Fabrication Mature content No. 226 Published March 2nd, 2021 7:00am pst read ( words) Past entries "2-24, later in the morning. All of it may be a pile of horseshit. We cannot know, so the imagery and clues continue to push us in directions filled with worry. Does it matter? Do they matter? Should we be pointing our gaze elsewhere? This could be a massive fabrication for the purpose of furthering an agenda. We have seen it (and lived it) before. If the worst is indeed true, destruction can be the only answer to every question. Capability, 'performance', and references which have become endless, biting examples of the manner in which people have ruined us for all time. We cannot stop, slow, nothing. All of it is already inside and driving nails through our very being. The hits will keep coming. Too much has transpired. Our situation is to the point of leaving all of the joy and comfort by the side of the road. Forever. Just... Forever. Doomed to feel this way until the end. The clues and stings are shrinking in comparison. We cannot fight everything. It is too much for our frail selves. The research no longer helps. Alone with the worry of a lifetime. Fabrication. Destruction. Doom. Everything in three words. We must decide if the dissemination of information is going to accomplish anything aside from trouble. We need more of that like we need Satan's fucking penis in the ass. While we have to admit that the conjecture and worry over revealing too much has become overpowering and grown inside to the point of causing distress, the outlet may actually be there. Fear has held so much back in the last decade (more, really) that the growth and expansion of the same has left us seemingly without clear options. We cannot go on like this for much longer. Switch-flipping along with flipping the fuck out are only going to provide so much before we become worn down to a nub. Nothing left inside. No capability, compassion, or willingness to be near people. Media will be out the fucking door, as well. Relegated to books, hiding ourselves away, and ignoring the world have become perhaps dire to survival at all. The other ideas for moving forward this year have faded beyond recognition. 8:41am. Worf said, 'most problems have more than one solution', and as much as we would love to agree, the truth is some have none whatsoever. The forest is not a solution, it is a failure. We are on our merry way into that blackest of hatred regardless of the damage it will cause both us and those nearby. It's bad, but you'll learn plenty soon enough. Merry way, indeed. The forest is a tempest to be avoided at all costs, yet we also need it to turn an otherwise impossible corner. We have been crushed, and no measure of study or attention will change that fact. It's done. Leave it. Just to be clear, the foxes have nothing to do with the forest. We designed and constructed it due to the dire need for isolation. Fabrication and destruction, 'hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand'. 1:17pm and almost visit time. We are prepared, mostly. The jabs will occur, no doubt. Everything is finished, including a drive to the cleaners for further modification of the vest. We have tired of removing and replacing so many pins, however it is necessary for stitching. After yesterday's attempt to do it ourselves, the idea is now for professionals only. Money well-spent. We have no more ambition today, meaning the remainder of the free time will be spent relaxing. All of the thinking continues to this very second, as well. We know of no other way to proceed any longer. Thinking leads to worry and right on into the gravest fear. No choice. This is what we are and shall remain. Stop. 2-25, 6:08am. And now we must switch back to the lousy mood. Last night showed us a turn we expected yet shoved away like a child's bad dream. We knew it was coming right down the fucking interstate no matter our love nor precious memories. All gone now, and for the remainder of time. Nothing else can ever come along and equal the wonder, grandeur, none of it. Doomed, again. The entire planet has become one giant reminder of what was, and the harsh reality of what is to come. Nothingness, generic landscapes, apathy, and the mindless repeating of each segment of society until there is no uniqueness left anywhere. That is our future. Bland, worthless, and so boring, yet no one seems to give a shit anymore. Everything is flowing down the fucking drain. Everything turns to shit, right Tony? Right. Last night was a big one. We do not expect it to be the last, either. The closure will change much. Several aspects of life have been lopped off like dead branches, most of which were further back but still some are very fresh. The latest is pretty fucking bad for us. We can barely deal with the state of life in this place and during all which has changed throughout the year, and now there is one less reason to turn ourselves south. Everything is different now. We can do nothing about it, either. Not a damned thing. The wheels of progress continue no matter the trials. On top of all which has worn down our once-resilient and strong being, last night's news took off a piece we really needed. It seems the more we try to cling to those parts of life which still resound within the heart, the more things are ripped away. Back to the bullshit before whatever lies nearby gets thrown into the yard. Very unhappy right now. Normally this part of the morning is simply a wait for peace and quiet within the next hour. Some things prepared, and then the noise goes out the door. Today is a little different. Oh, the timing is the same. There came a strike earlier which we must analyze. The direction from which it swung was the past, some long and some short. Long and short of it, the shit needs to be addressed before we end up losing it completely. The anger was not helping yesterday so we turned it off into the afternoon for the visit and then left it on the side of the road during evening. Dinner, and then the fucking news. Well, this morning we must keep that fucking anger and hatred in check until such time as we are guaranteed to be alone for some hours. We must continue to toe the line and pass the time. The little comforts will have to suffice for the time being. They could have chosen a more attractive female lead for this movie. The woman is all sorts of bad. She must have been juiced-in somehow. The hours ahead are going to be easier than last week. We already know it because a line was drawn Monday last and remains in place. the line will not waver one bit, either. Too important. The payoff may not be for some time, yet still we will maintain level and pace regardless of the delay. Force is good and very appealing when it comes to the control and manipulation of the world in order to serve our needs. Perhaps we can treat the world as a machine seeing as how it continues to chew us into unrecognizable bits. Hours ahead... We need them so badly. Only one auction right now due to some uncertainty yesterday. This morning everything is set in stone due to dealing with such loss combined with the anger over years of fabrication. We simply must push forward regardless of the others nearby. Covert plans, if you will. They are the cause and the source, meaning they will also be the target. The small steps of auctions and listings will carry forward in a little while, or at such time as we can think without distraction. Time to get some things completed. Pause. 7:38am and here we are for the bulk of this day. A line in the sand is incoming. Line in the sand. We must keep in mind that fabrications cannot be controlled or dealt with externally. They simply take place and we react accordingly. After all this time, that big wall feels as if it belongs there. Mostly. There exists another possibility, and that is the idea that the wall is not there at all, only our way of life. Putting forth protective methods, maintaining a distance from harmful elements, and demonstrating some stratospheric methods for generating the largest snowstorms in the world. After all these years, we are expert at showing people one side and hiding the other, the reality, if you will. The advanced nature of feeling secure has evolved throughout time and found us here with the tools to get through any situation with nary a soul realizing what is going on inside. And we will not reveal shit. Snowstorms. Bullshit. Lies. All of it there to ensure we can live out our days completely isolated from the damage which emanates from the maws of other human beings. We have been so fucking full of shit for so fucking long that the instantaneous procedure has become second nature. Our OWN fabrication born from a life lived in pain. Don't fuck around. We are already so fucking far past the shit that there is no chance of anyone making a scratch, let alone getting through all we have built. You're done. On to the day, and beyond the norm we will try to venture. Another listing, possibly two. We also need to drop the cost of one item to ensure it disappears quickly. And then the drill press. Free equals gone, every fucking time. As much as we require large amounts of cash these days, the empty space means a more relaxed posture. Very important, because we may be stuck here for some years. The routine soon, a few other things, and then out to the new office for yet more organization and consideration of everything stored there. After tossing and/or selling many items from the tool chest, we have been inspired to continue. The passage of time tends to show us what is important anymore and what can go away. We only wish to make people go away, but alas that will take even more time. 10:39am. Most of the daily routine is finished, leaving whatever we wish to further if the effort exists. Another listing for auction may be in the wings, too. Second show in the background. The pull is apparent and in mind deeply, leaving us physically lacking due to an equal absence of understanding. This may never change. We think, need, see, and fall. Had we removed the problem years ago there would be no worry now. Nothing changed, so nothing changes. Longing, pain, a lack of outlet, and then the mindset that the others are the enemy. Of that we have no doubt. The issue coming to light yesterday is not good and sinking us beyond the time of discovery. Much time may be required for what took place to be fully absorbed. This is very bad. Another facet is now gone. The remaining shine will need to be tabulated for good measure. This horrible time has become exponentially worse. We cannot even begin to describe the feelings other than what has been said for weeks. The stores were so huge that losing them for all time is as a knife... Another knife, really. There have been many. None have been removed from the wounds and there is a finite number with which we can work. That number is unknown, however. Most were unexpected, some nearly killed us. Splash one morning cocktail. Splash everything. 'The fabrication in mind continues to torment us endlessly. We cannot abide the distrust nor the absence of truth. It is in there. We know. We have seen the firing words, the trail smoke. We have seen the difference. Change, alteration from there to here for our benefit and sensitivity. From the first blast of hellfire so long ago -- scarring as it did -- all the way to the present deviations from warmth and comfort. The fire has burned and blackened everything; tainted all that is to come. We cannot go back, nor can we erase the disheartening and disrespectful phrasing. We are lost.' Nothing changes; nothing rises. There is nothing to seek any longer. Lacking. Bereft. Void of hope. Sought. Failed. Loss. Telepathy; clairvoyance. Clairaudience? Good luck with that one. Nothing was there to help because human beings are deceptive, protective, and full of reasoning supporting the same. If the motives for those behaviors are questioned, the manufacturing of bullshit will ensue. They will not bend, though they will tell you otherwise. The only answer is destruction and isolation. Death... The only tangible method of dealing with them. Gone. We simply must continue to move forward regardless of the reckless damage inflicted and disregarded. All the way back... We see everything. Obfuscation is impossible. Do not attempt. We are already part way into the forest. You will not like it. Trust in that. All you get. One fabrication? No, not by a damned sight. There are many and they continue to this very day. They will always be there no matter what takes place in reality. Protection? Impossible. Again... Do not attempt, for we know everything. The creation of imagery and wording cannot be denied, although with one single fucking syllable, we already know. Like a hawk up and out of sight, we have seen multiple moves along the game board and will feel nothing other than condescension at the outset of an attempt. Condescend and reap what you sow. Seeds and fabrication. We know... We know everything. All of it, from the tiniest tidbit to the largest gradient imaginable. We know because we've performed at the same level. But we are different, dire, and not to be trifled. Do we come across as angry? Hmm. The line is coming. 2:34pm. We completed a few small tasks and made the decision to remain here for the duration. There are too many loose ends, a plethora of thinking to be fleshed out, and far too many problems within for any other activity to take place this afternoon. This is it. Stop. 2-28, 7:34am. The archives are finished save for the oldest. What a pain in the ass. We never addressed that code and continued to receive validation errors and messages regarding the content. Well, shit came to a head and we decided to hit it hard the last few days, hence the lack of anything here. Doesn't matter. Today is Sunday and we have fish to fry, none of which will be difficult. The motivation here is losing out to memories and all that content we just went through for better alignment. The site went from happy and hopeful to depressing and dark, soon after going back uphill to happy (more or less) and then on to deep analysis. Lots going on inside now. The mode has changed this morning. Not up or down, just different. Working around the house will be very interesting. Part of the motivation to clean up the site stemmed from our need to compact everything in life. We may be able to pare things down more, as well, but for the time being only little things need attention. The more difficult or time-consuming tasks will be dealt with slowly. Everything begins today, and whatever had been happening around the house toward such a goal is now to be sped and amplified. We are badly in need of portability. Sometimes sitting in the midst of possessions feels as if we are stuck more than in reality. That worry of being cemented here begins to force the downsizing of everything just in case we end up in a scrape. The concern is generally overblown, though. Nothing so dramatic is going to take place, so most of the worry is internal. There is nothing wrong with shrinking everything, however. Space is space. Line in the sand up there? We do not believe so, however there was one this morning. The statement above may have been premature. We need to remain mindful of the importance of silence and ambiguity to such a degree as leaving others completely in the fucking dark. They need to be there and we need them there. Darkness is not only of mind, but of attitude. So long as everyone leaves us the hell alone, we will not burden or disturb them with our insides. There you go. And this shit does not count. Another trying fucking morning. Nothing available other than the patience which is diminishing as quickly as our ambition toward downsizing and organization. Nothing available, just like most mornings. We will have to remain vigilant to get through these periods. None of it is easy and brings back that trip to the goblet in zero three which brought us to Ashley's words. Loving, caring and understanding words we would not hear again until nearly twelve years later. The second time was reckless and worrisome, yet She was there to speak them with a kindness all but alien after so much time. We were taken aback, and may never hear such in the future. We do not see the fucking cards. Relegated to whatever we can do these days. Not good. Like everything else in recent memory, just another facet illuminated and subsequently torn away. Splendid. Today will not be easy by any stretch of the word. At least we have a plan. The problems without solutions are going to push us in directions no one will enjoy. The business of the day is going to need to begin soon, lest we fall down again like the other day. That was not fun. Er... Stop. 3-1. March. Unbelievable. Kind of a late start for reasons we do not wish to explain. A repeat of November. Ugh. We are down further than yesterday at this time. The beer came out, music was blaring, and we carried forward with the garage organization for a little while before heading inside to tidy up. Once complete, we watched several episodes leading well into the afternoon and early evening. Overall the day may seem ok, but honestly there was too much inside to completely relax and allow the suspension to take over. It never did. We sat and made nice, all the while the cyclone continued as if nothing happened. And here we are again, yet today may prove more rewarding because of so much time alone. This is good. It feels as if we've been in the fold for days on end when in reality there were but two. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Pause. 7:48am and quiet in the house. Coffee, the third show, and this crap. The fabrication continues to cause both confusion and difficulty inside. There can be no way of actually knowing what happened. The reasoning is pretty straightforward, though. Understandable, as well. We cannot easily deal with it, but such a fact is not the fault of others. All within, period. A morning such as today adds the ever-present issue on top of fabrication concerns and often leaves us without direction, sometimes for hours. We cannot have that type of shit today. After Saturday and then last night, other people need to keep a slight distance and not address us as much as may be typical. We are close to exploding. The morning crap is plenty without worry of what may be going on in the brains of those people. Don't want it, don't need it, yet the dream is impossible. The only other avenue is to continue working toward our own solution, or at least something which can help to isolate the feelings inside and shelve them for a time. Years of this have left us weakened and worried, although we do still have one advantage, and that is time. Plenty. Today will be the usual. The drums are going to see expanded viewing and the drill press will be listed for free, too. The one auction is doing well and ends tomorrow. We will have that guy packed up and ready to ship this morning. One more auction listing, perhaps. We need to be certain about letting some items go out the door. The increasing empty space in the new office is really nice to see. Inspiring, honestly. We need some fucking control. Very little available outside the normal scope, though. Not fun. After reworking the archives all the way back to zero three, the images of yachts have been brought to mind many years beyond dreaming of that lifestyle. We updated some of them due to the need for larger, clearer representations of some aspects of the yachts, and in seeking newer imagery we have reverted to looking out the windows just like the Midwest period. All that yearning for comfort pretty much boils down to having control over atmosphere. Nothing like the machine was in mind back then. We just didn't think about it. That type of control is not real, anyway. Not without a ton of money. Not funny. It's been done before and went bad. We know. Almost time to go and make something happen. We must get more shit out the door and minimize the footprint. It feels satisfying for some reason. Maybe years of collecting and amassing things which were interesting at the time. Not sure, but it's reasonable. Clearing space may help to alleviate this fucking terrible mood. The brain pays no mind to our fucking intentions or ambition at times. This is bad because we feel the need for control -- which includes what takes place inside -- yet cannot find ways of grasping it. Elusive at times, that shit. But the need never goes away and we often end up sitting without clue one of how to proceed with anything. We just can't fucking have that these days. Too late now. Just too damned late. Pause 11:14am. The day is underway but the brain is not well. Routine? Mostly finished. We have done well so far with the chores, as most days. But underneath, the demons are at work. They did their job of robbing the ambition for a time and then driving the mind south, however we can rise from here. There is some sort of underlying good feeling this morning. We are wide open now and thinking of possibilities, believe it or not. The day appears brighter now despite failing earlier. Livia's kitchen is on fire. Heh. Yep, we decided to return to the roots of the last few years and attempt to bring back some of the feelings during a day without work. So far, it is interesting. This show is nearly as comfortable as the big five, even with the language and striking visuals. Being alone means there are no worries, plus we know it so well that nothing comes across as surprising. This day will hopefully end where we now reside as opposed to the difficult morning. That was bad, so rising is imperative. We have one hour and then a visit up the hill. Yesterday we watched no less than five fucking episodes, today may be a few more. The story is compelling and we recall less than originally thought when it began. The years are piling up like air molecules in front of a hypersonic projectile. We are closing in on eight years since father passed. The clock is spinning like never before, and that means we must embrace the time of the shows and relaxation. Suspension of disbelief has not been this important since the cave period. Just before that time we were back in the old house -- all alone for many hours each day -- and clinging to the stories just as the present. Different in many ways, yet still kind of the same. The media is key. We need it. Everything is turning to shit. Stop for now. 3-2, morning coffee. Yesterday was better than expected in a few ways, much worse in one other. The show was fine, the work went well, and the evening came and went as always. Nice dinner and the other show along with it. The days have been running together for quite some time now, but the last couple of weeks they seems to be moving more quickly and the lines between are fading. This is not good. It plays like a fiddle and returns us to the glowing years as well as the very short period thereafter. Perhaps we need to affix names or numbers to those times. Like the 'glow'. Hmm. Anyway, everything feels further back, like watching certain movies which do not feel as old as they really are due to familiarity. We keep returning to those periods as if searching for answers, although most of the time our result is only depression. The fact may be those big stores closing. The impact has affected us much, and then we feel upset over the loss and recall more of those periods, meaning the event has worsened. The relationship between the older time periods and the present is precisely what we are doing at this very moment. Recollection. Comfort. Familiarity. What does all that mean? Wasn't this entry about some sort of fabrication? Eh... Fuck that subject anyway. We don't need the shitty attitude which accompanies trying to calculate what may or may not be swirling within the head of a fucking woman. All of it is just shit anymore. The exploration of those time periods which may have shaped us for all time is beginning to take priority over understanding the fucking foxes. We just don't see a method for proceeding in such a vein which will not end in disaster, so other avenues are preferable right now. Things out, money in, and lots of contemplation. Time to get this crap to the PE. 304. 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
Fabrication Mature content No. 226 Published March 2nd, 2021 7:00am pst read ( words) Past entries "2-24, later in the morning. All of it may be a pile of horseshit. We cannot know, so the imagery and clues continue to push us in directions filled with worry. Does it matter? Do they matter? Should we be pointing our gaze elsewhere? This could be a massive fabrication for the purpose of furthering an agenda. We have seen it (and lived it) before. If the worst is indeed true, destruction can be the only answer to every question. Capability, 'performance', and references which have become endless, biting examples of the manner in which people have ruined us for all time. We cannot stop, slow, nothing. All of it is already inside and driving nails through our very being. The hits will keep coming. Too much has transpired. Our situation is to the point of leaving all of the joy and comfort by the side of the road. Forever. Just... Forever. Doomed to feel this way until the end. The clues and stings are shrinking in comparison. We cannot fight everything. It is too much for our frail selves. The research no longer helps. Alone with the worry of a lifetime. Fabrication. Destruction. Doom. Everything in three words. We must decide if the dissemination of information is going to accomplish anything aside from trouble. We need more of that like we need Satan's fucking penis in the ass. While we have to admit that the conjecture and worry over revealing too much has become overpowering and grown inside to the point of causing distress, the outlet may actually be there. Fear has held so much back in the last decade (more, really) that the growth and expansion of the same has left us seemingly without clear options. We cannot go on like this for much longer. Switch-flipping along with flipping the fuck out are only going to provide so much before we become worn down to a nub. Nothing left inside. No capability, compassion, or willingness to be near people. Media will be out the fucking door, as well. Relegated to books, hiding ourselves away, and ignoring the world have become perhaps dire to survival at all. The other ideas for moving forward this year have faded beyond recognition. 8:41am. Worf said, 'most problems have more than one solution', and as much as we would love to agree, the truth is some have none whatsoever. The forest is not a solution, it is a failure. We are on our merry way into that blackest of hatred regardless of the damage it will cause both us and those nearby. It's bad, but you'll learn plenty soon enough. Merry way, indeed. The forest is a tempest to be avoided at all costs, yet we also need it to turn an otherwise impossible corner. We have been crushed, and no measure of study or attention will change that fact. It's done. Leave it. Just to be clear, the foxes have nothing to do with the forest. We designed and constructed it due to the dire need for isolation. Fabrication and destruction, 'hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand'. 1:17pm and almost visit time. We are prepared, mostly. The jabs will occur, no doubt. Everything is finished, including a drive to the cleaners for further modification of the vest. We have tired of removing and replacing so many pins, however it is necessary for stitching. After yesterday's attempt to do it ourselves, the idea is now for professionals only. Money well-spent. We have no more ambition today, meaning the remainder of the free time will be spent relaxing. All of the thinking continues to this very second, as well. We know of no other way to proceed any longer. Thinking leads to worry and right on into the gravest fear. No choice. This is what we are and shall remain. Stop. 2-25, 6:08am. And now we must switch back to the lousy mood. Last night showed us a turn we expected yet shoved away like a child's bad dream. We knew it was coming right down the fucking interstate no matter our love nor precious memories. All gone now, and for the remainder of time. Nothing else can ever come along and equal the wonder, grandeur, none of it. Doomed, again. The entire planet has become one giant reminder of what was, and the harsh reality of what is to come. Nothingness, generic landscapes, apathy, and the mindless repeating of each segment of society until there is no uniqueness left anywhere. That is our future. Bland, worthless, and so boring, yet no one seems to give a shit anymore. Everything is flowing down the fucking drain. Everything turns to shit, right Tony? Right. Last night was a big one. We do not expect it to be the last, either. The closure will change much. Several aspects of life have been lopped off like dead branches, most of which were further back but still some are very fresh. The latest is pretty fucking bad for us. We can barely deal with the state of life in this place and during all which has changed throughout the year, and now there is one less reason to turn ourselves south. Everything is different now. We can do nothing about it, either. Not a damned thing. The wheels of progress continue no matter the trials. On top of all which has worn down our once-resilient and strong being, last night's news took off a piece we really needed. It seems the more we try to cling to those parts of life which still resound within the heart, the more things are ripped away. Back to the bullshit before whatever lies nearby gets thrown into the yard. Very unhappy right now. Normally this part of the morning is simply a wait for peace and quiet within the next hour. Some things prepared, and then the noise goes out the door. Today is a little different. Oh, the timing is the same. There came a strike earlier which we must analyze. The direction from which it swung was the past, some long and some short. Long and short of it, the shit needs to be addressed before we end up losing it completely. The anger was not helping yesterday so we turned it off into the afternoon for the visit and then left it on the side of the road during evening. Dinner, and then the fucking news. Well, this morning we must keep that fucking anger and hatred in check until such time as we are guaranteed to be alone for some hours. We must continue to toe the line and pass the time. The little comforts will have to suffice for the time being. They could have chosen a more attractive female lead for this movie. The woman is all sorts of bad. She must have been juiced-in somehow. The hours ahead are going to be easier than last week. We already know it because a line was drawn Monday last and remains in place. the line will not waver one bit, either. Too important. The payoff may not be for some time, yet still we will maintain level and pace regardless of the delay. Force is good and very appealing when it comes to the control and manipulation of the world in order to serve our needs. Perhaps we can treat the world as a machine seeing as how it continues to chew us into unrecognizable bits. Hours ahead... We need them so badly. Only one auction right now due to some uncertainty yesterday. This morning everything is set in stone due to dealing with such loss combined with the anger over years of fabrication. We simply must push forward regardless of the others nearby. Covert plans, if you will. They are the cause and the source, meaning they will also be the target. The small steps of auctions and listings will carry forward in a little while, or at such time as we can think without distraction. Time to get some things completed. Pause. 7:38am and here we are for the bulk of this day. A line in the sand is incoming. Line in the sand. We must keep in mind that fabrications cannot be controlled or dealt with externally. They simply take place and we react accordingly. After all this time, that big wall feels as if it belongs there. Mostly. There exists another possibility, and that is the idea that the wall is not there at all, only our way of life. Putting forth protective methods, maintaining a distance from harmful elements, and demonstrating some stratospheric methods for generating the largest snowstorms in the world. After all these years, we are expert at showing people one side and hiding the other, the reality, if you will. The advanced nature of feeling secure has evolved throughout time and found us here with the tools to get through any situation with nary a soul realizing what is going on inside. And we will not reveal shit. Snowstorms. Bullshit. Lies. All of it there to ensure we can live out our days completely isolated from the damage which emanates from the maws of other human beings. We have been so fucking full of shit for so fucking long that the instantaneous procedure has become second nature. Our OWN fabrication born from a life lived in pain. Don't fuck around. We are already so fucking far past the shit that there is no chance of anyone making a scratch, let alone getting through all we have built. You're done. On to the day, and beyond the norm we will try to venture. Another listing, possibly two. We also need to drop the cost of one item to ensure it disappears quickly. And then the drill press. Free equals gone, every fucking time. As much as we require large amounts of cash these days, the empty space means a more relaxed posture. Very important, because we may be stuck here for some years. The routine soon, a few other things, and then out to the new office for yet more organization and consideration of everything stored there. After tossing and/or selling many items from the tool chest, we have been inspired to continue. The passage of time tends to show us what is important anymore and what can go away. We only wish to make people go away, but alas that will take even more time. 10:39am. Most of the daily routine is finished, leaving whatever we wish to further if the effort exists. Another listing for auction may be in the wings, too. Second show in the background. The pull is apparent and in mind deeply, leaving us physically lacking due to an equal absence of understanding. This may never change. We think, need, see, and fall. Had we removed the problem years ago there would be no worry now. Nothing changed, so nothing changes. Longing, pain, a lack of outlet, and then the mindset that the others are the enemy. Of that we have no doubt. The issue coming to light yesterday is not good and sinking us beyond the time of discovery. Much time may be required for what took place to be fully absorbed. This is very bad. Another facet is now gone. The remaining shine will need to be tabulated for good measure. This horrible time has become exponentially worse. We cannot even begin to describe the feelings other than what has been said for weeks. The stores were so huge that losing them for all time is as a knife... Another knife, really. There have been many. None have been removed from the wounds and there is a finite number with which we can work. That number is unknown, however. Most were unexpected, some nearly killed us. Splash one morning cocktail. Splash everything. 'The fabrication in mind continues to torment us endlessly. We cannot abide the distrust nor the absence of truth. It is in there. We know. We have seen the firing words, the trail smoke. We have seen the difference. Change, alteration from there to here for our benefit and sensitivity. From the first blast of hellfire so long ago -- scarring as it did -- all the way to the present deviations from warmth and comfort. The fire has burned and blackened everything; tainted all that is to come. We cannot go back, nor can we erase the disheartening and disrespectful phrasing. We are lost.' Nothing changes; nothing rises. There is nothing to seek any longer. Lacking. Bereft. Void of hope. Sought. Failed. Loss. Telepathy; clairvoyance. Clairaudience? Good luck with that one. Nothing was there to help because human beings are deceptive, protective, and full of reasoning supporting the same. If the motives for those behaviors are questioned, the manufacturing of bullshit will ensue. They will not bend, though they will tell you otherwise. The only answer is destruction and isolation. Death... The only tangible method of dealing with them. Gone. We simply must continue to move forward regardless of the reckless damage inflicted and disregarded. All the way back... We see everything. Obfuscation is impossible. Do not attempt. We are already part way into the forest. You will not like it. Trust in that. All you get. One fabrication? No, not by a damned sight. There are many and they continue to this very day. They will always be there no matter what takes place in reality. Protection? Impossible. Again... Do not attempt, for we know everything. The creation of imagery and wording cannot be denied, although with one single fucking syllable, we already know. Like a hawk up and out of sight, we have seen multiple moves along the game board and will feel nothing other than condescension at the outset of an attempt. Condescend and reap what you sow. Seeds and fabrication. We know... We know everything. All of it, from the tiniest tidbit to the largest gradient imaginable. We know because we've performed at the same level. But we are different, dire, and not to be trifled. Do we come across as angry? Hmm. The line is coming. 2:34pm. We completed a few small tasks and made the decision to remain here for the duration. There are too many loose ends, a plethora of thinking to be fleshed out, and far too many problems within for any other activity to take place this afternoon. This is it. Stop. 2-28, 7:34am. The archives are finished save for the oldest. What a pain in the ass. We never addressed that code and continued to receive validation errors and messages regarding the content. Well, shit came to a head and we decided to hit it hard the last few days, hence the lack of anything here. Doesn't matter. Today is Sunday and we have fish to fry, none of which will be difficult. The motivation here is losing out to memories and all that content we just went through for better alignment. The site went from happy and hopeful to depressing and dark, soon after going back uphill to happy (more or less) and then on to deep analysis. Lots going on inside now. The mode has changed this morning. Not up or down, just different. Working around the house will be very interesting. Part of the motivation to clean up the site stemmed from our need to compact everything in life. We may be able to pare things down more, as well, but for the time being only little things need attention. The more difficult or time-consuming tasks will be dealt with slowly. Everything begins today, and whatever had been happening around the house toward such a goal is now to be sped and amplified. We are badly in need of portability. Sometimes sitting in the midst of possessions feels as if we are stuck more than in reality. That worry of being cemented here begins to force the downsizing of everything just in case we end up in a scrape. The concern is generally overblown, though. Nothing so dramatic is going to take place, so most of the worry is internal. There is nothing wrong with shrinking everything, however. Space is space. Line in the sand up there? We do not believe so, however there was one this morning. The statement above may have been premature. We need to remain mindful of the importance of silence and ambiguity to such a degree as leaving others completely in the fucking dark. They need to be there and we need them there. Darkness is not only of mind, but of attitude. So long as everyone leaves us the hell alone, we will not burden or disturb them with our insides. There you go. And this shit does not count. Another trying fucking morning. Nothing available other than the patience which is diminishing as quickly as our ambition toward downsizing and organization. Nothing available, just like most mornings. We will have to remain vigilant to get through these periods. None of it is easy and brings back that trip to the goblet in zero three which brought us to Ashley's words. Loving, caring and understanding words we would not hear again until nearly twelve years later. The second time was reckless and worrisome, yet She was there to speak them with a kindness all but alien after so much time. We were taken aback, and may never hear such in the future. We do not see the fucking cards. Relegated to whatever we can do these days. Not good. Like everything else in recent memory, just another facet illuminated and subsequently torn away. Splendid. Today will not be easy by any stretch of the word. At least we have a plan. The problems without solutions are going to push us in directions no one will enjoy. The business of the day is going to need to begin soon, lest we fall down again like the other day. That was not fun. Er... Stop. 3-1. March. Unbelievable. Kind of a late start for reasons we do not wish to explain. A repeat of November. Ugh. We are down further than yesterday at this time. The beer came out, music was blaring, and we carried forward with the garage organization for a little while before heading inside to tidy up. Once complete, we watched several episodes leading well into the afternoon and early evening. Overall the day may seem ok, but honestly there was too much inside to completely relax and allow the suspension to take over. It never did. We sat and made nice, all the while the cyclone continued as if nothing happened. And here we are again, yet today may prove more rewarding because of so much time alone. This is good. It feels as if we've been in the fold for days on end when in reality there were but two. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Pause. 7:48am and quiet in the house. Coffee, the third show, and this crap. The fabrication continues to cause both confusion and difficulty inside. There can be no way of actually knowing what happened. The reasoning is pretty straightforward, though. Understandable, as well. We cannot easily deal with it, but such a fact is not the fault of others. All within, period. A morning such as today adds the ever-present issue on top of fabrication concerns and often leaves us without direction, sometimes for hours. We cannot have that type of shit today. After Saturday and then last night, other people need to keep a slight distance and not address us as much as may be typical. We are close to exploding. The morning crap is plenty without worry of what may be going on in the brains of those people. Don't want it, don't need it, yet the dream is impossible. The only other avenue is to continue working toward our own solution, or at least something which can help to isolate the feelings inside and shelve them for a time. Years of this have left us weakened and worried, although we do still have one advantage, and that is time. Plenty. Today will be the usual. The drums are going to see expanded viewing and the drill press will be listed for free, too. The one auction is doing well and ends tomorrow. We will have that guy packed up and ready to ship this morning. One more auction listing, perhaps. We need to be certain about letting some items go out the door. The increasing empty space in the new office is really nice to see. Inspiring, honestly. We need some fucking control. Very little available outside the normal scope, though. Not fun. After reworking the archives all the way back to zero three, the images of yachts have been brought to mind many years beyond dreaming of that lifestyle. We updated some of them due to the need for larger, clearer representations of some aspects of the yachts, and in seeking newer imagery we have reverted to looking out the windows just like the Midwest period. All that yearning for comfort pretty much boils down to having control over atmosphere. Nothing like the machine was in mind back then. We just didn't think about it. That type of control is not real, anyway. Not without a ton of money. Not funny. It's been done before and went bad. We know. Almost time to go and make something happen. We must get more shit out the door and minimize the footprint. It feels satisfying for some reason. Maybe years of collecting and amassing things which were interesting at the time. Not sure, but it's reasonable. Clearing space may help to alleviate this fucking terrible mood. The brain pays no mind to our fucking intentions or ambition at times. This is bad because we feel the need for control -- which includes what takes place inside -- yet cannot find ways of grasping it. Elusive at times, that shit. But the need never goes away and we often end up sitting without clue one of how to proceed with anything. We just can't fucking have that these days. Too late now. Just too damned late. Pause 11:14am. The day is underway but the brain is not well. Routine? Mostly finished. We have done well so far with the chores, as most days. But underneath, the demons are at work. They did their job of robbing the ambition for a time and then driving the mind south, however we can rise from here. There is some sort of underlying good feeling this morning. We are wide open now and thinking of possibilities, believe it or not. The day appears brighter now despite failing earlier. Livia's kitchen is on fire. Heh. Yep, we decided to return to the roots of the last few years and attempt to bring back some of the feelings during a day without work. So far, it is interesting. This show is nearly as comfortable as the big five, even with the language and striking visuals. Being alone means there are no worries, plus we know it so well that nothing comes across as surprising. This day will hopefully end where we now reside as opposed to the difficult morning. That was bad, so rising is imperative. We have one hour and then a visit up the hill. Yesterday we watched no less than five fucking episodes, today may be a few more. The story is compelling and we recall less than originally thought when it began. The years are piling up like air molecules in front of a hypersonic projectile. We are closing in on eight years since father passed. The clock is spinning like never before, and that means we must embrace the time of the shows and relaxation. Suspension of disbelief has not been this important since the cave period. Just before that time we were back in the old house -- all alone for many hours each day -- and clinging to the stories just as the present. Different in many ways, yet still kind of the same. The media is key. We need it. Everything is turning to shit. Stop for now. 3-2, morning coffee. Yesterday was better than expected in a few ways, much worse in one other. The show was fine, the work went well, and the evening came and went as always. Nice dinner and the other show along with it. The days have been running together for quite some time now, but the last couple of weeks they seems to be moving more quickly and the lines between are fading. This is not good. It plays like a fiddle and returns us to the glowing years as well as the very short period thereafter. Perhaps we need to affix names or numbers to those times. Like the 'glow'. Hmm. Anyway, everything feels further back, like watching certain movies which do not feel as old as they really are due to familiarity. We keep returning to those periods as if searching for answers, although most of the time our result is only depression. The fact may be those big stores closing. The impact has affected us much, and then we feel upset over the loss and recall more of those periods, meaning the event has worsened. The relationship between the older time periods and the present is precisely what we are doing at this very moment. Recollection. Comfort. Familiarity. What does all that mean? Wasn't this entry about some sort of fabrication? Eh... Fuck that subject anyway. We don't need the shitty attitude which accompanies trying to calculate what may or may not be swirling within the head of a fucking woman. All of it is just shit anymore. The exploration of those time periods which may have shaped us for all time is beginning to take priority over understanding the fucking foxes. We just don't see a method for proceeding in such a vein which will not end in disaster, so other avenues are preferable right now. Things out, money in, and lots of contemplation. Time to get this crap to the PE. 304. She is inside."
Fabrication
Mature content No. 226 Published March 2nd, 2021 7:00am pst read ( words) Past entries
"2-24, later in the morning. All of it may be a pile of horseshit. We cannot know, so the imagery and clues continue to push us in directions filled with worry. Does it matter? Do they matter? Should we be pointing our gaze elsewhere? This could be a massive fabrication for the purpose of furthering an agenda. We have seen it (and lived it) before. If the worst is indeed true, destruction can be the only answer to every question. Capability, 'performance', and references which have become endless, biting examples of the manner in which people have ruined us for all time. We cannot stop, slow, nothing. All of it is already inside and driving nails through our very being. The hits will keep coming. Too much has transpired. Our situation is to the point of leaving all of the joy and comfort by the side of the road. Forever. Just... Forever. Doomed to feel this way until the end. The clues and stings are shrinking in comparison. We cannot fight everything. It is too much for our frail selves. The research no longer helps. Alone with the worry of a lifetime. Fabrication. Destruction. Doom. Everything in three words. We must decide if the dissemination of information is going to accomplish anything aside from trouble. We need more of that like we need Satan's fucking penis in the ass. While we have to admit that the conjecture and worry over revealing too much has become overpowering and grown inside to the point of causing distress, the outlet may actually be there. Fear has held so much back in the last decade (more, really) that the growth and expansion of the same has left us seemingly without clear options. We cannot go on like this for much longer. Switch-flipping along with flipping the fuck out are only going to provide so much before we become worn down to a nub. Nothing left inside. No capability, compassion, or willingness to be near people. Media will be out the fucking door, as well. Relegated to books, hiding ourselves away, and ignoring the world have become perhaps dire to survival at all. The other ideas for moving forward this year have faded beyond recognition. 8:41am. Worf said, 'most problems have more than one solution', and as much as we would love to agree, the truth is some have none whatsoever. The forest is not a solution, it is a failure. We are on our merry way into that blackest of hatred regardless of the damage it will cause both us and those nearby. It's bad, but you'll learn plenty soon enough. Merry way, indeed. The forest is a tempest to be avoided at all costs, yet we also need it to turn an otherwise impossible corner. We have been crushed, and no measure of study or attention will change that fact. It's done. Leave it. Just to be clear, the foxes have nothing to do with the forest. We designed and constructed it due to the dire need for isolation. Fabrication and destruction, 'hand in handcuffed motherfucking hand'. 1:17pm and almost visit time. We are prepared, mostly. The jabs will occur, no doubt. Everything is finished, including a drive to the cleaners for further modification of the vest. We have tired of removing and replacing so many pins, however it is necessary for stitching. After yesterday's attempt to do it ourselves, the idea is now for professionals only. Money well-spent. We have no more ambition today, meaning the remainder of the free time will be spent relaxing. All of the thinking continues to this very second, as well. We know of no other way to proceed any longer. Thinking leads to worry and right on into the gravest fear. No choice. This is what we are and shall remain. Stop. 2-25, 6:08am. And now we must switch back to the lousy mood. Last night showed us a turn we expected yet shoved away like a child's bad dream. We knew it was coming right down the fucking interstate no matter our love nor precious memories. All gone now, and for the remainder of time. Nothing else can ever come along and equal the wonder, grandeur, none of it. Doomed, again. The entire planet has become one giant reminder of what was, and the harsh reality of what is to come. Nothingness, generic landscapes, apathy, and the mindless repeating of each segment of society until there is no uniqueness left anywhere. That is our future. Bland, worthless, and so boring, yet no one seems to give a shit anymore. Everything is flowing down the fucking drain. Everything turns to shit, right Tony? Right. Last night was a big one. We do not expect it to be the last, either. The closure will change much. Several aspects of life have been lopped off like dead branches, most of which were further back but still some are very fresh. The latest is pretty fucking bad for us. We can barely deal with the state of life in this place and during all which has changed throughout the year, and now there is one less reason to turn ourselves south. Everything is different now. We can do nothing about it, either. Not a damned thing. The wheels of progress continue no matter the trials. On top of all which has worn down our once-resilient and strong being, last night's news took off a piece we really needed. It seems the more we try to cling to those parts of life which still resound within the heart, the more things are ripped away.
Back to the bullshit before whatever lies nearby gets thrown into the yard. Very unhappy right now. Normally this part of the morning is simply a wait for peace and quiet within the next hour. Some things prepared, and then the noise goes out the door. Today is a little different. Oh, the timing is the same. There came a strike earlier which we must analyze. The direction from which it swung was the past, some long and some short. Long and short of it, the shit needs to be addressed before we end up losing it completely. The anger was not helping yesterday so we turned it off into the afternoon for the visit and then left it on the side of the road during evening. Dinner, and then the fucking news. Well, this morning we must keep that fucking anger and hatred in check until such time as we are guaranteed to be alone for some hours. We must continue to toe the line and pass the time. The little comforts will have to suffice for the time being. They could have chosen a more attractive female lead for this movie. The woman is all sorts of bad. She must have been juiced-in somehow. The hours ahead are going to be easier than last week. We already know it because a line was drawn Monday last and remains in place. the line will not waver one bit, either. Too important. The payoff may not be for some time, yet still we will maintain level and pace regardless of the delay. Force is good and very appealing when it comes to the control and manipulation of the world in order to serve our needs. Perhaps we can treat the world as a machine seeing as how it continues to chew us into unrecognizable bits. Hours ahead... We need them so badly. Only one auction right now due to some uncertainty yesterday. This morning everything is set in stone due to dealing with such loss combined with the anger over years of fabrication. We simply must push forward regardless of the others nearby. Covert plans, if you will. They are the cause and the source, meaning they will also be the target. The small steps of auctions and listings will carry forward in a little while, or at such time as we can think without distraction. Time to get some things completed. Pause. 7:38am and here we are for the bulk of this day. A line in the sand is incoming. Line in the sand. We must keep in mind that fabrications cannot be controlled or dealt with externally. They simply take place and we react accordingly. After all this time, that big wall feels as if it belongs there. Mostly. There exists another possibility, and that is the idea that the wall is not there at all, only our way of life. Putting forth protective methods, maintaining a distance from harmful elements, and demonstrating some stratospheric methods for generating the largest snowstorms in the world. After all these years, we are expert at showing people one side and hiding the other, the reality, if you will. The advanced nature of feeling secure has evolved throughout time and found us here with the tools to get through any situation with nary a soul realizing what is going on inside. And we will not reveal shit. Snowstorms. Bullshit. Lies. All of it there to ensure we can live out our days completely isolated from the damage which emanates from the maws of other human beings. We have been so fucking full of shit for so fucking long that the instantaneous procedure has become second nature. Our OWN fabrication born from a life lived in pain. Don't fuck around. We are already so fucking far past the shit that there is no chance of anyone making a scratch, let alone getting through all we have built. You're done. On to the day, and beyond the norm we will try to venture. Another listing, possibly two. We also need to drop the cost of one item to ensure it disappears quickly. And then the drill press. Free equals gone, every fucking time. As much as we require large amounts of cash these days, the empty space means a more relaxed posture. Very important, because we may be stuck here for some years. The routine soon, a few other things, and then out to the new office for yet more organization and consideration of everything stored there. After tossing and/or selling many items from the tool chest, we have been inspired to continue. The passage of time tends to show us what is important anymore and what can go away. We only wish to make people go away, but alas that will take even more time. 10:39am. Most of the daily routine is finished, leaving whatever we wish to further if the effort exists. Another listing for auction may be in the wings, too. Second show in the background. The pull is apparent and in mind deeply, leaving us physically lacking due to an equal absence of understanding. This may never change. We think, need, see, and fall. Had we removed the problem years ago there would be no worry now. Nothing changed, so nothing changes. Longing, pain, a lack of outlet, and then the mindset that the others are the enemy. Of that we have no doubt. The issue coming to light yesterday is not good and sinking us beyond the time of discovery. Much time may be required for what took place to be fully absorbed. This is very bad. Another facet is now gone. The remaining shine will need to be tabulated for good measure. This horrible time has become exponentially worse. We cannot even begin to describe the feelings other than what has been said for weeks. The stores were so huge that losing them for all time is as a knife... Another knife, really. There have been many. None have been removed from the wounds and there is a finite number with which we can work. That number is unknown, however. Most were unexpected, some nearly killed us.
Splash one morning cocktail. Splash everything. 'The fabrication in mind continues to torment us endlessly. We cannot abide the distrust nor the absence of truth. It is in there. We know. We have seen the firing words, the trail smoke. We have seen the difference. Change, alteration from there to here for our benefit and sensitivity. From the first blast of hellfire so long ago -- scarring as it did -- all the way to the present deviations from warmth and comfort. The fire has burned and blackened everything; tainted all that is to come. We cannot go back, nor can we erase the disheartening and disrespectful phrasing. We are lost.' Nothing changes; nothing rises. There is nothing to seek any longer. Lacking. Bereft. Void of hope. Sought. Failed. Loss. Telepathy; clairvoyance. Clairaudience? Good luck with that one. Nothing was there to help because human beings are deceptive, protective, and full of reasoning supporting the same. If the motives for those behaviors are questioned, the manufacturing of bullshit will ensue. They will not bend, though they will tell you otherwise. The only answer is destruction and isolation. Death... The only tangible method of dealing with them. Gone. We simply must continue to move forward regardless of the reckless damage inflicted and disregarded. All the way back... We see everything. Obfuscation is impossible. Do not attempt. We are already part way into the forest. You will not like it. Trust in that. All you get. One fabrication? No, not by a damned sight. There are many and they continue to this very day. They will always be there no matter what takes place in reality. Protection? Impossible. Again... Do not attempt, for we know everything. The creation of imagery and wording cannot be denied, although with one single fucking syllable, we already know. Like a hawk up and out of sight, we have seen multiple moves along the game board and will feel nothing other than condescension at the outset of an attempt. Condescend and reap what you sow. Seeds and fabrication. We know... We know everything. All of it, from the tiniest tidbit to the largest gradient imaginable. We know because we've performed at the same level. But we are different, dire, and not to be trifled. Do we come across as angry? Hmm. The line is coming. 2:34pm. We completed a few small tasks and made the decision to remain here for the duration. There are too many loose ends, a plethora of thinking to be fleshed out, and far too many problems within for any other activity to take place this afternoon. This is it. Stop. 2-28, 7:34am. The archives are finished save for the oldest. What a pain in the ass. We never addressed that code and continued to receive validation errors and messages regarding the content. Well, shit came to a head and we decided to hit it hard the last few days, hence the lack of anything here. Doesn't matter. Today is Sunday and we have fish to fry, none of which will be difficult. The motivation here is losing out to memories and all that content we just went through for better alignment. The site went from happy and hopeful to depressing and dark, soon after going back uphill to happy (more or less) and then on to deep analysis. Lots going on inside now. The mode has changed this morning. Not up or down, just different. Working around the house will be very interesting. Part of the motivation to clean up the site stemmed from our need to compact everything in life. We may be able to pare things down more, as well, but for the time being only little things need attention. The more difficult or time-consuming tasks will be dealt with slowly. Everything begins today, and whatever had been happening around the house toward such a goal is now to be sped and amplified. We are badly in need of portability. Sometimes sitting in the midst of possessions feels as if we are stuck more than in reality. That worry of being cemented here begins to force the downsizing of everything just in case we end up in a scrape. The concern is generally overblown, though. Nothing so dramatic is going to take place, so most of the worry is internal. There is nothing wrong with shrinking everything, however. Space is space.
Line in the sand up there? We do not believe so, however there was one this morning. The statement above may have been premature. We need to remain mindful of the importance of silence and ambiguity to such a degree as leaving others completely in the fucking dark. They need to be there and we need them there. Darkness is not only of mind, but of attitude. So long as everyone leaves us the hell alone, we will not burden or disturb them with our insides. There you go. And this shit does not count. Another trying fucking morning. Nothing available other than the patience which is diminishing as quickly as our ambition toward downsizing and organization. Nothing available, just like most mornings. We will have to remain vigilant to get through these periods. None of it is easy and brings back that trip to the goblet in zero three which brought us to Ashley's words. Loving, caring and understanding words we would not hear again until nearly twelve years later. The second time was reckless and worrisome, yet She was there to speak them with a kindness all but alien after so much time. We were taken aback, and may never hear such in the future. We do not see the fucking cards. Relegated to whatever we can do these days. Not good. Like everything else in recent memory, just another facet illuminated and subsequently torn away. Splendid. Today will not be easy by any stretch of the word. At least we have a plan. The problems without solutions are going to push us in directions no one will enjoy. The business of the day is going to need to begin soon, lest we fall down again like the other day. That was not fun. Er... Stop. 3-1. March. Unbelievable. Kind of a late start for reasons we do not wish to explain. A repeat of November. Ugh. We are down further than yesterday at this time. The beer came out, music was blaring, and we carried forward with the garage organization for a little while before heading inside to tidy up. Once complete, we watched several episodes leading well into the afternoon and early evening. Overall the day may seem ok, but honestly there was too much inside to completely relax and allow the suspension to take over. It never did. We sat and made nice, all the while the cyclone continued as if nothing happened. And here we are again, yet today may prove more rewarding because of so much time alone. This is good. It feels as if we've been in the fold for days on end when in reality there were but two. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Pause. 7:48am and quiet in the house. Coffee, the third show, and this crap. The fabrication continues to cause both confusion and difficulty inside. There can be no way of actually knowing what happened. The reasoning is pretty straightforward, though. Understandable, as well. We cannot easily deal with it, but such a fact is not the fault of others. All within, period. A morning such as today adds the ever-present issue on top of fabrication concerns and often leaves us without direction, sometimes for hours. We cannot have that type of shit today. After Saturday and then last night, other people need to keep a slight distance and not address us as much as may be typical. We are close to exploding. The morning crap is plenty without worry of what may be going on in the brains of those people. Don't want it, don't need it, yet the dream is impossible. The only other avenue is to continue working toward our own solution, or at least something which can help to isolate the feelings inside and shelve them for a time. Years of this have left us weakened and worried, although we do still have one advantage, and that is time. Plenty.
Today will be the usual. The drums are going to see expanded viewing and the drill press will be listed for free, too. The one auction is doing well and ends tomorrow. We will have that guy packed up and ready to ship this morning. One more auction listing, perhaps. We need to be certain about letting some items go out the door. The increasing empty space in the new office is really nice to see. Inspiring, honestly. We need some fucking control. Very little available outside the normal scope, though. Not fun. After reworking the archives all the way back to zero three, the images of yachts have been brought to mind many years beyond dreaming of that lifestyle. We updated some of them due to the need for larger, clearer representations of some aspects of the yachts, and in seeking newer imagery we have reverted to looking out the windows just like the Midwest period. All that yearning for comfort pretty much boils down to having control over atmosphere. Nothing like the machine was in mind back then. We just didn't think about it. That type of control is not real, anyway. Not without a ton of money. Not funny. It's been done before and went bad. We know. Almost time to go and make something happen. We must get more shit out the door and minimize the footprint. It feels satisfying for some reason. Maybe years of collecting and amassing things which were interesting at the time. Not sure, but it's reasonable. Clearing space may help to alleviate this fucking terrible mood. The brain pays no mind to our fucking intentions or ambition at times. This is bad because we feel the need for control -- which includes what takes place inside -- yet cannot find ways of grasping it. Elusive at times, that shit. But the need never goes away and we often end up sitting without clue one of how to proceed with anything. We just can't fucking have that these days. Too late now. Just too damned late. Pause 11:14am. The day is underway but the brain is not well. Routine? Mostly finished. We have done well so far with the chores, as most days. But underneath, the demons are at work. They did their job of robbing the ambition for a time and then driving the mind south, however we can rise from here. There is some sort of underlying good feeling this morning. We are wide open now and thinking of possibilities, believe it or not. The day appears brighter now despite failing earlier. Livia's kitchen is on fire. Heh. Yep, we decided to return to the roots of the last few years and attempt to bring back some of the feelings during a day without work. So far, it is interesting. This show is nearly as comfortable as the big five, even with the language and striking visuals. Being alone means there are no worries, plus we know it so well that nothing comes across as surprising. This day will hopefully end where we now reside as opposed to the difficult morning. That was bad, so rising is imperative. We have one hour and then a visit up the hill. Yesterday we watched no less than five fucking episodes, today may be a few more. The story is compelling and we recall less than originally thought when it began. The years are piling up like air molecules in front of a hypersonic projectile. We are closing in on eight years since father passed. The clock is spinning like never before, and that means we must embrace the time of the shows and relaxation. Suspension of disbelief has not been this important since the cave period. Just before that time we were back in the old house -- all alone for many hours each day -- and clinging to the stories just as the present. Different in many ways, yet still kind of the same. The media is key. We need it. Everything is turning to shit. Stop for now. 3-2, morning coffee. Yesterday was better than expected in a few ways, much worse in one other. The show was fine, the work went well, and the evening came and went as always. Nice dinner and the other show along with it. The days have been running together for quite some time now, but the last couple of weeks they seems to be moving more quickly and the lines between are fading. This is not good. It plays like a fiddle and returns us to the glowing years as well as the very short period thereafter. Perhaps we need to affix names or numbers to those times. Like the 'glow'. Hmm. Anyway, everything feels further back, like watching certain movies which do not feel as old as they really are due to familiarity. We keep returning to those periods as if searching for answers, although most of the time our result is only depression. The fact may be those big stores closing. The impact has affected us much, and then we feel upset over the loss and recall more of those periods, meaning the event has worsened. The relationship between the older time periods and the present is precisely what we are doing at this very moment. Recollection. Comfort. Familiarity. What does all that mean? Wasn't this entry about some sort of fabrication? Eh... Fuck that subject anyway. We don't need the shitty attitude which accompanies trying to calculate what may or may not be swirling within the head of a fucking woman. All of it is just shit anymore. The exploration of those time periods which may have shaped us for all time is beginning to take priority over understanding the fucking foxes. We just don't see a method for proceeding in such a vein which will not end in disaster, so other avenues are preferable right now. Things out, money in, and lots of contemplation. Time to get this crap to the PE. 304. She is inside."
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