Tenebris Percutiens Mature content No. 268 Published October 7th, 2021 12:21pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "I absolutely cannot WAIT to switch 'pdt' to 'pst'. Sick of this extended daylight savings time. There is no way so save daylight. The solar system dictates everything. Heh. Here I sit after stating that I didn't know what else to write this morning. The last entry was just published ten minutes ago. Well, there is quite a lot to say, yet I have to be careful and mask the entire affair even more than in the past. Code, perhaps, like I built years ago. Still losing it. I'll be going out to watch the games in a while, too. I'll have to put up a big front while there. Stop. Monday morning. Everything rather went to shit, but going to the bar was very educational. For nearly three hours right across the table from me was something otherworldly but I handled it (mostly) due to lack of clear choice. I could have left the place and gone away from the problem or kept myself to myself by focusing upon the televisions. The latter was more difficult but I did it anyway. Trouble. Just... Trouble. I made nice, and though there was some difficulty both right there in front of me and floating around the bar, there was not enough to drive me out. I simply made nice and swallowed the rest. The game went south, the other game went very north, and in the end I believe I managed to fit in and not display anything which could have been damaging. The problem across the table faded away as I drove home. The other side of the world within which I am now enmeshed has shown me the idea of keeping myself to myself, just like the feeling yesterday across from the cleavage and eyes. I know what I am and precisely what I am not, yet sometimes that is not enough of a statement to satiate another fucking human being. I must try harder, I suppose, and work to make up for what they lack. My demeanor is going to make people uncomfortable as a result of the ice. Recently I mentioned a few aspects of those people which irritate me and have for many years, yet I still believed the differences and gradients could be found out there in the world. Well, no longer. I can now see that whatever had been calculated whilst in the fold was incorrect. All fucked up. No more of that now. Eyes all the way open and nothing else can prove otherwise. No way. Concrete. And one thing no one is going to believe? That strike upside the head is exactly the same. Lumped now... Lumped like crab in a Louie. All the same, honestly. I cannot think otherwise any longer. What does this new eye-opening situation mean in the long run? Alone. That's it. The mass of preparations I spoke of recently can be adjusted to follow suit. That woman sat there with her adorable and alluring smile and helped to solidify what I suspected back during the original diagnosis of duality. I did not see it, yet now have no doubt as to the sources. I have to sit here and calculate the optimal path. Once more... Alone. I guess I can complete some of the organization which began a couple of weeks back. Those steps have become very important for both my peace of mind and the idea of having everything in order just in case the big strike takes place. Monday is always nice, too. My head has shoved the anger back far enough to see what needs to be accomplished despite yesterday's trouble. No description, though. Unnecessary. I've done enough of that shit for a lifetime. Instead, I shall treat the situation as an attack upon my senses, and one which has now narrowed my vision. And masking. All of the masking. Rhymes with 'asking'. No more of that, either. Questions are not questions in these late days. They are switches being flipped to the wrong position by those who would try to influence what I am attempting to accomplish. What? What did you say? 'To no avail?' That's right. The lights have come up and shown me the future. No one is there. The anger will return soon enough. I already know there can be only so much solace before everything goes to hell in whatever type of receptacle you may prefer to embrace. The question of what I may or may not be continues because the words of others can't be trusted. That is partially my fault due to being weary in the past and unable to let it go, however I cannot be held to the entire pile of shit. No way. Not anymore. I see it every fucking day. Everything is related. The unfortunate resulting situation is such that I will take others' words into me, fold them up neatly, and then discard as my mood dictates. No trust. Slighted, and now the sum. Doesn't matter anymore Tuesday. The work yesterday was fine. We uncovered more problems, but with my current schedule I don't feel pressured to have projects completed by any particular dates. We can think about proper steps. The trail smoke from twenty is all but gone, yet there are still feelings regarding that strange period and what it may have done to me. Yesterday we fell back into the typical routine as if the gap had never occurred and the work followed suit. There are other tasks which will await my choice of time. Due to being out a number of hours yesterday, I feel compelled to remain here for the duration today. Moreover, the discomfort inherent in being away from my own space began to set in yesterday as I left, and I believe the entire day will be required for my head to return to normal. For me, anyway. There are two other facets of the previous day still working on my brain, as well. I cannot go into those here. Not at all. My words will cut everything to pieces. This is being written in parallel with another. My attention has been wandering lately because of how much weight people place upon my shoulders and do not realize or care. Back and forth, all day long, and today is no different. The morning began like most, soon descending into a pit of disapproval and anger. So, considering how I need to structure everything these days, the other essay is right next to this one and awaiting another mood swing. Pay no attention to my instability. I am not going to be here alone today. That puts a bit of a wrench into the machinery, honestly. I was looking forward to peace and quiet, meaning no fucking voices except my friends on the television. Now I have to rework whatever plans had been in place. Bullshit. The garage needed attention yesterday, so perhaps I can run the show out there for a while when the sun is shining and straighten things. There is some laundry, too. The woodwork is going to have to await motivation. After getting the table in order, the remaining ideas for the plywood do not seem as pressing. I suppose after waiting so long, having all the material here at my disposal helps me to relax about working out there. Wednesday after a very tiring Tuesday. The sixth of October. Scrape. I had to remain in the garage yesterday for a good portion of the time so the house stayed quiet. I took care of some little things and made plans. The feelings now are dire as opposed to some days back when I was actually fairly positive. No, the Sunday bullshit did not cause me to think in such terms. Other little jabs here and there, mostly by the foxes, yet still I cannot fully define why. The scrape usually comes and goes when I am not thinking about it, and keep in mind it is a situation caused and alleviated by the same fucking force. I cannot consciously hold a person responsible for this kind of concern. All that time in the garage yesterday helped me organize not only items, but my thinking too, meaning my mood this morning has been somewhat tempered by the accomplishments. I don't know about today, though. Missing out on my alone time is not good. This is the resulting circumstance. I can see it, feel it, as if it is a tangible 'thing' out there in the air, yet the truth is my brain has manufactured so much desperation and longing that I could live ten more lifetimes and nothing would ever be enough to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction. You may think that statement is in error, but let me assure anyone skimming this shit that the current period is dire. I am becoming as in eleven. Very dangerous. Of course there is a positive (isn't there always?). Despite my very uncomfortable thinking processes and inherent negative energy these days, a little something took place late in the afternoon yesterday to show me that I can still maintain myself if necessary. Jesus fuck does Oksana have some gorgeous black hair in this episode. Anyway, it was a quick hello-goodbye to the market sans issues. The little form was not there, but the positive is the fact that I did not even think about her until this morning. The trip there and back was focused upon picking up a few staples. The morsel did not enter my head. I don't know what would have happened had I seen her again, although likely not much because I am so fucking defeated these days. Probably platitudes and smiles and then out the door, as it should be. The quick exchange some days ago was the only time anything was spoken outside the scope of business. This morning's feelings are unrelated. I will say that my reckless thinking can be controlled only so much. If things get worse, I will overreach in bad ways, some of which are inward, believe it or not. The circumstance. Hmm. That seems appropriate. Time has taken its toll. Now I cannot feel as much, and what is worse is the idea that I cannot trust. It is unsafe. I have to protect myself, and in doing so may also be effectively cutting off a few necessities. I'll have to consider all sides of the dodecahedron before making any decisions or changes. This is a bad time. Very bad. When I have to literally force feed my brain so I'll stay distracted, the end appears closer than ever. The current period is waning. The circumstance will not go away, no matter the effort. I have not the power or options to exercise any longer. Stuck. Scrape. Unhappy. Relegated. Led from there to here, again led from here to there and back again, and then relegated to whatever the fuck this situation has become. The site just surpassed the number of lines written last year and there are still nearly three months left in the current year. Ugh. I mean... What IS this? Thanks Robert. Well, at least I am alone for the day as of five minutes ago. The scrape? That ebbs and flows, with today being flow. I have plenty to do today, meaning I'll be able to get my head all the way into the work and keep it there for as long as is necessary to push the bad things back. The usual stuff... Laundry, the routine inside, and then an idea for the table in the garage. The peace and quiet will help me all day long, too. I need it after the previous week and then yesterday. Not good. All those years of my free time being chopped off most days or otherwise truncated by circumstance have molded me into a walking, talking head case who must have a certain amount of hours per day for sanity. Not enough time equals no patience with anyone or anything combined with a shitty mood. So, here I am at long last with the space to think, finally. Maybe that fucking day of the phone call should have been a clue as to my rampant and increasing instability. I was outside for perhaps ten minutes while she calmed me enough to return to my own living room, after which I decided adding a passcode to the phone would be a good idea since I was harboring so much covert communication. Well, several drinks meant I created a passcode and forgot it by morning. I had to make an appointment to have the phone reworked after it locked me out completely for failing to enter the correct information. Yes, I felt appropriately stupid. See? That situation should have taught me that I was being completely ridiculous and not thinking clearly. Ah... But I kept going anyway. Part of whatever is typing these words right now is a product of that fucked-up time period. I should have known, although had that entire timeline not taken place, God knows where I would have been. The point is I fucked everything up for a while and am now in a situation seemingly without resolution. And the scrape is expanding. Phone call or no phone call, I likely would have fucked up whatever else came along. I did it before. I ran. The feeling is no different than this morning. Maybe it never did Relegated to this. Cornered. Not good. There was a bad strike, and then another. The third took the cake and lasted three hours. Back to the other essay. And nine in the morning. Maybe time to get things going. Thinking about this situation is only driving me into the ground at terminal speed. I can get away from here and be productive for a while. Hopefully my brain will leave the issue behind for the rest of the morning. Pause. Gone. Three in the afternoon. Everything is finished including the last model. That was a big one. Now I don't know what to do. Still angry, disillusioned, and concerned over the future of this situation. I went out for a smoke in the garage and thought about finishing what I started on the work table yesterday. The light strip which used to be on the post is now running along the top inside edge of the surrounding frame. After seeing it lit last night, I decided to cover the face of the cap rail and hide the light. It will sit up there unseen aside from the glow on the tabletop. I need to cut some plywood and mount it in three places. Unfortunately, the problems in my brain are preventing any forward progress today other than the usual routine. I also have a surplus of wood so the doors above the laundry can be cut and ready to mount. Well, that isn't happening either. I just can't move along today. The gangsters are keeping me company and the cats are to my right perched upon the back of the loveseat. Very peaceful in here. This may be all I do until the evening. Ahh... There again is the limitation. The difference. The massive gradient that has been following just behind me for decades. I see it but cannot do anything about it. I can't even describe it or I will be ridiculed. Each time this episode comes around, I see John there and think about every situation which has arisen since the early eighties and how I deftly steered everything away from me. Intelligence, constantly. Angling without anger. Only one occasion had me cornered and it is the very cause of more than I can put into words. No matter what may shimmer across that big screen up there, another reminder will eventually appear. One more time... I can't do anything about it now. Too late, too tired, too many other nagging piles of shit steaming up my fucking nose. One aspect of the future already guaranteed is being reminded of the difference on a regular basis. Ugh. 'Fictional characters', you say? Doesn't matter in the least. The real world is the same. Might as well be television everywhere. Such a loss now. Everything. Just loss. Relegated and inundated with too much. I'll have to push, I suppose, if anything is to change today. No high expectations, though. Only small items. I am literally incapable of more these days. Something will sit for months and I'll stare at it longer before touching. Nothing can make me extend my caring, I guess. The horizon is dark, just like the strike. Thursday morning's bleach box with coffee and my friends. No cats yet. Last night while preparing dinner I recalled the situation I described in the previous entry regarding my niece and nephew at that big gathering in Reno. In doing so, the idea of why I never followed through with such ideas stabbed me in the heart and I realized one limiting factor in my life has dictated more anger, depression and disdain than anything else. The trigger of all time, if you will. Hmm... Not a trigger or factor. It is not a stab, either. I tried to use some of the terms which show up here week after week but nothing fits properly. Only the title at the top of the page... The dark strike; the blow of everything; nearly the worst. Nearly. There are still other things. Yesterday was a tough one because of another fucking strike, although not as dark. I'm losing track of all the damned problems here. Maybe not enough coffee to start my brain yet. Whatever. If true, there is no solution because time cannot be reversed, nor can what has been broken inside me. Not only that, but I am too old and the process would be both costly and have little chance of success. I went through a bunch of shit in the nineties over the same idea (at her request and out of a sense of responsibility). Even then there were no guarantees but at least I was younger. The procedure was not fun, either. I do not wish to have anything similar performed in the future. Each day already holds its share of pain. No solution... See? An end-around? No such thing. My brain is experiencing more and more difficulty dealing with the idea of unchangeable issues these days, meaning I will likely continue to descend into my own little, angry world of whatever enjoyments are left. And now I am becoming irritated so I have to return to the other essay. Never mind. Still here. Today will be much like yesterday with me remaining behind closed doors for the most part. I'll have the garage open, of course, because I enjoy taking breaks out there and staring out at the world (as long as there are little to no people). I may finish the lighting canopy on the table. Right now I don't know what is going to draw my attention besides ranting here. I have the usual crap, possibly more. Again with the reinforcement which has partially jaded society forever, myself being on the opposite side of everyone for the millionth time. Well, fuck you too. Maybe I should boil everything I do down to a few choice phrases when addressed by other people. Alienating everyone would not take long at all. In the beginning would be some shitty expressions and possibly words of disapproval, but keep in mind those would only further my fucked up stance and cause me to push harder and come across as even less pleasant. It is a dream. There is no way I can operate completely alone (yet), meaning I have to compromise somewhat in order to maintain those things I need right now. Nothing can be done Relegated to whatever people 'believe' I should be doing or the manner in which I 'should' be behaving. I don't know which is worse right now. The questions are piling, though, and irritating me more than I could describe given blank pages for a week. Voices, too. Questions from those voices. It's all around me sometimes and leaves much to be desired. Last weekend while watching the two games, for example, nothing. No questions, observations, nada. Of course, I can't do that all the time. I have to stay here and remain within my sphere of devices. That means those voices must be dealt with as always. I wish I had a mute button for people. This is a bad time. The reinforcement increases my anger, and then thoughts of where I am as a result force it to go further. The people around me are little help at best, unfortunately, because no matter what platitudes are launched in my direction, I still see through different eyes and hear through different ears. I can't help it. Fault or no fault, I've turned out a product of everything wrong with society. Add to that the bullshit duality and those little annoyances I cannot alleviate, and the stew has become spoiled. Rancid. Decaying. I remain within the stew, affected by so much bad. Not good subjects right now. Switch. The air is a little warmer outside today, meaning I may be able to head out there and finish the canopy on the work table. Once it's built, the other organization is next. I need everything neat out there so by the time Halloween rolls around the garage will be all lit and easy to navigate. The funny thing is other people see that space and compliment how nice it looks, yet when I am out there all I see are problems. I'm pretty picky, though. As I used to say about the obsession and being out and about, 'I see everything'. The routine is finished. Now what? More of this crap? The answer is a resounding 'yes'. Jamie's hair is a universe. Still angry about that fucking Sunday afternoon. The following Sunday was very different as I had not been to the bar for a football game in more than eighteen months. Same people (mostly), same atmosphere, more televisions. I was nearly invisible, and there was no trouble other than the strike across the table with the eyes and cleavage. That was bad. The comfort came from having zero responsibilities. I spend so much fucking time holding people up that I end up exhausted and in a shitty mood, and then the smallest jab sends me flying off the handle. Well, that Sunday I contained much of the mood. The best course was to shut it off and do my own thing. Sitting among those for which I do not really care is much easier and allowed me to relax. Hiding in plain sight for the millionth time. The other essay has been crafted due to the feeling of being used up with nary a concern for my ACTUAL well-being. Oh, there is caring present, just not to the extent that I broadcast to other people. I have become much like my dad in that respect. Not good. Dark strikes will cause me to strike back. If the past is any indication, my behavior will be cold, curt and very harsh. A word came to mind by the time that Sunday evening reached the eyes, and that word is 'forest'. Again... Not good. The only positive which can spawn from that mindset is production. Still angry. No one understands the 'eyes' references. Fucking figure it out. I've been using that term for seventeen years now, dipshits. I have to go to the market near the bar in a little while. There are a few items not to be found elsewhere, but it's no big deal. I like going there because it reminds me of being holed up in the apartment ten years ago and knowing I did not have to answer to another fucking soul in existence. No more of that, unfortunately, yet still I have spaces and moments which are somewhat satisfying. I always find them. Upon returning, I'll probably make something to eat and then head out to the new office for some woodwork. Maybe. If I sit here too long, the cocktail to my right (which is already almost gone just after ten in the morning) will have babies and I will descend into the pit of headphones, harsh music and the worsening outlook for which I am famous. I really do not want that today. There are things to do and problems to solve. The downside is none of the fucking solutions are to be applied to anything truly important. Surface shit, like cleaning and moving items from one place to another. Just picture me rubbing my forehead as if the sky is falling. Have I mentioned this is a bad time? That, too. Silvio's middle name is 'Manfred'. That is fantastic. I was teased and bullied for my middle name from the fucking start so many decades ago. I see strength in my middle name as I received it out of respect for a beloved uncle's first name, yet no one else did. They treated it like a punchline. Well, a lot of situations arose due to my being a gentle person. Nothing good, mind you, but still... Situations arose. At this late date in my life, I am frankly surprised that I did not react back then. Ah... There is Melissa after Jackie's funeral. She did a wonderful job of acting in this series, and equally so in the other series centered around a funeral home. Her character in the latter show was a reprehensible, bitter, conniving, fucking cunt, though. Had I been Federico (her brother-in-law) and forced to deal with her shit attitude, I probably would have punched her in the throat more than once. That type of manipulative scripting should not be taking place. Eh... Whatever. I am beginning to see relationships which did not appear mere weeks ago, along with their effects upon the average person. My middle name may have been a joke to some, but the other name was the catalyst for what you see here. Angry, deceitful, deviant and about as calculating as a fucking supercomputer at NASA. And I have stood in front of that last one. Believe it. The size of a supermarket. I wish I could snap my fingers and make people disappear. Little tirade there. But... Who cares? I have no children, and that means I influence exactly no one. I don't need to worry about some little fucking kid following in my footsteps. There is no little kid. Well, there is the one inside me. Still the same frightened, angry product of society. The aspect to take to heart is that society is made up of all those fucking people with which I have been intimately involved for half a century. See? This is a bad time. People are the dark strikes. Tenebris Percutiens. None of my wishes will come true. None of my ideas are feasible. None of my dreams will see the light of day. From one computer keyboard to the next, to the next, to the next... Until I am dead. That's my fucking legacy." 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Tenebris Percutiens Mature content No. 268 Published October 7th, 2021 12:21pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "I absolutely cannot WAIT to switch 'pdt' to 'pst'. Sick of this extended daylight savings time. There is no way so save daylight. The solar system dictates everything. Heh. Here I sit after stating that I didn't know what else to write this morning. The last entry was just published ten minutes ago. Well, there is quite a lot to say, yet I have to be careful and mask the entire affair even more than in the past. Code, perhaps, like I built years ago. Still losing it. I'll be going out to watch the games in a while, too. I'll have to put up a big front while there. Stop. Monday morning. Everything rather went to shit, but going to the bar was very educational. For nearly three hours right across the table from me was something otherworldly but I handled it (mostly) due to lack of clear choice. I could have left the place and gone away from the problem or kept myself to myself by focusing upon the televisions. The latter was more difficult but I did it anyway. Trouble. Just... Trouble. I made nice, and though there was some difficulty both right there in front of me and floating around the bar, there was not enough to drive me out. I simply made nice and swallowed the rest. The game went south, the other game went very north, and in the end I believe I managed to fit in and not display anything which could have been damaging. The problem across the table faded away as I drove home. The other side of the world within which I am now enmeshed has shown me the idea of keeping myself to myself, just like the feeling yesterday across from the cleavage and eyes. I know what I am and precisely what I am not, yet sometimes that is not enough of a statement to satiate another fucking human being. I must try harder, I suppose, and work to make up for what they lack. My demeanor is going to make people uncomfortable as a result of the ice. Recently I mentioned a few aspects of those people which irritate me and have for many years, yet I still believed the differences and gradients could be found out there in the world. Well, no longer. I can now see that whatever had been calculated whilst in the fold was incorrect. All fucked up. No more of that now. Eyes all the way open and nothing else can prove otherwise. No way. Concrete. And one thing no one is going to believe? That strike upside the head is exactly the same. Lumped now... Lumped like crab in a Louie. All the same, honestly. I cannot think otherwise any longer. What does this new eye-opening situation mean in the long run? Alone. That's it. The mass of preparations I spoke of recently can be adjusted to follow suit. That woman sat there with her adorable and alluring smile and helped to solidify what I suspected back during the original diagnosis of duality. I did not see it, yet now have no doubt as to the sources. I have to sit here and calculate the optimal path. Once more... Alone. I guess I can complete some of the organization which began a couple of weeks back. Those steps have become very important for both my peace of mind and the idea of having everything in order just in case the big strike takes place. Monday is always nice, too. My head has shoved the anger back far enough to see what needs to be accomplished despite yesterday's trouble. No description, though. Unnecessary. I've done enough of that shit for a lifetime. Instead, I shall treat the situation as an attack upon my senses, and one which has now narrowed my vision. And masking. All of the masking. Rhymes with 'asking'. No more of that, either. Questions are not questions in these late days. They are switches being flipped to the wrong position by those who would try to influence what I am attempting to accomplish. What? What did you say? 'To no avail?' That's right. The lights have come up and shown me the future. No one is there. The anger will return soon enough. I already know there can be only so much solace before everything goes to hell in whatever type of receptacle you may prefer to embrace. The question of what I may or may not be continues because the words of others can't be trusted. That is partially my fault due to being weary in the past and unable to let it go, however I cannot be held to the entire pile of shit. No way. Not anymore. I see it every fucking day. Everything is related. The unfortunate resulting situation is such that I will take others' words into me, fold them up neatly, and then discard as my mood dictates. No trust. Slighted, and now the sum. Doesn't matter anymore Tuesday. The work yesterday was fine. We uncovered more problems, but with my current schedule I don't feel pressured to have projects completed by any particular dates. We can think about proper steps. The trail smoke from twenty is all but gone, yet there are still feelings regarding that strange period and what it may have done to me. Yesterday we fell back into the typical routine as if the gap had never occurred and the work followed suit. There are other tasks which will await my choice of time. Due to being out a number of hours yesterday, I feel compelled to remain here for the duration today. Moreover, the discomfort inherent in being away from my own space began to set in yesterday as I left, and I believe the entire day will be required for my head to return to normal. For me, anyway. There are two other facets of the previous day still working on my brain, as well. I cannot go into those here. Not at all. My words will cut everything to pieces. This is being written in parallel with another. My attention has been wandering lately because of how much weight people place upon my shoulders and do not realize or care. Back and forth, all day long, and today is no different. The morning began like most, soon descending into a pit of disapproval and anger. So, considering how I need to structure everything these days, the other essay is right next to this one and awaiting another mood swing. Pay no attention to my instability. I am not going to be here alone today. That puts a bit of a wrench into the machinery, honestly. I was looking forward to peace and quiet, meaning no fucking voices except my friends on the television. Now I have to rework whatever plans had been in place. Bullshit. The garage needed attention yesterday, so perhaps I can run the show out there for a while when the sun is shining and straighten things. There is some laundry, too. The woodwork is going to have to await motivation. After getting the table in order, the remaining ideas for the plywood do not seem as pressing. I suppose after waiting so long, having all the material here at my disposal helps me to relax about working out there. Wednesday after a very tiring Tuesday. The sixth of October. Scrape. I had to remain in the garage yesterday for a good portion of the time so the house stayed quiet. I took care of some little things and made plans. The feelings now are dire as opposed to some days back when I was actually fairly positive. No, the Sunday bullshit did not cause me to think in such terms. Other little jabs here and there, mostly by the foxes, yet still I cannot fully define why. The scrape usually comes and goes when I am not thinking about it, and keep in mind it is a situation caused and alleviated by the same fucking force. I cannot consciously hold a person responsible for this kind of concern. All that time in the garage yesterday helped me organize not only items, but my thinking too, meaning my mood this morning has been somewhat tempered by the accomplishments. I don't know about today, though. Missing out on my alone time is not good. This is the resulting circumstance. I can see it, feel it, as if it is a tangible 'thing' out there in the air, yet the truth is my brain has manufactured so much desperation and longing that I could live ten more lifetimes and nothing would ever be enough to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction. You may think that statement is in error, but let me assure anyone skimming this shit that the current period is dire. I am becoming as in eleven. Very dangerous. Of course there is a positive (isn't there always?). Despite my very uncomfortable thinking processes and inherent negative energy these days, a little something took place late in the afternoon yesterday to show me that I can still maintain myself if necessary. Jesus fuck does Oksana have some gorgeous black hair in this episode. Anyway, it was a quick hello-goodbye to the market sans issues. The little form was not there, but the positive is the fact that I did not even think about her until this morning. The trip there and back was focused upon picking up a few staples. The morsel did not enter my head. I don't know what would have happened had I seen her again, although likely not much because I am so fucking defeated these days. Probably platitudes and smiles and then out the door, as it should be. The quick exchange some days ago was the only time anything was spoken outside the scope of business. This morning's feelings are unrelated. I will say that my reckless thinking can be controlled only so much. If things get worse, I will overreach in bad ways, some of which are inward, believe it or not. The circumstance. Hmm. That seems appropriate. Time has taken its toll. Now I cannot feel as much, and what is worse is the idea that I cannot trust. It is unsafe. I have to protect myself, and in doing so may also be effectively cutting off a few necessities. I'll have to consider all sides of the dodecahedron before making any decisions or changes. This is a bad time. Very bad. When I have to literally force feed my brain so I'll stay distracted, the end appears closer than ever. The current period is waning. The circumstance will not go away, no matter the effort. I have not the power or options to exercise any longer. Stuck. Scrape. Unhappy. Relegated. Led from there to here, again led from here to there and back again, and then relegated to whatever the fuck this situation has become. The site just surpassed the number of lines written last year and there are still nearly three months left in the current year. Ugh. I mean... What IS this? Thanks Robert. Well, at least I am alone for the day as of five minutes ago. The scrape? That ebbs and flows, with today being flow. I have plenty to do today, meaning I'll be able to get my head all the way into the work and keep it there for as long as is necessary to push the bad things back. The usual stuff... Laundry, the routine inside, and then an idea for the table in the garage. The peace and quiet will help me all day long, too. I need it after the previous week and then yesterday. Not good. All those years of my free time being chopped off most days or otherwise truncated by circumstance have molded me into a walking, talking head case who must have a certain amount of hours per day for sanity. Not enough time equals no patience with anyone or anything combined with a shitty mood. So, here I am at long last with the space to think, finally. Maybe that fucking day of the phone call should have been a clue as to my rampant and increasing instability. I was outside for perhaps ten minutes while she calmed me enough to return to my own living room, after which I decided adding a passcode to the phone would be a good idea since I was harboring so much covert communication. Well, several drinks meant I created a passcode and forgot it by morning. I had to make an appointment to have the phone reworked after it locked me out completely for failing to enter the correct information. Yes, I felt appropriately stupid. See? That situation should have taught me that I was being completely ridiculous and not thinking clearly. Ah... But I kept going anyway. Part of whatever is typing these words right now is a product of that fucked-up time period. I should have known, although had that entire timeline not taken place, God knows where I would have been. The point is I fucked everything up for a while and am now in a situation seemingly without resolution. And the scrape is expanding. Phone call or no phone call, I likely would have fucked up whatever else came along. I did it before. I ran. The feeling is no different than this morning. Maybe it never did Relegated to this. Cornered. Not good. There was a bad strike, and then another. The third took the cake and lasted three hours. Back to the other essay. And nine in the morning. Maybe time to get things going. Thinking about this situation is only driving me into the ground at terminal speed. I can get away from here and be productive for a while. Hopefully my brain will leave the issue behind for the rest of the morning. Pause. Gone. Three in the afternoon. Everything is finished including the last model. That was a big one. Now I don't know what to do. Still angry, disillusioned, and concerned over the future of this situation. I went out for a smoke in the garage and thought about finishing what I started on the work table yesterday. The light strip which used to be on the post is now running along the top inside edge of the surrounding frame. After seeing it lit last night, I decided to cover the face of the cap rail and hide the light. It will sit up there unseen aside from the glow on the tabletop. I need to cut some plywood and mount it in three places. Unfortunately, the problems in my brain are preventing any forward progress today other than the usual routine. I also have a surplus of wood so the doors above the laundry can be cut and ready to mount. Well, that isn't happening either. I just can't move along today. The gangsters are keeping me company and the cats are to my right perched upon the back of the loveseat. Very peaceful in here. This may be all I do until the evening. Ahh... There again is the limitation. The difference. The massive gradient that has been following just behind me for decades. I see it but cannot do anything about it. I can't even describe it or I will be ridiculed. Each time this episode comes around, I see John there and think about every situation which has arisen since the early eighties and how I deftly steered everything away from me. Intelligence, constantly. Angling without anger. Only one occasion had me cornered and it is the very cause of more than I can put into words. No matter what may shimmer across that big screen up there, another reminder will eventually appear. One more time... I can't do anything about it now. Too late, too tired, too many other nagging piles of shit steaming up my fucking nose. One aspect of the future already guaranteed is being reminded of the difference on a regular basis. Ugh. 'Fictional characters', you say? Doesn't matter in the least. The real world is the same. Might as well be television everywhere. Such a loss now. Everything. Just loss. Relegated and inundated with too much. I'll have to push, I suppose, if anything is to change today. No high expectations, though. Only small items. I am literally incapable of more these days. Something will sit for months and I'll stare at it longer before touching. Nothing can make me extend my caring, I guess. The horizon is dark, just like the strike. Thursday morning's bleach box with coffee and my friends. No cats yet. Last night while preparing dinner I recalled the situation I described in the previous entry regarding my niece and nephew at that big gathering in Reno. In doing so, the idea of why I never followed through with such ideas stabbed me in the heart and I realized one limiting factor in my life has dictated more anger, depression and disdain than anything else. The trigger of all time, if you will. Hmm... Not a trigger or factor. It is not a stab, either. I tried to use some of the terms which show up here week after week but nothing fits properly. Only the title at the top of the page... The dark strike; the blow of everything; nearly the worst. Nearly. There are still other things. Yesterday was a tough one because of another fucking strike, although not as dark. I'm losing track of all the damned problems here. Maybe not enough coffee to start my brain yet. Whatever. If true, there is no solution because time cannot be reversed, nor can what has been broken inside me. Not only that, but I am too old and the process would be both costly and have little chance of success. I went through a bunch of shit in the nineties over the same idea (at her request and out of a sense of responsibility). Even then there were no guarantees but at least I was younger. The procedure was not fun, either. I do not wish to have anything similar performed in the future. Each day already holds its share of pain. No solution... See? An end-around? No such thing. My brain is experiencing more and more difficulty dealing with the idea of unchangeable issues these days, meaning I will likely continue to descend into my own little, angry world of whatever enjoyments are left. And now I am becoming irritated so I have to return to the other essay. Never mind. Still here. Today will be much like yesterday with me remaining behind closed doors for the most part. I'll have the garage open, of course, because I enjoy taking breaks out there and staring out at the world (as long as there are little to no people). I may finish the lighting canopy on the table. Right now I don't know what is going to draw my attention besides ranting here. I have the usual crap, possibly more. Again with the reinforcement which has partially jaded society forever, myself being on the opposite side of everyone for the millionth time. Well, fuck you too. Maybe I should boil everything I do down to a few choice phrases when addressed by other people. Alienating everyone would not take long at all. In the beginning would be some shitty expressions and possibly words of disapproval, but keep in mind those would only further my fucked up stance and cause me to push harder and come across as even less pleasant. It is a dream. There is no way I can operate completely alone (yet), meaning I have to compromise somewhat in order to maintain those things I need right now. Nothing can be done Relegated to whatever people 'believe' I should be doing or the manner in which I 'should' be behaving. I don't know which is worse right now. The questions are piling, though, and irritating me more than I could describe given blank pages for a week. Voices, too. Questions from those voices. It's all around me sometimes and leaves much to be desired. Last weekend while watching the two games, for example, nothing. No questions, observations, nada. Of course, I can't do that all the time. I have to stay here and remain within my sphere of devices. That means those voices must be dealt with as always. I wish I had a mute button for people. This is a bad time. The reinforcement increases my anger, and then thoughts of where I am as a result force it to go further. The people around me are little help at best, unfortunately, because no matter what platitudes are launched in my direction, I still see through different eyes and hear through different ears. I can't help it. Fault or no fault, I've turned out a product of everything wrong with society. Add to that the bullshit duality and those little annoyances I cannot alleviate, and the stew has become spoiled. Rancid. Decaying. I remain within the stew, affected by so much bad. Not good subjects right now. Switch. The air is a little warmer outside today, meaning I may be able to head out there and finish the canopy on the work table. Once it's built, the other organization is next. I need everything neat out there so by the time Halloween rolls around the garage will be all lit and easy to navigate. The funny thing is other people see that space and compliment how nice it looks, yet when I am out there all I see are problems. I'm pretty picky, though. As I used to say about the obsession and being out and about, 'I see everything'. The routine is finished. Now what? More of this crap? The answer is a resounding 'yes'. Jamie's hair is a universe. Still angry about that fucking Sunday afternoon. The following Sunday was very different as I had not been to the bar for a football game in more than eighteen months. Same people (mostly), same atmosphere, more televisions. I was nearly invisible, and there was no trouble other than the strike across the table with the eyes and cleavage. That was bad. The comfort came from having zero responsibilities. I spend so much fucking time holding people up that I end up exhausted and in a shitty mood, and then the smallest jab sends me flying off the handle. Well, that Sunday I contained much of the mood. The best course was to shut it off and do my own thing. Sitting among those for which I do not really care is much easier and allowed me to relax. Hiding in plain sight for the millionth time. The other essay has been crafted due to the feeling of being used up with nary a concern for my ACTUAL well-being. Oh, there is caring present, just not to the extent that I broadcast to other people. I have become much like my dad in that respect. Not good. Dark strikes will cause me to strike back. If the past is any indication, my behavior will be cold, curt and very harsh. A word came to mind by the time that Sunday evening reached the eyes, and that word is 'forest'. Again... Not good. The only positive which can spawn from that mindset is production. Still angry. No one understands the 'eyes' references. Fucking figure it out. I've been using that term for seventeen years now, dipshits. I have to go to the market near the bar in a little while. There are a few items not to be found elsewhere, but it's no big deal. I like going there because it reminds me of being holed up in the apartment ten years ago and knowing I did not have to answer to another fucking soul in existence. No more of that, unfortunately, yet still I have spaces and moments which are somewhat satisfying. I always find them. Upon returning, I'll probably make something to eat and then head out to the new office for some woodwork. Maybe. If I sit here too long, the cocktail to my right (which is already almost gone just after ten in the morning) will have babies and I will descend into the pit of headphones, harsh music and the worsening outlook for which I am famous. I really do not want that today. There are things to do and problems to solve. The downside is none of the fucking solutions are to be applied to anything truly important. Surface shit, like cleaning and moving items from one place to another. Just picture me rubbing my forehead as if the sky is falling. Have I mentioned this is a bad time? That, too. Silvio's middle name is 'Manfred'. That is fantastic. I was teased and bullied for my middle name from the fucking start so many decades ago. I see strength in my middle name as I received it out of respect for a beloved uncle's first name, yet no one else did. They treated it like a punchline. Well, a lot of situations arose due to my being a gentle person. Nothing good, mind you, but still... Situations arose. At this late date in my life, I am frankly surprised that I did not react back then. Ah... There is Melissa after Jackie's funeral. She did a wonderful job of acting in this series, and equally so in the other series centered around a funeral home. Her character in the latter show was a reprehensible, bitter, conniving, fucking cunt, though. Had I been Federico (her brother-in-law) and forced to deal with her shit attitude, I probably would have punched her in the throat more than once. That type of manipulative scripting should not be taking place. Eh... Whatever. I am beginning to see relationships which did not appear mere weeks ago, along with their effects upon the average person. My middle name may have been a joke to some, but the other name was the catalyst for what you see here. Angry, deceitful, deviant and about as calculating as a fucking supercomputer at NASA. And I have stood in front of that last one. Believe it. The size of a supermarket. I wish I could snap my fingers and make people disappear. Little tirade there. But... Who cares? I have no children, and that means I influence exactly no one. I don't need to worry about some little fucking kid following in my footsteps. There is no little kid. Well, there is the one inside me. Still the same frightened, angry product of society. The aspect to take to heart is that society is made up of all those fucking people with which I have been intimately involved for half a century. See? This is a bad time. People are the dark strikes. Tenebris Percutiens. None of my wishes will come true. None of my ideas are feasible. None of my dreams will see the light of day. From one computer keyboard to the next, to the next, to the next... Until I am dead. That's my fucking legacy."
Tenebris Percutiens
Mature content No. 268 Published October 7th, 2021 12:21pm pdt read ( words) Past entries
"I absolutely cannot WAIT to switch 'pdt' to 'pst'. Sick of this extended daylight savings time. There is no way so save daylight. The solar system dictates everything. Heh. Here I sit after stating that I didn't know what else to write this morning. The last entry was just published ten minutes ago. Well, there is quite a lot to say, yet I have to be careful and mask the entire affair even more than in the past. Code, perhaps, like I built years ago. Still losing it. I'll be going out to watch the games in a while, too. I'll have to put up a big front while there. Stop. Monday morning. Everything rather went to shit, but going to the bar was very educational. For nearly three hours right across the table from me was something otherworldly but I handled it (mostly) due to lack of clear choice. I could have left the place and gone away from the problem or kept myself to myself by focusing upon the televisions. The latter was more difficult but I did it anyway. Trouble. Just... Trouble. I made nice, and though there was some difficulty both right there in front of me and floating around the bar, there was not enough to drive me out. I simply made nice and swallowed the rest. The game went south, the other game went very north, and in the end I believe I managed to fit in and not display anything which could have been damaging. The problem across the table faded away as I drove home. The other side of the world within which I am now enmeshed has shown me the idea of keeping myself to myself, just like the feeling yesterday across from the cleavage and eyes. I know what I am and precisely what I am not, yet sometimes that is not enough of a statement to satiate another fucking human being. I must try harder, I suppose, and work to make up for what they lack. My demeanor is going to make people uncomfortable as a result of the ice. Recently I mentioned a few aspects of those people which irritate me and have for many years, yet I still believed the differences and gradients could be found out there in the world. Well, no longer. I can now see that whatever had been calculated whilst in the fold was incorrect. All fucked up. No more of that now. Eyes all the way open and nothing else can prove otherwise. No way. Concrete. And one thing no one is going to believe? That strike upside the head is exactly the same. Lumped now... Lumped like crab in a Louie. All the same, honestly. I cannot think otherwise any longer. What does this new eye-opening situation mean in the long run? Alone. That's it. The mass of preparations I spoke of recently can be adjusted to follow suit. That woman sat there with her adorable and alluring smile and helped to solidify what I suspected back during the original diagnosis of duality. I did not see it, yet now have no doubt as to the sources. I have to sit here and calculate the optimal path. Once more... Alone. I guess I can complete some of the organization which began a couple of weeks back. Those steps have become very important for both my peace of mind and the idea of having everything in order just in case the big strike takes place. Monday is always nice, too. My head has shoved the anger back far enough to see what needs to be accomplished despite yesterday's trouble. No description, though. Unnecessary. I've done enough of that shit for a lifetime. Instead, I shall treat the situation as an attack upon my senses, and one which has now narrowed my vision. And masking. All of the masking. Rhymes with 'asking'. No more of that, either. Questions are not questions in these late days. They are switches being flipped to the wrong position by those who would try to influence what I am attempting to accomplish. What? What did you say? 'To no avail?' That's right. The lights have come up and shown me the future. No one is there. The anger will return soon enough. I already know there can be only so much solace before everything goes to hell in whatever type of receptacle you may prefer to embrace. The question of what I may or may not be continues because the words of others can't be trusted. That is partially my fault due to being weary in the past and unable to let it go, however I cannot be held to the entire pile of shit. No way. Not anymore. I see it every fucking day. Everything is related. The unfortunate resulting situation is such that I will take others' words into me, fold them up neatly, and then discard as my mood dictates. No trust. Slighted, and now the sum.
Doesn't matter anymore
Tuesday. The work yesterday was fine. We uncovered more problems, but with my current schedule I don't feel pressured to have projects completed by any particular dates. We can think about proper steps. The trail smoke from twenty is all but gone, yet there are still feelings regarding that strange period and what it may have done to me. Yesterday we fell back into the typical routine as if the gap had never occurred and the work followed suit. There are other tasks which will await my choice of time. Due to being out a number of hours yesterday, I feel compelled to remain here for the duration today. Moreover, the discomfort inherent in being away from my own space began to set in yesterday as I left, and I believe the entire day will be required for my head to return to normal. For me, anyway. There are two other facets of the previous day still working on my brain, as well. I cannot go into those here. Not at all. My words will cut everything to pieces. This is being written in parallel with another. My attention has been wandering lately because of how much weight people place upon my shoulders and do not realize or care. Back and forth, all day long, and today is no different. The morning began like most, soon descending into a pit of disapproval and anger. So, considering how I need to structure everything these days, the other essay is right next to this one and awaiting another mood swing. Pay no attention to my instability. I am not going to be here alone today. That puts a bit of a wrench into the machinery, honestly. I was looking forward to peace and quiet, meaning no fucking voices except my friends on the television. Now I have to rework whatever plans had been in place. Bullshit. The garage needed attention yesterday, so perhaps I can run the show out there for a while when the sun is shining and straighten things. There is some laundry, too. The woodwork is going to have to await motivation. After getting the table in order, the remaining ideas for the plywood do not seem as pressing. I suppose after waiting so long, having all the material here at my disposal helps me to relax about working out there. Wednesday after a very tiring Tuesday. The sixth of October. Scrape. I had to remain in the garage yesterday for a good portion of the time so the house stayed quiet. I took care of some little things and made plans. The feelings now are dire as opposed to some days back when I was actually fairly positive. No, the Sunday bullshit did not cause me to think in such terms. Other little jabs here and there, mostly by the foxes, yet still I cannot fully define why. The scrape usually comes and goes when I am not thinking about it, and keep in mind it is a situation caused and alleviated by the same fucking force. I cannot consciously hold a person responsible for this kind of concern. All that time in the garage yesterday helped me organize not only items, but my thinking too, meaning my mood this morning has been somewhat tempered by the accomplishments. I don't know about today, though. Missing out on my alone time is not good. This is the resulting circumstance. I can see it, feel it, as if it is a tangible 'thing' out there in the air, yet the truth is my brain has manufactured so much desperation and longing that I could live ten more lifetimes and nothing would ever be enough to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction. You may think that statement is in error, but let me assure anyone skimming this shit that the current period is dire. I am becoming as in eleven. Very dangerous. Of course there is a positive (isn't there always?). Despite my very uncomfortable thinking processes and inherent negative energy these days, a little something took place late in the afternoon yesterday to show me that I can still maintain myself if necessary. Jesus fuck does Oksana have some gorgeous black hair in this episode. Anyway, it was a quick hello-goodbye to the market sans issues. The little form was not there, but the positive is the fact that I did not even think about her until this morning. The trip there and back was focused upon picking up a few staples. The morsel did not enter my head. I don't know what would have happened had I seen her again, although likely not much because I am so fucking defeated these days. Probably platitudes and smiles and then out the door, as it should be. The quick exchange some days ago was the only time anything was spoken outside the scope of business. This morning's feelings are unrelated. I will say that my reckless thinking can be controlled only so much. If things get worse, I will overreach in bad ways, some of which are inward, believe it or not. The circumstance. Hmm. That seems appropriate. Time has taken its toll. Now I cannot feel as much, and what is worse is the idea that I cannot trust. It is unsafe. I have to protect myself, and in doing so may also be effectively cutting off a few necessities. I'll have to consider all sides of the dodecahedron before making any decisions or changes. This is a bad time. Very bad. When I have to literally force feed my brain so I'll stay distracted, the end appears closer than ever. The current period is waning. The circumstance will not go away, no matter the effort. I have not the power or options to exercise any longer. Stuck. Scrape. Unhappy. Relegated. Led from there to here, again led from here to there and back again, and then relegated to whatever the fuck this situation has become. The site just surpassed the number of lines written last year and there are still nearly three months left in the current year. Ugh. I mean... What IS this? Thanks Robert. Well, at least I am alone for the day as of five minutes ago. The scrape? That ebbs and flows, with today being flow. I have plenty to do today, meaning I'll be able to get my head all the way into the work and keep it there for as long as is necessary to push the bad things back. The usual stuff... Laundry, the routine inside, and then an idea for the table in the garage. The peace and quiet will help me all day long, too. I need it after the previous week and then yesterday. Not good. All those years of my free time being chopped off most days or otherwise truncated by circumstance have molded me into a walking, talking head case who must have a certain amount of hours per day for sanity. Not enough time equals no patience with anyone or anything combined with a shitty mood. So, here I am at long last with the space to think, finally. Maybe that fucking day of the phone call should have been a clue as to my rampant and increasing instability. I was outside for perhaps ten minutes while she calmed me enough to return to my own living room, after which I decided adding a passcode to the phone would be a good idea since I was harboring so much covert communication. Well, several drinks meant I created a passcode and forgot it by morning. I had to make an appointment to have the phone reworked after it locked me out completely for failing to enter the correct information. Yes, I felt appropriately stupid. See? That situation should have taught me that I was being completely ridiculous and not thinking clearly. Ah... But I kept going anyway. Part of whatever is typing these words right now is a product of that fucked-up time period. I should have known, although had that entire timeline not taken place, God knows where I would have been. The point is I fucked everything up for a while and am now in a situation seemingly without resolution. And the scrape is expanding. Phone call or no phone call, I likely would have fucked up whatever else came along. I did it before. I ran. The feeling is no different than this morning.
Maybe it never did
Relegated to this. Cornered. Not good. There was a bad strike, and then another. The third took the cake and lasted three hours. Back to the other essay. And nine in the morning. Maybe time to get things going. Thinking about this situation is only driving me into the ground at terminal speed. I can get away from here and be productive for a while. Hopefully my brain will leave the issue behind for the rest of the morning. Pause. Gone. Three in the afternoon. Everything is finished including the last model. That was a big one. Now I don't know what to do. Still angry, disillusioned, and concerned over the future of this situation. I went out for a smoke in the garage and thought about finishing what I started on the work table yesterday. The light strip which used to be on the post is now running along the top inside edge of the surrounding frame. After seeing it lit last night, I decided to cover the face of the cap rail and hide the light. It will sit up there unseen aside from the glow on the tabletop. I need to cut some plywood and mount it in three places. Unfortunately, the problems in my brain are preventing any forward progress today other than the usual routine. I also have a surplus of wood so the doors above the laundry can be cut and ready to mount. Well, that isn't happening either. I just can't move along today. The gangsters are keeping me company and the cats are to my right perched upon the back of the loveseat. Very peaceful in here. This may be all I do until the evening. Ahh... There again is the limitation. The difference. The massive gradient that has been following just behind me for decades. I see it but cannot do anything about it. I can't even describe it or I will be ridiculed. Each time this episode comes around, I see John there and think about every situation which has arisen since the early eighties and how I deftly steered everything away from me. Intelligence, constantly. Angling without anger. Only one occasion had me cornered and it is the very cause of more than I can put into words. No matter what may shimmer across that big screen up there, another reminder will eventually appear. One more time... I can't do anything about it now. Too late, too tired, too many other nagging piles of shit steaming up my fucking nose. One aspect of the future already guaranteed is being reminded of the difference on a regular basis. Ugh. 'Fictional characters', you say? Doesn't matter in the least. The real world is the same. Might as well be television everywhere. Such a loss now. Everything. Just loss. Relegated and inundated with too much. I'll have to push, I suppose, if anything is to change today. No high expectations, though. Only small items. I am literally incapable of more these days. Something will sit for months and I'll stare at it longer before touching. Nothing can make me extend my caring, I guess. The horizon is dark, just like the strike. Thursday morning's bleach box with coffee and my friends. No cats yet. Last night while preparing dinner I recalled the situation I described in the previous entry regarding my niece and nephew at that big gathering in Reno. In doing so, the idea of why I never followed through with such ideas stabbed me in the heart and I realized one limiting factor in my life has dictated more anger, depression and disdain than anything else. The trigger of all time, if you will. Hmm... Not a trigger or factor. It is not a stab, either. I tried to use some of the terms which show up here week after week but nothing fits properly. Only the title at the top of the page... The dark strike; the blow of everything; nearly the worst. Nearly. There are still other things. Yesterday was a tough one because of another fucking strike, although not as dark. I'm losing track of all the damned problems here. Maybe not enough coffee to start my brain yet. Whatever. If true, there is no solution because time cannot be reversed, nor can what has been broken inside me. Not only that, but I am too old and the process would be both costly and have little chance of success. I went through a bunch of shit in the nineties over the same idea (at her request and out of a sense of responsibility). Even then there were no guarantees but at least I was younger. The procedure was not fun, either. I do not wish to have anything similar performed in the future. Each day already holds its share of pain. No solution... See? An end-around? No such thing. My brain is experiencing more and more difficulty dealing with the idea of unchangeable issues these days, meaning I will likely continue to descend into my own little, angry world of whatever enjoyments are left. And now I am becoming irritated so I have to return to the other essay. Never mind. Still here. Today will be much like yesterday with me remaining behind closed doors for the most part. I'll have the garage open, of course, because I enjoy taking breaks out there and staring out at the world (as long as there are little to no people). I may finish the lighting canopy on the table. Right now I don't know what is going to draw my attention besides ranting here. I have the usual crap, possibly more. Again with the reinforcement which has partially jaded society forever, myself being on the opposite side of everyone for the millionth time. Well, fuck you too. Maybe I should boil everything I do down to a few choice phrases when addressed by other people. Alienating everyone would not take long at all. In the beginning would be some shitty expressions and possibly words of disapproval, but keep in mind those would only further my fucked up stance and cause me to push harder and come across as even less pleasant. It is a dream. There is no way I can operate completely alone (yet), meaning I have to compromise somewhat in order to maintain those things I need right now.
Nothing can be done
Relegated to whatever people 'believe' I should be doing or the manner in which I 'should' be behaving. I don't know which is worse right now. The questions are piling, though, and irritating me more than I could describe given blank pages for a week. Voices, too. Questions from those voices. It's all around me sometimes and leaves much to be desired. Last weekend while watching the two games, for example, nothing. No questions, observations, nada. Of course, I can't do that all the time. I have to stay here and remain within my sphere of devices. That means those voices must be dealt with as always. I wish I had a mute button for people. This is a bad time. The reinforcement increases my anger, and then thoughts of where I am as a result force it to go further. The people around me are little help at best, unfortunately, because no matter what platitudes are launched in my direction, I still see through different eyes and hear through different ears. I can't help it. Fault or no fault, I've turned out a product of everything wrong with society. Add to that the bullshit duality and those little annoyances I cannot alleviate, and the stew has become spoiled. Rancid. Decaying. I remain within the stew, affected by so much bad. Not good subjects right now. Switch. The air is a little warmer outside today, meaning I may be able to head out there and finish the canopy on the work table. Once it's built, the other organization is next. I need everything neat out there so by the time Halloween rolls around the garage will be all lit and easy to navigate. The funny thing is other people see that space and compliment how nice it looks, yet when I am out there all I see are problems. I'm pretty picky, though. As I used to say about the obsession and being out and about, 'I see everything'. The routine is finished. Now what? More of this crap? The answer is a resounding 'yes'. Jamie's hair is a universe. Still angry about that fucking Sunday afternoon. The following Sunday was very different as I had not been to the bar for a football game in more than eighteen months. Same people (mostly), same atmosphere, more televisions. I was nearly invisible, and there was no trouble other than the strike across the table with the eyes and cleavage. That was bad. The comfort came from having zero responsibilities. I spend so much fucking time holding people up that I end up exhausted and in a shitty mood, and then the smallest jab sends me flying off the handle. Well, that Sunday I contained much of the mood. The best course was to shut it off and do my own thing. Sitting among those for which I do not really care is much easier and allowed me to relax. Hiding in plain sight for the millionth time. The other essay has been crafted due to the feeling of being used up with nary a concern for my ACTUAL well-being. Oh, there is caring present, just not to the extent that I broadcast to other people. I have become much like my dad in that respect. Not good. Dark strikes will cause me to strike back. If the past is any indication, my behavior will be cold, curt and very harsh. A word came to mind by the time that Sunday evening reached the eyes, and that word is 'forest'. Again... Not good. The only positive which can spawn from that mindset is production. Still angry. No one understands the 'eyes' references. Fucking figure it out. I've been using that term for seventeen years now, dipshits. I have to go to the market near the bar in a little while. There are a few items not to be found elsewhere, but it's no big deal. I like going there because it reminds me of being holed up in the apartment ten years ago and knowing I did not have to answer to another fucking soul in existence. No more of that, unfortunately, yet still I have spaces and moments which are somewhat satisfying. I always find them. Upon returning, I'll probably make something to eat and then head out to the new office for some woodwork. Maybe. If I sit here too long, the cocktail to my right (which is already almost gone just after ten in the morning) will have babies and I will descend into the pit of headphones, harsh music and the worsening outlook for which I am famous. I really do not want that today. There are things to do and problems to solve. The downside is none of the fucking solutions are to be applied to anything truly important. Surface shit, like cleaning and moving items from one place to another. Just picture me rubbing my forehead as if the sky is falling. Have I mentioned this is a bad time? That, too. Silvio's middle name is 'Manfred'. That is fantastic. I was teased and bullied for my middle name from the fucking start so many decades ago. I see strength in my middle name as I received it out of respect for a beloved uncle's first name, yet no one else did. They treated it like a punchline. Well, a lot of situations arose due to my being a gentle person. Nothing good, mind you, but still... Situations arose. At this late date in my life, I am frankly surprised that I did not react back then. Ah... There is Melissa after Jackie's funeral. She did a wonderful job of acting in this series, and equally so in the other series centered around a funeral home. Her character in the latter show was a reprehensible, bitter, conniving, fucking cunt, though. Had I been Federico (her brother-in-law) and forced to deal with her shit attitude, I probably would have punched her in the throat more than once. That type of manipulative scripting should not be taking place. Eh... Whatever. I am beginning to see relationships which did not appear mere weeks ago, along with their effects upon the average person. My middle name may have been a joke to some, but the other name was the catalyst for what you see here. Angry, deceitful, deviant and about as calculating as a fucking supercomputer at NASA. And I have stood in front of that last one. Believe it. The size of a supermarket. I wish I could snap my fingers and make people disappear. Little tirade there. But... Who cares? I have no children, and that means I influence exactly no one. I don't need to worry about some little fucking kid following in my footsteps. There is no little kid. Well, there is the one inside me. Still the same frightened, angry product of society. The aspect to take to heart is that society is made up of all those fucking people with which I have been intimately involved for half a century. See? This is a bad time. People are the dark strikes. Tenebris Percutiens. None of my wishes will come true. None of my ideas are feasible. None of my dreams will see the light of day. From one computer keyboard to the next, to the next, to the next... Until I am dead. That's my fucking legacy."
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