Recoil Mature content No. 280 Published December 13th, 2021 8:51am pst read ( words) Past entries "Going through the motions for this long forces us to question everything that came before, those years which glowed or shined. Were they even real? The years of possibility and wonder? Everything is gone. Now we just wait for something which will never arrive, dream of unrealistic situations, and sit here in thrall of the impossible. Ah... There is Cara again. She was wonderful toward the end. Anyway, we can only hold this line for so long before everything falls to the floor and shatters. Everything around us is going to hell in the proverbial handbasket, meaning we must now recoil like a frightened snake. Or, conversely, we must become the recoil. Jamming the cool end of the forest gun into whomever is closest. Either is fine. This is a bad time. At least we have control of the site. Better than nothing. Breasts again. Ignore them. 0903 and we have to do something besides this train wreck. Many people complain about being busy and 'never seeming to have enough time'. Well, we represent the opposite. Nothing but time. All of it since early last year. 0645 on Sunday. Yesterday we put up the tree and associated decorations. Afterward we headed out to watch the game. Part of it, anyway. We were not one hundred percent comfortable there for some reason, but at least the game went our way. The younger bartender came in for her shift and the cuteness damned-near drove us out the fucking door with haste. We persevered, remained with eyes on the television as much as possible, and then got the hell out before our burned vision became fused to her chest again. Smooth skin every time. And now on the heels of thinking about the bartender's skin, there is sixth season Jamie with hair and eyes straight out of our imagination. God damn, she just keeps getting more and more beautiful as time passes. We may not go over to watch all the football today due to so much trouble. Our attention will waver constantly and we can't have that. Perhaps remaining here to care for the business will be best. Seeing something else will only push us further down. The less we are near people, the lower the probability of more problems developing. We have enough going on already. Actually, too much. The bearing surface is tensioning again, just like back in seventeen. Used up. We have been used up completely and no longer have anything to offer. Recoiling. 0734 and the show is still on. A short trip to drop off a person at the bar and we are back here for however long is necessary for clearing brains of the shit and cobwebs. We need to think about the most powerful of draws and how it has dictated our decisions and actions for many years. That power steered the ship into bad waters over and over because we let go of the wheel and happily fled the helm for those moments. We can actually still feel it right now despite the quiet morning and tree glowing. We can picture those situations and how we first began to see things in a different light and with much more appreciation than in the past. There are many parts of life and possibilities which have the same power, although they are equally elusive and very difficult to solidify. We sit this morning as a literal construct, assembled over a period of years by the aforementioned actions resulting from being pulled off the rails again and again. We very nearly thought in a similar direction last night before fleeing for our sanity. Hence some of the recoiling. We simply cannot have that shit right now. Too much already causing trouble. No one is going to understand all this shit. Not even us. This is one of those entries in which the title gets lost for a while and then found again when we begin to become nonsensical. Losing our way has been taking place more and more lately. Probably the troubling thinking combined with so much loss and then piled atop a mountain of never-ending visions and the torment they provide. This is a bad time. Our time today may be split between home and checking on the market being assembled by the bar. We never volunteered to help, though. Just seeing the place later may be interesting. We can lend a hand for a little while after the broad strokes are in place. Or not. 'I'. 0649 on Monday morning, one of my favorite days of the week. I have to get the morning business out of the way and then this will be the norm for a few hours. All of the walking the other day is beginning to affect me so I'll have to take it easy and remain close today. I never went to watch the games yesterday. The day went in a completely different direction and by sundown some issues had been alleviated or eased quite a bit. And then Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. I think the scene in which she and Will are engaged in a bit of debate in the home theatre after dark is becoming on of my favorites. I still can't believe her face sometimes. Jesus. And yes, she is going to be mentioned here in perpetuity. Live with it. As much as some of the other characters have moved me, Jamie is deep inside in a way no one else can be. You may not understand, but I don't understand either so don't ask. She is all over this episode and the image of her big eyes drives me insane. Whatever. I removed the breast images in favor of the big eyes. Can't help it. The character. All in, honestly. This is very bad for me because I am already detached from reality to a great degree, and falling further into dreams and fantasies will only cause more withdrawal. Everything flared last night because I put the science fiction on the televisions again while preparing dinner. One hour or more of that and my head descended yet again. I am very glad I did not go to the bar. The evening mood would have been vastly different, perhaps much worse. And then this morning add Jamie to my blender of bullshit and the end is illuminated once again. I cannot even begin to understand what happened there. Not a bit. The fact that I fell for her character is not as dangerous as I had once thought, however. It is actually safer because I can do very little about it aside from gushing here (which no longer matters) or watching the show and staring. There is no other recourse because the character is both fictional and completely gone from life and the world. I can feel whatever and the only downside is perhaps growing colder toward other people, but honestly that is going to happen no matter what else takes place in my life. She will never change, question me, cause emotional trauma, or ask anything of me, ever. She will just be up there all dark and mysterious and beautiful for all time, and I can see her anywhere, anytime. In a manner of speaking the woman belongs to me, if you can see from such an angle. I am a crazy person anyway, so why not just lay it all out? I love her. 0815 and I might be finished gushing about her for a while. Maybe. And there is Cara again. God damn, that woman is so gorgeous. The spreadsheet with the site data for this mess is now 320 lines deep. Unbelievable. 0859. Ugh. 1045 and the typical crap is out of the way. What happened to the title? Where is the recoil? I don't fucking care. I miss everything. The glow, the Slipper, that prized piece of jewelry from two decades back which represented nearly as large a victory as the car, and the simple idea that the future is bright and full of possibilities. All gone. Lamenting now. The fourth show always brings me to the time when it first premiered during the Winter of ninety-five and mere months on the heels of the second show going dark. I had been very sad throughout the intervening months, and found that sadness decreased upon watching a new set of stories playing out. Back then I did not know where it would lead, and now they are another family. Close friends that I know very well. That was long before the watch and much longer before the Slipper. Everything was new and exciting without a sliver of knowledge that the CES even existed. Still, and despite the wonder of the era, it cannot compare to the first four years which I have gushed about here even more than Jamie. Hence... Tony: 'It's good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that, I know. But lately I'm gettin' the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.' Jennifer: 'Many Americans, I think, feel that way.' Indeed, the best was long before I was born -- as referenced by his words -- so I can only comment upon what I feel now as opposed to during the glow. The more I look at that time and such feelings of hope, the more I see what the current period has become. A pile of preordained shit. I have no clairvoyance nor clairaudience, but I know deep down that nothing is going to happen. Just a slow, burning decline. I see the wonder out there in the world but cannot embrace it for myself anymore. That time has passed. This is a bad time. Tuvok is babysitting, which helps. Heh. 0739 on Tuesday. This new keyboard has a bit of a glitch with the space bar. The manner in which I type isn't helping, either. I actually had to reposition my thumb to make spaces, and even then sometimes it does not work. I don't know if this will break in or if I need to address the issue by removing the keyboard again. Ugh. Maybe I can just hammer the keys as if I'm angry with them. Heh. I don't know what to do today besides the usual crap, although I will have to go to the store at some point for staples and hardware. This space bar is not always leaving spaces. Very annoying, but I usually go back and edit the text anyway, so whatever. I don't care. The only other option is to get a new one. This was a used keyboard from a working machine. Anyway, today will probably be more of the usual crap around the house and maybe some dry cleaning. I do not know what else to do. 0812 on Wednesday morning and here I sit. The space bar issue is not getting better. I may have to take more drastic measures. Yesterday was a bit of an eye-opener on one front, and something which will affect me until the end of time. I ventured to two stores in order to secure staples and upon leaving the first there was a tall woman with an expression on her face I cannot easily describe. Her height caught my attention along with long, dark hair, and then I noticed her mask was below her chin, providing me the ability to see her face. I don't know what to say now.I saw it,period. She seemed to be either very withdrawn or somewhat upset about something. Either way, the eyes and nose burned into me and I watched her walk all the way across the parking lot and into the market. This is bad. Still weak and desperate, just like aforementioned drive last year as I passed a face and began to dream. I am pleased to have some quiet time this morning before taking care of the usual work. Yesterday I ventured out during the afternoon to run errands and ended up at the bar for a little while. Well, that went bad not long after arriving. The usual suspects at the usual table all walked away to follow one person to another table and left us alone. My feelings were hurt at the time, soon after melting away somewhat before I took off for home. Well, now the issue has amplified inside and I have become angry over their behavior. This may seem wrong or any other number of emotions, yet I know how people think at times and read the situation like yesterday’s news, literally. The result is my feeling that I need to avoid anything similar taking place in the coming days by removing myself from the equation. Moreover, the space bar issue flared and I am now typing on the portable keyboard directly into the phone for lack of other options. The haphazard nature of the sentences combined with the need to go back every few minutes and add spaces has become maddening and I can't have it anymore. The keyboard is not returnable, so I’ll have to eat the money and try again, possibly with a brand new unit from the manufacturer. In the meantime, this will have to suffice. The bottom line between my need to explore here after yesterday’s bullshit and having trouble with the machine has pissed me off severely. The morning is not as enjoyable as I had hoped, especially considering I did not have the house to myself until just an hour ago. Not happy. Pile on the feelings of dreams and the current mood has gone so far south that I don’t even know how I am functioning without flipping the fuck out. I’ll have to use this interface and then transfer everything to the editor whenever I take a break from bitching. The dreams are not good and not helping me right now. There was too much fucking family and heritage discussion yesterday for me to sit here and explore as I wished. I am now preoccupied with too much for consideration of a single track at a time. I could really use a fucking boost right now but there are no avenues or methods working. I learned such a fact just a little while ago. This is a bad time. I have the typical routine today and one hell of a mess in the kitchen but do not mind. The kitchen is very comfortable these days and has not lost the magic of last year when I first installed the second television. My friends following me as I work have become critical to my survival. That is not a figure of speech nor a joke. Anyway, I’ll be doing some laundry and then heading to the hardware at some point to pick up materials required for my temporary cabinet fix. I have to make a list. 1144 and the routine is finished. I have yet to go further because the events of yesterday combined with dreaming have truncated my mental options for the thousandth time this year. I am fucking sick of this and there is not solution. Nothing. I have to sit here and stew on everything. I might still go to the hardware store, though. My cabinet fix has to be completed tomorrow so I can clean everything and put it back together. Feelings are hardly repairable, however. At this late date, I do not see a future for dreaming the way I have, nor do I believe anything will ever change. I'll be left here to become a reclusive alcoholic and nothing more. Maybe I can continue in the vein of eleven and get rid of as much as possible so my footprint on the world is smaller than most. I do not see any other way of proceeding with life. Between the lack of resolution and the shit yesterday, I have zero reason for trying. This is the beginning of the end. I recently wrote a very explicit description of what went through my head during the last two viewings of the episode with the French beauty but have hesitated to publish include part of it here. For a short time it was on the front end, albeit shuffled. I believe going further with those words will only damage me and the site. They must remain behind the lines of combat. Once again I am on the portable keyboard and writing a document in the cloud because I very nearly blew up at the laptop keyboard a little while ago. As a result, I ordered a genuine replacement unit from a reputable house as new. I can’t deal with not being able to type on the laptop. Considering the cost of the entire computer, spending less than a hundred dollars on a new keyboard is a drop in the bucket. I must have it. Soon, along with the machine in question, I shall pare down my life to it and the camera. Nothing more. Not even my precious truck can make the cut. I must be tiny in order to be comfortable just in case the opportunity to run presents itself in the near future. This is a very bad time. I cannot stress that enough right now as the feelings reach the point of being nearly out of control all too often. How I made it this far is beyond me, honestly. Each day I wrestle with everything and sit here completely unfulfilled yet force myself to get up and get busy with whatever might distract the loss. Feelings of loss almost constantly, really. One day very soon this shit is going to come to a head and drive me into the cold ground. Until that dire point, I will be miserable. Some of this was done to me and some was my own doing, although lately I have been leaning toward the former because of irreparable damage to both my body and mind. The two shit situations may have fashioned me into a person without recourse. That is why I continue to recoil day after fucking day. I can take no more of the loss. Something very bad may happen very soon. Little doubt any longer. Even my friends cause problems at times and they are all I have left. 0833 on Friday, December 10th. Yesterday's effort was nominal. Hardware, cabinet work in the kitchen, laundry, but not much else. Another day which can be given back to the gods. Fuck it. The space bar issue has been alleviated, albeit not for a few days. I bit the bullet and ordered a brand new keyboard to replace this used piece of shit I never should have ordered in the first place. That's what happens when I try to save money. Heh. Amelia has amazing thighs and I hesitated to place thoughts of her in this space due to her perceived age. Well, during the show she was nearly a decade older than what I had calculated by her appearance. So, now I can comment upon her incredible legs. There... I just did. She does not compare to the other one, though. Here we are on a Sunday morning after attending the holiday ball and having sat in a room full of things I should not be near, most notably one in particular. That was bad and likely the most obsessively-related form I have ever gazed upon in that place. Once I spied her standing about six feet away and over my head by two inches, my brain began to recoil in a very bad way. I saw far too much for my health and well-being. There were two, actually, but I lost track of the first shortly after arriving. Once we walked in and I began to notice some of the clothing, I knew the evening would be tough, not to mention listening to a grating voice next to me for roughly an hour before finding relief. The goddess in question cornered my eyes, effectively alleviating much of the discomfort of sitting there in the first place and despite my head trying to figure out exactly what it was I had been seeing. And then I felt extremely small. And then I watched the band for a bit and felt relief because many people went downstairs from the bar, including the woman of women. And then I seemed to be falling into a slot in the room which held me a little better for a while. And then I saw her again upon going downstairs to check on the ventilation. The cycle started all over again. I do not know how to describe clothing, let alone what she was wearing. Maybe it's better I don't try. The problem began when a couple entered and headed straight for the bar not far from my table. They were both pretty tall, her in heels of course. And then I steered my gaze back to those at the table, soon after glancing back toward the couple and I noticed there was a third. They were greeting each other. That was the trouble. The woman they greeted stood very tall, little black booties helping to push her clearly above every other woman in the room, and slender to the point of appearing like many of the European models displayed here some years ago when I gushed endlessly over the obsession. I have to figure out why looking at her height and shape caused so much torment and turmoil. There was any number of attractive women in that place last night, as is typical for a holiday affair. The bartender with whom I am acquainted was in a Santa outfit complete with legs aplenty and cleavage apparent. Cuter than should be allowed by law. Was she a problem? Not really aside from a bit of thought upon arriving and getting drinks. Others? Yep, there was one amazing face wandering the place over and over. She was equally adorable like the bartender. Did they cause problems? Not really. So, why the super tall beauty? Why another deep recoil? 0955 means I need to be up and about in the next hour so I can head over and watch football. No bar today. I had more than enough of that atmosphere last night. Plenty. I lifetime's worth, really. Upon seeing her bare shoulders and height, I was drawn and had to see more. I tried to glimpse her hands, too, because being so tall meant a very good chance of those exaggerated hands which are both fascinating and beautiful. Her nose was slender. Super-long legs wrapped in some sort of tight material I could not identify due to the low light. Dark or medium brown and sort of shiny. Hard to describe. But the way they hugged her form... I need to know if those thighs were driving my head in bad directions because the 'picturing' was there in spades, albeit mostly at the beginning. Nearly three years ago we had lunch at a restaurant on the other side of the hill and something similar took place inside me. Obsession. I saw those black pants and nearly lost my shit for the rest of the day. She was a server, and there were two keys which drove me up the wall. Legs and long, black hair. Anyone reading here in the last decade already knows the darkness rules the roost. I don't recall what I felt three years ago beyond the need to stare at that girl without restriction. To pose her, if you will. The same yearning took place during the time of the Raven and was the catalyst for my initial contact with Her. The girl in the restaurant appeared similar. The one last night topped both of the others and forced me into pain due to the inability to stare in the fairly crowded room. I actually yearned to see her from differing angles and heights. The low light precluded any decent detail and the limit drove me nuts. Between that woman being so close and in full view for more than half an hour and my effort in remaining upright and behind a wall making nice with people almost broke me in half. I am concerned that glancing in her direction for so long poured a vat of desire into my brain. It really did. I mentioned 'picturing'. That is the worst possible outcome. As much as I might gush things like 'I can't have that kind of thinking', the truth is I had already performed a series of calculations and analyses inside which left me standing there like a hole in the room, and all within minutes of the initial sighting. Not good. And the cherry on top is once again -- and partly due to her fucking height -- a dangerous thought entered my head. That of the machine. In the fiction, Jaime was five-nine. The woman last night was likely an inch taller than the fiction. Amazing. Why? More to see? More real estate there? I still don't get it, but there is a reason the fictional woman was tall. A vat of desire. Perhaps a barrel. I was beginning to picture things better left out of my brain, for Christ's sake. Not good. This is now the worst flare of obsessive thinking in years. She was all over my head for three fucking hours and more than half of that time in my eyes. The worst possible turn in a very long time. I don't fucking need this shit right now. Honestly, I do not typically head in such a direction, either. The interest is different. This is the second time in recent memory that I have gone off the deep end. Not good. This is a bad time. The woman is still in my head pretty deep. Maybe the football and Sunday business will help me get her out of there. Sitting here this morning is bringing tomorrow to mind. Like most weekends, the thought of being alone and left to those very important devices feels very warming and enticing. Today will be fine, though. I'm not worried about anything except getting that fucking unbelievable gazelle out of my thinking and finding the peace to relax. Tomorrow will arrive soon enough. Tomorrow is here. 0624 on Monday morning, coffee, holiday lights and tree glowing, plenty of space for thought. The gazelle has faded for the most part just like all the others, thank the maker. I don't need anything else bothering me right now. In fact, much of that night has faded away. Cute faces, the bartender, lots of other things. Yesterday took over and ended up being quite enjoyable, effectively helping to erase the troubling moments from the night before. I can still see her and feel like recoiling all the time, yet thanks to the passage of time I do not believe the problem will continue much longer. Today feels wide open for the taking. That will change. There was some discussion yesterday regarding shit I would rather leave out of life. Honestly though, the compulsion to learn and understand sometimes overtakes my hesitation and fear in order to possibly help myself in the future. Well, that didn't fucking happen. I feel exactly the same after divulging some things better left locked away forever. Each time I feel positive, the end result is me bit on the ass and there is no improvement, often coupled with even less understanding. I can't have this anymore. I don't have a lot of time before the early morning business, but afterward will be very quiet and I really need it right now. There is much to process. The party Saturday night not only resulted in my falling all over the words about a woman for the millionth time, but I became physically troubled between the early morning and early afternoon yesterday. My sensitivity level is way up and it worries me some. The solution may be to avoid those late-night occasions entirely in the name of preserving myself. The last gathering with the garage lights and music left me in similar shape. That lent to the idea that my lifestyle should no longer include those types of nights. I have to care for myself better than in the past. Moreover, if I do not attend the parties at the bar (such as the new year approaching), I need not worry about a form running across my vision and screwing with my head for days. I really don't fucking need that shit. Yeah, you see the face here. I had other images but tossed them in favor of the reference. Sometimes there is quite a lot of makeup but it doesn't matter. The beauty is still behind it and shining. When I look at her little, crooked smile I can't help but avoid scathing words sometimes. She pulls it out of me and throws it all far away. The woman will be here from time to time, even when the time is bad. Like right now. I have the house to myself for the next several hours. Not much work, either. The dramatic weather will probably preclude anything beyond the norm today, and I have to deal with the little fuckers that came into the kitchen yesterday, likely driven by the massive rains. I stopped everything, though. I'll have to keep my eye on the areas in question today while caring for whatever seems best. The backyard is flooded again, too. I can't do much out there. Maybe the garage, though. Sometimes being out there during harsh weather reminds me of the Midwest. I used to stand under the patio cover during storms and felt like I was in the middle of the forest. Pretty cool. If the wind doesn't pick up like last night I might be able to spend some time out there. That shit at the bar was tough because the woman personified every dream and obsessive consideration I've held for years. Everything. I did not understand what I was seeing and ended up quickly recoiling mentally in order to save myself from having to run from the place. I can see her again, too. Right now. 0823. I don't want to picture her features but such is my weakness and desperation. The bad time was already apparent before I noticed her, now advancing due to the unknowns of the future. I am beginning to see an image of my coming years and it starkly resembles the deep yearning, pain and turmoil of eleven. Right close was a dream, yet it was also millions of miles off and unattainable. Before long, I literally imploded through the realization that all of the harm involved had been masked behind beauty and I was blind enough to lunge despite the impending consequences. To do that again would mean I've learned nothing. It would also mean the weakness has peaked again. I just can't have that right now. The woman must fade or I may not survive. Recoiled like a snake bent upon living while ready to strike. The new keyboard is in San Diego. I wish it was here, damn it. The space bar tends to drive me up the wall. One of my favorite things in the world is typing. I need it. Everything here eventually repeats using either different words or similar ideas. That's why all of the content remains out of sight. Even my writing has recoiled. Between the girl at the show and what she represents, the motherfuckers coming in from under the house, and my ongoing search for comfort of mind, spouting 'this is a bad time' may not be enough. I need other words but they are more elusive than peace." 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
Recoil Mature content No. 280 Published December 13th, 2021 8:51am pst read ( words) Past entries "Going through the motions for this long forces us to question everything that came before, those years which glowed or shined. Were they even real? The years of possibility and wonder? Everything is gone. Now we just wait for something which will never arrive, dream of unrealistic situations, and sit here in thrall of the impossible. Ah... There is Cara again. She was wonderful toward the end. Anyway, we can only hold this line for so long before everything falls to the floor and shatters. Everything around us is going to hell in the proverbial handbasket, meaning we must now recoil like a frightened snake. Or, conversely, we must become the recoil. Jamming the cool end of the forest gun into whomever is closest. Either is fine. This is a bad time. At least we have control of the site. Better than nothing. Breasts again. Ignore them. 0903 and we have to do something besides this train wreck. Many people complain about being busy and 'never seeming to have enough time'. Well, we represent the opposite. Nothing but time. All of it since early last year. 0645 on Sunday. Yesterday we put up the tree and associated decorations. Afterward we headed out to watch the game. Part of it, anyway. We were not one hundred percent comfortable there for some reason, but at least the game went our way. The younger bartender came in for her shift and the cuteness damned-near drove us out the fucking door with haste. We persevered, remained with eyes on the television as much as possible, and then got the hell out before our burned vision became fused to her chest again. Smooth skin every time. And now on the heels of thinking about the bartender's skin, there is sixth season Jamie with hair and eyes straight out of our imagination. God damn, she just keeps getting more and more beautiful as time passes. We may not go over to watch all the football today due to so much trouble. Our attention will waver constantly and we can't have that. Perhaps remaining here to care for the business will be best. Seeing something else will only push us further down. The less we are near people, the lower the probability of more problems developing. We have enough going on already. Actually, too much. The bearing surface is tensioning again, just like back in seventeen. Used up. We have been used up completely and no longer have anything to offer. Recoiling. 0734 and the show is still on. A short trip to drop off a person at the bar and we are back here for however long is necessary for clearing brains of the shit and cobwebs. We need to think about the most powerful of draws and how it has dictated our decisions and actions for many years. That power steered the ship into bad waters over and over because we let go of the wheel and happily fled the helm for those moments. We can actually still feel it right now despite the quiet morning and tree glowing. We can picture those situations and how we first began to see things in a different light and with much more appreciation than in the past. There are many parts of life and possibilities which have the same power, although they are equally elusive and very difficult to solidify. We sit this morning as a literal construct, assembled over a period of years by the aforementioned actions resulting from being pulled off the rails again and again. We very nearly thought in a similar direction last night before fleeing for our sanity. Hence some of the recoiling. We simply cannot have that shit right now. Too much already causing trouble. No one is going to understand all this shit. Not even us. This is one of those entries in which the title gets lost for a while and then found again when we begin to become nonsensical. Losing our way has been taking place more and more lately. Probably the troubling thinking combined with so much loss and then piled atop a mountain of never-ending visions and the torment they provide. This is a bad time. Our time today may be split between home and checking on the market being assembled by the bar. We never volunteered to help, though. Just seeing the place later may be interesting. We can lend a hand for a little while after the broad strokes are in place. Or not. 'I'. 0649 on Monday morning, one of my favorite days of the week. I have to get the morning business out of the way and then this will be the norm for a few hours. All of the walking the other day is beginning to affect me so I'll have to take it easy and remain close today. I never went to watch the games yesterday. The day went in a completely different direction and by sundown some issues had been alleviated or eased quite a bit. And then Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. I think the scene in which she and Will are engaged in a bit of debate in the home theatre after dark is becoming on of my favorites. I still can't believe her face sometimes. Jesus. And yes, she is going to be mentioned here in perpetuity. Live with it. As much as some of the other characters have moved me, Jamie is deep inside in a way no one else can be. You may not understand, but I don't understand either so don't ask. She is all over this episode and the image of her big eyes drives me insane. Whatever. I removed the breast images in favor of the big eyes. Can't help it. The character. All in, honestly. This is very bad for me because I am already detached from reality to a great degree, and falling further into dreams and fantasies will only cause more withdrawal. Everything flared last night because I put the science fiction on the televisions again while preparing dinner. One hour or more of that and my head descended yet again. I am very glad I did not go to the bar. The evening mood would have been vastly different, perhaps much worse. And then this morning add Jamie to my blender of bullshit and the end is illuminated once again. I cannot even begin to understand what happened there. Not a bit. The fact that I fell for her character is not as dangerous as I had once thought, however. It is actually safer because I can do very little about it aside from gushing here (which no longer matters) or watching the show and staring. There is no other recourse because the character is both fictional and completely gone from life and the world. I can feel whatever and the only downside is perhaps growing colder toward other people, but honestly that is going to happen no matter what else takes place in my life. She will never change, question me, cause emotional trauma, or ask anything of me, ever. She will just be up there all dark and mysterious and beautiful for all time, and I can see her anywhere, anytime. In a manner of speaking the woman belongs to me, if you can see from such an angle. I am a crazy person anyway, so why not just lay it all out? I love her. 0815 and I might be finished gushing about her for a while. Maybe. And there is Cara again. God damn, that woman is so gorgeous. The spreadsheet with the site data for this mess is now 320 lines deep. Unbelievable. 0859. Ugh. 1045 and the typical crap is out of the way. What happened to the title? Where is the recoil? I don't fucking care. I miss everything. The glow, the Slipper, that prized piece of jewelry from two decades back which represented nearly as large a victory as the car, and the simple idea that the future is bright and full of possibilities. All gone. Lamenting now. The fourth show always brings me to the time when it first premiered during the Winter of ninety-five and mere months on the heels of the second show going dark. I had been very sad throughout the intervening months, and found that sadness decreased upon watching a new set of stories playing out. Back then I did not know where it would lead, and now they are another family. Close friends that I know very well. That was long before the watch and much longer before the Slipper. Everything was new and exciting without a sliver of knowledge that the CES even existed. Still, and despite the wonder of the era, it cannot compare to the first four years which I have gushed about here even more than Jamie. Hence... Tony: 'It's good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that, I know. But lately I'm gettin' the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.' Jennifer: 'Many Americans, I think, feel that way.' Indeed, the best was long before I was born -- as referenced by his words -- so I can only comment upon what I feel now as opposed to during the glow. The more I look at that time and such feelings of hope, the more I see what the current period has become. A pile of preordained shit. I have no clairvoyance nor clairaudience, but I know deep down that nothing is going to happen. Just a slow, burning decline. I see the wonder out there in the world but cannot embrace it for myself anymore. That time has passed. This is a bad time. Tuvok is babysitting, which helps. Heh. 0739 on Tuesday. This new keyboard has a bit of a glitch with the space bar. The manner in which I type isn't helping, either. I actually had to reposition my thumb to make spaces, and even then sometimes it does not work. I don't know if this will break in or if I need to address the issue by removing the keyboard again. Ugh. Maybe I can just hammer the keys as if I'm angry with them. Heh. I don't know what to do today besides the usual crap, although I will have to go to the store at some point for staples and hardware. This space bar is not always leaving spaces. Very annoying, but I usually go back and edit the text anyway, so whatever. I don't care. The only other option is to get a new one. This was a used keyboard from a working machine. Anyway, today will probably be more of the usual crap around the house and maybe some dry cleaning. I do not know what else to do. 0812 on Wednesday morning and here I sit. The space bar issue is not getting better. I may have to take more drastic measures. Yesterday was a bit of an eye-opener on one front, and something which will affect me until the end of time. I ventured to two stores in order to secure staples and upon leaving the first there was a tall woman with an expression on her face I cannot easily describe. Her height caught my attention along with long, dark hair, and then I noticed her mask was below her chin, providing me the ability to see her face. I don't know what to say now.I saw it,period. She seemed to be either very withdrawn or somewhat upset about something. Either way, the eyes and nose burned into me and I watched her walk all the way across the parking lot and into the market. This is bad. Still weak and desperate, just like aforementioned drive last year as I passed a face and began to dream. I am pleased to have some quiet time this morning before taking care of the usual work. Yesterday I ventured out during the afternoon to run errands and ended up at the bar for a little while. Well, that went bad not long after arriving. The usual suspects at the usual table all walked away to follow one person to another table and left us alone. My feelings were hurt at the time, soon after melting away somewhat before I took off for home. Well, now the issue has amplified inside and I have become angry over their behavior. This may seem wrong or any other number of emotions, yet I know how people think at times and read the situation like yesterday’s news, literally. The result is my feeling that I need to avoid anything similar taking place in the coming days by removing myself from the equation. Moreover, the space bar issue flared and I am now typing on the portable keyboard directly into the phone for lack of other options. The haphazard nature of the sentences combined with the need to go back every few minutes and add spaces has become maddening and I can't have it anymore. The keyboard is not returnable, so I’ll have to eat the money and try again, possibly with a brand new unit from the manufacturer. In the meantime, this will have to suffice. The bottom line between my need to explore here after yesterday’s bullshit and having trouble with the machine has pissed me off severely. The morning is not as enjoyable as I had hoped, especially considering I did not have the house to myself until just an hour ago. Not happy. Pile on the feelings of dreams and the current mood has gone so far south that I don’t even know how I am functioning without flipping the fuck out. I’ll have to use this interface and then transfer everything to the editor whenever I take a break from bitching. The dreams are not good and not helping me right now. There was too much fucking family and heritage discussion yesterday for me to sit here and explore as I wished. I am now preoccupied with too much for consideration of a single track at a time. I could really use a fucking boost right now but there are no avenues or methods working. I learned such a fact just a little while ago. This is a bad time. I have the typical routine today and one hell of a mess in the kitchen but do not mind. The kitchen is very comfortable these days and has not lost the magic of last year when I first installed the second television. My friends following me as I work have become critical to my survival. That is not a figure of speech nor a joke. Anyway, I’ll be doing some laundry and then heading to the hardware at some point to pick up materials required for my temporary cabinet fix. I have to make a list. 1144 and the routine is finished. I have yet to go further because the events of yesterday combined with dreaming have truncated my mental options for the thousandth time this year. I am fucking sick of this and there is not solution. Nothing. I have to sit here and stew on everything. I might still go to the hardware store, though. My cabinet fix has to be completed tomorrow so I can clean everything and put it back together. Feelings are hardly repairable, however. At this late date, I do not see a future for dreaming the way I have, nor do I believe anything will ever change. I'll be left here to become a reclusive alcoholic and nothing more. Maybe I can continue in the vein of eleven and get rid of as much as possible so my footprint on the world is smaller than most. I do not see any other way of proceeding with life. Between the lack of resolution and the shit yesterday, I have zero reason for trying. This is the beginning of the end. I recently wrote a very explicit description of what went through my head during the last two viewings of the episode with the French beauty but have hesitated to publish include part of it here. For a short time it was on the front end, albeit shuffled. I believe going further with those words will only damage me and the site. They must remain behind the lines of combat. Once again I am on the portable keyboard and writing a document in the cloud because I very nearly blew up at the laptop keyboard a little while ago. As a result, I ordered a genuine replacement unit from a reputable house as new. I can’t deal with not being able to type on the laptop. Considering the cost of the entire computer, spending less than a hundred dollars on a new keyboard is a drop in the bucket. I must have it. Soon, along with the machine in question, I shall pare down my life to it and the camera. Nothing more. Not even my precious truck can make the cut. I must be tiny in order to be comfortable just in case the opportunity to run presents itself in the near future. This is a very bad time. I cannot stress that enough right now as the feelings reach the point of being nearly out of control all too often. How I made it this far is beyond me, honestly. Each day I wrestle with everything and sit here completely unfulfilled yet force myself to get up and get busy with whatever might distract the loss. Feelings of loss almost constantly, really. One day very soon this shit is going to come to a head and drive me into the cold ground. Until that dire point, I will be miserable. Some of this was done to me and some was my own doing, although lately I have been leaning toward the former because of irreparable damage to both my body and mind. The two shit situations may have fashioned me into a person without recourse. That is why I continue to recoil day after fucking day. I can take no more of the loss. Something very bad may happen very soon. Little doubt any longer. Even my friends cause problems at times and they are all I have left. 0833 on Friday, December 10th. Yesterday's effort was nominal. Hardware, cabinet work in the kitchen, laundry, but not much else. Another day which can be given back to the gods. Fuck it. The space bar issue has been alleviated, albeit not for a few days. I bit the bullet and ordered a brand new keyboard to replace this used piece of shit I never should have ordered in the first place. That's what happens when I try to save money. Heh. Amelia has amazing thighs and I hesitated to place thoughts of her in this space due to her perceived age. Well, during the show she was nearly a decade older than what I had calculated by her appearance. So, now I can comment upon her incredible legs. There... I just did. She does not compare to the other one, though. Here we are on a Sunday morning after attending the holiday ball and having sat in a room full of things I should not be near, most notably one in particular. That was bad and likely the most obsessively-related form I have ever gazed upon in that place. Once I spied her standing about six feet away and over my head by two inches, my brain began to recoil in a very bad way. I saw far too much for my health and well-being. There were two, actually, but I lost track of the first shortly after arriving. Once we walked in and I began to notice some of the clothing, I knew the evening would be tough, not to mention listening to a grating voice next to me for roughly an hour before finding relief. The goddess in question cornered my eyes, effectively alleviating much of the discomfort of sitting there in the first place and despite my head trying to figure out exactly what it was I had been seeing. And then I felt extremely small. And then I watched the band for a bit and felt relief because many people went downstairs from the bar, including the woman of women. And then I seemed to be falling into a slot in the room which held me a little better for a while. And then I saw her again upon going downstairs to check on the ventilation. The cycle started all over again. I do not know how to describe clothing, let alone what she was wearing. Maybe it's better I don't try. The problem began when a couple entered and headed straight for the bar not far from my table. They were both pretty tall, her in heels of course. And then I steered my gaze back to those at the table, soon after glancing back toward the couple and I noticed there was a third. They were greeting each other. That was the trouble. The woman they greeted stood very tall, little black booties helping to push her clearly above every other woman in the room, and slender to the point of appearing like many of the European models displayed here some years ago when I gushed endlessly over the obsession. I have to figure out why looking at her height and shape caused so much torment and turmoil. There was any number of attractive women in that place last night, as is typical for a holiday affair. The bartender with whom I am acquainted was in a Santa outfit complete with legs aplenty and cleavage apparent. Cuter than should be allowed by law. Was she a problem? Not really aside from a bit of thought upon arriving and getting drinks. Others? Yep, there was one amazing face wandering the place over and over. She was equally adorable like the bartender. Did they cause problems? Not really. So, why the super tall beauty? Why another deep recoil? 0955 means I need to be up and about in the next hour so I can head over and watch football. No bar today. I had more than enough of that atmosphere last night. Plenty. I lifetime's worth, really. Upon seeing her bare shoulders and height, I was drawn and had to see more. I tried to glimpse her hands, too, because being so tall meant a very good chance of those exaggerated hands which are both fascinating and beautiful. Her nose was slender. Super-long legs wrapped in some sort of tight material I could not identify due to the low light. Dark or medium brown and sort of shiny. Hard to describe. But the way they hugged her form... I need to know if those thighs were driving my head in bad directions because the 'picturing' was there in spades, albeit mostly at the beginning. Nearly three years ago we had lunch at a restaurant on the other side of the hill and something similar took place inside me. Obsession. I saw those black pants and nearly lost my shit for the rest of the day. She was a server, and there were two keys which drove me up the wall. Legs and long, black hair. Anyone reading here in the last decade already knows the darkness rules the roost. I don't recall what I felt three years ago beyond the need to stare at that girl without restriction. To pose her, if you will. The same yearning took place during the time of the Raven and was the catalyst for my initial contact with Her. The girl in the restaurant appeared similar. The one last night topped both of the others and forced me into pain due to the inability to stare in the fairly crowded room. I actually yearned to see her from differing angles and heights. The low light precluded any decent detail and the limit drove me nuts. Between that woman being so close and in full view for more than half an hour and my effort in remaining upright and behind a wall making nice with people almost broke me in half. I am concerned that glancing in her direction for so long poured a vat of desire into my brain. It really did. I mentioned 'picturing'. That is the worst possible outcome. As much as I might gush things like 'I can't have that kind of thinking', the truth is I had already performed a series of calculations and analyses inside which left me standing there like a hole in the room, and all within minutes of the initial sighting. Not good. And the cherry on top is once again -- and partly due to her fucking height -- a dangerous thought entered my head. That of the machine. In the fiction, Jaime was five-nine. The woman last night was likely an inch taller than the fiction. Amazing. Why? More to see? More real estate there? I still don't get it, but there is a reason the fictional woman was tall. A vat of desire. Perhaps a barrel. I was beginning to picture things better left out of my brain, for Christ's sake. Not good. This is now the worst flare of obsessive thinking in years. She was all over my head for three fucking hours and more than half of that time in my eyes. The worst possible turn in a very long time. I don't fucking need this shit right now. Honestly, I do not typically head in such a direction, either. The interest is different. This is the second time in recent memory that I have gone off the deep end. Not good. This is a bad time. The woman is still in my head pretty deep. Maybe the football and Sunday business will help me get her out of there. Sitting here this morning is bringing tomorrow to mind. Like most weekends, the thought of being alone and left to those very important devices feels very warming and enticing. Today will be fine, though. I'm not worried about anything except getting that fucking unbelievable gazelle out of my thinking and finding the peace to relax. Tomorrow will arrive soon enough. Tomorrow is here. 0624 on Monday morning, coffee, holiday lights and tree glowing, plenty of space for thought. The gazelle has faded for the most part just like all the others, thank the maker. I don't need anything else bothering me right now. In fact, much of that night has faded away. Cute faces, the bartender, lots of other things. Yesterday took over and ended up being quite enjoyable, effectively helping to erase the troubling moments from the night before. I can still see her and feel like recoiling all the time, yet thanks to the passage of time I do not believe the problem will continue much longer. Today feels wide open for the taking. That will change. There was some discussion yesterday regarding shit I would rather leave out of life. Honestly though, the compulsion to learn and understand sometimes overtakes my hesitation and fear in order to possibly help myself in the future. Well, that didn't fucking happen. I feel exactly the same after divulging some things better left locked away forever. Each time I feel positive, the end result is me bit on the ass and there is no improvement, often coupled with even less understanding. I can't have this anymore. I don't have a lot of time before the early morning business, but afterward will be very quiet and I really need it right now. There is much to process. The party Saturday night not only resulted in my falling all over the words about a woman for the millionth time, but I became physically troubled between the early morning and early afternoon yesterday. My sensitivity level is way up and it worries me some. The solution may be to avoid those late-night occasions entirely in the name of preserving myself. The last gathering with the garage lights and music left me in similar shape. That lent to the idea that my lifestyle should no longer include those types of nights. I have to care for myself better than in the past. Moreover, if I do not attend the parties at the bar (such as the new year approaching), I need not worry about a form running across my vision and screwing with my head for days. I really don't fucking need that shit. Yeah, you see the face here. I had other images but tossed them in favor of the reference. Sometimes there is quite a lot of makeup but it doesn't matter. The beauty is still behind it and shining. When I look at her little, crooked smile I can't help but avoid scathing words sometimes. She pulls it out of me and throws it all far away. The woman will be here from time to time, even when the time is bad. Like right now. I have the house to myself for the next several hours. Not much work, either. The dramatic weather will probably preclude anything beyond the norm today, and I have to deal with the little fuckers that came into the kitchen yesterday, likely driven by the massive rains. I stopped everything, though. I'll have to keep my eye on the areas in question today while caring for whatever seems best. The backyard is flooded again, too. I can't do much out there. Maybe the garage, though. Sometimes being out there during harsh weather reminds me of the Midwest. I used to stand under the patio cover during storms and felt like I was in the middle of the forest. Pretty cool. If the wind doesn't pick up like last night I might be able to spend some time out there. That shit at the bar was tough because the woman personified every dream and obsessive consideration I've held for years. Everything. I did not understand what I was seeing and ended up quickly recoiling mentally in order to save myself from having to run from the place. I can see her again, too. Right now. 0823. I don't want to picture her features but such is my weakness and desperation. The bad time was already apparent before I noticed her, now advancing due to the unknowns of the future. I am beginning to see an image of my coming years and it starkly resembles the deep yearning, pain and turmoil of eleven. Right close was a dream, yet it was also millions of miles off and unattainable. Before long, I literally imploded through the realization that all of the harm involved had been masked behind beauty and I was blind enough to lunge despite the impending consequences. To do that again would mean I've learned nothing. It would also mean the weakness has peaked again. I just can't have that right now. The woman must fade or I may not survive. Recoiled like a snake bent upon living while ready to strike. The new keyboard is in San Diego. I wish it was here, damn it. The space bar tends to drive me up the wall. One of my favorite things in the world is typing. I need it. Everything here eventually repeats using either different words or similar ideas. That's why all of the content remains out of sight. Even my writing has recoiled. Between the girl at the show and what she represents, the motherfuckers coming in from under the house, and my ongoing search for comfort of mind, spouting 'this is a bad time' may not be enough. I need other words but they are more elusive than peace."
Recoil
Mature content No. 280 Published December 13th, 2021 8:51am pst read ( words) Past entries
"Going through the motions for this long forces us to question everything that came before, those years which glowed or shined. Were they even real? The years of possibility and wonder? Everything is gone. Now we just wait for something which will never arrive, dream of unrealistic situations, and sit here in thrall of the impossible. Ah... There is Cara again. She was wonderful toward the end. Anyway, we can only hold this line for so long before everything falls to the floor and shatters. Everything around us is going to hell in the proverbial handbasket, meaning we must now recoil like a frightened snake. Or, conversely, we must become the recoil. Jamming the cool end of the forest gun into whomever is closest. Either is fine. This is a bad time. At least we have control of the site. Better than nothing. Breasts again. Ignore them. 0903 and we have to do something besides this train wreck. Many people complain about being busy and 'never seeming to have enough time'. Well, we represent the opposite. Nothing but time. All of it since early last year. 0645 on Sunday. Yesterday we put up the tree and associated decorations. Afterward we headed out to watch the game. Part of it, anyway. We were not one hundred percent comfortable there for some reason, but at least the game went our way. The younger bartender came in for her shift and the cuteness damned-near drove us out the fucking door with haste. We persevered, remained with eyes on the television as much as possible, and then got the hell out before our burned vision became fused to her chest again. Smooth skin every time. And now on the heels of thinking about the bartender's skin, there is sixth season Jamie with hair and eyes straight out of our imagination. God damn, she just keeps getting more and more beautiful as time passes. We may not go over to watch all the football today due to so much trouble. Our attention will waver constantly and we can't have that. Perhaps remaining here to care for the business will be best. Seeing something else will only push us further down. The less we are near people, the lower the probability of more problems developing. We have enough going on already. Actually, too much. The bearing surface is tensioning again, just like back in seventeen. Used up. We have been used up completely and no longer have anything to offer. Recoiling. 0734 and the show is still on. A short trip to drop off a person at the bar and we are back here for however long is necessary for clearing brains of the shit and cobwebs. We need to think about the most powerful of draws and how it has dictated our decisions and actions for many years. That power steered the ship into bad waters over and over because we let go of the wheel and happily fled the helm for those moments. We can actually still feel it right now despite the quiet morning and tree glowing. We can picture those situations and how we first began to see things in a different light and with much more appreciation than in the past. There are many parts of life and possibilities which have the same power, although they are equally elusive and very difficult to solidify. We sit this morning as a literal construct, assembled over a period of years by the aforementioned actions resulting from being pulled off the rails again and again. We very nearly thought in a similar direction last night before fleeing for our sanity. Hence some of the recoiling. We simply cannot have that shit right now. Too much already causing trouble. No one is going to understand all this shit. Not even us. This is one of those entries in which the title gets lost for a while and then found again when we begin to become nonsensical. Losing our way has been taking place more and more lately. Probably the troubling thinking combined with so much loss and then piled atop a mountain of never-ending visions and the torment they provide. This is a bad time. Our time today may be split between home and checking on the market being assembled by the bar. We never volunteered to help, though. Just seeing the place later may be interesting. We can lend a hand for a little while after the broad strokes are in place. Or not. 'I'. 0649 on Monday morning, one of my favorite days of the week. I have to get the morning business out of the way and then this will be the norm for a few hours. All of the walking the other day is beginning to affect me so I'll have to take it easy and remain close today. I never went to watch the games yesterday. The day went in a completely different direction and by sundown some issues had been alleviated or eased quite a bit. And then Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. I think the scene in which she and Will are engaged in a bit of debate in the home theatre after dark is becoming on of my favorites. I still can't believe her face sometimes. Jesus. And yes, she is going to be mentioned here in perpetuity. Live with it. As much as some of the other characters have moved me, Jamie is deep inside in a way no one else can be. You may not understand, but I don't understand either so don't ask. She is all over this episode and the image of her big eyes drives me insane. Whatever. I removed the breast images in favor of the big eyes. Can't help it. The character. All in, honestly. This is very bad for me because I am already detached from reality to a great degree, and falling further into dreams and fantasies will only cause more withdrawal. Everything flared last night because I put the science fiction on the televisions again while preparing dinner. One hour or more of that and my head descended yet again. I am very glad I did not go to the bar. The evening mood would have been vastly different, perhaps much worse. And then this morning add Jamie to my blender of bullshit and the end is illuminated once again. I cannot even begin to understand what happened there. Not a bit. The fact that I fell for her character is not as dangerous as I had once thought, however. It is actually safer because I can do very little about it aside from gushing here (which no longer matters) or watching the show and staring. There is no other recourse because the character is both fictional and completely gone from life and the world. I can feel whatever and the only downside is perhaps growing colder toward other people, but honestly that is going to happen no matter what else takes place in my life. She will never change, question me, cause emotional trauma, or ask anything of me, ever. She will just be up there all dark and mysterious and beautiful for all time, and I can see her anywhere, anytime. In a manner of speaking the woman belongs to me, if you can see from such an angle. I am a crazy person anyway, so why not just lay it all out? I love her. 0815 and I might be finished gushing about her for a while. Maybe. And there is Cara again. God damn, that woman is so gorgeous.
The spreadsheet with the site data for this mess is now 320 lines deep. Unbelievable. 0859. Ugh. 1045 and the typical crap is out of the way. What happened to the title? Where is the recoil? I don't fucking care. I miss everything. The glow, the Slipper, that prized piece of jewelry from two decades back which represented nearly as large a victory as the car, and the simple idea that the future is bright and full of possibilities. All gone. Lamenting now. The fourth show always brings me to the time when it first premiered during the Winter of ninety-five and mere months on the heels of the second show going dark. I had been very sad throughout the intervening months, and found that sadness decreased upon watching a new set of stories playing out. Back then I did not know where it would lead, and now they are another family. Close friends that I know very well. That was long before the watch and much longer before the Slipper. Everything was new and exciting without a sliver of knowledge that the CES even existed. Still, and despite the wonder of the era, it cannot compare to the first four years which I have gushed about here even more than Jamie. Hence... Tony: 'It's good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that, I know. But lately I'm gettin' the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.' Jennifer: 'Many Americans, I think, feel that way.' Indeed, the best was long before I was born -- as referenced by his words -- so I can only comment upon what I feel now as opposed to during the glow. The more I look at that time and such feelings of hope, the more I see what the current period has become. A pile of preordained shit. I have no clairvoyance nor clairaudience, but I know deep down that nothing is going to happen. Just a slow, burning decline. I see the wonder out there in the world but cannot embrace it for myself anymore. That time has passed. This is a bad time. Tuvok is babysitting, which helps. Heh. 0739 on Tuesday. This new keyboard has a bit of a glitch with the space bar. The manner in which I type isn't helping, either. I actually had to reposition my thumb to make spaces, and even then sometimes it does not work. I don't know if this will break in or if I need to address the issue by removing the keyboard again. Ugh. Maybe I can just hammer the keys as if I'm angry with them. Heh. I don't know what to do today besides the usual crap, although I will have to go to the store at some point for staples and hardware. This space bar is not always leaving spaces. Very annoying, but I usually go back and edit the text anyway, so whatever. I don't care. The only other option is to get a new one. This was a used keyboard from a working machine. Anyway, today will probably be more of the usual crap around the house and maybe some dry cleaning. I do not know what else to do. 0812 on Wednesday morning and here I sit. The space bar issue is not getting better. I may have to take more drastic measures. Yesterday was a bit of an eye-opener on one front, and something which will affect me until the end of time. I ventured to two stores in order to secure staples and upon leaving the first there was a tall woman with an expression on her face I cannot easily describe. Her height caught my attention along with long, dark hair, and then I noticed her mask was below her chin, providing me the ability to see her face. I don't know what to say now.I saw it,period. She seemed to be either very withdrawn or somewhat upset about something. Either way, the eyes and nose burned into me and I watched her walk all the way across the parking lot and into the market. This is bad. Still weak and desperate, just like aforementioned drive last year as I passed a face and began to dream.
I am pleased to have some quiet time this morning before taking care of the usual work. Yesterday I ventured out during the afternoon to run errands and ended up at the bar for a little while. Well, that went bad not long after arriving. The usual suspects at the usual table all walked away to follow one person to another table and left us alone. My feelings were hurt at the time, soon after melting away somewhat before I took off for home. Well, now the issue has amplified inside and I have become angry over their behavior. This may seem wrong or any other number of emotions, yet I know how people think at times and read the situation like yesterday’s news, literally. The result is my feeling that I need to avoid anything similar taking place in the coming days by removing myself from the equation. Moreover, the space bar issue flared and I am now typing on the portable keyboard directly into the phone for lack of other options. The haphazard nature of the sentences combined with the need to go back every few minutes and add spaces has become maddening and I can't have it anymore. The keyboard is not returnable, so I’ll have to eat the money and try again, possibly with a brand new unit from the manufacturer. In the meantime, this will have to suffice. The bottom line between my need to explore here after yesterday’s bullshit and having trouble with the machine has pissed me off severely. The morning is not as enjoyable as I had hoped, especially considering I did not have the house to myself until just an hour ago. Not happy. Pile on the feelings of dreams and the current mood has gone so far south that I don’t even know how I am functioning without flipping the fuck out. I’ll have to use this interface and then transfer everything to the editor whenever I take a break from bitching. The dreams are not good and not helping me right now. There was too much fucking family and heritage discussion yesterday for me to sit here and explore as I wished. I am now preoccupied with too much for consideration of a single track at a time. I could really use a fucking boost right now but there are no avenues or methods working. I learned such a fact just a little while ago. This is a bad time. I have the typical routine today and one hell of a mess in the kitchen but do not mind. The kitchen is very comfortable these days and has not lost the magic of last year when I first installed the second television. My friends following me as I work have become critical to my survival. That is not a figure of speech nor a joke. Anyway, I’ll be doing some laundry and then heading to the hardware at some point to pick up materials required for my temporary cabinet fix. I have to make a list. 1144 and the routine is finished. I have yet to go further because the events of yesterday combined with dreaming have truncated my mental options for the thousandth time this year. I am fucking sick of this and there is not solution. Nothing. I have to sit here and stew on everything. I might still go to the hardware store, though. My cabinet fix has to be completed tomorrow so I can clean everything and put it back together. Feelings are hardly repairable, however. At this late date, I do not see a future for dreaming the way I have, nor do I believe anything will ever change. I'll be left here to become a reclusive alcoholic and nothing more. Maybe I can continue in the vein of eleven and get rid of as much as possible so my footprint on the world is smaller than most. I do not see any other way of proceeding with life. Between the lack of resolution and the shit yesterday, I have zero reason for trying. This is the beginning of the end. I recently wrote a very explicit description of what went through my head during the last two viewings of the episode with the French beauty but have hesitated to publish include part of it here. For a short time it was on the front end, albeit shuffled. I believe going further with those words will only damage me and the site. They must remain behind the lines of combat. Once again I am on the portable keyboard and writing a document in the cloud because I very nearly blew up at the laptop keyboard a little while ago. As a result, I ordered a genuine replacement unit from a reputable house as new. I can’t deal with not being able to type on the laptop. Considering the cost of the entire computer, spending less than a hundred dollars on a new keyboard is a drop in the bucket. I must have it. Soon, along with the machine in question, I shall pare down my life to it and the camera. Nothing more. Not even my precious truck can make the cut. I must be tiny in order to be comfortable just in case the opportunity to run presents itself in the near future. This is a very bad time. I cannot stress that enough right now as the feelings reach the point of being nearly out of control all too often. How I made it this far is beyond me, honestly. Each day I wrestle with everything and sit here completely unfulfilled yet force myself to get up and get busy with whatever might distract the loss. Feelings of loss almost constantly, really. One day very soon this shit is going to come to a head and drive me into the cold ground. Until that dire point, I will be miserable. Some of this was done to me and some was my own doing, although lately I have been leaning toward the former because of irreparable damage to both my body and mind. The two shit situations may have fashioned me into a person without recourse. That is why I continue to recoil day after fucking day. I can take no more of the loss. Something very bad may happen very soon. Little doubt any longer. Even my friends cause problems at times and they are all I have left. 0833 on Friday, December 10th. Yesterday's effort was nominal. Hardware, cabinet work in the kitchen, laundry, but not much else. Another day which can be given back to the gods. Fuck it.
The space bar issue has been alleviated, albeit not for a few days. I bit the bullet and ordered a brand new keyboard to replace this used piece of shit I never should have ordered in the first place. That's what happens when I try to save money. Heh. Amelia has amazing thighs and I hesitated to place thoughts of her in this space due to her perceived age. Well, during the show she was nearly a decade older than what I had calculated by her appearance. So, now I can comment upon her incredible legs. There... I just did. She does not compare to the other one, though. Here we are on a Sunday morning after attending the holiday ball and having sat in a room full of things I should not be near, most notably one in particular. That was bad and likely the most obsessively-related form I have ever gazed upon in that place. Once I spied her standing about six feet away and over my head by two inches, my brain began to recoil in a very bad way. I saw far too much for my health and well-being. There were two, actually, but I lost track of the first shortly after arriving. Once we walked in and I began to notice some of the clothing, I knew the evening would be tough, not to mention listening to a grating voice next to me for roughly an hour before finding relief. The goddess in question cornered my eyes, effectively alleviating much of the discomfort of sitting there in the first place and despite my head trying to figure out exactly what it was I had been seeing. And then I felt extremely small. And then I watched the band for a bit and felt relief because many people went downstairs from the bar, including the woman of women. And then I seemed to be falling into a slot in the room which held me a little better for a while. And then I saw her again upon going downstairs to check on the ventilation. The cycle started all over again. I do not know how to describe clothing, let alone what she was wearing. Maybe it's better I don't try. The problem began when a couple entered and headed straight for the bar not far from my table. They were both pretty tall, her in heels of course. And then I steered my gaze back to those at the table, soon after glancing back toward the couple and I noticed there was a third. They were greeting each other. That was the trouble. The woman they greeted stood very tall, little black booties helping to push her clearly above every other woman in the room, and slender to the point of appearing like many of the European models displayed here some years ago when I gushed endlessly over the obsession. I have to figure out why looking at her height and shape caused so much torment and turmoil. There was any number of attractive women in that place last night, as is typical for a holiday affair. The bartender with whom I am acquainted was in a Santa outfit complete with legs aplenty and cleavage apparent. Cuter than should be allowed by law. Was she a problem? Not really aside from a bit of thought upon arriving and getting drinks. Others? Yep, there was one amazing face wandering the place over and over. She was equally adorable like the bartender. Did they cause problems? Not really. So, why the super tall beauty? Why another deep recoil? 0955 means I need to be up and about in the next hour so I can head over and watch football. No bar today. I had more than enough of that atmosphere last night. Plenty. I lifetime's worth, really. Upon seeing her bare shoulders and height, I was drawn and had to see more. I tried to glimpse her hands, too, because being so tall meant a very good chance of those exaggerated hands which are both fascinating and beautiful. Her nose was slender. Super-long legs wrapped in some sort of tight material I could not identify due to the low light. Dark or medium brown and sort of shiny. Hard to describe. But the way they hugged her form... I need to know if those thighs were driving my head in bad directions because the 'picturing' was there in spades, albeit mostly at the beginning. Nearly three years ago we had lunch at a restaurant on the other side of the hill and something similar took place inside me. Obsession. I saw those black pants and nearly lost my shit for the rest of the day. She was a server, and there were two keys which drove me up the wall. Legs and long, black hair. Anyone reading here in the last decade already knows the darkness rules the roost. I don't recall what I felt three years ago beyond the need to stare at that girl without restriction. To pose her, if you will. The same yearning took place during the time of the Raven and was the catalyst for my initial contact with Her. The girl in the restaurant appeared similar. The one last night topped both of the others and forced me into pain due to the inability to stare in the fairly crowded room. I actually yearned to see her from differing angles and heights. The low light precluded any decent detail and the limit drove me nuts. Between that woman being so close and in full view for more than half an hour and my effort in remaining upright and behind a wall making nice with people almost broke me in half. I am concerned that glancing in her direction for so long poured a vat of desire into my brain. It really did. I mentioned 'picturing'. That is the worst possible outcome. As much as I might gush things like 'I can't have that kind of thinking', the truth is I had already performed a series of calculations and analyses inside which left me standing there like a hole in the room, and all within minutes of the initial sighting. Not good. And the cherry on top is once again -- and partly due to her fucking height -- a dangerous thought entered my head. That of the machine. In the fiction, Jaime was five-nine. The woman last night was likely an inch taller than the fiction. Amazing. Why? More to see? More real estate there? I still don't get it, but there is a reason the fictional woman was tall. A vat of desire. Perhaps a barrel. I was beginning to picture things better left out of my brain, for Christ's sake. Not good. This is now the worst flare of obsessive thinking in years. She was all over my head for three fucking hours and more than half of that time in my eyes. The worst possible turn in a very long time. I don't fucking need this shit right now. Honestly, I do not typically head in such a direction, either. The interest is different. This is the second time in recent memory that I have gone off the deep end. Not good. This is a bad time. The woman is still in my head pretty deep. Maybe the football and Sunday business will help me get her out of there. Sitting here this morning is bringing tomorrow to mind. Like most weekends, the thought of being alone and left to those very important devices feels very warming and enticing. Today will be fine, though. I'm not worried about anything except getting that fucking unbelievable gazelle out of my thinking and finding the peace to relax. Tomorrow will arrive soon enough.
Tomorrow is here. 0624 on Monday morning, coffee, holiday lights and tree glowing, plenty of space for thought. The gazelle has faded for the most part just like all the others, thank the maker. I don't need anything else bothering me right now. In fact, much of that night has faded away. Cute faces, the bartender, lots of other things. Yesterday took over and ended up being quite enjoyable, effectively helping to erase the troubling moments from the night before. I can still see her and feel like recoiling all the time, yet thanks to the passage of time I do not believe the problem will continue much longer. Today feels wide open for the taking. That will change. There was some discussion yesterday regarding shit I would rather leave out of life. Honestly though, the compulsion to learn and understand sometimes overtakes my hesitation and fear in order to possibly help myself in the future. Well, that didn't fucking happen. I feel exactly the same after divulging some things better left locked away forever. Each time I feel positive, the end result is me bit on the ass and there is no improvement, often coupled with even less understanding. I can't have this anymore. I don't have a lot of time before the early morning business, but afterward will be very quiet and I really need it right now. There is much to process. The party Saturday night not only resulted in my falling all over the words about a woman for the millionth time, but I became physically troubled between the early morning and early afternoon yesterday. My sensitivity level is way up and it worries me some. The solution may be to avoid those late-night occasions entirely in the name of preserving myself. The last gathering with the garage lights and music left me in similar shape. That lent to the idea that my lifestyle should no longer include those types of nights. I have to care for myself better than in the past. Moreover, if I do not attend the parties at the bar (such as the new year approaching), I need not worry about a form running across my vision and screwing with my head for days. I really don't fucking need that shit. Yeah, you see the face here. I had other images but tossed them in favor of the reference. Sometimes there is quite a lot of makeup but it doesn't matter. The beauty is still behind it and shining. When I look at her little, crooked smile I can't help but avoid scathing words sometimes. She pulls it out of me and throws it all far away. The woman will be here from time to time, even when the time is bad. Like right now. I have the house to myself for the next several hours. Not much work, either. The dramatic weather will probably preclude anything beyond the norm today, and I have to deal with the little fuckers that came into the kitchen yesterday, likely driven by the massive rains. I stopped everything, though. I'll have to keep my eye on the areas in question today while caring for whatever seems best. The backyard is flooded again, too. I can't do much out there. Maybe the garage, though. Sometimes being out there during harsh weather reminds me of the Midwest. I used to stand under the patio cover during storms and felt like I was in the middle of the forest. Pretty cool. If the wind doesn't pick up like last night I might be able to spend some time out there. That shit at the bar was tough because the woman personified every dream and obsessive consideration I've held for years. Everything. I did not understand what I was seeing and ended up quickly recoiling mentally in order to save myself from having to run from the place. I can see her again, too. Right now. 0823. I don't want to picture her features but such is my weakness and desperation. The bad time was already apparent before I noticed her, now advancing due to the unknowns of the future. I am beginning to see an image of my coming years and it starkly resembles the deep yearning, pain and turmoil of eleven. Right close was a dream, yet it was also millions of miles off and unattainable. Before long, I literally imploded through the realization that all of the harm involved had been masked behind beauty and I was blind enough to lunge despite the impending consequences. To do that again would mean I've learned nothing. It would also mean the weakness has peaked again. I just can't have that right now. The woman must fade or I may not survive. Recoiled like a snake bent upon living while ready to strike. The new keyboard is in San Diego. I wish it was here, damn it. The space bar tends to drive me up the wall. One of my favorite things in the world is typing. I need it. Everything here eventually repeats using either different words or similar ideas. That's why all of the content remains out of sight. Even my writing has recoiled. Between the girl at the show and what she represents, the motherfuckers coming in from under the house, and my ongoing search for comfort of mind, spouting 'this is a bad time' may not be enough. I need other words but they are more elusive than peace."
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