will ever go away. Gushing? Yeah... I might as well talk to the fucking cats. The accomplishment will be similar. No point. The theatre. That sort of thing may be instinctive and hark all the way back to our beginnings as humans. I have a history of philosophical discussions with two different women and a couple of therapists in which we tried to relate many modern behaviors to those of the forebears. Much is related. Much of it began thousands of years in the past. And that little phrase in the theatre now appears as a simple extension of something very important to those people so long ago. Very simple, indeed. It could have been a 'make or break' situation for a woman at some point in her life. And while trying to analyze and understand such behavior, my feelings toward myself have changed. I was reminded yesterday afternoon, the theatre came back to mind, and now I have all of it right there awaiting a conversation. Well, good luck. I don't have the strength anymore. This is all just so fucking bad now. Coffee. Pause. 8:09am now. The morning crap is out of the way. The incident in the theatre still stirs me after all this time and often comes to mind after certain situations occur on a given day, generally while out and about. I am honestly surprised at such a dramatic effect upon me after more than twenty years, and only a few periods was it so far back that I had forgotten. Well, not any longer. Now it drives me. Honestly, those words had not been spinning until yesterday afternoon. Now they won't fucking leave. I am beginning to consider the idea of that visit and film as being one of the catalysts for my current state of mind. I am in the darkness, but not the dark. Mobsters on the television for the time being. The upside is the drill press being gone. Soon after that truck drove away, I saw myself from fifteen years ago and the manner in which I walked around my place of work. Head up, confident, and unconcerned with whatever may come along. Why did the theatre return to me? And why last year? If that night was truly a part of what shaped me into this worrisome mess, what the hell can I do about it? Talk to someone? Oy, I went over that already. Damn this condition. Just... Damn it. I cannot STAND feeling so small. Peter Bogdanovich is fantastic, as is the family from where he originated. This trouble is not going away and I already know it will limit me severely in any fucking situation from now on. I know it. Yesterday pretty much cemented the idea. I didn't need that type of reference to send me further into the fucking ground. There is already plenty of other shit sitting on my shoulders and creating fire inside my tired head. Just another Goddamned problem. The theatre relates (perhaps pushes) to the two, all of the fleeting wishes have been caused by the two, and that fucking machine which will not leave my head is directly because of the two. I see only destruction on the horizon. I am getting worse from one day to the next. Today. The usual. It's quiet now and part of my crap is out of the way. The auctions are doing very well right now, too. That is nice. I need liquidity to help me feel as if there are options incoming. They may not be real, but at least if the possibility arises I will be prepared. More things have to go, as well. I have too much crap. Pared down to the essentials is how I wish to live. Simplicity, I suppose. It happens sometimes when I sit back and realize just how much stuff I own. More auctions, too. One step at a time. Even this machine may leave me later in the year in favor of something very compact and light. The cloud helps. I guess I'll have to think about that one. As for this day, I am going to approach it just like yesterday, with one significant difference. No one is coming by to pick up anything. Very good. I don't need any more images. Ugh. Two and three at the same fucking time. Right there on the screen. Splendid. I need to pull focus upon the coming months and keep it that way. The big drags upon my motivation come from all angles and have the power (which I gave to them) to floor me and find my brain drowned in alcohol. Such a fact is something I've dealt with for a very long time and is worsening as I type these words. Part of it is the 'not knowing' and the dire need for 'trust' when my head explodes. If I can stick to the projects at hand and move through the day enjoying whatever I can, the evening may arrive and show me that I rose a bit. Yes, I realize it's a tall fucking order, but I have to do something. The images and words will not go away no matter the effort. Just a few minutes ago on the screen was a prime example, although I know it well. Today has to be good or my mood will affect others. That is not fair. Too much is getting to me now. Exhausted and full of explosives. Where is the fuse? Help me. I am within the darkness. It arrived yesterday and holds all the fucking cards. Darkness, nothing else. Frail now. Not much left. 297. She is inside."
March 9th, 2021 9:03am pst
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Errant Darkness Arrival
Mature content No. 229 Published read ( words) Past entries
"3-8. The clocks go forward an hour soon. Ugh. And each entry feels as if it should be the last. Another wild hair yesterday to watch a bunch of episodes of the show. The time ran right into the night as I kept it going for a while. Two days in a row, and despite trouble the previous day regarding the media, the show ended up causing more than its share of concern, in more ways than one. I'm kind of tired of this, but we have to at least finish the series without my giving up. I suppose the time has come for me to just sit tight and wait. The end will come soon enough, after which another series or films will alter the mood a bit. Maybe. I can't seem to do anything these days without feeling some sort of relationship with one problem or another. Whatever this is or whatever I've become, the strength of will is simply draining. Yesterday I finally took the initiative for cleaning that damned plastic box. Now I can get all the items shot and listed. Another couple of days and I'll list another to keep them spread out. The drill press is on our local community selling board. One bite yesterday turned out to be nothing. Hopefully that offer will soon pan out. The space is nice. So is the money. Considering my loving resort possibly disappearing in the near future, I must have something put away just in case a run is in order. The smallest scrape and I am the fuck out of this shit. No more words, images, references, or those Goddamned cutting remarks which continue to pile atop each other and weigh me down. I'm getting more angry every fucking day. Selling is all I can do right now, as well. I will feel much more comfortable in a position with options. The items need not go quickly, either. One here and there; a little at a time is fine. There is that fucking Dabo girl again. Not Leeta or the tall one, but the third. This show is perpetually running each weekday. Damn. She's not real anyway. Nothing is real anymore. 7:59am. Typical morning. I guess, anyway. The morning ritual is finished and I took out some more crap to the recycle and compost before the trucks arrive. Now I have the day to think and work at whatever seems pressing. Yesterday's foray in the garage went pretty well, although the dipshit who contacted me about the drill press fell through. Whatever. If I put it on the bigger site, I'm sure it will go away soon. Lots of organization out there, too. I might begin taking all the shit we wished to donate and tossing it in the trash each week. Nothing is open to this day, so everything piles up and irritates me. And speaking of piling, the worries from the past two days coupled with my current situation are becoming overwhelming. I can't seem to rise and cease the inner workings. Snowball again. Something has to change, yet there is nothing apparent. These are the bad days. Ah... Trucks picking up the trash. Bless them. The two flared and had me at sixes and sevens for the millionth fucking time. I don't like it at all. Too many little jabs at my insides. If the trouble is entirely caused by me, I cannot do anything about it. Too late for that kind of shit. Smaller and smaller with each passing day. I am shrinking from the inside out. Not good. Then again, what is good right now? The quiet? Eh... Sometimes. Food? Sometimes. Booze? Sometimes. My days are becoming filled with waiting, although for exactly what I do not know. I keep feeling as I did way the hell back in the nineties when my head was up and there seemed something out there... I did not know what, but the future always felt open. This current mindset is similar, but I know there is nothing. Still, I would be ignorant to state that possibility does not exist. Alleviation of the two and other problems does not seem likely. But there is a future, no matter good or bad, bright or dim. The clock continues to spin. 8:28am. This day had better show me good things or I will fucking skip town. I am fucking DYING to get out of here but the destinations are both unreal and unavailable.
I do not feel toward myself as I did back in fifteen... One improvement which has carried me along for the last year or so. Unbelievable, partly. The cave was very bad, down, lonely; my rampant paranoia had me so damned preoccupied that I could not concentrate upon any activity. I had my truck, the big paintings, plenty of entertainment -- both music and video -- yet there was an emptiness caused by deriving my value through another person. That is not good at all. I cannot fully define what is different now other than people continuing to cause distress. I yearned to be near her constantly. Nothing I worked on in that wonderful little apartment could distract me from needing her. I do not feel as such now. I feel that I need no one, and the idea of such a problem driving a person's life is unhealthy. Each must hold up themselves or every part of life will be lacking in some fashion. But I am still lacking in other ways. I am a good person, just messed up. The pyramid calls me. Comfort of a type which is impossible anywhere else. I am helpless and holed up with too much desire. The machine comes to mind again. It will never go away. Forty-six thousand lines of exploration since seeing those images nearly a year ago. Has anything changed for the better? Again the idea of gushing is right there behind my eyes. As fearful as I have been about such a situation, the fact is I am partly hesitant because I do not believe anything will change. I mentioned one fear outweighing another, remember? Well, they are both too much. If I do indeed seek counsel, the result could be a worse 'me' than before the fact. As of yet I have not spoken to another soul... Only the keyboard. And due to my innate ability to type thousands of words, not much has been said here at all. I am in the worst kind of pickle. Jojo and her gorgeous hair. Whatever. Just a person, and not real. Nothing regarding the obsession or the fucking overwhelming desire is real anymore. She is beautiful and it doesn't matter in the least. A person doing her job. Anyway, if I do go into this with an actual person, the likelihood of coming out the other side better and more understanding of my feelings is nil. Naught. I just don't know if I can ever do it because the possibility of backlash, humiliation or ridicule is too weighty. It would destroy me from the inside out. 'You could run off those cowboys'. 'I could run off them whores'. Nipples. Heh. Both yesterday and Saturday had me dreaming so strongly that I was missing lines of dialog despite the volume of the show. My sound system is formidable, yet nothing when compared to the reality of three issues slamming my head into a phantom concrete abutment. Three at the same time. My head descended in microseconds and could not rise for the duration of the fucking weekend. It is still there, partially. Damn this situation anyway. Just... Damn it all. I have no options. A camel about to spit. In a corner. The sun is making an appearance. Pause. 12:39pm. All my typical shit is finished. I shot images of one watch to list and threw some laundry into the washer. Very exciting, these days. I don't have much anymore. Still a head full of shit. No outlet, no help, no nothing. All my ideas come about each morning and then die off just a few hours later. Reality? All those images and scenes floating inside today. Never me. Even back to the scene months ago with the dreamy location and situation which would pull at anyone, there is a preponderance of the word 'never'. Too much, and at the same time too little. Aurora was there for me, all medicinal help and ethereal reality. That place will go away like everything else. No more help. The imagery cuts and pushes, calls and falls flat. I do not see anything in the future in similar directions. All is darkness... Errant darkness. Everywhere, all-encompassing, and pulling at my ankles unlike anything before. The chores are only there to keep my head partially steered away from the dreams. Never me. 'How did it come to this?'
Writing is accomplishing nothing. If it had a chance of being therapeutic, the illumination would have occurred by now. This is just too much anymore. I have not had a purpose in months. Only the 'Caverns' entries went outside the norm and actually had a voice. No one can understand the voice, but it was there nonetheless. All the other essays have said the same thing for a very long time. I have no outlet any longer. Narrowing. All manner of problems now. I believe the time has come to put an end to the trying in favor of only sitting here until time takes me away. I cannot deal with the problems. Wagons, indeed. Fuck the wagons. I am off both of them because nothing I try makes any difference to anyone. Nothing matters. There will be no more images of the female form on my site. None. I've had it. No resolution is to be found in the future and that fucking project which could have provided some assistance was killed a few years ago. I failed at everything. I suppose I can just ride out the time until either something dramatic happens or another person takes issue with my lifestyle. I see it all out there in the world but the distance is too great for my weakened self anymore. Those times of being vital and alive are finished. 1:16pm. Off the wagon again. I tried. The darkness took over. Off the path, too. Wait...Path? Where was I going? I guess I'll just keep downsizing all my shit for the time being. There is an image in my head of where I'd like to be. More work, less belongings. And then I'll get out of here. The process began slowly back a few months ago when I first began to list all the little things, but now the need is dire. I have nothing left in this world anymore. All the good things went away (whether or not I had a hand in some of them), the future outlook is as grim as can be, and there is no happiness in the cards. Not anymore. The unavailability of certain aspects of life is going to be the death of me. Be it sooner or later, any doubt is gone. My world used to be rife with enjoyment. Now all I have is television, food and alcohol. One watch listed. I'll be sorry to see it go, but alas the greater good must be served. I need to continue saving money. The drill press will be out of the garage within a couple of hours. It didn't last long once listed as a giveaway. Stop. 3-9, 6:07am. The drill press is gone, and along with it my desire to understand anything. Another slam. I won't go into it right now. The morning seems to be my best time lately. I can sit and think, make plans in whatever direction feels right, and then carry out my wishes here. All the bad shit is still apparent but the quiet morning does help me to reconcile and learn what I can do to get through the rest of the day with my head up. This morning I am considering drawing a different type of line. Nothing to do with anyone else, only myself. The idea is to go part way back to last spring, just before I snapped over the social media crap. I'm not going back to that, though. This is something different and relates to downsizing everything. I'll work out there in the new office just as I did while trying to shape it up. Last year was a lot of woodworking. More of that may be in order. I can hopefully keep busy enough to let go of worry. And speaking of worry... Yesterday. I was pushed a little, but nothing terrible.
I sat right here and outlined the fear of revealing everything just after the drill press went out the door. There was much ambiguity and damned little clarity, though. I can't do it because thoughts will change and I have no control over them. feelings will not change, however. That is the only good thing, although even if they did I would have no way of knowing. This is not surprising and relates directly to the machinery in that I could live life sans concern over what may be in her head at a given time, mainly because there would be absolutely NOTHING in there, ever. Heh. An actual person? That is a one-eighty. Even with the knowledge that what I am doing has been harmful and causing more stress each week, I also know that the resolution could literally destroy me. Once everything is out there (say it with me), I would no longer have any sway over what may be thought of me. My appearance as a person could radically change and I could not do a damned thing about any of it. The not knowing is the worst. Right now I am pretty fucked up, yet there is the tiniest positive, and it is control. Ugh. Deep breath. So sick of this. And back to the theatre. That may have actually been the clincher because up to that point in my life I had not been exposed to such thoughts or wording spoken right out into the air. I cannot be sure, however. The phrase still revolves around my head like the oldest Paramount logo with the little plane. 'Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows'. Or, maybe nobody can do anything about it. I still hear it. The likely reason for that shit returning this morning (yesterday, actually) is a little stab that came and went. Naturally, I am screwed up to the point in which that stab is going to remain inside a while, and likely long enough to cause more problems in my head. A good portion of the two began in that theatre and then pulled me back in seconds just yesterday. I do not believe it will ever go away. Gushing? Yeah... I might as well talk to the fucking cats. The accomplishment will be similar. No point. The theatre. That sort of thing may be instinctive and hark all the way back to our beginnings as humans. I have a history of philosophical discussions with two different women and a couple of therapists in which we tried to relate many modern behaviors to those of the forebears. Much is related. Much of it began thousands of years in the past. And that little phrase in the theatre now appears as a simple extension of something very important to those people so long ago. Very simple, indeed. It could have been a 'make or break' situation for a woman at some point in her life. And while trying to analyze and understand such behavior, my feelings toward myself have changed. I was reminded yesterday afternoon, the theatre came back to mind, and now I have all of it right there awaiting a conversation. Well, good luck. I don't have the strength anymore. This is all just so fucking bad now. Coffee. Pause. 8:09am now. The morning crap is out of the way. The incident in the theatre still stirs me after all this time and often comes to mind after certain situations occur on a given day, generally while out and about. I am honestly surprised at such a dramatic effect upon me after more than twenty years, and only a few periods was it so far back that I had forgotten. Well, not any longer. Now it drives me. Honestly, those words had not been spinning until yesterday afternoon. Now they won't fucking leave. I am beginning to consider the idea of that visit and film as being one of the catalysts for my current state of mind. I am in the darkness, but not the dark. Mobsters on the television for the time being. The upside is the drill press being gone. Soon after that truck drove away, I saw myself from fifteen years ago and the manner in which I walked around my place of work. Head up, confident, and unconcerned with whatever may come along. Why did the theatre return to me? And why last year? If that night was truly a part of what shaped me into this worrisome mess, what the hell can I do about it? Talk to someone? Oy, I went over that already. Damn this condition. Just... Damn it. I cannot STAND feeling so small. Peter Bogdanovich is fantastic, as is the family from where he originated.
This trouble is not going away and I already know it will limit me severely in any fucking situation from now on. I know it. Yesterday pretty much cemented the idea. I didn't need that type of reference to send me further into the fucking ground. There is already plenty of other shit sitting on my shoulders and creating fire inside my tired head. Just another Goddamned problem. The theatre relates (perhaps pushes) to the two, all of the fleeting wishes have been caused by the two, and that fucking machine which will not leave my head is directly because of the two. I see only destruction on the horizon. I am getting worse from one day to the next. Today. The usual. It's quiet now and part of my crap is out of the way. The auctions are doing very well right now, too. That is nice. I need liquidity to help me feel as if there are options incoming. They may not be real, but at least if the possibility arises I will be prepared. More things have to go, as well. I have too much crap. Pared down to the essentials is how I wish to live. Simplicity, I suppose. It happens sometimes when I sit back and realize just how much stuff I own. More auctions, too. One step at a time. Even this machine may leave me later in the year in favor of something very compact and light. The cloud helps. I guess I'll have to think about that one. As for this day, I am going to approach it just like yesterday, with one significant difference. No one is coming by to pick up anything. Very good. I don't need any more images. Ugh. Two and three at the same fucking time. Right there on the screen. Splendid. I need to pull focus upon the coming months and keep it that way. The big drags upon my motivation come from all angles and have the power (which I gave to them) to floor me and find my brain drowned in alcohol. Such a fact is something I've dealt with for a very long time and is worsening as I type these words. Part of it is the 'not knowing' and the dire need for 'trust' when my head explodes. If I can stick to the projects at hand and move through the day enjoying whatever I can, the evening may arrive and show me that I rose a bit. Yes, I realize it's a tall fucking order, but I have to do something. The images and words will not go away no matter the effort. Just a few minutes ago on the screen was a prime example, although I know it well. Today has to be good or my mood will affect others. That is not fair. Too much is getting to me now. Exhausted and full of explosives. Where is the fuse? Help me. I am within the darkness. It arrived yesterday and holds all the fucking cards. Darkness, nothing else. Frail now. Not much left. 297. She is inside."
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