June 5th, 2021 7:18am pdt

The images from a past entry have been pulled for good form, and to avoid any imperial entanglements. Also, the 'train' series has been removed for the third time. We do not know if that story will return.

The Way of the Rails III

 read ( words)

"Light ahead.

What am I doing? Will this help me find some reason to keep going?

The back of the building came apart like a house of cards, debris trailing the rear of my locomotive and the fragments continue to fall all around. I need to go fast. Whatever may have been in that place -- lessons, sights, sounds -- I don't want any of it right now. At some point there will probably be a voice, and then the face of some beautiful woman, and then blah, blah, blah. Done it. This trip is not going to be commandeered by forces or wisdom. I am going to slam into something out there in the distance and see what happens. Remember my conniption in Vegas? The bar? Well, I am just as angry but it is not directed toward another person anymore. All me. The light is becoming brighter. I am going to sit tight and watch what happens.

A diorama, for crying out loud. I really wish to avoid any of the past coming to haunt me at this point. Enough of that has already jaded me in the extreme. Perhaps I can just keep going and pick up a flash as the train races by.

Yesterday while working on the model I was hit with a few thoughts which pushed at me to rise and realize much of what takes place in the world is not only out of my control, but has nothing to do with me personally. That may sound all neat and tidy, but I still have as much if not more trouble on a daily basis with those types of stabs. Just because nothing is pointed at me does not mean there are no effects. And then the flip side of the same subject hits me in the head... Worry. I cannot know. This may be the time for severing myself from the thinking of the world. Everything outside is threatening while everything inside only seems to inflame it all. All those years of a harsh and unfeeling label applied to me due to my personality have taken their toll. Maybe that is what I am, maybe not. The last occasion was many years ago during an evening which I had provided food and drink to watch a film. Unappreciated, that whole affair. A mistake, and one I would not make again. I should have known the label would remain. I have no control over what other people think. Throughout time the difficulty has fashioned a space within which I can reside and embrace only my own way. I am still in it at this very moment. No more trying to fit.

This is where I am and where I shall remain. Switchtrack.

My head returns to Paradise and that fateful day at the pool. Yep, again with the thong girl. There was a situation in my head -- a battle between revealing all I felt or clamming up out of respect. I have thought about this on and off since the trip, and we were there nearly two years ago. I can still see her lying there with knees up. The decision was made to talk about it a little due to the issue in my head and then leave it alone for the duration. The woman next to me was very understanding and knew about what took place in my brain during such encounters (and God knows I've gone over it here in spades), so some discussion seemed appropriate provided I knew what the hell I was saying. The subject passed soon after, though I thought about the image of her there just as so many models splayed here for years, especially during seventeen when my level of strength was very low. The bottom line is that I had faith that nothing would come of the situation. Considering how many had been discussed in the past, the main difference was how the woman being very exposed sent her into the stratosphere along with my feelings. Nothing like that before. I had no idea at the time, but the short afternoon visit to the pool would soon create the longest analytical period ever. Now I feel terrible, yet at the same time I am a person, and as such I cannot be held responsible for being driven to desire. Too many years of yearning molded me into what sat there and stared. It was a problem, and one I did not wish to address, ever. Now? All these many months later that afternoon appears as a fracture that will never be repaired. I feel bad. What took place was short-lived and natural, but still... Bad feelings.

All the way back to the car dealership in Dublin during the early part of the glow. Remember? The woman in red? The salesperson? My dad was shopping for a car and I was dreaming of what she looked like sans clothing. And then more... Physical desire unlike I had not felt so quickly. Never before, rarely after. The pool girl damned-near had no clothing so the question of how her bare form might look never arose. She hid nearly nothing in the thinnest fucking thong I've ever seen, television or otherwise. Time between the red and the thong? Twenty-eight years. That's right, kids. Rare was the form I sought, rarer was the feeling which twice plagued me. One of those women STILL plagues me. The simple truth is that I gave her such power.

[There was a third fleeting moment, however it came and went so quickly that I left it alone and out of this space. One second she stood there adjusting her purse and the next she walked through the doors never to be seen again. I thought for a few moments and then let it go. There was a touch later that day after business was completed, but honestly not much when compared to what took place back a summer and a half.]

Now, the point of this is what was going on inside me because we talked about it for a short time while there at the resort and barely gleaned the subject or feelings afterward. At least, not much that I can recall. I believe there has been more here than was spoken that day... Much more for sure, however I do not wish to cause a stir, nor do I need to inflame the already ridiculous standards I've outlined here recently. I guess I'll leave it alone for a while and stew. My brain follows the rails. They do not change. I do not change. Believe it or not, the desire still resides within. The way of the rails dictates my journey, good or otherwise.

There is no way around the feelings; no way to extract such deep analysis of the strongest draw in existence. The only answer is to temper. Thus far, I have been able to stop exactly nothing due to vision after vision and then falling down over the guilt. The last was just months ago and I pulled her images due to feeling bad about the entire entry. This was discussed yesterday and I came to my own conclusion that the solution to issues related to that type of desire does not exist in this life. I can do nothing about it, feel more strongly now than even a year ago, and can't focus on anything a good portion of the time due to overwhelming need. Unclear? Go fuck yourself. I don't care. This subject has become too important to leave by the wayside.

The diorama is about to be passed at high speed. Whatever lesson or vision is there for me to see will be left behind quickly. Again, I don't care. Here it comes... And there it goes, off to the right, and it appeared to be some campground complete with a waterfall and very tall trees. Probably a family vacation from when I was young. Well, it's gone now, into my wake. Heh. I'm not slowing for anything except either of the two most important parts of my life, neither of which is likely. No faith anymore. And I wonder if I have more throttle available. Hmm. Passing those old images is important. I don't need anymore fucking shit from when I was young. In fact, yesterday I was reading a passage from January which had been lost in the shuffle but now has become nearly foremost on my mind. There is a possible understanding related to those heroin moments and why something so elusive became absolutely precious. As it relates to my own enjoyment? I can't count on that anymore. I believe the entire subject has become so overwhelming (because I allowed it) that the point of departure was buried deeply enough to elude my psyche. The dioramas may dredge up the genesis of this whole fucking sordid subject, too. I can't have that. Too much trouble simply living from one day to the next.

Speed, please. I don't want to see anything. There is no solution, so whatever may come along will only be another part of the problem.

roundhouse 1

Darkness, snow again. Thank Christ I have control of this machine now.

'There will be no one to stop us this time.' -- Darth Vader

Sixty miles per hour and the world feels as if I am turning it with the huge trucks beneath. I love it. The last time I felt this exhilarated was enjoying the speed and mass while staring at Julia's slender thighs. That was a different time, different feelings, and a more structured existence. Now I am alone, haphazard, worried, and frustrated with too many personal feelings and my fucking sympathetic nervous system malfunctioning like never before. Ugh... What a mouthful. Fuck everything. I hope an object appears on the rails soon so I can ram this power and destroy whatever it is. Right now I can think of all kinds of things.

Today is a holiday so I put the flags out. Very bright outside this morning. If I still lived in the valley I would probably be lamenting the long daylight hours and heat, but over here none of it really matters much. The climate is vastly different, and even when the mercury rises above my comfort level I simply flip on the ceiling fan and all is well.

Where is the train going? Will I find company?


Oof. The days bleed together like never before. The way of the rails.

From now on I am going to combine multiple issues into one identifier... The 'problem'. And believe me when I say this one will not go away. Not in this life or the next. Partially one, partially two, and the rest completely beyond reach. The last few days leading up to this moment have solidified everything. Permanence, like the way of the rails. I am on the trackway and have been for more than a decade. There is little control apparent, though. I can do what I wish with my locomotive but the rails dictate the route. In stone. Yesterday was a perfect example of what happens when my head becomes overloaded with media. A failure, some analysis, and then booze. Yes, the cold rails. I may have to alter my procedures because everything is tiresome and I need to lash a bit.

Early morning now, hours ahead. Rolling along toward something and leaving behind whatever I wish. Yesterday? I already knew nothing would be there. I fucking knew it, and upon realizing the time had come and gone I began to calculate the words again. I tried and failed. They came and went. The moment came and went and I know not what to do now. We may be heading back toward the machine for lack of another direction. Dreaming is free.

I should have known. Now the idea is just as the problem above... It is now a part. Solidified. Done for all time. The toughie is now I have to accept the fact that my hopes have been dashed forever. The darkness outside is flowing into my heart. There have been so many enjoyments taken away that I suppose one more is not surprising, although to be honest it never really materialized in the first place. There was a flash and then gone, just like all those visions I thought would lead me to the funny farm. Hmm... Maybe the funny farm is at the end of this long line. Do you think I've gone over enough shit to convince anyone that I am still sane? Or the opposite? The last bastion of human endeavor has been disappeared like some worthless fringe employee of the mob and I am left with nothing but questions, some of which I do not wish to ask. The situation could have been improved had such a thing remained far away like a few years ago. There was no chance, and as much trouble as I caused at the time, I knew it would go away like everything else. Now? Gone. Better to have... What? Fuck wisdom.

Long train running? Nope, just one machine underneath me. Nothing else is required for this journey, I suppose, but I cannot know for certain because my questions in this world go unanswered just like in the real world. Splendid, don't you think? In the past I assumed I was asking too much until told otherwise by someone very important to me. Now? You know... Everything turns to shit. I am going to remain sitting in this cab with as much throttle as possible until something comes along. I am running out of reasons for trying to learn of all the 'whys'. Fucking sick of it, really. The locomotive is capable of massive speed when relieved of the typical bulk. Plenty of fuel and power to spare. Straight rails. Straight and cold.

Yesterday I was asked several times if I was feeling ok both during and after the show. Wonderful. Not. Now I am viewed as so weak that the simplest visual exchange can fragment my thinking. This won't go away, either. Once an idiot... Well, just like a thousand fucking incidents in the past, my words came out and ruined everything. Another hash mark. I never should have revealed anything. Some mistakes remain in the light forever, and these are very bright. The caring is sweet, however the underlying feeling is that I am unable or nearly unable to handle some aspects of life. Well, I believe I have felt enough pain, taken enough heat and plowed enough shit to be left the fuck alone now. I am not weak, just messed up at the present. Something wonderful disappeared and I have to deal with the loss, plus I am not in the correct mindset to even begin explaining myself to anyone for any reason, meaning the mistakes outlined above have caused irreversible damage. It continues at this moment, and the only offset is gone. I wish there was more throttle but the lever is at the limit. Seventy.

Damn it.

Yesterday I mounted the police light on one of the posts installed a while back. I still need to do some wiring inside and then localize the switches, but at least it is off my bench. In fact, upon hanging that project I was inspired to straighten and now the entire area looks much better. A few years ago I would not have imagined the space out there. Today I will chip away at whatever seems best, beginning with moving a few items off the chimney so I can relocate one of the loudspeakers up there. The other channel is resting atop the shelf above the dryer. Once they are both secure I can wire everything for a boost in the audio. Other than those little chores, I'll have to look around for anything else. I have not felt like doing much lately, so anything which brings a sense of accomplishment is very important. All the while I have the problem in the back of my mind and it will not go away. Too many mistakes and the wrong fucking ideas. I just should have known that the main idea would not happen. Whatever I end up doing today is going to have to be pretty fucking involved for that shit to exit my head. It's heavy, and pulling me toward conclusions which are better left unexplored. I am so disappointed now that there is a strong possibility that nothing will ever help.

I don't know what to do.

roundhouse 2

The rails keep going off in the distance, I am not paying attention to any of the controls or the view, and am beginning to realize that none of this can ever end. No cut to black. No fade. No dissolve to the credits. Nothing. The fuel is still full, all of the proper conditions are in place, and the locomotive rolls along as if in a dream. Nothing is changing, not even the landscape. Time to sit down on the bench and try to formulate ideas. Maybe a stop to look around.

Ease back. Slower... Stop. Lock. Out.

And holy shit is it cold out here. Just as I suspected, nothing. Some ethereal glow around the locomotive but nothing else that I can see. Not even the power poles. I don't understand how the cab signal has been receiving information if there are no wires to the rails. Hmm. Whatever. The least of my concerns now.

Hours ahead to myself, but not a good beginning to the day. Not good at all. The loss is becoming overwhelming and I am going to have to push like never before in order to keep my head void of the idea to run away. There is a power there I cannot deny, like the world's longest lever in place to help me maintain control. After being made to feel like nothing more than a tool box, lashing may come soon. These hours have the ability to birth a way of thinking which others will not appreciate. Mark my words... If I feel as if I am being overlooked, the result will be fucking unpleasant. And the funny thing is she had the idea to visit the fucking bar the other day (the holiday). Heh. What a joke. I need to see people like I need a bulldozer up my ass. These hours had better prove interesting or I will flip the fuck out.

There is nothing around. Not a fucking scrap of foliage nor anything else. Barren. Void of everything. I can see and hear my locomotive right there rumbling and waiting. It is huge and overbearing. I wish I had my camera and enough light to shoot some perspective images like I did back in ten while we visited Niland. Hmm... I'll fucking go down there again if I get pissed off. Knives? Soon. Anyway, I can see there is nothing to find here so it's time to head out. Straight line and cold rails. The way.

The way of the rails cannot be denied. Anger is building. I did not ask for any of this.

Unlock, here we go. The deck plates are vibrating at my command. The train rolls again.

Unfortunately, I have no idea of what to do. My days are running together and I can power this machinery through whatever comes along, yet everything remains unchanged and unsatisfying. The largest downside of this crap is the idea that I know the train is figurative and will go nowhere. I can ram something and die but I will still be sitting here. I've died so many fucking times on these rails that none of it is funny anymore. And then here I am... Over and over again. Work? Yes, I'll get that finished. Lunch? Yep, that too. The afternoon relaxation time with a cocktail and dinner plans? Of course. Nothing changes. Not even me. The die has been in production for many years and may now be finished forever. Unchangeable. Solidified. Cooled. The problem does not go away, there can be no solution, the dreams are complete falsehoods, yet I have to do something.

Stand there and fucking tell me what to do and why. And it had better be good because I can rip any reasoning to shreds with little effort. Go for it. Sparring with me is exhausting, so beware.

Very cold out here, but honestly I like it this way. As I used to say when I dreamed of moving far away from everyone, the colder the climate, the less people wish to be there. That means safety and security versus the most dangerous thing in this world: Another human being. The cold is helping me already. Warm cab, not one soul around, and control over the machinery. You'd think I would be more comfortable with so many variables leaning in my direction. Heh.

Not a good start today. Not good by any means. I'll have to be careful in avoiding the standard attitude and cutting manner for which I am famous while addressing others. No one deserves that, but I have to admit that right now I wish I could slice them to ribbons with words. Everyone. On many a recent occasion I have stated that this is not my fault nor that of other people (at least those still living), so the source is an apparent mystery, right? Eh... Fuck it anyway. Too much of that in the last many months. I'm sure anyone reading this is as tired of the questions as I am. I don't know where I'll be hours from now. A bad beginning is something I can either embrace and discard or the outset of a downfall without end. Today I have no idea. The train is just an analogy and one I was going to bring to fruition by the end of this third entry, although as the morning progresses I am finding that I just don't fucking care. A train. Whatever. Lousy start to this day. Shitty. The quiet and free time is still wonderful, yet inside I am still me. The 'problem', remember? Once again... Everything turns to shit.

But I have to do something. Activity, selling, playing games, whatever the fuck. I have to do something. The switches for the police light will be here tomorrow, so maybe I can break out the soldering equipment and get a bit of wiring completed in preparation. I don't fucking know. Laundry? None of that today. Dry cleaning? Again, none today. The garage is in good order right now and the details are boring as hell. The models are all built save for the smaller Porsche with which she is currently working. I don't want to intrude. That is her project. I can continue the house design. Or work on the office? Ugh. The situation this morning is just not good by any stretch of the word. The 'problem' will not allow me to fully commit to anything else right now. There is too fucking much importance upon what is lacking. I should have known better than to keep an open mind. Such a position has never helped. Something must come along soon today. I need it.

'But you have your health and a warm place to sleep. You should be thankful.'
'Fuck you. Take it away.'
'Fuck me? Fuck you.'

I recall that crap from ten years ago when I was more fucked up than I can put into words. I still think about the implications of her words, yet the feeling these days is not one of fortune. More like resignation. Nice. That year (after returning from the umpteenth spring trip to the goblet) was wrought with every kind of difficulty imaginable, and a few I had not anticipated. The longer I am on these rails, the more of those worries reenter my brain. I am not in the same situation -- not by a damned sight -- but there are a few undeniable parallels, one of which is completely out of my control.


The light is nearly finished. All wired on the inside. The switches should arrive today but I will probably not work on the thing much. My frying pan is full. Once again there was no sense of taste apparent during dinner last night, I nearly fell on my face with difficulty from the past, and as usual I cannot understand the power required in trying to reconcile the events of the last two decades and the resulting mindset which does not seem to have limits. I just can't get around it. Too much there, like every day. Yesterday was both good and bad, although lately each morning comes along and I have not clue one as to which way the hours will go... Up or down. Today? I cannot know.

roundhouse 3

More of the bullshit.

Here we are at the outset of the sun coming up and that feeling of possibility. Well, by now I should know better than to expect coming out the other side of the day improved in any way. I have to attempt to keep mindful of the fears and what portion may be based in reality, as opposed to so much crap generated by my own psyche out of societal influences and pressure from experiences. None of it took place yesterday. I was not there.

Nothing in this place. No poles. Where is the power coming from? My locomotive generating enough to supply the whole world? This world?

There is to be no end to any troubling thinking, nor can there be a solution to the most stirring and compelling part of life. I've dreamed during the night, daydreamed, written, discussed the matter, and still after all these fucking years I am no better for any effort. I am going to give up. Nothing I can do anymore. This is so disappointing that I am going to be straining for distraction and then falling all over myself at times, but the fact is I have no other avenue. I just have to fucking live with it. If ever you wonder where much of my anger came from? Stop wondering. People, time, all of it. Ok, enough of this shit. If there truly can be no fixing it, there is no longer any point in writing on the subject. One down.

I think yesterday's pissy mood during the mid-morning is beginning to bleed into today. I will not allow it to affect others, however. That is unfair, so I will just be full of shit like yesterday. No one needs to hear me anymore. They know what they know and it's plenty. I probably could have summed everything last year and saved the effort. The situation is simple now. Remember what I created? Something necessary yet impossible, and I even named her. And then I went further into nutcase territory and placed us in a living condition which is equally impossible. The only thing those dreamy situations accomplished was to force a comparison with real life and all I have to deal with and then I fell down every day. Nothing was solved, nor did I ever come to terms with such delusions. Well, there is no point in writing on that subject, either. Two down.

The other day I realized every single syllable uttered in the direction of anything threatening was a mistake. There can be no doubt any longer. I seem to be worsening from one day to the next -- no matter in my head or something external -- and I see no avenues or switches off this path. I am incapable of learning. Lying? I am the fucking champ, no doubt, but I have to stop such behavior. It is unfair. Some is ok, but being completely full of crap is not a good idea, ever. Communication is too important, however the fear drives me to remain closed off. In the end, I believe the bullshit will stop along with anything fearful. Too much time has passed, too many situations causing me to recoil have been experienced, and too many years have gone by with nary an idea coming to mind with the ability to alleviate anything troubling. So, there is no point in writing on this subject, as well. Three down.

Running out of words again. This time? Different. Like the rails, not enough is under my control and I cannot deal with it. George McFly said 'density'. There it is. Voodoo, the hand, whatever. Something has transpired to cause the way I feel these days. I will never know, though.

The rails continue straight, fuel unaffected by any means, and the temperature outside is still dropping a little at a time. Between night and day, somehow. Enough light to see out there to the sides a bit, yet not enough for rolling without headlamps. Whatever. The landscape is that of another planet. Barren, still, gray, and seemingly integrated with the color of the sky. Light fog leaving ice crystals on my warm windshield and melting within seconds. This is frustrating and I am about to throw the controls forward and find the limits of this machine. Another diorama just sped by on the left. What was it? A campground again? Fuck it.

No voices. Boy could I use some guidance right about now.

The shit mood is definitely bleeding and will probably flare before subsiding for the day. I have no idea of when, though.

I thought the desert and those creatures taught me something, but I suppose not. I feel the same as the outset of that long, sordid story. No change. The yearning, desire, dreaming, all of it... Worthless and without any fucking resolution. The way of the rails is my way. Sidestepping anything difficult is impossible. I can push, resulting in a temporary state of 'ok', but eventually the push back is harsh and drops me further. I need to avoid pushing. I need to avoid people. And I need to avoid hope. That last one has proven to be a waste of effort. Just stop, please. And the result of hope...

Heritage, physical problems, reproduction, machinery, children, lack of a legacy, the press to advance anything interesting or trivial, the downside of life and the realizations, one after another after another. There has been far too much for me to sit here on a given day and relax enough to think clearly. No fucking way. Plus? One would think by now that I could have learned and risen. Nope. Still thirteen years old. Out there among the whatevers, within the fold of trying, and missing everything necessary for leaving myself alone. I did some of it, they did the rest. Climbing toward those caverns and then sliding down the hill with a shirt full of dirt. Up again, less motivated, but no choice. Bad. Sullen. Gray. I have no ambition whatsoever. I cannot maintain my stance anymore. Too much has been compromised or taken from me. Sliding down the hill. Thirteen, still.

The way of the rails, indeed.

The caverns and the knives, too. The knives came out for a split second and then retracted because I am too fucking weak to wield them. Knives are heavy and not the best way of dealing with anything. Understand? Of course not. Neither do I. Another mess.

Right now I can see all of the possibilities but will never get there. Today shows me everything. Unfortunately, the experience of plowing all this shit for way too long has jaded me permanently. I will toss the knives to the soil. No one deserves my shit. No one. Everything must remain locked away in this brain for study, though I already know it will accomplish zero. Even the possibility of that blue dress being wrapped around a person is waning badly.

I hear a pneumatic jackhammer down the street. Some underground engineering, I suppose.

For some reason the landscape is beginning to lighten, as if the sun is either rising at the horizon or moving toward top dead center from the periphery. Very strange. And it is developing very slowly. I have no idea of the meaning. Oh well. Chalk it up to the mass of misunderstanding. Every direction appears the same... No vegetation, no structures, nothing. What a world.

The blue dress. What a fucking joke. I tried that one and gave up. It's filthy, cold, and abandoned. I never should have written word one about such a dream. I knew. I already knew nothing would come of it, just like all those subjects above which are now finished for all time. I ventured into the cavern in the rainy weather for shelter and saw the dress, afterward realizing that the emptiness had been shared by my inner self. The dream is a waste of time. Dreaming is a waste of effort, and I have tossed too much into those insane directions. The blue dress will no longer be discussed here. Another subject... Four down.

I am feeling the train's motion inside, as if it is somehow a part of me. The other journeys were not like this. The tension seemed to increase as I moved the throttle, and now I can sense the power in a different way than simply sitting and rolling with the vibration. There is something going on here, but I know not what.


The rails are in control. Density. Destiny. Something. I don't fucking know anymore. At least we are saying farewell to aspects of life which have no solutions. And speaking of no solutions, the vulpine powers should share some space here for good form. They led me around by the nose for far too long. My current mindset is the result. Weak. I let it happen knowing full well of the consequences and have suffered the results for far longer than I care to admit. Of all the trials I created out of thin air, the feelings are definitely not one, although what followed those feelings was the desire to correct an injustice. I tried, over and over and over, for enough years to realize that I was been hoodwinked a good portion of the time and decided I could only continue if I treated the situation gently. I had to speak about it, even mentioned the idea here some time ago, however at this point in life I do not expect anything to be available for the same kind of release. The last time was not long ago and left me in a haze which now appears inescapable. As I said, the rails are in control, but keep in mind I have allowed myself to be led many times. The difference between the foxes and the rails will remain in contention for all time.

And here we are at the end of the line. Which line, you ask? All of them...

124791 lines as of this sentence, to be exact. Why?

The morning moves along as the light normalizes outside my twin windshields. I have no idea of what is going to happen. Never before have I gazed at such a bleak scene or outlook. The locomotive remains full of fuel and rolls along with unrelenting power, just the opposite of my life. Weakened, frail, and scared. Denied. Pushed. Shoved around and labeled with everything I hate. More fear grew, and then I walked away from everything and everyone for my remaining days. Dreaming ensued because it was the only saving throw against such a horrible reality. Lost forever. In here by myself and looking out at the world with the most jaded eyes imaginable. More light, less reason. Moving along as if I am traveling to an actual destination, yet inside I already know there is nothing out there for me. Nothing. Twenty-six occurrences of that word so far in this entry. Lovely. The word of the day? Or perhaps the word of the rails? No answers, ever. Nothingness out ahead of my snowplow. Rolling at seventy. A mass of memories, pain, attempts and failures all wrapped up in steel.

The routine is finished and I am out of motivation to do anything else. The quiet seems the only good left. I can sit and be physically comfortable providing the past does not snag my nerves. Half in my head, too. The other half is not up to me any longer. Something may pop into my brain, or it may not. Right now I am content to consider all I have written since 5-17 and collate subjects whilst simultaneously dispensing them. The day is mine, yet such a truth no longer matters. I will be the same no matter what is done around the house. I will always be the same. Stone. Permanence. Finished. Water could strip away the outside, but alas in such a situation I would be dead. I am not ready for that yet, so the water must be kept away. I have been forged by situations and then machined to a fine edge just in case the need to actually speak arises. Forged, finished.

I am still not feeling well after two days, as if there is a process at work inside holding back any possible comfort. I do not like this. And sitting in the cab should be better, like it is my own space void of the thoughts and troubling preconceptions of other people. Their ideas have been jaded by society and I suffer the ingrained results. I cannot deal with them any longer. Too much. Years. Decades. Enough for ten lifetimes. Nothing seems to be helping anymore.

You may be wondering what has changed. Well, very little aside from a handful of words yesterday. Nothing bad, and keep in mind that whatever I encounter on a daily basis is unimportant. Only inside my head does anything begin to expand and engulf me within a cyclone of analysis. It happened again. My fault? Probably, and that despite the enormous slices of my confidence that have taken place for many years, most of which developed long before I came to this fucking place. As I said, very little is different. I simply hit a point of contention with myself that cannot be denied. In short, I gave up trying. Laying everything out here is never going to fucking happen, so closing myself off the rest of the way stands as the only option. The locomotive? A symbol, maybe. Leave it alone. A little bit of time and I can chop the expense of maintaining this space along with the software which drives it. By removing the main subjects -- as you have seen above -- there is nothing to write about anyway, so why spend the money? Did anyone ever think about that? This is not some fucking free space provided by an ad-driven corporation. This is all paid for by yours truly.

The locomotive still remains true to the rails but my topic sentences waver more than an alcoholic trying to navigate a beach with shoes on the wrong feet. Anyway, fuck everything.

The hopper off which I fell and broke my back was the clincher. I faced, I fled. Just like the scenes in those other cars which should have helped. Julia should have helped. God knows she tried. In the end? She was a sexual fantasy and confidant the likes of which I never deserved. No help would have been key. No words, scenes, answers... Nothing. The scope of my vision has narrowed to the point of seeing only what I can deal with, and that is very little. I am a reduction of my former self, rolling along and worried. No red wine, just reduced like a sauce blended and stirred for a lifetime. Small, weak, and frail. 'Frail' rhymes with 'rail'. Heh. I wish that was funny. More light now. No more snow. Just hazy gray. Cold. Lights off.

This day will not show me anything of which I am not already aware. I know what I know and there cannot be any more. Learning is finished. The locomotive is slowing. Out of my control, like everything I have ever experienced. Out there are my projects but I don't care. Cocktail next to me. Gangsters on the television. My head barely out of the oven. Well, it's electric anyway. Figure of speech. From this entry forward my words are going to be very boring. Probably few, as well. I don't see any reason to try. If you can formulate reasons, by all means write them down and shove the paper in your pocket. The result will be the same. Something just happened. A change. I feel worse.

The locomotive has disappeared. I am lying on the ties; sad, naked, weakened, and freezing. This is where I shall remain. On the outside of the rest of the world... Floating, flying, and falling, but never to find the bottom. Ethereal, waning without end. Shrinking ever further and regressing into the child of the past but sans anyone there to show me the way. Smaller. Weak. Everything I see building an ever-increasing gradient between the processes inside my head and those outside the window. Others' heads, too. I cannot deal with people without falling down and flailing to reach a handhold, but it never appears. Out of reach, out of my mind. The time to cease trying is at hand, like the locomotive I thought would help me.

At least I finally understand perhaps the only truth in all my years of writing...

I am the locomotive. The way of the rails has won.

I will speak of trains no longer. Say goodbye to the final subject.

End of line."