December 21st, 2021 09:02am pst

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.

Jolie Laide

 read ( words)

"No... Not Angelina Jolie. Get your head out of your ass and look it up.

0646 on whatever the fuck day this is. I don't care. It's all done. No more of this, that, the other. Laide is the word for the inside of the sphere within which I reside and it was built by those fucking people. Today is going to be red-letter, honestly. Fucking bright red. In less than an hour I will have the house to myself and the feeling will be half bliss and half dead. The morning crap cannot be out of the way soon enough. My little world, all pretty and comfortable, must open soon. The tumblers which have aligned lately are displaying pictures I don't wish to see. Yesterday was the last of the pictures, a bad one. I must move myself away from those parts of life which harm me. That process began when I turned on the coffee pot a little while ago. It will never end. 0745 now. Hopefully the alone time matters in some way. I want it to matter, yet nothing is under my control these days. Malfunctioning, head in the bad spaces of the world, nothing satisfying, and ahead I see more of the same, if not something worse. Today is not good. The beginning of a process I predicted long ago.

The hosting expired and will suspend in two days. I have to decide if continuing to publish is worth it. There have been gaps in the past -- hosting issues, switching registrars, etc. -- and I never worried over a break in the content being live. Now? I don't know. None of the titles are available, anyway, so what would it matter to anyone if the whole works is dark? Maybe the forest mindset has become more necessary than ever. I never really embraced the ideals and principles despite being inside for a while now. I should have, though, because perhaps closing off what is left could have helped me avoid the damage of the last couple of months. I even went so far as to lay out the guns and explore the meaning behind each, as well as causes. The fact is I have as of yet done exactly squat about anything even though I have begun to feel genuine hatred for parts of the world and society, and severe dissatisfaction and disdain for those close to me. They just don't realize the fragility or gravity of the situation. I have not expressed much at all. I can't do it here and expect another human being to understand, so perhaps the hosting can go away until such time as I feel it is safe to return to the production environment with a clear head. Admitting the anger has been affecting my daily life should be a given by this late date. I'll just let it go and they can toss the files.

The quiet is nice but I have much to do today. The donations will be picked up tomorrow morning, so I have to get everything organized and labeled before close of business today. I also need to head over to the market for a few things in support of dinner. With my luck there will be some sort of goddess in there carrying a map of my former brain so I can return here and drown myself.

This situation is very bad. My life has been narrowing so much that I can barely turn my head to the left or right to view whatever is nearby. Like blinders, yet I did not don them. Someone else put them on my head and walked away with a smirk. Just like all those years of little remarks here and there which drove home the point that I am very different... Like a nail through my cranium. The hammers are many. Right now I need to focus upon anything which keeps me away from danger and close some of the doors allowing others in. Locked. The only downside to cutting off the world is the idea that they may be thinking about me in whatever manner and I will be in no position to either show them different or defend myself, if necessary. I'll have to remain open-minded and assume no one is thinking bad things. That is a huge trade for being alone. Unfortunately, I do not see another way to get through this shit. Believe me, I've tried.

The first step in this process will be speaking less. Yes, I mean actually using my voice to address or respond to anyone. I have to keep quiet no matter how compelling conversation may seem. I've felt enough pain, plowed enough shit, and taken enough heat for ten lifetimes. And don't fucking start comparing me with others, either. That is bullshit. Some may be shared, yet the fact is I cannot handle the comparison, nor am I willing to entertain ideas about those who have affected me. They do not deserve my consideration. Laide. Ugly, just like the hands of the clock constantly moving. They are ugly and no longer worth my breath.


Almost time for me to rise and care for some stuff. I have roughly eight hours alone -- possibly nine -- and fully intend to embrace the atmosphere being under my complete control. One person in existence is fine. Two? Eventually they will procreate, argue, whatever. A few millennia later? War. Let's nip this shit in the bud so I don't have to go to war with society. I'll lose that one in a cold minute. What does all that mean? It pretty much starkly lays out the idea that if I do not interact with other people I can avoid problems. Make sense? Oh, but will I get lonely? Probably. I've been there and came out the other side just fine. More than worth the trade. I believe some of the shit I have avoided recently is due to not enough motivation, and said motivation does not come from within. I need reasons. Having everything in order is not reason enough, but feeling that I've accomplished some things means no one can take issue with my behavior. See? I want them to remain at a distance. Remember all that 'do not approach' crap? This may be the actual time for such a slap. I'll be out there very soon.

Ugly, yet still pretty. Like this day. Forget the others. 1025 and things are in motion. I have to drink a bit, so I'm here again for a little while. Maybe when the glass is empty I can move the day forward. Maybe. I just can't care much, unfortunately. Third-season Jamie up there with her snobby, elitist shithead boyfriend. She is super cute. He is a piece of work. Whatever. He'll be gone soon enough.

There are too many things wrong inside me for this to be enjoyable or easy anymore.

I may yet lose my way today. Absolutely nothing is even remotely appealing right now. I must get the donations in order and labeled, though. Tomorrow will be here soon enough and I can't have all that shit sitting in the garage for much longer without flipping the fuck out and starting a fire. Maybe the best choice is to finish the project before lunch because all too often I completely lose my head afterward. Since the shit came and went early this morning, I don't really feel good in any way, so perhaps if the afternoon arrives with some semblance of accomplishment I won't belabor everything. Oof God damn fucking shit, the worst song in history is playing in the background. I hope it doesn't last too long. The melody and lyrics make me very angry. There are others, of course, yet this one is still the king of 'fucked'. Anyway, once all that crap is gone tomorrow I can straighten out there and hopefully feel better about the one space I've worked so hard to make nice. The bathroom is another story, however. When I walk in there I feel like shit all over again, and no matter how much effort I put into everything else, I still see nothing but problems. If I indeed lose my way in a little while, the bathroom will be the cherry on top. Not good, but is anything?

I fucking hate society, media, people more than ever. I am more alone than one could imagine. Even saying the words is not enough. Nothing is enough. There are not enough words in existence nor enough fucking time for me to adequately express how I feel lately. The thoughts in my head may fly up a dress from time to time, but the truth is that is only a distraction, and a weak one to boot. Even sex has not the power to help me. And I have no hope in that direction, anyway. My world is shutting the fuck down for the second time.

The discussion yesterday veered into the idea of my level of sensitivity and how it continues to increase no matter the circumstances or whatever another person may tell me. The funny part is I routinely watch some of the harshest, most sexual and violent television programming ever produced. Funny? Maybe. But I know it due to repeated viewing and longevity. How did I embrace such media in the first place? Well, there were times when I was a touch more open-minded. No longer, though. Knowing the stories backward and forward means I also know the characters, and they are very well-written and acted. That is what keeps me coming back. Of course I realize there will be problems along with the fantastic parts, so watching alone most of the time helps. I don't feel the need to explain all my shit to anyone. And believe me when I say there is a massive, overpowering rub related to one program in particular which I have NEVER fully explained to anyone, ever. I cannot. The way I feel right now is very bad (small) and weak (desperate). Both are going to continue to build until I completely give up. Jolie Laide. Pretty and ugly at the same time, forever. I have comfort. I also have misery.

There is a word deeply embedded within all things above and I will not place it here. Rest assured, that word will reign as the absent, governing factor in every thread of my life. I can't say it. Don't ask. Eh... The site will be gone soon enough anyway.


The conversation helped me to realize just how fucking weak and sensitive and paranoid I have become as a result of all the shit strikes and cold words throughout the years since I came to this town. Never before had I been chopped down so quickly and effectively as since that fateful, hellish period called 'eleven'. Sometimes the person in question pulls love and sympathy from my heart, while during other moments I begin to wish I had burned black any connection during the early days. Absolutely fucked bloody and left to rot next to the sea.

'Small... A speck... In the wide blue sea.
'Tis the last of all the land.
A dweller upon our lonesome isle; the last lonely man.'

I am so fucking alone that the words don't begin to scratch the surface of the tempered bars of this prison. I am not long for society. Having permanently cut myself off from the universe that is social media, I am actually both proud of myself and dramatically better off for the action. Unfortunately, the world still revolves around all of it and I am helpless to live without some sort of shit influence flowing through other people and heading in my direction. I may have lopped off those services like decaying branches, but the effects still trickle down to me from time to time. Yet another enormous reason for me to remain completely alone. Whatever other words and phrases have been employed here in recent years are no longer applicable. There are only two which really matter. You can guess all you wish. No one will ever know because they are not worth the time or effort in me either typing or speaking.

Do you like the images? Deranged pelican. I have been separated from myself... From those places in my heart... From everything which has driven me into the ground and then the stars. I have arrived, alone, and shall be here for all time, dead or otherwise. Nothing fucking matters because nothing can return. Push, pull. The ugly and the pretty. I am losing track of the pretty. The images don't matter anymore.

This is a bad time.

Completely lost. I cannot bring back what was, I can only work in the now. But why? Over and over the slams, strikes and other shit bring me down and force me to realize that the damage of the past rules my life. No matter the day, week, year, whatever... I will continue to slide down a mountain I did not build. I did not fucking do this to myself. And don't give me a blast of shit about embracing the positive, holding on to the 'good things', or any other hollow platitudes and sayings. Too long have I labored until bleeding the idea that there can be improvements or solace. Too. Fucking. Long. I will try no more. The ugly.

What about the pretty? The Jolie? Nope. I don't see it anymore. I shall sit here and type, eat whatever either brings comfort or seems appealing, and fall down further immediately afterward. There is no other way to approach the future. Far too much has been destroyed. They did this. I would say they shall pay, but I am harmless, weak, helpless and sans hope. There is no point in lashing at anyone else. People may as well be as dead as I am. Curse them. Curse all of them.

No one will ever know the reasoning behind me giving up because they are not worth the time it takes to speak of such things. The breath. The expression or exposition. No more of that. Closed, completely. Shuttered.

Black. Not all those other references since the early zeros, either. The REAL black. Suck it.


I recall 'Julianne and the End of All Things', but little did I know at the time... Everything was better. Not like the glow, but better. That was not the end.

The perpetual aftermath. Yep. The ugly. This is, quite literally, the WORST I have ever felt about any aspect of life.


1449 and the donations are ready to go for tomorrow morning. I also did a bit of organization out there since all the crap is set to be picked up. Afterward, I'll have a much easier time maintaining that important space. It used to be my new office. Now it is just a showplace for the lighting, decorations and my stupid fucking truck. At least I did something after lunch. The positives are minuscule when held against the grand inquisition inside my head. Ugly, still. This is a bad time. As if the morning failure was not enough. I suppose the evening relaxation and media will have to hold me up because nothing else seems to fit the bill. I worked out there for more than an hour, have everything ready to go, yet still I am breathing at the bottom of the ocean. This shit must become the norm, and soon.

I went to the market and was pleased to see the appetizer with exposed midriff was absent. That is a positive. The last thing I need right now is a splash of form standing before me. Yesterday went all to hell because of the same. I was weakened by need and crushed by my own limitations, eventually leading me off the cliff and into a barren chasm from which there is no way out. Temptation? Eh... Maybe.

Tuesday morning, gangsters, coffee. One hour before the donations go to the driveway. Once that is completed, I'll have my time alone. Today I really need it because people do not seem to want to hear my voice. I tried last night and was pushed, so I clammed up. Other voices tend to irritate me but I never considered the same could be thrown back in my direction. That is a lesson and a change as of this morning. I'll be more quiet than ever, hopefully leading those near me to return the favor. The way I feel right now? I honestly don't give a shit if NO ONE EVER addresses me again. I am more than happy to be muted. Never thought of that.

This is a bad time. Ugly. Dry. Coarse.

There are so many difficult subjects in my head that sometimes I feel like drilling a hole up there to let them pour out all over the ground. Nearly the only time I am close to being at peace is either sitting in front of this keyboard or sleeping. I don't seem to have any trouble with the latter. The former? All I have anymore outside the sphere of other people. The anger is not helping, either. Between others snubbing what I am saying and the already very dire thinking in my brain, this keyboard may not help as I had thought, but the fact is I can veil the words and type whatever I've been feeling. It this good? Good for me? I don't believe it is, yet once again I tend to think of this more like a diary rather than a log. Honestly? I don't know what the fuck this site is anymore. I thought it helped, I was wrong. The days and weeks combined with what I see and hear from other people drive me here each morning. And then I speak of the day and whatever I need to do, and then I bitch about people being fucked up, and the media, blah. I am in a worse condition now than ever. Nothing helps. This is just a hobby.

Pretty and ugly, yet still attractive. What does that indicate? The pretty is diminishing.

Just a few minutes before I must get the morning shit out of the way to make revolutions for quiet and some comfort. Once everything is out of the way I plan to take it easy for a while before the routine. I need to flesh out some ideas that began yesterday so I can further my plans of organization and streamlining. You may have noticed that whenever I feel either threatened or very unhappy I tend to either spend lots of money or begin to go through all my possessions to shrink the footprint. It may sound silly -- like the opposite of something called 'nesting' -- but it helps me to realize my impact here and the necessary steps should I have the reasoning and means to run. A backup plan, I suppose. Other than the aforementioned crap above, nothing dramatic is going to take place in this house today. My head is in an ugly place and I do not feel appreciated anymore. I feel like an appliance. That is not good. The pretty may as well be a frightened bird. The ugly has the reins.

0812 and all the stuff is on the driveway ready to be picked up. No idea when they will arrive but at least I'm ready. That is a big load out of the garage. Now I am left to my ever-failing devices. Another ugly day. Gangsters. I've gone through all eighty-six hours in one month. Unbelievable.


The remainder of this free time will likely be wrought with confusion, worry, disdain for those people and a complete lack of direction. The morning always seems wide open, yet later everything drags to a halt, as if the train of life travels exclusively upon spurs. No way out. No through-way. Thoroughfare? Nope. Dead ends, everywhere. Crows on the fiberglass patio cover again. They are so fucking noisy sometimes. I had to break out the broom and shoo them away. Fuckers. Anyway, between the show and my endless supply of alcohol, the morning will be nice. I have to keep that in mind as the clock runs past noon. That is when everything seems to hit harder and drive me out of my mind. Laide. Every day. Sometimes I cannot even SEE the fucking Jolie.

Pretty and ugly at the same time, but still appealing for some reason. I don't get it. The dreams and worry are permanently fused to the same idea. I don't know what else to do but sit here and stew over the whole shitaree. And this will not matter by close of business tomorrow because I cannot afford to renew the hosting. The site is going to go dark for an undetermined length of time. This happened when migrating back in twelve but I had the shit up and running within days. The current problem has no solution, unfortunately. Everything I write shall remain right here with me. At least I need not concern myself with the reactions of others. One positive.

This is a bad time.

Being shut down last night has me thinking. A lot. The only answer for the time being would be to close my mouth as much as possible and not express anything outside the normal daily scope. If I can, a different problem may be alleviated, too. That of people speaking to me. Ugh the song during the middle and end of this episode makes me want to burn the media system. I can't fucking stand it because it basically takes all of my fears and lays them out in such a manner so as to invite paranoia. I really don't need that right now on top of everything currently nagging my brain. I just can't fucking have it. Like so many other songs, the basic idea outlined is that of worry. I have enough already. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch, Jamie's hair at the outset of this episode is unreal. Nearly black, just wavy enough to appear full of body, and oh so long. I could eat that fucking hair right off her pretty head. Every time I see it I realize the upside to the closing song from the previous episode... The pendulum swings from fear and uncertainty to yearning and appreciation for her vast beauty. And this is but the third season. The magic is still yet to come. That fucking hair... All floating hearts and desperation apparent. Jesus God in heaven, she is art of the highest order. Yep, I did it again... Went on about Jamie. Fucking sue me. I'm broke anyway. And there is Jackie. Brainless, also of the highest order.

Where was I?

Shut down last night. I'm seeing the exchange now as a good thing. It will keep me in check. Sometimes I get the idea to keep my Laide words inside and remain quiet, yet the compulsion to be the public 'me' comes around and I gush before thinking. Nothing bad, but basically speaking too much. The bottom line to this is I do not want anyone knowing what is going on in my head. Control? Probably. Manipulative? I don't think so. This is more like forcing them to wonder. Yeah, it's control. Plain and simple. I need it. I must advance myself beyond the continuing words and repeating thoughts to a place where I am more comfortable and less exposed. People don't really know me now, so to go further could be an answer. I cannot begin to justify my position as controlling and selfish, although both have been born of fear. Lots of it. No one knows the full extent, either. I let slip a bit two days ago, though. Still not the end of it. There is no fucking end to it. And for the thousandth time, I DID NOT DO THIS, FUCKERS. Leave me alone, please. I shall make my own way to wherever I need to be.

Swung. Jolie Laide; pretty; ugly; pretty fucking ugly. Darkness. Bad time.

'Dream with the feathers of angels stuffed beneath your head.'

Maybe I can do something different today."