A Line in the Sand Mature content No. 227 Published March 4th, 2021 8:53am pst read ( words) Past entries "Still 3-2, morning. 'Fabrication' was just published and I have no idea why nor what it means. Whatever. Oy Leeta again, bless her goofy eyes. The business of the early morning is complete and my day is ahead. The usual routine and another listing for auction, plus the drill press must be advertised. Like the old radial arm, I am certain it will go quickly. Paying it forward feels good sometimes. I will not ask money for something I received free. The new office has shaped up nicely in the past week, too. Lots of space out there now. More to come. Look at Cindy. She reminds me of the woman at the cable store years ago. She shared the first name and was very helpful. Lovely, too. Eh... Doesn't matter anymore. Beauty has changed from a fascination to nothing more than a huge problem. 'We are back at the beginning of this'. Ruslana was in the previous entry, just in case anyone noticed her big eyes all down the page. The image quality left a bit to be desired, unfortunately. Her unique appearance lost nothing despite any pixelation, though. Just a fact of life. Going back to Cindy, she is yet another fucking Brazilian. Unbelievable. Lately there have been faces that are so difficult to understand that I felt compelled to include them here. Cindy is at the top of the list in the current climate. Put yourself to the ground. Thinking of the very short period after my parents pulled me out of the glass plant to work for their new lab has been floating in my head this morning. Building the computers, pickup and delivery of test equipment, and beginning to learn the technical side of the business were all rolled into just a few months before everything changed. The big stores were involved during the beginning of their business, too. Rolled up and tied with a bow. That time was very different than the previous glow because I destroyed it. Yep. I have to come to terms with the idea of all the glowing years being behind and unable to return. And while I am certain that any change in the future will lead to fond memories of the last many months of being at home, it will not compare. Yes, I know there were problems back during the glow, however the offset shows much more. The likelihood of all of my family still being present causing more emotion cannot be denied, though. There is just no getting around the idea. They were there. Now they are not. Leeta's eyes are huge sometimes. I was supposed to explore the fabrication much more. Alas, it is difficult to go over something like that without revealing sensitive issues. I have stated many times that everything is related, but honestly the fabrication is tied up in 'two', which means I must be careful. Hence the subject being barely glanced and then nearly forgotten in that writing. It's too much. I really believe the whole thing began with a visit to that restaurant out in the valley and the tidbits picked up as a result. It keeps going to this very second and I cannot do a fucking thing about any of it. Curious... Two events may have led to the amplification of the 'two'. They may have been from the eighties or others more recently. Either way, the whole ball of wax is inside and will not leave. I may as well go to the beach and pound sand. Same result. Many recent entries have gone into a very ambiguous attempt to describe the problem, yet very little has been said. There are way too many swimsuits in this episode of the third show. Maybe I'll change it. I need to see Leeta like I need to be slathered in adult video actors. 8:34am. A little coffee left. Lots I wish to do today. First? Whatever this is. One path I have been considering lately is the idea of just leaving everything the way it is and moving forward in whatever manner keeps me sane and comfortable. I don't know if such an idea is even possible now, yet I can see how life could be driven toward similar thinking no matter what I attempt. It may be in the cards... Those dealt for survival. I cannot stand the thought of continuing along this slow decline into aloneness and nothingness. The situation will drive me out of my mind. Yep, further out than I am right now. Not the basement, though, because that is rather expected. Something much worse. Right now I just don't fucking know. Either a catalyst will materialize or I will be forever undecided. Just because the idea of leaving things as they are can be appealing with regard to my mental health, I honestly don't know if I am able to actually make it happen. Ugh. Jesus, Terry is so fucking tall. Funny, the director put her next to Vanessa several times in this episode. The difference is striking. They are not real. Reality has been steeped in disappointment. A line must be drawn. One for others to toe. Yes, you read that correctly. Time to get up and do something. Pause. 10:45am. The daily routine is complete. Coffee gone, but no kitchen cocktail this morning. I also completed and mailed a form to withdraw what little pension I have from working in the union. The funds are more important now than the future, although that seems to be a paradox. Whatever. One day at a time, as the AA people would say. The one auction ended very well and there is another new listing which seemed to gain interest almost immediately. More than twenty bids in a very short period of time means it will be fun to watch. Six more days for that guy. The visit is soon. I'll have to finish things and then eat. Stop. 3-3, 6:21am. I used to get up much earlier. I do not believe the fabrication can end. Or, will end. I understand the manner in which my mind works and has actually operated throughout the last several years, and others do, as well. Considering how adamant I have been in trying to work within the confines of being obsessed with something nearly impossible to achieve, there can be no surprise in believing the same could be within another's mind. A woman, too. Fabrication was not explored nearly as deeply as it should have in the previous entry. But, moving forward is the only way. I can't fucking sit here and lament things over which I hold zero control. All I can do is either work with what is out there or shut it off completely. The clues and worries have been cemented lately, meaning the cost of remaining quiet and closed could skyrocket should anything else take place. There have been too many fucking occasions for me to simply let go and live as a relaxed person. The very idea of being completely at ease while around others is no longer an option in this life. Not for me. The fabrication and those events have ruined everything. This is where the fucking line is supposed to be. I see either continuing as things are now or cutting off the difficulty completely. The issue there is the fact that nothing will change... I just won't see or hear it. And I will not be right there dealing with whatever may or may not be a fucking fabrication. The incidents have piled up and will not leave, too. Both of those facts add up to me leaving everything status quo and simply moving forward through time while dealing with the trouble inside. That may end up the only choice because absent of any future situations does not mean my brain will wander to wherever it may and cause me to wonder what may be happening. This whole thing just fucking sucks out loud. One problem with going forward sans change is that I cannot sit here and free myself of the worry. Nothing ever leaves. I remember everything. No control so long as there is a mind. And this is heading nowhere. Today I am going to move along with the listings. Two items selling well in the last few days are inspiring me to go further. More stuff out the door and more cash in hand. Very good. I have two other trinkets which may end up on the auction site. I am spreading out the listings, too. I don't like to ship multiple items on the same day. Hopefully someone will bite at the drums. That's a chunk of room. Other than the selling, my usual routine is on tap along with some image editing. As you may have noticed, the images of Cindy are very large and clear. Anything less would not do her justice. Hard to find, though. I'll do my best to maintain some order of photographic content from now on. The labia images are becoming intrusive and far too personal. They may all go away in favor of faces. Whatever. They still look nice and are completely natural. So, lots of computer time this day. What about the line? 7:38am. Almost time to rise and do a few things. Pause. 9:13am. No line yet. I have no idea of how to proceed. Some things cannot be pushed away. No control there. The day is ahead and I have one chore out of the way. I was trying to clean some tape residue from a watch box so it can be clean for listing, but alas the stickiness is not easy to remove. I'll have to use an acid brush and lots of elbow grease. If I can get the thing completely clean, the auction will be more valuable. The watch itself is fairly sought-after these days having been originally released to stores during the glowing years. I remember dreaming of owning one but the price was way too high for my means at the time. This is the third one I've owned since the early zeros. The other two were sold to make room for other concerns. Well, it looks as if that is happening again. The fact is I don't wear it much. Two watches may go. The other is on the fence right now. Downsizing is my main project these days. The two will not go away. Even sitting here right now completely alone in the quiet, I have the first show on and remember when problems arose and became inflamed due to the visuals. I began to look at the screen differently than all those years before. Such behavior and worry should not be happening, especially considering the content involved and my familiarity with every series. While I realize our society is often driven by sexuality, the simple truth is something inside me is fucking broken and leading the worry. Everyone has been exposed to the same shit for many years. For whatever reason (and believe me I've tried to learn), imagery or dialog has a very bad effect upon my head at times whereas I have not seen the same in other people. It may be buried deep inside so no one else can see it -- possibly hiding a fear of which I will never be aware -- or I am too sensitive after all this time, unlike those who find it important to raise themselves while pushing others down. I just don't know the truth. The only certainty is I turned out like this and it bothers me every fucking day. The two. Every Goddamned essay for close to an entire calendar year has included the issue in one form or another. That is how overpowering this condition has become. I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling worry. The only reason I am still holding everything back is because I do not wish to lash. That would be very bad for those near me and push them to take issue with my fucking double standard. Nice, right? No solution, as always. Nothing. I cannot live this way for much longer. Switcheroo. And stop again. 3-4, 6:22am. Thursday. Coffee, whining kitties, and the third show. I have no schedule this morning which means no interruption in thinking like most weekdays. I can take it easy and remain with this as long as is necessary for my peace of mind. After watching one of the longest and most difficult films in memory, my head was actually not all fucked up for once. A little at the time, but nothing overwhelming until this morning. So far today, I have shelved the feelings and kept any trouble at bay until such time as everything can be analyzed clearly. Yesterday did not start out very appealing anyway, so watching the film didn't cause a drop from on high as others have in the past. I was already rather concerned with everything. The massive upside was sitting quietly and following the story as it developed and realizing that if anything went wrong we could have discussed it. Even after bitching about the fabrications and events of the past which have mostly crippled my sense of value, I can still relax and enjoy almost anything. The peaceful nature of this house helps, too. One other part of the screening times is the idea that they mark a shift in the day's mood and some sort of separation from having been alone with my worries and devices. Like flipping a necessary switch in order to be sociable and come across as if the world is mostly in order. It is not -- ever -- but I am the world champion bullshitter. I don't believe this will ever go away. I have written and considered everything for a very long time and the type of difficulty to which I have been referring dates all the way back to the early part of the glowing period. At this point and after everything explored for nearly a year, I am quite certain another path must be treaded. This one is not working. The only positive about being so sensitive and worried is when I fall down over an issue the resulting pissy mood drives me to either clean the hell out of the house or sell things to pull down more cash. It sounds funny but feels dire. Anger rises more often than it did in the past -- even before discussing the foxes and the idea that they can lead me around like a puppy -- often pushing me to ignore everyone and attempt teaching a very harsh lesson. But that is not easy because I have always been a very kind person, meaning I cannot lash out or otherwise upset others for my own advancement. It's not fair. I have been sitting here all this time with nary a solution, so becoming angry had to constantly be shoved far back. I did not want anyone alienated just because my head manufactured all sorts of shit which is likely no one else's fault. Even if I am right and remain this way for the rest of life, I may never be able to take issue with another person as a result. Ugh. That was a mouthful. 'The answer is as clear as the noses on your ugly, little primate faces'. Thanks, Q. So today will be the usual routine followed at some point by a visit to work on the bathroom project. I'll have to remain in mind of the clock as the morning wears on. There is still no damned line because I don't know where it should be located, nor can I find the strength to draw it and invite others to toe up. The visit today will likely push it back even further, too. Everything is related, just like those four issues. The line and the relationships? Forever connected. Maybe I'll just go over there and make nice. That seems to be the best idea lately. One item was shipped off yesterday for a fair price and the other listing is out of control. After only two days it is already nearing my purchase price last summer. I basically collected a pile of knives and installed them all in a display case unknowing of the individual values of a few of them. Well, at least two are pretty famous, so the set is going up in price nicely. In fact, I just removed the shipping cost for whoever wins the auction. Still not a word on the drums, though. Maybe I'll disassemble them and store. As much as I'd like the space, I do not wish to drop the price and lose a ton of money. I can keep them and see if any inspiration comes along in the future. Drill press? Haven't listed it yet, but I'm sure it will go quickly due to being free. The watches are still waiting. One step at a time. Sometimes there are just too many things working on my insides for any concentration during a weekday. I end up pouring that mid-morning drink which helps calm everything, yet that is not a good idea at all. I can become completely dependent upon that type of 'medicine' and then going on without it will cause a fall. I can't fucking have that. I'll have to seek other coping mechanisms and try to keep my head up in different ways while alone. All those little incidents and fabrications (one huge problem in particular) have summed now and forced me to look at everyone differently. I have never enjoyed being deceived, although the count of when it has happened in the past is quite low. Regardless of how people have treated me in the past -- bullshit or otherwise -- I must remain defensive for my own survival. All those little piles of shit still spin me to this very second, meaning as easily as I am knocked down after being so fucking frail for years, all the more easily do I become angry at people. Not good. Not fucking good, at all. I have no wish to unleash my temper upon another person because not only is it generally unkind, but I can be pretty damned harsh. Scarring, really. That is likely another reason behind the numbing effect of booze. Call me what you will. I'm not listening, anyway. I have little regard for people anymore. If I lash and they all go away, who fucking cares? Will I then worry over what they think of me? Maybe. But the truth is I really need to alienate them sometimes. Time will tell. I guess. 7:43am. Second cup of coffee. I located more images of Cindy, and after perusing some very detailed examples of her modeling, I may cease placing the female form here for good. The images help nothing. After all this time I am quite sure my feelings for physical attractiveness are clear. Heh. Whatever. Cindy is just another Brazilian. A person. Where is the line? Is there going to BE a line? Does anyone have a thought regarding where it should rest? I didn't think so. Should I lash and cut off the rest of the world in that manner for which I am famous? No one will like it. No line. Not yet. Will a line be necessary if I fall further down the hill of sensitivity coupled with all those other problems from which I cannot seem to detach? I'm pretty fucking far off the mark right now, let alone after something is drawn between myself and others, so the idea may be just another far-fetched dream of feeling separated in a way which seems fulfilling. Although, the fact is I probably could not survive alone anyway. Honestly, I don't see it. No line yet. Fuck it. You'd think after being complimented eight ways from Sunday on a weekly basis would accomplish something or help. Sometimes, but not always. I see more than they do. And one little tidbit: Keep in mind that no matter how much I fucking spout about a fabrication, keeping secrets is not exclusive to anyone. Decipher that shit. The length of the archive page is irritating me. I may have to split it somehow. Hmm. One facet of the film yesterday bothered me quite a bit, but it may not be the obvious problem. Back when I wrote 'Keywords', there were many aspects of life and self-image which came to a head at that time when combined with some of the fiction. There was a short conversation within the story that both fascinated and frightened me, partly driven by a dream last spring and partly caused by the two. The incident back nearly two years became overwhelming and forced me into a mental hiding place while watching certain types of media. The movie brought it all back to the forefront and all these hours later I am worsening. I don't know what to do and cannot spell it out. This foray into my head is primarily for me, as well, meaning I have been trying to understand the difficulties and placing the words here as therapy. Most of what I write is very shielded because there is no other way to do it without backlash. I can't have anyone fully knowing what is going on inside because the one fear still outweighs the other. Those flying insects at the campgrounds were effectively ignored due to how I may have been viewed had I reacted. One over the other. Well, the same thing happens when I get the idea to reveal everything. I fear the reaction more than what has caused me to withdraw. Keeping everything to myself is safe, for lack of a better term. I do not improve at all, yet I don't need to worry about being ridiculed. And honestly I already know what will happen as a result. There will be so much bullshit that the aftermath will likely be even worse. Once again, there is no machine, and that means the trust must exist in order to find a solution. Round and round we go. I do not see an exit off this hellish highway. So, how does that relate to a line? I suppose the idea of pushing people away seems to be the only method for alleviating the fear, but the reality is none of it would go away or become minimized. I would still wonder, just from a distance rather than up close. The line would not remove anything from inside me. Pipe dream. No way to do it and no good result anyway. Fuck the line. 8:26am and nearly time to do something other than this ill-advised project. The real understanding may in fact not be real at all. Fiction, bullshit, or a type of yearning which has no basis in life. It may be a complete fabrication. There is that word again. I cannot blame Ashley for how she felt, either. She is a person, just like everyone else, and my problems are not her fault. Our time just happened to occur when I was all the way down -- both before Juliette and her loving manner and after. Upon returning home after that wondrous and hell-bent journey, an image formed inside me which carries on to this very moment. It is not real, like the machine, and may never be. I am having a hell of a time dealing with the latter. Everything is related, from the keywords to the imagery to the furthest down I have been pushed through the words and actions of other people. That fucking day keeps returning to my head in the worst way. Good intentions aside, the reality may never be explored no matter the source. Unclear? Get used to it. This will not get any easier for readers or myself. Hmm... Maybe I just drew a line. 302. She is inside." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
A Line in the Sand Mature content No. 227 Published March 4th, 2021 8:53am pst read ( words) Past entries "Still 3-2, morning. 'Fabrication' was just published and I have no idea why nor what it means. Whatever. Oy Leeta again, bless her goofy eyes. The business of the early morning is complete and my day is ahead. The usual routine and another listing for auction, plus the drill press must be advertised. Like the old radial arm, I am certain it will go quickly. Paying it forward feels good sometimes. I will not ask money for something I received free. The new office has shaped up nicely in the past week, too. Lots of space out there now. More to come. Look at Cindy. She reminds me of the woman at the cable store years ago. She shared the first name and was very helpful. Lovely, too. Eh... Doesn't matter anymore. Beauty has changed from a fascination to nothing more than a huge problem. 'We are back at the beginning of this'. Ruslana was in the previous entry, just in case anyone noticed her big eyes all down the page. The image quality left a bit to be desired, unfortunately. Her unique appearance lost nothing despite any pixelation, though. Just a fact of life. Going back to Cindy, she is yet another fucking Brazilian. Unbelievable. Lately there have been faces that are so difficult to understand that I felt compelled to include them here. Cindy is at the top of the list in the current climate. Put yourself to the ground. Thinking of the very short period after my parents pulled me out of the glass plant to work for their new lab has been floating in my head this morning. Building the computers, pickup and delivery of test equipment, and beginning to learn the technical side of the business were all rolled into just a few months before everything changed. The big stores were involved during the beginning of their business, too. Rolled up and tied with a bow. That time was very different than the previous glow because I destroyed it. Yep. I have to come to terms with the idea of all the glowing years being behind and unable to return. And while I am certain that any change in the future will lead to fond memories of the last many months of being at home, it will not compare. Yes, I know there were problems back during the glow, however the offset shows much more. The likelihood of all of my family still being present causing more emotion cannot be denied, though. There is just no getting around the idea. They were there. Now they are not. Leeta's eyes are huge sometimes. I was supposed to explore the fabrication much more. Alas, it is difficult to go over something like that without revealing sensitive issues. I have stated many times that everything is related, but honestly the fabrication is tied up in 'two', which means I must be careful. Hence the subject being barely glanced and then nearly forgotten in that writing. It's too much. I really believe the whole thing began with a visit to that restaurant out in the valley and the tidbits picked up as a result. It keeps going to this very second and I cannot do a fucking thing about any of it. Curious... Two events may have led to the amplification of the 'two'. They may have been from the eighties or others more recently. Either way, the whole ball of wax is inside and will not leave. I may as well go to the beach and pound sand. Same result. Many recent entries have gone into a very ambiguous attempt to describe the problem, yet very little has been said. There are way too many swimsuits in this episode of the third show. Maybe I'll change it. I need to see Leeta like I need to be slathered in adult video actors. 8:34am. A little coffee left. Lots I wish to do today. First? Whatever this is. One path I have been considering lately is the idea of just leaving everything the way it is and moving forward in whatever manner keeps me sane and comfortable. I don't know if such an idea is even possible now, yet I can see how life could be driven toward similar thinking no matter what I attempt. It may be in the cards... Those dealt for survival. I cannot stand the thought of continuing along this slow decline into aloneness and nothingness. The situation will drive me out of my mind. Yep, further out than I am right now. Not the basement, though, because that is rather expected. Something much worse. Right now I just don't fucking know. Either a catalyst will materialize or I will be forever undecided. Just because the idea of leaving things as they are can be appealing with regard to my mental health, I honestly don't know if I am able to actually make it happen. Ugh. Jesus, Terry is so fucking tall. Funny, the director put her next to Vanessa several times in this episode. The difference is striking. They are not real. Reality has been steeped in disappointment. A line must be drawn. One for others to toe. Yes, you read that correctly. Time to get up and do something. Pause. 10:45am. The daily routine is complete. Coffee gone, but no kitchen cocktail this morning. I also completed and mailed a form to withdraw what little pension I have from working in the union. The funds are more important now than the future, although that seems to be a paradox. Whatever. One day at a time, as the AA people would say. The one auction ended very well and there is another new listing which seemed to gain interest almost immediately. More than twenty bids in a very short period of time means it will be fun to watch. Six more days for that guy. The visit is soon. I'll have to finish things and then eat. Stop. 3-3, 6:21am. I used to get up much earlier. I do not believe the fabrication can end. Or, will end. I understand the manner in which my mind works and has actually operated throughout the last several years, and others do, as well. Considering how adamant I have been in trying to work within the confines of being obsessed with something nearly impossible to achieve, there can be no surprise in believing the same could be within another's mind. A woman, too. Fabrication was not explored nearly as deeply as it should have in the previous entry. But, moving forward is the only way. I can't fucking sit here and lament things over which I hold zero control. All I can do is either work with what is out there or shut it off completely. The clues and worries have been cemented lately, meaning the cost of remaining quiet and closed could skyrocket should anything else take place. There have been too many fucking occasions for me to simply let go and live as a relaxed person. The very idea of being completely at ease while around others is no longer an option in this life. Not for me. The fabrication and those events have ruined everything. This is where the fucking line is supposed to be. I see either continuing as things are now or cutting off the difficulty completely. The issue there is the fact that nothing will change... I just won't see or hear it. And I will not be right there dealing with whatever may or may not be a fucking fabrication. The incidents have piled up and will not leave, too. Both of those facts add up to me leaving everything status quo and simply moving forward through time while dealing with the trouble inside. That may end up the only choice because absent of any future situations does not mean my brain will wander to wherever it may and cause me to wonder what may be happening. This whole thing just fucking sucks out loud. One problem with going forward sans change is that I cannot sit here and free myself of the worry. Nothing ever leaves. I remember everything. No control so long as there is a mind. And this is heading nowhere. Today I am going to move along with the listings. Two items selling well in the last few days are inspiring me to go further. More stuff out the door and more cash in hand. Very good. I have two other trinkets which may end up on the auction site. I am spreading out the listings, too. I don't like to ship multiple items on the same day. Hopefully someone will bite at the drums. That's a chunk of room. Other than the selling, my usual routine is on tap along with some image editing. As you may have noticed, the images of Cindy are very large and clear. Anything less would not do her justice. Hard to find, though. I'll do my best to maintain some order of photographic content from now on. The labia images are becoming intrusive and far too personal. They may all go away in favor of faces. Whatever. They still look nice and are completely natural. So, lots of computer time this day. What about the line? 7:38am. Almost time to rise and do a few things. Pause. 9:13am. No line yet. I have no idea of how to proceed. Some things cannot be pushed away. No control there. The day is ahead and I have one chore out of the way. I was trying to clean some tape residue from a watch box so it can be clean for listing, but alas the stickiness is not easy to remove. I'll have to use an acid brush and lots of elbow grease. If I can get the thing completely clean, the auction will be more valuable. The watch itself is fairly sought-after these days having been originally released to stores during the glowing years. I remember dreaming of owning one but the price was way too high for my means at the time. This is the third one I've owned since the early zeros. The other two were sold to make room for other concerns. Well, it looks as if that is happening again. The fact is I don't wear it much. Two watches may go. The other is on the fence right now. Downsizing is my main project these days. The two will not go away. Even sitting here right now completely alone in the quiet, I have the first show on and remember when problems arose and became inflamed due to the visuals. I began to look at the screen differently than all those years before. Such behavior and worry should not be happening, especially considering the content involved and my familiarity with every series. While I realize our society is often driven by sexuality, the simple truth is something inside me is fucking broken and leading the worry. Everyone has been exposed to the same shit for many years. For whatever reason (and believe me I've tried to learn), imagery or dialog has a very bad effect upon my head at times whereas I have not seen the same in other people. It may be buried deep inside so no one else can see it -- possibly hiding a fear of which I will never be aware -- or I am too sensitive after all this time, unlike those who find it important to raise themselves while pushing others down. I just don't know the truth. The only certainty is I turned out like this and it bothers me every fucking day. The two. Every Goddamned essay for close to an entire calendar year has included the issue in one form or another. That is how overpowering this condition has become. I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling worry. The only reason I am still holding everything back is because I do not wish to lash. That would be very bad for those near me and push them to take issue with my fucking double standard. Nice, right? No solution, as always. Nothing. I cannot live this way for much longer. Switcheroo. And stop again. 3-4, 6:22am. Thursday. Coffee, whining kitties, and the third show. I have no schedule this morning which means no interruption in thinking like most weekdays. I can take it easy and remain with this as long as is necessary for my peace of mind. After watching one of the longest and most difficult films in memory, my head was actually not all fucked up for once. A little at the time, but nothing overwhelming until this morning. So far today, I have shelved the feelings and kept any trouble at bay until such time as everything can be analyzed clearly. Yesterday did not start out very appealing anyway, so watching the film didn't cause a drop from on high as others have in the past. I was already rather concerned with everything. The massive upside was sitting quietly and following the story as it developed and realizing that if anything went wrong we could have discussed it. Even after bitching about the fabrications and events of the past which have mostly crippled my sense of value, I can still relax and enjoy almost anything. The peaceful nature of this house helps, too. One other part of the screening times is the idea that they mark a shift in the day's mood and some sort of separation from having been alone with my worries and devices. Like flipping a necessary switch in order to be sociable and come across as if the world is mostly in order. It is not -- ever -- but I am the world champion bullshitter. I don't believe this will ever go away. I have written and considered everything for a very long time and the type of difficulty to which I have been referring dates all the way back to the early part of the glowing period. At this point and after everything explored for nearly a year, I am quite certain another path must be treaded. This one is not working. The only positive about being so sensitive and worried is when I fall down over an issue the resulting pissy mood drives me to either clean the hell out of the house or sell things to pull down more cash. It sounds funny but feels dire. Anger rises more often than it did in the past -- even before discussing the foxes and the idea that they can lead me around like a puppy -- often pushing me to ignore everyone and attempt teaching a very harsh lesson. But that is not easy because I have always been a very kind person, meaning I cannot lash out or otherwise upset others for my own advancement. It's not fair. I have been sitting here all this time with nary a solution, so becoming angry had to constantly be shoved far back. I did not want anyone alienated just because my head manufactured all sorts of shit which is likely no one else's fault. Even if I am right and remain this way for the rest of life, I may never be able to take issue with another person as a result. Ugh. That was a mouthful. 'The answer is as clear as the noses on your ugly, little primate faces'. Thanks, Q. So today will be the usual routine followed at some point by a visit to work on the bathroom project. I'll have to remain in mind of the clock as the morning wears on. There is still no damned line because I don't know where it should be located, nor can I find the strength to draw it and invite others to toe up. The visit today will likely push it back even further, too. Everything is related, just like those four issues. The line and the relationships? Forever connected. Maybe I'll just go over there and make nice. That seems to be the best idea lately. One item was shipped off yesterday for a fair price and the other listing is out of control. After only two days it is already nearing my purchase price last summer. I basically collected a pile of knives and installed them all in a display case unknowing of the individual values of a few of them. Well, at least two are pretty famous, so the set is going up in price nicely. In fact, I just removed the shipping cost for whoever wins the auction. Still not a word on the drums, though. Maybe I'll disassemble them and store. As much as I'd like the space, I do not wish to drop the price and lose a ton of money. I can keep them and see if any inspiration comes along in the future. Drill press? Haven't listed it yet, but I'm sure it will go quickly due to being free. The watches are still waiting. One step at a time. Sometimes there are just too many things working on my insides for any concentration during a weekday. I end up pouring that mid-morning drink which helps calm everything, yet that is not a good idea at all. I can become completely dependent upon that type of 'medicine' and then going on without it will cause a fall. I can't fucking have that. I'll have to seek other coping mechanisms and try to keep my head up in different ways while alone. All those little incidents and fabrications (one huge problem in particular) have summed now and forced me to look at everyone differently. I have never enjoyed being deceived, although the count of when it has happened in the past is quite low. Regardless of how people have treated me in the past -- bullshit or otherwise -- I must remain defensive for my own survival. All those little piles of shit still spin me to this very second, meaning as easily as I am knocked down after being so fucking frail for years, all the more easily do I become angry at people. Not good. Not fucking good, at all. I have no wish to unleash my temper upon another person because not only is it generally unkind, but I can be pretty damned harsh. Scarring, really. That is likely another reason behind the numbing effect of booze. Call me what you will. I'm not listening, anyway. I have little regard for people anymore. If I lash and they all go away, who fucking cares? Will I then worry over what they think of me? Maybe. But the truth is I really need to alienate them sometimes. Time will tell. I guess. 7:43am. Second cup of coffee. I located more images of Cindy, and after perusing some very detailed examples of her modeling, I may cease placing the female form here for good. The images help nothing. After all this time I am quite sure my feelings for physical attractiveness are clear. Heh. Whatever. Cindy is just another Brazilian. A person. Where is the line? Is there going to BE a line? Does anyone have a thought regarding where it should rest? I didn't think so. Should I lash and cut off the rest of the world in that manner for which I am famous? No one will like it. No line. Not yet. Will a line be necessary if I fall further down the hill of sensitivity coupled with all those other problems from which I cannot seem to detach? I'm pretty fucking far off the mark right now, let alone after something is drawn between myself and others, so the idea may be just another far-fetched dream of feeling separated in a way which seems fulfilling. Although, the fact is I probably could not survive alone anyway. Honestly, I don't see it. No line yet. Fuck it. You'd think after being complimented eight ways from Sunday on a weekly basis would accomplish something or help. Sometimes, but not always. I see more than they do. And one little tidbit: Keep in mind that no matter how much I fucking spout about a fabrication, keeping secrets is not exclusive to anyone. Decipher that shit. The length of the archive page is irritating me. I may have to split it somehow. Hmm. One facet of the film yesterday bothered me quite a bit, but it may not be the obvious problem. Back when I wrote 'Keywords', there were many aspects of life and self-image which came to a head at that time when combined with some of the fiction. There was a short conversation within the story that both fascinated and frightened me, partly driven by a dream last spring and partly caused by the two. The incident back nearly two years became overwhelming and forced me into a mental hiding place while watching certain types of media. The movie brought it all back to the forefront and all these hours later I am worsening. I don't know what to do and cannot spell it out. This foray into my head is primarily for me, as well, meaning I have been trying to understand the difficulties and placing the words here as therapy. Most of what I write is very shielded because there is no other way to do it without backlash. I can't have anyone fully knowing what is going on inside because the one fear still outweighs the other. Those flying insects at the campgrounds were effectively ignored due to how I may have been viewed had I reacted. One over the other. Well, the same thing happens when I get the idea to reveal everything. I fear the reaction more than what has caused me to withdraw. Keeping everything to myself is safe, for lack of a better term. I do not improve at all, yet I don't need to worry about being ridiculed. And honestly I already know what will happen as a result. There will be so much bullshit that the aftermath will likely be even worse. Once again, there is no machine, and that means the trust must exist in order to find a solution. Round and round we go. I do not see an exit off this hellish highway. So, how does that relate to a line? I suppose the idea of pushing people away seems to be the only method for alleviating the fear, but the reality is none of it would go away or become minimized. I would still wonder, just from a distance rather than up close. The line would not remove anything from inside me. Pipe dream. No way to do it and no good result anyway. Fuck the line. 8:26am and nearly time to do something other than this ill-advised project. The real understanding may in fact not be real at all. Fiction, bullshit, or a type of yearning which has no basis in life. It may be a complete fabrication. There is that word again. I cannot blame Ashley for how she felt, either. She is a person, just like everyone else, and my problems are not her fault. Our time just happened to occur when I was all the way down -- both before Juliette and her loving manner and after. Upon returning home after that wondrous and hell-bent journey, an image formed inside me which carries on to this very moment. It is not real, like the machine, and may never be. I am having a hell of a time dealing with the latter. Everything is related, from the keywords to the imagery to the furthest down I have been pushed through the words and actions of other people. That fucking day keeps returning to my head in the worst way. Good intentions aside, the reality may never be explored no matter the source. Unclear? Get used to it. This will not get any easier for readers or myself. Hmm... Maybe I just drew a line. 302. She is inside."
A Line in the Sand
Mature content No. 227 Published March 4th, 2021 8:53am pst read ( words) Past entries
"Still 3-2, morning. 'Fabrication' was just published and I have no idea why nor what it means. Whatever. Oy Leeta again, bless her goofy eyes. The business of the early morning is complete and my day is ahead. The usual routine and another listing for auction, plus the drill press must be advertised. Like the old radial arm, I am certain it will go quickly. Paying it forward feels good sometimes. I will not ask money for something I received free. The new office has shaped up nicely in the past week, too. Lots of space out there now. More to come. Look at Cindy. She reminds me of the woman at the cable store years ago. She shared the first name and was very helpful. Lovely, too. Eh... Doesn't matter anymore. Beauty has changed from a fascination to nothing more than a huge problem. 'We are back at the beginning of this'. Ruslana was in the previous entry, just in case anyone noticed her big eyes all down the page. The image quality left a bit to be desired, unfortunately. Her unique appearance lost nothing despite any pixelation, though. Just a fact of life. Going back to Cindy, she is yet another fucking Brazilian. Unbelievable. Lately there have been faces that are so difficult to understand that I felt compelled to include them here. Cindy is at the top of the list in the current climate. Put yourself to the ground. Thinking of the very short period after my parents pulled me out of the glass plant to work for their new lab has been floating in my head this morning. Building the computers, pickup and delivery of test equipment, and beginning to learn the technical side of the business were all rolled into just a few months before everything changed. The big stores were involved during the beginning of their business, too. Rolled up and tied with a bow. That time was very different than the previous glow because I destroyed it. Yep. I have to come to terms with the idea of all the glowing years being behind and unable to return. And while I am certain that any change in the future will lead to fond memories of the last many months of being at home, it will not compare. Yes, I know there were problems back during the glow, however the offset shows much more. The likelihood of all of my family still being present causing more emotion cannot be denied, though. There is just no getting around the idea. They were there. Now they are not. Leeta's eyes are huge sometimes. I was supposed to explore the fabrication much more. Alas, it is difficult to go over something like that without revealing sensitive issues. I have stated many times that everything is related, but honestly the fabrication is tied up in 'two', which means I must be careful. Hence the subject being barely glanced and then nearly forgotten in that writing. It's too much. I really believe the whole thing began with a visit to that restaurant out in the valley and the tidbits picked up as a result. It keeps going to this very second and I cannot do a fucking thing about any of it. Curious... Two events may have led to the amplification of the 'two'. They may have been from the eighties or others more recently. Either way, the whole ball of wax is inside and will not leave. I may as well go to the beach and pound sand. Same result. Many recent entries have gone into a very ambiguous attempt to describe the problem, yet very little has been said. There are way too many swimsuits in this episode of the third show. Maybe I'll change it. I need to see Leeta like I need to be slathered in adult video actors. 8:34am. A little coffee left. Lots I wish to do today. First? Whatever this is.
One path I have been considering lately is the idea of just leaving everything the way it is and moving forward in whatever manner keeps me sane and comfortable. I don't know if such an idea is even possible now, yet I can see how life could be driven toward similar thinking no matter what I attempt. It may be in the cards... Those dealt for survival. I cannot stand the thought of continuing along this slow decline into aloneness and nothingness. The situation will drive me out of my mind. Yep, further out than I am right now. Not the basement, though, because that is rather expected. Something much worse. Right now I just don't fucking know. Either a catalyst will materialize or I will be forever undecided. Just because the idea of leaving things as they are can be appealing with regard to my mental health, I honestly don't know if I am able to actually make it happen. Ugh. Jesus, Terry is so fucking tall. Funny, the director put her next to Vanessa several times in this episode. The difference is striking. They are not real. Reality has been steeped in disappointment. A line must be drawn. One for others to toe. Yes, you read that correctly. Time to get up and do something. Pause. 10:45am. The daily routine is complete. Coffee gone, but no kitchen cocktail this morning. I also completed and mailed a form to withdraw what little pension I have from working in the union. The funds are more important now than the future, although that seems to be a paradox. Whatever. One day at a time, as the AA people would say. The one auction ended very well and there is another new listing which seemed to gain interest almost immediately. More than twenty bids in a very short period of time means it will be fun to watch. Six more days for that guy. The visit is soon. I'll have to finish things and then eat. Stop. 3-3, 6:21am. I used to get up much earlier. I do not believe the fabrication can end. Or, will end. I understand the manner in which my mind works and has actually operated throughout the last several years, and others do, as well. Considering how adamant I have been in trying to work within the confines of being obsessed with something nearly impossible to achieve, there can be no surprise in believing the same could be within another's mind. A woman, too. Fabrication was not explored nearly as deeply as it should have in the previous entry. But, moving forward is the only way. I can't fucking sit here and lament things over which I hold zero control. All I can do is either work with what is out there or shut it off completely. The clues and worries have been cemented lately, meaning the cost of remaining quiet and closed could skyrocket should anything else take place. There have been too many fucking occasions for me to simply let go and live as a relaxed person. The very idea of being completely at ease while around others is no longer an option in this life. Not for me. The fabrication and those events have ruined everything. This is where the fucking line is supposed to be. I see either continuing as things are now or cutting off the difficulty completely. The issue there is the fact that nothing will change... I just won't see or hear it. And I will not be right there dealing with whatever may or may not be a fucking fabrication. The incidents have piled up and will not leave, too. Both of those facts add up to me leaving everything status quo and simply moving forward through time while dealing with the trouble inside. That may end up the only choice because absent of any future situations does not mean my brain will wander to wherever it may and cause me to wonder what may be happening. This whole thing just fucking sucks out loud. One problem with going forward sans change is that I cannot sit here and free myself of the worry. Nothing ever leaves. I remember everything. No control so long as there is a mind. And this is heading nowhere.
Today I am going to move along with the listings. Two items selling well in the last few days are inspiring me to go further. More stuff out the door and more cash in hand. Very good. I have two other trinkets which may end up on the auction site. I am spreading out the listings, too. I don't like to ship multiple items on the same day. Hopefully someone will bite at the drums. That's a chunk of room. Other than the selling, my usual routine is on tap along with some image editing. As you may have noticed, the images of Cindy are very large and clear. Anything less would not do her justice. Hard to find, though. I'll do my best to maintain some order of photographic content from now on. The labia images are becoming intrusive and far too personal. They may all go away in favor of faces. Whatever. They still look nice and are completely natural. So, lots of computer time this day. What about the line? 7:38am. Almost time to rise and do a few things. Pause. 9:13am. No line yet. I have no idea of how to proceed. Some things cannot be pushed away. No control there. The day is ahead and I have one chore out of the way. I was trying to clean some tape residue from a watch box so it can be clean for listing, but alas the stickiness is not easy to remove. I'll have to use an acid brush and lots of elbow grease. If I can get the thing completely clean, the auction will be more valuable. The watch itself is fairly sought-after these days having been originally released to stores during the glowing years. I remember dreaming of owning one but the price was way too high for my means at the time. This is the third one I've owned since the early zeros. The other two were sold to make room for other concerns. Well, it looks as if that is happening again. The fact is I don't wear it much. Two watches may go. The other is on the fence right now. Downsizing is my main project these days. The two will not go away. Even sitting here right now completely alone in the quiet, I have the first show on and remember when problems arose and became inflamed due to the visuals. I began to look at the screen differently than all those years before. Such behavior and worry should not be happening, especially considering the content involved and my familiarity with every series. While I realize our society is often driven by sexuality, the simple truth is something inside me is fucking broken and leading the worry. Everyone has been exposed to the same shit for many years. For whatever reason (and believe me I've tried to learn), imagery or dialog has a very bad effect upon my head at times whereas I have not seen the same in other people. It may be buried deep inside so no one else can see it -- possibly hiding a fear of which I will never be aware -- or I am too sensitive after all this time, unlike those who find it important to raise themselves while pushing others down. I just don't know the truth. The only certainty is I turned out like this and it bothers me every fucking day. The two. Every Goddamned essay for close to an entire calendar year has included the issue in one form or another. That is how overpowering this condition has become. I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling worry. The only reason I am still holding everything back is because I do not wish to lash. That would be very bad for those near me and push them to take issue with my fucking double standard. Nice, right? No solution, as always. Nothing. I cannot live this way for much longer. Switcheroo. And stop again.
3-4, 6:22am. Thursday. Coffee, whining kitties, and the third show. I have no schedule this morning which means no interruption in thinking like most weekdays. I can take it easy and remain with this as long as is necessary for my peace of mind. After watching one of the longest and most difficult films in memory, my head was actually not all fucked up for once. A little at the time, but nothing overwhelming until this morning. So far today, I have shelved the feelings and kept any trouble at bay until such time as everything can be analyzed clearly. Yesterday did not start out very appealing anyway, so watching the film didn't cause a drop from on high as others have in the past. I was already rather concerned with everything. The massive upside was sitting quietly and following the story as it developed and realizing that if anything went wrong we could have discussed it. Even after bitching about the fabrications and events of the past which have mostly crippled my sense of value, I can still relax and enjoy almost anything. The peaceful nature of this house helps, too. One other part of the screening times is the idea that they mark a shift in the day's mood and some sort of separation from having been alone with my worries and devices. Like flipping a necessary switch in order to be sociable and come across as if the world is mostly in order. It is not -- ever -- but I am the world champion bullshitter. I don't believe this will ever go away. I have written and considered everything for a very long time and the type of difficulty to which I have been referring dates all the way back to the early part of the glowing period. At this point and after everything explored for nearly a year, I am quite certain another path must be treaded. This one is not working. The only positive about being so sensitive and worried is when I fall down over an issue the resulting pissy mood drives me to either clean the hell out of the house or sell things to pull down more cash. It sounds funny but feels dire. Anger rises more often than it did in the past -- even before discussing the foxes and the idea that they can lead me around like a puppy -- often pushing me to ignore everyone and attempt teaching a very harsh lesson. But that is not easy because I have always been a very kind person, meaning I cannot lash out or otherwise upset others for my own advancement. It's not fair. I have been sitting here all this time with nary a solution, so becoming angry had to constantly be shoved far back. I did not want anyone alienated just because my head manufactured all sorts of shit which is likely no one else's fault. Even if I am right and remain this way for the rest of life, I may never be able to take issue with another person as a result. Ugh. That was a mouthful. 'The answer is as clear as the noses on your ugly, little primate faces'. Thanks, Q. So today will be the usual routine followed at some point by a visit to work on the bathroom project. I'll have to remain in mind of the clock as the morning wears on. There is still no damned line because I don't know where it should be located, nor can I find the strength to draw it and invite others to toe up. The visit today will likely push it back even further, too. Everything is related, just like those four issues. The line and the relationships? Forever connected. Maybe I'll just go over there and make nice. That seems to be the best idea lately. One item was shipped off yesterday for a fair price and the other listing is out of control. After only two days it is already nearing my purchase price last summer. I basically collected a pile of knives and installed them all in a display case unknowing of the individual values of a few of them. Well, at least two are pretty famous, so the set is going up in price nicely. In fact, I just removed the shipping cost for whoever wins the auction. Still not a word on the drums, though. Maybe I'll disassemble them and store. As much as I'd like the space, I do not wish to drop the price and lose a ton of money. I can keep them and see if any inspiration comes along in the future. Drill press? Haven't listed it yet, but I'm sure it will go quickly due to being free. The watches are still waiting. One step at a time.
Sometimes there are just too many things working on my insides for any concentration during a weekday. I end up pouring that mid-morning drink which helps calm everything, yet that is not a good idea at all. I can become completely dependent upon that type of 'medicine' and then going on without it will cause a fall. I can't fucking have that. I'll have to seek other coping mechanisms and try to keep my head up in different ways while alone. All those little incidents and fabrications (one huge problem in particular) have summed now and forced me to look at everyone differently. I have never enjoyed being deceived, although the count of when it has happened in the past is quite low. Regardless of how people have treated me in the past -- bullshit or otherwise -- I must remain defensive for my own survival. All those little piles of shit still spin me to this very second, meaning as easily as I am knocked down after being so fucking frail for years, all the more easily do I become angry at people. Not good. Not fucking good, at all. I have no wish to unleash my temper upon another person because not only is it generally unkind, but I can be pretty damned harsh. Scarring, really. That is likely another reason behind the numbing effect of booze. Call me what you will. I'm not listening, anyway. I have little regard for people anymore. If I lash and they all go away, who fucking cares? Will I then worry over what they think of me? Maybe. But the truth is I really need to alienate them sometimes. Time will tell. I guess. 7:43am. Second cup of coffee. I located more images of Cindy, and after perusing some very detailed examples of her modeling, I may cease placing the female form here for good. The images help nothing. After all this time I am quite sure my feelings for physical attractiveness are clear. Heh. Whatever. Cindy is just another Brazilian. A person. Where is the line? Is there going to BE a line? Does anyone have a thought regarding where it should rest? I didn't think so. Should I lash and cut off the rest of the world in that manner for which I am famous? No one will like it. No line. Not yet. Will a line be necessary if I fall further down the hill of sensitivity coupled with all those other problems from which I cannot seem to detach? I'm pretty fucking far off the mark right now, let alone after something is drawn between myself and others, so the idea may be just another far-fetched dream of feeling separated in a way which seems fulfilling. Although, the fact is I probably could not survive alone anyway. Honestly, I don't see it. No line yet. Fuck it. You'd think after being complimented eight ways from Sunday on a weekly basis would accomplish something or help. Sometimes, but not always. I see more than they do. And one little tidbit: Keep in mind that no matter how much I fucking spout about a fabrication, keeping secrets is not exclusive to anyone. Decipher that shit. The length of the archive page is irritating me. I may have to split it somehow. Hmm. One facet of the film yesterday bothered me quite a bit, but it may not be the obvious problem. Back when I wrote 'Keywords', there were many aspects of life and self-image which came to a head at that time when combined with some of the fiction. There was a short conversation within the story that both fascinated and frightened me, partly driven by a dream last spring and partly caused by the two. The incident back nearly two years became overwhelming and forced me into a mental hiding place while watching certain types of media. The movie brought it all back to the forefront and all these hours later I am worsening. I don't know what to do and cannot spell it out. This foray into my head is primarily for me, as well, meaning I have been trying to understand the difficulties and placing the words here as therapy. Most of what I write is very shielded because there is no other way to do it without backlash. I can't have anyone fully knowing what is going on inside because the one fear still outweighs the other. Those flying insects at the campgrounds were effectively ignored due to how I may have been viewed had I reacted. One over the other. Well, the same thing happens when I get the idea to reveal everything. I fear the reaction more than what has caused me to withdraw. Keeping everything to myself is safe, for lack of a better term. I do not improve at all, yet I don't need to worry about being ridiculed. And honestly I already know what will happen as a result. There will be so much bullshit that the aftermath will likely be even worse. Once again, there is no machine, and that means the trust must exist in order to find a solution. Round and round we go. I do not see an exit off this hellish highway.
So, how does that relate to a line? I suppose the idea of pushing people away seems to be the only method for alleviating the fear, but the reality is none of it would go away or become minimized. I would still wonder, just from a distance rather than up close. The line would not remove anything from inside me. Pipe dream. No way to do it and no good result anyway. Fuck the line. 8:26am and nearly time to do something other than this ill-advised project. The real understanding may in fact not be real at all. Fiction, bullshit, or a type of yearning which has no basis in life. It may be a complete fabrication. There is that word again. I cannot blame Ashley for how she felt, either. She is a person, just like everyone else, and my problems are not her fault. Our time just happened to occur when I was all the way down -- both before Juliette and her loving manner and after. Upon returning home after that wondrous and hell-bent journey, an image formed inside me which carries on to this very moment. It is not real, like the machine, and may never be. I am having a hell of a time dealing with the latter. Everything is related, from the keywords to the imagery to the furthest down I have been pushed through the words and actions of other people. That fucking day keeps returning to my head in the worst way. Good intentions aside, the reality may never be explored no matter the source. Unclear? Get used to it. This will not get any easier for readers or myself. Hmm... Maybe I just drew a line. 302. She is inside."
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