March 28th, 2021 8:08am If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Foreboding read ( words) "3-24, 6:50am. During the last two days I successfully created a massive snowstorm. I'm pretty proud of it, too. Not many can completely derail the thinking of other people and lead them around like puppies bent upon finding a snack. At least I still have the power to control a few things in the world. Still the problems are cutting me to ribbons each day. I don't believe all the bullshit in the world can help me, no matter the direction or severity. One day soon I am going to be in very bad shape and perhaps make one of those decisions. Not good. I can barely do anything about the current state. Everything is going away. Three? Just those three? Hmm... Could be a snowstorm, could be nothing at all. No one knows but me. I can only say so much without backlash, so let the wonder begin. Bad. It was a step, though. I already know where I will end up soon, so bullshitting everyone has become a way of life. I cannot just flood it all or no one will consider me a viable person any longer. Everything will just continue rolling along until such time as a change is necessary for my survival. I am not happy in this position, though, meaning I may force something to bend in my direction for a while. The routine, visits, and time leading me from morning to noon to night are unsatisfying. The missing components must be located or I'll blow my fucking stack. That little step was better than nothing, although I do need to keep going which is not easy. Ever. The thoughts are dire. Today. Aside from adding motorization, I finished the clothing rack yesterday. It is smooth and works properly. I even built a small clothing rod for extra hangers so they don't have to stay on the rack while it is elevated. Now when the rack is up, the appearance is that of nothing there at all. It looks very nice. If and when I do add a motor, the idea is only for my satisfaction. Not necessary, yet it could be interesting. I will have to reattach the washer line today and get some clothes finished, the usual stuff inside, and at some point will venture out for a few items from the plumbing supplier. I also plan to sit and spew this crap longer today than usual. Since my mood is worse than ever and I cannot articulate anything to another person, remaining here on the machine is the only option. In and around the above chores, this dialog shall continue. Do not expect any trivialities or playful banter any longer. The tilt will not cease. Something bad is going to happen soon. I can see it, but not clearly. Bad. 8:42am. I wrote about the end of all things some years ago, and the mindset at that time was similar. I somehow knew my obsession would eventually end in disaster due to years of such need and zero outlet. Well, there is now a realization attached to such thinking, yet I am hesitant to spell it out here. I may have seen this coming soon after that fucking girl by the pool. Yes, her again. But not her. She is a representation of so many unseen desires and so much trouble that her image continues to plague me whenever I begin to fall down over everything. The words cannot come out here. Maybe they will remain inside forever, I don't know yet, but the fact is my dreams are dysfunctional and relate to what I felt months after that trip to the goblet. I desired her in a bad way, and along with that short period of dreaming about the walnut girl, the idea of my being even more deviant than previously thought became overpowering for a time. Both exited -- at least the desire did, anyway -- but I am still left with too many fucking questions. The realization is such that the place within which I now reside has darkened to such a degree that terrible knowledge is being revealed. Terrible. This fucking commercial never should have been produced at all. It is threatening, disheartening, insulting, and goes so far beyond the simple advertising and transmission of information that I cannot fully articulate what goes on inside me whenever it airs. No wonder I have been relegated to commercial-free media. Fuck me, anyway. Everything is turning to shit. Foreboding... The bad is coming, and the fucking commercial is part of a massive catalyst I cannot even begin to consider. Today is already shit. 9:51am. Laundry is set up and rolling along. I went to pick up two packs of vice at the dairy. Cats asleep. House is mine all day. I wish I knew how I would come out the other side of all these hours. Pain. Foreboding, like the feeling that there is a haunted mansion ahead (not THAT one), and one I cannot avoid. Inside the mansion is a woman and my demise. Some aspects of life have no avenues for avoidance. They are built-in and here to stay. Coupled with the past and my recent need to learn the genesis of such passion, my head rarely moves away from the subject. Each morning, afternoon and evening have become wrought with difficulty over not knowing or understanding the reasoning behind something so fucking heavy. Ingrained, expansive, and pulling all the fucking time. I can do exactly nothing about the issue. Nothing at all. On one side is an empty feeling, while on the other is a draw against which I have no saving throw. It is either one or the other every Goddamned day now. 'Down, down, down we go; where we end nobody knows.' 11:24am. The day has moved along without regard to the cyclone. Laundry is nearly finished, the kitchen is polished, and I am exactly the same, if not worse. The dire feeling has exited, thank the maker. I made it through the toughest part of any day and cruised out the other side half in the fucking bag. Just the way I need to be. The fourth show is on both televisions keeping me company like the family I never had. At least I know they will not abandon me no matter what takes place, foreboding or otherwise. Bless them. The sun is shining and the temperature is warming. One would believe they add up to a good day, but alas there are no such days any longer. Something bad is going to happen. Roxann is gorgeous and it doesn't matter. Nothing begats nothing, and nothingness is apparent. Void of everything. Down we go. The gray leads to the black. The black is foreboding. Right there... How far? How long? No answers, just as every other fucking question. The beautiful understanding of which 'she' spoke shall never come to pass. 'The earth became red. The cutting machines of man. Disgust and hatred for the lives of woman.' They are not at fault. Merely there, unknowing of the power. Powerless. Not hungry. The goddess of the universe does not exist. The next steps of this day are the most difficult, even moreso than the early morning dreams. I am in mind of all which lays in wait, too. All of it, all of them. I must keep going in order to keep my sordid head up, lest the devil grabs hold as in years passed. I cannot have that now. The resulting damage may send me to a place hurtful to others. I cannot have it. One miserable fucking step at a time. 'All hell did fill with the screaming souls of dead men.' You're fucking right. That other family will never embarrass or ridicule me, call me selfish or controlling, nor will they deny my fucking requests. They will simply move along with their tales and do my bidding. Not real. Nothing I need can ever be real. The foreboding has many facets, many aspects. One is the familiar control. Reduced now, to the fucking control over inanimate objects and the atmosphere I inhabit alone. Alone means control. No one else is here, so everything is mine. Well, like Phil said with the inflection I can never forget, 'Not everything'. My surrogate friends and family are the only parts of life that do not waver. They are unchangeable. The remainder of the world is haphazard, unreliable, and driven toward their own agendas and ends. I can do nothing about any of it. Alone. The only way, but the destructive way. Fuck everyone and everything. They will always be there for me. I love them. Not them... The other them. Follow along, idiots. What really fucking chaps me is that the knowledge is out there. It is known. I have made everything painfully clear for many years, yet the bullshit continues. Understanding, empathy, all of it. Bullshit. I thought when I wrote the essay of the same title there would be something different. I calculated a change, but still I sit here with a giant problem about which no one seems to give half a blue fuck. All I have to go on is the fucking evidence. It is clear now. I see it. The knowledge was not easy to disseminate, either. It is personal and so deep that I continue to plod the ends. The lowness. The trench of what I have become. The only viable conclusion is that no one cares, and believe me when I say that I will make the importance shine like a new sun. I can take no more of this. Either follow through and demonstrate the semantics which accompany the words, or tell me I do not matter enough for such a thing. One or the other. There is nothing in the middle. 12:16pm. Laundry is finished and the drain disassembled, like my brain cells. Everything is finished. This point is when I try to seek something beyond, but today I am not inclined to assist anyone at all. I am more inclined to behave in such a manner so as to force questions. They can fucking live with a lack of answers. Period. The dark foreboding predicted this. Still going. There may be more. So, the point now is bad. I am on a road which may have no turns or exits. A highway bereft of caring and compassion. A highway others will soon learn to lament. I will demonstrate the extent of my dissatisfaction with people over time. Wait for it. Remember the forest? Almost all the way in. Afterward, no one will enjoy answers to anything. Phone silenced and across the room on the charge. I only need it for tracking auctions. 'We have arrived.' I am trying to decide whether or not to go out, fill the car with fuel and shop for some garage essentials. The way I feel today is perfect for being out in public, too. I will not concern myself with people. Nothing, from a glance of hello to holding the fucking door. Let them wonder who I have become. The house is warm and the shade is down, all of the entertainment (the safe type) is available, and there are many things I can work with sans going out, yet still I may do it. All of our dinners for the next several days are planned so I don't need to worry about the market. Only the supplier and/or hardware. Right now I just don't know if I can be on the other side of that fucking door, though. Perhaps remaining inside the walls is best. Time will tell. Despite the full head of steam yesterday and again today, I am still partially paralyzed due to everything mentioned above. I just don't fucking get it. Is anything ever enough? Prove it. Otherwise, I know what the foreboding will provide. 'She' is ever watching me. I must be careful. I guess 114,000 some-odd lines of code are meaningless. Wow, what a shitty mood today. 3-25. As usual, the previous day turned into a pile of shit. Not the usual pile, though, but bad enough for me to wish it away. This is happening too often. My thinking is in the direction of another snowstorm, although I do have an actual grievance with yesterday beyond the typical crappy scheduling or not knowing what to do at a given moment. I made some things happen but then damaged myself and had to quit. Now I am even having trouble operating the pointing device on this computer. Damn. Whatever... I did it. My head began to roll downhill while I figured working in the garage for a while would be nice. I've completed so much organization out there lately that the appearance and feel are much different than a year back. Well, music and alcohol had me slowly calculating small projects, one of which required my countersink (with a thin, bent drill bit). I tried to fix it and ended up hurting myself. That was the end of the garage for the day. I came in and had some lunch and took it easy until dinner preparations. Serves me right for working with the tools after a morning cocktail and then a few beers. Dummy. It feels a little better this morning but will still likely cause me to slow whatever I am doing. The situation later is going to bring up the understanding again, too. Combined with the feelings yesterday and again this morning, my brain is going to have a difficult time. Some parts of life which outweigh everything else in the world come and go as expected. The dream is just that. I cannot count on anything. The ideas and wondrous feelings from 'way back when' rarely come along and catch me off guard. Years ago nothing was expected, just welcomed. Now? Nothing. I don't know how I made it through the last decade-plus without losing my shit. Today will be a bit different, with more quiet time than usual leading up to the midday. I plan to accomplish little. A visit is in order. It will chew a few hours out of the day. I also wish to take it easier than usual due to needing my hand to heal. As for anything out of the ordinary, well... I cannot today. Not only my hand, but my brain must remain upright. Wagons, indeed. I'm trying. Thousands of days have passed since that woman told me to hang on. She instructed me to go on and be well, to remain, to go through the motions and try to find an avenue. She pushed quite a bit and had me struggling to deny anything positive. She is long gone now, mere memories remain of her face. I try to consider those words each day, too. The fact is, her absence after seeing visions of where I could be is more than troubling. She may have been unique. I hope not. I just know her demeanor and attitude toward the world was very similar to mine. Living over a decade with nothing more than fleeting moments of our time together is pressing me to believe nothing along those lines can ever happen again. It's as if lying in her arms and hearing the words was a foreboding of what is happening now. Depth, worry, concern over the state of my head, and the seemingly futile effort of trying to keep myself up each day yet knowing I'll fall down eventually no matter what I do. The current state has been built of years. She may have helped me to see them all. I denied it for a very long time. She told me so much, and now I see the world playing out in such a way so as to require my being as positive as possible in order to remain standing. Did she know? Did I know? Today is already tough. Second cup of coffee and some foreign movie on the television. I am half watching due to the subtitles. There is much inside my head today, and much like yesterday, I must tread a path as best I can to maintain control. Time passes and I fall down. More time passes and I fall further. The longer the interval, the more dire I feel, and then the fall takes place accordingly. This day is not going to be easy by any stretch of the word. Eleven predicted all of this, and then two short periods from years before and years after that isolation have combined to leave me seeing something which may never really be there. A deserted island of sorts, void of people save for two. Short of something that unlikely, All I have are visions and memories, along with those periods of time which foretold what I have become. I probably don't need to point out that I am fucking tired of feeling this way. Plus, no one will understand this shit anyway. The work ahead is light, thank Christ. I don't need anything difficult anytime soon. There is too much inside which has been causing physical problems that won't leave me alone. From one day to the next I start with this and a cup of coffee, work into the daily routine, fall off a cliff for a while as the sun moves into the middle of the afternoon, and then try to reconcile everything with an evening cocktail and some dinner prep. And then the following morning everything begins again. Sometimes it's a wagon, other times it is different. Never both. I can't deal with that. Pile the existing physical bullshit on top. Wonderful. A special understanding was rammed into me by someone precious, and then reiterated more than ten years later. Foreboding, and here I sit... Neither of them within reach. Understanding. Those loving souls. Nothing will change, however. I can sit here until the cows come home and type whatever comes to mind, yet I already know nothing will change. This has been foreseen. My decisions and actions lent a hand, as well. All of it summed means I am sitting precisely where I should. Years of not lifting a fucking finger are going to take their toll on anyone, mark my words. Outside some insane turn of events -- a windfall, perhaps -- nothing is going to take place which is remotely surprising. Nothing. This has all been written in a book somewhere and I am moving from one chapter to the next, blind as a bat. The understanding may not be in my book. I've done too much for too long. The possibility may have been deleted by yours truly. Ah, fuck it anyway. Sometimes I don't have a clue as to why I even attempt to be happy. This is fucked. I need to return to the fabrication for a little while. That entire slew of words accomplished little, so here we go again. The knowledge of what is going on inside has been laid out here for some time now, and just this morning I have thought about it further. This is no more difficult now than it was when I watched the bullshit flying across a given room, yet something brought it to mind again. The television (the French film, honestly) brought those two words back. There was a tinge yesterday, too, during a very long film from nearly two decades back. I thought about it and relaxed for the most part, but now considering what was taking place up there on my big television, the entire idea of such fabrication and horseshit is not going to leave. I already know through years of observation and clues. I already know there are forces at work the likes of which cannot be fought in this life (or any, really). Nothing can be done. It is just a fact that I must try to live with and carry with me for the duration. So far, the difficulty inside has not completely stopped any forward motion. Each day will either show me more examples or leave me alone. I never know until things unfold. The fabrication is going to continue, too. It must. And believe me... I know why. The whole shootin' match has been a foreboding since the change in site direction six years ago. Believe it. Foreseen and foretold. Clairaudience. Fucking figure it out. Did I do this? Did I make the fabrications and other crap necessary? I cannot deny the possibility, although if one considers the sheer weight upon a person's shoulders when they make the ill-fated decision to spend time with someone like me, the likelihood of everything being constructed from a bullshit standpoint is very strong. I am the first to admit it, too... Not an easy person with which to deal, ever. I make everything tough. So, I can honestly see through to being the cause of the entire affair. I may have pushed the fabrications into existence. The bullshit? The undermining crap which flies around the room at times? Not my doing. I suppose that entry did not cover the entire subject. Whatever. This is mine and I will do either what I please or whatever I can. Only a person. Nothing special. This is the part of the morning when the day appears wide with possibility. I like the feeling. It keeps my head up during times when I could otherwise be falling through the floor and considering the morning booze-up. I see the wind has picked up, too. Yikes. Considering the daytime temperatures lately, working outside later is probably not a good idea. I'll have to remain inside until heading out the door later. The point is that the hours leading up to eleven or so always look better or more hopeful than those which come later. I have no idea of why, though. It seems every day looks hopeful during the early morning. I wish I knew how to keep this going all day. I fail to understand why some parts of life must be so elusive or difficult. Andrea may have been correct when she outlined everything to her knowledge on the third flight. She was the only one. 3-26. 'Help granny make the bed'. This is where we go off the rails for a little while. The star is at the end of the street. The star is at the end of the street. Blue dress. One auction had been slipping through time but is now paid in full. That means I can ship the thing and focus upon the other three active listings. This is good. I do enjoy watching them play out over the course of a week, and will be adding two more listings today. Everything is staggered for ease of shipping. I have nearly pared my knife collection down to only four or so. Unreal. I sold enough to pick up not one but two of my favorite model so I can keep one in the box and carry the other. Silly, yes, but I must do whatever possible to smile sometimes. The alternative is to cease all effort. Very bad. At some point I will be more compact and organized than I have since the end of the cave period. A plus. This morning is peaceful so far. The later shift today means a slightly longer period before I need to get things ready, and then a longer late afternoon. Probably more episodes today. We watched one yesterday. Also I need to recall those things left aside yesterday due to having trouble concentrating. I'll probably repeat the last morning by moving things along immediately after I have the house to myself. That worked well before and frees up some time for either this or consideration of further listings. I'll have to hook up the laundry line, too. Just for a while. All in good time. The visions in the late afternoon yesterday were difficult. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I do not believe the feelings (or even the fucking words coming out of my mouth) make any difference whatsoever. No matter how much I may push, the situation seems unchangeable. I may as well speak to the fucking hardwood floor. Never in my life have I gone on so much for years and been nearly snubbed. I am certain some of what I do is appreciated, however that is not what I seek. I don't give a shit about appreciation anymore. The little boat which grew into a ship is out there in the middle of the largest fucking ocean somewhere and about to sink for good. Once that takes place, my thinking will cease, and then the true colors will come forth and cause all manner of trouble. I can only take so much of the visions before action must rule the roost. I do not wish to become terribly difficult, nor do I want others to see the other side, but one of these days I will change. Too much time has forced this to happen. The camera has seen, my eyes have gazed, and the precious nature can only run on for so long before the demons must feed. A to B to C. They will feed. Mark my words. Ravage the precious. Okay, that is out of the way this morning. Where from here is anyone's guess. Perhaps back to what needs to be done today around the house. I think I will lay off the garage for a while, both due to my messed up thumb as well as things out there looking fine for the time being. I can focus upon the living space again. Always plenty to do in here. I may list a very valuable watch, too. I've been on the fence about it ever since listing one of the others (which went nowhere in twelve hours so I pulled it due to freaking out) and realizing the sheer weight of such a rarity. It means very little to me now, and after gushing last year when I was grasping at anything able to bring me up, this is not surprising. If it goes, the cash could be tremendous. I will keep thinking about it while the other listings run their courses. In and around the chores today I'll consider what else can make room in this little house. A dream this morning forced me to wish the garage was larger, or at least taller. I was in a garage (don't know if it was mine, nor do I know to what house it was attached) and speaking to two people who were familiar. Up above our heads were small pieces of plywood which reminded me of the glass polisher so many years ago. I had been thinking of these huge lites we had to grind (risky with the crane, but I will not go into detail), and trying to express their sheer area by pointing out a full sheet of plywood up on the wall. I do not remember anything further, though. Very odd. There was more, but I just can't get it back right now. Faded. There may have been another dream, too, but like most... Drifted. Whatever. Maybe that crap about the glass was there to show me just how often I tell stories. Hmm. More foreboding over how much I will bore others in the future? Looming. Nuts in May. Eh... May is still a few months off. 8:36am. Alone. Already took care of part of the routine and one item is awaiting pickup from our mailbox. Excellent. Lots of time now for consideration of everything. Auctions, work around the house, whatever. Plus, the sun is shining and the weather seems to be warming these days. I would expect such this far into March. The weather adds up to easier work outside and in the garage. Very nice. Last year at this time was when the motorcycle showed up and I began to envision moving my office out there. And then I did, and then Jaime. Oy gawd damn fuck me anyway. Look how that turned out. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe not. I have zero expectations of good. The fact is I am somewhat different now but not as altered as I would have guessed given the time passage. Last summer I went through a period of feeling left out and disregarded -- something very dangerous to those responsible -- and then backpedaled due to realizing I may have been behaving unfairly. Well, after more months of the same shit (even a touch more), I have shut everyone out save for a few individuals. I just don't care anymore. This year will not be different, only more of the same shit from people and a deepening desire to remain alone. The pandemic does not feel the same, though. I am concerned that due to the availability of vaccines and the normalization of business procedures, people are going to relax their stance too much. And then problems again. It's happened three times already. So, another year makes little difference. Those who left me out are now gone for good, I am less inclined to rejoin the workforce, and isolation appears to be the only method for remaining safe. The calendar will move along as always. A good example of my feelings about being home was yesterday. I ventured out for a visit for a few hours and upon returning I felt as if the time here is necessary for my survival, more than ever. Heading out and about sometimes is important for maintaining perspective, though. I have to see the difference in order to fully appreciate the time spent alone. Missing home? Sort of, but more like missing the control I hold over the atmosphere and what takes place inside the house. It is more and more important with each passing moment. As you may well know after all this time, the control present in any aspect of life is critical now. Eh... Enough of this crap. I am still undecided about the watch. As much as I like to see the cash coming in, I must ensure the absence of this particular timepiece does not create a hole. I've done that too many damned times over the years. Some came back, while others disappeared, seemingly for good. I can't have that anymore. The knives are different. I don't see them in a similar light. Stop. 3-27, 5:45am. Saturday means planning and relaxing. The usual crap. I need to stay mindful of others during those moments when I feel like lashing or bitching. Last night I held my tongue despite a troubling situation over which I originally felt a lack of control. But I made it. And the night went on by without any discomfort coming out of my mouth. The plan was to focus upon the show and not the food. Not all was well, however. Yesterday turned to shit right around dinner time. Unbelievable. We rarely order food these days for more than one reason, and last night had been planned for days. There was food she missed and some I missed, so we made Friday the day. Mistake? I don't know. But everything pretty much went wrong damned-near out of the gate. We will not be doing that again soon. At least when there are other problems taking place, my head is distracted. Better than nothing. Eh this film. Not much available on the television this morning, so I left it alone. Some problems, but nothing terrible right now. I'm alone, so everything is cooled a little. Later will be different. My two shows are not played during the weekends so I have to find something on the dial or make a beeline for the streaming media. I can't really concentrate here much anyway. May as well surf the dial. Nearly anything is capable of causing me trouble lately, anyway. Anything. I'll have to dig in a little further and try to remain pleasant toward others during this trying time. The media can always be adjusted to my comfort zone. That is one positive in a vast field of negatives. I am bothered, yet still clear. The televisions are under my control. Too many daily activities and feelings have been foretold during the last few years. I knew some of it, while other parts remained hidden until such time as I was in need of a harsh lesson. They summed, too. I knew at some point there would be an invoice. Well, I guess a bunch of little invoices over time. The apparent beginning was eleven. That was the time after the worst of my decisions and a deep need for the elusive type of love and caring I sought for years. There was too much during that year. Just too fucking much. I have all of the bills tallied in my head now. Foreboding? Foretelling? Something. Whatever you may wish to call it. I don't care. All these little worrisome matters which come up randomly have been lying in wait for me to reach the point at which everything needs to ensure I am not comfortable, content, or happy. And here they are. There have been a few ups. Nothing crazy, just some things to help maintain lifestyle and comfort. As my work around the house and in the garage progresses, I begin to see a light way off in the distance. The work, that is, and not life itself. No satisfaction there, really. 3-28, 6:34am. Sunday business very soon. I plan to work with this for a while before anything else, or at least while I have coffee. There will be time later for our show, too. Maybe a few episodes. I am going to push more out the door in the coming months despite our improved financial position lately. There is no line when it comes to preparedness. Nothing is enough. I purchased a kit to build while home, too. Considering all I have sold and the cash tumbling in, a little something to put a smile on my face is not over the top. Every now and then I need a distraction. I still have other knives and things I can list, a few at a time, and all of them will sell without a doubt. While trying to figure out the big picture, that kit will keep me busy for quite a while. The listings will continue, as well. And I keep pushing for some sort of road trip in the future. It may or may not happen, although if things become bad enough I'll just take off anyway. Not the end of the world. Part of the reason is despite my being alone here many days, I never feel truly alone. There is always something in the background... Someone there in one way or another keeping me from a separation. If I do go somewhere alone, it will be short-lived. I need to maintain a clear head while considering so many parts of life being foretold after my gallivanting and controlling nature. Years of it, right up to and including this morning. Call it the big hand swinging around, the other hand on my back, whatever the fuck you wish. The world has foreseen this... Everything which has taken place since moving to the coast so many years ago. At first wondrous and ethereal, then downtrodden and depressing, then turning to anger and resentment, and finally balancing out and normalizing. I sit here a product of those emotions and can never live any of it down. Nothing goes away. Those who continue to spew the idea of 'time healing all wounds' have not been at the other end of my tirades. Nothing ever goes away, I swear as I sit here with this machine. And keep in mind I am this way due to the actions and words of other people throughout a very long period of time. More than four decades, in fact. As much as I can admit that most of my situation is my own doing, whatever operates inside me has been influenced nonetheless. Not everything, mind you, but enough. I will carry myself forward and maintain the closed-off and partially isolated nature for which I am known. No one gets in. All of this must remain close as I go through each day and deal with people. Business is simple, people are not. A clear head will help me to prevail. Ugh I can't stop thinking of some parts of life as they have affected me since last fall. There has to be a way to pass some situations along and let them fade without me losing my mind for a while. This is exhausting, and I have stated the same difficulty in spades since last spring when the rope tightened. Nothing has changed, either. I just keep experiencing the same kind of pain and trouble, cannot rise above it or step around, and then I end up here spouting the same words week after week. The solution which came to mind in the fall still resounds, yet the other solution may not exist at all. The real one. I'll have to keep trying, I suppose, or the result will be very bad. I'm trying to avoid cutting off everyone (yes, including the very few with which I continue contact) in order to separate myself from any possibility of trouble. Foreboding, to be certain. Considering how much I have worsened in the past year, I am surprised to be upright and continuing here with whatever is in mind. I suppose the enjoyments are still working. The evenings are fine, I guess, although sometimes I lose my sense of taste completely and am unable to enjoy dinner (that is not easy with which to deal these days as the food is one of those parts of life keeping me going). The mornings are always the same with something up there on the television and quiet time for thinking. The afternoons are tough, though. From one day to the next I have no idea of whether or not I will make it to the evening on my feet. Often there is too much on my shoulders for me to relax and consider whatever it is I need to do on a given day. And I do not believe -- even after a year of this shit -- that others understand the weight. Remember the glue? Well, this is similar. A balancing act, and one with dire consequences should I fail or fall. And yet here I am, again. Just like any other morning... Typing and sipping. Does that mean I can make it through whatever comes along? Not at all. Just a small fact. I will have to keep everything in mind on this downward path, all the while trying to keep an even keel when it comes to the words and actions of the others. I have no control over them, and as such must do my best to hold on to my needs and care for them when the space is available. Nothing which will come along in the next many months is going to alleviate all that the foreboding has revealed, however I can alter my stance as necessary for shoving the point at people. Whether or not they actually absorb and understand said point is entirely up to them. This is the result of so much unfeeling bullshit throughout years, along with scenes -- good or bad -- which crop up from time to time and show me where I am going. More rare than that? Scenes of where I was. And then the fucking comparisons take over. One example was the episode of the second show last night just before dinner. I had a feeling of seeing it somewhere other than home, and then I was slammed with the actual incident. We had been driving to the Midwest and became stuck due to car trouble in Colorado. The episode last night originally aired while we were in the motel for all those days as my truck was repaired. That was what drove me to begin reading the novels. So, I now have an exact date and time for one of the days we were there. Now I have been returned to behavior which puts the present side by side with the glow. This is not good and I am realizing all I have done. I could have done nothing and ended up the same. Effort for naught, work with no long-term effects, and periods of the driest desert coming and going beyond my control. I am nowhere. Keep everything in mind? I don't fucking know, to be honest. I feel pretty fucking bad right now. So much has been foretold, and the foreboding continues. Everything I have ever done in life is either returning or slamming its ugliness against my joy. Haunted by all which has been foreseen. There are no longer possibilities or hopes. Everything real is false, and everything else is unreal. Read that again. You will never understand me. Don't even fucking try. I need a break from this futile effort. Too tired now. Just plum tuckered. 278. Did? Nothing. Did nothing. Do you know who she is? She is inside." This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
March 28th, 2021 8:08am If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Foreboding read ( words) "3-24, 6:50am. During the last two days I successfully created a massive snowstorm. I'm pretty proud of it, too. Not many can completely derail the thinking of other people and lead them around like puppies bent upon finding a snack. At least I still have the power to control a few things in the world. Still the problems are cutting me to ribbons each day. I don't believe all the bullshit in the world can help me, no matter the direction or severity. One day soon I am going to be in very bad shape and perhaps make one of those decisions. Not good. I can barely do anything about the current state. Everything is going away. Three? Just those three? Hmm... Could be a snowstorm, could be nothing at all. No one knows but me. I can only say so much without backlash, so let the wonder begin. Bad. It was a step, though. I already know where I will end up soon, so bullshitting everyone has become a way of life. I cannot just flood it all or no one will consider me a viable person any longer. Everything will just continue rolling along until such time as a change is necessary for my survival. I am not happy in this position, though, meaning I may force something to bend in my direction for a while. The routine, visits, and time leading me from morning to noon to night are unsatisfying. The missing components must be located or I'll blow my fucking stack. That little step was better than nothing, although I do need to keep going which is not easy. Ever. The thoughts are dire. Today. Aside from adding motorization, I finished the clothing rack yesterday. It is smooth and works properly. I even built a small clothing rod for extra hangers so they don't have to stay on the rack while it is elevated. Now when the rack is up, the appearance is that of nothing there at all. It looks very nice. If and when I do add a motor, the idea is only for my satisfaction. Not necessary, yet it could be interesting. I will have to reattach the washer line today and get some clothes finished, the usual stuff inside, and at some point will venture out for a few items from the plumbing supplier. I also plan to sit and spew this crap longer today than usual. Since my mood is worse than ever and I cannot articulate anything to another person, remaining here on the machine is the only option. In and around the above chores, this dialog shall continue. Do not expect any trivialities or playful banter any longer. The tilt will not cease. Something bad is going to happen soon. I can see it, but not clearly. Bad. 8:42am. I wrote about the end of all things some years ago, and the mindset at that time was similar. I somehow knew my obsession would eventually end in disaster due to years of such need and zero outlet. Well, there is now a realization attached to such thinking, yet I am hesitant to spell it out here. I may have seen this coming soon after that fucking girl by the pool. Yes, her again. But not her. She is a representation of so many unseen desires and so much trouble that her image continues to plague me whenever I begin to fall down over everything. The words cannot come out here. Maybe they will remain inside forever, I don't know yet, but the fact is my dreams are dysfunctional and relate to what I felt months after that trip to the goblet. I desired her in a bad way, and along with that short period of dreaming about the walnut girl, the idea of my being even more deviant than previously thought became overpowering for a time. Both exited -- at least the desire did, anyway -- but I am still left with too many fucking questions. The realization is such that the place within which I now reside has darkened to such a degree that terrible knowledge is being revealed. Terrible. This fucking commercial never should have been produced at all. It is threatening, disheartening, insulting, and goes so far beyond the simple advertising and transmission of information that I cannot fully articulate what goes on inside me whenever it airs. No wonder I have been relegated to commercial-free media. Fuck me, anyway. Everything is turning to shit. Foreboding... The bad is coming, and the fucking commercial is part of a massive catalyst I cannot even begin to consider. Today is already shit. 9:51am. Laundry is set up and rolling along. I went to pick up two packs of vice at the dairy. Cats asleep. House is mine all day. I wish I knew how I would come out the other side of all these hours. Pain. Foreboding, like the feeling that there is a haunted mansion ahead (not THAT one), and one I cannot avoid. Inside the mansion is a woman and my demise. Some aspects of life have no avenues for avoidance. They are built-in and here to stay. Coupled with the past and my recent need to learn the genesis of such passion, my head rarely moves away from the subject. Each morning, afternoon and evening have become wrought with difficulty over not knowing or understanding the reasoning behind something so fucking heavy. Ingrained, expansive, and pulling all the fucking time. I can do exactly nothing about the issue. Nothing at all. On one side is an empty feeling, while on the other is a draw against which I have no saving throw. It is either one or the other every Goddamned day now. 'Down, down, down we go; where we end nobody knows.' 11:24am. The day has moved along without regard to the cyclone. Laundry is nearly finished, the kitchen is polished, and I am exactly the same, if not worse. The dire feeling has exited, thank the maker. I made it through the toughest part of any day and cruised out the other side half in the fucking bag. Just the way I need to be. The fourth show is on both televisions keeping me company like the family I never had. At least I know they will not abandon me no matter what takes place, foreboding or otherwise. Bless them. The sun is shining and the temperature is warming. One would believe they add up to a good day, but alas there are no such days any longer. Something bad is going to happen. Roxann is gorgeous and it doesn't matter. Nothing begats nothing, and nothingness is apparent. Void of everything. Down we go. The gray leads to the black. The black is foreboding. Right there... How far? How long? No answers, just as every other fucking question. The beautiful understanding of which 'she' spoke shall never come to pass. 'The earth became red. The cutting machines of man. Disgust and hatred for the lives of woman.' They are not at fault. Merely there, unknowing of the power. Powerless. Not hungry. The goddess of the universe does not exist. The next steps of this day are the most difficult, even moreso than the early morning dreams. I am in mind of all which lays in wait, too. All of it, all of them. I must keep going in order to keep my sordid head up, lest the devil grabs hold as in years passed. I cannot have that now. The resulting damage may send me to a place hurtful to others. I cannot have it. One miserable fucking step at a time. 'All hell did fill with the screaming souls of dead men.' You're fucking right. That other family will never embarrass or ridicule me, call me selfish or controlling, nor will they deny my fucking requests. They will simply move along with their tales and do my bidding. Not real. Nothing I need can ever be real. The foreboding has many facets, many aspects. One is the familiar control. Reduced now, to the fucking control over inanimate objects and the atmosphere I inhabit alone. Alone means control. No one else is here, so everything is mine. Well, like Phil said with the inflection I can never forget, 'Not everything'. My surrogate friends and family are the only parts of life that do not waver. They are unchangeable. The remainder of the world is haphazard, unreliable, and driven toward their own agendas and ends. I can do nothing about any of it. Alone. The only way, but the destructive way. Fuck everyone and everything. They will always be there for me. I love them. Not them... The other them. Follow along, idiots. What really fucking chaps me is that the knowledge is out there. It is known. I have made everything painfully clear for many years, yet the bullshit continues. Understanding, empathy, all of it. Bullshit. I thought when I wrote the essay of the same title there would be something different. I calculated a change, but still I sit here with a giant problem about which no one seems to give half a blue fuck. All I have to go on is the fucking evidence. It is clear now. I see it. The knowledge was not easy to disseminate, either. It is personal and so deep that I continue to plod the ends. The lowness. The trench of what I have become. The only viable conclusion is that no one cares, and believe me when I say that I will make the importance shine like a new sun. I can take no more of this. Either follow through and demonstrate the semantics which accompany the words, or tell me I do not matter enough for such a thing. One or the other. There is nothing in the middle. 12:16pm. Laundry is finished and the drain disassembled, like my brain cells. Everything is finished. This point is when I try to seek something beyond, but today I am not inclined to assist anyone at all. I am more inclined to behave in such a manner so as to force questions. They can fucking live with a lack of answers. Period. The dark foreboding predicted this. Still going. There may be more. So, the point now is bad. I am on a road which may have no turns or exits. A highway bereft of caring and compassion. A highway others will soon learn to lament. I will demonstrate the extent of my dissatisfaction with people over time. Wait for it. Remember the forest? Almost all the way in. Afterward, no one will enjoy answers to anything. Phone silenced and across the room on the charge. I only need it for tracking auctions. 'We have arrived.' I am trying to decide whether or not to go out, fill the car with fuel and shop for some garage essentials. The way I feel today is perfect for being out in public, too. I will not concern myself with people. Nothing, from a glance of hello to holding the fucking door. Let them wonder who I have become. The house is warm and the shade is down, all of the entertainment (the safe type) is available, and there are many things I can work with sans going out, yet still I may do it. All of our dinners for the next several days are planned so I don't need to worry about the market. Only the supplier and/or hardware. Right now I just don't know if I can be on the other side of that fucking door, though. Perhaps remaining inside the walls is best. Time will tell. Despite the full head of steam yesterday and again today, I am still partially paralyzed due to everything mentioned above. I just don't fucking get it. Is anything ever enough? Prove it. Otherwise, I know what the foreboding will provide. 'She' is ever watching me. I must be careful. I guess 114,000 some-odd lines of code are meaningless. Wow, what a shitty mood today. 3-25. As usual, the previous day turned into a pile of shit. Not the usual pile, though, but bad enough for me to wish it away. This is happening too often. My thinking is in the direction of another snowstorm, although I do have an actual grievance with yesterday beyond the typical crappy scheduling or not knowing what to do at a given moment. I made some things happen but then damaged myself and had to quit. Now I am even having trouble operating the pointing device on this computer. Damn. Whatever... I did it. My head began to roll downhill while I figured working in the garage for a while would be nice. I've completed so much organization out there lately that the appearance and feel are much different than a year back. Well, music and alcohol had me slowly calculating small projects, one of which required my countersink (with a thin, bent drill bit). I tried to fix it and ended up hurting myself. That was the end of the garage for the day. I came in and had some lunch and took it easy until dinner preparations. Serves me right for working with the tools after a morning cocktail and then a few beers. Dummy. It feels a little better this morning but will still likely cause me to slow whatever I am doing. The situation later is going to bring up the understanding again, too. Combined with the feelings yesterday and again this morning, my brain is going to have a difficult time. Some parts of life which outweigh everything else in the world come and go as expected. The dream is just that. I cannot count on anything. The ideas and wondrous feelings from 'way back when' rarely come along and catch me off guard. Years ago nothing was expected, just welcomed. Now? Nothing. I don't know how I made it through the last decade-plus without losing my shit. Today will be a bit different, with more quiet time than usual leading up to the midday. I plan to accomplish little. A visit is in order. It will chew a few hours out of the day. I also wish to take it easier than usual due to needing my hand to heal. As for anything out of the ordinary, well... I cannot today. Not only my hand, but my brain must remain upright. Wagons, indeed. I'm trying. Thousands of days have passed since that woman told me to hang on. She instructed me to go on and be well, to remain, to go through the motions and try to find an avenue. She pushed quite a bit and had me struggling to deny anything positive. She is long gone now, mere memories remain of her face. I try to consider those words each day, too. The fact is, her absence after seeing visions of where I could be is more than troubling. She may have been unique. I hope not. I just know her demeanor and attitude toward the world was very similar to mine. Living over a decade with nothing more than fleeting moments of our time together is pressing me to believe nothing along those lines can ever happen again. It's as if lying in her arms and hearing the words was a foreboding of what is happening now. Depth, worry, concern over the state of my head, and the seemingly futile effort of trying to keep myself up each day yet knowing I'll fall down eventually no matter what I do. The current state has been built of years. She may have helped me to see them all. I denied it for a very long time. She told me so much, and now I see the world playing out in such a way so as to require my being as positive as possible in order to remain standing. Did she know? Did I know? Today is already tough. Second cup of coffee and some foreign movie on the television. I am half watching due to the subtitles. There is much inside my head today, and much like yesterday, I must tread a path as best I can to maintain control. Time passes and I fall down. More time passes and I fall further. The longer the interval, the more dire I feel, and then the fall takes place accordingly. This day is not going to be easy by any stretch of the word. Eleven predicted all of this, and then two short periods from years before and years after that isolation have combined to leave me seeing something which may never really be there. A deserted island of sorts, void of people save for two. Short of something that unlikely, All I have are visions and memories, along with those periods of time which foretold what I have become. I probably don't need to point out that I am fucking tired of feeling this way. Plus, no one will understand this shit anyway. The work ahead is light, thank Christ. I don't need anything difficult anytime soon. There is too much inside which has been causing physical problems that won't leave me alone. From one day to the next I start with this and a cup of coffee, work into the daily routine, fall off a cliff for a while as the sun moves into the middle of the afternoon, and then try to reconcile everything with an evening cocktail and some dinner prep. And then the following morning everything begins again. Sometimes it's a wagon, other times it is different. Never both. I can't deal with that. Pile the existing physical bullshit on top. Wonderful. A special understanding was rammed into me by someone precious, and then reiterated more than ten years later. Foreboding, and here I sit... Neither of them within reach. Understanding. Those loving souls. Nothing will change, however. I can sit here until the cows come home and type whatever comes to mind, yet I already know nothing will change. This has been foreseen. My decisions and actions lent a hand, as well. All of it summed means I am sitting precisely where I should. Years of not lifting a fucking finger are going to take their toll on anyone, mark my words. Outside some insane turn of events -- a windfall, perhaps -- nothing is going to take place which is remotely surprising. Nothing. This has all been written in a book somewhere and I am moving from one chapter to the next, blind as a bat. The understanding may not be in my book. I've done too much for too long. The possibility may have been deleted by yours truly. Ah, fuck it anyway. Sometimes I don't have a clue as to why I even attempt to be happy. This is fucked. I need to return to the fabrication for a little while. That entire slew of words accomplished little, so here we go again. The knowledge of what is going on inside has been laid out here for some time now, and just this morning I have thought about it further. This is no more difficult now than it was when I watched the bullshit flying across a given room, yet something brought it to mind again. The television (the French film, honestly) brought those two words back. There was a tinge yesterday, too, during a very long film from nearly two decades back. I thought about it and relaxed for the most part, but now considering what was taking place up there on my big television, the entire idea of such fabrication and horseshit is not going to leave. I already know through years of observation and clues. I already know there are forces at work the likes of which cannot be fought in this life (or any, really). Nothing can be done. It is just a fact that I must try to live with and carry with me for the duration. So far, the difficulty inside has not completely stopped any forward motion. Each day will either show me more examples or leave me alone. I never know until things unfold. The fabrication is going to continue, too. It must. And believe me... I know why. The whole shootin' match has been a foreboding since the change in site direction six years ago. Believe it. Foreseen and foretold. Clairaudience. Fucking figure it out. Did I do this? Did I make the fabrications and other crap necessary? I cannot deny the possibility, although if one considers the sheer weight upon a person's shoulders when they make the ill-fated decision to spend time with someone like me, the likelihood of everything being constructed from a bullshit standpoint is very strong. I am the first to admit it, too... Not an easy person with which to deal, ever. I make everything tough. So, I can honestly see through to being the cause of the entire affair. I may have pushed the fabrications into existence. The bullshit? The undermining crap which flies around the room at times? Not my doing. I suppose that entry did not cover the entire subject. Whatever. This is mine and I will do either what I please or whatever I can. Only a person. Nothing special. This is the part of the morning when the day appears wide with possibility. I like the feeling. It keeps my head up during times when I could otherwise be falling through the floor and considering the morning booze-up. I see the wind has picked up, too. Yikes. Considering the daytime temperatures lately, working outside later is probably not a good idea. I'll have to remain inside until heading out the door later. The point is that the hours leading up to eleven or so always look better or more hopeful than those which come later. I have no idea of why, though. It seems every day looks hopeful during the early morning. I wish I knew how to keep this going all day. I fail to understand why some parts of life must be so elusive or difficult. Andrea may have been correct when she outlined everything to her knowledge on the third flight. She was the only one. 3-26. 'Help granny make the bed'. This is where we go off the rails for a little while. The star is at the end of the street. The star is at the end of the street. Blue dress. One auction had been slipping through time but is now paid in full. That means I can ship the thing and focus upon the other three active listings. This is good. I do enjoy watching them play out over the course of a week, and will be adding two more listings today. Everything is staggered for ease of shipping. I have nearly pared my knife collection down to only four or so. Unreal. I sold enough to pick up not one but two of my favorite model so I can keep one in the box and carry the other. Silly, yes, but I must do whatever possible to smile sometimes. The alternative is to cease all effort. Very bad. At some point I will be more compact and organized than I have since the end of the cave period. A plus. This morning is peaceful so far. The later shift today means a slightly longer period before I need to get things ready, and then a longer late afternoon. Probably more episodes today. We watched one yesterday. Also I need to recall those things left aside yesterday due to having trouble concentrating. I'll probably repeat the last morning by moving things along immediately after I have the house to myself. That worked well before and frees up some time for either this or consideration of further listings. I'll have to hook up the laundry line, too. Just for a while. All in good time. The visions in the late afternoon yesterday were difficult. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I do not believe the feelings (or even the fucking words coming out of my mouth) make any difference whatsoever. No matter how much I may push, the situation seems unchangeable. I may as well speak to the fucking hardwood floor. Never in my life have I gone on so much for years and been nearly snubbed. I am certain some of what I do is appreciated, however that is not what I seek. I don't give a shit about appreciation anymore. The little boat which grew into a ship is out there in the middle of the largest fucking ocean somewhere and about to sink for good. Once that takes place, my thinking will cease, and then the true colors will come forth and cause all manner of trouble. I can only take so much of the visions before action must rule the roost. I do not wish to become terribly difficult, nor do I want others to see the other side, but one of these days I will change. Too much time has forced this to happen. The camera has seen, my eyes have gazed, and the precious nature can only run on for so long before the demons must feed. A to B to C. They will feed. Mark my words. Ravage the precious. Okay, that is out of the way this morning. Where from here is anyone's guess. Perhaps back to what needs to be done today around the house. I think I will lay off the garage for a while, both due to my messed up thumb as well as things out there looking fine for the time being. I can focus upon the living space again. Always plenty to do in here. I may list a very valuable watch, too. I've been on the fence about it ever since listing one of the others (which went nowhere in twelve hours so I pulled it due to freaking out) and realizing the sheer weight of such a rarity. It means very little to me now, and after gushing last year when I was grasping at anything able to bring me up, this is not surprising. If it goes, the cash could be tremendous. I will keep thinking about it while the other listings run their courses. In and around the chores today I'll consider what else can make room in this little house. A dream this morning forced me to wish the garage was larger, or at least taller. I was in a garage (don't know if it was mine, nor do I know to what house it was attached) and speaking to two people who were familiar. Up above our heads were small pieces of plywood which reminded me of the glass polisher so many years ago. I had been thinking of these huge lites we had to grind (risky with the crane, but I will not go into detail), and trying to express their sheer area by pointing out a full sheet of plywood up on the wall. I do not remember anything further, though. Very odd. There was more, but I just can't get it back right now. Faded. There may have been another dream, too, but like most... Drifted. Whatever. Maybe that crap about the glass was there to show me just how often I tell stories. Hmm. More foreboding over how much I will bore others in the future? Looming. Nuts in May. Eh... May is still a few months off. 8:36am. Alone. Already took care of part of the routine and one item is awaiting pickup from our mailbox. Excellent. Lots of time now for consideration of everything. Auctions, work around the house, whatever. Plus, the sun is shining and the weather seems to be warming these days. I would expect such this far into March. The weather adds up to easier work outside and in the garage. Very nice. Last year at this time was when the motorcycle showed up and I began to envision moving my office out there. And then I did, and then Jaime. Oy gawd damn fuck me anyway. Look how that turned out. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe not. I have zero expectations of good. The fact is I am somewhat different now but not as altered as I would have guessed given the time passage. Last summer I went through a period of feeling left out and disregarded -- something very dangerous to those responsible -- and then backpedaled due to realizing I may have been behaving unfairly. Well, after more months of the same shit (even a touch more), I have shut everyone out save for a few individuals. I just don't care anymore. This year will not be different, only more of the same shit from people and a deepening desire to remain alone. The pandemic does not feel the same, though. I am concerned that due to the availability of vaccines and the normalization of business procedures, people are going to relax their stance too much. And then problems again. It's happened three times already. So, another year makes little difference. Those who left me out are now gone for good, I am less inclined to rejoin the workforce, and isolation appears to be the only method for remaining safe. The calendar will move along as always. A good example of my feelings about being home was yesterday. I ventured out for a visit for a few hours and upon returning I felt as if the time here is necessary for my survival, more than ever. Heading out and about sometimes is important for maintaining perspective, though. I have to see the difference in order to fully appreciate the time spent alone. Missing home? Sort of, but more like missing the control I hold over the atmosphere and what takes place inside the house. It is more and more important with each passing moment. As you may well know after all this time, the control present in any aspect of life is critical now. Eh... Enough of this crap. I am still undecided about the watch. As much as I like to see the cash coming in, I must ensure the absence of this particular timepiece does not create a hole. I've done that too many damned times over the years. Some came back, while others disappeared, seemingly for good. I can't have that anymore. The knives are different. I don't see them in a similar light. Stop. 3-27, 5:45am. Saturday means planning and relaxing. The usual crap. I need to stay mindful of others during those moments when I feel like lashing or bitching. Last night I held my tongue despite a troubling situation over which I originally felt a lack of control. But I made it. And the night went on by without any discomfort coming out of my mouth. The plan was to focus upon the show and not the food. Not all was well, however. Yesterday turned to shit right around dinner time. Unbelievable. We rarely order food these days for more than one reason, and last night had been planned for days. There was food she missed and some I missed, so we made Friday the day. Mistake? I don't know. But everything pretty much went wrong damned-near out of the gate. We will not be doing that again soon. At least when there are other problems taking place, my head is distracted. Better than nothing. Eh this film. Not much available on the television this morning, so I left it alone. Some problems, but nothing terrible right now. I'm alone, so everything is cooled a little. Later will be different. My two shows are not played during the weekends so I have to find something on the dial or make a beeline for the streaming media. I can't really concentrate here much anyway. May as well surf the dial. Nearly anything is capable of causing me trouble lately, anyway. Anything. I'll have to dig in a little further and try to remain pleasant toward others during this trying time. The media can always be adjusted to my comfort zone. That is one positive in a vast field of negatives. I am bothered, yet still clear. The televisions are under my control. Too many daily activities and feelings have been foretold during the last few years. I knew some of it, while other parts remained hidden until such time as I was in need of a harsh lesson. They summed, too. I knew at some point there would be an invoice. Well, I guess a bunch of little invoices over time. The apparent beginning was eleven. That was the time after the worst of my decisions and a deep need for the elusive type of love and caring I sought for years. There was too much during that year. Just too fucking much. I have all of the bills tallied in my head now. Foreboding? Foretelling? Something. Whatever you may wish to call it. I don't care. All these little worrisome matters which come up randomly have been lying in wait for me to reach the point at which everything needs to ensure I am not comfortable, content, or happy. And here they are. There have been a few ups. Nothing crazy, just some things to help maintain lifestyle and comfort. As my work around the house and in the garage progresses, I begin to see a light way off in the distance. The work, that is, and not life itself. No satisfaction there, really. 3-28, 6:34am. Sunday business very soon. I plan to work with this for a while before anything else, or at least while I have coffee. There will be time later for our show, too. Maybe a few episodes. I am going to push more out the door in the coming months despite our improved financial position lately. There is no line when it comes to preparedness. Nothing is enough. I purchased a kit to build while home, too. Considering all I have sold and the cash tumbling in, a little something to put a smile on my face is not over the top. Every now and then I need a distraction. I still have other knives and things I can list, a few at a time, and all of them will sell without a doubt. While trying to figure out the big picture, that kit will keep me busy for quite a while. The listings will continue, as well. And I keep pushing for some sort of road trip in the future. It may or may not happen, although if things become bad enough I'll just take off anyway. Not the end of the world. Part of the reason is despite my being alone here many days, I never feel truly alone. There is always something in the background... Someone there in one way or another keeping me from a separation. If I do go somewhere alone, it will be short-lived. I need to maintain a clear head while considering so many parts of life being foretold after my gallivanting and controlling nature. Years of it, right up to and including this morning. Call it the big hand swinging around, the other hand on my back, whatever the fuck you wish. The world has foreseen this... Everything which has taken place since moving to the coast so many years ago. At first wondrous and ethereal, then downtrodden and depressing, then turning to anger and resentment, and finally balancing out and normalizing. I sit here a product of those emotions and can never live any of it down. Nothing goes away. Those who continue to spew the idea of 'time healing all wounds' have not been at the other end of my tirades. Nothing ever goes away, I swear as I sit here with this machine. And keep in mind I am this way due to the actions and words of other people throughout a very long period of time. More than four decades, in fact. As much as I can admit that most of my situation is my own doing, whatever operates inside me has been influenced nonetheless. Not everything, mind you, but enough. I will carry myself forward and maintain the closed-off and partially isolated nature for which I am known. No one gets in. All of this must remain close as I go through each day and deal with people. Business is simple, people are not. A clear head will help me to prevail. Ugh I can't stop thinking of some parts of life as they have affected me since last fall. There has to be a way to pass some situations along and let them fade without me losing my mind for a while. This is exhausting, and I have stated the same difficulty in spades since last spring when the rope tightened. Nothing has changed, either. I just keep experiencing the same kind of pain and trouble, cannot rise above it or step around, and then I end up here spouting the same words week after week. The solution which came to mind in the fall still resounds, yet the other solution may not exist at all. The real one. I'll have to keep trying, I suppose, or the result will be very bad. I'm trying to avoid cutting off everyone (yes, including the very few with which I continue contact) in order to separate myself from any possibility of trouble. Foreboding, to be certain. Considering how much I have worsened in the past year, I am surprised to be upright and continuing here with whatever is in mind. I suppose the enjoyments are still working. The evenings are fine, I guess, although sometimes I lose my sense of taste completely and am unable to enjoy dinner (that is not easy with which to deal these days as the food is one of those parts of life keeping me going). The mornings are always the same with something up there on the television and quiet time for thinking. The afternoons are tough, though. From one day to the next I have no idea of whether or not I will make it to the evening on my feet. Often there is too much on my shoulders for me to relax and consider whatever it is I need to do on a given day. And I do not believe -- even after a year of this shit -- that others understand the weight. Remember the glue? Well, this is similar. A balancing act, and one with dire consequences should I fail or fall. And yet here I am, again. Just like any other morning... Typing and sipping. Does that mean I can make it through whatever comes along? Not at all. Just a small fact. I will have to keep everything in mind on this downward path, all the while trying to keep an even keel when it comes to the words and actions of the others. I have no control over them, and as such must do my best to hold on to my needs and care for them when the space is available. Nothing which will come along in the next many months is going to alleviate all that the foreboding has revealed, however I can alter my stance as necessary for shoving the point at people. Whether or not they actually absorb and understand said point is entirely up to them. This is the result of so much unfeeling bullshit throughout years, along with scenes -- good or bad -- which crop up from time to time and show me where I am going. More rare than that? Scenes of where I was. And then the fucking comparisons take over. One example was the episode of the second show last night just before dinner. I had a feeling of seeing it somewhere other than home, and then I was slammed with the actual incident. We had been driving to the Midwest and became stuck due to car trouble in Colorado. The episode last night originally aired while we were in the motel for all those days as my truck was repaired. That was what drove me to begin reading the novels. So, I now have an exact date and time for one of the days we were there. Now I have been returned to behavior which puts the present side by side with the glow. This is not good and I am realizing all I have done. I could have done nothing and ended up the same. Effort for naught, work with no long-term effects, and periods of the driest desert coming and going beyond my control. I am nowhere. Keep everything in mind? I don't fucking know, to be honest. I feel pretty fucking bad right now. So much has been foretold, and the foreboding continues. Everything I have ever done in life is either returning or slamming its ugliness against my joy. Haunted by all which has been foreseen. There are no longer possibilities or hopes. Everything real is false, and everything else is unreal. Read that again. You will never understand me. Don't even fucking try. I need a break from this futile effort. Too tired now. Just plum tuckered. 278. Did? Nothing. Did nothing. Do you know who she is? She is inside."
March 28th, 2021 8:08am
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
The Foreboding
read ( words)
"3-24, 6:50am. During the last two days I successfully created a massive snowstorm. I'm pretty proud of it, too. Not many can completely derail the thinking of other people and lead them around like puppies bent upon finding a snack. At least I still have the power to control a few things in the world. Still the problems are cutting me to ribbons each day. I don't believe all the bullshit in the world can help me, no matter the direction or severity. One day soon I am going to be in very bad shape and perhaps make one of those decisions. Not good. I can barely do anything about the current state. Everything is going away. Three? Just those three? Hmm... Could be a snowstorm, could be nothing at all. No one knows but me. I can only say so much without backlash, so let the wonder begin. Bad. It was a step, though. I already know where I will end up soon, so bullshitting everyone has become a way of life. I cannot just flood it all or no one will consider me a viable person any longer. Everything will just continue rolling along until such time as a change is necessary for my survival. I am not happy in this position, though, meaning I may force something to bend in my direction for a while. The routine, visits, and time leading me from morning to noon to night are unsatisfying. The missing components must be located or I'll blow my fucking stack. That little step was better than nothing, although I do need to keep going which is not easy. Ever. The thoughts are dire. Today. Aside from adding motorization, I finished the clothing rack yesterday. It is smooth and works properly. I even built a small clothing rod for extra hangers so they don't have to stay on the rack while it is elevated. Now when the rack is up, the appearance is that of nothing there at all. It looks very nice. If and when I do add a motor, the idea is only for my satisfaction. Not necessary, yet it could be interesting. I will have to reattach the washer line today and get some clothes finished, the usual stuff inside, and at some point will venture out for a few items from the plumbing supplier. I also plan to sit and spew this crap longer today than usual. Since my mood is worse than ever and I cannot articulate anything to another person, remaining here on the machine is the only option. In and around the above chores, this dialog shall continue. Do not expect any trivialities or playful banter any longer. The tilt will not cease. Something bad is going to happen soon. I can see it, but not clearly. Bad. 8:42am. I wrote about the end of all things some years ago, and the mindset at that time was similar. I somehow knew my obsession would eventually end in disaster due to years of such need and zero outlet. Well, there is now a realization attached to such thinking, yet I am hesitant to spell it out here. I may have seen this coming soon after that fucking girl by the pool. Yes, her again. But not her. She is a representation of so many unseen desires and so much trouble that her image continues to plague me whenever I begin to fall down over everything. The words cannot come out here. Maybe they will remain inside forever, I don't know yet, but the fact is my dreams are dysfunctional and relate to what I felt months after that trip to the goblet. I desired her in a bad way, and along with that short period of dreaming about the walnut girl, the idea of my being even more deviant than previously thought became overpowering for a time. Both exited -- at least the desire did, anyway -- but I am still left with too many fucking questions. The realization is such that the place within which I now reside has darkened to such a degree that terrible knowledge is being revealed. Terrible. This fucking commercial never should have been produced at all. It is threatening, disheartening, insulting, and goes so far beyond the simple advertising and transmission of information that I cannot fully articulate what goes on inside me whenever it airs. No wonder I have been relegated to commercial-free media. Fuck me, anyway. Everything is turning to shit. Foreboding... The bad is coming, and the fucking commercial is part of a massive catalyst I cannot even begin to consider. Today is already shit. 9:51am. Laundry is set up and rolling along. I went to pick up two packs of vice at the dairy. Cats asleep. House is mine all day. I wish I knew how I would come out the other side of all these hours. Pain. Foreboding, like the feeling that there is a haunted mansion ahead (not THAT one), and one I cannot avoid. Inside the mansion is a woman and my demise. Some aspects of life have no avenues for avoidance. They are built-in and here to stay. Coupled with the past and my recent need to learn the genesis of such passion, my head rarely moves away from the subject. Each morning, afternoon and evening have become wrought with difficulty over not knowing or understanding the reasoning behind something so fucking heavy. Ingrained, expansive, and pulling all the fucking time. I can do exactly nothing about the issue. Nothing at all. On one side is an empty feeling, while on the other is a draw against which I have no saving throw. It is either one or the other every Goddamned day now. 'Down, down, down we go; where we end nobody knows.' 11:24am. The day has moved along without regard to the cyclone. Laundry is nearly finished, the kitchen is polished, and I am exactly the same, if not worse. The dire feeling has exited, thank the maker. I made it through the toughest part of any day and cruised out the other side half in the fucking bag. Just the way I need to be. The fourth show is on both televisions keeping me company like the family I never had. At least I know they will not abandon me no matter what takes place, foreboding or otherwise. Bless them. The sun is shining and the temperature is warming. One would believe they add up to a good day, but alas there are no such days any longer. Something bad is going to happen. Roxann is gorgeous and it doesn't matter. Nothing begats nothing, and nothingness is apparent. Void of everything. Down we go. The gray leads to the black. The black is foreboding. Right there... How far? How long? No answers, just as every other fucking question. The beautiful understanding of which 'she' spoke shall never come to pass. 'The earth became red. The cutting machines of man. Disgust and hatred for the lives of woman.' They are not at fault. Merely there, unknowing of the power.
Powerless. Not hungry. The goddess of the universe does not exist. The next steps of this day are the most difficult, even moreso than the early morning dreams. I am in mind of all which lays in wait, too. All of it, all of them. I must keep going in order to keep my sordid head up, lest the devil grabs hold as in years passed. I cannot have that now. The resulting damage may send me to a place hurtful to others. I cannot have it. One miserable fucking step at a time. 'All hell did fill with the screaming souls of dead men.' You're fucking right. That other family will never embarrass or ridicule me, call me selfish or controlling, nor will they deny my fucking requests. They will simply move along with their tales and do my bidding. Not real. Nothing I need can ever be real. The foreboding has many facets, many aspects. One is the familiar control. Reduced now, to the fucking control over inanimate objects and the atmosphere I inhabit alone. Alone means control. No one else is here, so everything is mine. Well, like Phil said with the inflection I can never forget, 'Not everything'. My surrogate friends and family are the only parts of life that do not waver. They are unchangeable. The remainder of the world is haphazard, unreliable, and driven toward their own agendas and ends. I can do nothing about any of it. Alone. The only way, but the destructive way. Fuck everyone and everything. They will always be there for me. I love them. Not them... The other them. Follow along, idiots. What really fucking chaps me is that the knowledge is out there. It is known. I have made everything painfully clear for many years, yet the bullshit continues. Understanding, empathy, all of it. Bullshit. I thought when I wrote the essay of the same title there would be something different. I calculated a change, but still I sit here with a giant problem about which no one seems to give half a blue fuck. All I have to go on is the fucking evidence. It is clear now. I see it. The knowledge was not easy to disseminate, either. It is personal and so deep that I continue to plod the ends. The lowness. The trench of what I have become. The only viable conclusion is that no one cares, and believe me when I say that I will make the importance shine like a new sun. I can take no more of this. Either follow through and demonstrate the semantics which accompany the words, or tell me I do not matter enough for such a thing. One or the other. There is nothing in the middle. 12:16pm. Laundry is finished and the drain disassembled, like my brain cells. Everything is finished. This point is when I try to seek something beyond, but today I am not inclined to assist anyone at all. I am more inclined to behave in such a manner so as to force questions. They can fucking live with a lack of answers. Period. The dark foreboding predicted this. Still going. There may be more. So, the point now is bad. I am on a road which may have no turns or exits. A highway bereft of caring and compassion. A highway others will soon learn to lament. I will demonstrate the extent of my dissatisfaction with people over time. Wait for it. Remember the forest? Almost all the way in. Afterward, no one will enjoy answers to anything. Phone silenced and across the room on the charge. I only need it for tracking auctions. 'We have arrived.' I am trying to decide whether or not to go out, fill the car with fuel and shop for some garage essentials. The way I feel today is perfect for being out in public, too. I will not concern myself with people. Nothing, from a glance of hello to holding the fucking door. Let them wonder who I have become. The house is warm and the shade is down, all of the entertainment (the safe type) is available, and there are many things I can work with sans going out, yet still I may do it. All of our dinners for the next several days are planned so I don't need to worry about the market. Only the supplier and/or hardware. Right now I just don't know if I can be on the other side of that fucking door, though. Perhaps remaining inside the walls is best. Time will tell. Despite the full head of steam yesterday and again today, I am still partially paralyzed due to everything mentioned above. I just don't fucking get it. Is anything ever enough? Prove it. Otherwise, I know what the foreboding will provide. 'She' is ever watching me. I must be careful. I guess 114,000 some-odd lines of code are meaningless. Wow, what a shitty mood today. 3-25. As usual, the previous day turned into a pile of shit. Not the usual pile, though, but bad enough for me to wish it away. This is happening too often. My thinking is in the direction of another snowstorm, although I do have an actual grievance with yesterday beyond the typical crappy scheduling or not knowing what to do at a given moment. I made some things happen but then damaged myself and had to quit. Now I am even having trouble operating the pointing device on this computer. Damn. Whatever... I did it. My head began to roll downhill while I figured working in the garage for a while would be nice. I've completed so much organization out there lately that the appearance and feel are much different than a year back. Well, music and alcohol had me slowly calculating small projects, one of which required my countersink (with a thin, bent drill bit). I tried to fix it and ended up hurting myself. That was the end of the garage for the day. I came in and had some lunch and took it easy until dinner preparations. Serves me right for working with the tools after a morning cocktail and then a few beers. Dummy. It feels a little better this morning but will still likely cause me to slow whatever I am doing. The situation later is going to bring up the understanding again, too. Combined with the feelings yesterday and again this morning, my brain is going to have a difficult time. Some parts of life which outweigh everything else in the world come and go as expected. The dream is just that. I cannot count on anything. The ideas and wondrous feelings from 'way back when' rarely come along and catch me off guard. Years ago nothing was expected, just welcomed. Now? Nothing. I don't know how I made it through the last decade-plus without losing my shit. Today will be a bit different, with more quiet time than usual leading up to the midday. I plan to accomplish little. A visit is in order. It will chew a few hours out of the day. I also wish to take it easier than usual due to needing my hand to heal. As for anything out of the ordinary, well... I cannot today. Not only my hand, but my brain must remain upright. Wagons, indeed. I'm trying.
Thousands of days have passed since that woman told me to hang on. She instructed me to go on and be well, to remain, to go through the motions and try to find an avenue. She pushed quite a bit and had me struggling to deny anything positive. She is long gone now, mere memories remain of her face. I try to consider those words each day, too. The fact is, her absence after seeing visions of where I could be is more than troubling. She may have been unique. I hope not. I just know her demeanor and attitude toward the world was very similar to mine. Living over a decade with nothing more than fleeting moments of our time together is pressing me to believe nothing along those lines can ever happen again. It's as if lying in her arms and hearing the words was a foreboding of what is happening now. Depth, worry, concern over the state of my head, and the seemingly futile effort of trying to keep myself up each day yet knowing I'll fall down eventually no matter what I do. The current state has been built of years. She may have helped me to see them all. I denied it for a very long time. She told me so much, and now I see the world playing out in such a way so as to require my being as positive as possible in order to remain standing. Did she know? Did I know? Today is already tough. Second cup of coffee and some foreign movie on the television. I am half watching due to the subtitles. There is much inside my head today, and much like yesterday, I must tread a path as best I can to maintain control. Time passes and I fall down. More time passes and I fall further. The longer the interval, the more dire I feel, and then the fall takes place accordingly. This day is not going to be easy by any stretch of the word. Eleven predicted all of this, and then two short periods from years before and years after that isolation have combined to leave me seeing something which may never really be there. A deserted island of sorts, void of people save for two. Short of something that unlikely, All I have are visions and memories, along with those periods of time which foretold what I have become. I probably don't need to point out that I am fucking tired of feeling this way. Plus, no one will understand this shit anyway. The work ahead is light, thank Christ. I don't need anything difficult anytime soon. There is too much inside which has been causing physical problems that won't leave me alone. From one day to the next I start with this and a cup of coffee, work into the daily routine, fall off a cliff for a while as the sun moves into the middle of the afternoon, and then try to reconcile everything with an evening cocktail and some dinner prep. And then the following morning everything begins again. Sometimes it's a wagon, other times it is different. Never both. I can't deal with that. Pile the existing physical bullshit on top. Wonderful. A special understanding was rammed into me by someone precious, and then reiterated more than ten years later. Foreboding, and here I sit... Neither of them within reach. Understanding. Those loving souls. Nothing will change, however. I can sit here until the cows come home and type whatever comes to mind, yet I already know nothing will change. This has been foreseen. My decisions and actions lent a hand, as well. All of it summed means I am sitting precisely where I should. Years of not lifting a fucking finger are going to take their toll on anyone, mark my words. Outside some insane turn of events -- a windfall, perhaps -- nothing is going to take place which is remotely surprising. Nothing. This has all been written in a book somewhere and I am moving from one chapter to the next, blind as a bat. The understanding may not be in my book. I've done too much for too long. The possibility may have been deleted by yours truly. Ah, fuck it anyway. Sometimes I don't have a clue as to why I even attempt to be happy. This is fucked. I need to return to the fabrication for a little while. That entire slew of words accomplished little, so here we go again. The knowledge of what is going on inside has been laid out here for some time now, and just this morning I have thought about it further. This is no more difficult now than it was when I watched the bullshit flying across a given room, yet something brought it to mind again. The television (the French film, honestly) brought those two words back. There was a tinge yesterday, too, during a very long film from nearly two decades back. I thought about it and relaxed for the most part, but now considering what was taking place up there on my big television, the entire idea of such fabrication and horseshit is not going to leave. I already know through years of observation and clues. I already know there are forces at work the likes of which cannot be fought in this life (or any, really). Nothing can be done. It is just a fact that I must try to live with and carry with me for the duration. So far, the difficulty inside has not completely stopped any forward motion. Each day will either show me more examples or leave me alone. I never know until things unfold. The fabrication is going to continue, too. It must. And believe me... I know why. The whole shootin' match has been a foreboding since the change in site direction six years ago. Believe it. Foreseen and foretold. Clairaudience. Fucking figure it out. Did I do this? Did I make the fabrications and other crap necessary? I cannot deny the possibility, although if one considers the sheer weight upon a person's shoulders when they make the ill-fated decision to spend time with someone like me, the likelihood of everything being constructed from a bullshit standpoint is very strong. I am the first to admit it, too... Not an easy person with which to deal, ever. I make everything tough. So, I can honestly see through to being the cause of the entire affair. I may have pushed the fabrications into existence. The bullshit? The undermining crap which flies around the room at times? Not my doing. I suppose that entry did not cover the entire subject. Whatever. This is mine and I will do either what I please or whatever I can. Only a person. Nothing special. This is the part of the morning when the day appears wide with possibility. I like the feeling. It keeps my head up during times when I could otherwise be falling through the floor and considering the morning booze-up. I see the wind has picked up, too. Yikes. Considering the daytime temperatures lately, working outside later is probably not a good idea. I'll have to remain inside until heading out the door later. The point is that the hours leading up to eleven or so always look better or more hopeful than those which come later. I have no idea of why, though. It seems every day looks hopeful during the early morning. I wish I knew how to keep this going all day. I fail to understand why some parts of life must be so elusive or difficult. Andrea may have been correct when she outlined everything to her knowledge on the third flight. She was the only one. 3-26. 'Help granny make the bed'. This is where we go off the rails for a little while. The star is at the end of the street. The star is at the end of the street. Blue dress. One auction had been slipping through time but is now paid in full. That means I can ship the thing and focus upon the other three active listings. This is good. I do enjoy watching them play out over the course of a week, and will be adding two more listings today. Everything is staggered for ease of shipping. I have nearly pared my knife collection down to only four or so. Unreal. I sold enough to pick up not one but two of my favorite model so I can keep one in the box and carry the other. Silly, yes, but I must do whatever possible to smile sometimes. The alternative is to cease all effort. Very bad. At some point I will be more compact and organized than I have since the end of the cave period. A plus.
This morning is peaceful so far. The later shift today means a slightly longer period before I need to get things ready, and then a longer late afternoon. Probably more episodes today. We watched one yesterday. Also I need to recall those things left aside yesterday due to having trouble concentrating. I'll probably repeat the last morning by moving things along immediately after I have the house to myself. That worked well before and frees up some time for either this or consideration of further listings. I'll have to hook up the laundry line, too. Just for a while. All in good time. The visions in the late afternoon yesterday were difficult. There is nothing I can do about it, either. I do not believe the feelings (or even the fucking words coming out of my mouth) make any difference whatsoever. No matter how much I may push, the situation seems unchangeable. I may as well speak to the fucking hardwood floor. Never in my life have I gone on so much for years and been nearly snubbed. I am certain some of what I do is appreciated, however that is not what I seek. I don't give a shit about appreciation anymore. The little boat which grew into a ship is out there in the middle of the largest fucking ocean somewhere and about to sink for good. Once that takes place, my thinking will cease, and then the true colors will come forth and cause all manner of trouble. I can only take so much of the visions before action must rule the roost. I do not wish to become terribly difficult, nor do I want others to see the other side, but one of these days I will change. Too much time has forced this to happen. The camera has seen, my eyes have gazed, and the precious nature can only run on for so long before the demons must feed. A to B to C. They will feed. Mark my words. Ravage the precious. Okay, that is out of the way this morning. Where from here is anyone's guess. Perhaps back to what needs to be done today around the house. I think I will lay off the garage for a while, both due to my messed up thumb as well as things out there looking fine for the time being. I can focus upon the living space again. Always plenty to do in here. I may list a very valuable watch, too. I've been on the fence about it ever since listing one of the others (which went nowhere in twelve hours so I pulled it due to freaking out) and realizing the sheer weight of such a rarity. It means very little to me now, and after gushing last year when I was grasping at anything able to bring me up, this is not surprising. If it goes, the cash could be tremendous. I will keep thinking about it while the other listings run their courses. In and around the chores today I'll consider what else can make room in this little house. A dream this morning forced me to wish the garage was larger, or at least taller. I was in a garage (don't know if it was mine, nor do I know to what house it was attached) and speaking to two people who were familiar. Up above our heads were small pieces of plywood which reminded me of the glass polisher so many years ago. I had been thinking of these huge lites we had to grind (risky with the crane, but I will not go into detail), and trying to express their sheer area by pointing out a full sheet of plywood up on the wall. I do not remember anything further, though. Very odd. There was more, but I just can't get it back right now. Faded. There may have been another dream, too, but like most... Drifted. Whatever. Maybe that crap about the glass was there to show me just how often I tell stories. Hmm. More foreboding over how much I will bore others in the future? Looming. Nuts in May. Eh... May is still a few months off. 8:36am. Alone. Already took care of part of the routine and one item is awaiting pickup from our mailbox. Excellent. Lots of time now for consideration of everything. Auctions, work around the house, whatever. Plus, the sun is shining and the weather seems to be warming these days. I would expect such this far into March. The weather adds up to easier work outside and in the garage. Very nice. Last year at this time was when the motorcycle showed up and I began to envision moving my office out there. And then I did, and then Jaime. Oy gawd damn fuck me anyway. Look how that turned out. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe not. I have zero expectations of good. The fact is I am somewhat different now but not as altered as I would have guessed given the time passage. Last summer I went through a period of feeling left out and disregarded -- something very dangerous to those responsible -- and then backpedaled due to realizing I may have been behaving unfairly. Well, after more months of the same shit (even a touch more), I have shut everyone out save for a few individuals. I just don't care anymore. This year will not be different, only more of the same shit from people and a deepening desire to remain alone. The pandemic does not feel the same, though. I am concerned that due to the availability of vaccines and the normalization of business procedures, people are going to relax their stance too much. And then problems again. It's happened three times already. So, another year makes little difference. Those who left me out are now gone for good, I am less inclined to rejoin the workforce, and isolation appears to be the only method for remaining safe. The calendar will move along as always. A good example of my feelings about being home was yesterday. I ventured out for a visit for a few hours and upon returning I felt as if the time here is necessary for my survival, more than ever. Heading out and about sometimes is important for maintaining perspective, though. I have to see the difference in order to fully appreciate the time spent alone. Missing home? Sort of, but more like missing the control I hold over the atmosphere and what takes place inside the house. It is more and more important with each passing moment. As you may well know after all this time, the control present in any aspect of life is critical now. Eh... Enough of this crap. I am still undecided about the watch. As much as I like to see the cash coming in, I must ensure the absence of this particular timepiece does not create a hole. I've done that too many damned times over the years. Some came back, while others disappeared, seemingly for good. I can't have that anymore. The knives are different. I don't see them in a similar light. Stop. 3-27, 5:45am. Saturday means planning and relaxing. The usual crap. I need to stay mindful of others during those moments when I feel like lashing or bitching. Last night I held my tongue despite a troubling situation over which I originally felt a lack of control. But I made it. And the night went on by without any discomfort coming out of my mouth. The plan was to focus upon the show and not the food. Not all was well, however. Yesterday turned to shit right around dinner time. Unbelievable. We rarely order food these days for more than one reason, and last night had been planned for days. There was food she missed and some I missed, so we made Friday the day. Mistake? I don't know. But everything pretty much went wrong damned-near out of the gate. We will not be doing that again soon. At least when there are other problems taking place, my head is distracted. Better than nothing. Eh this film. Not much available on the television this morning, so I left it alone. Some problems, but nothing terrible right now. I'm alone, so everything is cooled a little. Later will be different. My two shows are not played during the weekends so I have to find something on the dial or make a beeline for the streaming media. I can't really concentrate here much anyway. May as well surf the dial. Nearly anything is capable of causing me trouble lately, anyway. Anything. I'll have to dig in a little further and try to remain pleasant toward others during this trying time. The media can always be adjusted to my comfort zone. That is one positive in a vast field of negatives. I am bothered, yet still clear. The televisions are under my control.
Too many daily activities and feelings have been foretold during the last few years. I knew some of it, while other parts remained hidden until such time as I was in need of a harsh lesson. They summed, too. I knew at some point there would be an invoice. Well, I guess a bunch of little invoices over time. The apparent beginning was eleven. That was the time after the worst of my decisions and a deep need for the elusive type of love and caring I sought for years. There was too much during that year. Just too fucking much. I have all of the bills tallied in my head now. Foreboding? Foretelling? Something. Whatever you may wish to call it. I don't care. All these little worrisome matters which come up randomly have been lying in wait for me to reach the point at which everything needs to ensure I am not comfortable, content, or happy. And here they are. There have been a few ups. Nothing crazy, just some things to help maintain lifestyle and comfort. As my work around the house and in the garage progresses, I begin to see a light way off in the distance. The work, that is, and not life itself. No satisfaction there, really. 3-28, 6:34am. Sunday business very soon. I plan to work with this for a while before anything else, or at least while I have coffee. There will be time later for our show, too. Maybe a few episodes. I am going to push more out the door in the coming months despite our improved financial position lately. There is no line when it comes to preparedness. Nothing is enough. I purchased a kit to build while home, too. Considering all I have sold and the cash tumbling in, a little something to put a smile on my face is not over the top. Every now and then I need a distraction. I still have other knives and things I can list, a few at a time, and all of them will sell without a doubt. While trying to figure out the big picture, that kit will keep me busy for quite a while. The listings will continue, as well. And I keep pushing for some sort of road trip in the future. It may or may not happen, although if things become bad enough I'll just take off anyway. Not the end of the world. Part of the reason is despite my being alone here many days, I never feel truly alone. There is always something in the background... Someone there in one way or another keeping me from a separation. If I do go somewhere alone, it will be short-lived. I need to maintain a clear head while considering so many parts of life being foretold after my gallivanting and controlling nature. Years of it, right up to and including this morning. Call it the big hand swinging around, the other hand on my back, whatever the fuck you wish. The world has foreseen this... Everything which has taken place since moving to the coast so many years ago. At first wondrous and ethereal, then downtrodden and depressing, then turning to anger and resentment, and finally balancing out and normalizing. I sit here a product of those emotions and can never live any of it down. Nothing goes away. Those who continue to spew the idea of 'time healing all wounds' have not been at the other end of my tirades. Nothing ever goes away, I swear as I sit here with this machine. And keep in mind I am this way due to the actions and words of other people throughout a very long period of time. More than four decades, in fact. As much as I can admit that most of my situation is my own doing, whatever operates inside me has been influenced nonetheless. Not everything, mind you, but enough. I will carry myself forward and maintain the closed-off and partially isolated nature for which I am known. No one gets in. All of this must remain close as I go through each day and deal with people. Business is simple, people are not. A clear head will help me to prevail. Ugh I can't stop thinking of some parts of life as they have affected me since last fall. There has to be a way to pass some situations along and let them fade without me losing my mind for a while. This is exhausting, and I have stated the same difficulty in spades since last spring when the rope tightened. Nothing has changed, either. I just keep experiencing the same kind of pain and trouble, cannot rise above it or step around, and then I end up here spouting the same words week after week. The solution which came to mind in the fall still resounds, yet the other solution may not exist at all. The real one. I'll have to keep trying, I suppose, or the result will be very bad. I'm trying to avoid cutting off everyone (yes, including the very few with which I continue contact) in order to separate myself from any possibility of trouble. Foreboding, to be certain. Considering how much I have worsened in the past year, I am surprised to be upright and continuing here with whatever is in mind. I suppose the enjoyments are still working. The evenings are fine, I guess, although sometimes I lose my sense of taste completely and am unable to enjoy dinner (that is not easy with which to deal these days as the food is one of those parts of life keeping me going). The mornings are always the same with something up there on the television and quiet time for thinking. The afternoons are tough, though. From one day to the next I have no idea of whether or not I will make it to the evening on my feet. Often there is too much on my shoulders for me to relax and consider whatever it is I need to do on a given day. And I do not believe -- even after a year of this shit -- that others understand the weight. Remember the glue? Well, this is similar. A balancing act, and one with dire consequences should I fail or fall. And yet here I am, again. Just like any other morning... Typing and sipping. Does that mean I can make it through whatever comes along? Not at all. Just a small fact. I will have to keep everything in mind on this downward path, all the while trying to keep an even keel when it comes to the words and actions of the others. I have no control over them, and as such must do my best to hold on to my needs and care for them when the space is available. Nothing which will come along in the next many months is going to alleviate all that the foreboding has revealed, however I can alter my stance as necessary for shoving the point at people. Whether or not they actually absorb and understand said point is entirely up to them. This is the result of so much unfeeling bullshit throughout years, along with scenes -- good or bad -- which crop up from time to time and show me where I am going. More rare than that? Scenes of where I was. And then the fucking comparisons take over. One example was the episode of the second show last night just before dinner. I had a feeling of seeing it somewhere other than home, and then I was slammed with the actual incident. We had been driving to the Midwest and became stuck due to car trouble in Colorado. The episode last night originally aired while we were in the motel for all those days as my truck was repaired. That was what drove me to begin reading the novels. So, I now have an exact date and time for one of the days we were there. Now I have been returned to behavior which puts the present side by side with the glow. This is not good and I am realizing all I have done. I could have done nothing and ended up the same. Effort for naught, work with no long-term effects, and periods of the driest desert coming and going beyond my control. I am nowhere. Keep everything in mind? I don't fucking know, to be honest. I feel pretty fucking bad right now. So much has been foretold, and the foreboding continues. Everything I have ever done in life is either returning or slamming its ugliness against my joy. Haunted by all which has been foreseen. There are no longer possibilities or hopes. Everything real is false, and everything else is unreal. Read that again. You will never understand me. Don't even fucking try. I need a break from this futile effort. Too tired now. Just plum tuckered. 278. Did? Nothing. Did nothing. Do you know who she is? She is inside."
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