December 24th, 2021 08:00am pst

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

Iactura Potestatis

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"Loss. Everywhere I look. This is a bad time.

1034 and I haven't done much. Poured a big drink, though. Maybe I can just sit here between laundry and other housework and lower myself into an alcoholic pit of despair. Why the fuck not? What else is there? What about below this section? Artwork, and a lot of real work to look that way. I respect the effort and mindset which can drive a person to improve themselves to such a degree that they stand out. None of that is easy, although if it becomes a lifestyle, the benefits typically outweigh the work. And I mean WORK. I've seen it, I've done it. Not recently, of course, because I am having a difficult time giving half a fuck about anything these days, but in the past I worked myself crazy to feel good on the inside. When I look at the image below I feel half appreciation and respect and half desire. Yes, desire. To see, gaze, stare, whatever. Measure? Nah... That ship sailed and sunk. But the other one? Desire? I cannot help it anymore because I am seeing my life coming to an abrupt halt (the buffer stop), and to suppress the real feelings apparent when gazing at such form has become ridiculous. Why sit here and veil the desire? Will that solve anything? Will anyone give a shit? Will anyone ever comment? Nope, nope, fuck no. But still... Her features bring it to the surface with the force of a thousand earthquakes. The downside is that I am in a place sans recovery for all time. I will look, but never touch. Splendid. The period leading up to early fifteen and then returning shortly thereafter is going to flourish once again. I will be in the same condition, yet six years older and with issues I did not anticipate and this point in time. Very bad. Everything is making me angry. Weaker than ever. Whatever power I held in my hands is going away. She has the power. Look at her.

Everything is fucked up. This is a bad fucking time.

0633 on Tuesday. Nice and early. Coffee. From last night:

'I could not have imagined this type of situation in a thousand years. Completely off by half. Half way around from where I need to be and right close to the worst fucking downside imaginable. Very close. This is nearly too much for me right now. Yes, I'm sitting at the dinner table with sixteen others, some of whom I've known for a decade. They are the problem.'

The worst decision I've made in some time, although I had no idea the whole affair was going to go bad. In the past, we've gone to those parties and enjoyed. A fun ride to the city, great meal at a great restaurant, and then back to town for a toast before heading home. Several years, actually. This one? I was so uncomfortable that I did not even ride back in the bus. I informed others I was heading to the bathroom and walked right out the fucking door. A few taps later and I was on my way home, my OWN way for peace of mind. I could take no more of their behavior. This is quite the digression from my theme for the entry, however I felt compelled to speak of what took place because I was floored completely by some people's behavior in the restaurant. I was raised to show respect for the establishment beyond simply looking the part. There was little of that last night near my end of the table. I had to get out of there. Moreover, the place in question is one of my favorites for nearly three decades and I have never experienced such a situation there. Not even the past holiday parties. Believe me when I say the affair is now spray-painted on the inside of my eyelids as yet another big lesson in what to avoid in the world. No sooner do I have an idea which could lead to enjoyment and perhaps a glimpse into those big dinners of the past when reality slams me in the face. Everything seems to move at lightning speed for younger people these days due to connectedness. The effects of such demand and immediacy were very apparent last night. Never again. I've read about the differences between decades ago and the present, but I am not very fluent so I will not go into it. Society has gone to shit. I still can't believe I made it all the way through dinner.

Loss of power. That is supposed to be the key to this mess. We shall see where the mood leads today. So far, only the early morning bullshit has been completed, but at least that means I have some quiet time to reflect upon yesterday's ridiculous dinner and all that needs to be done today. The donations disappeared yesterday, meaning I can move some shit around if the weather agrees. I also cleared out some space on the office table to do whatever seems best. I don't know right now, though. Coffee and this for a while, I guess. Still pissed off at myself for being weak enough to go last night with the belief that dinner would be smooth. The whole idea still makes me cringe. I'm hoping it will fade throughout this day of housework.

All the power -- or whatever I thought I possessed -- is gone. I have nothing. Just this stupid fucking shit and some free time to think. Back in late fourteen I noticed a huge problem right smack in the middle of dealing with an even larger problem, and not long after being aware of both being related, they combined and damned-near killed me some time later. The sheer desperation and manipulative manner in which I dealt with other people in order to craft time for myself appears staggering now, yet I know if the same type of weakness engulfs me again I will need double the effort in order to maintain a straight line in life. I am beginning to believe that I don't even know the definition of power any longer. All I've been doing is treading water and giving in to whatever sort of activity can distract me from the MDD and keep me moving forward at whatever pace. The power has slipped away. Well, whatever power I actually had.

At least I won't be deluding myself by going to the fucking bar activities anytime soon. Home is very stable and I have complete control over everything. That other place? Fucking train wreck on amphetamines sometimes. I do not want that shit near me any longer. I have enough to deal with and simply cannot get myself to give half a flaming fuck about those people, most notably the younger generation. I shiver at the thought of them growing older and possibly being in the position to effect change in the world. Hopefully they will remain out of sight and quiet (unlikely). 'No more a'dis, Butchy. No more a'dis.' If only I had some influence. Just a little person with a little voice.

These power-related entries and the tertiary situations around me may actually congeal at some point and drive me with much more purpose than in the past. I see it and feel it building inside and would not wish to be the poor fuck standing before me when the fuse reaches the trinitrotoluene. Figurative, of course. I am not one of those fucking psychopaths with shit in the garage. All I have is WD40 for crying out loud. My explosives are inside me and deflagrate in the form of words. Bullets with syllables. Don't be that person. Actually? Go right ahead and stand there. I don't care about you or your fucking agenda. Remember, I don't have one because nothing ever works in real life the way it does inside me. Nothing. My expectations have been similarly lowered. The mood is not going to improve. I dislike too much and do not have the years left for a complete reversal.


Sometimes dashing away with nary a word to anyone helps me to feel a touch of power. Perhaps control, too, because going along with the wishes of others means conforming to what they may want the evening to be. So, by disappearing and negating anything over my head related to their vision for the night I effectively removed any semblance of control and exercised my own. I suppose one could see it as such, although what I've said may also be nothing more than a stretch. I don't fucking know. I have always felt empowered whenever running away or otherwise confusing the shit out of people. It's like a giant sign that takes them by surprise, stating they only 'thought' they knew me. By contrast, if I do it on enough occasions, they may expect me to be flighty and the power of my behavior goes away. Loss of power, once again. Maybe I was so false last night that they assumed I was enjoying myself just as they were. What? Maybe not.


'Don't trust a stranger.'

Indeed, that lyric may ring true, yet I took it out of context for good reason. Realistically, and in my very recent experience, trust not one human being on this spinning marble. No one. Friends (friends?), family, not a single fucking soul. Eventually they will stick their agenda in your ass. Believe it, or don't. No skin off my nose. Cynical? Probably. But the fact is there have been too many examples of the same for me to fucking believe anything else. Protection. Everything resembles no more than warm shit on the sidewalk these days. I really have to push and stretch in order to be even remotely comfortable. Crap. This little girl in the Boonton projects -- and whose father is one of my favorite actors of all time -- is so flippin' cute that I cannot say enough. Oof, here comes Marianucci. Heh.

The physical problems have been increasing lately. Could be age, could be a mental health thingy. I don't know which, but the fact is something is changing and making me worry. I was told long ago that some aspects of what I have to deal with daily will NEVER go away. I was also instructed to get a CT as I approach a certain age. That is still a ways off, though. And I honestly must admit that relational parts of life have become involved in large part due to the way I think. Years of problems without any possibility of actual care and understanding have jaded me permanently. Another ship on the bottom of the sea. Years that are gone and there cannot be another chance. Everything has been removed and empty space is all that has been left behind. As much as I understand the involvement of my head, the truth is I became this way BECAUSE of other people and situations beyond my grasp. Unfairness. Coldness. Detachment. Well, all that shit has come together in nothing more than a week now, and I have fucking had it. Physical problems can be mildly alleviated. I'll have to seek whatever helps in the short term lest I actually speak my mind. I have been fearful of the future, too. The fear drives anger. Everything is related to the past, be it long or short. Fucking sick of this shit all the time. Sick of it.

The major downside of such problems is that they are constantly in the background no matter what I am doing. I rarely lose thoughts.

Last night was the catalyst I had not been expecting. I calculated there might be some shit but it never really materialized in the past. We've done that trip and dinner on several occasions, so I calculated a similar evening and nothing worrisome. Not even those moments of form flashes in the city. Nothing. Well, what actually took place was beyond my imagination and is forcing a change. This will affect me, of course, but not likely anyone else because they are blind. And I cannot speak of those involved, either. Tony's bottle of beer on the table in their living room reminds me of the old logo, subsequently leading my head to the glow or near-after. That is bad right now because of the holidays combined with both severe issues laid out here thus far. Today had better be pretty rewarding as a result. The dinner trip does bring me joy in knowing I am here all day and can eventually embrace the typical weekday evening as the clock advances, so I guess there is an upside. I really wish I could discuss the matter, however knowing this town and those who were there, nothing good would come of it. Just more negative shit. Fuck it. Muted.

Kelly is a fucking bitch all the time but nothing compared to her character on the other show. The 'sister in law' was the worst piece of shit, ever. Damn, sometimes I can't even look at her on the screen. Of course and as always, the characters are the problem, not the actor. She is very capable.

'Stop and smell the roses.' What a crock of shit. The intentions come on strong and then fade quicker than a snowflake on an Arizona sidewalk in July. The only way to change a person's thinking process is through tragedy. And then it STILL reverts back to the original. There is no fucking way out, and last night was a shining example of both sides. Just a bunch of bullshit over and over and over. But I digress.

The power is gone, never to return. Time continues to pass with little regard of the trials piled upon individual shoulders. Is it unfair? Too big a question. I either make it through or I don't. I either put forth effort or don't. But fair? I have no idea if that word applies. Reap what we sow? Too simple. The fact is I have plowed so much shit related to the power in question that I'm fucking worn out for all time. Weakened by more than one example of coldness and detachment. I fucking hate everything. But who am I in the grand scheme? Someone? A number? Taking everything too seriously? Fuck you, too.

Power. Absent. I don't know if it was taken or if I let it go by losing grip. I just don't fucking know anymore. Do you have the answer, doctor brilliantpants? I thought as much. More blah, blah, blah fishcakes. Fuck off.

So far it is 0953 and I haven't lifted a finger except for sweeping the traffic areas like I always do in the morning. The motivation is to see if the little dipshits have come in anywhere. The broom will pick them up and deposit them in the pile of debris making them easier to see. The last several days there have been zero but I will not become complacent. Anyway, the routine is still waiting for my effort and afterward I need to box up some keepsake glasses again to make room in a cabinet. I would like to work in the garage, too, but the temperature may keep me inside. That's fine. On top of that crap, I'd prefer going to the market today and my car is sleeping at the bar parking lot because I took the ride all the way home last night. I should have had the driver dump me at the car. Damn. Not a big deal, though. I can work with it. I might take a car service over there around lunch time. Very cheap. Everything else I do today will be for the purpose of distracting myself from the ugliness surrounding me. I have to stay detached and as clear-headed as possible if I am to fully understand everything and take steps. I'm quite certain my silence will raise flags among those fucking people and I will be questioned at some point. Well, more silence. Fuck them.

Wow, three paragraphs all ending with nearly the same pleasant words. Suck it down.

'The daggers went in deep; vile and sickening.'

They did go in... During both the long past and recent times. I can do nothing about this. My show journal actually has a detailed account of certain word occurrences because I have become obsessed with keeping track of anything hurtful. And few have ever understood. Too many times have I been advised to let everything go in order to move forward into the future with a more positive outlook and eased mind. Well, good fucking luck with that kind of thinking. I have lost opportunities, situations which arose beyond my control, and far too much possibility for happiness due to the same. Don't fucking tell me to let it go. Believe me, I've tried. Even the assistance of those trained is such trauma have accomplished zero. Nothing. I railroaded them and chipped away their position until they had no ground left. More than once have I lashed with my word-bullets and denied them possibility. Sorry, people, there is no way around this. Every fucking difficulty in life has related to the past. Big or small, simple or complex... All roads lead back to the exact same shit. So? Fuck you. Stop fucking trying because I'll flatten your suggestions quicker than swatting a fly. The feeling goes back to John -- whom I've mentioned at least twice in the last year -- and everything I am not. Reasons? I don't know anymore, but I can say that there is more than a slim chance that each part of me and every troubling situation, exposure or conversation could be the result of my trying to compensate that which cannot be repaired. The daggers are still showing their hilts. Fuck everyone. Everything is related. One tiny blameless slip can flood me with every single negative emotion imaginable. And I can imagine quite a lot.


The previous bitch session regarding the pretty and ugly may have been misplaced. I don't know, though. My plate of dinner last night was pretty, the remainder of the night being very ugly. Does that help? A meaning? I fucking doubt it.

I was on my way to a rewarding career before being derailed out of sheer weakness and desperation. I ran to it. I ran very fast and then the world imploded. The move from the valley to this fucking place was a search for compensation and validation of me as a... I can't say it. I tried and destroyed lives in the process. I was very wrong, yet the basis of the decision cannot be blamed, only my methods. I knew at the time that speaking to someone about all of the missing shit inside me would go nowhere and reacted accordingly. And then shit really went downhill. And here I sit, a product of the past with a bushel of mistakes all pointing to the same cold reality. That career took off without me, and then another appeared and I lost it because of being an emotional wreck and grasping at anything capable of causing joy. I fucking threw everything away looking for comfort and then threw everything away looking for a reason to smile. Neither bore fruit. As a result, the final opportunity for me to rise went away nearly as quickly as it appeared. Gone forever. And that was a big fucking deal. So big, in fact, that at some point every single day and despite the event having taken place more than ten years ago, it still cuts me deeply enough to see the blood everywhere I look. Every fucking aspect of this paragraph was the result of the previous paragraph. Read it again. Daggers and lost power. I gave it away willingly, too. I dove and reacted. I ran and sought. I destroyed myself forever. Suck that one.

'So now you're a fuckin' mind reader now.' -- Oh Chris, the grammar. Now, now? Fix it.

My routine is finished at 1130 and the show is still on. I have to work on the log of references. Too compelling. No lunch yet, though. I guess a car service to get my ride from the bar will be necessary soon. I really don't want to go out, either. This day is a complete pile of shit.

'The earth became red.
The cutting machines of man.
Disgust and hatred for
The lives of woman.'

Linda Lavin is a complete wing-nut in this episode, but her voice is silk. Love it. All those years between her seventies show and this one have not done her justice. Heh. Good actor, that one. And holy shit is Silvio wearing a fantastic jacket. Awesome, and kudos to the costuming on this show just like everything else. There is no end to the details and my appreciation for what that asshole created.

'Clean out the filtah next time. Disgustin.' Tony was James, and I love James in ways I cannot ever explain. Like Nicole Burdette above -- and her sad eyes -- a good portion of the reasoning behind Chase casting Gandolfini in the first place was the same... Sadness always apparent in his eyes. I know little of either of those two actors, but I know the sadness engulfing my life. Perhaps that is why I gravitate toward these stories so often. Relational feelings.

Who am I, though? Do I fucking matter? Does all this attempted, haphazard analysis mean anything to anyone but me? I doubt it. Maybe I will call a car to go pick up mine. I really have no other direction today because there is far too much crap piled inside my head. It is being compacted like trash. Compactors can be emptied, those lucky fucks. My head cannot. This is a bad time.

The past relates to sex; sex relates to my well-being... DIRECTLY; my well-being relates to how I react while near others and hearing their words; and then the past returns when I see what they are as opposed to what I am. Round and round we go. Less and less reason to do anything. I have often made reference to the little enjoyments. They still exist and represent the only slight detachment from this worst frame of mind. The food, media, booze, whatever. Those tiny stitches of a vast tapestry which encompasses everything I am are being pulled taught and show signs of wear. Even the rope way back at the outset of fifteen and immediately after I sat across from Her and gazed without limit, those threads have been continuously strained. I am going to break. The past will not let go of me. Every single molecule of life has been adjusted so as to ensure I forget nothing and continue to slide downward. There needs to be an end to this, and not the one I consider daily and possibly the ONLY answer. Oh, if I could move about the timeline and view some of that past. Well, let's just say the world we know would not exist. Death is the only real god.

Twenty-three days into December now. Twenty-three. Once the beginning of fall hit me in the face, this part of the year has sped by. I'd say unacceptable, yet there is nothing I can to about it. Time moves, time is perceived, time crushes. The next year will be here soon enough to upset me. There is no more 'good'.

0636 with coffee and my friends up there.

I have a little time before the morning stuff. Yesterday went all to hell during the mid-afternoon and I can't have it again today. I'll make sure. The usual, I guess, and then some work in the dining room to keep my head as upright as possible. Lately I have been trying to understand why other people cannot seem to leave me be during times of turmoil, and then I make my intentions known and end up slammed for the effort. Since everything else in my life has gone to shit, I may as well stand in place and watch the castles fall down around me rather than getting more involved. I honestly don't give a fuck. Looking out for my well-being has been narrowed to only myself. Trust no one. Count on no one. Relate to no one. One word, maybe two, and then their agenda will come forth and interfere. Everything will soon be reversed in order to rack focus away from the original issue or person and have it centered upon something else, effectively leaving yours truly twisting in the wind. I can't have that anymore. Between the stupid fucking dinner and all of the lights turned on in my head coupled with the words I have had to endure recently, I believe a threshold was crossed. This may be a good thing for me. For a split-second, Oksana's thigh gap is high art. But only for a second. Then it goes away. Five-nine, that woman. Anyway, I can't have today running over me like yesterday. I still feel the tires. There will have to be a bit more fortification this morning and then a tad more in the afternoon just before the quiet time after dark begins. I have been pushed and made to feel as if everything is my responsibility -- including that of other fucking people, their feelings -- and will push back accordingly if and when the moment arrives. No one enjoys my behavior during this type of mood so I will have to be careful with the wording and timing. Rest assured, shit will change.

The morning time has to be split now. I'll get shit ready and then return here shortly. Coffee, gangsters, and I cannot WAIT until the quiet returns in just over half an hour.

0736 and here I am in the quiet. Thank the maker. I really needed this morning after the last couple of days. Nothing compares to being alone with whatever devices seem best. I'll stick here for a while before getting into the work. The weather is rainy and windy this morning. I'll have to watch the flooring as the day progresses.


This is a bad time. Devices. Nothing more. Streamlining is tough. If I could only streamline my head.

This weather reminds me of sitting atop that big building in Dublin and watching the harsh wind and rain outside whilst perfectly comfortable in the warmth. That was the beginning of the forest feeling, too. The period just after -- moving into an actual detached home -- carried with it feelings also of the forest, but there had been much more. The military mindset and survival. Much of the crap I had acquired while in Concord a few years earlier became the focus of the garage, and then that first October rolled around and I kept it all at the ready in hopes of a drive up the mountain. Prepared. Well, I'm not going anywhere soon, so the weather serves as nothing more than a reminder. I mean, fuck it... I can't do anything at all these days. My position in life is just shit right now and I must keep myself centered within the house and do what I can. This is a far cry from those dreams from twenty years back. I still had hopes of doing something more fulfilling than the simplicity and drudgery of work/sleep work/weekend and then every now and again work/vacation. Nothing really blew my skirt up aside from sitting in my favorite leather recliner with laptop and bourbon. That was something, at least. But still, the larger image of the wide-open future still remained just behind my eyes. I had some power but let it drift away in too many ways to list, not the least of which was the mechanical nature of yearning for comfort. I really did a job on my future, and the weather outside is a reminder of every fucking step. The power went away because I let it go. 'They' embraced that power and ensured my path would experience a permanent derailment.

'The butchery, the savagery, did spill unto themselves...'

I probably will not know which way to turn first this morning because my brain does not organize and process as well as in the past, and that is apparently the will of the others... Keeping me off center so as to maintain an advantage. I get it and would probably do something similar if I had any strength at all. Unfortunately, I spend most of my time trying to catch up to the wave front in order to adjust to all the shit thrown my way, meaning I do not have the fucking time to derail anyone else. My day is too often run aground due to the words and actions aimed at me. Even after all these fucking years, what little power I can exercise seems either misplaced or nowhere near enough to get me out of the way of those hits. Wow, train and boat analogies in the same paragraph. I guess even with a limited vocabulary I can still be creative. Whatever.

I am supposed to pick up a turkey today but so far the rain has not let up for a minute. Unbelievable. The garage will be nice in a little while, though. I enjoy looking out at the out-of-control weather sometimes while remaining warm and comfortable. Too old to go out there and embrace the weather personally. I'll end up sick or hurt or worse. Too weak. No power. At least I can watch.

I need to stop calling Valentina 'disgusting' because she's not. She's just different and a little screwed up. Considering the way I feel about people and the manner in which I can react to simplicities no one else seems to understand, I have to room to call Valentina anything. I've heard 'no man is an island', yet still I have not clue one as to the full meaning. It is open to interpretation, so calling her names equates to my being insensitive, and that word has been rammed down my throat for decades. I will be nice to her, at least until I can relate to the 'island' aspect of the whole fucking thing.

I found it. More profound than I would have thought. Unfortunately, I do not share his view...

'No man is an island
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were:
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were.

Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.'

-- John Donne [1572-1631]

0827 and still raining pretty decent. I do like to see the water falling, too. Reminds me of how small we are as a species. Weak and needing shelter all the time. Not a bad thing, but a point of contention. I've argued that technology and progress have weakened us over time but no one seems to agree. Big fucking surprise. We used to live in huts and caves, dipshits. Look at us now... Sensitized to the elements due to being sheltered for centuries. Get it? I don't fucking care anyway. Nothing I say will make a lick of difference in the world, nor will anyone give a hoot in hell whether or not I am even speaking. This is just so fucking stupid anymore.

I gave it away, really. The power. They have it and will probably always have it. Damn it, there was that girl again, the one with the French accent and unequaled form. I thought of her last night watching one of the shows and equated the woman from the screen to the French girl due to the hips and walk. Very interesting, too, because last night the woman appeared pretty fucking amazing from some angles, especially around her waist, thigs and shoulders. And then the other show had what's-her-name with shoulders on display and her fucking arms formed a square as she sat at a table. All three point to the power, too. Do you see? Want me to state it outright? Here you go... The shit life dealt me many years ago permanently altered the way I think, resulting in a level of weakness I have never seen in another person. Thus, I yearned for whatever appeared to fulfill the gaps left inside me. That last sentence is indicative of me applying power in great levels to whatever seemed appealing. I shoved aside everything to lunge. I dropped it all. Any sort of power inside me was transferred to the dreams. Last night watching the show reminded me of just how weak I can be. Loss of power, loss of direction, loss of 'self' these days. Others continue to push with nary a concern for my well-being. Yep, shit has to change. I only wish I knew which way to turn.

Still raining pretty good at 0918. I'll have to keep my eye on everything today. I don't know what to expect from this storm cycle. Hmm... I think that was the title of an entry.

Valentina does have rather nice skin, I guess. One positive. Probably her age. Makes me think of Ashley lying on the bed in her apartment. Well, fuck me. Never again. She did not exercise the power, though. Very balanced, that girl. If only...

This entire line of thinking is at the top of a long list of actions I cannot take. Helpless because they have the power. They have the power because I was hurt and then left alone. I was hurt and left alone because of my heritage. My heritage cannot be blamed, however. I know not what to do or how to proceed. I am still hurting. Weak. Defeated. At least I like the weather. This is a bad time.

I had no idea that my entire life would be dysfunctional and desperate, difficult beyond words, due to a small portion of time forty-plus years ago. I am so broken and have so many pieces missing that if I live another hundred years nothing can be repaired or replaced. This is a bad time because I think about everything all day, every day, and react accordingly. I treat others accordingly. I dream accordingly. I yearn and then hurt every fucking moment. Nothing helps. Little, tiny comforts and enjoyments which never last very long at all. Whatever I can do to sidestep the shit still seems best, but underneath I know I am doing nothing more than postponing the inevitable. All my worry seems to have become focused now. We discussed the subject a few days ago but I didn't want to accept it. Now I see less choice. Weakness and desperation. Infirmi et desperatis, remember?

I have one more section below the next image but it might read the same as the rest, albeit with some different words. Compulsion leads to exposition which then leads to down. Far down. I am wondering what will be the bottom... Or when.

Maybe I should get rid of more stuff. That usually helps for a little while.


Oof-ah, that image. The key is her bright expression. I used to have one of those, but you already know I refuse to place the image of a male model here. Go find one yourself, and make sure the model is smiling.

The twisted thinking helped me to craft a passage regarding one of the tertiary characters on this show some time ago. I cannot include it here because if anyone reads it I will receive a ration of shit, no doubt. My feelings are such that I can no longer share them with anyone. No one gets it and I can't trust a reaction anyway. Platitudes are just that... Flat, empty, condescending. Bullshit flying in my direction, but I cannot know for sure. Remember the flap about a thousand people contained in a room and one is or will be a serial killer responsible for a multitude of deaths? Think about it. I don't know, I can't know, so everyone is shut the fuck down at the outset. The twisted thinking is what I have become due to the actions of people I don't even fucking know. I explored it and wrote. Unfortunately, the overarching ideas which prompt such essays are worthless to begin with. All of it -- much like everything I have written since early last year -- is completely sans value to anyone, including myself. I just saw the character in question last night for a little while and began to picture and dream. That was not good, but as I said, this is not my fucking fault.


Perhaps I should rise and care for the routine. Afterward, or at some point today, I need to go to the market with all the fucking goddesses to pick up a turkey I'll roast in two days. I may still cancel, though, due in part to my mood being further south than I would have expected this close to Christmas. All that shit I've described and lamented from the past keeps appearing no matter how I feel. The resulting mood leaves me without the ambition to roast the fucking thing and make a nice dinner. Bottom line? I can't get myself to give a fuck. That may be sad, but I don't care. I feel what I feel and will not answer to another human being for it. They can all take a long walk off a short pier. Assholes anyway. 1.55 million words here, many of them repeated more than I would care to admit. Maybe the asshole ratio is the reason.

'The great fiery pit. Hordes ripped apart.
Chaos ensued, screaming from the dark.'

The routine is finished, although I will be touching up the kitchen upon returning from the market later. I need to tie up some loose ends. 1114, like it matters. I still have the show on because I am a head case every day, and my mixed drink is resting next to the sofa. I have not lost the drive to get things done today, thank God, and will be heading to the market very soon (when my glass is empty). The bird order has been canceled in favor of spending less money and instead roasting a whole chicken we already have in the freezer. It's in a dish right now, defrosting. I am going to the goddess market, though, because I am hoping for some of that house made gravy and a few herbs for both tonight and Christmas. Nothing to eat yet. Not feeling it. And I don't know what the hell I may see in that fucking market, so for the time being the alcohol will be my only nourishment. I wish that was funny. There have been times in that store that I saw something phenomenal and could not get the vision out of my brain for weeks. This close to Christmas means they will likely be fairly busy, even during a weekday. The possibility of yoga pants and bouncing breasts is therefore increased. Not good, but I have to get that stuff. I tried to get the gravy just before turkey day, but alas I was too late. All gone. I may grab something for lunch, too. Don't know yet because my stomach is never completely relaxed. All that shit above keeps me perpetually on edge. The only positive is the fact that my abdominal muscles are very strong after decades of extreme stress. I wish heartache had a plus side. 1130 now.

0627 on Christmas Eve. I am supposed to go pick up one of my brothers to shop this morning for a little while. That is going to put a hitch in my typical morning giddy-up. Oh, my God... Her eyes during this conversation. Fourth season, too. Just goes to show that her age and eyes are not dependent upon one another. Damn. Anyway, today is going to be all over the place due to both the shopping and her schedule. Half day, I believe. My time is at risk of being very different than most days and the idea makes me a little uncomfortable, to be honest. I'll have to be patient, I guess. After yesterday running around for a while I could really use some peace and quiet. Tomorrow morning will be as such.

'You have many fine qualities. You are big and strong, full of life...'

There had been but two problems in the market yesterday, and one glided by just before I left. Not a big deal. Legs, though they were not terribly long. A woman of my years, perhaps. I was out of there fairly quickly anyway. All that concern for nearly nothing. The reason for being over there was to help with moving a vehicle from the city back to town. The process also involved helping another guy drop some debris at the dump on the other side of the hill. Afterward we grabbed the vehicle and headed back. At that point I went into the market for a few items with a head full of both concern over my well-being and the past issues in that place, most namely one employee and running into a woman I've known for many years. The employee was not the second problem, though. I thought I recognized the girl just before me in line but thinking back I do not believe she was who I recalled. But the clues were there despite her mask. Quite a long time has passed since I thought of her face, too. Before the pandemic. Really. I have not dreamed of that woman for maybe two years and now her face is right there behind my eyes this morning. Second problem, much more stirring than the first. Fucking shoot me for going on and on about a woman again, but people don't seem to understand the issue with her. The closest pair of huge, dark eyes to someone I loved, and in some ways actually more beautiful, as in completely aligned with what I would actually create given the tools. Yes, I said that. She is that ideally suited to my taste in every feature of a face. Recalling the last time I said hello to her in the bar gives me goosebumps. Ok, that is that.

No, it is not.

Talk about losing fucking power... She drained it out of me as if I had a locked valve on my head and she held the combination. That quickly. That effectively. Just unreal. I scoured the fucking Net to find anything even remotely close to the relationship between her eyes and mouth but came up with an empty shopping cart. [And speaking of shopping, I just canceled.] Wow, did I ever lose my mind trying to find anything resembling her so I could stare every day. Nothing. I can see her face right now because I've known her for several years and even worked with her a bit, yet an image seems impossible. There are some very close, but nothing accurate, damn it. I tried and gave up years ago after that last meeting when she addressed me. As soon as her eyes began to change shape with the beginning of a smile, birds started chirping and I felt all of the power running out and across the floor. Lost, for all time. And she was not the only one, either. Think about how many times I have sat at this editor describing each occasion of losing my way due to seeing something crippling and fantastic, fully aligned with my dreams. Well, the woman in question was the capital issue for quite some time after that fateful 'fifteen' shit period. I may have loved her for a while. Don't know. Right there not more than seven feet from me was a woman with her eyes, or damned close, less than twenty-four hours ago, the moment all the power was lost again, and a striking reminder of being near her unique appearance and subsequently falling all over myself trying to put two and two together. I couldn't think straight to save my life.

Not a good time for such a recollection. Not by a damned sight. Just more shit in my head. Honestly, and I am not stretching this for any other reason than being completely truthful, her face is an ethereal combination of the Raven's features and those of Jamie, mostly the latter. Indescribable, of course, because trying to get across feelings related to a person's appearance is completely impossible outside the very slim chance that said person resembles someone specific and/or well-known. Nope. Suffice to say the glimpse yesterday dropped my power level through the fucking floor. Loss, loss, loss. Jesus H. Christ in a fucking slingshot is that woman ever gorgeous. And I am completely drained. That was not her at the store. A younger version stood near me and appeared to resemble the original, although I quickly calculated the girl standing there was much younger. The eyes, though... They were very close. I looked away until she exited the store and began to die a little more inside. I felt that giving my life for one more gaze from the woman in question was not unreasonable.

The last nearly three paragraphs all gushing and relating to one woman from the near past are going to sit up there as prime examples of everything I have become in recent weeks: Weak, desperate, yearning, powerless to effect change, and still missing enough pieces inside to constantly search for something. I don't know what, but some fucking thing.

This is all so fucking stupid. I guess losing the hosting was a good thing. None of my words here matter. Nothing changes. I don't improve. I just sit here and go around the circle every morning until losing my shit for a little while and then going through the motions expected of me. Look at all that fucking shit up above.

Do you see what a ridiculous mess I have become?"