Fortification Mature content No. 243 Published May 4th, 2021 9:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I believe yesterday was the turning point after all this time. There is a scene in the sixth season (several, really, but I need to focus upon one) in which Tony and Carmela are discussing a wedding gift. Jamie chimes in for a moment. She is wearing a robe and her hair is up, looking as if she is getting ready to attend the wedding in question. The entirety of the scene is inconsequential really, and I only mention it because of the distressed expression on her face when her father brings up her own future wedding. Since last year and all those essays one after the other, I believe anyone reading here already knows how I feel about her face. Many occasions throughout the last two (or one, depending upon how you look at it) seasons of the show have her in some sort of distress, meaning those dark eyes become larger than life. Either a concerned or hopeful facial expression can push those eyes up and away from the likes of any others. For whatever reason, the scene I mentioned above slammed me in the face yesterday. After experiencing the terrifying dream and subsequent wondrous visions, something happened to my head when she turned toward Tony, appearing incredulous. Her eyes seemed even bigger than usual. Probably not, and the makeup may have had something to do with it. I don't know. But whatever it was, the inside of me shifted from one pattern of living to another, entirely different. This morning I cannot get that expression out of my head. In fact, at the time I was heading out to the garage and paused the playback, accidentally freezing said expression in time. I pulled out the phone and framed a nice portrait of Jamie and her unreal features. After gazing for a moment before continuing the day's work, I hit a wall of emotion. Something happened. I need to fortify myself to keep some of those feelings at bay. Each watch of the series -- even when I am only listening to the brilliant dialog while working around the house -- brings me closer to knowing that I need to see her in the latest seasons sometimes just to maintain grip on reality. And yes, don't get me started on the idea of me living most decidedly outside our reality to a point, either. Just like Jaime, I believe I need her there. Or at least I need to know she's there. Again, not the fucking actor, idiots, the character. I've said before there is understanding in those big eyes. Don't fucking ask me how, but it's there in spades. Does my demeanor seem out of balance? I believe this happened last year, perhaps initially after some of the fiction was brought to light added to the ensuing need to be with someone like Jaime. I've had the show in the background on and off for several years and paid only half the attention one would expect from something so fantastic, but every now and then I would see her in the sixth season and something about the eyes struck me. And as I said above, the thing is the character. The way her mind began to work after college. Not much took place, but in my head was much development, to say the least. The little trigger of pausing one episode the other day cemented my feeling that without her in the background every now and then, I would not have made it this far. Her eyes are helping. Maybe the fog will let up today so we get some sunshine. The last two days have been ugh. I love her, but not her. You had better know what I mean after all this time. How did this happen? Sure, she's lovely, but why just her? I don't get it. Perhaps I am not meant to find the answer to anything, let alone those eyes. She struck me at some point and is related to everything which has transpired in over a year. One possibility is the idea of yet another dream. So many have come and gone -- along with those which are perpetual, like mansions and some woman within each or the machine -- that Jamie may simply be a representation of the entire period, and not a woman with whom I have become obsessed. I don't know. At this point all I can do is reach. The days roll by and I continue to slide down the same hill, meaning anything capable of bringing a smile is embraced deeply. I mentioned that those little enjoyments seem to be systematically disappearing lately. Some aspects of my life are completely out of my control, some others can be altered or improved by my own hand, but one certainty remains, and that is her pair of eyes unchanged. I can count on very little these days, yet I need not worry about her. She will always be there and always be exactly the same. Sound familiar? A machine? I won't go into it right now. The point is made. In 'EoT' I mentioned there were notes of finality. Well, just as I stated so many times about society, there will be no dramatic event in the future. Only a slow burn into nothingness. No big, pivotal surprises, no crazy turns of the cards, nothing. Slow. Melting, fading, and falling away. One year into this slide toward the edge and I am convinced of it. There may be touches of some kind of 'end' lately, but keep in mind I do not believe in anything final. Just a creeping pace down the hill. You've witnessed some of this. My feelings on the subject will remain constant, like my heart swelling for a fictional character. 'Stargate' is on this morning, from ninety-four when I was completely goo ga over film. I sat in a completely empty auditorium and watched it play out on the largest screen north of Detroit. All by myself, popcorn and candy, soda in the cup holder. Just me and a few hundred vacant seats. I keep thinking of Jamie in some of the episodes as her eyes shot laser beams into my soul. Everything was wondrous back then, from the new Butterfinger BBs in the little party store on the corner to the fascination of sitting in a theatre and being transported up and out of my miniature life for a little while. Dreams of escape were daily. This movie was a part of such feelings. Eh... Though I can still smell the popcorn in the lobby, I had to change the channel. And this movie is kind of ridiculous. Lots of films from the eighties lately. Today is Sunday which means I will not be running Jamie in the background. Too much going on. That show will probably continue tomorrow morning when I have the world to myself. Today will be spent partially in the direction of housework and garbage and then in the opposite direction of television and relaxation. I was asked to go to the park with the cameras but do not wish to leave here right now. I need to be inside and away from the sun. People, too. They are not exactly at the top of my list these days. Lunch may come here, we will line up in front of the show for a while, and then segue into the evening like many other Sundays. I may try to discuss Jamie, too. Right now I just don't know how things will go today. Despite all of the difficulties I experience on a daily basis, I must keep in mind that others have feelings, too, and may not wish to hear yet another long-winded story of how much that woman's eyes have moved me. I may refrain completely. Almost time to get up and shove all the shit out of my head in order to get some work finished. Another day. Are they any different? Lots of time to myself today, meaning plenty of thinking. Yesterday's little show-fest proved very enjoyable and held troubling situations like always, yet underneath I felt ok. No falling down. Sometimes I do wonder why certain aspects of entertainment cause such trouble, though. Well, I've treaded that more than enough for one lifetime. Suffice to say the concern is not what takes place in MY head. Whatever. We may find the time to catch an episode or two later. Another test of my patience. I have the house to myself and still no Jamie up there. The third show is on, broadcast. Her eyes, soon. As I stated last year, there is no desire when it comes to that woman. None. And there never has been, either. The feeling is one of comfort, and if you've read any of the last fifty-plus thousand lines you already know what that word means. Nearly above all things. Exactly how her big eyes cause me to feel such warmth is another story. I don't know what happened. While I cannot deny feeling love for her character, the fact is something snapped during the last year to force the need to store her deep in my psyche and it will not let up. She influences me, as well. Though my feelings are for her character, the person playing that character is full of life, kind, caring and considerate toward others, and quite the big-hearted individual. Her life has not been easy, either. Trial after trial and she came out the other side a wonderful person, according to my reading. An inspiration, to put it mildly. All of what I know of her may be having an impact upon the feelings as well as her character being fictional -- think of an ethereal dream. She is not real. See? Ridiculous, I know, but at least I realize it. I may love her, but I still know she is fictional. Better than nothing. Those eyes may be helping to keep my head up these days. I don't know for sure. I'll be seeing her soon enough. Time will tell, I suppose. I'm going to try avoiding the typical gushing about her vast beauty. Unnecessary. A flash this morning, now subsided. The dreams took over for a little while and I had to move around some. This type of thing is the norm lately, although the last month or so I have been dreaming less and less. I have no doubt it will continue. Not really anything I can do about it anyway. The two comes to mind during the show -- pretty much at some point each episode -- and I am beginning to believe that the dreaming is born of defense. A mechanism designed for me to lash back in the opposite direction when I feel threatened. I used to go on and on in this space whenever angered, but lately I see it as unfair. My head goes through many permutations which never see the light of day. Others have to wonder. I wonder sometimes, too, because this is not healthy at all. These days I see no better options, however. There is no stopping the worry. The notes of finality are beginning to surface. I'll have to be careful. No matter how down I may feel, the content must have limits. There is always an avenue to recovery. Dreams. No, not of Jamie. Others. We were in a court I believe, and then we met a gentleman near the sidewalk. I could not clearly define who was with me, though. Perhaps my old boss, I don't have any way to go back and see. The situation may have been a work service call or some other kind of visit, but the man there met and led us from the street and along some kind of path which passed what seemed to be the entrance to the house. I remember the roof was very low, as if the house was almost entirely underground. We walked all the way across a large area which all seemed to be the roof at varying levels. Off to the opposite side from where we parked was a small vestibule through which we were supposed to enter. The entire area seemed like a park or something similar, very green and well-manicured. The guy was very pleasant. We entered and my sense of adventure peaked. Once down the stairs, I noticed everything -- all surfaces -- were a rich wood and quite dark. All of the woodwork reminded me of an old job in the Avenues where there was a master carpenter trimming everything in real wood. The place was beautiful as I have always loved wood over paint on almost anything. We were in a small room with various openings around the outside to access other areas, and a couple of staircases led elsewhere. Very mysterious and intriguing. The scene faded as my curiosity grew. Then I was on a street like in the City with several other people around me. We were trying to climb atop one of the houses because they looked like the one described above, or maybe it was the same place from a different angle. All around the neighborhood were old houses with rooflines which were very low. We tried to begin climbing and then a nice lady came out and told us we were welcome to enter and look around. Huge areas, long hallways, one enormous room that reminded me of the Wheelhouse Saloon on the Sapphire Princess with tons of wood panels, trim and deep chairs. I think there was a bar in that room. I had a hard time moving around because there was so much furniture. The rooms may have been parts of the house described above. I loved all of it and was intrigued like seeing the Winchester in San Jose years ago. Like mazes or puzzles, and also like the houses I used to draw with secret passages and lots of complexity for creating places to hide. I may be dreaming of all the wood lately partially due to the big funeral home on the show. The more I see of that place the more I love it. Only on television or possibly a vacation have I seen such beautiful architecture and woodwork. That is something I have always wanted to live within, as opposed to stucco, sheetrock and whatever else seems to be directed toward a 'budget'. Tract homes are all the same. Those of which I dream are generally influenced by what I have drawn in the past combined with real buildings I have visited. The cruise ships are possibly a part of that. Even those mansion visions in which I am trying to hide away, pursue or otherwise connect with a woman have all been focused upon the appearances of homes in reality. Oy fuck there she is. Eyes. Eh... Anyway... The dreams usually disappear quickly upon waking. This one stuck with me for quite a bit longer, along with the typical disappointment upon waking. At least no woman. One good thing. I'll have to get off my rear soon and take care of business. Sitting here too long will influence and jade my mind to the point of falling down somewhat. Tempering the site work with chores is very important. And chores are finished. Not only have I taken care of business, but I switched from Jamie's eyes to those of Jolene. Yep, her again. After cruising through to the end of the fourth series, I decided to go straight to the fifth. What the hell, right? One pair of eyes right after the other. Nothing like that takes place on the fourth show, though. Nada. And I have not gone beyond the typical daily routine. I'm not feeling it right now. I should have entitled this 'three impossibilities', although there are more than that. Three main, and then a few tertiary ideas. The fact that nothing can come to pass -- ever -- is the point. I have spent much time vacillating and boiling everything down during the past year and the conclusions are many. I wish I could name more than one material item, but the truth is I cannot as the rest are feelings and situations. The parts of me which have been missing are moving ever further away, as well. The summation is not good. No choice, though. The hopeless feeling returned for a short time upon completing the routine this morning. On top was the fourth issue slapping me in the face over and over. I succeeded in derailing the latter and am currently formulating methods for dealing with the former. As much as I need comfort and that ridiculous perpetual familiarity of media, sometimes nothing helps. The media is always there, though, at my command... Unlike anything else. I cannot easily deal with a combination of issues most days. Enough uphill already takes place. Jamie appears understanding while Jolene appears analytical. I don't understand the draw. Maybe the title is inappropriate. Yesterday the worry nearly had me gushing more information than would have been comfortable. I am currently fighting a battle between not only two different fears, but also back and forth between living with this shit and pouring everything out for no other reason than to have more to push me down. Yes, I said that. If my fear of someone knowing of the inner processes comes to fruition, I will no longer have reason or the ability to interact with people. Complete withdrawal, for sure. The idea is enticing and has been right behind my eyes for a very long time (decades), but I don't know if it would feel the way I need. Spilling everything would most likely result in my pulling away from everyone, and as wondrous as that may be, the truth is I cannot predict the outcome. The tennis match just keeps going... Set after set. A bit of the show had me at sixes and sevens again, just like the previous series. During those moments I lost track of the dialog due to inner turmoil and worry. Once following along again, half of my brain was preoccupied by calculating just how much time would pass before it repeated. Not good, but such is me. The worry was all inside and all about the inside. Don't ask. The rub is a scarce possibility. The double-edged sword comes to mind -- a vorpal weapon -- and could be the absolute end of me. Others modifying their behavior to suit me is unfair and has no real solution in life. Either I know and fall down or my imagination crafts things which make me fall down. Knowing or not knowing... Which? Gushing everything and finding only understanding is a real chance. I can't bullshit that one. The problem lies within one of two aftermaths. The first is I end up exactly the same plus embarrassed for revealing so much. The second is I end up worse because there could be a massive expansion of what I cannot know. This whole thing is bending my brain like the worst time-travel story. Lose-lose? Perhaps. There is no way out of this. Either choice is bad and will result in cessation of ties. Another day. It happened again yesterday. A bit of discussion and some understanding later... And... I am just the same. Might as well not address the issue any longer. And then in the evening? Yep... Another dinner I could not taste. This is making me very angry. Between those two pointed situations, all my strength is required in avoiding a complete fucking violent breakdown. How I am still sitting here right now is a fucking mystery. Deeper and deeper into the daily routine and hiding myself away throughout months means I can still have my favorite things to watch and eat. Well, both have been going bad. While alone there is no problem. I have the shows on during the day and lunch is fine. Later? Everything turns to shit and I have just about had it. The big three is being reduced to one during specific times. I may need to plan my days accordingly and take advantage of the middle hours since my evening will be good for very little anymore. Just booze, I guess, and the occasional peppermint in the off chance that things improve. I have to say, for a person who values the flavor and timing so much, this kind of thing is both frustrating and mystifying. I don't understand. If it is the aforementioned voodoo, well, I can't do anything about it. Life has been one huge controversy when it comes to that subject. Good... Bad... Real... Unreal... Who knows? I have no faith in anything. One more time for posterity: I have no fucking faith in anything. Not anymore. And this brings up a thought... What do I have to lose if I spill my whole life out all over the place? Can I possibly become worse? Moreover, does it matter if I worsen? I could dump everything over which I have been agonizing for a very long time and then just sit here like I am right now. What would be different? Feeling fear? It's there anyway. Angry? There anyway. Withdrawn? Already there. Since I have no faith remaining, I cannot know of the catharsis. That might be overstating the entire shitaree. Eh, whatever. I'll figure an avenue and then swing this moveable feast in such a direction just to watch the fallout. And then I'll be sitting right here exactly the same for God-knows how long and attempting to explain myself. Laugh it up. I guess my days will be focused between waking and early afternoon. Beyond that? Nothing but simple comforts and perhaps back to this ill-advised adventure. No other ideas. Maximize the familiar comfort. Today is Star Wars day. I almost forgot. Some do not believe that I can bury myself deeper. Wait for it, honestly. Fortification. And that is partly due to some drawings and a little adventure born of the house dream the other morning. Everything is sort of tying together and motivated by issues and my need to be separated from the mass. Yesterday I snagged the sketch pad to jot a few things down because the old drawing of one of my favorite homes is up on the wall to my left. I drew it in the mid-nineties (almost immediately after the glow) and recently dug it up to frame. Well, the dream the other day brought up all the woodwork which was what I had in mind when drawing that floorplan in the first place. My old fascination with Disney theming and the idea of a living space reflecting some of their work pushed the house design into adventurous territory. So, the dream put that old drawing in mind and I began to work on an underground version. It's something to do, anyway. I also dug up the original plan I came up with after a Crestron advertisement from many years ago. My nephew still has the main floorplans which all grew from the original, but I can probably replicate a large house from the beginning. This is going to take up quite a bit of my time. Plus, the new model will be here tomorrow and open another week or more of building. I can bury myself. Believe it. Moreover, my old floorplans were always very secure, meaning the homes were to be built very stout and with privacy in mind. So, sitting in this little house and keeping myself away from others means I need to consider those old facets of my personality and implement them here. I need to feel safe and separate or nothing else will matter. If I indeed open my vault of information, something must be there to catch me after the fact. I shall be hidden away. The house design can work in concert with my need to be invisible. 'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Sing it. And here I am with hours ahead to do whatever seems best. Right now? This is it. And allow me to point out this content has wavered all over the map. Jamie and Jolene up there, issues (like always), homes, dreams, whatever. What a mess. I'm in the same downtrodden bad fucking mood which began shortly before 'Ceaseless' and I do not see relief on the horizon. All I can do is remain busy with anything. My options are shrinking as quickly as my patience. Life has become one big ball of ridiculous discomfort. Had I known I would turn out such as I am while living back during the glow, I would not be sitting here spouting right now. Believe it. That horrible feeling has passed, partially due to the idea that there can still be something keeping me comfortable, and somewhat because of the possibility of enjoyments. Back to the gangsters for a little while. Fortification means lots of things, not the least of which is physical security. This may have been influenced by the underground house in the dream. I can't be certain, but the idea seems feasible. All the way back to the oldest floorplans -- some of which had a vault door to the master bedroom -- I felt the need to be hidden away. I cannot get into the reasoning, though. Too painful. I will say that my recent mention of the coworker and his cold insult is related, deeply. That is a pit out of which I have never been able to climb, nor was it the only occasion when such a dysphemism was thrown in my direction. I could have snapped his neck for unknowingly perpetuating something which plagued me for decades. Well, that career ended and I left it behind, so perhaps not the end of the world. Right now I can still feel a level of anger which will likely push the fortification. That paragraph began and ended with the same word. Heh. I cannot describe any of that shit from the past. Too embarrassing. Suffice to say I spent much time near many examples of one type of person and I am vastly different. I think much rather than spouting words like an out of control waste line. Always on the other side of that fucking wall, to be sure. Always. Honestly? More than ever. The 'p' word on the show yesterday was fucking hilarious. It is offensive, yet in the context of the scene I could not help but be amused. They did a good job of lightening the dialog. It happens once in a while. We spoke about it some and concluded that not all harsh language is necessarily bad. It can add realism and humor at times. That scene was one of the rare occasions in which I did not file away all sorts of problems as a result of media. Just too damned funny, and in a self-deprecating manner. The show is worth whatever may be thrown from the screen. We discussed that fact, as well. The train is so far out in the distance that I cannot feel the slightest vibration on the rails. Red signals, too. Do you know what this means? Eh... You probably thought the train analogies were done after EoT. Nope. The cold rails never end. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. 'You've got that... SHOTGUN shine.' I have deep feelings for Jamie's character but they will not intrude upon real life. No way. That is different. I am not some starry-eyed child looking at an issue of Tiger Beat. I am grown, intelligent, and I understand the difference. She helps me, nothing more. And as crazy as it may come across, I need her up there sometimes to show me that there is good in the world. Read into that whatever you wish. The fact that she happens to be more beautiful than life itself is another matter. Just don't sit there and think I love her for any other reason than to provide solace. The woman is fictional, dipshits. Get over it. Jamie represents one idea and Jaime another. Go back a hundred thousand lines and read all this crap again. Wow does Emily Wickersham have a fucking face. Had, anyway. I don't know where she went from this show. I suppose in and around the work today I will carry on with the drawings. The oldest design I derived from the magazine ad will commence, too. I need to see that huge, square home again. That may have been the one for which I was most proud. The old drawing up there on the wall will find direction again as it relates to the underground idea. I need to explore that and return to those old bike rides up Parkmeadow when my buddy and I dreamed of living in a big home. The feeling inside is still there, believe it or not. Forty fuckin years later and I can still see the images of where we hoped to be later in life. The destination will remain unrealized, however. I am a living dead-end these days. At least I can draw and dream. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. There is still a positive to being here in this house every day, and that is a mid-morning feeling after all is quiet and I can go in whatever direction seems best for the day. I am there now. I'll have to remain mindful. Chores, drawings, or other things will come and go as my head continues to wrestle. I have a choice to make. One which could end in nothing much at all, or complete disaster. Fifty-fifty right now. All the while the little piles of crap will accumulate beneath my feet. Tap dance. Cold, steel rails. Fortress? I have to keep in mind the possible fallout. The house can be reworked all I wish, but my brain does not share such an advantage. There can be no knowing until the moment when everything comes forth. One certainty is I will be quite embarrassed no matter the recipient. A therapist knows nothing until exposition and experience, so the idea of heading back in that direction does have a positive component. I've been told in the past to avoid worrying about what that person may be thinking five seconds after ending a session and walking out the door. In the case of someone close? That situation is not as simple. I will be concerned no matter who or what. Right now I just don't know. Catharsis? Probably. Fallout? Could be bad, might be minimal. But I have no doubt of at least some bad results. Soon I'll have to push this and head in a different direction. Only so much can be explored before I become too fucking tired to think anymore. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Maybe I should fortify my head instead of the house. 120000 lines of code. What is this? IS she out there?" Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Fortification Mature content No. 243 Published May 4th, 2021 9:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I believe yesterday was the turning point after all this time. There is a scene in the sixth season (several, really, but I need to focus upon one) in which Tony and Carmela are discussing a wedding gift. Jamie chimes in for a moment. She is wearing a robe and her hair is up, looking as if she is getting ready to attend the wedding in question. The entirety of the scene is inconsequential really, and I only mention it because of the distressed expression on her face when her father brings up her own future wedding. Since last year and all those essays one after the other, I believe anyone reading here already knows how I feel about her face. Many occasions throughout the last two (or one, depending upon how you look at it) seasons of the show have her in some sort of distress, meaning those dark eyes become larger than life. Either a concerned or hopeful facial expression can push those eyes up and away from the likes of any others. For whatever reason, the scene I mentioned above slammed me in the face yesterday. After experiencing the terrifying dream and subsequent wondrous visions, something happened to my head when she turned toward Tony, appearing incredulous. Her eyes seemed even bigger than usual. Probably not, and the makeup may have had something to do with it. I don't know. But whatever it was, the inside of me shifted from one pattern of living to another, entirely different. This morning I cannot get that expression out of my head. In fact, at the time I was heading out to the garage and paused the playback, accidentally freezing said expression in time. I pulled out the phone and framed a nice portrait of Jamie and her unreal features. After gazing for a moment before continuing the day's work, I hit a wall of emotion. Something happened. I need to fortify myself to keep some of those feelings at bay. Each watch of the series -- even when I am only listening to the brilliant dialog while working around the house -- brings me closer to knowing that I need to see her in the latest seasons sometimes just to maintain grip on reality. And yes, don't get me started on the idea of me living most decidedly outside our reality to a point, either. Just like Jaime, I believe I need her there. Or at least I need to know she's there. Again, not the fucking actor, idiots, the character. I've said before there is understanding in those big eyes. Don't fucking ask me how, but it's there in spades. Does my demeanor seem out of balance? I believe this happened last year, perhaps initially after some of the fiction was brought to light added to the ensuing need to be with someone like Jaime. I've had the show in the background on and off for several years and paid only half the attention one would expect from something so fantastic, but every now and then I would see her in the sixth season and something about the eyes struck me. And as I said above, the thing is the character. The way her mind began to work after college. Not much took place, but in my head was much development, to say the least. The little trigger of pausing one episode the other day cemented my feeling that without her in the background every now and then, I would not have made it this far. Her eyes are helping. Maybe the fog will let up today so we get some sunshine. The last two days have been ugh. I love her, but not her. You had better know what I mean after all this time. How did this happen? Sure, she's lovely, but why just her? I don't get it. Perhaps I am not meant to find the answer to anything, let alone those eyes. She struck me at some point and is related to everything which has transpired in over a year. One possibility is the idea of yet another dream. So many have come and gone -- along with those which are perpetual, like mansions and some woman within each or the machine -- that Jamie may simply be a representation of the entire period, and not a woman with whom I have become obsessed. I don't know. At this point all I can do is reach. The days roll by and I continue to slide down the same hill, meaning anything capable of bringing a smile is embraced deeply. I mentioned that those little enjoyments seem to be systematically disappearing lately. Some aspects of my life are completely out of my control, some others can be altered or improved by my own hand, but one certainty remains, and that is her pair of eyes unchanged. I can count on very little these days, yet I need not worry about her. She will always be there and always be exactly the same. Sound familiar? A machine? I won't go into it right now. The point is made. In 'EoT' I mentioned there were notes of finality. Well, just as I stated so many times about society, there will be no dramatic event in the future. Only a slow burn into nothingness. No big, pivotal surprises, no crazy turns of the cards, nothing. Slow. Melting, fading, and falling away. One year into this slide toward the edge and I am convinced of it. There may be touches of some kind of 'end' lately, but keep in mind I do not believe in anything final. Just a creeping pace down the hill. You've witnessed some of this. My feelings on the subject will remain constant, like my heart swelling for a fictional character. 'Stargate' is on this morning, from ninety-four when I was completely goo ga over film. I sat in a completely empty auditorium and watched it play out on the largest screen north of Detroit. All by myself, popcorn and candy, soda in the cup holder. Just me and a few hundred vacant seats. I keep thinking of Jamie in some of the episodes as her eyes shot laser beams into my soul. Everything was wondrous back then, from the new Butterfinger BBs in the little party store on the corner to the fascination of sitting in a theatre and being transported up and out of my miniature life for a little while. Dreams of escape were daily. This movie was a part of such feelings. Eh... Though I can still smell the popcorn in the lobby, I had to change the channel. And this movie is kind of ridiculous. Lots of films from the eighties lately. Today is Sunday which means I will not be running Jamie in the background. Too much going on. That show will probably continue tomorrow morning when I have the world to myself. Today will be spent partially in the direction of housework and garbage and then in the opposite direction of television and relaxation. I was asked to go to the park with the cameras but do not wish to leave here right now. I need to be inside and away from the sun. People, too. They are not exactly at the top of my list these days. Lunch may come here, we will line up in front of the show for a while, and then segue into the evening like many other Sundays. I may try to discuss Jamie, too. Right now I just don't know how things will go today. Despite all of the difficulties I experience on a daily basis, I must keep in mind that others have feelings, too, and may not wish to hear yet another long-winded story of how much that woman's eyes have moved me. I may refrain completely. Almost time to get up and shove all the shit out of my head in order to get some work finished. Another day. Are they any different? Lots of time to myself today, meaning plenty of thinking. Yesterday's little show-fest proved very enjoyable and held troubling situations like always, yet underneath I felt ok. No falling down. Sometimes I do wonder why certain aspects of entertainment cause such trouble, though. Well, I've treaded that more than enough for one lifetime. Suffice to say the concern is not what takes place in MY head. Whatever. We may find the time to catch an episode or two later. Another test of my patience. I have the house to myself and still no Jamie up there. The third show is on, broadcast. Her eyes, soon. As I stated last year, there is no desire when it comes to that woman. None. And there never has been, either. The feeling is one of comfort, and if you've read any of the last fifty-plus thousand lines you already know what that word means. Nearly above all things. Exactly how her big eyes cause me to feel such warmth is another story. I don't know what happened. While I cannot deny feeling love for her character, the fact is something snapped during the last year to force the need to store her deep in my psyche and it will not let up. She influences me, as well. Though my feelings are for her character, the person playing that character is full of life, kind, caring and considerate toward others, and quite the big-hearted individual. Her life has not been easy, either. Trial after trial and she came out the other side a wonderful person, according to my reading. An inspiration, to put it mildly. All of what I know of her may be having an impact upon the feelings as well as her character being fictional -- think of an ethereal dream. She is not real. See? Ridiculous, I know, but at least I realize it. I may love her, but I still know she is fictional. Better than nothing. Those eyes may be helping to keep my head up these days. I don't know for sure. I'll be seeing her soon enough. Time will tell, I suppose. I'm going to try avoiding the typical gushing about her vast beauty. Unnecessary. A flash this morning, now subsided. The dreams took over for a little while and I had to move around some. This type of thing is the norm lately, although the last month or so I have been dreaming less and less. I have no doubt it will continue. Not really anything I can do about it anyway. The two comes to mind during the show -- pretty much at some point each episode -- and I am beginning to believe that the dreaming is born of defense. A mechanism designed for me to lash back in the opposite direction when I feel threatened. I used to go on and on in this space whenever angered, but lately I see it as unfair. My head goes through many permutations which never see the light of day. Others have to wonder. I wonder sometimes, too, because this is not healthy at all. These days I see no better options, however. There is no stopping the worry. The notes of finality are beginning to surface. I'll have to be careful. No matter how down I may feel, the content must have limits. There is always an avenue to recovery. Dreams. No, not of Jamie. Others. We were in a court I believe, and then we met a gentleman near the sidewalk. I could not clearly define who was with me, though. Perhaps my old boss, I don't have any way to go back and see. The situation may have been a work service call or some other kind of visit, but the man there met and led us from the street and along some kind of path which passed what seemed to be the entrance to the house. I remember the roof was very low, as if the house was almost entirely underground. We walked all the way across a large area which all seemed to be the roof at varying levels. Off to the opposite side from where we parked was a small vestibule through which we were supposed to enter. The entire area seemed like a park or something similar, very green and well-manicured. The guy was very pleasant. We entered and my sense of adventure peaked. Once down the stairs, I noticed everything -- all surfaces -- were a rich wood and quite dark. All of the woodwork reminded me of an old job in the Avenues where there was a master carpenter trimming everything in real wood. The place was beautiful as I have always loved wood over paint on almost anything. We were in a small room with various openings around the outside to access other areas, and a couple of staircases led elsewhere. Very mysterious and intriguing. The scene faded as my curiosity grew. Then I was on a street like in the City with several other people around me. We were trying to climb atop one of the houses because they looked like the one described above, or maybe it was the same place from a different angle. All around the neighborhood were old houses with rooflines which were very low. We tried to begin climbing and then a nice lady came out and told us we were welcome to enter and look around. Huge areas, long hallways, one enormous room that reminded me of the Wheelhouse Saloon on the Sapphire Princess with tons of wood panels, trim and deep chairs. I think there was a bar in that room. I had a hard time moving around because there was so much furniture. The rooms may have been parts of the house described above. I loved all of it and was intrigued like seeing the Winchester in San Jose years ago. Like mazes or puzzles, and also like the houses I used to draw with secret passages and lots of complexity for creating places to hide. I may be dreaming of all the wood lately partially due to the big funeral home on the show. The more I see of that place the more I love it. Only on television or possibly a vacation have I seen such beautiful architecture and woodwork. That is something I have always wanted to live within, as opposed to stucco, sheetrock and whatever else seems to be directed toward a 'budget'. Tract homes are all the same. Those of which I dream are generally influenced by what I have drawn in the past combined with real buildings I have visited. The cruise ships are possibly a part of that. Even those mansion visions in which I am trying to hide away, pursue or otherwise connect with a woman have all been focused upon the appearances of homes in reality. Oy fuck there she is. Eyes. Eh... Anyway... The dreams usually disappear quickly upon waking. This one stuck with me for quite a bit longer, along with the typical disappointment upon waking. At least no woman. One good thing. I'll have to get off my rear soon and take care of business. Sitting here too long will influence and jade my mind to the point of falling down somewhat. Tempering the site work with chores is very important. And chores are finished. Not only have I taken care of business, but I switched from Jamie's eyes to those of Jolene. Yep, her again. After cruising through to the end of the fourth series, I decided to go straight to the fifth. What the hell, right? One pair of eyes right after the other. Nothing like that takes place on the fourth show, though. Nada. And I have not gone beyond the typical daily routine. I'm not feeling it right now. I should have entitled this 'three impossibilities', although there are more than that. Three main, and then a few tertiary ideas. The fact that nothing can come to pass -- ever -- is the point. I have spent much time vacillating and boiling everything down during the past year and the conclusions are many. I wish I could name more than one material item, but the truth is I cannot as the rest are feelings and situations. The parts of me which have been missing are moving ever further away, as well. The summation is not good. No choice, though. The hopeless feeling returned for a short time upon completing the routine this morning. On top was the fourth issue slapping me in the face over and over. I succeeded in derailing the latter and am currently formulating methods for dealing with the former. As much as I need comfort and that ridiculous perpetual familiarity of media, sometimes nothing helps. The media is always there, though, at my command... Unlike anything else. I cannot easily deal with a combination of issues most days. Enough uphill already takes place. Jamie appears understanding while Jolene appears analytical. I don't understand the draw. Maybe the title is inappropriate. Yesterday the worry nearly had me gushing more information than would have been comfortable. I am currently fighting a battle between not only two different fears, but also back and forth between living with this shit and pouring everything out for no other reason than to have more to push me down. Yes, I said that. If my fear of someone knowing of the inner processes comes to fruition, I will no longer have reason or the ability to interact with people. Complete withdrawal, for sure. The idea is enticing and has been right behind my eyes for a very long time (decades), but I don't know if it would feel the way I need. Spilling everything would most likely result in my pulling away from everyone, and as wondrous as that may be, the truth is I cannot predict the outcome. The tennis match just keeps going... Set after set. A bit of the show had me at sixes and sevens again, just like the previous series. During those moments I lost track of the dialog due to inner turmoil and worry. Once following along again, half of my brain was preoccupied by calculating just how much time would pass before it repeated. Not good, but such is me. The worry was all inside and all about the inside. Don't ask. The rub is a scarce possibility. The double-edged sword comes to mind -- a vorpal weapon -- and could be the absolute end of me. Others modifying their behavior to suit me is unfair and has no real solution in life. Either I know and fall down or my imagination crafts things which make me fall down. Knowing or not knowing... Which? Gushing everything and finding only understanding is a real chance. I can't bullshit that one. The problem lies within one of two aftermaths. The first is I end up exactly the same plus embarrassed for revealing so much. The second is I end up worse because there could be a massive expansion of what I cannot know. This whole thing is bending my brain like the worst time-travel story. Lose-lose? Perhaps. There is no way out of this. Either choice is bad and will result in cessation of ties. Another day. It happened again yesterday. A bit of discussion and some understanding later... And... I am just the same. Might as well not address the issue any longer. And then in the evening? Yep... Another dinner I could not taste. This is making me very angry. Between those two pointed situations, all my strength is required in avoiding a complete fucking violent breakdown. How I am still sitting here right now is a fucking mystery. Deeper and deeper into the daily routine and hiding myself away throughout months means I can still have my favorite things to watch and eat. Well, both have been going bad. While alone there is no problem. I have the shows on during the day and lunch is fine. Later? Everything turns to shit and I have just about had it. The big three is being reduced to one during specific times. I may need to plan my days accordingly and take advantage of the middle hours since my evening will be good for very little anymore. Just booze, I guess, and the occasional peppermint in the off chance that things improve. I have to say, for a person who values the flavor and timing so much, this kind of thing is both frustrating and mystifying. I don't understand. If it is the aforementioned voodoo, well, I can't do anything about it. Life has been one huge controversy when it comes to that subject. Good... Bad... Real... Unreal... Who knows? I have no faith in anything. One more time for posterity: I have no fucking faith in anything. Not anymore. And this brings up a thought... What do I have to lose if I spill my whole life out all over the place? Can I possibly become worse? Moreover, does it matter if I worsen? I could dump everything over which I have been agonizing for a very long time and then just sit here like I am right now. What would be different? Feeling fear? It's there anyway. Angry? There anyway. Withdrawn? Already there. Since I have no faith remaining, I cannot know of the catharsis. That might be overstating the entire shitaree. Eh, whatever. I'll figure an avenue and then swing this moveable feast in such a direction just to watch the fallout. And then I'll be sitting right here exactly the same for God-knows how long and attempting to explain myself. Laugh it up. I guess my days will be focused between waking and early afternoon. Beyond that? Nothing but simple comforts and perhaps back to this ill-advised adventure. No other ideas. Maximize the familiar comfort. Today is Star Wars day. I almost forgot. Some do not believe that I can bury myself deeper. Wait for it, honestly. Fortification. And that is partly due to some drawings and a little adventure born of the house dream the other morning. Everything is sort of tying together and motivated by issues and my need to be separated from the mass. Yesterday I snagged the sketch pad to jot a few things down because the old drawing of one of my favorite homes is up on the wall to my left. I drew it in the mid-nineties (almost immediately after the glow) and recently dug it up to frame. Well, the dream the other day brought up all the woodwork which was what I had in mind when drawing that floorplan in the first place. My old fascination with Disney theming and the idea of a living space reflecting some of their work pushed the house design into adventurous territory. So, the dream put that old drawing in mind and I began to work on an underground version. It's something to do, anyway. I also dug up the original plan I came up with after a Crestron advertisement from many years ago. My nephew still has the main floorplans which all grew from the original, but I can probably replicate a large house from the beginning. This is going to take up quite a bit of my time. Plus, the new model will be here tomorrow and open another week or more of building. I can bury myself. Believe it. Moreover, my old floorplans were always very secure, meaning the homes were to be built very stout and with privacy in mind. So, sitting in this little house and keeping myself away from others means I need to consider those old facets of my personality and implement them here. I need to feel safe and separate or nothing else will matter. If I indeed open my vault of information, something must be there to catch me after the fact. I shall be hidden away. The house design can work in concert with my need to be invisible. 'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Sing it. And here I am with hours ahead to do whatever seems best. Right now? This is it. And allow me to point out this content has wavered all over the map. Jamie and Jolene up there, issues (like always), homes, dreams, whatever. What a mess. I'm in the same downtrodden bad fucking mood which began shortly before 'Ceaseless' and I do not see relief on the horizon. All I can do is remain busy with anything. My options are shrinking as quickly as my patience. Life has become one big ball of ridiculous discomfort. Had I known I would turn out such as I am while living back during the glow, I would not be sitting here spouting right now. Believe it. That horrible feeling has passed, partially due to the idea that there can still be something keeping me comfortable, and somewhat because of the possibility of enjoyments. Back to the gangsters for a little while. Fortification means lots of things, not the least of which is physical security. This may have been influenced by the underground house in the dream. I can't be certain, but the idea seems feasible. All the way back to the oldest floorplans -- some of which had a vault door to the master bedroom -- I felt the need to be hidden away. I cannot get into the reasoning, though. Too painful. I will say that my recent mention of the coworker and his cold insult is related, deeply. That is a pit out of which I have never been able to climb, nor was it the only occasion when such a dysphemism was thrown in my direction. I could have snapped his neck for unknowingly perpetuating something which plagued me for decades. Well, that career ended and I left it behind, so perhaps not the end of the world. Right now I can still feel a level of anger which will likely push the fortification. That paragraph began and ended with the same word. Heh. I cannot describe any of that shit from the past. Too embarrassing. Suffice to say I spent much time near many examples of one type of person and I am vastly different. I think much rather than spouting words like an out of control waste line. Always on the other side of that fucking wall, to be sure. Always. Honestly? More than ever. The 'p' word on the show yesterday was fucking hilarious. It is offensive, yet in the context of the scene I could not help but be amused. They did a good job of lightening the dialog. It happens once in a while. We spoke about it some and concluded that not all harsh language is necessarily bad. It can add realism and humor at times. That scene was one of the rare occasions in which I did not file away all sorts of problems as a result of media. Just too damned funny, and in a self-deprecating manner. The show is worth whatever may be thrown from the screen. We discussed that fact, as well. The train is so far out in the distance that I cannot feel the slightest vibration on the rails. Red signals, too. Do you know what this means? Eh... You probably thought the train analogies were done after EoT. Nope. The cold rails never end. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. 'You've got that... SHOTGUN shine.' I have deep feelings for Jamie's character but they will not intrude upon real life. No way. That is different. I am not some starry-eyed child looking at an issue of Tiger Beat. I am grown, intelligent, and I understand the difference. She helps me, nothing more. And as crazy as it may come across, I need her up there sometimes to show me that there is good in the world. Read into that whatever you wish. The fact that she happens to be more beautiful than life itself is another matter. Just don't sit there and think I love her for any other reason than to provide solace. The woman is fictional, dipshits. Get over it. Jamie represents one idea and Jaime another. Go back a hundred thousand lines and read all this crap again. Wow does Emily Wickersham have a fucking face. Had, anyway. I don't know where she went from this show. I suppose in and around the work today I will carry on with the drawings. The oldest design I derived from the magazine ad will commence, too. I need to see that huge, square home again. That may have been the one for which I was most proud. The old drawing up there on the wall will find direction again as it relates to the underground idea. I need to explore that and return to those old bike rides up Parkmeadow when my buddy and I dreamed of living in a big home. The feeling inside is still there, believe it or not. Forty fuckin years later and I can still see the images of where we hoped to be later in life. The destination will remain unrealized, however. I am a living dead-end these days. At least I can draw and dream. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. There is still a positive to being here in this house every day, and that is a mid-morning feeling after all is quiet and I can go in whatever direction seems best for the day. I am there now. I'll have to remain mindful. Chores, drawings, or other things will come and go as my head continues to wrestle. I have a choice to make. One which could end in nothing much at all, or complete disaster. Fifty-fifty right now. All the while the little piles of crap will accumulate beneath my feet. Tap dance. Cold, steel rails. Fortress? I have to keep in mind the possible fallout. The house can be reworked all I wish, but my brain does not share such an advantage. There can be no knowing until the moment when everything comes forth. One certainty is I will be quite embarrassed no matter the recipient. A therapist knows nothing until exposition and experience, so the idea of heading back in that direction does have a positive component. I've been told in the past to avoid worrying about what that person may be thinking five seconds after ending a session and walking out the door. In the case of someone close? That situation is not as simple. I will be concerned no matter who or what. Right now I just don't know. Catharsis? Probably. Fallout? Could be bad, might be minimal. But I have no doubt of at least some bad results. Soon I'll have to push this and head in a different direction. Only so much can be explored before I become too fucking tired to think anymore. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Maybe I should fortify my head instead of the house. 120000 lines of code. What is this? IS she out there?"
Fortification
Mature content No. 243 Published May 4th, 2021 9:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"I believe yesterday was the turning point after all this time. There is a scene in the sixth season (several, really, but I need to focus upon one) in which Tony and Carmela are discussing a wedding gift. Jamie chimes in for a moment. She is wearing a robe and her hair is up, looking as if she is getting ready to attend the wedding in question. The entirety of the scene is inconsequential really, and I only mention it because of the distressed expression on her face when her father brings up her own future wedding. Since last year and all those essays one after the other, I believe anyone reading here already knows how I feel about her face. Many occasions throughout the last two (or one, depending upon how you look at it) seasons of the show have her in some sort of distress, meaning those dark eyes become larger than life. Either a concerned or hopeful facial expression can push those eyes up and away from the likes of any others. For whatever reason, the scene I mentioned above slammed me in the face yesterday. After experiencing the terrifying dream and subsequent wondrous visions, something happened to my head when she turned toward Tony, appearing incredulous. Her eyes seemed even bigger than usual. Probably not, and the makeup may have had something to do with it. I don't know. But whatever it was, the inside of me shifted from one pattern of living to another, entirely different. This morning I cannot get that expression out of my head. In fact, at the time I was heading out to the garage and paused the playback, accidentally freezing said expression in time. I pulled out the phone and framed a nice portrait of Jamie and her unreal features. After gazing for a moment before continuing the day's work, I hit a wall of emotion. Something happened. I need to fortify myself to keep some of those feelings at bay. Each watch of the series -- even when I am only listening to the brilliant dialog while working around the house -- brings me closer to knowing that I need to see her in the latest seasons sometimes just to maintain grip on reality. And yes, don't get me started on the idea of me living most decidedly outside our reality to a point, either. Just like Jaime, I believe I need her there. Or at least I need to know she's there. Again, not the fucking actor, idiots, the character. I've said before there is understanding in those big eyes. Don't fucking ask me how, but it's there in spades. Does my demeanor seem out of balance?
I believe this happened last year, perhaps initially after some of the fiction was brought to light added to the ensuing need to be with someone like Jaime. I've had the show in the background on and off for several years and paid only half the attention one would expect from something so fantastic, but every now and then I would see her in the sixth season and something about the eyes struck me. And as I said above, the thing is the character. The way her mind began to work after college. Not much took place, but in my head was much development, to say the least. The little trigger of pausing one episode the other day cemented my feeling that without her in the background every now and then, I would not have made it this far. Her eyes are helping. Maybe the fog will let up today so we get some sunshine. The last two days have been ugh. I love her, but not her. You had better know what I mean after all this time. How did this happen? Sure, she's lovely, but why just her? I don't get it. Perhaps I am not meant to find the answer to anything, let alone those eyes. She struck me at some point and is related to everything which has transpired in over a year. One possibility is the idea of yet another dream. So many have come and gone -- along with those which are perpetual, like mansions and some woman within each or the machine -- that Jamie may simply be a representation of the entire period, and not a woman with whom I have become obsessed. I don't know. At this point all I can do is reach. The days roll by and I continue to slide down the same hill, meaning anything capable of bringing a smile is embraced deeply. I mentioned that those little enjoyments seem to be systematically disappearing lately. Some aspects of my life are completely out of my control, some others can be altered or improved by my own hand, but one certainty remains, and that is her pair of eyes unchanged. I can count on very little these days, yet I need not worry about her. She will always be there and always be exactly the same. Sound familiar? A machine? I won't go into it right now. The point is made. In 'EoT' I mentioned there were notes of finality. Well, just as I stated so many times about society, there will be no dramatic event in the future. Only a slow burn into nothingness. No big, pivotal surprises, no crazy turns of the cards, nothing. Slow. Melting, fading, and falling away. One year into this slide toward the edge and I am convinced of it. There may be touches of some kind of 'end' lately, but keep in mind I do not believe in anything final. Just a creeping pace down the hill. You've witnessed some of this. My feelings on the subject will remain constant, like my heart swelling for a fictional character. 'Stargate' is on this morning, from ninety-four when I was completely goo ga over film. I sat in a completely empty auditorium and watched it play out on the largest screen north of Detroit. All by myself, popcorn and candy, soda in the cup holder. Just me and a few hundred vacant seats. I keep thinking of Jamie in some of the episodes as her eyes shot laser beams into my soul. Everything was wondrous back then, from the new Butterfinger BBs in the little party store on the corner to the fascination of sitting in a theatre and being transported up and out of my miniature life for a little while. Dreams of escape were daily. This movie was a part of such feelings. Eh... Though I can still smell the popcorn in the lobby, I had to change the channel. And this movie is kind of ridiculous. Lots of films from the eighties lately. Today is Sunday which means I will not be running Jamie in the background. Too much going on. That show will probably continue tomorrow morning when I have the world to myself. Today will be spent partially in the direction of housework and garbage and then in the opposite direction of television and relaxation. I was asked to go to the park with the cameras but do not wish to leave here right now. I need to be inside and away from the sun. People, too. They are not exactly at the top of my list these days. Lunch may come here, we will line up in front of the show for a while, and then segue into the evening like many other Sundays. I may try to discuss Jamie, too. Right now I just don't know how things will go today. Despite all of the difficulties I experience on a daily basis, I must keep in mind that others have feelings, too, and may not wish to hear yet another long-winded story of how much that woman's eyes have moved me. I may refrain completely. Almost time to get up and shove all the shit out of my head in order to get some work finished. Another day. Are they any different? Lots of time to myself today, meaning plenty of thinking. Yesterday's little show-fest proved very enjoyable and held troubling situations like always, yet underneath I felt ok. No falling down. Sometimes I do wonder why certain aspects of entertainment cause such trouble, though. Well, I've treaded that more than enough for one lifetime. Suffice to say the concern is not what takes place in MY head. Whatever. We may find the time to catch an episode or two later. Another test of my patience. I have the house to myself and still no Jamie up there. The third show is on, broadcast. Her eyes, soon. As I stated last year, there is no desire when it comes to that woman. None. And there never has been, either. The feeling is one of comfort, and if you've read any of the last fifty-plus thousand lines you already know what that word means. Nearly above all things. Exactly how her big eyes cause me to feel such warmth is another story. I don't know what happened. While I cannot deny feeling love for her character, the fact is something snapped during the last year to force the need to store her deep in my psyche and it will not let up. She influences me, as well. Though my feelings are for her character, the person playing that character is full of life, kind, caring and considerate toward others, and quite the big-hearted individual. Her life has not been easy, either. Trial after trial and she came out the other side a wonderful person, according to my reading. An inspiration, to put it mildly. All of what I know of her may be having an impact upon the feelings as well as her character being fictional -- think of an ethereal dream. She is not real. See? Ridiculous, I know, but at least I realize it. I may love her, but I still know she is fictional. Better than nothing. Those eyes may be helping to keep my head up these days. I don't know for sure. I'll be seeing her soon enough. Time will tell, I suppose. I'm going to try avoiding the typical gushing about her vast beauty. Unnecessary. A flash this morning, now subsided. The dreams took over for a little while and I had to move around some. This type of thing is the norm lately, although the last month or so I have been dreaming less and less. I have no doubt it will continue. Not really anything I can do about it anyway. The two comes to mind during the show -- pretty much at some point each episode -- and I am beginning to believe that the dreaming is born of defense. A mechanism designed for me to lash back in the opposite direction when I feel threatened. I used to go on and on in this space whenever angered, but lately I see it as unfair. My head goes through many permutations which never see the light of day. Others have to wonder. I wonder sometimes, too, because this is not healthy at all. These days I see no better options, however. There is no stopping the worry. The notes of finality are beginning to surface. I'll have to be careful. No matter how down I may feel, the content must have limits. There is always an avenue to recovery. Dreams. No, not of Jamie. Others. We were in a court I believe, and then we met a gentleman near the sidewalk. I could not clearly define who was with me, though. Perhaps my old boss, I don't have any way to go back and see. The situation may have been a work service call or some other kind of visit, but the man there met and led us from the street and along some kind of path which passed what seemed to be the entrance to the house. I remember the roof was very low, as if the house was almost entirely underground. We walked all the way across a large area which all seemed to be the roof at varying levels. Off to the opposite side from where we parked was a small vestibule through which we were supposed to enter. The entire area seemed like a park or something similar, very green and well-manicured. The guy was very pleasant. We entered and my sense of adventure peaked. Once down the stairs, I noticed everything -- all surfaces -- were a rich wood and quite dark. All of the woodwork reminded me of an old job in the Avenues where there was a master carpenter trimming everything in real wood. The place was beautiful as I have always loved wood over paint on almost anything. We were in a small room with various openings around the outside to access other areas, and a couple of staircases led elsewhere. Very mysterious and intriguing. The scene faded as my curiosity grew. Then I was on a street like in the City with several other people around me. We were trying to climb atop one of the houses because they looked like the one described above, or maybe it was the same place from a different angle. All around the neighborhood were old houses with rooflines which were very low. We tried to begin climbing and then a nice lady came out and told us we were welcome to enter and look around. Huge areas, long hallways, one enormous room that reminded me of the Wheelhouse Saloon on the Sapphire Princess with tons of wood panels, trim and deep chairs. I think there was a bar in that room. I had a hard time moving around because there was so much furniture. The rooms may have been parts of the house described above. I loved all of it and was intrigued like seeing the Winchester in San Jose years ago. Like mazes or puzzles, and also like the houses I used to draw with secret passages and lots of complexity for creating places to hide.
I may be dreaming of all the wood lately partially due to the big funeral home on the show. The more I see of that place the more I love it. Only on television or possibly a vacation have I seen such beautiful architecture and woodwork. That is something I have always wanted to live within, as opposed to stucco, sheetrock and whatever else seems to be directed toward a 'budget'. Tract homes are all the same. Those of which I dream are generally influenced by what I have drawn in the past combined with real buildings I have visited. The cruise ships are possibly a part of that. Even those mansion visions in which I am trying to hide away, pursue or otherwise connect with a woman have all been focused upon the appearances of homes in reality. Oy fuck there she is. Eyes. Eh... Anyway... The dreams usually disappear quickly upon waking. This one stuck with me for quite a bit longer, along with the typical disappointment upon waking. At least no woman. One good thing. I'll have to get off my rear soon and take care of business. Sitting here too long will influence and jade my mind to the point of falling down somewhat. Tempering the site work with chores is very important. And chores are finished. Not only have I taken care of business, but I switched from Jamie's eyes to those of Jolene. Yep, her again. After cruising through to the end of the fourth series, I decided to go straight to the fifth. What the hell, right? One pair of eyes right after the other. Nothing like that takes place on the fourth show, though. Nada. And I have not gone beyond the typical daily routine. I'm not feeling it right now. I should have entitled this 'three impossibilities', although there are more than that. Three main, and then a few tertiary ideas. The fact that nothing can come to pass -- ever -- is the point. I have spent much time vacillating and boiling everything down during the past year and the conclusions are many. I wish I could name more than one material item, but the truth is I cannot as the rest are feelings and situations. The parts of me which have been missing are moving ever further away, as well. The summation is not good. No choice, though. The hopeless feeling returned for a short time upon completing the routine this morning. On top was the fourth issue slapping me in the face over and over. I succeeded in derailing the latter and am currently formulating methods for dealing with the former. As much as I need comfort and that ridiculous perpetual familiarity of media, sometimes nothing helps. The media is always there, though, at my command... Unlike anything else. I cannot easily deal with a combination of issues most days. Enough uphill already takes place. Jamie appears understanding while Jolene appears analytical. I don't understand the draw. Maybe the title is inappropriate. Yesterday the worry nearly had me gushing more information than would have been comfortable. I am currently fighting a battle between not only two different fears, but also back and forth between living with this shit and pouring everything out for no other reason than to have more to push me down. Yes, I said that. If my fear of someone knowing of the inner processes comes to fruition, I will no longer have reason or the ability to interact with people. Complete withdrawal, for sure. The idea is enticing and has been right behind my eyes for a very long time (decades), but I don't know if it would feel the way I need. Spilling everything would most likely result in my pulling away from everyone, and as wondrous as that may be, the truth is I cannot predict the outcome. The tennis match just keeps going... Set after set. A bit of the show had me at sixes and sevens again, just like the previous series. During those moments I lost track of the dialog due to inner turmoil and worry. Once following along again, half of my brain was preoccupied by calculating just how much time would pass before it repeated. Not good, but such is me. The worry was all inside and all about the inside. Don't ask. The rub is a scarce possibility. The double-edged sword comes to mind -- a vorpal weapon -- and could be the absolute end of me. Others modifying their behavior to suit me is unfair and has no real solution in life. Either I know and fall down or my imagination crafts things which make me fall down. Knowing or not knowing... Which? Gushing everything and finding only understanding is a real chance. I can't bullshit that one. The problem lies within one of two aftermaths. The first is I end up exactly the same plus embarrassed for revealing so much. The second is I end up worse because there could be a massive expansion of what I cannot know. This whole thing is bending my brain like the worst time-travel story. Lose-lose? Perhaps. There is no way out of this. Either choice is bad and will result in cessation of ties. Another day. It happened again yesterday. A bit of discussion and some understanding later... And... I am just the same. Might as well not address the issue any longer. And then in the evening? Yep... Another dinner I could not taste. This is making me very angry. Between those two pointed situations, all my strength is required in avoiding a complete fucking violent breakdown. How I am still sitting here right now is a fucking mystery. Deeper and deeper into the daily routine and hiding myself away throughout months means I can still have my favorite things to watch and eat. Well, both have been going bad. While alone there is no problem. I have the shows on during the day and lunch is fine. Later? Everything turns to shit and I have just about had it. The big three is being reduced to one during specific times. I may need to plan my days accordingly and take advantage of the middle hours since my evening will be good for very little anymore. Just booze, I guess, and the occasional peppermint in the off chance that things improve. I have to say, for a person who values the flavor and timing so much, this kind of thing is both frustrating and mystifying. I don't understand. If it is the aforementioned voodoo, well, I can't do anything about it. Life has been one huge controversy when it comes to that subject. Good... Bad... Real... Unreal... Who knows? I have no faith in anything. One more time for posterity: I have no fucking faith in anything. Not anymore. And this brings up a thought... What do I have to lose if I spill my whole life out all over the place? Can I possibly become worse? Moreover, does it matter if I worsen? I could dump everything over which I have been agonizing for a very long time and then just sit here like I am right now. What would be different? Feeling fear? It's there anyway. Angry? There anyway. Withdrawn? Already there. Since I have no faith remaining, I cannot know of the catharsis. That might be overstating the entire shitaree. Eh, whatever. I'll figure an avenue and then swing this moveable feast in such a direction just to watch the fallout. And then I'll be sitting right here exactly the same for God-knows how long and attempting to explain myself. Laugh it up. I guess my days will be focused between waking and early afternoon. Beyond that? Nothing but simple comforts and perhaps back to this ill-advised adventure. No other ideas. Maximize the familiar comfort. Today is Star Wars day. I almost forgot. Some do not believe that I can bury myself deeper. Wait for it, honestly. Fortification. And that is partly due to some drawings and a little adventure born of the house dream the other morning. Everything is sort of tying together and motivated by issues and my need to be separated from the mass. Yesterday I snagged the sketch pad to jot a few things down because the old drawing of one of my favorite homes is up on the wall to my left. I drew it in the mid-nineties (almost immediately after the glow) and recently dug it up to frame. Well, the dream the other day brought up all the woodwork which was what I had in mind when drawing that floorplan in the first place. My old fascination with Disney theming and the idea of a living space reflecting some of their work pushed the house design into adventurous territory. So, the dream put that old drawing in mind and I began to work on an underground version. It's something to do, anyway. I also dug up the original plan I came up with after a Crestron advertisement from many years ago. My nephew still has the main floorplans which all grew from the original, but I can probably replicate a large house from the beginning. This is going to take up quite a bit of my time. Plus, the new model will be here tomorrow and open another week or more of building. I can bury myself. Believe it. Moreover, my old floorplans were always very secure, meaning the homes were to be built very stout and with privacy in mind. So, sitting in this little house and keeping myself away from others means I need to consider those old facets of my personality and implement them here. I need to feel safe and separate or nothing else will matter. If I indeed open my vault of information, something must be there to catch me after the fact. I shall be hidden away. The house design can work in concert with my need to be invisible.
'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Sing it. And here I am with hours ahead to do whatever seems best. Right now? This is it. And allow me to point out this content has wavered all over the map. Jamie and Jolene up there, issues (like always), homes, dreams, whatever. What a mess. I'm in the same downtrodden bad fucking mood which began shortly before 'Ceaseless' and I do not see relief on the horizon. All I can do is remain busy with anything. My options are shrinking as quickly as my patience. Life has become one big ball of ridiculous discomfort. Had I known I would turn out such as I am while living back during the glow, I would not be sitting here spouting right now. Believe it. That horrible feeling has passed, partially due to the idea that there can still be something keeping me comfortable, and somewhat because of the possibility of enjoyments. Back to the gangsters for a little while. Fortification means lots of things, not the least of which is physical security. This may have been influenced by the underground house in the dream. I can't be certain, but the idea seems feasible. All the way back to the oldest floorplans -- some of which had a vault door to the master bedroom -- I felt the need to be hidden away. I cannot get into the reasoning, though. Too painful. I will say that my recent mention of the coworker and his cold insult is related, deeply. That is a pit out of which I have never been able to climb, nor was it the only occasion when such a dysphemism was thrown in my direction. I could have snapped his neck for unknowingly perpetuating something which plagued me for decades. Well, that career ended and I left it behind, so perhaps not the end of the world. Right now I can still feel a level of anger which will likely push the fortification. That paragraph began and ended with the same word. Heh. I cannot describe any of that shit from the past. Too embarrassing. Suffice to say I spent much time near many examples of one type of person and I am vastly different. I think much rather than spouting words like an out of control waste line. Always on the other side of that fucking wall, to be sure. Always. Honestly? More than ever. The 'p' word on the show yesterday was fucking hilarious. It is offensive, yet in the context of the scene I could not help but be amused. They did a good job of lightening the dialog. It happens once in a while. We spoke about it some and concluded that not all harsh language is necessarily bad. It can add realism and humor at times. That scene was one of the rare occasions in which I did not file away all sorts of problems as a result of media. Just too damned funny, and in a self-deprecating manner. The show is worth whatever may be thrown from the screen. We discussed that fact, as well. The train is so far out in the distance that I cannot feel the slightest vibration on the rails. Red signals, too. Do you know what this means? Eh... You probably thought the train analogies were done after EoT. Nope. The cold rails never end. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. 'You've got that... SHOTGUN shine.' I have deep feelings for Jamie's character but they will not intrude upon real life. No way. That is different. I am not some starry-eyed child looking at an issue of Tiger Beat. I am grown, intelligent, and I understand the difference. She helps me, nothing more. And as crazy as it may come across, I need her up there sometimes to show me that there is good in the world. Read into that whatever you wish. The fact that she happens to be more beautiful than life itself is another matter. Just don't sit there and think I love her for any other reason than to provide solace. The woman is fictional, dipshits. Get over it. Jamie represents one idea and Jaime another. Go back a hundred thousand lines and read all this crap again. Wow does Emily Wickersham have a fucking face. Had, anyway. I don't know where she went from this show. I suppose in and around the work today I will carry on with the drawings. The oldest design I derived from the magazine ad will commence, too. I need to see that huge, square home again. That may have been the one for which I was most proud. The old drawing up there on the wall will find direction again as it relates to the underground idea. I need to explore that and return to those old bike rides up Parkmeadow when my buddy and I dreamed of living in a big home. The feeling inside is still there, believe it or not. Forty fuckin years later and I can still see the images of where we hoped to be later in life. The destination will remain unrealized, however. I am a living dead-end these days. At least I can draw and dream. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. There is still a positive to being here in this house every day, and that is a mid-morning feeling after all is quiet and I can go in whatever direction seems best for the day. I am there now. I'll have to remain mindful. Chores, drawings, or other things will come and go as my head continues to wrestle. I have a choice to make. One which could end in nothing much at all, or complete disaster. Fifty-fifty right now. All the while the little piles of crap will accumulate beneath my feet. Tap dance. Cold, steel rails. Fortress? I have to keep in mind the possible fallout. The house can be reworked all I wish, but my brain does not share such an advantage. There can be no knowing until the moment when everything comes forth. One certainty is I will be quite embarrassed no matter the recipient. A therapist knows nothing until exposition and experience, so the idea of heading back in that direction does have a positive component. I've been told in the past to avoid worrying about what that person may be thinking five seconds after ending a session and walking out the door. In the case of someone close? That situation is not as simple. I will be concerned no matter who or what. Right now I just don't know. Catharsis? Probably. Fallout? Could be bad, might be minimal. But I have no doubt of at least some bad results. Soon I'll have to push this and head in a different direction. Only so much can be explored before I become too fucking tired to think anymore. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Ya get the bald guy out. Maybe I should fortify my head instead of the house. 120000 lines of code. What is this? IS she out there?"
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