December 31st, 2021 06:25am pst

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

The Vulpine Power

 read ( words)

"'Muthafuckin' God damn orange peel beef.'

Ah, sometimes shit just goes bad, and the Chinese food right along with everything else. Baby with the bath water. A monkey in the wrench. Monkey wrench. Wrenched straight out of a position resembling anything with even the slightest trickle of power. Gone... All fucking gone. Just like whatever it was Tony wanted when he blew a gasket. I gave it away. This is a bad time. I can't stress that enough.

I didn't go shopping this morning. Don't care. Don't want to do much of anything, really. I'm glad I picked up a few things yesterday at the official goddess market. That means I don't have to do a thing today. The free time is already clocking away, though. Can't stop it. And I feel even smaller than I did at the close of the previous pile of shit, er.. Entry. I'm hoping this mess won't be another repeat. I really went on and on about that one woman from the past. Maybe too much. Now I feel ridiculous. The attractiveness should NOT be affecting me so deeply. The idea indicates that I am further gone than when I began to describe the machinery and dreams about the same. Much further. A year and a half since first gleaning that shit and naming it Jaime. Long time. But perhaps not long enough for me to actually try being more balanced. I never did because I can't help but remain where I am, which is a deeply embedded position in which I have complete control over whatever I want or need to do on a daily basis. Combined with unlimited time for thinking and dreaming about everything, the image of me now is very different than that of just two years ago. Smaller, weaker, and more desperate. Holes all over the inside. Nearly obliterated. Decimated? No... That term indicates ten pieces.

1052 and I feel like crap. I don't know what happened, but it began just after starting the routine (which is actually very simple today) and continues an hour later. I don't like this at all. Very uncomfortable. Little Carmine's wife is one of those rare examples of a blonde woman who is actually very adorable. Just like the uncredited blonde who sat with the asshole 'hat guy' Tony leaned on, they are few and far between. But Nicole is really cute for some reason. Anyway... I am physically under the weather regardless of the beauty splayed across that big screen.

Oof... Vanessa's character. Gawd damn sonovabitch is she ever frightening. She makes Adriana appear that much sweeter and human. Vanessa's lips need their own zip code.

Christmas Day, 2021.

Yesterday did not turn out to be much of anything. I did cook lunch and dinner, though, and completed a pile of dry cleaning, so the day was not a total loss. Still, the past comes back and slaps me as if I had not been paying attention. Even one year ago on this day I was better and my world felt more satisfying. Further back I do recall one holiday spent entirely alone and the following with my sister and family. That would be the final occasion for such things. The one day spent alone was partially shining, I suppose. My feelings regarding the entire situation on this side of the hill had been suppressed to the point of nearly having me jumping off the fucking bridge. I was deluded and my brain completely diluted. Looking at those two years helps yesterday appear much more satisfying, yet overall I have to say the magical experiences of the past are even further away now than ever. The whole subject makes me sad. That first holiday on this side of the hill? Yep... That was driven by the power. Undeniable and unrelenting.

Nothing can resist such power, nor are there methods for taking it away. In my head all the time as evidenced by the sheer number of images and repeating words here for years. In the previous pile of shit, I mentioned my recollection of the woman with whom I used to work. Well, only a handful of occasions found us at the same job because my partner and I actually worked for her father via handshake. We were not employees but contractors. Anyway, I can picture her trying to get my attention at the bar years ago because I did not notice she was nearby at first. Once I said hello, she caught sight of my eyes and asked if I was not happy to see her again. Well, of course I was overjoyed to be within the same space as her beauty and kindness, yet the resemblance to the Raven slammed me pretty bad and I ended up telling her of such feelings. The woman understood and gave me a hug while apologizing. I stopped her and basically came very close to falling on my face over her face and stated she need not do such a thing because her face was more unique than any I had ever seen. And that was that. The conversation lightened and we spoke for a little while before she had to head home. The point of all this is that I turned my life upside down and destroyed many relationships due to the power over my consciousness of a beautiful face and body. Eventually everything in life calmed, I began to recognize something wrong inside me to the point of becoming overly obsessed with certain very private details of a form, and then ran across another... I nearly threw my life in the trash a second time. And the clincher? More than a year after one woman left this earth and I caught sight of another, the correct wording and possible connections and I would have done the exact same thing again. Yep. No power. She had it. They had it. I've seen it near and far, at times a little too close for comfort. And none of them are to blame. I gave it away because of weakness.

The power is still out there all over the world and growing. There can be no escape from the pull, draw, whatever you wish to call it. Nothing helps. Nothing can make it ease or stop. Nothing feels effective because as time passes by and disregards personal feelings and needs, I continue to weaken. Time is a part of it. They are another part. The lion's share has already been laid out here, albeit difficult to follow but for good reason. At this point in life I simply can't have people making fun of me. To my face? That would not happen. In private? I could not know. But part of my problem is that I have lost faith in people to the point of calculating constantly that everything is a lie. I cannot see another way to protect myself. This is a bad time.

I would have thrown myself at her and that is very bad. Weak. Stupid. Short-sighted. Regardless of everything which would have eventually burned to the ground, I likely would have gazed and then lost my way just like in the past. I am very pleased the chance never arose (and I will not say why but it had nothing to do with me) because the previous year had me so fucked up that could barely see straight. Way off the rails over that woman. She had more power over me than I could have imagined in ten lifetimes, and know precisely why, too. I know all of it. Will something else arise in the future? Not likely, and for two reasons: First, I do not feel the same as I did seven years ago because I have no reason to believe anything good is going to happen to me in the future, and second, the last couple of weeks I have been able to see the fucked-up and juvenile side of a couple of young people which makes me realize I have actually learned to avoid certain personality types regardless of how they may appear on the outside. The woman discussed above was a different story, though. Her I could have been comfortable near. Very hard to explain. The eyes, all concerned and open. I don't know. Anyway, the young people several nights ago at dinner showed me that I am very mature and balanced while in public, whereas they are immature and selfish. Wow. I was not expecting that shit. I actually felt proud of myself for handling a group situation like a champion. Perhaps all that grooming by my grandfather and all those trips to Nevada shaped me into something like him. The fucking point is there are unreal examples of beauty all over the place -- the occasional goddess-pull at my senses standing at the head of the line, of course -- but I know they may as well be hollow, unfeeling automatons because I have to remain far away and detached. The beautiful and sensitive souls I met while traveling in those desperate searches for comfort of a very specific type may as well not exist any longer because I will never find them. The most recent was that woman with whom I worked. I'll have to try and explain the difference. Don't hold your fucking breath, however.

Oh boy, thunder and lightning in this area has been very rare, yet we just received a pretty good series a moment ago. Caught me off-guard. Heh. The weather and planet can certainly demonstrate how tiny human beings are at times. Maybe I have another direction today. I must care for the house in this weather.

Lots of rain so far this morning. Only 0813 and already I've heard heavy to light and back again. Amazing.

I'll be roasting a whole chicken, of all things, for dinner late this afternoon. I canceled the big bird to save money and knowing we could make the chicken into a great meal. I did grab the good gravy base they sell at the goddess market, too. That is good stuff. I'm also going to do the roasted artichokes, which means upon finishing the kitchen work today I will be preparing them because the recipe is in stages. Lots of kitchen time today... One of my favorite ways to spend time.

Geez... The rain. I guess I'll have to charge all the backup batteries in case we lose power. What a fucking storm just now.

That woman could not have come to mind at a better time, honestly. I realize seeing the girl at the market which brought her to mind could have gone bad, but now, two days later, I can analyze with a fairly clear head. And I wish I could use her first name just to keep things in order here, damn it, although if anything ever came of it I would be forced to explain. Not good. Anyway, she was one of the earliest representations of such dramatic power over my psyche and senses, just like the Raven. The woman's resemblance to the often very calming and comfort-inducing expressions on Jamie's face while acting is striking. I simply could not believe my eyes. I fell somewhat at the time but nothing terrible. That was a period which found me slowly giving up on happiness, meaning every time I saw her my head dropped another notch. Now I can sit here and try to understand the whole thing. The downsides are my recollections continuing to point to the same event and a hellish, years-long slide as a result. There is no stopping such things. Not anymore. The cherry on top? Do you remember that whole face-thing I tried to describe? Yep, the woman in question shares that fantastic and inexplicable trait, too. All of it, head to toe. The most powerful force in my universe.


Honestly, understanding and explaining cannot solve much because despite her alignment with nearly every fucking aspect of female physical attractiveness I have sought for years, there was another which immediately turned all of it on its ear. One look and my mind swung like the fucking mast in a storm. Right upside my head with just as much power as the other one... The race girl. Until that point in time, everything had been similar almost constantly, the darkness, dark expressions, dark hair, you know. But the race girl was blonde and bright. I still don't get that one, although the slap may have been the way she looked at me. For a second I saw myself gushing everything into her waiting ears, sobbing the entire time, as she held me. How and why in the holy blue fuck that took place I'll never know. Perhaps the desperation took over for a time. It was pretty bad if I reached THAT much. So, the appearance and dark traits may not be one of the keys. The answer could very well be the strongest need to be understood. I just don't know. One thing, though... The girl at the race carried as much, if not more, power over me than the other two. The power again. Just like the divine guns. Pointing ever more toward my deep-seated weakness. This is a bad time. And a bad entry.

Expect more of the same as the calendar burns away.

0849 and I am about to go do something else. This is so fucking depressing that I can't even find the words. And on Christmas, no less. I loved seeing those big, dark eyes at the market but they may only serve to further damage me. God damn it all. A reminder of one of the darkest, most stirring and beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on. I would give my life to tell her as much. Alas, I'll never again speak to another human being about how I feel. There is no point. I've tried, yet came out the other side worse off than in the beginning. It was an idea. Not a good one. Smaller and weaker with each tick of the second hand.

0551 the day after Christmas, Sunday, and the first day for a while in which I will have time to myself sans other people. Also garbage day and the kitchen is completely thrashed after cooking most of yesterday for the holiday dinner. I have my work cut out for me today and look forward to being busy for a while. I have to avoid the after-lunch bullshit of last week. The paragraph prior to this one looks about right for me, especially the topic sentence. I keep seeing her and what she represents, the daydreaming of the past holidays -- most pointedly, those during the short glow -- and then being here all day with very little ambition has summed to push me yet again. This morning I see it all clearly. The glow was tough to consider yesterday with a very quiet house. One major difference at present is the mass of holiday wishes flowing into the phone during the morning. Nothing like that existed thirty-plus years ago. Everything was sent in the mail or discussed over the phone, both of which I would actually prefer. Technology has shrunk the planet far too much for my taste. Anyway, the Christmas gatherings during the glow still stand out, both due to family and the woman with whom I was in a relationship. I can still recall quite a bit of that period. One of the reasons the present looks so shitty is due to the gradient. Add to that the eyes from the other day.

Still can't believe I brought up the race girl from five months back. Perhaps the power was at such a level so as to leave me full of recollections forever. The desperate nature of my being continues to go back there and wonder what happened. If I never know, that is bad. I need to know. It could help me understand how I gave away so much and conversely grew into this weak pile of whatever. The fact that I keep reaching is a good indication that my life has spiraled further than just the last two years. I'm losing it.

Giant holes inside. The missing parts still hurt despite being gone, too. They fucking hurt. I don't know what to do these days. I'm afraid of seeing the calendar change one week from now because that has always been a very unpleasant line in the sand. The positive at present is the idea that I do not have responsibilities outside the house anymore, meaning my time here to consider everything in the world is nearly unlimited as opposed to the last few decades. I would sit and watch the daylight shrink toward the solstice and then enjoy the holidays along with whatever breaks from work were available. Going back to the grind after the new year passed has always been a problem for me. The days increasing in length, holidays fading in the rear-view mirror, and the idea that all my favorite activities and themes would be absent for several months was often overwhelming for my personality. Warmer weather didn't help, either. Honestly though, the nature of the last three-plus months of the year felt much more rewarding and earned back then. And then pile on top the lifestyle that career allowed and the difference I see is becoming worse. Even back during the days of the apartment. Everything was more exciting and fulfilling. Today? Flat. Sunken. Inverted. Memories. And just what the fuck does all this holiday shit have to do with the power females hold over me? Well...

All that shit during the glow and shortly after -- holidays, my career, family all over the place -- forced me to see a larger picture and avoid pulling focus on anything difficult for too long. Moreover, much of the glow was being compared to other parts of life by yours truly within a couple of years after it came to an end. Right there is an indication that I had already been reaching, and reaching means something is missing. Hence? I slowly became more and more desperate for something to offset the loss. The other facet of this fucking black jewel will have to remain hidden, however. This is enough. Anything more will have me defending myself or being hit with questions I really do not need to field these days.

Thank Christ this is not a contest to flesh out who had/has the most power. That would be a clear-cut case of self-destruction. I have a mental list, though. Not good. Three days ago was one such unexpected example which STILL has me thinking of the original, not to mention one of the scarce times when I ran into her in the bar. That occasion may have been the biggest slap in memory. Her facial expression is in my head forever. I have never lost it. You want to talk about power? Five -- maybe more -- years later and I can see her looking at me? I gave that to her. She did not take anything from me. Just a person, and one of several examples of why I am so fucked up at this very moment. One of these days I am going to explode. I'll be dreaming of three different pairs of eyes when that day arrives.

I cannot say or write half the shit in my head on a given day. This is fucking ridiculous.

Did they create it? Did they TAKE it? Nope, neither. They are people simply living their lives and going about their business like anyone else. No blame there whatsoever, partly due to my appreciation for them and partly due to the fact that I know some of this is my fault. But I can't help it. Some of the traits or coping mechanisms which could serve to help alleviate this difficulty were unfortunately destroyed and subsequently unavailable for a very long time. I did not fall down back then. I was pushed. So, does that mean I am not fully to blame? Yes, it does. Somewhere between the beginning and middle is a wavering line where all the correct information is written. I'll never see it. I have to work with whatever I hold.

God damn those eyes rivaled Jamie's. They honestly did. I will probably never see them again, though. The work has gone away, as has her connection which used to find us in the same location every now and then. She has since embarked on the career of her choice and does not work locally any longer. On top of that, she also lives her life on the other side of the fence from me, if you can follow the ambiguity. Does that hurt? Yes, somewhat. It has nothing to do with me, however. What I see is yet another loss. If the woman is happy, I have no issue whatsoever. I could see her personality through one expression one afternoon. I just want her to be happy and stay the hell away from anything like me. Oh, that's heavy. Maybe I loved her for a while. I don't know. And maybe I should leave her out of this shit. No one can ever know the name of the person I've been gushing about, so I don't see future problems, though. I just need to try and avoid cutting myself.

0655 and the work awaits. I'll have to keep everything quiet for the next few hours. Perhaps just the floor and cat stuff before I head out to the garage or yard. Interesting that one fear once again outweighed another for a time. I had not been expecting such a swing these days. I generally try to avoid anything damaging or even with the slightest potential for such (that fucking holiday ball would have been a good one to avoid), yet still I cannot close myself off from the entire planet. Something always rears its head and slams me to the ground like a pro wrestler. The entry has been focused upon the power of the more attractive half of our population, yet still I have inklings of other problems simmering just behind, like they are awaiting a break in this line of thinking to boil over and burn the hell out of me again. I can feel it. The work today will help me keep my brain out of those other problems, perhaps. It usually distracts me pretty effectively for a time. I really don't need more than one fucking issue slicing me to ribbons. I feel small enough already. Sunday business shall be the choice.

Boiled. Scrapped. Scraped. Toss me in the trash.

This morning is a fine example of how my mind will take me across platforms until finally I am worn the fuck out and feeling like giving up completely. I don't like this, but there is nothing I can do anymore. Sitting on a problem and stewing over and over for years is going to turn me into a very unpleasant sort of person. I will try to remain calm near people, yet the anger will come flying out of my mouth sometimes and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it. I have been treated unfairly and apparently there is no cure or resolution. All I see is an epilogue many years from now. In the meantime, I suppose I'll fucking sit here and continue to repeat the same words. Maybe I can find others.

Unfair? I don't know what 'fair' is anymore. I can't blame JT for hitting the vein. It's not for me. Too dangerous. All I see coming from that kind of lifestyle is returning over and over to the same exact problems no matter how far a person can drift from reality. I've drifted, too, only in a very different way. Last year I deluded myself part way into a dream world and came out the other side exactly the same. At least I didn't spend a mint on anything as bad as he did. I just don't see it. I may be a basket case, yet anything in that direction will only make life worse for me and others. Nope. JT was treated unfairly. Me? No idea.


Watching one of the shows two nights ago held something wondrous and beautiful and then wholly frightening and threatening within seconds of each other. The wonder was first, and I recalled seeing the shot for the first time more than five years ago when the episode aired. I was fucking floored nearly as much as the previous occurrence (screen captures were included a while back, six of them). Watching the unexpected turn a second time hit me in the face, hard. Again I was not expecting the two slams, one being so beautiful that I strain to find the words. I just could not believe what my eyes were seeing for seconds. And then to the other side? Horrible. I cannot go into detail, but suffice to say the beautiful sight -- perhaps one of the most intriguing and stirring features I've ever seen -- was wrought with so much power that the remainder of the episode went right on past me as if I was asleep. My brain ping-ponged its way through the remainder of the evening, from feeling completely petrified to yearning so deeply that I nearly drowned myself in desire. The episode quickly and effectively defined fear and weakness better than anything I have written. A matter of seconds. The power was pointed at me first, then the gun. The key to the latter may be in the former. I don't know for sure. One certainty is I really don't need that kind of tennis match in my head, ever, but I can't blame the show. I have always been a fervent believer in the idea that if the media is unacceptable for any reason, turn it the fuck off and watch something else. I probably mentioned this before, but I have been questioned in the past for being overly sensitive yet still watching some of the harshest programming in the history of television. Most of the time I watch alone. That makes a huge difference.

0754. Two hours of sitting here trying to understand that which may elude me forever.

The other side of this is more frightening than ANYTHING in the world. Alone is key. Painful, but key.

'You got an eye problem, Joey? You look like Stevie Wonder, your eyes rollin' around.' God damn that was funny. And TB's fucking fiancée with the huge eyes has been here and there again. There is something about her face and voice. I just can't put my finger on it.

I have not done much in the garage since before turkey day last month. The weather has kept me inside most days and I am feeling a pull toward moving some shit around out there. I can always advance the cause. Maybe today the temperature will be reasonable enough to allow some time working. The indoor stuff shouldn't take very long and I could use something different right now, if for no reason other than the distraction from thinking about what that last, long paragraph really means. If there truly is nothing I can do, why am I still writing this stupid shit? Do you have an answer besides the oft-treaded platitude of 'it must be helping, somehow'? Don't hand me that bullshit when you don't actually know. I don't mean to be harsh, but then again I mean to be fucking harsh. Shove it. All the more reason to get out there and accomplish something today. Anything. I guess I'll see in a little while when I've worn this out.

God damn it anyway, there she is again. I'm running out of ways to gush about that fucking woman. Though there is a protracted scene early in the sixth season in which she is somewhat dancing for Finn in lingerie and displaying tons of skin, I have not once felt physical desire toward her character. Never. I don't see her that way and fuck you if you don't believe me. She is different, just like the other woman from here in town who resembles her. Different. The idea is a FEELING, and one nearly impossible to describe. The other example of the same thing was the race girl. Eh... I feel like I'm talking to a pile of dirt. Never mind. Trying to work this out? I may as well walk to the beach and pound sand. Same result.

Hmm... On the flip side will be a beige bikini strolling by later -- and believe me when I say one can tell she is wearing heels due to the movement of her slender hips while stepping along -- and every fucking time I see it there is a deep-seated desire to cram parts of that girl into my gaping maw. Overwhelming need, that shit. Whatever. I am beginning to not give half a fuck. At least I am not lying to myself or anyone else. That could be worth something. Just another example of a small woman with a large amount of power. They are everywhere these days because my strength is being drained one drop at a time.

Vulpine. The foxes. Appreciation and disdain, simultaneously. Believe it.

0908 and this is going nowhere again. Time to do something else.

0636 on Monday morning. Soon the house and day will be completely under my control. I am looking forward to branching and extending the routine from yesterday, along with appreciating the peace and solitude I have not fully enjoyed for a few days. I need it. The secret feelings, as I am beginning to call them, are very prominent right now and I have to keep my head organized. None of those thoughts or dreams may come here, though. I can't have that stuff available for public consumption, and though the site is now dark for the foreseeable future, it will eventually be live again. The secrets and private materials built up in my head must remain as such... Inside. This morning after the usual business I will be exploring my need for such delusions and possibly the genesis of some of the deepest dreaming I've ever considered. This Monday morning could not have come at a better time. Maybe I'll even start yelling about the secret name and the manner in which it can be related to the title of this mess. Right now I just don't know.

The morning business is finally out of the way and I am in the quiet, thank the maker. And speaking of the maker, the freaking Mormons stopped by last night to check on my well-being and drop off some cookies. Ah... If they only knew of the real reason I told them my condition is not good. The discussion we shared months ago was very nice, although they are pretty dogmatic about the religion and teachings. I have never been as such, only curious mostly, and I have had reason to envy those truly believing in holding on to something. 'Something' is the key. I don't know and my technical mindedness so far has not allowed me to carry faith rather than facts. Too bad. They seem at peace. Anyway, the reasoning behind my remaining quiet around others is far too complex and embarrassing to share. Not a soul knows what is actually taking place in my mind. Secrets. Dreams I cannot discuss. At least I now have the space to place some thoughts here this morning. Sometimes the morning business is a fucking drag. Hence my comfort now at 0831 with a wide-open day ahead.

And yes, the private nature of my vault of thoughts is directly related to the vulpine power. They have it all because I gave it away. My options have disappeared.

All this shit grew over a very long period of time, with the last eight years or so being the largest upswing in memory.

Rain on and off today. I have part of the routine finished due to the noise heading out the door a bit later than usual and my need to keep busy before returning to this exposition. This bad time seems to pause while I am running around before being alone, meaning whatever was on my mind before the fact either fades or becomes very convoluted. Most days getting back on track takes much time. Between such a fact and the idea that most of what I think from one hour to the next is either too sensitive or too revealing to share, I end up dancing around key points until exhausted. At this moment, I have one of the documents open in the browser which has grown into a diary of sorts, much more detailed and open than this mess. I have to keep it as such, too, lest someone read it. Often the thoughts there end up translated here, yet some of them never leave that place because they are too private. Secrets, remember? Everyone has some, I suppose, and I honestly believe they can be in place to save the feelings of those around them. I am no different, although there are also descriptions of dreams present in those writings which have been born of the power. Throughout this day, considering whatever I may choose to do, all those writings, thoughts, and secrets will be circling overhead like vultures. They never fully exit my head unless something dramatic takes place. Priorities. The work today may be minimal.

The other night while watching one of the shows, something appeared on the big screen which prompted me to recall a woman from my past. Since then, I have not been able to get the image out of my head for very long before nearly doubling over due to feelings of permanent loss. So, just this morning I opened the channel on this machine and captured an image to save. The scene goes by quickly, too, making any effort difficult if I wish to enjoy clarity. I may even roll back to that episode on the big television in order to use either my phone or DSLR for a better result. I could not believe my eyes, immediately being thrust back in time to many years ago and a situation which may as well be buried in a cemetery. No longer can such things happen to me. In and around the feelings of sadness and loss, my direction in life is also suffering due to reminders leaving me completely bereft of hope. Power, prominent and beautiful. Nothing more. Tremendous power, and second only to one other detail in life which I cannot discuss at all. Not a word.

The above type of situation is going to continue if I choose to watch ANYTHING on the television. Any fucking media will drive something tattooed to a nail and straight into my skull. Believe me when I say these last several days have been some of the most difficult and desperate in memory. Either I return to reading novels or suffer the consequences. One or the other. There can be nothing else.

Every single fucking day, no matter what I am doing, my head is interspersed with dreams and thoughts of all which has either disappeared or will never come to pass. This hurts, badly. Daydreaming has curtailed my efforts around the house since the outset of the pandemic -- two years of it, very soon -- and I am noticing more desperate thinking evolving from one week to the next. This is bad, and a bad time. I cannot stress it enough. No matter how I may word such facts, the underlying causes are still held closely enough to leave people almost completely in the dark. This morning is no different. Lots of trouble. I still don't understand how my life developed into this shit situation. I mean, I know about the past and everything four decades back, but regardless of the analysis and exploration there are still questions. The power will increase as I decrease effort in life. This may be the best I will feel heading into an uncertain future.

I believe the vulpine power is a good portion of the problem of my running through the routine and then not knowing which direction to turn. I have been losing my way each day no matter the events or activities, and the work involved in maintaining the appearance of being fine on a given day is both taking more time and requiring increased strain on my head. Nothing I can place here is going to fully transmit the feelings, either. Everything eventually points to the same conclusion, and that is my need to follow the media and remember the glowing years despite the massive loss. Media is a part because it is all fiction and I have become so fucking detached from the past that it may as well be fictional, too. Did I really live through happier times, or were they all just constructs designed to predict the direction of my life? Scenes? Scripted? There are no fucking answers. Within my media of choice, the power is apparent and often striking, like the capture I described above. I have said before that I roll through the same programming over and over because I need the familiarity. But it is also hurting me. Every single fucking occurrence of certain storylines or sections of film drive those nails further into my head without a respite. The power is splayed and recalled, it ebbs and flows like the ocean right down the street and I know when it will come along. The dreams are linked to -- and likely wholly dependent upon -- the very same power. I do not have it anymore, or perhaps I never did. They have all of it. Over me... Everything I attempt.


Along with '...Weaponry', this may be the most lucid and important entry thus far, and I am not really even saying anything people can understand. There you go... No outlet due to fear, the power causing fear and heartache, and then one more rung down the ladder of life because of both.

0949 and I don't give a shit what is accomplished today. 'Caring' is way back there with the past.

1100. Routine finished. Now what? More complaining? I own this crap.

Seeing the girl at the goddess market dredged the other one and made the power flare. Not her fault, though. All mine. I recalled the other one and everything went to hell very quickly. Still burning. And I claim responsibility not because I am so weak, either. It is because I am the person doing the thinking and to see people in a negative light is a choice, not a result. There is the responsibility from the past, however. That will apparently never cease or fade. Increasing, always. The more I see and hear, the more I need to go back there and take issue with those at fault. I suppose my condition is a combination of the same and the fact that I have not taken proper steps to cope or grow out of it. But can I go up from here? Is such a journey possible after everything which has taken place? Typically what happens is I begin to step just a bit in some direction other than down when something comes along to derail the effort and shove me right back to the beginning. Is that my fault, too? Or is the effect something which has grown inside as a result of others' actions toward me? A distinct possibility is I gave the power away because the ability to hold on was actually taken from me in a manner consistent with rape. One strict definition of that word is 'an act of plunder, violent seizure, or abuse; despoliation; violation'; e.g. 'the rape of the countryside'. Or perhaps I simply lost the required tools to maintain my own power. That would encompass what happened all those years ago along with the resulting weakness. Don't fucking chastise me for using that word, either. I cannot find others right now because my head is completely fucked. Probably best to leave it alone, though. Very harsh and one of the worst things in the world. Shit... I don't know anymore.

'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' -- Christopher; into rehab, out of rehab, and a short time later swilling wine like nothing ever happened.

I am just one tiny person in a little house with problems, not a visceral, powerful being with which people must reckon. Small. But I still have a voice. I hate this fucking shit! Worst. Entry. Ever. I am waffling between intense hatred and the Mariana Trench of sadness.

Maybe I will embrace one of the little enjoyments and then throw more crap into the trash. Shrinking my footprint feels satisfying for some reason.


Curious, those stabs and slams from the past few weeks have taken a far-back seat to the vulpine power, yet the two are directly related. The power to draw and please as opposed to the power to destroy. This goes along with the last year-plus in which I laid out four main issues and even went so far as to rank them. Well, that seems ridiculous now. Just for kicks, let us re-rank those fuckers. One is the power (renamed), two is the power (renamed), three is a result of what forced me to lose the power, and four is a painful, empty, and stark representation of loss. There you go. The recent shit is two, yet not as painful as in the past. More anger resulted than feelings of weakness. You figure it out.

The backyard is turning into a lake again. The water barely receded and evaporated between rains this time. Too much in a short period of time. There is no drainage. Why is that important to mention? Because the fucking yard resembles my brain. Everything which is absorbed remains for the duration. I cannot pump it out. I keep thinking of a film from the early eighties involving mind experiments in which a character becomes overwhelmed by thoughts and eventually desperate enough to actually attempt drilling a hole in his forehead. I can relate. Draining the consciousness in order to survive. Hmm. Maybe he was onto something there. Nice idea, huh? The yard is nothing compared to my head.

The vulpine power is going to continue to grow considering I am at the end of the street again. No way out. I have to think about how everything regarding my past has come to a head lately and forced me away from the typical analysis and into a place of constant, desperate questioning. While I labor over and over, those hits will keep making contact with my eyes and ears, too. No respite. Ever. I watch the same programming again and again out of twin needs, fear and familiarity, and then sit here and wallow over the material. Is that the move of an intelligent, well-thought and balanced individual? Those back-to-back shots from the show two nights back are plaguing me. I will see them again and bitch more. Absent power. Malignant memories. Half a life.

Perhaps I'll head into the kitchen -- my favorite room in this mansion (heh) -- to prepare some beets and dissect the leftover chicken for dinner tonight and tomorrow. Yes, that sounds appealing. A fat-ass cocktail next to me, my friends up there on the secondary television, and some work. Afterward I'll have to clean the area again which only adds to the charm. Maybe one day that little kitchen will save my life. Only place I am happy anymore, and that is fucking depressing.

1236 and the beets are boiling. Such is my day, like many others but without beets.

The current situation with my head and body is very uncomfortable and potentially dangerous. I have fled and scarred the world for much less. I suppose those who care about me are fortunate I do not have the resources to act. This is a bad time. Bourbon next to me right now. After the beets I'll prepare some cooked chicken for chili later this evening. And then I'll clean again so the kitchen is ready to go for dinner. And then...


Flanking Benny are two examples of the closest resemblances and representations of machines. Go ahead and laugh. I can't even comment upon the other two from years ago. Heart palpitations.

I wrote a scathing essay about the French girl from the show a while back and continue to add or edit from time to time when the mood strikes. She is not the key, however, only the one up there when my head went sideways. The point of the writing is to describe what takes place in my head after being left on the side of the highway for too long. The woman has the power... All of it. I am still hesitant to publish it here, though. Too detailed and WAY off the norm with regard to ambiguity. The last thing I need right now is a person taking issue with how I actually FEEL. I may be all worthless and weak these days, but I still have the drive to shove someone into the ground with words. In the interest of remaining consistent, anything beyond what has already been treaded here, I shall keep the line ahead. The other shit behind the line will remain as such. Just know she has been but one catalyst among an army of others. I wrote out of sheer compulsion and to attempt to articulate the pictures I painted in my head. I guess she came along at the ideal moment when I was in a place in need of intimate exploration. Had I not written, I would still be hurt. Just like that asshole Phil said, it will never go away.

Lunch in the oven. Fuck the time.

The essay involving the character mentioned above was crafted out of weakness and desperation.

'Number seven is Seku... The Remains.'


I've been told bourbon turns me into an antagonistic, negative, fatalistic asshole. Well, we all have downsides. My second downside has been poured.

Five images is not the norm. That number would be four, but I was compelled to include the entire set from this particular model because of the lines on her body and the sheer lack of anything distorted. Add to that the ominous facial expressions and I am all in. Bet on it. Don't even get me started on the lashes. She can lash me to the decking. And then lash me. She has the power. Lash me bloody. I don't care. No matter what takes place today or any other, I will be no different. I'll choke after eating her lashes.

Working in the garage or outside is not going to happen. I've been in and out all morning and the temperature keeps me running back into the house. Ugh. Very little else will be accomplished this afternoon. A truckload of caring could be dumped on my head and I would burn it to ash. And this bourbon I received as a present is not very tasty. Figures. That small-batch craft shit always has the great tag lines, yet in the end the larger distilleries have the experience. Kind of like beer... New and different is not always better. At least it's been keeping me warm on the inside. The whole thing makes me wonder just how large Bourbon County really is. Lots of claims there. Whatever. It is medicine of a sort these days.

The line count as of this sentence is 666. You'd better run to church.

Power vacuum? Powerless.

0645, Tuesday. No vulpines to speak of last night. Just dragons and whatnot. I was not terribly worried, anyway, because my head was elsewhere. Worried about the future rather than the present for a change. Still, problems carry on with nary a consideration for the shoulders bearing forty years' worth of load. No vulpines for a while, yet they will return soon enough, flexing again. There is always something. The early morning shit will keep me busy for roughly the next hour and then I plan to relax with the computer for quite some time. There are business and research projects to be performed, not to mention whatever may end up in this mess.


The power continues to push and pull at my mind. Nothing ever goes away. Yesterday was fairly tough for a while, but then those images faded and I was able to focus. The power nearly took me out of the routine and had me lost in daydreaming again. As much as I might spout 'I can't have that right now', the fact is I am at the mercy of all of them. No matter how much I may be able to push back or force the issue out of my head, the real chances of making the power disappear for a time are slimmer than a runway model. Am I proud of myself when things go well? Nah... Not really. A chimpanzee and three trainees could do what I do with half the arms tied behind their backs. There is no pride here. The most prominent force in my universe can lay waste to any good feelings in the blink of an eye. I just hope the power leaves me the hell alone this morning. I don't need more shit going on.

Sixth season eyes.

This is not a good time at all. Everything pushes me toward the power and then I have a hell of a time remaining upright through even the smallest trial. I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. Perhaps this is one of those situations which motivates people to embrace the 'higher' things, such as speaking of destiny, fate, or 'the way things were MEANT to be'. Well, 'meant' is a toughie these days. I am too detail-oriented and technical to leave everything up to something unseen and unheard. That will not stop just because I am uncertain, either. They will keep pushing their belief and then toss the empty terms to the wind in an effort to lift my spirits. That aspect is fine. I have nothing against people trying to help. I just don't want to hear about the fucking voodoo. Everything I do is up to me. Still a bad time. Someone else's words of wisdom will not change a thing, my thought processes least of all. I have to deal with it. The power never lets up. Sometimes I believe it will be the end of me. Bad time.

I don't want to hear any of that voodoo bullshit. The subject came to mind because of a person's words toward me and on the heels of that, the cookies from those squareheaded fucks at the door. I know they mean well, but I am so far detached that I feel as if my residence is located in a different universe. There is little chance that my head will swing in their direction. More likely is a descent into something quite the opposite and far worse in their eyes. Right now I do not know, although the way I feel when considering the power and what I have done to myself because of it -- not going to mention the past again... Not this time -- the time may actually be nigh for me to alter myself just enough to force wonder and questions. I don't know, though. Unfair is tough. When cornered? There may be no other choice for self-protection. My head is completely fucked. Words from on high regarding whatever the hell may be 'up' or 'out there' are not going to help me or those who approach. Save it. I don't fucking care. And I don't even know why I brought it up.

0847 and my mind is all over the place. Maybe this should end so I can move along with something new. Half the routine behind is nice. Still coffee left, though. That means the gangsters remain. This is a bad time. The worst in memory, to be sure.

Even after so much analysis and exploration, knowing the facts and results of the past events, I still do not fully understand how such a transfer of power took place. I feel weaker now than ever before. They are out there, somewhere, and hold the cards. All of them. I have very little ground to stand upon anymore. Weak and desperate. Yesterday I headed in the direction of one of my favorite little enjoyments yet still fell off the same fucking cliff shortly thereafter, perhaps even during. Everywhere I look there are images floating just in front keeping me down. I see them, always. Nothing leaves my mind. Helpless. Hopeless. Barren and hostile toward what I know did this. Hostility and hatred. My little universe is so fucking small now that I can barely move around. Walls closed in? I don't know if that analogy applies here. I have gone over everything in memory and tried to connect the destinations with straight lines, like a map, but no matter how many steps are taken I keep returning to the same place. Just like the fiction that was never finished, I end up back at the beginning no matter ideas or attempts to understand. Right back in the same fucking spot over and over. Does that mean anything? Will I spend the rest of my days doing the same thing? Years of this shit. Back when I went on and on about the obsession, I thought I had a handle on the reasoning. A seemingly endless thrall for something I simply found unique and elusive. I was driven to desperation when the business cards were printed. That went nowhere and made me appear very strange to those who knew what I was doing. Very fucking strange. Unhinged. Insane. That never could have materialized into a project. Never. Last year I realized there had been suppressed feelings I tried to keep at bay. Also bad. Now that I know of some catalysts, I do not believe there can be a resolution. All I see is that chair. Do you remember the chair?

There is Fiona again. I've mentioned her so many times that the repeat points to just how fucked up my head has become. The same things on the big television over and over, just like the same weakness and desperation inside because I gave away the power. She can't help me. Fictional. A character. No one. And she's gone until the series rolls through eighty-six hours again. Pathetic. I feel tiny.

This entry has been formed in less than four days thus far. Also pathetic.

Raining again. Eh... Doesn't matter. 0934.

I ended up having a second drink yesterday after finishing the first. I've not done something like that in a very long time, maybe more than two years. I never had this much free time before. The time can be dangerous if I don't keep my head up. Alcohol is a depressant and quite the reverse of something prescribed for depression. That sounds funny but is actually pathetic and born of weakness. Sometimes I am wholly desperate for anything which can alter my mindset. Today is no different, either. I keep thinking of mentioning the heroin Chris used to alter his consciousness on the show. He was fucked up over two subjects, just like me. Fictional, yet still realistic enough to keep me fucking frightened of any such substance. I could not do that. The second drink came about because I was desperate to control something... Anything. I don't mean there will be someone there to tell me 'no' if not alone. I just mean my head often enough ends up narrowed to the point of lashing out. Being this weak means any lashing is only going to hurt me. I regretted pouring number two by the early afternoon. That will not be repeated today. I can be pathetic without so much booze.

Another pile of shit with a title. I hope at least there is something here of value. I certainly don't see it. Writing and thinking, thinking and writing. Where has it all gotten me? Am I better? Or do I already have the answers but feel so bad that they no longer matter?

What do you think, doctor?


I wish she didn’t have her hair up during the wedding, although the positive is her neck on display. Kind of reminds me of seeing Brooke the first in that holiday movie when her insanely long neck was right out there. Eh... With this woman? The eyes have it. I want to swim in them. And how in the blue fuck could Vito have gone after males when he was married to a fucking gorgeous, understanding woman? Fuck it. The point of these later episodes is no one but her. Yes, her. I’ve gushed before and I’ll gush again. I no longer have reason to avoid anything except the most explicit writing. Jamie is exempt from that because I do not think of her in such terms. And this is the episode containing a silent exchange between Tony and his daughter, likely one of the first instances of me paying more attention to her face. Hair up doesn’t matter. None of the details matter, but her shoulders remind me of that woman one floor down in Dublin. I sat across the table from her at lunch and she was clad in a tank. Very bad, yet still very good. Could not believe my eyes. Laura had the most amazing shape from her clavicles on upward. Towering neck. Back then I did not think in the same way as the present, too. I seriously wanted to make her neck my playground. Other things, too, but I digress. Jamie’s position inside my head rises from one day to the next and can only contribute to my present fucked-up state of mind because she is not real. You wanna talk about power? Vulpine power? Jamie has removed more power than any other figure in years. The other one, with the eyes. And the other one from the race. Jamie trumps them both with a glance. This is a bad time.

Very bad.

The site is still offline due to cost. I honestly do not think publishing this crap is going to make any fucking difference to me. Others who read seem to enjoy or are compelled to learn of what comes next, but that is not my fucking problem. Maybe my pain is a source of entertainment just like everything else in this backward, shit world. I don’t fucking know. There is skill here, I guess, after working at creative writing for so many years, so perhaps the quality is key. I tried to do something with the English composition while in the Midwest but it did not flourish until I returned to this state and began to craft stories (none of which are finished, by the way). I had no illusions of some dramatic writing career. I just wanted to explore my own needs and create stories to express my dissatisfaction with society and constant need to get away from everything. I also combined my dream world which grew through television fantasy and science fiction with the stories I wrote in order to operate within a genre I loved and to which I could always relate. The future possibilities were key. Nothing I wrote or began back in the mid-nineties has been published on the site. Much of it is either too personal or rather far-fetched. No machines, though. That came about later (at least, to the dramatic degree of last year). I did not consider the vulpine power back then.

Ahh... I don’t know why I attempt anything these days. The simplest task pushes against me. The power pushes the other way as I try to work on my usual stuff. Conversation becomes strained for no reason whatsoever. Bad mood.

Yesterday was another failure. I completed lots of laundry and dry cleaning, the routine, yet underneath was the trouble waiting for me to find some free time. And it did. The entire morning was spent trying to shove it away and think clearly about what has taken place in the past from which I may learn, yet the power took me off my feet for the thousandth time and I lost the battle. I have to say I am growing weary of seeing myself as so weak that I cannot withstand the slightest breeze. The very idea is causing more anger on top of the existing anger. The pile is beginning to resemble the old dump my dad and I used to visit in the seventies and early eighties; a massive seagull-covered hill on the edge of the bay that worked my sense of smell unlike anything else. A huge hill. Mountain. Giant mass of smelly crap. All this anger sitting atop my head and creating visions of things better left out of the content. Yesterday’s problem was created from illustrations of the short and long past, images I cannot remove from memory and dialog impossible to silence. It was power, plain and simple. Power of a type from which there can be no escape. It is behind me like a shadow. Ahead like a buffer stop. Flanking my position like battle lines from hell itself. No escape. The only result is anger. I can do NOTHING, thus the anger increases. I can say NOTHING, hence the anger increases. I can change NOTHING, hence the anger increases. This little box within which I reside is filling and will eventually explode. Anger on top of anger on top of anger. Such is the present.

Another wide-open day ahead. Everything is up to me now. Still coffee left, though. For the time being I shall sit right here because the power and dreams have my head about as fucked up as possible. Had I known years ago that I would end up in this condition at my age, changes would have been forced. Not all in a good way, either. I tried back then. I really did. This free time is a godsend right now. Without the space to think? Oh... I'd probably be somewhere far away and in worse shape. I'll have to keep that in mind as the hours pass.

Here we go again with Benny's wife sitting next to him while his head is at the podium by the restaurant entrance. I guess I can't blame him, really, because she is very tall, dark and slender. Almost the type I would gush about (and I may have, but after all this writing I can't remember shit), except for her character's flawed nature and verbal crap. His wife, though... She is adorable and equally dark of eyes and hair. Sweet voice. Good-natured. The other one? Rather scary. A bit too strong, perhaps. Intimidating. She does remind me of the French girl, honestly, except that one is rather dopey sometimes. They damned-near share the same shoulders. Whatever. Deranged pelican... Don't ask.

So far this morning I feel a touch better than yesterday at this time. I don't know why, although the problem then may be helping keep me up right now. Like using yesterday as a reference of what to avoid? Hmm. I suppose I'll have to see where the time takes me as the clock progresses. So far only 0834 with coffee and the show, and a few hours from now will be the clincher. Early morning is a simple affair when held against the power they use to push me the fuck around. Time will tell today, I guess. I would rather not become paralyzed again. Not good.

Most days find me mostly dissatisfied with everything to the point of feeling like demonstrations of my disdain and anger would be helpful for others to finally see what is going on inside me. But I can't be coldly unfair most of the time. Historically, I've done it with words and then felt like shit later. That is a failing and a good thing at the same time. Those closest to me do not deserve my shit attitude and harsh nature. They have been mostly innocent aside from being female. The anger also relates to John and that scene from the third season which spawned nearly an entire entry just recently. Appearance, demeanor, and follow-through are the aspects of that scene which still elude me due of all that I have built for decades. The fact that I cannot be unfair is a byproduct of me guiding myself through lands full of people who routinely fuck each other over and coming out the other side unaffected by their bullshit apathy. The short line is I am a good person and everyone knows it. Thus? Those times when I have actually lashed, the others believe it is merely the fucking booze or nothing more than a bad patch. Those tirades display little aside from weakness due to my being a nice person for so fucking long. Now I can't even get pissed off without someone else passing it along as 'not a big deal' and simply waiting for the calm afterimage. Too many years of being nice have advanced me so far beyond that scene with John (and others), that I do not believe anything can be remedied in this life. No matter what I may attempt, I'll get that same condescending, insulting shit I experienced many years ago during one moment in time I shall never forget or let go. I was embarrassed, yet as I walked out of the jewelry store to kill time I realized I was not where I'd hoped since high school and a change was needed for me to be taken seriously. I was angry and relayed the fact in a very harsh manner later that same evening. I am in the exact same position at this very fucking moment, hence some of the anger. The only hope to which I now cling is the idea that there is still a chance I can appear different. The chance is so slender that it is brushing against the two-dimensional strings way the fuck out there in space. Not good. I'll tell you one thing, however... If there is no chance of being taken at my word, there is no reason to do ANY FUCKING THING AT ALL FROM HERE ON IN.

That incident at the jewelry store... That was the flexing of power. She did not even realize it, though. Blameless.


I honestly have not thought about that evening for several years, that I can recall. It was important, too. And believe it or not, the incident in question took place during the glow, of all times. That is amazing. It was in my head years later when I heard reactions to my feelings which were also condescending. Was I being played for a fool? Not likely. But I simply MUST keep such an idea in mind or everything could work me over without my even realizing it. It all comes back to the idea of the vulpine power. At no time did I imagine such weight on my shoulders and worry in my head decades later. Everything is related, from John's scene(s) to the conversations to the slams and all which has transpired as a result of my being so fucking weak. The entire shit storm has been gaining energy for more than forty years. The one-minute exchange in that jewelry store came to mind because of John, and he returned for the tenth time because of the power. Just one example of something comprising a period of mere seconds coming along and causing me to analyze for a fucking week.

0927. Last of the coffee. Raining again. The gray outside matches the inside of my head today.

This is a lousy situation which seems to have no possible relief or resolution. No wonder my brain falls into a pit of booze-thinking so early in the day.

There was another, actually, which came to mind during a first-season episode of the very same show featuring John. An evening at my parents' mobile home when I worked for the calibration house. My buddy and I arrived to watch a movie since my dad had the big home theatre system we'd built in full operation. The parents were out of town and I was staying with them two nights a week to ease the commute. Well, this is not a long story. We had a few beers and watched a film, and then he went home. For whatever reason and from a place I will never fucking understand, he slammed me with an insulting, demeaning word when I asked if he wanted another beer. I rose afterward and grabbed one for each of us, however the remainder of the film was not being watched by yours truly. I just did not understand, and felt so smashed by his utterance that my first thought was that he would not be at the lab the next day because I wanted to teach him an object lesson which would have been representative of decades of difficulty in life due to one other word. I have been told that words are just words and have no other power aside from that which we give them. Well, fuck that and fuck everyone who is inclined to believe the same. We are all different and I dropped another notch that evening, a notch I would never gain again. I sit here right fucking now -- twenty-plus years later -- as a prime example of the exact opposite result from what others believe. Am I wrong? I wonder what John's character might have done had he been me on that sofa. Likely my 'buddy' would have ended up in the ER.

That is another example of the power being extracted from me as if I had been crammed into a juicer. The vulpine power extends to EVERY aspect of living, past and present alike, and every frame of media ever created. The evening in question was an example of how the power affected him, not me. Still, the vulpines are not to blame, believe it or not. The problems lie elsewhere.

I am so angry right now that it's going to take everything I am as a person to avoid lashing out. That statement is nowhere near enough, either. I can't find the fucking words. Maybe Phil said it best, 'If hate were people, I'd be China.' That film was a comedy, however. Not laughing. I try to convey my feelings and end up shut down by someone else. And then whomever that person is goes a bit further and tells me to try something positive instead of focusing upon the negative. That only fuels the anger, but instead of my lashing further I end up capping the well and just sitting on the fucking thing. I have no other outlet. 'Focus on the positive.' Well, I would not be sitting here right now if I hadn't. Eventually something must give, break, fall off, whatever. But I don't see possibility. The power won't allow me to see much at all.

Housework soon. It is becoming my entire life.

1119 on the 29th day of December and not a fucking thing appears bright anymore. Preoccupation cannot seem to be alleviated no matter to what I look forward. Fate? I don't believe in that fucking voodoo, maybe never did. Destiny? The same. More likely is a set of circumstances which altered my path in life beyond my control... Beyond anyone's control.

'I am what time and circumstance have made me.' -- Jimmy Darmody, responding to an observation that he was both negative and cynical. I can see it.

The vulpine power, indeed. The effect of such power upon me is the result of trauma. Irreversible conditions. I am what time and circumstance have made me. The need to be accepted with regard to John's character drove other aspects of me off the rails, and regardless of the effort to right myself again, I never achieved it. I am only respected for being intelligent. That is nearly worthless. No power. Nothing. There is a definition universally regarded as true by the masses which only applies to raising children, which I never did. That fact is another overpowering negative in this triumvirate paragraph from which there is no escape. Tell me I am wrong. Go for it. I cannot recite anything menacing here or readers will take literal rather than figurative issue with my mindset, leading me to turn further inward. Believe me, the threatening manner has grown regardless of fear.

Fear leads to anger. Anger can lead to hatred.

The definition will not be revealed. Figure it out on your own. I overheard it while working in the pizza parlor back thirty-two years ago. The kitchen had always been full of banter regarding the sexes and roles in society, some comments thrown for entertainment and occasional responses full of wisdom. The latter was tossed out by one of the night managers after a quip by a juvenile mind, the manager's words ringing true more than anything I had heard prior. They still ring. I believe more deeply in his response to the humor now than I did at the time, and it is related to every fucking line of this entry. Unfortunately, I will forever reside beyond the scope of the initial subject and cannot do anything about it. John's character would agree. So would many others, possibly even the asshole who claimed to be my friend on the sofa that evening long ago. The remark from the jewelry store cut me in half and reduced my attempted upright stance to nothing more than a punch line. She didn't understand and I could not expect such. Still, blameless as she was, the words became a part of me. I let her off the hook due to the power. She had the power because I gave it to her. The power was released from my hands because a source of power within me was destroyed. Irreversible. Unchangeable.


Definitions... Hmm. Many times I have spouted to another, 'the most powerful thing we have as human beings is our language.' Well, the words have ruined me. Written, spoken, implied. I already know the end of the street before it is lit. I know the result before a given situation arises.

I know that no matter what transpires throughout however long I continue to live, the good I try to give away will be offset by the bad I have received. The surface will be all bunnies and flowers while beneath will be anger, hatred, black decay and the resting place of a never-ending analysis which has already destroyed what may have become of me.

Thursday morning, early. I went a bit further yesterday than I have in a while so the evening felt at least partly deserved. Sitting here this morning, I don't know anymore. The usual afterward... Dinner, television, cocktails, etc. And then sleep. I have much to think about after yesterday's written words and the way my head keeps bringing them up. I thought I was drawing a conclusion prior to this paragraph and morning, but the truth is there can be much more if I can find the will to put it here. Moreover, one of my favorite episodes is concluding just now and causing me to implode already. Everything about it is excellent and has been continually and universally regarded as one of the greatest episodes of the series. The downside is the very end when the music comes up. I won't describe the way the final scene plays out, but suffice to say it is related to this essay and hits the main points from two of three occasions up the page which have helped to shape me into this person typing. Every damned time it is splayed across the screen and the credits begin to roll, I realize again that I have not followed a single decent path in life. Obviously there is one I did not have the chance to follow, and that would be the drive behind much of this shit. The others would have been choices. Hmm... Choices, indeed. I was on a good path and destroyed the road because of a choice born of weakness and the vulpine power. And then years later I did it again. Should I blame the foxes? Of course not. I think at this point the time has come to ease up on the blame. In fact, I insist. The episode I was watching when combined with all I laid out here yesterday is causing me to feel a tad more balanced, yet still all the way down. I also feel the need to be fair. Don't know where that came from.

Almost time for me to rise and handle the morning stuff. My intention afterward is to continue this mess until completion. Another story may be in the wings. And there she is again, late sixth season with wavy hair and looking like the beginning and end of the world at the same time. Jesus fucking hell in a beauty pageant, I am more appreciative now than last year and I still don't know what snapped. One certainty, though... The girl at the goddess market last week resembled the woman I know here in town that REALLY shares Jamie's features, and both have been points of contention here on more than a few occasions. I believe there is more power inherent in those two than anywhere else on this site. Andrea pulled my brain out of my head, and that was more sex than anything else. Juliette smashed my brain to bits and that was roughly have love and half sex. Ashley? I don't fucking know. The three of them combined was enough power to disconnect the fucking planet from its orbit, permanently. Now on to Jamie and the woman I know who looks like her? Infinite. I am a basket case and have given up more possibilities in life over beauty than any person should be allowed.

0820. New year's eve, eve. The remainder of this day could be anything, but will I make something of it?

All that power. What a fucking shame. Now I have nothing. Well, there is the booze. Heh.

I honestly cannot say enough about the level of weakness apparent in my actions and decisions throughout the last two-plus decades, all forced through a loss of strength (read: power). I've mentioned this type of thing so many times that the words are becoming meaningless. Or maybe I just don't care anymore. Back at the beginning of twelve when the opportunity of a lifetime came along thanks to someone very caring of me, I was hopeful and fairly confident the career would last until retirement, if not beyond. I did my damnedest to work everything as they requested. Many years were required for me to realize it all went to shit due to a massive power shift from one side of the bay to the other. Huge shift. I let it go, threw it away, gave it away... Whatever. That may have been the weakest, most ridiculous thinking in my life. I still can't believe it, yet the aftereffects continue to this very second. Now I am broken in half. One chance. We get one fucking Goddamned chance in this life. Mine is over.


That was a bad one and became injected into me every fucking time I drove that highway last year. Months of it, twice per day. Absolutely fucking stupid.

0912 and I am having trouble giving a shit.

Sitting here like always with a head full of dreams, those aspects of life which were so elusive that I eventually ran to whatever had a chance of fulfilling the very same dreams. Well, the running worked at times, albeit leaving me a pile of stress and depression each journey. I don't even know if any of it was real. Was it? Did I take those trips? As usual, there is no one providing answers because I can't speak of such things. If the way I feel each morning is the way of my future, I don't see many options. Everything is going away. This is a bad fucking time.

I am becoming angrier than yesterday.

Maybe I am getting the point across, maybe not. I just don't know. I've mentioned several incidents which, when combined, paint somewhat of a picture of the way my brain operates. Forty years of worry and apprehension drove me into reckless, dangerous territory, and in turn toward some of the worst decisions imaginable. There are latent images in my head spread over a very long time period, leaving me with even more worry than at the outset of the pandemic. All due to differing types and levels of power. Well, two really. Some was given away and the rest may never have been there in the first place. The incident at my parents' place years ago is a good indication that I was being driven toward John's image long before the fucking show was created. Add to that the words of Ashley which lifted her power beyond that of anyone before, and the one can see that the inside of me has been decaying and diminishing for years. Loss of power equals weakness. A lack of strength. Those lead directly to desperation. I am desperate, yet I do not see a pleasant, fulfilling or life-changing horizon out there. I see death and nothing more. The slide. What really chaps me is that shit from my coworker. It quickly became an indication that I was very different than those around me and considered cutting off everyone back then. Alas, the work was necessary for maintaining my quality of life at the time. One moment in time comprising a word directed at me with a half smile and the end began. The image of John and all he represents was dead before I ever saw him on the screen.

Some had respect, others did not. That's fine. Considering some of the situations of the past, however, those without it held all the cards. The pizza parlor line which slammed the other guy's attempted humor, the slash of a knife through my heart from my coworker, and those chemical means having been drained from me for so long have been combined within the drug reactor of life. Now I cannot know what I am. And I honestly hope anyone reading this does not believe platitudes or uplifting observations can do any good. I am so far beyond that shit now that it's not even remotely funny. This is not a fixed state, either. It is fluid and continues to flow all over me from one day to the next. Not a bad mood. This is permanent. Maybe I've said that before, and maybe I've said too much. I don't fucking know. You figure it out.

The vulpine power drove that asshole to consider me in a negative light. Does that mean I'll cut him a break because I understand the power involved? Nope. Not one iota. I respect the power. He did not. He ran aslant of me that evening and I still remember.

I need a drink.

I am beginning to hate everything in this world. Being completely detached from social media for eighteen months is not enough. I need something else or I'll morph into an alien life form even the last few people with which I still have contact will not wish to contend. Nope. I am getting worse by the day. There seems to be a limit to everything and I am seeing it just before the buffer stop. One little positive: I went out for a cigarette and saw that the rain had forced a few worms onto the concrete and they were struggling in the sunshine. I gently placed them back on the lawn so they won't perish. That is the kind of person I am. I cannot help but care. No creature in the world has control over their birth nor to who or what they are born. I have the ability to help those who may not otherwise be able to help themselves. Anyway, that one little boost will fade like every other positive because the negatives are overpowering. I poured a cocktail for working in the kitchen soon. More depressant for the depression. Oh boy, the next episode after this one applies to my life more than any other, John's magnificent image notwithstanding. I still dislike too much for more positive behavior, though. Too much. I can only be held responsible for some. An inability to deal with what has been thrown at me -- not to mention piles of shit in need of plowing -- is most decidedly NOT a fucking weakness. If you believe otherwise, go fuck yourself in a frozen, muddy ditch in Winter. I am still trying after all this time. The worms are an example of such. They do not have our complex nervous system and do not feel or work things out logically. Everything is instinctive, ancient. I feel for them, though. I really do. Can't help it.

Soon I will rise and work on the house. Laundry and kitchen first, then perhaps more organization in which I try to relocate seldom used items in favor of those in need of being easily available. I did a pretty good job yesterday, too. Something snapped in the early afternoon and I hopped to the project. Maybe that will happen again today and help me rise a measure. If not? Whatever. I'll get out of bed tomorrow accordingly. Worse. There it is. Ugh, Nancy Sinatra is creepy in this episode. Not her fault, though. The backup singer behind and to Nancy's right? She is a fucking work of art. No matter the negatives, depression or anger, I still see beauty. She has power. Yep, the backup singer has power over me despite being nearly uncredited. Anyway, the sunshine I mentioned will help keep the temperature up inside, meaning I can do more than yesterday if I don't fall off the edge of the world again. I really need to accomplish things in order to feel that my evening is deserved, but I've mentioned that several times. The evening can be the deciding factor in the following morning, too. I can only slack off so much before guilt takes over. I am responsible for much these days. Maybe the work will push away my valise that used to hold power.

1032. The show has five episodes left before I either roll back to the pilot or switch to vampires, likely the most bloody, sex-saturated and insane display of nudity I have ever seen. Heh. All the fear and other shit, but I truly do watch the most harsh television programming ever created. You already know why, too. The characters are key. I know them, and their lives are familiar to the point of my feeling as if they are my neighbors. There is much value in knowing, too. All those years of being overly obsessed and fascinated by the film industry have educated me and illuminated a vast appreciation and technical insight into the production process. I notice tiny details that others seem to miss. I respect the process of creation. I still dream of being a part of the most wondrous industry imaginable. Dreaming hurts me to this very second, yet I cannot leave the medium alone... The stories, filming, deep character development... All of it continues to bring me wonder even though my dream is ash. 'I coulda been a contendah.' No, perhaps not. But I can wonder, anyway. And speaking of wondering, I used to have a film dictionary which became a daily reference while watching movies. It may have gone the way of the dodo back in eleven when I donated all my printed material to a local used bookstore. That's likely because I have not seen it in years. Back when I realized the industry was changing too much for me to handle, the idea of reading all that material seemed outdated. The fact is the industry did not advance as much as I had feared by that point and I could have still pursued some kind of career within. Now the books are as absent as my ambition. Sad, yes, but at the time the decision to separate myself from hollow dreams seemed a good idea lest I lose myself in yet more impossibility. Oh boy, there is Anthony's girl being thrown a huge question along with a ring. God damn did that woman play the role well. Ugh... I digress again. The film industry has nothing to do with the fucking title but sometimes I can't fucking help it. If I recall correctly, my initial fascination with film was during the Midwest period. I am sitting here at this very moment, twenty-eight years later with a gigantic hole inside. I love the medium and never took that step. Fuck you if you already read some shit about this. Just fuck you. It fucking hurts. I've never had a bigger dream. I had support back then. Support for a risky change which had a good chance of failing and a shot in the dark for success. Yep... I had support. 'Do it if you believe in it. We will find a way to make it work.' Jesus fucking Christ in a metal film canister. I did nothing because I was afraid.

Way off the subject. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. The vulpine power was the topic. Hmm... Did I give up on the biggest dream of my life because of a woman? Not a good question, and nothing I wish to consider right now. Such a connection would only make things worse.

I was a victim of violence long ago. I was afraid. I am much older now and still afraid. If I equate the current fear to the past, I will be ridiculed. If I stand with my chest out and claim otherwise, a collapse is imminent. Shortly after the first sentence, I was subjected to cold, unfeeling ridicule. I must be honest now. The time machine in my head brings me back to both scenes on a daily basis. In each, I am not afraid. I am angry and violent. The fiction had a touch of nonfiction. I killed that man by sending a round through his neck and watching the side of the passenger car as it was decorated red. Now I am envisioning another round... Straight through the neck of a second person in order to exsanguinate and shock onlookers. Neither is real. Eighteen months of shit here because the time machine cannot help me.

I sincerely hope I see that person in some kind of afterlife. I should be sent straight to the fires of hell for what I will do. Someone once told me that hatred is a waste of energy. Well, the waste is my fucking choice. This is about as pleasant as I can be after being robbed by blind ignorance. The mess I made in the passenger car was only the beginning. I'd like to make another mess and then piss on it.

Fuck the images. No more.

'Children, family... Yeah, that's what it's all about.' Fuck you.

The day has gone from quiet with television in the background to noisy with my old phone connected to the audio system here in the living room, and not in a good way. I went to the market a while ago to secure some staples and ended up in a bad mood on the return trip. That mood extended to the house. Blasting music from my suicidal, desperate past is permeating the property and vibrating those thin fucking walls built in haste nearly seventy years ago. Maybe they will fall apart. I don't care. The point is I have not embraced the music in proper context for a very long time, or at least since the old office went away. The home theatre cubes are not the best for stereo reproduction, but honestly they seem decent considering the volume is at a fairly stratospheric level right now. 1335 and no lunch other than alcohol. I don't fucking care. The subject matter in my head since driving to the store has become all bad. Negatives piled upon negatives. I feel like an overexposed film canister. Ugh... Film. More bad. I hope the receiver doesn't have a meltdown due to the power I am requesting. The only power I hold anymore.

This is going to end badly. I know it. I have foreseen it. Too many murderous souls of the past continue to plague me and leave all hope in flames. Every fucking day this happens. I can only take so much before the fucking flash. Eh... I don't like this song but the old phone is too far to reach right now. I guess I'll just have to swallow it, like everything else in this stupid, backward society. No power, no strength, no voice whatsoever. Very frustrating, to say the least.

I traveled through this morning without a scrape. It was close, for sure, but I forced the issue and walked away. That is rare these days. Living with a lifetime of dreams inside and sidestepping such power is not easy, nor is it typical of late. The need to destroy has never been stronger than it is at this very moment. No worry, though, because I know what is expected of me all the time. I'll swing everything back to the norm in a little while and be the cardboard cutout others wish me to be. There is no other way. Torn between destruction of everything and making nice for them to be happy and content. Them. Those fucking people. Years ago I lamented them. Now I must bow to them. The forcible nature of the draw a while ago put me in a very bad situation. I made it out of there, though. Perhaps the market and subsequent housework usurped the more appealing ideas in my head. I don't know for sure. Something, though. My comfort can be a pretty fucking powerful draw, you know? Without it, the story would end rather quickly. So maybe there is a hint of self-preservation still present alongside the hatred. I can't be certain right now because my mood is very fucking bad. Hmm... I have enough relative clout to procure those massive monitor towers and transform the entire neighborhood into my own personal jukebox. If the other end of the proverbial street is that close, why the fuck not? I can anger everyone else and then disappear, leaving them void of answers. Damn, but that sounds nice right now. Anyway, the scrape will return, everything smashed in my brain will catch fire, and the morning will arrive again whether or not I wish it. I cannot stop the planet from rotating. I cannot stop the memories and loss from returning. I cannot turn back the clock and kill those kids. I cannot fix anything.

Nor can you.

The power made me what I am. A lack here, an excess there, and those who have wielded it without regard or regret. The time is nigh for every single soul on this fucking spinning marble to be lumped together like enemies. They are you. You are them. Avoid me.

'They made it through because they were holding on to something.'
'What were they holding on to?'
'That there is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for.'

No, there is not."