The Way of the Rails II Mature content No. 248 Published May 28th, 2021 9:18am pdt read ( words) Past entries "5-24. Monday morning and I have things to do both in the house and out there in the garage, but later. For the next couple of hours I need to sit here and finalize this. Nothing is more important right now. The preface to this has already been published and I do not wish too much time in between. Important, these words. Three different dreams have my head all twisted and mangled, mostly due to one of them demonstrating a fear and then throwing it right at my face during a conversation. The only save was the idea of me shutting down and being a robot for a while prior to awakening. She stood there and told me point blank and I initially recoiled before realizing I could bend the world to my needs. And that's when the buildup of anger began, shortly thereafter finding me alone due to other people being so put off by my behavior that they became physically ill. I have not felt that level of accomplishment in another dream, let alone life itself. It was very satisfying. I will need some time this morning to consider the three experiences and attempt a summation. Everything seems to be pointing toward the same path. The situation has become unbearable. The last two days alone have demonstrated where I am to remain. Everything is now outlined. Nothing is new. The rails are the way, and if you know the rails... Well, they are fixed for all time. Abandoned, active or whatever the condition, the rails cannot be denied, meaning I go where they lead and there is nothing I can do about the trajectory any longer. 'The bloody train is bloody late You bloody wait you bloody wait You're bloody lost and bloody found Stuck in fuckin' chicken town' I don't know what the fuck it is. Flashing there, gently. No sounds other than the rumbling of all these tons rolling along. The manuals are deeply written. Finding help will take time, although I seem to have a surplus of the stuff right now. Hopefully it has nothing to do with the trucks. I should be able to figure out what is going on. For years I was the head of troubleshooting and ran the firing panel for the big gun without issue. Whenever something went wrong, I was the person called to find the cause. Fifty-five miles per hour now and snow blowing all over the place. The searchlight is washing everything like God's own eye swinging back and forth with extreme brightness. The power beneath is making me feel as if the world can be spun into whatever I may wish. But all the while I know none of this is real. I am sitting on the sofa and out in the wilderness at the same time. Figurative, you say? Fuck yes, but oh so necessary for my mental processes. The train has become my life. 'I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm gonna take a stand.' Right. I suppose just sitting in the operator's seat for a while is all I can do. I keep thinking about the cruise a few years ago and heading from the smoking lounge on the Promenade out to the port walkway to experience the wind and smell the sea. The hour was late, too. I strolled out there after shoving the weighty door open and realized anything much further may not be a good idea. Well, the experience was pulling me very much and I then turned toward the stairwell which led to a long passage along the lower bow. Just a few steps up in the dim lighting -- the level of which was dropping every few feet -- and I felt one of the strongest breezes ever in my life. The bow passage was not chained off despite the ship heading straight into the wind, but my own sense of self-preservation prevented me completing the ascent. Oy was that area cold and windy. I turned and headed back inside to my waiting barstool. Part of me now wishes I had gone all the way to the forward center, and part of me is glad I did not. It did not feel necessarily unsafe, but frightening nonetheless. No one out there during the night. Everyone remained indoors to avoid the weather. Right now I must admit that rising and taking a walk to the siderail outside my cab is enticing... Just to feel it. Alas, I no longer have the hormonal push for doing anything even remotely dangerous, and such a statement relates to every fucking smidgen of life these days. Safety, comfort, and security have shrunk my will to do anything exciting. The seat must be my billet. Little, weak me sitting there afraid. I don't know from where this feeling grew. I can't stand it sometimes. The third dream slammed the point home that I cannot know what is going on in there, leaving my only option to giving up the fight. No more analysis. As of yet nothing has been accomplished and I have zero faith of solving problems in the future. Plus, the more time which passes finds me more angry. To hell with it. I'll have to focus upon my little dream world. So small, both it and me. The last bastion was the other day and I can take no more of it. Add to it the worry for the last day or so and the result is very tough. I have been sitting here with a head full for far too long. Maybe wherever I am going will be better. The flashing stopped. Huh? Back to the books. 5-25. I began disassembling the Bugatti yesterday because there is something wrong with the linkage for the transmission. I did not notice until rebuilding the Lamborghini. The issue began to bother me so I decided to work on it. The Lamborghini is all finished, and now I have another project to handle while the show is in the background. Some sort of warm feeling washes over me when I am in the middle of what has become a very comfortable distraction. Similar to heading toward the kitchen with my drink and some cleaning ahead, the model building has shown me that there are indeed some aspects of these days which help take my mind off the massive hole that has just passed its tenth anniversary. Today I plan to embrace that little comfort after some of my business is completed. Flashing again. What is that? Better I do not let myself become distracted by the other parts of this journey. That is what caused me to fall on my face in fifteen. Voltage, indeed. There are no block signals present on this line so perhaps it is an indication of a fluctuation in the voltage between rails, or possibly just a cab signal. I have not seen the latter during any of the recent journeys, plus the locomotive has no display that I can locate. Speed restrictions do not seem to matter in this strange place. Maybe I am not paying enough attention to the world going by as I concentrate upon those things which still bring me enjoyment. I must remain mindful of this route and possibilities. Ah... There it is. Ice on the rails. Not a problem. I'll slow a bit. My familiarity with the railroad may be further tested. I can't just sit here and do nothing. I must solve. At least I don't have to worry about the electrical right now. I believe yesterday was a clear demonstration of my inability to fully relax lately. On edge, always, no matter what may be transpiring in this room or out in the world. Everything overwhelms me so quickly that there is nary a second for me to sit still and let go unless I am alone. Nothing helps. Oof, all of a sudden this cab is less than smooth for some reason. Anyway, the facade became too weighty yesterday and lowered for a while as I sat here. Soon after it went back up where it belongs, but the in-between meant I was visible for a time. There is just no circumventing anything these days. I may return to this for a little while upon reaching the quiet time. And some work in the garage may be on tap, too. The laundry was yesterday but I accomplished little else out there. Sometimes the cool just goes right through me and I have to stay inside. Another facet of me weakened, presumably for good. Splendid. Well, I can get some more crap out the door and clean for a while, I suppose. The car may wait until either after lunch or early evening while I have the sauce simmering. I have to slow the locomotive again. Damn. Approach speed, thirty. Ugh. There is still nothing out here except for a knot in my stomach over everything I've gleaned for a year. And a pause for the home cause. Part of my stuff is finished, leaving very little work and a ton of time. Gangsters up there. I hope the automatic railway control is not fully in place. I can't be restricted when my brain is screaming for more speed. The locomotive can haul ass without cars coupled, unlike that snowy fucking journey to seek my hoppers. If I never see them again it will be too soon. Plus the damned passenger cars which seemed to teach a lesson now elusive. I am smaller, compacted somehow, and with a far greater sensitivity than just a year ago. The rails are in charge, however. Where I feel I need to go may not matter. I mentioned control... Well, it may not be present any longer. The locomotive is both loved and hated. This is my lot now, the way of the rails. I wish to go faster, damn it. 5-26 and mixed up worlds right now. Train? Sofa? Media? What is going on? Another day, another distance covered. I am not feeling well but the rails pay no mind. After the last two days sitting here wallowing in the morning and then making nice in the afternoon and evening, I do not believe other options or moods are on my horizon. There exist too many different problems which have stemmed from any number of situations throughout the course of years, and I am helpless to eliminate them. Each day brings me further from any desire to be near other people and closer to my eventual position of being completely alone. I do not see another way around this shit. I've been trying and trying for too long and all I have become is worn out. I just don't see it. Further and further inward I have turned in a year and there is no longer any going back. And I don't want to go back, either. The road has changed, I have changed, and I do not believe I can fit there anymore. The others have shown me that I cannot fit anything aside from what I have created, so that is that. Here I will stay. Another indicator flashing. I don't want to see anything go haywire right now. I have to keep going with enough speed and force to break through whatever may come along. Damn. I guess all that time of being alone in the past has taken its toll. The feeling of quiet and isolation is too much for me to pass on these days. There is no need to worry about anyone else derailing my schedule or interfering with what I need to accomplish. Selfish? Maybe... But, think of the idea that if I am not around other people I cannot affect them. There are two sides to this railway. Voltage again. This time the main display is showing red somewhere off in the distance. I suppose it is the cab signal but without its own unit to restrict speed. Like a combination of signals on the line and a display to show what is going on in the next block or two without any outward sign. Strange, but at least I know to ease up some more. Twenty, with damned little vision forward. Something is on the line off in the distance. Maybe I'll ram another train. Heh. I did not realize at the time, but one film did create turmoil inside me from many years ago. I had a great appreciation for the story and direction, plus the setting here in the Bay Area added to the appeal. After returning from the Midwest I purchased the Pioneer special edition of the film and watched from time to time because it was so fantastic. The scene and dialog in question did not come up for many years, and when they did surface I felt a tinge of society stepping on my head. All manner of keywords floated in and now I am a basket case over the entire subject. As much as I prefer to avoid the word ‘should' in many contexts, I honestly should not be this fucked up over something which can be categorized as trivial. I just don't know anymore. Everything affects me much more now than in the past. I cannot repeat or describe the situation here, either. Too personal. Oy, an actual signal ahead, and it is amber. I guess I can man the controls now, unlike earlier. I am no longer being driven? There is nothing I can do about this crap that comes along from time to time, either. I have no control, and that is a good portion of the reason I remain holed up here. Eh… I've said all this crap before and no one gives a shit anyway. Indeed, something ahead. As I switch off the searchlight motion, everything clears and I see the destination to be avoided, a turntable flanked by roundhouses. I'll have to take a look before attempting to fly right on through. Many of these are single-ended, meaning I'll take the locomotive off the rails if I try to keep going. Slow now, just a crawl. I don't see anything going on out there. Dead as a doornail. All the way back on the throttle. Stop. Lock. What the hell is going on with this line? I'll have to take a look. There had better not be anyone around. That movie really did a number the last time I saw it, yet right now I cannot remember what related the current period to such a reference. I have not seen it in many years, and I mean much more than a decade. Something brought that scene to mind and the result is just another fucking straw on the pile. I wish I could recall the more recent catalyst. No idea right now, but the fact remains that I have been affected by the manner in which some parts of life are depicted and the subsequent impact upon individuals like myself can be pretty frightening and even mentally crippling. I just don't understand why some situations and the way they are written became necessary. Everything is constantly fucked with to the point of being completely ridiculous and then the next iteration pushes a little more until finally nothing in real life is enough. Something… A situation or conversation came along within the last few months to bring that fucking scene back to mind and now the whole shootin' match is worse. Hence? Holed up, still. Speaking? Less. Anger? More. Worry? That is going away since I am all by myself with this shit. The worry stems from others knowing, but there will be none such in the future. I already made that fucking mistake, twice. I have to sit here and work on the reasoning alone. Much less speaking these days. This place is deserted. No power, lights, nothing. I can't even estimate the last time the turntable was in motion. There are no other locomotives in the roundhouses, either. All the doors are standing open and all I see is snow drifting around inside. Fucking dead here. 5-28. One of the cats destroyed a piece of the model I've been building. I have to order a replacement. Ugh. Despite being out here in the middle of nothingness, I am at home. Have you been reading about the train and where I've been traveling? But then the next paragraph has me doing chores at home. Strange? Did you calculate the train is figurative? Keep trying. The landscape may never change, either. Here, there, wherever... I am lost, and that is the fucking point. My locomotive gives me the opportunity to rise, yet as of this moment and so many fucking trains all over the map in the past, I've accomplished very little. I said keep trying. That is what I have to do, as well. The roundhouses are deserted and appear to be falling apart. The number plaques are barely readable and seem printed much smaller than what would be available to operators. Usually they are simply numbered from one side to the other, but now I believe there is more information above each door. I may need to take a look once I figure out what is going on with this machine. Today will be much like yesterday, I suspect. I finished some things in the morning and then ran out of gas. The warmth of sitting with my show and the model (and a cocktail, of course) flowed through the house the moment I realized I had the time for my comfortable space. I also found a little more time for that while dinner was cooking. I cannot overstate the feeling of being there with something familiar in the background. It reminds me of last year when I would head into the kitchen after returning from the morning drive. Hmm... I haven't driven since the end of last year. Anyway, this day I have little actual work unless I create some, so my mind must remain occupied or I will lose my way again. I just can't have that right now. I feel shitty enough without being caught in a pile of worthlessness on top of it. Maybe I will finally drop off some donations at the resource center. That would make space in the garage, too. There is an office (as it should be in a typical yard) to my right, the big tower next to it, and off in the distance I see a slew of boxcars laying in wait on various spurs. Some of them appear to have not moved in a very long time. No locomotives other than mine. The days have all run into each other as if they are a part of one giant Saturday without end. I used to wish for free time and then ended up with as much as I could ever dream. That was after only a few weeks, and then I left my job and the time expanded unlike anything since the Midwest when I was attending school at night. Well, this is different after more than a year. I find that all the stuff I needed that time to accomplish is now very difficult in comparison. The simplest of chores takes tremendous effort because my motivation has dropped through the fucking floor. I don't know if the train can help, either. It simply 'is'. The rails are there whether or not I wish for them. Soon I fear they will be in complete control of my actions. Day after day I will be forced to deal with whatever comes along the line. There were no switches, and now I am faced with a series of choices which all appear to end not far from the turntable. Between dealing with the leading of the rails and trying to keep my head out of the ground each day, I have my hands more full than I would prefer. Eh... I did this. The roundhouses are indeed named as I can see after exiting the warmth of the cab. Names? There are eight, I think, and one may have doors on the rear. Very strange, as if the roundhouse is a pause rather than a stop. As is the custom of late, yesterday was a loss. Oh, I did some research on light bulbs for my project in the garage and straightened up a bit, changed the oil on the car and picked up a few things at the market, but for the most part I did not accomplish very much. Most of my days are like that now. I accidentally ran across two other Jaimes last night while reading about movies. 'Jaime' and not 'Jamie'. Very interesting. My favorite name beginning with the letter 'J' was my cousin's name, shared by only one other person that I know of right now. That is a rare one, and my feelings for the name are due to her. Obviously 'Jamie' is a close second, and I use her real name rather than the character (with whom I've been in love for quite some time, just like the other one) because I like it. Clarity. Something. Anyway, the other two Jaimes are less significant, but seeing the names spelled that way goes all the way back to the late nineties and a time when I had been staying at the lodge twice a week to ease my commute. I may have gone into that period before but can't recall right now. Too much writing. The fact is all the Jaimes (three of them in total) on the television all have blonde hair and that is one trait which generally sends me flying away. There is only one of the three on whom the blonde hair is appealing, although I have no idea of why. I remember gushing about the one some time ago but it faded years later. My technicality of beauty took over and pushed everything over the edge and right up against the limits of attractiveness versus oddities. When I look back at her now, I see a part of myself that disappeared for all time. Maybe that part was in one of the hoppers. Gone for good. It was a part which cannot be replaced, either. I have changed too much. No going back, although I would love this train to show me where I was back then. There existed possibilities... Some of which felt like avenues to be explored. Now? Everything has been exposed. No more wonder. Funny that I have been thinking about all those names because the closer I get to the larger end of the roundhouse the more I see that the name above the door is Justine. Again with the letter 'J'? Just like the second passenger car with all those very different women and their connections to my situation throughout time and all those attempts to help me understand the world in which I had been mired, again I have to interpret the meaning behind the damned names. Justine. Her name has always soured my mood. I have to push a little further today. Maybe experiment with a second pair of speakers in the garage. I've been thinking about that idea for a while now, and whenever I can acquire more lumber I will put up two shelves opposite the existing audio system and add the speakers I have stored in the corner. Quadraphonic? No, not even close. Just duplicated stereo. My old pair of walnut floorstanding speakers may need to come into the house. I don't know yet. Perhaps when I get the other pair from her sometime soon I will replace the garage drivers with better, smaller cabinets with improved audio. Lots of consideration there. One of these days I'll work on my trim project if the wind can fill my sails for more than a few minutes at a time. The roundhouses have some character, I must say. Very old, like from the turn of the twentieth century. Interesting, and the largest seems to be wide open, meaning the train can roll right on through and out the other side. Normally the spurs to each house are just that... Ends of lines. The one before me leads out and away, possibly returning to the main. I don't know, but the turntable is pointed to the right. It leads to a smaller section with no obvious exit. Hmm. I may be here for some time. One more Cindy because I am fucked I don't know why I am trying to figure this out at all. I already know the way of the rails, and the bottom line is I may as well cease the effort and just wait until they lead me off the edge of the world. This morning has already been a trial (one which has been forsaken, to be sure), the remainder of the day will be just like those roundhouses... Nothing new, no ideas, drive or ambition, and in the end I will be exactly the same no matter which building I explore nor any attempt to drive my power through whatever may be ahead. This is all futile. Period. Maybe someone will come along and change my ways. Doubtful, but I never know in these strange worlds. The day will move along just as all the rest: Down, worried, uncomfortable inside and constantly yearning for things which will never exist. The trial? Failed. Wagons ho. The little enjoyments are still available. I know not for how long, yet they are there to help. That is something, anyway. The first show is up there on my big television and I have the day ahead, for whatever it may be worth. Some items should arrive on the porch today for daily life and one of the projects, too. Again, that is something. I still have reasons to be up and about. I wrote far too much about those trips to Nevada and beyond. Pulling them from the site may be in the future. Right now I don't know, but I can say that the drive behind those overly-descriptive scenes was partly my life here for the last many years. I missed all of it and explored the past as an escape. I no longer believe those stories were a good idea. Sharing is not caring; sharing is often selfish and damaging. Those memories need to be shoved far back in life. They are beginning to irritate me. And don't even begin to give me shit about Cindy being up there again. It's just one more massive image of her form for good measure, and to illustrate that the very first issue still plagues me, just as so many other parts of life. Undetermined, unrealized, unnecessary, and underwhelming as the world. My little world. Television and booze and models and nothing much else. I am quite certain that eventually everything will run out and I will be left sitting here sans life. The power of the locomotive behind me is overwhelming and again brings me back to the first time I stood within arm's reach of one idling. It felt as if the whole world was rumbling. Eh... All gone. That was after the glow and before the turmoil. I was a person, but no longer. And keep in mind that the older locomotive was a smaller version of what idles behind me. Big six-thousand horse monstrosity, right there waiting. Hmm. Horsepower at the ready. Perhaps I need to just break through this entire shitaree and leave the roundhouses behind. The names above each door are working on my head. I feel like destroying everything on an even larger scale than Julie and I ramming the fucking hotel with a boxcar full of explosives. That was not enough. Nothing is ever enough, really. Treading water. Pissed off all the time. Passing the options along and ruining my mindset each day like the wagons have been driven off a cliff. Well... Maybe I just made up my mind. To the cab. Unlock. Throttle. Here we go, hopefully into oblivion. To be concluded." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Way of the Rails II Mature content No. 248 Published May 28th, 2021 9:18am pdt read ( words) Past entries "5-24. Monday morning and I have things to do both in the house and out there in the garage, but later. For the next couple of hours I need to sit here and finalize this. Nothing is more important right now. The preface to this has already been published and I do not wish too much time in between. Important, these words. Three different dreams have my head all twisted and mangled, mostly due to one of them demonstrating a fear and then throwing it right at my face during a conversation. The only save was the idea of me shutting down and being a robot for a while prior to awakening. She stood there and told me point blank and I initially recoiled before realizing I could bend the world to my needs. And that's when the buildup of anger began, shortly thereafter finding me alone due to other people being so put off by my behavior that they became physically ill. I have not felt that level of accomplishment in another dream, let alone life itself. It was very satisfying. I will need some time this morning to consider the three experiences and attempt a summation. Everything seems to be pointing toward the same path. The situation has become unbearable. The last two days alone have demonstrated where I am to remain. Everything is now outlined. Nothing is new. The rails are the way, and if you know the rails... Well, they are fixed for all time. Abandoned, active or whatever the condition, the rails cannot be denied, meaning I go where they lead and there is nothing I can do about the trajectory any longer. 'The bloody train is bloody late You bloody wait you bloody wait You're bloody lost and bloody found Stuck in fuckin' chicken town' I don't know what the fuck it is. Flashing there, gently. No sounds other than the rumbling of all these tons rolling along. The manuals are deeply written. Finding help will take time, although I seem to have a surplus of the stuff right now. Hopefully it has nothing to do with the trucks. I should be able to figure out what is going on. For years I was the head of troubleshooting and ran the firing panel for the big gun without issue. Whenever something went wrong, I was the person called to find the cause. Fifty-five miles per hour now and snow blowing all over the place. The searchlight is washing everything like God's own eye swinging back and forth with extreme brightness. The power beneath is making me feel as if the world can be spun into whatever I may wish. But all the while I know none of this is real. I am sitting on the sofa and out in the wilderness at the same time. Figurative, you say? Fuck yes, but oh so necessary for my mental processes. The train has become my life. 'I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm gonna take a stand.' Right. I suppose just sitting in the operator's seat for a while is all I can do. I keep thinking about the cruise a few years ago and heading from the smoking lounge on the Promenade out to the port walkway to experience the wind and smell the sea. The hour was late, too. I strolled out there after shoving the weighty door open and realized anything much further may not be a good idea. Well, the experience was pulling me very much and I then turned toward the stairwell which led to a long passage along the lower bow. Just a few steps up in the dim lighting -- the level of which was dropping every few feet -- and I felt one of the strongest breezes ever in my life. The bow passage was not chained off despite the ship heading straight into the wind, but my own sense of self-preservation prevented me completing the ascent. Oy was that area cold and windy. I turned and headed back inside to my waiting barstool. Part of me now wishes I had gone all the way to the forward center, and part of me is glad I did not. It did not feel necessarily unsafe, but frightening nonetheless. No one out there during the night. Everyone remained indoors to avoid the weather. Right now I must admit that rising and taking a walk to the siderail outside my cab is enticing... Just to feel it. Alas, I no longer have the hormonal push for doing anything even remotely dangerous, and such a statement relates to every fucking smidgen of life these days. Safety, comfort, and security have shrunk my will to do anything exciting. The seat must be my billet. Little, weak me sitting there afraid. I don't know from where this feeling grew. I can't stand it sometimes. The third dream slammed the point home that I cannot know what is going on in there, leaving my only option to giving up the fight. No more analysis. As of yet nothing has been accomplished and I have zero faith of solving problems in the future. Plus, the more time which passes finds me more angry. To hell with it. I'll have to focus upon my little dream world. So small, both it and me. The last bastion was the other day and I can take no more of it. Add to it the worry for the last day or so and the result is very tough. I have been sitting here with a head full for far too long. Maybe wherever I am going will be better. The flashing stopped. Huh? Back to the books. 5-25. I began disassembling the Bugatti yesterday because there is something wrong with the linkage for the transmission. I did not notice until rebuilding the Lamborghini. The issue began to bother me so I decided to work on it. The Lamborghini is all finished, and now I have another project to handle while the show is in the background. Some sort of warm feeling washes over me when I am in the middle of what has become a very comfortable distraction. Similar to heading toward the kitchen with my drink and some cleaning ahead, the model building has shown me that there are indeed some aspects of these days which help take my mind off the massive hole that has just passed its tenth anniversary. Today I plan to embrace that little comfort after some of my business is completed. Flashing again. What is that? Better I do not let myself become distracted by the other parts of this journey. That is what caused me to fall on my face in fifteen. Voltage, indeed. There are no block signals present on this line so perhaps it is an indication of a fluctuation in the voltage between rails, or possibly just a cab signal. I have not seen the latter during any of the recent journeys, plus the locomotive has no display that I can locate. Speed restrictions do not seem to matter in this strange place. Maybe I am not paying enough attention to the world going by as I concentrate upon those things which still bring me enjoyment. I must remain mindful of this route and possibilities. Ah... There it is. Ice on the rails. Not a problem. I'll slow a bit. My familiarity with the railroad may be further tested. I can't just sit here and do nothing. I must solve. At least I don't have to worry about the electrical right now. I believe yesterday was a clear demonstration of my inability to fully relax lately. On edge, always, no matter what may be transpiring in this room or out in the world. Everything overwhelms me so quickly that there is nary a second for me to sit still and let go unless I am alone. Nothing helps. Oof, all of a sudden this cab is less than smooth for some reason. Anyway, the facade became too weighty yesterday and lowered for a while as I sat here. Soon after it went back up where it belongs, but the in-between meant I was visible for a time. There is just no circumventing anything these days. I may return to this for a little while upon reaching the quiet time. And some work in the garage may be on tap, too. The laundry was yesterday but I accomplished little else out there. Sometimes the cool just goes right through me and I have to stay inside. Another facet of me weakened, presumably for good. Splendid. Well, I can get some more crap out the door and clean for a while, I suppose. The car may wait until either after lunch or early evening while I have the sauce simmering. I have to slow the locomotive again. Damn. Approach speed, thirty. Ugh. There is still nothing out here except for a knot in my stomach over everything I've gleaned for a year. And a pause for the home cause. Part of my stuff is finished, leaving very little work and a ton of time. Gangsters up there. I hope the automatic railway control is not fully in place. I can't be restricted when my brain is screaming for more speed. The locomotive can haul ass without cars coupled, unlike that snowy fucking journey to seek my hoppers. If I never see them again it will be too soon. Plus the damned passenger cars which seemed to teach a lesson now elusive. I am smaller, compacted somehow, and with a far greater sensitivity than just a year ago. The rails are in charge, however. Where I feel I need to go may not matter. I mentioned control... Well, it may not be present any longer. The locomotive is both loved and hated. This is my lot now, the way of the rails. I wish to go faster, damn it. 5-26 and mixed up worlds right now. Train? Sofa? Media? What is going on? Another day, another distance covered. I am not feeling well but the rails pay no mind. After the last two days sitting here wallowing in the morning and then making nice in the afternoon and evening, I do not believe other options or moods are on my horizon. There exist too many different problems which have stemmed from any number of situations throughout the course of years, and I am helpless to eliminate them. Each day brings me further from any desire to be near other people and closer to my eventual position of being completely alone. I do not see another way around this shit. I've been trying and trying for too long and all I have become is worn out. I just don't see it. Further and further inward I have turned in a year and there is no longer any going back. And I don't want to go back, either. The road has changed, I have changed, and I do not believe I can fit there anymore. The others have shown me that I cannot fit anything aside from what I have created, so that is that. Here I will stay. Another indicator flashing. I don't want to see anything go haywire right now. I have to keep going with enough speed and force to break through whatever may come along. Damn. I guess all that time of being alone in the past has taken its toll. The feeling of quiet and isolation is too much for me to pass on these days. There is no need to worry about anyone else derailing my schedule or interfering with what I need to accomplish. Selfish? Maybe... But, think of the idea that if I am not around other people I cannot affect them. There are two sides to this railway. Voltage again. This time the main display is showing red somewhere off in the distance. I suppose it is the cab signal but without its own unit to restrict speed. Like a combination of signals on the line and a display to show what is going on in the next block or two without any outward sign. Strange, but at least I know to ease up some more. Twenty, with damned little vision forward. Something is on the line off in the distance. Maybe I'll ram another train. Heh. I did not realize at the time, but one film did create turmoil inside me from many years ago. I had a great appreciation for the story and direction, plus the setting here in the Bay Area added to the appeal. After returning from the Midwest I purchased the Pioneer special edition of the film and watched from time to time because it was so fantastic. The scene and dialog in question did not come up for many years, and when they did surface I felt a tinge of society stepping on my head. All manner of keywords floated in and now I am a basket case over the entire subject. As much as I prefer to avoid the word ‘should' in many contexts, I honestly should not be this fucked up over something which can be categorized as trivial. I just don't know anymore. Everything affects me much more now than in the past. I cannot repeat or describe the situation here, either. Too personal. Oy, an actual signal ahead, and it is amber. I guess I can man the controls now, unlike earlier. I am no longer being driven? There is nothing I can do about this crap that comes along from time to time, either. I have no control, and that is a good portion of the reason I remain holed up here. Eh… I've said all this crap before and no one gives a shit anyway. Indeed, something ahead. As I switch off the searchlight motion, everything clears and I see the destination to be avoided, a turntable flanked by roundhouses. I'll have to take a look before attempting to fly right on through. Many of these are single-ended, meaning I'll take the locomotive off the rails if I try to keep going. Slow now, just a crawl. I don't see anything going on out there. Dead as a doornail. All the way back on the throttle. Stop. Lock. What the hell is going on with this line? I'll have to take a look. There had better not be anyone around. That movie really did a number the last time I saw it, yet right now I cannot remember what related the current period to such a reference. I have not seen it in many years, and I mean much more than a decade. Something brought that scene to mind and the result is just another fucking straw on the pile. I wish I could recall the more recent catalyst. No idea right now, but the fact remains that I have been affected by the manner in which some parts of life are depicted and the subsequent impact upon individuals like myself can be pretty frightening and even mentally crippling. I just don't understand why some situations and the way they are written became necessary. Everything is constantly fucked with to the point of being completely ridiculous and then the next iteration pushes a little more until finally nothing in real life is enough. Something… A situation or conversation came along within the last few months to bring that fucking scene back to mind and now the whole shootin' match is worse. Hence? Holed up, still. Speaking? Less. Anger? More. Worry? That is going away since I am all by myself with this shit. The worry stems from others knowing, but there will be none such in the future. I already made that fucking mistake, twice. I have to sit here and work on the reasoning alone. Much less speaking these days. This place is deserted. No power, lights, nothing. I can't even estimate the last time the turntable was in motion. There are no other locomotives in the roundhouses, either. All the doors are standing open and all I see is snow drifting around inside. Fucking dead here. 5-28. One of the cats destroyed a piece of the model I've been building. I have to order a replacement. Ugh. Despite being out here in the middle of nothingness, I am at home. Have you been reading about the train and where I've been traveling? But then the next paragraph has me doing chores at home. Strange? Did you calculate the train is figurative? Keep trying. The landscape may never change, either. Here, there, wherever... I am lost, and that is the fucking point. My locomotive gives me the opportunity to rise, yet as of this moment and so many fucking trains all over the map in the past, I've accomplished very little. I said keep trying. That is what I have to do, as well. The roundhouses are deserted and appear to be falling apart. The number plaques are barely readable and seem printed much smaller than what would be available to operators. Usually they are simply numbered from one side to the other, but now I believe there is more information above each door. I may need to take a look once I figure out what is going on with this machine. Today will be much like yesterday, I suspect. I finished some things in the morning and then ran out of gas. The warmth of sitting with my show and the model (and a cocktail, of course) flowed through the house the moment I realized I had the time for my comfortable space. I also found a little more time for that while dinner was cooking. I cannot overstate the feeling of being there with something familiar in the background. It reminds me of last year when I would head into the kitchen after returning from the morning drive. Hmm... I haven't driven since the end of last year. Anyway, this day I have little actual work unless I create some, so my mind must remain occupied or I will lose my way again. I just can't have that right now. I feel shitty enough without being caught in a pile of worthlessness on top of it. Maybe I will finally drop off some donations at the resource center. That would make space in the garage, too. There is an office (as it should be in a typical yard) to my right, the big tower next to it, and off in the distance I see a slew of boxcars laying in wait on various spurs. Some of them appear to have not moved in a very long time. No locomotives other than mine. The days have all run into each other as if they are a part of one giant Saturday without end. I used to wish for free time and then ended up with as much as I could ever dream. That was after only a few weeks, and then I left my job and the time expanded unlike anything since the Midwest when I was attending school at night. Well, this is different after more than a year. I find that all the stuff I needed that time to accomplish is now very difficult in comparison. The simplest of chores takes tremendous effort because my motivation has dropped through the fucking floor. I don't know if the train can help, either. It simply 'is'. The rails are there whether or not I wish for them. Soon I fear they will be in complete control of my actions. Day after day I will be forced to deal with whatever comes along the line. There were no switches, and now I am faced with a series of choices which all appear to end not far from the turntable. Between dealing with the leading of the rails and trying to keep my head out of the ground each day, I have my hands more full than I would prefer. Eh... I did this. The roundhouses are indeed named as I can see after exiting the warmth of the cab. Names? There are eight, I think, and one may have doors on the rear. Very strange, as if the roundhouse is a pause rather than a stop. As is the custom of late, yesterday was a loss. Oh, I did some research on light bulbs for my project in the garage and straightened up a bit, changed the oil on the car and picked up a few things at the market, but for the most part I did not accomplish very much. Most of my days are like that now. I accidentally ran across two other Jaimes last night while reading about movies. 'Jaime' and not 'Jamie'. Very interesting. My favorite name beginning with the letter 'J' was my cousin's name, shared by only one other person that I know of right now. That is a rare one, and my feelings for the name are due to her. Obviously 'Jamie' is a close second, and I use her real name rather than the character (with whom I've been in love for quite some time, just like the other one) because I like it. Clarity. Something. Anyway, the other two Jaimes are less significant, but seeing the names spelled that way goes all the way back to the late nineties and a time when I had been staying at the lodge twice a week to ease my commute. I may have gone into that period before but can't recall right now. Too much writing. The fact is all the Jaimes (three of them in total) on the television all have blonde hair and that is one trait which generally sends me flying away. There is only one of the three on whom the blonde hair is appealing, although I have no idea of why. I remember gushing about the one some time ago but it faded years later. My technicality of beauty took over and pushed everything over the edge and right up against the limits of attractiveness versus oddities. When I look back at her now, I see a part of myself that disappeared for all time. Maybe that part was in one of the hoppers. Gone for good. It was a part which cannot be replaced, either. I have changed too much. No going back, although I would love this train to show me where I was back then. There existed possibilities... Some of which felt like avenues to be explored. Now? Everything has been exposed. No more wonder. Funny that I have been thinking about all those names because the closer I get to the larger end of the roundhouse the more I see that the name above the door is Justine. Again with the letter 'J'? Just like the second passenger car with all those very different women and their connections to my situation throughout time and all those attempts to help me understand the world in which I had been mired, again I have to interpret the meaning behind the damned names. Justine. Her name has always soured my mood. I have to push a little further today. Maybe experiment with a second pair of speakers in the garage. I've been thinking about that idea for a while now, and whenever I can acquire more lumber I will put up two shelves opposite the existing audio system and add the speakers I have stored in the corner. Quadraphonic? No, not even close. Just duplicated stereo. My old pair of walnut floorstanding speakers may need to come into the house. I don't know yet. Perhaps when I get the other pair from her sometime soon I will replace the garage drivers with better, smaller cabinets with improved audio. Lots of consideration there. One of these days I'll work on my trim project if the wind can fill my sails for more than a few minutes at a time. The roundhouses have some character, I must say. Very old, like from the turn of the twentieth century. Interesting, and the largest seems to be wide open, meaning the train can roll right on through and out the other side. Normally the spurs to each house are just that... Ends of lines. The one before me leads out and away, possibly returning to the main. I don't know, but the turntable is pointed to the right. It leads to a smaller section with no obvious exit. Hmm. I may be here for some time. One more Cindy because I am fucked I don't know why I am trying to figure this out at all. I already know the way of the rails, and the bottom line is I may as well cease the effort and just wait until they lead me off the edge of the world. This morning has already been a trial (one which has been forsaken, to be sure), the remainder of the day will be just like those roundhouses... Nothing new, no ideas, drive or ambition, and in the end I will be exactly the same no matter which building I explore nor any attempt to drive my power through whatever may be ahead. This is all futile. Period. Maybe someone will come along and change my ways. Doubtful, but I never know in these strange worlds. The day will move along just as all the rest: Down, worried, uncomfortable inside and constantly yearning for things which will never exist. The trial? Failed. Wagons ho. The little enjoyments are still available. I know not for how long, yet they are there to help. That is something, anyway. The first show is up there on my big television and I have the day ahead, for whatever it may be worth. Some items should arrive on the porch today for daily life and one of the projects, too. Again, that is something. I still have reasons to be up and about. I wrote far too much about those trips to Nevada and beyond. Pulling them from the site may be in the future. Right now I don't know, but I can say that the drive behind those overly-descriptive scenes was partly my life here for the last many years. I missed all of it and explored the past as an escape. I no longer believe those stories were a good idea. Sharing is not caring; sharing is often selfish and damaging. Those memories need to be shoved far back in life. They are beginning to irritate me. And don't even begin to give me shit about Cindy being up there again. It's just one more massive image of her form for good measure, and to illustrate that the very first issue still plagues me, just as so many other parts of life. Undetermined, unrealized, unnecessary, and underwhelming as the world. My little world. Television and booze and models and nothing much else. I am quite certain that eventually everything will run out and I will be left sitting here sans life. The power of the locomotive behind me is overwhelming and again brings me back to the first time I stood within arm's reach of one idling. It felt as if the whole world was rumbling. Eh... All gone. That was after the glow and before the turmoil. I was a person, but no longer. And keep in mind that the older locomotive was a smaller version of what idles behind me. Big six-thousand horse monstrosity, right there waiting. Hmm. Horsepower at the ready. Perhaps I need to just break through this entire shitaree and leave the roundhouses behind. The names above each door are working on my head. I feel like destroying everything on an even larger scale than Julie and I ramming the fucking hotel with a boxcar full of explosives. That was not enough. Nothing is ever enough, really. Treading water. Pissed off all the time. Passing the options along and ruining my mindset each day like the wagons have been driven off a cliff. Well... Maybe I just made up my mind. To the cab. Unlock. Throttle. Here we go, hopefully into oblivion. To be concluded."
The Way of the Rails II
Mature content No. 248 Published May 28th, 2021 9:18am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"5-24. Monday morning and I have things to do both in the house and out there in the garage, but later. For the next couple of hours I need to sit here and finalize this. Nothing is more important right now. The preface to this has already been published and I do not wish too much time in between. Important, these words. Three different dreams have my head all twisted and mangled, mostly due to one of them demonstrating a fear and then throwing it right at my face during a conversation. The only save was the idea of me shutting down and being a robot for a while prior to awakening. She stood there and told me point blank and I initially recoiled before realizing I could bend the world to my needs. And that's when the buildup of anger began, shortly thereafter finding me alone due to other people being so put off by my behavior that they became physically ill. I have not felt that level of accomplishment in another dream, let alone life itself. It was very satisfying. I will need some time this morning to consider the three experiences and attempt a summation. Everything seems to be pointing toward the same path. The situation has become unbearable. The last two days alone have demonstrated where I am to remain. Everything is now outlined. Nothing is new. The rails are the way, and if you know the rails... Well, they are fixed for all time. Abandoned, active or whatever the condition, the rails cannot be denied, meaning I go where they lead and there is nothing I can do about the trajectory any longer.
'The bloody train is bloody late You bloody wait you bloody wait You're bloody lost and bloody found Stuck in fuckin' chicken town'
I don't know what the fuck it is. Flashing there, gently. No sounds other than the rumbling of all these tons rolling along. The manuals are deeply written. Finding help will take time, although I seem to have a surplus of the stuff right now. Hopefully it has nothing to do with the trucks. I should be able to figure out what is going on. For years I was the head of troubleshooting and ran the firing panel for the big gun without issue. Whenever something went wrong, I was the person called to find the cause. Fifty-five miles per hour now and snow blowing all over the place. The searchlight is washing everything like God's own eye swinging back and forth with extreme brightness. The power beneath is making me feel as if the world can be spun into whatever I may wish. But all the while I know none of this is real. I am sitting on the sofa and out in the wilderness at the same time. Figurative, you say? Fuck yes, but oh so necessary for my mental processes. The train has become my life. 'I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm gonna take a stand.' Right. I suppose just sitting in the operator's seat for a while is all I can do. I keep thinking about the cruise a few years ago and heading from the smoking lounge on the Promenade out to the port walkway to experience the wind and smell the sea. The hour was late, too. I strolled out there after shoving the weighty door open and realized anything much further may not be a good idea. Well, the experience was pulling me very much and I then turned toward the stairwell which led to a long passage along the lower bow. Just a few steps up in the dim lighting -- the level of which was dropping every few feet -- and I felt one of the strongest breezes ever in my life. The bow passage was not chained off despite the ship heading straight into the wind, but my own sense of self-preservation prevented me completing the ascent. Oy was that area cold and windy. I turned and headed back inside to my waiting barstool. Part of me now wishes I had gone all the way to the forward center, and part of me is glad I did not. It did not feel necessarily unsafe, but frightening nonetheless. No one out there during the night. Everyone remained indoors to avoid the weather. Right now I must admit that rising and taking a walk to the siderail outside my cab is enticing... Just to feel it. Alas, I no longer have the hormonal push for doing anything even remotely dangerous, and such a statement relates to every fucking smidgen of life these days. Safety, comfort, and security have shrunk my will to do anything exciting. The seat must be my billet. Little, weak me sitting there afraid.
I don't know from where this feeling grew. I can't stand it sometimes. The third dream slammed the point home that I cannot know what is going on in there, leaving my only option to giving up the fight. No more analysis. As of yet nothing has been accomplished and I have zero faith of solving problems in the future. Plus, the more time which passes finds me more angry. To hell with it. I'll have to focus upon my little dream world. So small, both it and me. The last bastion was the other day and I can take no more of it. Add to it the worry for the last day or so and the result is very tough. I have been sitting here with a head full for far too long. Maybe wherever I am going will be better. The flashing stopped. Huh? Back to the books. 5-25. I began disassembling the Bugatti yesterday because there is something wrong with the linkage for the transmission. I did not notice until rebuilding the Lamborghini. The issue began to bother me so I decided to work on it. The Lamborghini is all finished, and now I have another project to handle while the show is in the background. Some sort of warm feeling washes over me when I am in the middle of what has become a very comfortable distraction. Similar to heading toward the kitchen with my drink and some cleaning ahead, the model building has shown me that there are indeed some aspects of these days which help take my mind off the massive hole that has just passed its tenth anniversary. Today I plan to embrace that little comfort after some of my business is completed. Flashing again. What is that? Better I do not let myself become distracted by the other parts of this journey. That is what caused me to fall on my face in fifteen. Voltage, indeed. There are no block signals present on this line so perhaps it is an indication of a fluctuation in the voltage between rails, or possibly just a cab signal. I have not seen the latter during any of the recent journeys, plus the locomotive has no display that I can locate. Speed restrictions do not seem to matter in this strange place. Maybe I am not paying enough attention to the world going by as I concentrate upon those things which still bring me enjoyment. I must remain mindful of this route and possibilities. Ah... There it is. Ice on the rails. Not a problem. I'll slow a bit. My familiarity with the railroad may be further tested. I can't just sit here and do nothing. I must solve. At least I don't have to worry about the electrical right now. I believe yesterday was a clear demonstration of my inability to fully relax lately. On edge, always, no matter what may be transpiring in this room or out in the world. Everything overwhelms me so quickly that there is nary a second for me to sit still and let go unless I am alone. Nothing helps. Oof, all of a sudden this cab is less than smooth for some reason. Anyway, the facade became too weighty yesterday and lowered for a while as I sat here. Soon after it went back up where it belongs, but the in-between meant I was visible for a time. There is just no circumventing anything these days. I may return to this for a little while upon reaching the quiet time. And some work in the garage may be on tap, too. The laundry was yesterday but I accomplished little else out there. Sometimes the cool just goes right through me and I have to stay inside. Another facet of me weakened, presumably for good. Splendid. Well, I can get some more crap out the door and clean for a while, I suppose. The car may wait until either after lunch or early evening while I have the sauce simmering. I have to slow the locomotive again. Damn. Approach speed, thirty. Ugh. There is still nothing out here except for a knot in my stomach over everything I've gleaned for a year. And a pause for the home cause. Part of my stuff is finished, leaving very little work and a ton of time. Gangsters up there. I hope the automatic railway control is not fully in place. I can't be restricted when my brain is screaming for more speed. The locomotive can haul ass without cars coupled, unlike that snowy fucking journey to seek my hoppers. If I never see them again it will be too soon. Plus the damned passenger cars which seemed to teach a lesson now elusive. I am smaller, compacted somehow, and with a far greater sensitivity than just a year ago. The rails are in charge, however. Where I feel I need to go may not matter. I mentioned control... Well, it may not be present any longer. The locomotive is both loved and hated. This is my lot now, the way of the rails. I wish to go faster, damn it. 5-26 and mixed up worlds right now. Train? Sofa? Media? What is going on? Another day, another distance covered. I am not feeling well but the rails pay no mind.
After the last two days sitting here wallowing in the morning and then making nice in the afternoon and evening, I do not believe other options or moods are on my horizon. There exist too many different problems which have stemmed from any number of situations throughout the course of years, and I am helpless to eliminate them. Each day brings me further from any desire to be near other people and closer to my eventual position of being completely alone. I do not see another way around this shit. I've been trying and trying for too long and all I have become is worn out. I just don't see it. Further and further inward I have turned in a year and there is no longer any going back. And I don't want to go back, either. The road has changed, I have changed, and I do not believe I can fit there anymore. The others have shown me that I cannot fit anything aside from what I have created, so that is that. Here I will stay. Another indicator flashing. I don't want to see anything go haywire right now. I have to keep going with enough speed and force to break through whatever may come along. Damn. I guess all that time of being alone in the past has taken its toll. The feeling of quiet and isolation is too much for me to pass on these days. There is no need to worry about anyone else derailing my schedule or interfering with what I need to accomplish. Selfish? Maybe... But, think of the idea that if I am not around other people I cannot affect them. There are two sides to this railway. Voltage again. This time the main display is showing red somewhere off in the distance. I suppose it is the cab signal but without its own unit to restrict speed. Like a combination of signals on the line and a display to show what is going on in the next block or two without any outward sign. Strange, but at least I know to ease up some more. Twenty, with damned little vision forward. Something is on the line off in the distance. Maybe I'll ram another train. Heh. I did not realize at the time, but one film did create turmoil inside me from many years ago. I had a great appreciation for the story and direction, plus the setting here in the Bay Area added to the appeal. After returning from the Midwest I purchased the Pioneer special edition of the film and watched from time to time because it was so fantastic. The scene and dialog in question did not come up for many years, and when they did surface I felt a tinge of society stepping on my head. All manner of keywords floated in and now I am a basket case over the entire subject. As much as I prefer to avoid the word ‘should' in many contexts, I honestly should not be this fucked up over something which can be categorized as trivial. I just don't know anymore. Everything affects me much more now than in the past. I cannot repeat or describe the situation here, either. Too personal. Oy, an actual signal ahead, and it is amber. I guess I can man the controls now, unlike earlier. I am no longer being driven? There is nothing I can do about this crap that comes along from time to time, either. I have no control, and that is a good portion of the reason I remain holed up here. Eh… I've said all this crap before and no one gives a shit anyway. Indeed, something ahead. As I switch off the searchlight motion, everything clears and I see the destination to be avoided, a turntable flanked by roundhouses. I'll have to take a look before attempting to fly right on through. Many of these are single-ended, meaning I'll take the locomotive off the rails if I try to keep going. Slow now, just a crawl. I don't see anything going on out there. Dead as a doornail. All the way back on the throttle. Stop. Lock. What the hell is going on with this line? I'll have to take a look. There had better not be anyone around. That movie really did a number the last time I saw it, yet right now I cannot remember what related the current period to such a reference. I have not seen it in many years, and I mean much more than a decade. Something brought that scene to mind and the result is just another fucking straw on the pile. I wish I could recall the more recent catalyst. No idea right now, but the fact remains that I have been affected by the manner in which some parts of life are depicted and the subsequent impact upon individuals like myself can be pretty frightening and even mentally crippling. I just don't understand why some situations and the way they are written became necessary. Everything is constantly fucked with to the point of being completely ridiculous and then the next iteration pushes a little more until finally nothing in real life is enough. Something… A situation or conversation came along within the last few months to bring that fucking scene back to mind and now the whole shootin' match is worse. Hence? Holed up, still. Speaking? Less. Anger? More. Worry? That is going away since I am all by myself with this shit. The worry stems from others knowing, but there will be none such in the future. I already made that fucking mistake, twice. I have to sit here and work on the reasoning alone. Much less speaking these days. This place is deserted. No power, lights, nothing. I can't even estimate the last time the turntable was in motion. There are no other locomotives in the roundhouses, either. All the doors are standing open and all I see is snow drifting around inside. Fucking dead here.
5-28. One of the cats destroyed a piece of the model I've been building. I have to order a replacement. Ugh. Despite being out here in the middle of nothingness, I am at home. Have you been reading about the train and where I've been traveling? But then the next paragraph has me doing chores at home. Strange? Did you calculate the train is figurative? Keep trying. The landscape may never change, either. Here, there, wherever... I am lost, and that is the fucking point. My locomotive gives me the opportunity to rise, yet as of this moment and so many fucking trains all over the map in the past, I've accomplished very little. I said keep trying. That is what I have to do, as well. The roundhouses are deserted and appear to be falling apart. The number plaques are barely readable and seem printed much smaller than what would be available to operators. Usually they are simply numbered from one side to the other, but now I believe there is more information above each door. I may need to take a look once I figure out what is going on with this machine. Today will be much like yesterday, I suspect. I finished some things in the morning and then ran out of gas. The warmth of sitting with my show and the model (and a cocktail, of course) flowed through the house the moment I realized I had the time for my comfortable space. I also found a little more time for that while dinner was cooking. I cannot overstate the feeling of being there with something familiar in the background. It reminds me of last year when I would head into the kitchen after returning from the morning drive. Hmm... I haven't driven since the end of last year. Anyway, this day I have little actual work unless I create some, so my mind must remain occupied or I will lose my way again. I just can't have that right now. I feel shitty enough without being caught in a pile of worthlessness on top of it. Maybe I will finally drop off some donations at the resource center. That would make space in the garage, too. There is an office (as it should be in a typical yard) to my right, the big tower next to it, and off in the distance I see a slew of boxcars laying in wait on various spurs. Some of them appear to have not moved in a very long time. No locomotives other than mine. The days have all run into each other as if they are a part of one giant Saturday without end. I used to wish for free time and then ended up with as much as I could ever dream. That was after only a few weeks, and then I left my job and the time expanded unlike anything since the Midwest when I was attending school at night. Well, this is different after more than a year. I find that all the stuff I needed that time to accomplish is now very difficult in comparison. The simplest of chores takes tremendous effort because my motivation has dropped through the fucking floor. I don't know if the train can help, either. It simply 'is'. The rails are there whether or not I wish for them. Soon I fear they will be in complete control of my actions. Day after day I will be forced to deal with whatever comes along the line. There were no switches, and now I am faced with a series of choices which all appear to end not far from the turntable. Between dealing with the leading of the rails and trying to keep my head out of the ground each day, I have my hands more full than I would prefer. Eh... I did this. The roundhouses are indeed named as I can see after exiting the warmth of the cab. Names? There are eight, I think, and one may have doors on the rear. Very strange, as if the roundhouse is a pause rather than a stop. As is the custom of late, yesterday was a loss. Oh, I did some research on light bulbs for my project in the garage and straightened up a bit, changed the oil on the car and picked up a few things at the market, but for the most part I did not accomplish very much. Most of my days are like that now. I accidentally ran across two other Jaimes last night while reading about movies. 'Jaime' and not 'Jamie'. Very interesting. My favorite name beginning with the letter 'J' was my cousin's name, shared by only one other person that I know of right now. That is a rare one, and my feelings for the name are due to her. Obviously 'Jamie' is a close second, and I use her real name rather than the character (with whom I've been in love for quite some time, just like the other one) because I like it. Clarity. Something. Anyway, the other two Jaimes are less significant, but seeing the names spelled that way goes all the way back to the late nineties and a time when I had been staying at the lodge twice a week to ease my commute. I may have gone into that period before but can't recall right now. Too much writing. The fact is all the Jaimes (three of them in total) on the television all have blonde hair and that is one trait which generally sends me flying away. There is only one of the three on whom the blonde hair is appealing, although I have no idea of why. I remember gushing about the one some time ago but it faded years later. My technicality of beauty took over and pushed everything over the edge and right up against the limits of attractiveness versus oddities. When I look back at her now, I see a part of myself that disappeared for all time. Maybe that part was in one of the hoppers. Gone for good. It was a part which cannot be replaced, either. I have changed too much. No going back, although I would love this train to show me where I was back then. There existed possibilities... Some of which felt like avenues to be explored. Now? Everything has been exposed. No more wonder. Funny that I have been thinking about all those names because the closer I get to the larger end of the roundhouse the more I see that the name above the door is Justine. Again with the letter 'J'? Just like the second passenger car with all those very different women and their connections to my situation throughout time and all those attempts to help me understand the world in which I had been mired, again I have to interpret the meaning behind the damned names. Justine. Her name has always soured my mood. I have to push a little further today. Maybe experiment with a second pair of speakers in the garage. I've been thinking about that idea for a while now, and whenever I can acquire more lumber I will put up two shelves opposite the existing audio system and add the speakers I have stored in the corner. Quadraphonic? No, not even close. Just duplicated stereo. My old pair of walnut floorstanding speakers may need to come into the house. I don't know yet. Perhaps when I get the other pair from her sometime soon I will replace the garage drivers with better, smaller cabinets with improved audio. Lots of consideration there. One of these days I'll work on my trim project if the wind can fill my sails for more than a few minutes at a time. The roundhouses have some character, I must say. Very old, like from the turn of the twentieth century. Interesting, and the largest seems to be wide open, meaning the train can roll right on through and out the other side. Normally the spurs to each house are just that... Ends of lines. The one before me leads out and away, possibly returning to the main. I don't know, but the turntable is pointed to the right. It leads to a smaller section with no obvious exit. Hmm. I may be here for some time.
One more Cindy because I am fucked
I don't know why I am trying to figure this out at all. I already know the way of the rails, and the bottom line is I may as well cease the effort and just wait until they lead me off the edge of the world. This morning has already been a trial (one which has been forsaken, to be sure), the remainder of the day will be just like those roundhouses... Nothing new, no ideas, drive or ambition, and in the end I will be exactly the same no matter which building I explore nor any attempt to drive my power through whatever may be ahead. This is all futile. Period. Maybe someone will come along and change my ways. Doubtful, but I never know in these strange worlds. The day will move along just as all the rest: Down, worried, uncomfortable inside and constantly yearning for things which will never exist. The trial? Failed. Wagons ho. The little enjoyments are still available. I know not for how long, yet they are there to help. That is something, anyway. The first show is up there on my big television and I have the day ahead, for whatever it may be worth. Some items should arrive on the porch today for daily life and one of the projects, too. Again, that is something. I still have reasons to be up and about. I wrote far too much about those trips to Nevada and beyond. Pulling them from the site may be in the future. Right now I don't know, but I can say that the drive behind those overly-descriptive scenes was partly my life here for the last many years. I missed all of it and explored the past as an escape. I no longer believe those stories were a good idea. Sharing is not caring; sharing is often selfish and damaging. Those memories need to be shoved far back in life. They are beginning to irritate me. And don't even begin to give me shit about Cindy being up there again. It's just one more massive image of her form for good measure, and to illustrate that the very first issue still plagues me, just as so many other parts of life. Undetermined, unrealized, unnecessary, and underwhelming as the world. My little world. Television and booze and models and nothing much else. I am quite certain that eventually everything will run out and I will be left sitting here sans life. The power of the locomotive behind me is overwhelming and again brings me back to the first time I stood within arm's reach of one idling. It felt as if the whole world was rumbling. Eh... All gone. That was after the glow and before the turmoil. I was a person, but no longer. And keep in mind that the older locomotive was a smaller version of what idles behind me. Big six-thousand horse monstrosity, right there waiting. Hmm. Horsepower at the ready. Perhaps I need to just break through this entire shitaree and leave the roundhouses behind. The names above each door are working on my head. I feel like destroying everything on an even larger scale than Julie and I ramming the fucking hotel with a boxcar full of explosives. That was not enough. Nothing is ever enough, really. Treading water. Pissed off all the time. Passing the options along and ruining my mindset each day like the wagons have been driven off a cliff. Well... Maybe I just made up my mind. To the cab. Unlock. Throttle. Here we go, hopefully into oblivion. To be concluded."
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