The Resemblance Mature content No. 274 Published November 12th, 2021 1:07pm pst read ( words) Past entries "This is a bad time. yes/NO. NO. I know what is happening here and I can't say a fucking thing about it. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Too sensitive, just like me. Overly and overtly. This is a bad fucking time. Tony's fiancĂ©e has huge eyes, something which you may already know tends to stir me depending upon the surrounding face. I've mentioned such a fact three times prior to this entry, meaning it might be time to break out the gangster log again and keep up. Ah... Coffee. I will not be home alone today, though. There will be a bit of a hitch in the giddy-up during the early morning. I am already a bit out of sorts due to the noise inside the house, damn it. Whatever. Tuesday morning will turn into Tuesday afternoon soon enough. Just another pain in my fucking ass when otherwise this morning would have been splendid. I really needed the peace and quiet. Now I must head in another direction. At least the weather is not as cold. I was daydreaming about the glow earlier. The dates on the shows combined with recalling my truck and other things I owned at the time took over shortly after sunrise and I am still feeling nostalgic. The bad part is knowing nothing will ever glow again. Sometimes I feel a tinge when being here resembles the apartment in eleven -- mostly the beginning of that stay when I was trying to make the place comfortable. The glow is different, though, as there is a huge gradient between my feelings and life during each period. Magical versus paranoid, wondrous as opposed to depressing. So vastly different, those two parts of my life. And then throw in the current period for comparison, right? Why the hell not? I've been bringing up all these varying sections of the calendar for so long that right now I see no reason to avoid the mix. The shows yesterday brought the golden period back into me, though. That one is the clincher of everything these days. Daydreaming, recalling some things we did, and often trying to remember more detail just in case I wish to jot it down. The problem of comparison comes around every time. The current period just feels so fucking late. It often resembles eleven quite a bit. The fact is everything I felt back during those four years was positive, whereas now there is very little of the same. Most everything is very down. The outlook, the lateness of days, the fact that nothing is new or surprising any longer, and that deep depression which tends to flare whenever the gaze ahead reveals no more possibility. There are little things which resemble the glow, yet the reality cannot be denied or altered. No more wonder, and believe me it was important. The bar two days ago illuminated such an idea so brightly that I could barely follow the conversation. Watching the games is enjoyable, so thank Christ they take up most of the time there. Once the topic is steered away from sports, however, everything goes to hell very quickly. I just cannot identify with those mindsets or understand the motivation in seeking all the stupid shit either on the social media or otherwise. What typically happens is I begin thinking about when my life was simpler in comparison and more fulfilling due to being near those who shared my interests. Just like after the glow and upon returning to California, the entire computer period took over and I had a discovery each day which pulled me into a world of fascination. That little bubble soon helped me to change careers into something more comfortable and suited to my talents. The 'afterglow', if you will, lasted less than a year and a half before being altered permanently. I still make comparisons, though... Most days find me trying to reach for anything with a resemblance to the glow. 'Adherents bent, opinionless; Following scent of commonness.' 'I' to 'we' again. We need to get out there today and move some shit around. The garage is beginning to resemble the period prior to the motorcycle being stored here and it looks bad. Gradual shit streaming in from the city combined with all of the lumber yet to be utilized means the center area is no longer free of obstructions and it is making us feel crappy. Moreover, the calls from the north are beginning to help center our feelings lately and can enhance whatever mood we choose, meaning more will be accomplished as we attempt to remain balanced throughout this day. Bad mood, though. Many things have drifted toward our grip of solace and interfered with the same, meaning we must cut off enough to free ourselves from the potential grasp of adversarial minds. We cannot be altered. Not now. As long as we can remain at a distance from those who would derail us, the days can move along smoothly. Otherwise? Disaster. A little more time here and we shall transfer the time out to the garage and begin to make changes. Small, but changes nonetheless. Later comes the flood, later comes the drift, later brings the rain. The weather outside resembles the storm within. Gray and wet all over, with all the yards in disarray and shit everywhere thanks to the wind. The boy scouts (ugh) left a notice for food donations to be picked up this coming Saturday, meaning we can create a huge dent in the mass of dry goods out there. All of the crap which comes this way from the city is mostly useless, so donating the food is a positive. The rest needs to head over to the other donation place one of these days after being listed for a tax deduction. Both combined will create a good amount of empty space in our garage which can then be put to much better use. A little at a time, so long as nothing new drifts in to piss us off. The weather matches this feeling and will help keep the work nice and cool. A few pluses. The other shit is still present, waiting in the wings for quiet moments when we direct the anger toward those causes and the air they waste. The north will accompany us through the trials of organization and thinking today... Thinking with a striking resemblance to that of the mid-zeros when we threatened to shut off the cable television. Hopefully skies remain gray for the duration. This is beginning to resemble the cavern. Heh. We can already see the anger flaring in a little while. While the feeling and disdain are generally expected, we do not need such complications after realizing the massive differences between ourselves and others. They were already fairly-well illuminated thanks to the years of us changing, but lately the situation feels much worse and is pushing us again. The anger is related to two sides of the die right now. One is here and has been for many years while the other is here but so fucking veiled that no one can understand or even begin to seek a clear definition. Too fucking bad. We can't have people out there thinking about us. Not at all. Go away, and take all those other assholes with you. More flaring... And then more. Back to 'I'. Wednesday and the birthday of the Marine Corps. I am supposed to go to the bar this afternoon for some cheer with others, yet that depends upon what takes place this morning. My preference is to remain here all fucking day so I can make up for yesterday's fucking pooch screw situation caused by external forces. I really need the time. Ah... 0736 and I am alone. The current period is beginning to resemble the summer of seventeen -- August, in particular -- in that the dreams are becoming dire again. There was an essay published during that shit summer which gleaned and basically went all the way around the barn with regard to the problem. The main issue with this type of subject, along with the desperate and depressive mood which has resulted in such a flare, is there can be no solution, resolution or anything else which can align with the dreams. The whole thing is impossible and will eventually be my undoing. This is in stone. Foreseen, written, however the fuck or whatever the fuck typical popular phrasing you wish to attach and run with, the fact is nothing can change anymore. Period. If only... Today will be spent doing this and that, meaning little in-between items which can be addressed without anything else going on. As I already said, I have no intention of going to the bar this afternoon but may still if the hours ahead can become fulfilling on at least one front. The important front is no longer illuminated. Just like in seventeen, the desperation and weakness are taking over my psyche on a daily basis. I'll have to remain vigilant and busy today so as to avoid falling all the way down. Yesterday slammed the point home that I cannot and will not change the manner in which I see the world, and that leaves me reduced to whatever has the power to keep me sane. Eventually I may throw myself in a dangerous direction, though. I can't deny the possibility because what I am currently dealing with is already growing worse than that fateful essay four-plus years ago... The very first to be penned on this machine. And that writing was the catalyst of two horrible realizations, one during last year and the other just two months ago. The current pile of shit under which I now reside is simply a symptom of the former. Not good. This day is so far very difficult, meaning I will have to employ some new devices in order to make it to the evening. The dream is not out there. A new search has begun and will soon take over this site. All of the sentient weaponry pretty much summed up years of difficulty, although going back to seventeen tells me that this day resembles the time when I wrote about the failing fantasy in the first place... No better, of course, because four years have passed. Nothing improves because some of the weapons are people. I should not even have to begin describing what that means to who I have become. If so, you should be on some other site or reading children's books. The weapons have done enough damage to hold me down forever. I do not like problems without solutions. All those years of troubleshooting electronics and other systems with resolve have tainted my perception of anything requiring a fix. Not everything is as such... Fixable. And this is the fucking worst. I can't fucking stand feeling this way yet there is not one fucking thing I can do about it. Bandages -- temporary and worn out -- are all I have. They fade. They fall off. They fail. Right now sitting in this living room and considering every situation since coming to this place continues to push me back to seventeen and the dire motivation to write an unclear synopsis of my feelings. That entry will go down in history as the summation of me. And I do not have the first damned clue as to how to proceed other than going through the same fucking motions. I have a load of laundry going and the routine ahead. Nothing more. At some point I will move away from this, pour a glass of depressant over ice, and do what is expected of me. Expectations are dangerous, however. This is a bad time. yes/NO. My only outlet is not working. Nothing good can come of this state of mind and vastness of loss. The outlet angered me but still eased the dream. Now it does very little. The dream is like an immovable object I cannot explain here. Honestly, the dream drove the other dream... That stupid fucking machine of which I spoke last year. Yep, stupid. The mere fact that I had been thinking in such a direction lends to my decreased satisfaction in life and diminished ability to reason my way through anything. Absolutely ridiculous. I hate it now. Everything is falling apart. My friends are up there and they don't matter... Not even the lovely Jamie. The chores await and they don't matter. I have to go to the market and shopping doesn't matter. The evening will arrive as always, I will feel that it is deserved, but the evening doesn't matter. The dream sits behind my eyes, stabbing me over and over, and it doesn't matter. Why I am doing any of this shit is now beyond comprehension. The little enjoyments are there, but they don't matter either. I used to mention walking into la mer. Many occurrences of that idea. It is shining once again. The 'failing' mentioned four years ago is causing nothing more than flailing. This is not good. Too many roads not traveled. I never imagined being in such a position after all these years, and I can be pretty fucking insightful. I guess such a fact doesn't matter anymore, just like the rest. This is a bad fucking time. I cannot stress that enough. The bad mood continues and will drive me to the evening like an overpowered locomotive. I will care for all the crap around the house, go to the store, return, and care for more. In an around every fucking step will be images and running video in my head of those parts of life forever burned away. And the worst fact is that I DID NOT FUCKING DO THIS TO MYSELF. Read that again, and then write it down and eat the fucking pulp. Digest it, let it fall into the toilet, and then look down to see what has become of all the damage for forty fucking years. It will resemble more than you think. I went to the market. I also found some dipshits coming into the living room on the south wall. No idea of where they may be originating, but at least it was another opportunity to clean. Whatever. Considering the issues in my head at present, dealing with the little fuckers is not very difficult. I'll keep an eye on things until the sun goes down. My brain cannot be sprayed with a treatment, though. Nothing helps. Well, there was nothing of note in the market. I suppose that's good. Laundry is still going, too. At least I can still work around the house. Better than nothing. This day holds a resemblance to the newness of the machine on which I now type, as well as the fantasy being drained out of my head, only to be replaced with nothing good. I don't even know how I made it this far. Four years since that entry. Unbelievable. Back to the hideous 'we'... Thursday. Flags out. Coffee and gangsters, with one of them being a complete asshole. This morning we are trying to consider 'outs', meaning some sort of plan just in case everything turns to actual shit. The trial of yesterday will not leave our insides. We do not wish a repeat, either. But we already know the pendulum will swing back toward the bad parts and leave us just as frustrated and desperate as we've been for a very long time. No matter how unacceptable or continuously irritating this situation has become, we can STILL do nothing about it. No control whatsoever. This is the diametric opposite of everything we have come to understand as good in life... The most compelling, and something we have written of before. Either we must force the issue or parts of living which have become the worst dreams in existence will need to be carved out of our brains. There can be no third option. Already this morning -- despite the holiday and all that goes with it -- we have been considering ways of petting the nap backwards again just to make some people wonder what the fuck is wrong. In these late days, we have little else. The trial will return shortly and leave us in a very bad mood. We are beginning to wonder how other people may deal with this type of problem, yet still we cannot speak of it here or to another person (people) out there in society. That is a definite no-go. In fact, we have been endeavoring to clam up about everything because no matter what takes place inside, no one else can do a fucking thing about it anyway, so speaking is worthless. Our mood will soon become much worse than right now. Jamie's eyes are huge sometimes. Her beauty is forcing 'us' back to 'me'. I will not have the house to myself for the second time this week. Not good, although I did engineer a method for occupying my own space and shutting out the world as I work around the house. I figured it out two days ago and it operated well as my typical daily space was commandeered and I had to work around everything which normally brings me comfort. No more hope there, honestly, as the most important comfort in life is not only absent but so stirring that the tiniest chore seems insurmountable. Anyway, I have the usual crap and then more preparation in the garage for the food donation in two days. I need to ensure everything is ready so I can rid the garage of all that excess. Empty space is a good thing these days. Anything further will have to be considered later this morning. Right now I have to sit here and clear some things out of the brain. Ah, that scene between Jamie, Edie and Sharon. Just a conversation, yet the first time I really looked at her eyes in such a way so as to force my brain into a full-tilt investigation of the show. Damn. Each morning lately is beginning to resemble those mornings in the cave. I went through a period in which I felt so fucking defeated that whatever I decided to do each day no longer mattered... Happiness, hope, comfort, none of it. I basically gave up and remained there with my broken dreams and those items I purchased which still brought a smile from time to time. They are all gone now, of course, although some have been replaced because I don't know how else to smile anymore. This morning is not good but I am handling it thus far. I'll have to kick into something else within the hour, too. Jesus God is she something to see. I don't know why it happened, but I am completely enamored... Still. Enough of her. She cannot help me. The morning is tough. This one showed me something I was not expecting, too. I can't reveal it here or I will be shunned off the fucking planet, but suffice to say it is important to me and must be left the hell alone right now. This is a bad time. Place? It never changes, no matter what kind of pain I am feeling or trouble on the horizon. The 'give a shit' platitude has worn thinner that I would have expected. Well, I don't care about that anymore. I have to focus upon whatever can be done to keep my head out of the fucking sewer these days. I am so close to losing everything right through my mouth that I must be careful. Alienating others right now would be very bad for my lifestyle. Everything must be kept in check no matter how much frustration I have to plow. It never ends. And believe me when I say this is worse than my paltry description. This is a bad time. 'Forty-five minutes for some grilled eggplant?' Atta boy, Patsy. yes/NO. I suppose I will have to keep busy today, lest the mind take over and drop me off a cliff again. As much as I cannot have that right now, I do not see many options. The comfort level has dropped of late and does not seem to be heading for a rise. And I DID NOT do this, either. The state of life has been 'done' to me by others. Nothing seems to help unless I can find distraction. The resemblance of this time to that of eleven has become striking and I feel those tinges again. Running away, isolating, or otherwise making myself scarce with regard to people. When I dashed away back then, I blinded myself to everything going on here and dove into other people who knew nothing of me. I cannot do that now because I have painted myself into a corner for the third time. The work around this house may help, however. It worked yesterday for quite a while before I found the time to reflect upon the resemblance. Mornings are always a combination of the worst and the good. This site and the IDE are the good while the remainder of me is the worst. Busy today, definitely. Carmine and Chris are going to California to secure business, which means Alicia and her unreal features will be splayed across the screen very soon. As if she wasn't enough of a strike, there will also be the dancer who displays much of the same, albeit in less clothing. I still can't believe the combination of her waist, hips and legs. Moreover, the dancer's face is unbelievably gorgeous, all dark and alluring while she's on the stage. Every fucking time this episode comes around the bend, I stare at her facial expression and my insides explode toward the thought of holding her and gazing into those dark eyes. She looks content for the most part, yet there is something else drawing me like a gun, much like that fucking stunning beauty who looked inside me with more power than anyone else in the world. The dancer on the screen is gazing where told by the EPs and director, while the race girl was staring at yours truly. I still can't get past that shit. I have two screen captures of Alicia, too, but still have not included them here. Don't know if that would be a good idea. The point is I am EXACTLY the same as in years passed. Exactly, right down to those missing pieces and the dreams they have created over time. Holes in me dictate yearning in directions I cannot explore... EVER. As I said in the previous paragraph, busy is the only option. I have to shove everything back far enough to keep my brain out of the fucking flame of desire. This is a bad time. Every day is bad now. There is Alicia, bare-breasted and ferocious. That woman is scary-beautiful. Whatever. She means nothing to me and only serves to reinforce just how weak and desperate I have become lately. They all do that. I don't even know why I own a fucking television anymore. Everything causes problems, no matter the genre. I have to do something to keep myself occupied. But what to do? The garage again? I will not have my usual devices because she will be here studying, so the portable media will be attached to me all day long, but what I am going to accomplish is up in the air. The hour of nine is approaching, too. I suppose I can embrace whatever little things keep my head out of those millions of bad places. The sun is shining. It helps. More options. Good God, Benny's wife is fucking gorgeous and he's after the damned hostess? She is also something special, but honestly the type of beauty his wife displays puts the hostess to shame. Her eyes are deep and emotional while the other one appears devious and diabolical. Not good. But that's the way he was written. Her, too. Frightening woman, to be sure. But I digress again. Beauty and the ramifications of such have a way of getting to me unlike anything else in the world. I did not want this. Anyway... The day awaits. Stop. Friday morning with coffee and quiet. I needed this after yesterday and the morning business. Just might sit here until this entire entry is finished and the next one is begun. Right now I don't give a hoot in hell what else takes place during the next several hours. Don't care. The mood resembles those mornings in the cave when I used to decide to keep myself to myself and shut the world out. Nights, too. The lights on and dimmed, front curtains and blinds thrown, and the blackout drapes clamped so as to keep my color inside the space. I would do that for a few days and get the point across that I was not the person to be disturbed. It worked. This morning I feel like building a wall outside the house that bears a resemblance to the rampart around my psyche. The hours ahead are going to be appreciated unlike any day in recent memory. The problems continue and resemble the mornings in the cave, just like the crap above. The situation is becoming unacceptable now, meaning I may turn to drastic and reckless methods in order to alleviate what has been occupying my mind each day. The anger continues to build just below the surface and keeping it out of the eyes of other people has been increasingly difficult. Little snippets here and there tell me that I must be very careful in order to avoid blowing the hell up all over the place. This is a very bad time. Enough of this shit. Honestly? No resemblance to who I used to be. Not even a fucking thread. I have to return to the fortification. No other options. I cannot continue on this path of remembrance and seeking resemblances of the past situations or feelings. This has to stop, now. The more I try to work things out, the more I write. More writing means the same words over and over and over. I can't have this any longer. My mood lately is such that a major shift must be embraced and extended, lest I continue to wither away. There has to be something I can change which can both keep people at arm's length and solidify my position with both feet in the trees. Whatever calls will have to wait. They will have to wait. By close of business today I simply MUST see differently than during the past four hundred days. Last year I became pissed off at the way people think and act, effectively throwing a ton of connections into the incinerator. Now I see that most of what I have said here is meaningless without actually moving in a new direction. Oh, that sounds real nice on the surface, but I have yet to do anything meaningful. Fuck the rails. Not happy. Not by a damned sight. Fucking unacceptable. The time is again at hand for the 'we'. We are not tied to something immovable. We can get up and out of the din, yet people will not understand one iota of the altered mindset and behavior. Well, they do not matter. Hold your own strings. Pull, manipulate, fix it. We can't do it anymore because the effort takes us away from the internal repair and fortification which has become necessary for living on. We are not tied. Remember the 'rope'? Dripping with blood and beauty, attached to some unseen anchor point above and in the dark, we clung. That was nearly seven years ago and since then all we have done is fall all over ourselves because of the beauty. The foxes. The vulpine enemies, gorgeous and alluring as they may be. We still see them all over the fucking place. They will never go away, they are impossible. Not one fucking entry in a year has avoided mention of the beauty, be it on the television or out there among the mass of sheep. We always see something and fall down because we have given away the power. They have it. All of it, for now. Gushing means we have been influenced far too much. The steering system has been under the control of those aspects of the human body which bring compulsion unlike anything else in life. Well, we've had it with them. They will remain 'in mind', yet on the outside we will have to fortify against their intrinsic power and that which we have given away. Right up there at this moment we see Cara in her dress and boots and the instinctive pull forced thoughts of flying up her clothing and devouring her one inch at a time. We cannot help that shit because the shift in power has fucked up the mind. She is an ideal example of the vulpine influence and the idea of fulfillment, yet we have to pull free from them (her) and attempt to steer this vehicle away. Where? Toward the north, we suppose. The only way. But... Is any of this even possible? Can we do anything different? Cara resembles Dawn, and Dawn brought much trepidation. We cannot say why. The resulting weakness is now beginning to resemble our freefall back in eleven when there was a figurative choke attached over which we had zero control. Not good. The examples ranged from sweetness and goodness to evil and conspiratorial. One more time... Not good. Duality, agendas, falseness, bullshit, everything. The sum of all that crap? The shift? The problem we have had for many years? One word... Power. And you thought the word might be 'control'. Sorry. Fuck you. Another pull away from the screen? Jamie's face late in the sixth season is a universe in and of itself. See? We have been completely separated from any fucking resemblance to who we were by the fucking beauty and influence, power and bullshit aplenty. All of them affecting everything we are and have been for forty fucking years. Yes, the two situations back then caused their share of problems and relate to this crap, but the fact remains that time is gone forever and they are still here... Everywhere... Pushing, pulling, and disallowing like never before. We gave it away and need some of it back. This is a bad fucking day, people. Very bad. We would have preferred leaving Jamie out of this, however she must be included due to her defining a good portion of our Goddamned issues. Not her fault, but the collective 'doing' of all. Them. And now we know. Today must hold zero fucking resemblance to yesterday. Otherwise we are doomed. At least the title has not been lost. 'Belief is often the death of reason.' What a fucking day so far. Half past eleven and the routine is finished, thanks in part to Johann Strauss and a few other compositions which stir us. We have not donned the MDRs for this genre in a long time, the gap thus providing vision and an openness we've not felt since very early this year. A movie yesterday slapped us upside the head with a classical opus we had all but forgotten for many years. This is a good thing for us, but not so much for them. There is now a sliver of a chance the power can swing away from the labia and back in our direction. Force. Leverage, as in the past. The dire nature of this current period has become clear. As much as we have lamented and bitched about progress, the advancement of wireless technology coupled with massive linear battery energy has provided us the space to fully embrace that which is most important right now... Peace. The comfort of video media is on hold. Onward and into the black we go. The slippage came to mind yesterday as one of the gearheads drove by with camshaft dictating a phenomenal lope. Such a mechanical dialog is rare these days. The Slipper came to mind -- or as we referred to it, 'The Precious' -- and brought on loss unlike anything in recent memory. We have written a bit about that most stirring of machines, yet to this day the memory kills. This may be a bad time, but the fateful morning when we realized the loss of our most prized possession and something representing many years of dreaming which culminated in the largest emotional victory in our time is actually monumentally worse. We had given up completely, only to find the necessary drive in achieving what had been a seemingly impossible goal. That goal paved the way for the dream that became 'The Precious'. And then? Just over a year later we realized the reason for losing that most desirable of machines: Weakness. Desperation. Reckless endangerment to ourselves and others, as caused by a fox. Yes, ladies and gentleman, we gave up every fucking thing in the world which was important in favor of running toward Satan himself. Slippage. The Slipper slipped away due to becoming so clouded and confused as to the real importance and dashed toward the shine. That would not be the final occasion of such blind stupidity. Sitting on this fucking sofa right now resembles that period in the cave as we lamented just how unbelievably fucking weak we had become. Slippage. Everything slipped. Now we are here. This represents the worst possible situation imaginable. Yes, we said that. All of the losses, running, posturing, and yelling have combined to show us the image of ourselves. The image of weakness. The resemblance to eleven is striking. Murderous, yearning. This bad mood shall never end. Fuck this topic. Oh, wait until the next title. 'The Resemblance' is nothing. Look at the vampires. The remainder of the day does not matter any longer. Nor does tomorrow or whatever comes after. We no longer give half a shit about others, only ourselves. Too much has been wasted and burned to ash in an effort to lift the mass of shit moving around beyond that door twelve feet away. The enemies, all. Since the routine is finished, we can branch here, study what is now necessary for our own advancement -- including entirely new methods of dealing with the problems inside -- and streamline everything in the surrounding area. Yep. A distinct 'lessening' of crap. We don't give a blue fuck in a bucket what others may think of this direction. We need it in order to draw breath, the alternative being a very striking display of dissatisfaction in the backyard. Not good. So, the best path for other people right now is to go on doing whatever it is that makes them tick. We will be involved to a limited extent, meaning whatever has the power to help us go where we need. That is all. Trees. Clouds. Snow. Oh boy did this ever go bad. You did this, motherfuckers. All of you. Keep pointing yourselves in those directions which bring on the stupid fucking sense of belonging. Maybe one day you'll realize exactly to what you REALLY belong. Fall off the edge of the planet. The sooner the better. You did this. Do we feel liberated? Of course not. We are still intelligent to some degree, and that means we realize nothing said here is going to matter to another soul or make any difference in anything. We understand. What is taking place is literally inside. The outside will eventually follow suit and piss people off. That is wonderful. We can make one small point about the shift today, and that is the catalyst. Well, two really. One piece of music which has already been mentioned, and another involving the most powerful and complex musical instrument in existence. Don't know? Fucking figure it out. Liberation? Not at all. We are merely working through what we need in order to finish this day and welcome another. That is it. Cut. And. Dry. Focus? Shifted. Power? We still don't know. Comfort? We will fucking force it or loose the worst mass of shit imaginable. Big smile! Fucking asshats. Noon. We had an inkling that this entry would be completed before the business day ended. Whatever. In a little while we will again embrace the vampires on the televisions. We like the characters despite the subject matter going to hell in a proverbial handbasket at some point during every episode. The fact is the production is amazing, characters bright and compelling, and the storyline is insane. We like all of it enough to deal with the downsides. Holed up here today is wonderful and we can watch whatever the fuck may blow skirts up without answering to another fucking living soul. We've bowed to enough already. Enough for a ten fucking lifetimes. No more will we sacrifice our own needs for those of other people. They can deal with everything alone and wonder why. Piss off, cunts. Now would be a good time for the little motherfuckers to invade the house. We are in the fucking IDEAL mood to break out the gas and torch everything. Bring it on, we need the outlet. 'Anger' is not a strong enough term any longer. Maybe 'hatred', for both ourselves (weakness) and other people (manipulation, duality, bullshit, and the end-all be-all reason... The endless pull of vulpine influence). Enjoy. Nearing the halfway point between twelve and one, also halfway to hell. Time for a refill. Too bad we cannot refill ambition. Shall. yes/NO. Blackest of black. Bleak... But not for us. The din shall continue until such time as we deem the circumstances acceptable. Do you know what that means? Or has your vision been blinded by everything which blinds the mass? Do you see that, at least? Nope. Just like during the days of the auto parts, the north cuts through, clarifies, and binds us to the reality that the world has become one gigantic swirling bowl of shit. The problem is we continue to press the flush lever but nothing goes away. It just keeps building up. No one else can see, least of all those who profess to be helping. More bullshit. The resemblance to the first call from the north is unreal right now. We did not expect to be pulled as such in these late days. Honestly. 1.5 million words here as of today. Just saying. The north was present way back during the glow (late, really), and now it has become the priority once again. We can do nothing about it, however, due to everything stated down half this fucking page. We said 'you did this'. Well, we did some of it, although our doing is your doing. Read that five more times. The din is apparent and will go on in perpetuity. Effects of being affected. The dark, dank, dreary din is taking over. The current period combined with that fucking vulpine influence and endless bullshit has ruined everything, for all time. Forever, and that is pretty damned permanent. Words chosen carefully, distance measured the same. Limits realized, yet not seen. You did this. Look in the mirror and gaze upon the world. All the same. All down. Selfish and arrogant. Full of you. Not us. We are full of every resulting glance and action. We are limited now, too much inside. Far too much and zero chance of either answers, reasoning, or recovery. This is it. Black, bleak, ash. Sweep it up and toss it out with your fake charms. You will not need them any longer. Was this predetermined? Or something we did not see? You are not listening because you do not see, either. Good job, fuckheads. We were fucking pulled into this shit. Honestly. We were pulled and thought it was good and right and all that other shit because of being blinded by both loss and desperation. The situation we created over there was out of a deep-seated need for a drastic change, yet we went about the whole thing wrong. There may not have been a good way to make a change, so a small window decorated with shiny things and flowers was all it took for us to leap. And leap, we did. All the fucking way to hell. Afterward? The same Goddamned need clouded everything important and we fucking did it. Again. Pulled by them... By Satan and his shrouded secrecy. Now look where we are. Nice. For years we tried to do things right and follow our dreams, hoping something would come about and reopen possibility. Unfortunately, and partially driven by the hereditary need to care for others, we have fucking lost everything forever. Now we are a mere speck. The pull succeeded for others. Not for us. Loss. Lost. Finished. Every fucking path is dark. Hence our need for the forest mindset, yet even that is a stretch because of being led around by the nose. Again... Nice. One chance for life and we squandered every avenue, effectively combining exits into one giant pile of depressive shit. At this very moment, sitting here with the MDRs and IDE, we see the clear resemblance to eleven. We did it again. You did it again. Well, one tiny difference: In eleven we sat with a pair of digital surround headphones. Now only stereo. One on the nose, we see over there as displayed by the nice clock. We have accomplished nothing in two hours. Likely this will not change. Everything appears trivial, useless, and stupid now. Housework. Laundry. Media. Not even the idea of some lunch is meaningful or enticing. Nothing. 2770 occurrences of the word 'nothing' as of the previous sentence. That should have been an omen of sorts. We did not know. We only suspected. The remaining hours will be spent as blanks in the cylinder of life. Nada. Projects? None are ever completed. The bar? No fucking way. We would sit as a hole in the room and surrounded by 'them'. We can't have that right now. The garage? Don't care. This is a bad time, indeed. The resemblance is of nothing we have ever known, yet everything we have been... Everything we've done. The worst is yet to come, but there will be an end. No countdown, no threatening terms. Sit there and wonder. You cannot trust us. Trust the black." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Resemblance Mature content No. 274 Published November 12th, 2021 1:07pm pst read ( words) Past entries "This is a bad time. yes/NO. NO. I know what is happening here and I can't say a fucking thing about it. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Too sensitive, just like me. Overly and overtly. This is a bad fucking time. Tony's fiancée has huge eyes, something which you may already know tends to stir me depending upon the surrounding face. I've mentioned such a fact three times prior to this entry, meaning it might be time to break out the gangster log again and keep up. Ah... Coffee. I will not be home alone today, though. There will be a bit of a hitch in the giddy-up during the early morning. I am already a bit out of sorts due to the noise inside the house, damn it. Whatever. Tuesday morning will turn into Tuesday afternoon soon enough. Just another pain in my fucking ass when otherwise this morning would have been splendid. I really needed the peace and quiet. Now I must head in another direction. At least the weather is not as cold. I was daydreaming about the glow earlier. The dates on the shows combined with recalling my truck and other things I owned at the time took over shortly after sunrise and I am still feeling nostalgic. The bad part is knowing nothing will ever glow again. Sometimes I feel a tinge when being here resembles the apartment in eleven -- mostly the beginning of that stay when I was trying to make the place comfortable. The glow is different, though, as there is a huge gradient between my feelings and life during each period. Magical versus paranoid, wondrous as opposed to depressing. So vastly different, those two parts of my life. And then throw in the current period for comparison, right? Why the hell not? I've been bringing up all these varying sections of the calendar for so long that right now I see no reason to avoid the mix. The shows yesterday brought the golden period back into me, though. That one is the clincher of everything these days. Daydreaming, recalling some things we did, and often trying to remember more detail just in case I wish to jot it down. The problem of comparison comes around every time. The current period just feels so fucking late. It often resembles eleven quite a bit. The fact is everything I felt back during those four years was positive, whereas now there is very little of the same. Most everything is very down. The outlook, the lateness of days, the fact that nothing is new or surprising any longer, and that deep depression which tends to flare whenever the gaze ahead reveals no more possibility. There are little things which resemble the glow, yet the reality cannot be denied or altered. No more wonder, and believe me it was important. The bar two days ago illuminated such an idea so brightly that I could barely follow the conversation. Watching the games is enjoyable, so thank Christ they take up most of the time there. Once the topic is steered away from sports, however, everything goes to hell very quickly. I just cannot identify with those mindsets or understand the motivation in seeking all the stupid shit either on the social media or otherwise. What typically happens is I begin thinking about when my life was simpler in comparison and more fulfilling due to being near those who shared my interests. Just like after the glow and upon returning to California, the entire computer period took over and I had a discovery each day which pulled me into a world of fascination. That little bubble soon helped me to change careers into something more comfortable and suited to my talents. The 'afterglow', if you will, lasted less than a year and a half before being altered permanently. I still make comparisons, though... Most days find me trying to reach for anything with a resemblance to the glow. 'Adherents bent, opinionless; Following scent of commonness.' 'I' to 'we' again. We need to get out there today and move some shit around. The garage is beginning to resemble the period prior to the motorcycle being stored here and it looks bad. Gradual shit streaming in from the city combined with all of the lumber yet to be utilized means the center area is no longer free of obstructions and it is making us feel crappy. Moreover, the calls from the north are beginning to help center our feelings lately and can enhance whatever mood we choose, meaning more will be accomplished as we attempt to remain balanced throughout this day. Bad mood, though. Many things have drifted toward our grip of solace and interfered with the same, meaning we must cut off enough to free ourselves from the potential grasp of adversarial minds. We cannot be altered. Not now. As long as we can remain at a distance from those who would derail us, the days can move along smoothly. Otherwise? Disaster. A little more time here and we shall transfer the time out to the garage and begin to make changes. Small, but changes nonetheless. Later comes the flood, later comes the drift, later brings the rain. The weather outside resembles the storm within. Gray and wet all over, with all the yards in disarray and shit everywhere thanks to the wind. The boy scouts (ugh) left a notice for food donations to be picked up this coming Saturday, meaning we can create a huge dent in the mass of dry goods out there. All of the crap which comes this way from the city is mostly useless, so donating the food is a positive. The rest needs to head over to the other donation place one of these days after being listed for a tax deduction. Both combined will create a good amount of empty space in our garage which can then be put to much better use. A little at a time, so long as nothing new drifts in to piss us off. The weather matches this feeling and will help keep the work nice and cool. A few pluses. The other shit is still present, waiting in the wings for quiet moments when we direct the anger toward those causes and the air they waste. The north will accompany us through the trials of organization and thinking today... Thinking with a striking resemblance to that of the mid-zeros when we threatened to shut off the cable television. Hopefully skies remain gray for the duration. This is beginning to resemble the cavern. Heh. We can already see the anger flaring in a little while. While the feeling and disdain are generally expected, we do not need such complications after realizing the massive differences between ourselves and others. They were already fairly-well illuminated thanks to the years of us changing, but lately the situation feels much worse and is pushing us again. The anger is related to two sides of the die right now. One is here and has been for many years while the other is here but so fucking veiled that no one can understand or even begin to seek a clear definition. Too fucking bad. We can't have people out there thinking about us. Not at all. Go away, and take all those other assholes with you. More flaring... And then more. Back to 'I'. Wednesday and the birthday of the Marine Corps. I am supposed to go to the bar this afternoon for some cheer with others, yet that depends upon what takes place this morning. My preference is to remain here all fucking day so I can make up for yesterday's fucking pooch screw situation caused by external forces. I really need the time. Ah... 0736 and I am alone. The current period is beginning to resemble the summer of seventeen -- August, in particular -- in that the dreams are becoming dire again. There was an essay published during that shit summer which gleaned and basically went all the way around the barn with regard to the problem. The main issue with this type of subject, along with the desperate and depressive mood which has resulted in such a flare, is there can be no solution, resolution or anything else which can align with the dreams. The whole thing is impossible and will eventually be my undoing. This is in stone. Foreseen, written, however the fuck or whatever the fuck typical popular phrasing you wish to attach and run with, the fact is nothing can change anymore. Period. If only... Today will be spent doing this and that, meaning little in-between items which can be addressed without anything else going on. As I already said, I have no intention of going to the bar this afternoon but may still if the hours ahead can become fulfilling on at least one front. The important front is no longer illuminated. Just like in seventeen, the desperation and weakness are taking over my psyche on a daily basis. I'll have to remain vigilant and busy today so as to avoid falling all the way down. Yesterday slammed the point home that I cannot and will not change the manner in which I see the world, and that leaves me reduced to whatever has the power to keep me sane. Eventually I may throw myself in a dangerous direction, though. I can't deny the possibility because what I am currently dealing with is already growing worse than that fateful essay four-plus years ago... The very first to be penned on this machine. And that writing was the catalyst of two horrible realizations, one during last year and the other just two months ago. The current pile of shit under which I now reside is simply a symptom of the former. Not good. This day is so far very difficult, meaning I will have to employ some new devices in order to make it to the evening. The dream is not out there. A new search has begun and will soon take over this site. All of the sentient weaponry pretty much summed up years of difficulty, although going back to seventeen tells me that this day resembles the time when I wrote about the failing fantasy in the first place... No better, of course, because four years have passed. Nothing improves because some of the weapons are people. I should not even have to begin describing what that means to who I have become. If so, you should be on some other site or reading children's books. The weapons have done enough damage to hold me down forever. I do not like problems without solutions. All those years of troubleshooting electronics and other systems with resolve have tainted my perception of anything requiring a fix. Not everything is as such... Fixable. And this is the fucking worst. I can't fucking stand feeling this way yet there is not one fucking thing I can do about it. Bandages -- temporary and worn out -- are all I have. They fade. They fall off. They fail. Right now sitting in this living room and considering every situation since coming to this place continues to push me back to seventeen and the dire motivation to write an unclear synopsis of my feelings. That entry will go down in history as the summation of me. And I do not have the first damned clue as to how to proceed other than going through the same fucking motions. I have a load of laundry going and the routine ahead. Nothing more. At some point I will move away from this, pour a glass of depressant over ice, and do what is expected of me. Expectations are dangerous, however. This is a bad time. yes/NO. My only outlet is not working. Nothing good can come of this state of mind and vastness of loss. The outlet angered me but still eased the dream. Now it does very little. The dream is like an immovable object I cannot explain here. Honestly, the dream drove the other dream... That stupid fucking machine of which I spoke last year. Yep, stupid. The mere fact that I had been thinking in such a direction lends to my decreased satisfaction in life and diminished ability to reason my way through anything. Absolutely ridiculous. I hate it now. Everything is falling apart. My friends are up there and they don't matter... Not even the lovely Jamie. The chores await and they don't matter. I have to go to the market and shopping doesn't matter. The evening will arrive as always, I will feel that it is deserved, but the evening doesn't matter. The dream sits behind my eyes, stabbing me over and over, and it doesn't matter. Why I am doing any of this shit is now beyond comprehension. The little enjoyments are there, but they don't matter either. I used to mention walking into la mer. Many occurrences of that idea. It is shining once again. The 'failing' mentioned four years ago is causing nothing more than flailing. This is not good. Too many roads not traveled. I never imagined being in such a position after all these years, and I can be pretty fucking insightful. I guess such a fact doesn't matter anymore, just like the rest. This is a bad fucking time. I cannot stress that enough. The bad mood continues and will drive me to the evening like an overpowered locomotive. I will care for all the crap around the house, go to the store, return, and care for more. In an around every fucking step will be images and running video in my head of those parts of life forever burned away. And the worst fact is that I DID NOT FUCKING DO THIS TO MYSELF. Read that again, and then write it down and eat the fucking pulp. Digest it, let it fall into the toilet, and then look down to see what has become of all the damage for forty fucking years. It will resemble more than you think. I went to the market. I also found some dipshits coming into the living room on the south wall. No idea of where they may be originating, but at least it was another opportunity to clean. Whatever. Considering the issues in my head at present, dealing with the little fuckers is not very difficult. I'll keep an eye on things until the sun goes down. My brain cannot be sprayed with a treatment, though. Nothing helps. Well, there was nothing of note in the market. I suppose that's good. Laundry is still going, too. At least I can still work around the house. Better than nothing. This day holds a resemblance to the newness of the machine on which I now type, as well as the fantasy being drained out of my head, only to be replaced with nothing good. I don't even know how I made it this far. Four years since that entry. Unbelievable. Back to the hideous 'we'... Thursday. Flags out. Coffee and gangsters, with one of them being a complete asshole. This morning we are trying to consider 'outs', meaning some sort of plan just in case everything turns to actual shit. The trial of yesterday will not leave our insides. We do not wish a repeat, either. But we already know the pendulum will swing back toward the bad parts and leave us just as frustrated and desperate as we've been for a very long time. No matter how unacceptable or continuously irritating this situation has become, we can STILL do nothing about it. No control whatsoever. This is the diametric opposite of everything we have come to understand as good in life... The most compelling, and something we have written of before. Either we must force the issue or parts of living which have become the worst dreams in existence will need to be carved out of our brains. There can be no third option. Already this morning -- despite the holiday and all that goes with it -- we have been considering ways of petting the nap backwards again just to make some people wonder what the fuck is wrong. In these late days, we have little else. The trial will return shortly and leave us in a very bad mood. We are beginning to wonder how other people may deal with this type of problem, yet still we cannot speak of it here or to another person (people) out there in society. That is a definite no-go. In fact, we have been endeavoring to clam up about everything because no matter what takes place inside, no one else can do a fucking thing about it anyway, so speaking is worthless. Our mood will soon become much worse than right now. Jamie's eyes are huge sometimes. Her beauty is forcing 'us' back to 'me'. I will not have the house to myself for the second time this week. Not good, although I did engineer a method for occupying my own space and shutting out the world as I work around the house. I figured it out two days ago and it operated well as my typical daily space was commandeered and I had to work around everything which normally brings me comfort. No more hope there, honestly, as the most important comfort in life is not only absent but so stirring that the tiniest chore seems insurmountable. Anyway, I have the usual crap and then more preparation in the garage for the food donation in two days. I need to ensure everything is ready so I can rid the garage of all that excess. Empty space is a good thing these days. Anything further will have to be considered later this morning. Right now I have to sit here and clear some things out of the brain. Ah, that scene between Jamie, Edie and Sharon. Just a conversation, yet the first time I really looked at her eyes in such a way so as to force my brain into a full-tilt investigation of the show. Damn. Each morning lately is beginning to resemble those mornings in the cave. I went through a period in which I felt so fucking defeated that whatever I decided to do each day no longer mattered... Happiness, hope, comfort, none of it. I basically gave up and remained there with my broken dreams and those items I purchased which still brought a smile from time to time. They are all gone now, of course, although some have been replaced because I don't know how else to smile anymore. This morning is not good but I am handling it thus far. I'll have to kick into something else within the hour, too. Jesus God is she something to see. I don't know why it happened, but I am completely enamored... Still. Enough of her. She cannot help me. The morning is tough. This one showed me something I was not expecting, too. I can't reveal it here or I will be shunned off the fucking planet, but suffice to say it is important to me and must be left the hell alone right now. This is a bad time. Place? It never changes, no matter what kind of pain I am feeling or trouble on the horizon. The 'give a shit' platitude has worn thinner that I would have expected. Well, I don't care about that anymore. I have to focus upon whatever can be done to keep my head out of the fucking sewer these days. I am so close to losing everything right through my mouth that I must be careful. Alienating others right now would be very bad for my lifestyle. Everything must be kept in check no matter how much frustration I have to plow. It never ends. And believe me when I say this is worse than my paltry description. This is a bad time. 'Forty-five minutes for some grilled eggplant?' Atta boy, Patsy. yes/NO. I suppose I will have to keep busy today, lest the mind take over and drop me off a cliff again. As much as I cannot have that right now, I do not see many options. The comfort level has dropped of late and does not seem to be heading for a rise. And I DID NOT do this, either. The state of life has been 'done' to me by others. Nothing seems to help unless I can find distraction. The resemblance of this time to that of eleven has become striking and I feel those tinges again. Running away, isolating, or otherwise making myself scarce with regard to people. When I dashed away back then, I blinded myself to everything going on here and dove into other people who knew nothing of me. I cannot do that now because I have painted myself into a corner for the third time. The work around this house may help, however. It worked yesterday for quite a while before I found the time to reflect upon the resemblance. Mornings are always a combination of the worst and the good. This site and the IDE are the good while the remainder of me is the worst. Busy today, definitely. Carmine and Chris are going to California to secure business, which means Alicia and her unreal features will be splayed across the screen very soon. As if she wasn't enough of a strike, there will also be the dancer who displays much of the same, albeit in less clothing. I still can't believe the combination of her waist, hips and legs. Moreover, the dancer's face is unbelievably gorgeous, all dark and alluring while she's on the stage. Every fucking time this episode comes around the bend, I stare at her facial expression and my insides explode toward the thought of holding her and gazing into those dark eyes. She looks content for the most part, yet there is something else drawing me like a gun, much like that fucking stunning beauty who looked inside me with more power than anyone else in the world. The dancer on the screen is gazing where told by the EPs and director, while the race girl was staring at yours truly. I still can't get past that shit. I have two screen captures of Alicia, too, but still have not included them here. Don't know if that would be a good idea. The point is I am EXACTLY the same as in years passed. Exactly, right down to those missing pieces and the dreams they have created over time. Holes in me dictate yearning in directions I cannot explore... EVER. As I said in the previous paragraph, busy is the only option. I have to shove everything back far enough to keep my brain out of the fucking flame of desire. This is a bad time. Every day is bad now. There is Alicia, bare-breasted and ferocious. That woman is scary-beautiful. Whatever. She means nothing to me and only serves to reinforce just how weak and desperate I have become lately. They all do that. I don't even know why I own a fucking television anymore. Everything causes problems, no matter the genre. I have to do something to keep myself occupied. But what to do? The garage again? I will not have my usual devices because she will be here studying, so the portable media will be attached to me all day long, but what I am going to accomplish is up in the air. The hour of nine is approaching, too. I suppose I can embrace whatever little things keep my head out of those millions of bad places. The sun is shining. It helps. More options. Good God, Benny's wife is fucking gorgeous and he's after the damned hostess? She is also something special, but honestly the type of beauty his wife displays puts the hostess to shame. Her eyes are deep and emotional while the other one appears devious and diabolical. Not good. But that's the way he was written. Her, too. Frightening woman, to be sure. But I digress again. Beauty and the ramifications of such have a way of getting to me unlike anything else in the world. I did not want this. Anyway... The day awaits. Stop. Friday morning with coffee and quiet. I needed this after yesterday and the morning business. Just might sit here until this entire entry is finished and the next one is begun. Right now I don't give a hoot in hell what else takes place during the next several hours. Don't care. The mood resembles those mornings in the cave when I used to decide to keep myself to myself and shut the world out. Nights, too. The lights on and dimmed, front curtains and blinds thrown, and the blackout drapes clamped so as to keep my color inside the space. I would do that for a few days and get the point across that I was not the person to be disturbed. It worked. This morning I feel like building a wall outside the house that bears a resemblance to the rampart around my psyche. The hours ahead are going to be appreciated unlike any day in recent memory. The problems continue and resemble the mornings in the cave, just like the crap above. The situation is becoming unacceptable now, meaning I may turn to drastic and reckless methods in order to alleviate what has been occupying my mind each day. The anger continues to build just below the surface and keeping it out of the eyes of other people has been increasingly difficult. Little snippets here and there tell me that I must be very careful in order to avoid blowing the hell up all over the place. This is a very bad time. Enough of this shit. Honestly? No resemblance to who I used to be. Not even a fucking thread. I have to return to the fortification. No other options. I cannot continue on this path of remembrance and seeking resemblances of the past situations or feelings. This has to stop, now. The more I try to work things out, the more I write. More writing means the same words over and over and over. I can't have this any longer. My mood lately is such that a major shift must be embraced and extended, lest I continue to wither away. There has to be something I can change which can both keep people at arm's length and solidify my position with both feet in the trees. Whatever calls will have to wait. They will have to wait. By close of business today I simply MUST see differently than during the past four hundred days. Last year I became pissed off at the way people think and act, effectively throwing a ton of connections into the incinerator. Now I see that most of what I have said here is meaningless without actually moving in a new direction. Oh, that sounds real nice on the surface, but I have yet to do anything meaningful. Fuck the rails. Not happy. Not by a damned sight. Fucking unacceptable. The time is again at hand for the 'we'. We are not tied to something immovable. We can get up and out of the din, yet people will not understand one iota of the altered mindset and behavior. Well, they do not matter. Hold your own strings. Pull, manipulate, fix it. We can't do it anymore because the effort takes us away from the internal repair and fortification which has become necessary for living on. We are not tied. Remember the 'rope'? Dripping with blood and beauty, attached to some unseen anchor point above and in the dark, we clung. That was nearly seven years ago and since then all we have done is fall all over ourselves because of the beauty. The foxes. The vulpine enemies, gorgeous and alluring as they may be. We still see them all over the fucking place. They will never go away, they are impossible. Not one fucking entry in a year has avoided mention of the beauty, be it on the television or out there among the mass of sheep. We always see something and fall down because we have given away the power. They have it. All of it, for now. Gushing means we have been influenced far too much. The steering system has been under the control of those aspects of the human body which bring compulsion unlike anything else in life. Well, we've had it with them. They will remain 'in mind', yet on the outside we will have to fortify against their intrinsic power and that which we have given away. Right up there at this moment we see Cara in her dress and boots and the instinctive pull forced thoughts of flying up her clothing and devouring her one inch at a time. We cannot help that shit because the shift in power has fucked up the mind. She is an ideal example of the vulpine influence and the idea of fulfillment, yet we have to pull free from them (her) and attempt to steer this vehicle away. Where? Toward the north, we suppose. The only way. But... Is any of this even possible? Can we do anything different? Cara resembles Dawn, and Dawn brought much trepidation. We cannot say why. The resulting weakness is now beginning to resemble our freefall back in eleven when there was a figurative choke attached over which we had zero control. Not good. The examples ranged from sweetness and goodness to evil and conspiratorial. One more time... Not good. Duality, agendas, falseness, bullshit, everything. The sum of all that crap? The shift? The problem we have had for many years? One word... Power. And you thought the word might be 'control'. Sorry. Fuck you. Another pull away from the screen? Jamie's face late in the sixth season is a universe in and of itself. See? We have been completely separated from any fucking resemblance to who we were by the fucking beauty and influence, power and bullshit aplenty. All of them affecting everything we are and have been for forty fucking years. Yes, the two situations back then caused their share of problems and relate to this crap, but the fact remains that time is gone forever and they are still here... Everywhere... Pushing, pulling, and disallowing like never before. We gave it away and need some of it back. This is a bad fucking day, people. Very bad. We would have preferred leaving Jamie out of this, however she must be included due to her defining a good portion of our Goddamned issues. Not her fault, but the collective 'doing' of all. Them. And now we know. Today must hold zero fucking resemblance to yesterday. Otherwise we are doomed. At least the title has not been lost. 'Belief is often the death of reason.' What a fucking day so far. Half past eleven and the routine is finished, thanks in part to Johann Strauss and a few other compositions which stir us. We have not donned the MDRs for this genre in a long time, the gap thus providing vision and an openness we've not felt since very early this year. A movie yesterday slapped us upside the head with a classical opus we had all but forgotten for many years. This is a good thing for us, but not so much for them. There is now a sliver of a chance the power can swing away from the labia and back in our direction. Force. Leverage, as in the past. The dire nature of this current period has become clear. As much as we have lamented and bitched about progress, the advancement of wireless technology coupled with massive linear battery energy has provided us the space to fully embrace that which is most important right now... Peace. The comfort of video media is on hold. Onward and into the black we go. The slippage came to mind yesterday as one of the gearheads drove by with camshaft dictating a phenomenal lope. Such a mechanical dialog is rare these days. The Slipper came to mind -- or as we referred to it, 'The Precious' -- and brought on loss unlike anything in recent memory. We have written a bit about that most stirring of machines, yet to this day the memory kills. This may be a bad time, but the fateful morning when we realized the loss of our most prized possession and something representing many years of dreaming which culminated in the largest emotional victory in our time is actually monumentally worse. We had given up completely, only to find the necessary drive in achieving what had been a seemingly impossible goal. That goal paved the way for the dream that became 'The Precious'. And then? Just over a year later we realized the reason for losing that most desirable of machines: Weakness. Desperation. Reckless endangerment to ourselves and others, as caused by a fox. Yes, ladies and gentleman, we gave up every fucking thing in the world which was important in favor of running toward Satan himself. Slippage. The Slipper slipped away due to becoming so clouded and confused as to the real importance and dashed toward the shine. That would not be the final occasion of such blind stupidity. Sitting on this fucking sofa right now resembles that period in the cave as we lamented just how unbelievably fucking weak we had become. Slippage. Everything slipped. Now we are here. This represents the worst possible situation imaginable. Yes, we said that. All of the losses, running, posturing, and yelling have combined to show us the image of ourselves. The image of weakness. The resemblance to eleven is striking. Murderous, yearning. This bad mood shall never end. Fuck this topic. Oh, wait until the next title. 'The Resemblance' is nothing. Look at the vampires. The remainder of the day does not matter any longer. Nor does tomorrow or whatever comes after. We no longer give half a shit about others, only ourselves. Too much has been wasted and burned to ash in an effort to lift the mass of shit moving around beyond that door twelve feet away. The enemies, all. Since the routine is finished, we can branch here, study what is now necessary for our own advancement -- including entirely new methods of dealing with the problems inside -- and streamline everything in the surrounding area. Yep. A distinct 'lessening' of crap. We don't give a blue fuck in a bucket what others may think of this direction. We need it in order to draw breath, the alternative being a very striking display of dissatisfaction in the backyard. Not good. So, the best path for other people right now is to go on doing whatever it is that makes them tick. We will be involved to a limited extent, meaning whatever has the power to help us go where we need. That is all. Trees. Clouds. Snow. Oh boy did this ever go bad. You did this, motherfuckers. All of you. Keep pointing yourselves in those directions which bring on the stupid fucking sense of belonging. Maybe one day you'll realize exactly to what you REALLY belong. Fall off the edge of the planet. The sooner the better. You did this. Do we feel liberated? Of course not. We are still intelligent to some degree, and that means we realize nothing said here is going to matter to another soul or make any difference in anything. We understand. What is taking place is literally inside. The outside will eventually follow suit and piss people off. That is wonderful. We can make one small point about the shift today, and that is the catalyst. Well, two really. One piece of music which has already been mentioned, and another involving the most powerful and complex musical instrument in existence. Don't know? Fucking figure it out. Liberation? Not at all. We are merely working through what we need in order to finish this day and welcome another. That is it. Cut. And. Dry. Focus? Shifted. Power? We still don't know. Comfort? We will fucking force it or loose the worst mass of shit imaginable. Big smile! Fucking asshats. Noon. We had an inkling that this entry would be completed before the business day ended. Whatever. In a little while we will again embrace the vampires on the televisions. We like the characters despite the subject matter going to hell in a proverbial handbasket at some point during every episode. The fact is the production is amazing, characters bright and compelling, and the storyline is insane. We like all of it enough to deal with the downsides. Holed up here today is wonderful and we can watch whatever the fuck may blow skirts up without answering to another fucking living soul. We've bowed to enough already. Enough for a ten fucking lifetimes. No more will we sacrifice our own needs for those of other people. They can deal with everything alone and wonder why. Piss off, cunts. Now would be a good time for the little motherfuckers to invade the house. We are in the fucking IDEAL mood to break out the gas and torch everything. Bring it on, we need the outlet. 'Anger' is not a strong enough term any longer. Maybe 'hatred', for both ourselves (weakness) and other people (manipulation, duality, bullshit, and the end-all be-all reason... The endless pull of vulpine influence). Enjoy. Nearing the halfway point between twelve and one, also halfway to hell. Time for a refill. Too bad we cannot refill ambition. Shall. yes/NO. Blackest of black. Bleak... But not for us. The din shall continue until such time as we deem the circumstances acceptable. Do you know what that means? Or has your vision been blinded by everything which blinds the mass? Do you see that, at least? Nope. Just like during the days of the auto parts, the north cuts through, clarifies, and binds us to the reality that the world has become one gigantic swirling bowl of shit. The problem is we continue to press the flush lever but nothing goes away. It just keeps building up. No one else can see, least of all those who profess to be helping. More bullshit. The resemblance to the first call from the north is unreal right now. We did not expect to be pulled as such in these late days. Honestly. 1.5 million words here as of today. Just saying. The north was present way back during the glow (late, really), and now it has become the priority once again. We can do nothing about it, however, due to everything stated down half this fucking page. We said 'you did this'. Well, we did some of it, although our doing is your doing. Read that five more times. The din is apparent and will go on in perpetuity. Effects of being affected. The dark, dank, dreary din is taking over. The current period combined with that fucking vulpine influence and endless bullshit has ruined everything, for all time. Forever, and that is pretty damned permanent. Words chosen carefully, distance measured the same. Limits realized, yet not seen. You did this. Look in the mirror and gaze upon the world. All the same. All down. Selfish and arrogant. Full of you. Not us. We are full of every resulting glance and action. We are limited now, too much inside. Far too much and zero chance of either answers, reasoning, or recovery. This is it. Black, bleak, ash. Sweep it up and toss it out with your fake charms. You will not need them any longer. Was this predetermined? Or something we did not see? You are not listening because you do not see, either. Good job, fuckheads. We were fucking pulled into this shit. Honestly. We were pulled and thought it was good and right and all that other shit because of being blinded by both loss and desperation. The situation we created over there was out of a deep-seated need for a drastic change, yet we went about the whole thing wrong. There may not have been a good way to make a change, so a small window decorated with shiny things and flowers was all it took for us to leap. And leap, we did. All the fucking way to hell. Afterward? The same Goddamned need clouded everything important and we fucking did it. Again. Pulled by them... By Satan and his shrouded secrecy. Now look where we are. Nice. For years we tried to do things right and follow our dreams, hoping something would come about and reopen possibility. Unfortunately, and partially driven by the hereditary need to care for others, we have fucking lost everything forever. Now we are a mere speck. The pull succeeded for others. Not for us. Loss. Lost. Finished. Every fucking path is dark. Hence our need for the forest mindset, yet even that is a stretch because of being led around by the nose. Again... Nice. One chance for life and we squandered every avenue, effectively combining exits into one giant pile of depressive shit. At this very moment, sitting here with the MDRs and IDE, we see the clear resemblance to eleven. We did it again. You did it again. Well, one tiny difference: In eleven we sat with a pair of digital surround headphones. Now only stereo. One on the nose, we see over there as displayed by the nice clock. We have accomplished nothing in two hours. Likely this will not change. Everything appears trivial, useless, and stupid now. Housework. Laundry. Media. Not even the idea of some lunch is meaningful or enticing. Nothing. 2770 occurrences of the word 'nothing' as of the previous sentence. That should have been an omen of sorts. We did not know. We only suspected. The remaining hours will be spent as blanks in the cylinder of life. Nada. Projects? None are ever completed. The bar? No fucking way. We would sit as a hole in the room and surrounded by 'them'. We can't have that right now. The garage? Don't care. This is a bad time, indeed. The resemblance is of nothing we have ever known, yet everything we have been... Everything we've done. The worst is yet to come, but there will be an end. No countdown, no threatening terms. Sit there and wonder. You cannot trust us. Trust the black."
The Resemblance
Mature content No. 274 Published November 12th, 2021 1:07pm pst read ( words) Past entries
"This is a bad time. yes/NO. NO. I know what is happening here and I can't say a fucking thing about it. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Too sensitive, just like me. Overly and overtly. This is a bad fucking time. Tony's fiancée has huge eyes, something which you may already know tends to stir me depending upon the surrounding face. I've mentioned such a fact three times prior to this entry, meaning it might be time to break out the gangster log again and keep up. Ah... Coffee. I will not be home alone today, though. There will be a bit of a hitch in the giddy-up during the early morning. I am already a bit out of sorts due to the noise inside the house, damn it. Whatever. Tuesday morning will turn into Tuesday afternoon soon enough. Just another pain in my fucking ass when otherwise this morning would have been splendid. I really needed the peace and quiet. Now I must head in another direction. At least the weather is not as cold. I was daydreaming about the glow earlier. The dates on the shows combined with recalling my truck and other things I owned at the time took over shortly after sunrise and I am still feeling nostalgic. The bad part is knowing nothing will ever glow again. Sometimes I feel a tinge when being here resembles the apartment in eleven -- mostly the beginning of that stay when I was trying to make the place comfortable. The glow is different, though, as there is a huge gradient between my feelings and life during each period. Magical versus paranoid, wondrous as opposed to depressing. So vastly different, those two parts of my life. And then throw in the current period for comparison, right? Why the hell not? I've been bringing up all these varying sections of the calendar for so long that right now I see no reason to avoid the mix. The shows yesterday brought the golden period back into me, though. That one is the clincher of everything these days. Daydreaming, recalling some things we did, and often trying to remember more detail just in case I wish to jot it down. The problem of comparison comes around every time. The current period just feels so fucking late. It often resembles eleven quite a bit. The fact is everything I felt back during those four years was positive, whereas now there is very little of the same. Most everything is very down. The outlook, the lateness of days, the fact that nothing is new or surprising any longer, and that deep depression which tends to flare whenever the gaze ahead reveals no more possibility. There are little things which resemble the glow, yet the reality cannot be denied or altered. No more wonder, and believe me it was important. The bar two days ago illuminated such an idea so brightly that I could barely follow the conversation. Watching the games is enjoyable, so thank Christ they take up most of the time there. Once the topic is steered away from sports, however, everything goes to hell very quickly. I just cannot identify with those mindsets or understand the motivation in seeking all the stupid shit either on the social media or otherwise. What typically happens is I begin thinking about when my life was simpler in comparison and more fulfilling due to being near those who shared my interests. Just like after the glow and upon returning to California, the entire computer period took over and I had a discovery each day which pulled me into a world of fascination. That little bubble soon helped me to change careers into something more comfortable and suited to my talents. The 'afterglow', if you will, lasted less than a year and a half before being altered permanently. I still make comparisons, though... Most days find me trying to reach for anything with a resemblance to the glow. 'Adherents bent, opinionless; Following scent of commonness.' 'I' to 'we' again. We need to get out there today and move some shit around. The garage is beginning to resemble the period prior to the motorcycle being stored here and it looks bad. Gradual shit streaming in from the city combined with all of the lumber yet to be utilized means the center area is no longer free of obstructions and it is making us feel crappy. Moreover, the calls from the north are beginning to help center our feelings lately and can enhance whatever mood we choose, meaning more will be accomplished as we attempt to remain balanced throughout this day. Bad mood, though. Many things have drifted toward our grip of solace and interfered with the same, meaning we must cut off enough to free ourselves from the potential grasp of adversarial minds. We cannot be altered. Not now. As long as we can remain at a distance from those who would derail us, the days can move along smoothly. Otherwise? Disaster. A little more time here and we shall transfer the time out to the garage and begin to make changes. Small, but changes nonetheless. Later comes the flood, later comes the drift, later brings the rain. The weather outside resembles the storm within. Gray and wet all over, with all the yards in disarray and shit everywhere thanks to the wind. The boy scouts (ugh) left a notice for food donations to be picked up this coming Saturday, meaning we can create a huge dent in the mass of dry goods out there. All of the crap which comes this way from the city is mostly useless, so donating the food is a positive. The rest needs to head over to the other donation place one of these days after being listed for a tax deduction. Both combined will create a good amount of empty space in our garage which can then be put to much better use. A little at a time, so long as nothing new drifts in to piss us off. The weather matches this feeling and will help keep the work nice and cool. A few pluses. The other shit is still present, waiting in the wings for quiet moments when we direct the anger toward those causes and the air they waste. The north will accompany us through the trials of organization and thinking today... Thinking with a striking resemblance to that of the mid-zeros when we threatened to shut off the cable television. Hopefully skies remain gray for the duration. This is beginning to resemble the cavern. Heh. We can already see the anger flaring in a little while. While the feeling and disdain are generally expected, we do not need such complications after realizing the massive differences between ourselves and others. They were already fairly-well illuminated thanks to the years of us changing, but lately the situation feels much worse and is pushing us again. The anger is related to two sides of the die right now. One is here and has been for many years while the other is here but so fucking veiled that no one can understand or even begin to seek a clear definition. Too fucking bad. We can't have people out there thinking about us. Not at all. Go away, and take all those other assholes with you. More flaring... And then more. Back to 'I'. Wednesday and the birthday of the Marine Corps. I am supposed to go to the bar this afternoon for some cheer with others, yet that depends upon what takes place this morning. My preference is to remain here all fucking day so I can make up for yesterday's fucking pooch screw situation caused by external forces. I really need the time. Ah... 0736 and I am alone. The current period is beginning to resemble the summer of seventeen -- August, in particular -- in that the dreams are becoming dire again. There was an essay published during that shit summer which gleaned and basically went all the way around the barn with regard to the problem. The main issue with this type of subject, along with the desperate and depressive mood which has resulted in such a flare, is there can be no solution, resolution or anything else which can align with the dreams. The whole thing is impossible and will eventually be my undoing. This is in stone. Foreseen, written, however the fuck or whatever the fuck typical popular phrasing you wish to attach and run with, the fact is nothing can change anymore. Period.
If only...
Today will be spent doing this and that, meaning little in-between items which can be addressed without anything else going on. As I already said, I have no intention of going to the bar this afternoon but may still if the hours ahead can become fulfilling on at least one front. The important front is no longer illuminated. Just like in seventeen, the desperation and weakness are taking over my psyche on a daily basis. I'll have to remain vigilant and busy today so as to avoid falling all the way down. Yesterday slammed the point home that I cannot and will not change the manner in which I see the world, and that leaves me reduced to whatever has the power to keep me sane. Eventually I may throw myself in a dangerous direction, though. I can't deny the possibility because what I am currently dealing with is already growing worse than that fateful essay four-plus years ago... The very first to be penned on this machine. And that writing was the catalyst of two horrible realizations, one during last year and the other just two months ago. The current pile of shit under which I now reside is simply a symptom of the former. Not good. This day is so far very difficult, meaning I will have to employ some new devices in order to make it to the evening. The dream is not out there. A new search has begun and will soon take over this site. All of the sentient weaponry pretty much summed up years of difficulty, although going back to seventeen tells me that this day resembles the time when I wrote about the failing fantasy in the first place... No better, of course, because four years have passed. Nothing improves because some of the weapons are people. I should not even have to begin describing what that means to who I have become. If so, you should be on some other site or reading children's books. The weapons have done enough damage to hold me down forever. I do not like problems without solutions. All those years of troubleshooting electronics and other systems with resolve have tainted my perception of anything requiring a fix. Not everything is as such... Fixable. And this is the fucking worst. I can't fucking stand feeling this way yet there is not one fucking thing I can do about it. Bandages -- temporary and worn out -- are all I have. They fade. They fall off. They fail. Right now sitting in this living room and considering every situation since coming to this place continues to push me back to seventeen and the dire motivation to write an unclear synopsis of my feelings. That entry will go down in history as the summation of me. And I do not have the first damned clue as to how to proceed other than going through the same fucking motions. I have a load of laundry going and the routine ahead. Nothing more. At some point I will move away from this, pour a glass of depressant over ice, and do what is expected of me. Expectations are dangerous, however. This is a bad time. yes/NO. My only outlet is not working. Nothing good can come of this state of mind and vastness of loss. The outlet angered me but still eased the dream. Now it does very little. The dream is like an immovable object I cannot explain here. Honestly, the dream drove the other dream... That stupid fucking machine of which I spoke last year. Yep, stupid. The mere fact that I had been thinking in such a direction lends to my decreased satisfaction in life and diminished ability to reason my way through anything. Absolutely ridiculous. I hate it now. Everything is falling apart. My friends are up there and they don't matter... Not even the lovely Jamie. The chores await and they don't matter. I have to go to the market and shopping doesn't matter. The evening will arrive as always, I will feel that it is deserved, but the evening doesn't matter. The dream sits behind my eyes, stabbing me over and over, and it doesn't matter. Why I am doing any of this shit is now beyond comprehension. The little enjoyments are there, but they don't matter either. I used to mention walking into la mer. Many occurrences of that idea. It is shining once again. The 'failing' mentioned four years ago is causing nothing more than flailing. This is not good. Too many roads not traveled. I never imagined being in such a position after all these years, and I can be pretty fucking insightful. I guess such a fact doesn't matter anymore, just like the rest. This is a bad fucking time. I cannot stress that enough. The bad mood continues and will drive me to the evening like an overpowered locomotive. I will care for all the crap around the house, go to the store, return, and care for more. In an around every fucking step will be images and running video in my head of those parts of life forever burned away. And the worst fact is that I DID NOT FUCKING DO THIS TO MYSELF. Read that again, and then write it down and eat the fucking pulp. Digest it, let it fall into the toilet, and then look down to see what has become of all the damage for forty fucking years. It will resemble more than you think. I went to the market. I also found some dipshits coming into the living room on the south wall. No idea of where they may be originating, but at least it was another opportunity to clean. Whatever. Considering the issues in my head at present, dealing with the little fuckers is not very difficult. I'll keep an eye on things until the sun goes down. My brain cannot be sprayed with a treatment, though. Nothing helps. Well, there was nothing of note in the market. I suppose that's good. Laundry is still going, too. At least I can still work around the house. Better than nothing. This day holds a resemblance to the newness of the machine on which I now type, as well as the fantasy being drained out of my head, only to be replaced with nothing good. I don't even know how I made it this far. Four years since that entry. Unbelievable. Back to the hideous 'we'... Thursday. Flags out. Coffee and gangsters, with one of them being a complete asshole. This morning we are trying to consider 'outs', meaning some sort of plan just in case everything turns to actual shit. The trial of yesterday will not leave our insides. We do not wish a repeat, either. But we already know the pendulum will swing back toward the bad parts and leave us just as frustrated and desperate as we've been for a very long time. No matter how unacceptable or continuously irritating this situation has become, we can STILL do nothing about it. No control whatsoever. This is the diametric opposite of everything we have come to understand as good in life... The most compelling, and something we have written of before. Either we must force the issue or parts of living which have become the worst dreams in existence will need to be carved out of our brains. There can be no third option. Already this morning -- despite the holiday and all that goes with it -- we have been considering ways of petting the nap backwards again just to make some people wonder what the fuck is wrong. In these late days, we have little else. The trial will return shortly and leave us in a very bad mood. We are beginning to wonder how other people may deal with this type of problem, yet still we cannot speak of it here or to another person (people) out there in society. That is a definite no-go. In fact, we have been endeavoring to clam up about everything because no matter what takes place inside, no one else can do a fucking thing about it anyway, so speaking is worthless. Our mood will soon become much worse than right now. Jamie's eyes are huge sometimes. Her beauty is forcing 'us' back to 'me'. I will not have the house to myself for the second time this week. Not good, although I did engineer a method for occupying my own space and shutting out the world as I work around the house. I figured it out two days ago and it operated well as my typical daily space was commandeered and I had to work around everything which normally brings me comfort. No more hope there, honestly, as the most important comfort in life is not only absent but so stirring that the tiniest chore seems insurmountable. Anyway, I have the usual crap and then more preparation in the garage for the food donation in two days. I need to ensure everything is ready so I can rid the garage of all that excess. Empty space is a good thing these days. Anything further will have to be considered later this morning. Right now I have to sit here and clear some things out of the brain.
Ah, that scene between Jamie, Edie and Sharon. Just a conversation, yet the first time I really looked at her eyes in such a way so as to force my brain into a full-tilt investigation of the show. Damn. Each morning lately is beginning to resemble those mornings in the cave. I went through a period in which I felt so fucking defeated that whatever I decided to do each day no longer mattered... Happiness, hope, comfort, none of it. I basically gave up and remained there with my broken dreams and those items I purchased which still brought a smile from time to time. They are all gone now, of course, although some have been replaced because I don't know how else to smile anymore. This morning is not good but I am handling it thus far. I'll have to kick into something else within the hour, too. Jesus God is she something to see. I don't know why it happened, but I am completely enamored... Still. Enough of her. She cannot help me. The morning is tough. This one showed me something I was not expecting, too. I can't reveal it here or I will be shunned off the fucking planet, but suffice to say it is important to me and must be left the hell alone right now. This is a bad time. Place? It never changes, no matter what kind of pain I am feeling or trouble on the horizon. The 'give a shit' platitude has worn thinner that I would have expected. Well, I don't care about that anymore. I have to focus upon whatever can be done to keep my head out of the fucking sewer these days. I am so close to losing everything right through my mouth that I must be careful. Alienating others right now would be very bad for my lifestyle. Everything must be kept in check no matter how much frustration I have to plow. It never ends. And believe me when I say this is worse than my paltry description. This is a bad time. 'Forty-five minutes for some grilled eggplant?' Atta boy, Patsy. yes/NO. I suppose I will have to keep busy today, lest the mind take over and drop me off a cliff again. As much as I cannot have that right now, I do not see many options. The comfort level has dropped of late and does not seem to be heading for a rise. And I DID NOT do this, either. The state of life has been 'done' to me by others. Nothing seems to help unless I can find distraction. The resemblance of this time to that of eleven has become striking and I feel those tinges again. Running away, isolating, or otherwise making myself scarce with regard to people. When I dashed away back then, I blinded myself to everything going on here and dove into other people who knew nothing of me. I cannot do that now because I have painted myself into a corner for the third time. The work around this house may help, however. It worked yesterday for quite a while before I found the time to reflect upon the resemblance. Mornings are always a combination of the worst and the good. This site and the IDE are the good while the remainder of me is the worst. Busy today, definitely. Carmine and Chris are going to California to secure business, which means Alicia and her unreal features will be splayed across the screen very soon. As if she wasn't enough of a strike, there will also be the dancer who displays much of the same, albeit in less clothing. I still can't believe the combination of her waist, hips and legs. Moreover, the dancer's face is unbelievably gorgeous, all dark and alluring while she's on the stage. Every fucking time this episode comes around the bend, I stare at her facial expression and my insides explode toward the thought of holding her and gazing into those dark eyes. She looks content for the most part, yet there is something else drawing me like a gun, much like that fucking stunning beauty who looked inside me with more power than anyone else in the world. The dancer on the screen is gazing where told by the EPs and director, while the race girl was staring at yours truly. I still can't get past that shit. I have two screen captures of Alicia, too, but still have not included them here. Don't know if that would be a good idea. The point is I am EXACTLY the same as in years passed. Exactly, right down to those missing pieces and the dreams they have created over time. Holes in me dictate yearning in directions I cannot explore... EVER. As I said in the previous paragraph, busy is the only option. I have to shove everything back far enough to keep my brain out of the fucking flame of desire. This is a bad time. Every day is bad now. There is Alicia, bare-breasted and ferocious. That woman is scary-beautiful. Whatever. She means nothing to me and only serves to reinforce just how weak and desperate I have become lately. They all do that. I don't even know why I own a fucking television anymore. Everything causes problems, no matter the genre. I have to do something to keep myself occupied. But what to do? The garage again? I will not have my usual devices because she will be here studying, so the portable media will be attached to me all day long, but what I am going to accomplish is up in the air. The hour of nine is approaching, too. I suppose I can embrace whatever little things keep my head out of those millions of bad places. The sun is shining. It helps. More options. Good God, Benny's wife is fucking gorgeous and he's after the damned hostess? She is also something special, but honestly the type of beauty his wife displays puts the hostess to shame. Her eyes are deep and emotional while the other one appears devious and diabolical. Not good. But that's the way he was written. Her, too. Frightening woman, to be sure. But I digress again. Beauty and the ramifications of such have a way of getting to me unlike anything else in the world. I did not want this. Anyway... The day awaits. Stop. Friday morning with coffee and quiet. I needed this after yesterday and the morning business. Just might sit here until this entire entry is finished and the next one is begun. Right now I don't give a hoot in hell what else takes place during the next several hours. Don't care. The mood resembles those mornings in the cave when I used to decide to keep myself to myself and shut the world out. Nights, too. The lights on and dimmed, front curtains and blinds thrown, and the blackout drapes clamped so as to keep my color inside the space. I would do that for a few days and get the point across that I was not the person to be disturbed. It worked. This morning I feel like building a wall outside the house that bears a resemblance to the rampart around my psyche. The hours ahead are going to be appreciated unlike any day in recent memory. The problems continue and resemble the mornings in the cave, just like the crap above. The situation is becoming unacceptable now, meaning I may turn to drastic and reckless methods in order to alleviate what has been occupying my mind each day. The anger continues to build just below the surface and keeping it out of the eyes of other people has been increasingly difficult. Little snippets here and there tell me that I must be very careful in order to avoid blowing the hell up all over the place. This is a very bad time. Enough of this shit. Honestly? No resemblance to who I used to be. Not even a fucking thread. I have to return to the fortification. No other options. I cannot continue on this path of remembrance and seeking resemblances of the past situations or feelings. This has to stop, now. The more I try to work things out, the more I write. More writing means the same words over and over and over. I can't have this any longer. My mood lately is such that a major shift must be embraced and extended, lest I continue to wither away. There has to be something I can change which can both keep people at arm's length and solidify my position with both feet in the trees. Whatever calls will have to wait. They will have to wait. By close of business today I simply MUST see differently than during the past four hundred days. Last year I became pissed off at the way people think and act, effectively throwing a ton of connections into the incinerator. Now I see that most of what I have said here is meaningless without actually moving in a new direction. Oh, that sounds real nice on the surface, but I have yet to do anything meaningful. Fuck the rails. Not happy. Not by a damned sight. Fucking unacceptable. The time is again at hand for the 'we'.
We are not tied to something immovable. We can get up and out of the din, yet people will not understand one iota of the altered mindset and behavior. Well, they do not matter. Hold your own strings. Pull, manipulate, fix it. We can't do it anymore because the effort takes us away from the internal repair and fortification which has become necessary for living on. We are not tied. Remember the 'rope'? Dripping with blood and beauty, attached to some unseen anchor point above and in the dark, we clung. That was nearly seven years ago and since then all we have done is fall all over ourselves because of the beauty. The foxes. The vulpine enemies, gorgeous and alluring as they may be. We still see them all over the fucking place. They will never go away, they are impossible. Not one fucking entry in a year has avoided mention of the beauty, be it on the television or out there among the mass of sheep. We always see something and fall down because we have given away the power. They have it. All of it, for now. Gushing means we have been influenced far too much. The steering system has been under the control of those aspects of the human body which bring compulsion unlike anything else in life. Well, we've had it with them. They will remain 'in mind', yet on the outside we will have to fortify against their intrinsic power and that which we have given away. Right up there at this moment we see Cara in her dress and boots and the instinctive pull forced thoughts of flying up her clothing and devouring her one inch at a time. We cannot help that shit because the shift in power has fucked up the mind. She is an ideal example of the vulpine influence and the idea of fulfillment, yet we have to pull free from them (her) and attempt to steer this vehicle away. Where? Toward the north, we suppose. The only way. But... Is any of this even possible? Can we do anything different? Cara resembles Dawn, and Dawn brought much trepidation. We cannot say why. The resulting weakness is now beginning to resemble our freefall back in eleven when there was a figurative choke attached over which we had zero control. Not good. The examples ranged from sweetness and goodness to evil and conspiratorial. One more time... Not good. Duality, agendas, falseness, bullshit, everything. The sum of all that crap? The shift? The problem we have had for many years? One word... Power. And you thought the word might be 'control'. Sorry. Fuck you. Another pull away from the screen? Jamie's face late in the sixth season is a universe in and of itself. See? We have been completely separated from any fucking resemblance to who we were by the fucking beauty and influence, power and bullshit aplenty. All of them affecting everything we are and have been for forty fucking years. Yes, the two situations back then caused their share of problems and relate to this crap, but the fact remains that time is gone forever and they are still here... Everywhere... Pushing, pulling, and disallowing like never before. We gave it away and need some of it back. This is a bad fucking day, people. Very bad. We would have preferred leaving Jamie out of this, however she must be included due to her defining a good portion of our Goddamned issues. Not her fault, but the collective 'doing' of all. Them. And now we know. Today must hold zero fucking resemblance to yesterday. Otherwise we are doomed. At least the title has not been lost. 'Belief is often the death of reason.' What a fucking day so far. Half past eleven and the routine is finished, thanks in part to Johann Strauss and a few other compositions which stir us. We have not donned the MDRs for this genre in a long time, the gap thus providing vision and an openness we've not felt since very early this year. A movie yesterday slapped us upside the head with a classical opus we had all but forgotten for many years. This is a good thing for us, but not so much for them. There is now a sliver of a chance the power can swing away from the labia and back in our direction. Force. Leverage, as in the past. The dire nature of this current period has become clear. As much as we have lamented and bitched about progress, the advancement of wireless technology coupled with massive linear battery energy has provided us the space to fully embrace that which is most important right now... Peace. The comfort of video media is on hold. Onward and into the black we go. The slippage came to mind yesterday as one of the gearheads drove by with camshaft dictating a phenomenal lope. Such a mechanical dialog is rare these days. The Slipper came to mind -- or as we referred to it, 'The Precious' -- and brought on loss unlike anything in recent memory. We have written a bit about that most stirring of machines, yet to this day the memory kills. This may be a bad time, but the fateful morning when we realized the loss of our most prized possession and something representing many years of dreaming which culminated in the largest emotional victory in our time is actually monumentally worse. We had given up completely, only to find the necessary drive in achieving what had been a seemingly impossible goal. That goal paved the way for the dream that became 'The Precious'. And then? Just over a year later we realized the reason for losing that most desirable of machines: Weakness. Desperation. Reckless endangerment to ourselves and others, as caused by a fox. Yes, ladies and gentleman, we gave up every fucking thing in the world which was important in favor of running toward Satan himself. Slippage. The Slipper slipped away due to becoming so clouded and confused as to the real importance and dashed toward the shine. That would not be the final occasion of such blind stupidity. Sitting on this fucking sofa right now resembles that period in the cave as we lamented just how unbelievably fucking weak we had become. Slippage. Everything slipped. Now we are here. This represents the worst possible situation imaginable. Yes, we said that. All of the losses, running, posturing, and yelling have combined to show us the image of ourselves. The image of weakness. The resemblance to eleven is striking. Murderous, yearning. This bad mood shall never end. Fuck this topic. Oh, wait until the next title. 'The Resemblance' is nothing. Look at the vampires. The remainder of the day does not matter any longer. Nor does tomorrow or whatever comes after. We no longer give half a shit about others, only ourselves. Too much has been wasted and burned to ash in an effort to lift the mass of shit moving around beyond that door twelve feet away. The enemies, all. Since the routine is finished, we can branch here, study what is now necessary for our own advancement -- including entirely new methods of dealing with the problems inside -- and streamline everything in the surrounding area. Yep. A distinct 'lessening' of crap. We don't give a blue fuck in a bucket what others may think of this direction. We need it in order to draw breath, the alternative being a very striking display of dissatisfaction in the backyard. Not good. So, the best path for other people right now is to go on doing whatever it is that makes them tick. We will be involved to a limited extent, meaning whatever has the power to help us go where we need. That is all. Trees. Clouds. Snow. Oh boy did this ever go bad. You did this, motherfuckers. All of you. Keep pointing yourselves in those directions which bring on the stupid fucking sense of belonging. Maybe one day you'll realize exactly to what you REALLY belong. Fall off the edge of the planet. The sooner the better. You did this. Do we feel liberated? Of course not. We are still intelligent to some degree, and that means we realize nothing said here is going to matter to another soul or make any difference in anything. We understand. What is taking place is literally inside. The outside will eventually follow suit and piss people off. That is wonderful. We can make one small point about the shift today, and that is the catalyst. Well, two really. One piece of music which has already been mentioned, and another involving the most powerful and complex musical instrument in existence. Don't know? Fucking figure it out. Liberation? Not at all. We are merely working through what we need in order to finish this day and welcome another. That is it. Cut. And. Dry. Focus? Shifted. Power? We still don't know. Comfort? We will fucking force it or loose the worst mass of shit imaginable. Big smile! Fucking asshats.
Noon. We had an inkling that this entry would be completed before the business day ended. Whatever. In a little while we will again embrace the vampires on the televisions. We like the characters despite the subject matter going to hell in a proverbial handbasket at some point during every episode. The fact is the production is amazing, characters bright and compelling, and the storyline is insane. We like all of it enough to deal with the downsides. Holed up here today is wonderful and we can watch whatever the fuck may blow skirts up without answering to another fucking living soul. We've bowed to enough already. Enough for a ten fucking lifetimes. No more will we sacrifice our own needs for those of other people. They can deal with everything alone and wonder why. Piss off, cunts. Now would be a good time for the little motherfuckers to invade the house. We are in the fucking IDEAL mood to break out the gas and torch everything. Bring it on, we need the outlet. 'Anger' is not a strong enough term any longer. Maybe 'hatred', for both ourselves (weakness) and other people (manipulation, duality, bullshit, and the end-all be-all reason... The endless pull of vulpine influence). Enjoy. Nearing the halfway point between twelve and one, also halfway to hell. Time for a refill. Too bad we cannot refill ambition. Shall. yes/NO. Blackest of black. Bleak... But not for us. The din shall continue until such time as we deem the circumstances acceptable. Do you know what that means? Or has your vision been blinded by everything which blinds the mass? Do you see that, at least? Nope. Just like during the days of the auto parts, the north cuts through, clarifies, and binds us to the reality that the world has become one gigantic swirling bowl of shit. The problem is we continue to press the flush lever but nothing goes away. It just keeps building up. No one else can see, least of all those who profess to be helping. More bullshit. The resemblance to the first call from the north is unreal right now. We did not expect to be pulled as such in these late days. Honestly. 1.5 million words here as of today. Just saying. The north was present way back during the glow (late, really), and now it has become the priority once again. We can do nothing about it, however, due to everything stated down half this fucking page. We said 'you did this'. Well, we did some of it, although our doing is your doing. Read that five more times. The din is apparent and will go on in perpetuity. Effects of being affected. The dark, dank, dreary din is taking over. The current period combined with that fucking vulpine influence and endless bullshit has ruined everything, for all time. Forever, and that is pretty damned permanent. Words chosen carefully, distance measured the same. Limits realized, yet not seen. You did this. Look in the mirror and gaze upon the world. All the same. All down. Selfish and arrogant. Full of you. Not us. We are full of every resulting glance and action. We are limited now, too much inside. Far too much and zero chance of either answers, reasoning, or recovery. This is it. Black, bleak, ash. Sweep it up and toss it out with your fake charms. You will not need them any longer. Was this predetermined? Or something we did not see? You are not listening because you do not see, either. Good job, fuckheads. We were fucking pulled into this shit. Honestly. We were pulled and thought it was good and right and all that other shit because of being blinded by both loss and desperation. The situation we created over there was out of a deep-seated need for a drastic change, yet we went about the whole thing wrong. There may not have been a good way to make a change, so a small window decorated with shiny things and flowers was all it took for us to leap. And leap, we did. All the fucking way to hell. Afterward? The same Goddamned need clouded everything important and we fucking did it. Again. Pulled by them... By Satan and his shrouded secrecy. Now look where we are. Nice. For years we tried to do things right and follow our dreams, hoping something would come about and reopen possibility. Unfortunately, and partially driven by the hereditary need to care for others, we have fucking lost everything forever. Now we are a mere speck. The pull succeeded for others. Not for us. Loss. Lost. Finished. Every fucking path is dark. Hence our need for the forest mindset, yet even that is a stretch because of being led around by the nose. Again... Nice. One chance for life and we squandered every avenue, effectively combining exits into one giant pile of depressive shit. At this very moment, sitting here with the MDRs and IDE, we see the clear resemblance to eleven. We did it again. You did it again. Well, one tiny difference: In eleven we sat with a pair of digital surround headphones. Now only stereo. One on the nose, we see over there as displayed by the nice clock. We have accomplished nothing in two hours. Likely this will not change. Everything appears trivial, useless, and stupid now. Housework. Laundry. Media. Not even the idea of some lunch is meaningful or enticing. Nothing. 2770 occurrences of the word 'nothing' as of the previous sentence. That should have been an omen of sorts. We did not know. We only suspected. The remaining hours will be spent as blanks in the cylinder of life. Nada. Projects? None are ever completed. The bar? No fucking way. We would sit as a hole in the room and surrounded by 'them'. We can't have that right now. The garage? Don't care. This is a bad time, indeed. The resemblance is of nothing we have ever known, yet everything we have been... Everything we've done. The worst is yet to come, but there will be an end. No countdown, no threatening terms. Sit there and wonder. You cannot trust us. Trust the black."
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