November 22nd, 2021 11:03am pst

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

The Recourse and the Ringer

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Can there be? Do we have that kind of power anymore? Does it exist?

The other day was a line. A straw? No, nothing so dramatic. Just a line, yet one more important than any point in recent memory. We demonstrated a lack of control and continue to feel the effects. We cannot have this any longer or there will be no reason to do ANYTHING. As stated already, the power may not be there for us. No matter the explanation or any other seemingly constructive conversation, the words are shielded to the point of being nothing more than a string of shit over and over. Nothing helps because we cannot say. That means barring any type of genuine repeats of what we had many years ago, there is no reason to speak about any subject, no matter how trivial. The more important stuff will remain that much further away from the forefront. No one likes this shit, but we must do it. We must live this way in order to remain safe. The downside is a loss of some comfort, yet we may be able to compensate in other ways. Time is required now. Just time.

0827 and there is coffee left. The day ahead will be comfortable from a physical standpoint. Inside is another fucking story. We are most decidedly uncomfortable for three reasons, only one of which is understood at this point in time. The rest are shit we must endure. Once the coffee runs out, we can go in whatever direction seems best for maintaining the house and daily living. As we stated near the close of the previous entry, the bar this afternoon is out, completely. We have to remain behind closed doors and work on things without being near others or in their sights. There are problems and devices at work which cannot be discussed with another living soul, no matter how much shit we have to plow on a daily basis. Unfortunately, and regardless of what has already taken place between us and other people, this is the way it has to be forever. Everything even remotely personal has become amplified to the point of paranoia. Throughout this day (once the coffee is gone, heh) we shall consider the consequences of both our past actions and the plan to shut everything down completely. No more discussion means very likely this site will expand exponentially, yet still say almost nothing. The way it should be, honestly.


Physically I am not feeling well this morning. I know not why. All of 0926, the remaining coffee next to me, and still something is wrong inside. Of all the things which can keep me down during a weekday, being ill is at the top of the list. I just wish I knew what happened to bring this on. Damn it. I suppose I can sit here and relax for a little while before making any determination.

0954 and I feel somewhat better. I have no clue as to why my insides are playing games with me, but I don't fucking like it. Laundry going.

This may be one of those dead-end days in which very little is accomplished. I don't care and have to maintain myself first and foremost. Everything else can wait. Plus, the bar visit I cancelled is now ever further back. Some little things will be done but nothing dramatic. Two phone calls, as well. Unfortunately, the recourse is elusive. I know not what to do about the grand scheme. 1103 and the routine is finished, laundry is still in process, and I am at a loss as to the remainder of this day. I have the show on and my drink close by. Dead end? Perhaps.

Lorena is on this page, all insanely dangerous and exotic. I never found her appealing as the appearance of Nora or a few others, but there can be no denying her amazing characterization of pure vampire. Sometime during the second season (I think), she appears in the Dallas hotel walking in slow motion while looking impeccable in a flowing dress and heels. The way she embodies pure evil and intelligence is fucking amazing like nothing else. Yes, Eric is my focus due to his endless disregard for humanity and dripping power, but Lorena's walk in that hallway floors me every time. Later today I will have the show on to see those events in the hotel play out again. Soon after? One of my favorite lines... 'Get the humans'. Fantastic. But I digress. Fiction moves me infinitely more than reality. Characters move me infinitely more than real people. My loss, but still... Those on the television are my FRIENDS, and they will not be trivialized no matter the source. I will fucking lash because I have no other recourse. No one really listens.

And the woman who portrays Lorena -- Mariana Klaveno -- stands five-ten. Perfect for the role. Menacing, pretty, and oh so devious.

I am a very flawed person and have made many mistakes. I cannot go back and fix them. None of them. The future will come along and there is still nothing I can do. They are gone forever. Yes, I did all that shit and feel like crap over it. Every day. And there is even more than I have put here, believe it or not. But no matter what I do, say, or where I may end up, all that shit remains back there, some helping to guide my mood each day. I can't do shit about shit. This may be the very definition of not letting go of the past, yet I must remain mindful of what I have done in order to either learn or at the very least try to avoid the same things in the future, if I even matter. The entire subject makes me angry. I am very flawed and always will be, and my condition is due in large part to what has been done to me. There you go... Fucking fix that shit.

0658 and coffee again. Gangsters. I was supposed to go to the bar and meet a couple of brothers yesterday but changed my mind. Today I am supposed to meet several people at the Connection for one of the holiday shindigs, but again I have changed my mind. I will remain here within these walls unless the hardware becomes necessary. Plus there are two college games on later that I need to glean. I make very few promises because I am flighty and change my mind a lot, mostly in self-serving interests because no one else can hold me up (they should not be asked to do so, anyway). Staying here all day saves gas and money, plus I don't have to hear those fucking voices in my ear with their redundant fucking questions. I don't need that shit right now. Jesus fuck this girl who plays a nurse -- only one brief scene out of the entirety of the series -- is a Goddamned food group with her eyes and smile. Every damned time she pops up out of nowhere my heart skips a beat. I could shove her pants down my own throat. Anyway, I have no intention of going anywhere for a few days because nothing really helps me deal with myself, and dealing with others is about tenth on my list of priorities. I have not the motivation nor inclination to do anything for anyone else these days. Glue for too long. I have to force my own recourse.

If the sky remains clear as it is right now, I may be able to actually continue efforts in the garage. I have not been out there for days other than to do laundry and everything is just sitting and awaiting attention. The plywood sheets are still standing in the center when they should have been cut up and mounted already. I just haven't been feeling the work so much. There are other details both in the garage and in here, too. The clock will be my friend so long as I do not venture out.

Oof. Not a morning goes by without some measure of shit. Today is no different. 0733.

I believe the time has come for me to close off a little further than I have during the last few weeks. I'll remain here and carefully calculate my contact with other people and demonstrate my dissatisfaction without setting off alarms. People react how they do. I just don't want any crap being flung back in my direction. Cut off, for the most part, and alone over here. No one understands and I am not fucking explaining it any longer.


The sad state mostly makes me angry. I didn't fucking do this and still don't fully understand why there have been such turns this late in life. And not just big events, either. I am talking about little things which pick away and add up. They tend to lead to unwanted platitudes if I speak. Not good. I keep thinking about that realization some months back and then return to the documents to reread everything I jotted down that afternoon. Much of the sadness is tied to that line of thinking, and the more time which passes the more I believe it is true. The terrible part is I already know the fact cannot be changed no matter what may take place in the future. If I dwell there long enough, the anger builds and I end up very curt with people and isolated behind both the rampart and the media. Part of me will think that they do not deserve my shit, but then the reality of society kicks in and I am left completely uncaring. Just number one. That day when I recorded my thoughts -- all disjointed and haphazard -- was pretty fucking bad as I was already in the fucking red before a smack in the face over the past and why I made some of those reckless decisions. Afterward I did actually feel better for a time, as if part of the weight had been lifted. Well, that fell away like everything else once I peered into the future of such a realization and the knowledge that I hold zero control over any possibilities. Once again everything is mulched into a vat of sadness. Like within those massive, frightening drug reactors that loomed before me so many years ago, the contents have been pulverized. Without proper controls in place, the reaction will cause death.

And then I sit here and consider avenues. What avenues do I have? None. Remaining home, writing either here or in the garage (new office), working on whatever shit might blow my skirt up, or some interesting project... Those are not avenues, only distractions. Avenues are zeros. I can sit and consider zeros.

Maybe I really am everything I tried to avoid. Oksana has amazing breasts (sometimes).

Spondulix. Heh.

I certainly hope I don't get any fucking shit over what I plan to do in the coming days because the result will be extremely unpleasant. This is a bad time and getting worse by the minute.

The recourse is eluding me. I have to do something different, or at least grasp at whatever has the ability to lift, yet all seems elusive like never before. Normally this day would represent infinite possibilities... Work around the house, in the garage, or on myself. Lately, though, a fresh Saturday morning brings very little of those options. Nothing seems bright or appealing. I used to sit here early in the morning and see tons of satisfying directions. Not anymore. Now I just sit and wallow and write the same words as in the past. The only differences are the day, month and year. This is a bad time.

I cannot find it. Sitting here for five hundred days searching and I cannot find it. I was searching for something else last year -- fruitless, desperate, and so depressive -- and did not find that one, either. I have found precisely nothing. Do I keep going? Or is that for which I search impossible? Does anything out there in existence have the power to help? Even while right in the middle of the vast beauty and the type of situation living very high on my list, still the problems rear and take me down like a compound bow versus a small animal. Taken down over and over and over. Every fucking time. And then later the thinking crowds my attempts to find solace. Thinking is beginning to be the ancient demon from which there is no escape. Old evil. Relentless and constantly pursuing. The flag is up and the feet are in, yet as of this very moment the only change has been my clothing each day. I had no idea the search for peace would hold the power to alter where I need to be. The trees may not matter. Or perhaps I am just too fucking weak.

I cannot find it. Thoughts. Memories. Yearning. Nothing.

No recourse. Oh, it is in my mind, just not out there for the taking.

I am nearly defeated. Even the site has been taken down again because I don't want anyone reading my shit. The index is there with a shuffled paragraph and lovely image -- just below it the new footer with symbolism -- but that is all. The archive has been deleted, as has the menu so no one can steer their browser to any page without a direct link. That is not going to happen, though. Me feeling defeated means others must remain in the dark. I just don't fucking care anymore. Soon there will be nothing more than a rotating image and footer.

This is a bad time. Very bad.

I took care of many responsibilities yesterday and rolled into the evening proud of the effort. Despite how far down I feel, still I was able to care for some work. I will probably do the same today for no other reason than to realize the value of a quiet evening. I do what I do partially out of a sense of accomplishment and partially so I do not feel guilty for relaxing at night. It's stupid, I know, but the honest truth is that satisfaction in life at this point is so fucking far away I couldn't see it with field glasses. Nothing is before me. The same shit over again. A hundred Saturdays don't fucking matter. I need to get off this fucking rail but there may not be a switch.

Bad things in my head. Thoughts I cannot discuss with another person nor place here, even without publishing. Bad. Wrong, yet they are there anyway. Yesterday I did some investigating and realized some parts of life and some people's thoughts are not so bad, but still I don't fucking know and can't deal with it. The shit in my head must remain there or I will be shunned off the fucking planet. 0604 Sunday, continued. A word came to mind while watching one of my shows last night as related to an action, and again the bad things entered into me. I cannot discuss it. No one would agree anyway. Oy to the nth degree. Everything bothers me. No way around the wording, no way to alleviate, no way to relax. Holed up, like yesterday. Maybe I'll get some of those little frozen tacos for the football game in four hours.

No recourse whatsoever. All I have is a mass of items to distract me from the reality of the recognizer and resemblance. Eventually there will be a requiem. Wait for it. No recourse.

Sunday. My intention was to head over to watch the game with a few guys but I think I'm going to remain home like yesterday. We are scheduled to visit her parents' for some tea and dessert this afternoon, too. I'll make it through that situation and back here just fine. The issue is keeping my mouth closed during such visits, the last working just fine a few months ago. I can do it again and focus upon reaching home afterward. I have the usual chores today, not much more unless the mood strikes to build a speaker mount for the bar. Sunday business sans cutoff time.

Tony has food poisoning.


The show last night really had me thinking in a new direction as related to one matter in life. And ever since discussing the show with my buddy who is smitten with Jessica, I find myself scrutinizing her appearance in some scenes. I really like her bright eyes in contrast to the fact that she is evil. The juxtaposition is really cool on the screen. Beyond that? Nada. She is like a sister. I care about her character. Nothing really comes up before Nora, anyway, so commenting upon the appearance of characters is rather pointless. Here and there are things to see but they are fleeting mostly. Nothing significant. And then there was the scene(s) which had me considering the world's stance on a certain subject and my feelings toward the same. The word popped into my brain in a split-second and will not leave. I need to go through a ton of research and then perform some sort of half-assed relational analysis in order to form a conclusion, or possibly just to make a point of the idea. Lots of work, and not my favorite subject to discuss. I may or may not go further with this. Right now I am leaning away from it because sometimes it angers me to the point of becoming unclear, and then I can't write worth a crap. I'll have to think on it further.

This is a bad time. I wish I could speak of all that is wrong.

The last two weeks have been the aforementioned lesson, yet still I do not feel as if anything has been worked enough for understanding. There may be a lesson, though, albeit not fully absorbed. I still make mistakes. They are to be expected, too. I have been told that no mistakes is an impossible life, and the real understanding is to simply learn from each in an attempt to avoid similar lines in the future. That is not me, unfortunately. I've done the same shit over and over until I couldn't stand myself. Did I learn? Mostly, I believe, my own learning was in dealing with people in order to move on in life without being condemned for such ridiculous decisions. Honestly, if anything is to be learned, I may be ill-equipped to embrace the lessons like a real person. Or a whole person. Eh... Something. Two weeks or so of shit and thinking there is something to be learned is meaningless without actually changing behavior. So far, my recourse has been hiding myself away and remaining quiet. A fall-back position, if you will, and one I have employed for decades. I may be no different right now than I was forty years ago. Totally unclear, this shit, and nearly to the point of me unable to understand sometimes when I return and read.

I can't go into the other three words. I have to focus upon myself in order to try to relax and find those enjoyments without falling into a pit all the time. That means ignoring everyone else for a time. No way around it. Ring in the new subject, and that is me. Or, as it were... 'we'.

A version of ourselves, yet only a part. Standing in. A stand-in, just like in that big industry up there looking back at us. Another version, like software slowly evolving within itself throughout years, eventually taking up the same space but without any resemblance whatsoever to the original. Us. We are here, yet we are most decidedly elsewhere, too. We cannot remain in the fold much longer or someone may see through the rampart and into our little world. We cannot have that, even for a second. Once exposed, the trouble will spread like wildfire. Remaining behind the wall requires an occasional glance outside, and that requires lifting. Too much of such behavior and we are exposed. All this shit must stay hidden. Once in a while we journey to the outside of our construct in order to experience something we cannot discuss, and then right back where we began just as quickly as possible. Make sense? Nope. Don't even fucking try anymore. The veils are getting thicker. More like scrim now, all dusty and frayed. Layers of scrim, really. Light-tight.

We are the ringer.

In place of someone else, yet with little resemblance, honestly. No one recognizes us because they have been conditioned to the ringer. Completely fucking fake, lying, deviant and diabolical. Everything rolled into one giant falsehood and tied with a bow. A dead-ringer for ourselves. And now things are becoming foggy. We have to diverge for a time because of the blue dress down there in the muck all wet and filthy and ugly and empty. Many times we've stated that we are losing it. Losing control, sense, whatever. More has been removed and discarded, meaning sometimes we have to sit here and go through the crappy words before more structure and sense can be written. There used to be a woman in that dress. Did you know? Or did you think it was just a dress hanging alone in a cave? There was a woman in there long ago. She wore it with pride and it made her feel beautiful. The woman is gone. Or, more accurately, she has gone away from us. Maybe she is a ringer, too. We cannot know. The dress is empty and the future unclear.

We must consider all that has been said here in the last few weeks as the morning moves along. Everything has to remain inside and right behind our tired eyes so we do not lose sight of those little goals. No turns off this road today. No turns. No matter what comes along we have to maintain direction or we may lose out yet again. That has already happened so many times we are nearly disgusted with our own weakness. The pulls are always going to be there -- strong or otherwise -- and we have to ensure some type of future, meaning ignoring all that is tertiary. Blinders, if you will. The recent wording cannot be forgotten until such time as we can actually embrace and fully fit into this new world. So far? Not fucking much. We are disappointed in ourselves like never before. Keeping everything right there at hand can help us avoid repeating the same damned pitfalls. This means remembering, always. The words are here for good reason... We believe.

We are the ringer. What is behind will never be seen. What is thought will never be spoken. What is seen will never be real. What is inside will never be exposed. We may be a mere fraction of what we were, yet we can still wield as necessary.

The unknown word up there as related to the show last night will not leave us. We cannot forget, we cannot forgive, and we cannot cease the hatred. The word is for naught, though. We are powerless against the tide.

This is a bad time. Saundra looks like dessert even with short hair. We could...

Much of the difficulty these last several years is trying to understand why some parts of life must remain so elusive and misinterpreted when there are those who have demonstrated the opposite. Part of what we have built and become has resulted from endlessly searching and finding nothing. On the heels of that, we have strove to be as even-keeled as possible in the face of sheer disappointment. Weakness, too. Desperation continues to rear up and take us off our feet. There is a section of the rampart dedicated exclusively to the desperate search for solace and comfort with billboards of information staring back at us; information about the past -- both that which we have crafted and enjoyed and the damaging, painful results of the same -- which we can barely understand anymore. More writing breeds more questions, and in turn becomes just another mess here to publish. We have solved nothing in many years. Hence the ringer... So fucked up we cannot expose our real selves to the outside world. That will not end well for anyone.

0801 and we still have coffee. Soon we shall rise and move in some other direction. Which, exactly, is unknown thus far, but something will proceed to follow this worthless shit. And then the game. And then the visit to her parents' house. And then home. All the while we will BE the ringer. Any other direction explored will likely be in support of those two words we have belabored here for too long... Fortification and preparation. World war three is inside us. We must do something. Life must be compacted.

The 'I' has it...


Believe it or not, there is still a slight inkling to go to the bar for the game. I believe the idea and sense of blending in -- hiding in plain sight -- combined with zero responsibilities has enough appeal to pull me out of here for a few hours. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know yet. Sometimes I get the idea to go and then feel like shit later, while other times present the opposite circumstances. I never know, though. 0806 means if I indeed go, I'll have to be out the door within ninety minutes.

Ignore the images here. There is little point to displaying anything these days. Vampires, pretty faces, long legs, bare breasts... None of it matters. I am still the same, -- if not worse -- for the effort of seeking anything that seems a good idea. Beginning in early fifteen when the site direction changed, the radii images began to pop up within each essay. I numbered each file to keep track as the essays were published. Nearly seven years later they were capped at one thousand. That is nothing more than a clear example of weakness and desperation. That was a bad time. This is worse. The ringer is apparent yet there is still no recourse. Millions of words here and in my head, and nothing has been solved.

Sunday used to be so nice. Wide open and full of options. What is Sunday now?

0822. Broken and defeated. Unhappy.

Monday 0639 with my friends and a cup of coffee. Yesterday flew by. I did indeed go to watch the game rather than staying here, and then upon returning we took off for the little family gathering. Nicole again with her sad eyes and goofy chin. I want to hug her sometimes. Eh, whatever. Monday morning usually means I am pretty comfortable with the idea of having time alone all day. It's there, I feel it a little. But honestly the inside of everything is beginning to unravel and leave me concerned for the near future. This came on last night and put me on my ass for a while. Nothing else was present, though, because the bar visit was uneventful and family was fine. There were no worries aside from the typical shit. I even visited the market over there and did not run into anything difficult. Overall the entire day seems like it should have been at least a little satisfying, yet sitting here now makes me see that a good portion of the time was wasted. The game was good, lunch was acceptable, the family visit was rather comfortable. Does that mean everything is fine? Nope. Nothing is fine. Once the quiet time begins in about forty minutes, the exposition here will continue for whatever it may be worth anymore. My only recourse to a flighty weekend is being alone on Monday. 0649.

The brain will not function sometimes. Other parts of living and breathing get in the way of clarity and leave me grasping for a direction. This morning is finally all mine and awaiting whatever seems best. I have to meet the new potential gardener in about an hour, but other than that I will be holed up and left to my devices. There is nary a moment each day without some sort of trouble entering and lingering as I try to write or care for the house. I am tired of it but there is nothing I can do anymore.

The garbage trucks are off in the distance and will soon be here on our street. Bless them for the work. Pause for the cause.

0849. The gardener came and went. That's all set up. Now I am left to the remainder of the day and whatever can be done. I am going to try to avoid my typical kitchen cocktail and see if it helps keep the ambition up for the following hours. There are always lots of things I want to do but rarely do I feel the drive by mid-morning. Something must be different, otherwise there will still be no recourse. The morning is already tough, though. I do not like this one bit. Bad time. This is a very bad time. Hopefully it does not become dangerous.

Pulling, pushing. All the way there and back. Every fucking day. No recourse. Downhill. I am desperately reaching for comfort. The blue dress was there for me but no longer. I am the ringer but never wanted this. Never. Halfway between need and desire, I sit here and spin tales of whatever comes to mind, constantly wishing to say more but unable to do it. Unable? Unwilling. That's more like it. Tony's suit is beautiful. He wears it well, as always, but I'm off track. Wait... What? There is a track? More like a route. Routed. Pushed and pulled. Recourse, ringer, whatever the fuck it is, I am right in the middle sans hope. The future may have been all warm and sweet inside that blue dress and it all went to hell. I would like to return to that place where everything was shoved away and the world disappeared for a time as I explored who I am. But I can't right now. I am stuck here with an overflowing brain and nothing on the horizon aside from disappointment. Pressure on three fronts now. This is a bad time. I gave away the power.

Right on the edge of forever, right on the precipice of all those words which have to remain hidden away, deep down and underneath all of the facading and posturing. On the edge.

Some shit has melted away. I didn't think it could, yet the massive hole in me has dictated priorities, meaning part of this year's bevy of difficulties has left. Permanently? I don't fucking know, but one certainty is three issues are so far back now that I am actually surprised. The downside is the current period carries with it a problem so overwhelming that those other concerns are minimized. Unbelievable. Heritage, children, and another I do not wish to spell out. Maybe more. Melted. I may be the ringer, yet some aspects of me cannot be shaken off like excess salt from a steak. I don't even know what the hell I am saying anymore.

1030. Routine finished. I opted for the cocktail because I am fucked up. To hell with everything else. Broken.

The upsides are shrinking like that blue dress in a clothes dryer. I wish I could put it back together and embrace the damned thing. Everything pisses me off to no end. 'The falcon cannot hear the falconer.' No shit. I am not at crisis mode yet, but honestly it is very close. A lack of recourse in so many parts of life is beginning to piss me off, bad. I don't want to lose my shit right now. Too tired. And others will not like it. I guess there is still too much that I cannot understand. Complications like a minute repeating wristwatch. This is a bad time.

The remainder of this fucking day may be very truncated now because I can't see the way to anything productive beyond the norm. The only plus right now is the quiet and space to think. Eh... I don't know. Maybe all this time is one of the negatives. Whatever. Something I heard spoken some days ago during a relatively benign conversation has been tattooed to my brain. I researched the subject and more devastating terms were revealed, yet I cannot take issue with them. The problem is most likely with me and no one else. But it happened and I can't just toss it out like trash. Those situations remain inside for a very long time. I still recall similar shit from three decades back (or more). I am helpless because of it and one of the issues brought up within 'Sentient...' returned to the forefront of my mind and is attached like a fucking fungus. Again... Therapy? Well, the subject at hand is directly related to words spoken to me on that fateful day when I decided that there are indeed enemies out there and they will never change. Enemies, all. And still I am powerless. This is a real nice fucking clambake.


Recourse? For the crap mentioned above? I don't know, to be honest. There may be, although the more dreadful path is to be the ringer and completely closed off from society. Dreadful and wonderful at the same time. Empowering. Fulfilling, to a point. The forest has yet to really alienate people because some of their time near me is still a tad enjoyable. I am the ringer while in their presence, and will be again for the next go-around. Count on it. What took place -- that phrasing -- will NEVER go away and I am much smaller for the mistake of listening. My disdain grows, recourse or otherwise.

This is a bad time. Burt Ward is soon on the screen. Legendary, talented, awesome, and effective. I used to be some of that. Maybe I was. A little. Some. Don't know anymore. Fuck you.

Pissed off all the time and I can't do anything about anything because I have destroyed my chances of rising by giving away any fucking power and serving everyone else. One more time... Fuck you. This is the primary reason for the fucking ringer.

1100. The clock is worthless. Everything is disappointing. People are shit. Walls closing in.

This entry, like many others in recent months, is fucking stupid and going nowhere. I am nowhere.

Maybe it's time for me to turn my back on every living soul."