War Mature content No. 279 Published December 4th, 2021 7:49am pst read ( words) Past entries "I don't know what the fuck to do here. Others continue to walk upon me and disregard my offers and opinions, and there I am on the floor awaiting the next slap. Is this how my world was supposed to be at this point in time? 'The Sentient Weaponry' was supposed to outline everything and put it all into perspective. I guess that essay was either ineffective or not enough to get the fucking point across. Another facet of life turned to shit. This has not been a good morning by any stretch of the word. Earlier I felt positive but now the mood is thin and much darker. Unhappy. I am concerned that one day I will end up like this late in the morning and the feeling will not go away or fade. I'm pretty fucking far down right now. Further than the other day. At some point I have to get up and care for stuff, too. There are parts of the day which cannot wait. And now there she is mid-fifth season with the big eyes and sweet voice. Damn. If only some things could have gone differently years ago -- or perhaps my brain operating a little better -- maybe I would not be feeling these negative pulls all the time. Some shit has been decidedly beyond my control, though. And I have been told that some behavior I did not realize years ago had stemmed from the same. I don't know. I can't sit here and not feel responsible for causing people trouble. That is just not me. Now I have no idea of what to do besides remain behind the doors and quiet. These days no matter what I say to another person the situation ends badly. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? Wars of words? War inside? 'War' this, fuckheads. I don't care. War is upon you. The first battle will be myself in dealing with how to best proceed. There will be old feelings and inklings coming back -- those past situations in which shit was effectively smoothed over for a time -- which must be understood and avoided as soon as they arise. I will not have it. The massive rampart continues to grow, and the past few days combined with this morning add up to even more dramatic construction. There seems to be no other way if I am to breathe at all. So, I'll have to fight my way to a better position in my head during each day so by close of business I can relax knowing all is in order. Fortified, I suppose, but within. Nothing on the outside, and nothing with which others can interfere. The only way. I've tried everything else and not a fucking soul seems to understand. Well, that is likely my fault like everything else. This is a bad time. Karlie stands six-foot-two without shoes. She embodies everything I am not, nor will ever be. But look at her. 1228 and no lunch yet. I don't know what the fuck to do this afternoon. The war inside me is at odds with the daily shit now. 1303. Laundry going. Everything else is finished. The war continues, unimpeded. I have the show up there again, partially due to familiarity and a bit because of respect. I don't know how else to put it. Eh... Valentina and her disgusting nature. Whatever. Still no lunch because I can't decide upon anything, let alone actually do something different or productive. This is a bad time as evidenced by my lack of motivation toward life in general. I just can't seem to give a shit. I have to get through the internal war before launching toward other people. This is not easy. There is plenty to do. My head can't deal with nearly anything right now, however. Perhaps closer to the evening I can find the strength to care for some items and ensure the evening relaxation is not misplaced. It has to feel deserved, lest tomorrow be worse. War. A switch from gangsters to dragons. Maybe a change in characters will help me feel empowered. 1335 and I ordered a pizza. My buddy came by for his tools and I helped with some other stuff so he has an easier time removing a valve handle at his job. I hope it works well. Me? I still don't fucking know what to do beyond the norm. These days have become very difficult once the morning crap is out of the way. I believe if the war inside can be won the way will be paved for me to affect others and step away from interference which will otherwise impede my progress in life. I have to make this change, and I have to do it soon. One little step at a time. Wednesday. Nothing of note yesterday aside from the war inside my head. Just another day in which I accomplished a few things and waited for the evening. But the pizza was very good and I have leftovers for later today. This morning there was a bit of business but now the day is all mine at 0816 and counting. I may run over to the hardware later for a pair of hinges. The back door is a real piece of shit these days. And then maybe some garage work for a little while. I ran some experiments with the audio out there yesterday and cannot find why there is no stereo signal coming out of the extractor here in the living room. I'll have to come up with some other method so I can leave the main system operating all six channels. Right now I don't have a clue but something will eventually materialize. This morning already seems better than yesterday. I know not why, but any improvement to the warring situation is a wonderful thing. 'War Ensemble' comes to mind when I think of the issues on the table right now. If only I could exercise the options of the north. Nope. Not these fucking days. The little crap earlier has paved the way to quiet time here, after which I will head in some other direction for a while before the hardware. Hard-war. Battle flank left? No, nothing like that anymore. This is different. If I have not completely lost it (how can I tell?), the work will open doors today. One war can continue in preparation for any voices trying to block my path. My path? Our path. Yes, we have a path to tread and one along which they cannot follow. The flag must make its own presence known to everyone. It cannot simply hang there and collect dust. That is bullshit. The other items pushing toward the darkness of the trees can be embraced one at a time so as to avoid any fucking interference or recognition. The weather outside is warm this morning in sharp contrast to what we always wished, yet at present it seems appropriate for the wind to be blowing in the wrong direction. The cold will be here to slam us soon enough. In the meantime we can work toward the ends in relative comfort. The wars are underway, one leading to the surface of another, and people leading themselves right straight into the blazing burial sites. The first war will end soon enough. We can then push everything away and leave room for only ourselves and those few possessions necessary for survival. 0855. Wars all over the place... Some inside, some outside, yet none are fully underway as of yet. Only partially. We have to focus and push, push, and push more. Shoving. Displacing. Knots. Resolution is unlikely at this juncture. No matter what may come along to provide hope or ambition, the same shit slams us and leaves us bereft of both in the longer term. We keep trying for whatever reason. The losses have piled upon each other like dead bodies in a field of battle. We must navigate around them and seek whatever may provide solace, yet no matter the steps or direction, we end up right back in the same place. Just like long ago when we tried to describe the cycle of desire and the fact that it accomplishes nothing more than the same misdirection, we come right back here after every occurrence and attempt to alleviate the sadness and loss with other devices. No resolution. There will be an epilogue, however. No one will understand any of it, though. All of the 'R' titled entries were to be a cycle of their own, yet we cannot find the correct words or path any longer. This is a bad time. 1402 and everything is exactly the same. We hopped to a bit of work but still no difference inside. The war continues with reinforcement from a pair of pairs on the television (portable now because the bandwidth is on and off this afternoon) which we have seen umpteen times with the same result. Difficulty. Desire. Problems. No outlet, no deposit, no return. Pissed off and stewing in it. The only path right now seems to be maintaining some work ethic for the remainder of the business hours. Otherwise we shall implode all over the place while filling with booze. Not good, so we choose not good over not good. Read it. "Convene your sheriffs so we can kill this uppity Wiccan cunt!" -- Pamela "Pam" Swynford De Beaufort... God love her. Still no beer cans on the back lawn because the only benefit is us seeing them lying there just like the first time more than six years ago when the act meant something and we fully supported it. Now? Everything is too different, all trivialized and exposed (partly). We can't fall back on the old axioms and expect similar results within the psyche. Nothing from the past seems to work. We need new avenues with fresh pavement for people to choke on. We must begin the wars in earnest. Slowly, painstakingly, and calculated. Baby steps. Well, a baby with horn buds, that is. The war is becoming everything we are and everything we must project. There may be no way around this. But beer cans? Stupid. We shall find something else to display our rampant dissatisfaction with society and its effects upon the intelligent thinkers. 0628 on Thursday morning. I can barely type or do anything else with my left hand. Something happened last night. I was sitting here after dinner and made a gesture of some sort and felt a sharp pain in the middle of my hand. Within an hour I was miserable. Sleep was haphazard. This morning it's worse. I may not be able to live my typical morning. Three different dreams, though. Two were interesting and one was disturbing. I was alone and the situation felt dire. Something was beginning to happen and working really well until I awakened. The end was never realized. Describing what was taking place or the emotional peak is not something I wish to place here. Not good. The other two helped keep me sane, however disappointing the ends became. Another title derailed. We were heading in the right direction yesterday but now do not feel the same. The war is paused. We are also experiencing the bad feelings like yesterday morning. Very bad. Today may not add up to much at all. Between sadness and anger, we simply have little left to offer. This is a bad time. War? We don't even know if the end can be achieved. Maybe everything is bullshit. 0803, the morning business is out of the way and my hand feels the same. I was able to take care of everything without too much difficulty. I guess that is a good thing in the middle of a sea of bad things. 1104 and switch, for Christ's sake. This is all bullshit. We keep approaching the same fucking issues from differing angles yet nothing is ever accomplished. Treading water, like every entry. Bullshit. There may be nothing we can do any longer. This place has become the norm, from typing and organizing to gathering and editing images and all the way to archiving and publishing, but honestly... All the same for a very long time. Pissed off. Relegated like back in eleven when we grasped at any fucking distraction but knowing full well of the temporary nature. This is fucking stupid and has been for nearly two years. A little while ago we finished off the routine and cleaned up to go out later and none of it fucking matters. Going through motions, always. The little enjoyments have been diminishing, last night being the latest kick in the ambition. Up and then down, down and down further until we see the bottom. Once realized, everything is finished. Done. Over. Through. Let the direction of this entry follow the mood. What few readers may remain are navigating to the archive and finding the links lead nowhere. The two-hundred some-odd entries have been moved to an unreachable location. Titles are all that remain. The subfolders are confusing even to us, yet necessary for exercising the control over this content we've needed for years. Not just ownership, either. Just this morning we relocated the hosting from shared to a dedicated server for the next year just to tighten the noose upon anyone wishing to read. The funny part is we are sitting now and describing the situation. Why? Just because we can. The site has not solved anything in nearly twenty years, anyway. Fuck it. No one needs to read this shit anyway. And the only entry available is now on the main index from almost a year ago. 'Tinned' will sit there for the duration. Jason just took one look at Jamie and her big eyes and nearly lost the ability to breathe. At least he was able to be in the same room with her. Lucky fuck. We would not have come out alive. The more we see her character, the more we are in love with her character. No choice anymore. She is artificial, fictional, whatever, and we are on board for the duration. Pure love sans war. There is no way. We are diminished. We have written much of her, hence part of the need to make the content disappear in a most frustrating manner. Live with it or don't. We don't fucking care about you and your needs. Not enough time. Everything is gone because that is the way we need to be right now. We ordered a new (used) keyboard for this machine because the present unit has lost some of its labeling due to much use. After upgrading and securing the operating system some months back, we realized the hardware can be maintained better for supporting this endeavor. The site may be worthless and a waste of time, but we are still going to type and add to the content no one can access. Just a circle we created out of hatred. 'Get outta my room, you sick cunt.' -- Tony Nothing will ever hold up to conjecture or dreams. Nothing can make it that far because the dreams are in the trees and no one is allowed in there. Not a soul. Not even Jamie, believe it or not. There has been too much either thrown at us or willed near us to the point of despising everyone. It continues to deepen no matter the fucking stupid platitudes or attempts to lift. The words accomplish zero. We already know. We know too fucking much these days. Paulie just shut down Father Sleepover in the funniest manner possible. Love. It. Anyway, we can't relay anything to another soul because we have no control over where it may travel or the bullshit given back to us in response. There is no longer any trust with regard to people. We know there are problems. We fucking know because we are more intelligent than we can describe here, especially when it comes to the subject of dreams. Nothing can hold up against the images we've seen. All we have left is a small space within which we reside with very few devices. Angry. This is a bad time. 'I'. Two days later. 0632 on Saturday morning and all is not well. At least I am comfortable with coffee and friends. The problems continue without relief and there is another war of sorts on the horizon. Yesterday morning we drove into the city for her exam and I had to kill some time before leaving. I walked, mostly, did some reading and picked up coffee. The walking represented my first real time spent over there for some years and being out of the car was very different. At this point in time and after everything published here for God-knows how long, the very idea of me wandering the downtown and waterfront areas immediately seems like a bad idea. Well, there was more than I would care to define right now. I literally had to turn myself away as each ferry was offloaded. I tried walking north but the same happened. Just grabbing a cup of coffee in the marketplace provided some sights I could not believe. Lots of swearing to myself. Lots of torment. At the beginning I looked forward to walking along the Embarcadero and sipping a good cup of coffee, but in the end I was just happy to drive the hell out of that area and return to the mundane. One of those issues I have avoided for a while is still alive and well, meaning my weakened condition is not going away. A small battle took place between my desire to see and the more important stance of leaving people alone and out of my fucking problems. I don't understand why some aspects of living must be so elusive or difficult. I just don't get it. Naturally, I am not referring to everything being easy or handed to a person, only a few parts of daily life. If I were a complete idiot this entire line of thinking would be meaningless, but I can't help thinking some of the small ideas are going to remain difficult to see or find no matter what I do. This is beginning to sound ridiculous again. Damn it. The entire idea of the title has gone away. Fuck it anyway, I don't fucking care. This morning some things are different in forward vision, resulting in the need to be angry. Ugh... There is the dancer with the face and stomach again. Her expression seems impossible to describe, as if she created a look or a way to gaze back at those watching her with complete mystery. I don't get it. The scene is short-lived but has had a lasting impression upon me due to always dreaming of something special out there waiting to be discovered or connected. Like when I saw that woman by the highway last year when I drove each day, the feeling was nearly indescribable and directly related to being completely desperate and pathetic since youth. I saw her standing there and actually hoped she was in the middle of a similar search. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Yet that is how I functioned for so long that the perspective is now ingrained. The dancer up there is a mystery, sealed in a little box, frozen in time and there only to be seen and never understood. The very idea of my sitting here relating the dancer to some weak and desperate fantasy is worse than I could have imagined while taking those drives last year, and at the time I already felt pretty fucking stupid. Imagine how I feel now. Yes, the dancer struck me that much. I began this paragraph with a mention of the title being lost again. Now even the topic of one section is also lost. I am lost. This is not good. All that shit from the expression on a fictional dancer's face when the rest of the world was probably focused upon her bare skin. Unbelievable. What IS this? Maybe seeing twenty pairs of black yoga pants wrapped around so much beauty yesterday hit me upside the head enough to drive more shit to the screen. I don't know. Some of those pants were pretty fucking scary, too. I made myself scarce. When it comes to the television, however, I know that face well enough to feel much more, including being completely detached no matter how many viewings may pile up over time. I don't have to worry even if there is desire. Much better. Another entire entry with one intention and subject completely obliterated by the fact that I never recovered from the shit situations and grew into a person unable to understand anything. Another entire entry disabled by weakness. I am certain the story of Shilo from way back has had more of an impact upon my life than I described during the later 'Arina' essays. There was a reason for such isolated dreaming. There still is. Yesterday was not terribly productive, although the morning really derailed me for quite some time. Today I can make up for all of it and then have the space to enjoy the championship this afternoon. The work must lead into tomorrow because I'll be out of here early to watch several games from the morning to late afternoon. I'll have to get everything in order today and then make revolutions for both Sunday and the upcoming donation pickup in a few weeks. I may be disjointed and smashed up inside, but the clock rolls regardless of my problems. If I am to maintain any sort of comfort I have to keep things in order. Today will be ideal for that. I can deal with all the legs in the city. I can deal with the dancer and the fact that I will never know how she created such a facial expression. I can even work around the house and keep the keel almost completely vertical (swing keel?). The underlying strain continues to build out of control, though. The largest and most difficult downside is taking place and piling upon itself each day and with every little incident. I am apparently powerless to change a fucking single sliver of life, so I'll just go on being miserable and needy for all time while tallying all the problems coming down the pike without end. I won't sit here and complain about 'no one understands', either. I cannot truly expect a person to understand a problem I will not clearly identify to them. That is unfair. I suppose remaining as quiet as possible is the only way right now. At least, until there is a better idea in the future (unlikely)." 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
War Mature content No. 279 Published December 4th, 2021 7:49am pst read ( words) Past entries "I don't know what the fuck to do here. Others continue to walk upon me and disregard my offers and opinions, and there I am on the floor awaiting the next slap. Is this how my world was supposed to be at this point in time? 'The Sentient Weaponry' was supposed to outline everything and put it all into perspective. I guess that essay was either ineffective or not enough to get the fucking point across. Another facet of life turned to shit. This has not been a good morning by any stretch of the word. Earlier I felt positive but now the mood is thin and much darker. Unhappy. I am concerned that one day I will end up like this late in the morning and the feeling will not go away or fade. I'm pretty fucking far down right now. Further than the other day. At some point I have to get up and care for stuff, too. There are parts of the day which cannot wait. And now there she is mid-fifth season with the big eyes and sweet voice. Damn. If only some things could have gone differently years ago -- or perhaps my brain operating a little better -- maybe I would not be feeling these negative pulls all the time. Some shit has been decidedly beyond my control, though. And I have been told that some behavior I did not realize years ago had stemmed from the same. I don't know. I can't sit here and not feel responsible for causing people trouble. That is just not me. Now I have no idea of what to do besides remain behind the doors and quiet. These days no matter what I say to another person the situation ends badly. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? Wars of words? War inside? 'War' this, fuckheads. I don't care. War is upon you. The first battle will be myself in dealing with how to best proceed. There will be old feelings and inklings coming back -- those past situations in which shit was effectively smoothed over for a time -- which must be understood and avoided as soon as they arise. I will not have it. The massive rampart continues to grow, and the past few days combined with this morning add up to even more dramatic construction. There seems to be no other way if I am to breathe at all. So, I'll have to fight my way to a better position in my head during each day so by close of business I can relax knowing all is in order. Fortified, I suppose, but within. Nothing on the outside, and nothing with which others can interfere. The only way. I've tried everything else and not a fucking soul seems to understand. Well, that is likely my fault like everything else. This is a bad time. Karlie stands six-foot-two without shoes. She embodies everything I am not, nor will ever be. But look at her. 1228 and no lunch yet. I don't know what the fuck to do this afternoon. The war inside me is at odds with the daily shit now. 1303. Laundry going. Everything else is finished. The war continues, unimpeded. I have the show up there again, partially due to familiarity and a bit because of respect. I don't know how else to put it. Eh... Valentina and her disgusting nature. Whatever. Still no lunch because I can't decide upon anything, let alone actually do something different or productive. This is a bad time as evidenced by my lack of motivation toward life in general. I just can't seem to give a shit. I have to get through the internal war before launching toward other people. This is not easy. There is plenty to do. My head can't deal with nearly anything right now, however. Perhaps closer to the evening I can find the strength to care for some items and ensure the evening relaxation is not misplaced. It has to feel deserved, lest tomorrow be worse. War. A switch from gangsters to dragons. Maybe a change in characters will help me feel empowered. 1335 and I ordered a pizza. My buddy came by for his tools and I helped with some other stuff so he has an easier time removing a valve handle at his job. I hope it works well. Me? I still don't fucking know what to do beyond the norm. These days have become very difficult once the morning crap is out of the way. I believe if the war inside can be won the way will be paved for me to affect others and step away from interference which will otherwise impede my progress in life. I have to make this change, and I have to do it soon. One little step at a time. Wednesday. Nothing of note yesterday aside from the war inside my head. Just another day in which I accomplished a few things and waited for the evening. But the pizza was very good and I have leftovers for later today. This morning there was a bit of business but now the day is all mine at 0816 and counting. I may run over to the hardware later for a pair of hinges. The back door is a real piece of shit these days. And then maybe some garage work for a little while. I ran some experiments with the audio out there yesterday and cannot find why there is no stereo signal coming out of the extractor here in the living room. I'll have to come up with some other method so I can leave the main system operating all six channels. Right now I don't have a clue but something will eventually materialize. This morning already seems better than yesterday. I know not why, but any improvement to the warring situation is a wonderful thing. 'War Ensemble' comes to mind when I think of the issues on the table right now. If only I could exercise the options of the north. Nope. Not these fucking days. The little crap earlier has paved the way to quiet time here, after which I will head in some other direction for a while before the hardware. Hard-war. Battle flank left? No, nothing like that anymore. This is different. If I have not completely lost it (how can I tell?), the work will open doors today. One war can continue in preparation for any voices trying to block my path. My path? Our path. Yes, we have a path to tread and one along which they cannot follow. The flag must make its own presence known to everyone. It cannot simply hang there and collect dust. That is bullshit. The other items pushing toward the darkness of the trees can be embraced one at a time so as to avoid any fucking interference or recognition. The weather outside is warm this morning in sharp contrast to what we always wished, yet at present it seems appropriate for the wind to be blowing in the wrong direction. The cold will be here to slam us soon enough. In the meantime we can work toward the ends in relative comfort. The wars are underway, one leading to the surface of another, and people leading themselves right straight into the blazing burial sites. The first war will end soon enough. We can then push everything away and leave room for only ourselves and those few possessions necessary for survival. 0855. Wars all over the place... Some inside, some outside, yet none are fully underway as of yet. Only partially. We have to focus and push, push, and push more. Shoving. Displacing. Knots. Resolution is unlikely at this juncture. No matter what may come along to provide hope or ambition, the same shit slams us and leaves us bereft of both in the longer term. We keep trying for whatever reason. The losses have piled upon each other like dead bodies in a field of battle. We must navigate around them and seek whatever may provide solace, yet no matter the steps or direction, we end up right back in the same place. Just like long ago when we tried to describe the cycle of desire and the fact that it accomplishes nothing more than the same misdirection, we come right back here after every occurrence and attempt to alleviate the sadness and loss with other devices. No resolution. There will be an epilogue, however. No one will understand any of it, though. All of the 'R' titled entries were to be a cycle of their own, yet we cannot find the correct words or path any longer. This is a bad time. 1402 and everything is exactly the same. We hopped to a bit of work but still no difference inside. The war continues with reinforcement from a pair of pairs on the television (portable now because the bandwidth is on and off this afternoon) which we have seen umpteen times with the same result. Difficulty. Desire. Problems. No outlet, no deposit, no return. Pissed off and stewing in it. The only path right now seems to be maintaining some work ethic for the remainder of the business hours. Otherwise we shall implode all over the place while filling with booze. Not good, so we choose not good over not good. Read it. "Convene your sheriffs so we can kill this uppity Wiccan cunt!" -- Pamela "Pam" Swynford De Beaufort... God love her. Still no beer cans on the back lawn because the only benefit is us seeing them lying there just like the first time more than six years ago when the act meant something and we fully supported it. Now? Everything is too different, all trivialized and exposed (partly). We can't fall back on the old axioms and expect similar results within the psyche. Nothing from the past seems to work. We need new avenues with fresh pavement for people to choke on. We must begin the wars in earnest. Slowly, painstakingly, and calculated. Baby steps. Well, a baby with horn buds, that is. The war is becoming everything we are and everything we must project. There may be no way around this. But beer cans? Stupid. We shall find something else to display our rampant dissatisfaction with society and its effects upon the intelligent thinkers. 0628 on Thursday morning. I can barely type or do anything else with my left hand. Something happened last night. I was sitting here after dinner and made a gesture of some sort and felt a sharp pain in the middle of my hand. Within an hour I was miserable. Sleep was haphazard. This morning it's worse. I may not be able to live my typical morning. Three different dreams, though. Two were interesting and one was disturbing. I was alone and the situation felt dire. Something was beginning to happen and working really well until I awakened. The end was never realized. Describing what was taking place or the emotional peak is not something I wish to place here. Not good. The other two helped keep me sane, however disappointing the ends became. Another title derailed. We were heading in the right direction yesterday but now do not feel the same. The war is paused. We are also experiencing the bad feelings like yesterday morning. Very bad. Today may not add up to much at all. Between sadness and anger, we simply have little left to offer. This is a bad time. War? We don't even know if the end can be achieved. Maybe everything is bullshit. 0803, the morning business is out of the way and my hand feels the same. I was able to take care of everything without too much difficulty. I guess that is a good thing in the middle of a sea of bad things. 1104 and switch, for Christ's sake. This is all bullshit. We keep approaching the same fucking issues from differing angles yet nothing is ever accomplished. Treading water, like every entry. Bullshit. There may be nothing we can do any longer. This place has become the norm, from typing and organizing to gathering and editing images and all the way to archiving and publishing, but honestly... All the same for a very long time. Pissed off. Relegated like back in eleven when we grasped at any fucking distraction but knowing full well of the temporary nature. This is fucking stupid and has been for nearly two years. A little while ago we finished off the routine and cleaned up to go out later and none of it fucking matters. Going through motions, always. The little enjoyments have been diminishing, last night being the latest kick in the ambition. Up and then down, down and down further until we see the bottom. Once realized, everything is finished. Done. Over. Through. Let the direction of this entry follow the mood. What few readers may remain are navigating to the archive and finding the links lead nowhere. The two-hundred some-odd entries have been moved to an unreachable location. Titles are all that remain. The subfolders are confusing even to us, yet necessary for exercising the control over this content we've needed for years. Not just ownership, either. Just this morning we relocated the hosting from shared to a dedicated server for the next year just to tighten the noose upon anyone wishing to read. The funny part is we are sitting now and describing the situation. Why? Just because we can. The site has not solved anything in nearly twenty years, anyway. Fuck it. No one needs to read this shit anyway. And the only entry available is now on the main index from almost a year ago. 'Tinned' will sit there for the duration. Jason just took one look at Jamie and her big eyes and nearly lost the ability to breathe. At least he was able to be in the same room with her. Lucky fuck. We would not have come out alive. The more we see her character, the more we are in love with her character. No choice anymore. She is artificial, fictional, whatever, and we are on board for the duration. Pure love sans war. There is no way. We are diminished. We have written much of her, hence part of the need to make the content disappear in a most frustrating manner. Live with it or don't. We don't fucking care about you and your needs. Not enough time. Everything is gone because that is the way we need to be right now. We ordered a new (used) keyboard for this machine because the present unit has lost some of its labeling due to much use. After upgrading and securing the operating system some months back, we realized the hardware can be maintained better for supporting this endeavor. The site may be worthless and a waste of time, but we are still going to type and add to the content no one can access. Just a circle we created out of hatred. 'Get outta my room, you sick cunt.' -- Tony Nothing will ever hold up to conjecture or dreams. Nothing can make it that far because the dreams are in the trees and no one is allowed in there. Not a soul. Not even Jamie, believe it or not. There has been too much either thrown at us or willed near us to the point of despising everyone. It continues to deepen no matter the fucking stupid platitudes or attempts to lift. The words accomplish zero. We already know. We know too fucking much these days. Paulie just shut down Father Sleepover in the funniest manner possible. Love. It. Anyway, we can't relay anything to another soul because we have no control over where it may travel or the bullshit given back to us in response. There is no longer any trust with regard to people. We know there are problems. We fucking know because we are more intelligent than we can describe here, especially when it comes to the subject of dreams. Nothing can hold up against the images we've seen. All we have left is a small space within which we reside with very few devices. Angry. This is a bad time. 'I'. Two days later. 0632 on Saturday morning and all is not well. At least I am comfortable with coffee and friends. The problems continue without relief and there is another war of sorts on the horizon. Yesterday morning we drove into the city for her exam and I had to kill some time before leaving. I walked, mostly, did some reading and picked up coffee. The walking represented my first real time spent over there for some years and being out of the car was very different. At this point in time and after everything published here for God-knows how long, the very idea of me wandering the downtown and waterfront areas immediately seems like a bad idea. Well, there was more than I would care to define right now. I literally had to turn myself away as each ferry was offloaded. I tried walking north but the same happened. Just grabbing a cup of coffee in the marketplace provided some sights I could not believe. Lots of swearing to myself. Lots of torment. At the beginning I looked forward to walking along the Embarcadero and sipping a good cup of coffee, but in the end I was just happy to drive the hell out of that area and return to the mundane. One of those issues I have avoided for a while is still alive and well, meaning my weakened condition is not going away. A small battle took place between my desire to see and the more important stance of leaving people alone and out of my fucking problems. I don't understand why some aspects of living must be so elusive or difficult. I just don't get it. Naturally, I am not referring to everything being easy or handed to a person, only a few parts of daily life. If I were a complete idiot this entire line of thinking would be meaningless, but I can't help thinking some of the small ideas are going to remain difficult to see or find no matter what I do. This is beginning to sound ridiculous again. Damn it. The entire idea of the title has gone away. Fuck it anyway, I don't fucking care. This morning some things are different in forward vision, resulting in the need to be angry. Ugh... There is the dancer with the face and stomach again. Her expression seems impossible to describe, as if she created a look or a way to gaze back at those watching her with complete mystery. I don't get it. The scene is short-lived but has had a lasting impression upon me due to always dreaming of something special out there waiting to be discovered or connected. Like when I saw that woman by the highway last year when I drove each day, the feeling was nearly indescribable and directly related to being completely desperate and pathetic since youth. I saw her standing there and actually hoped she was in the middle of a similar search. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Yet that is how I functioned for so long that the perspective is now ingrained. The dancer up there is a mystery, sealed in a little box, frozen in time and there only to be seen and never understood. The very idea of my sitting here relating the dancer to some weak and desperate fantasy is worse than I could have imagined while taking those drives last year, and at the time I already felt pretty fucking stupid. Imagine how I feel now. Yes, the dancer struck me that much. I began this paragraph with a mention of the title being lost again. Now even the topic of one section is also lost. I am lost. This is not good. All that shit from the expression on a fictional dancer's face when the rest of the world was probably focused upon her bare skin. Unbelievable. What IS this? Maybe seeing twenty pairs of black yoga pants wrapped around so much beauty yesterday hit me upside the head enough to drive more shit to the screen. I don't know. Some of those pants were pretty fucking scary, too. I made myself scarce. When it comes to the television, however, I know that face well enough to feel much more, including being completely detached no matter how many viewings may pile up over time. I don't have to worry even if there is desire. Much better. Another entire entry with one intention and subject completely obliterated by the fact that I never recovered from the shit situations and grew into a person unable to understand anything. Another entire entry disabled by weakness. I am certain the story of Shilo from way back has had more of an impact upon my life than I described during the later 'Arina' essays. There was a reason for such isolated dreaming. There still is. Yesterday was not terribly productive, although the morning really derailed me for quite some time. Today I can make up for all of it and then have the space to enjoy the championship this afternoon. The work must lead into tomorrow because I'll be out of here early to watch several games from the morning to late afternoon. I'll have to get everything in order today and then make revolutions for both Sunday and the upcoming donation pickup in a few weeks. I may be disjointed and smashed up inside, but the clock rolls regardless of my problems. If I am to maintain any sort of comfort I have to keep things in order. Today will be ideal for that. I can deal with all the legs in the city. I can deal with the dancer and the fact that I will never know how she created such a facial expression. I can even work around the house and keep the keel almost completely vertical (swing keel?). The underlying strain continues to build out of control, though. The largest and most difficult downside is taking place and piling upon itself each day and with every little incident. I am apparently powerless to change a fucking single sliver of life, so I'll just go on being miserable and needy for all time while tallying all the problems coming down the pike without end. I won't sit here and complain about 'no one understands', either. I cannot truly expect a person to understand a problem I will not clearly identify to them. That is unfair. I suppose remaining as quiet as possible is the only way right now. At least, until there is a better idea in the future (unlikely)."
War
Mature content No. 279 Published December 4th, 2021 7:49am pst read ( words) Past entries
"I don't know what the fuck to do here. Others continue to walk upon me and disregard my offers and opinions, and there I am on the floor awaiting the next slap. Is this how my world was supposed to be at this point in time? 'The Sentient Weaponry' was supposed to outline everything and put it all into perspective. I guess that essay was either ineffective or not enough to get the fucking point across. Another facet of life turned to shit. This has not been a good morning by any stretch of the word. Earlier I felt positive but now the mood is thin and much darker. Unhappy. I am concerned that one day I will end up like this late in the morning and the feeling will not go away or fade. I'm pretty fucking far down right now. Further than the other day. At some point I have to get up and care for stuff, too. There are parts of the day which cannot wait. And now there she is mid-fifth season with the big eyes and sweet voice. Damn. If only some things could have gone differently years ago -- or perhaps my brain operating a little better -- maybe I would not be feeling these negative pulls all the time. Some shit has been decidedly beyond my control, though. And I have been told that some behavior I did not realize years ago had stemmed from the same. I don't know. I can't sit here and not feel responsible for causing people trouble. That is just not me. Now I have no idea of what to do besides remain behind the doors and quiet. These days no matter what I say to another person the situation ends badly. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? Wars of words? War inside? 'War' this, fuckheads. I don't care. War is upon you. The first battle will be myself in dealing with how to best proceed. There will be old feelings and inklings coming back -- those past situations in which shit was effectively smoothed over for a time -- which must be understood and avoided as soon as they arise. I will not have it. The massive rampart continues to grow, and the past few days combined with this morning add up to even more dramatic construction. There seems to be no other way if I am to breathe at all. So, I'll have to fight my way to a better position in my head during each day so by close of business I can relax knowing all is in order. Fortified, I suppose, but within. Nothing on the outside, and nothing with which others can interfere. The only way. I've tried everything else and not a fucking soul seems to understand. Well, that is likely my fault like everything else. This is a bad time. Karlie stands six-foot-two without shoes. She embodies everything I am not, nor will ever be. But look at her. 1228 and no lunch yet. I don't know what the fuck to do this afternoon. The war inside me is at odds with the daily shit now. 1303. Laundry going. Everything else is finished. The war continues, unimpeded. I have the show up there again, partially due to familiarity and a bit because of respect. I don't know how else to put it. Eh... Valentina and her disgusting nature. Whatever. Still no lunch because I can't decide upon anything, let alone actually do something different or productive. This is a bad time as evidenced by my lack of motivation toward life in general. I just can't seem to give a shit. I have to get through the internal war before launching toward other people. This is not easy. There is plenty to do. My head can't deal with nearly anything right now, however. Perhaps closer to the evening I can find the strength to care for some items and ensure the evening relaxation is not misplaced. It has to feel deserved, lest tomorrow be worse. War. A switch from gangsters to dragons. Maybe a change in characters will help me feel empowered. 1335 and I ordered a pizza. My buddy came by for his tools and I helped with some other stuff so he has an easier time removing a valve handle at his job. I hope it works well. Me? I still don't fucking know what to do beyond the norm. These days have become very difficult once the morning crap is out of the way. I believe if the war inside can be won the way will be paved for me to affect others and step away from interference which will otherwise impede my progress in life. I have to make this change, and I have to do it soon. One little step at a time. Wednesday. Nothing of note yesterday aside from the war inside my head. Just another day in which I accomplished a few things and waited for the evening. But the pizza was very good and I have leftovers for later today. This morning there was a bit of business but now the day is all mine at 0816 and counting. I may run over to the hardware later for a pair of hinges. The back door is a real piece of shit these days. And then maybe some garage work for a little while. I ran some experiments with the audio out there yesterday and cannot find why there is no stereo signal coming out of the extractor here in the living room. I'll have to come up with some other method so I can leave the main system operating all six channels. Right now I don't have a clue but something will eventually materialize. This morning already seems better than yesterday. I know not why, but any improvement to the warring situation is a wonderful thing. 'War Ensemble' comes to mind when I think of the issues on the table right now. If only I could exercise the options of the north. Nope. Not these fucking days. The little crap earlier has paved the way to quiet time here, after which I will head in some other direction for a while before the hardware. Hard-war. Battle flank left? No, nothing like that anymore. This is different. If I have not completely lost it (how can I tell?), the work will open doors today. One war can continue in preparation for any voices trying to block my path. My path? Our path. Yes, we have a path to tread and one along which they cannot follow. The flag must make its own presence known to everyone. It cannot simply hang there and collect dust. That is bullshit. The other items pushing toward the darkness of the trees can be embraced one at a time so as to avoid any fucking interference or recognition. The weather outside is warm this morning in sharp contrast to what we always wished, yet at present it seems appropriate for the wind to be blowing in the wrong direction. The cold will be here to slam us soon enough. In the meantime we can work toward the ends in relative comfort. The wars are underway, one leading to the surface of another, and people leading themselves right straight into the blazing burial sites. The first war will end soon enough. We can then push everything away and leave room for only ourselves and those few possessions necessary for survival. 0855. Wars all over the place... Some inside, some outside, yet none are fully underway as of yet. Only partially. We have to focus and push, push, and push more. Shoving. Displacing. Knots. Resolution is unlikely at this juncture. No matter what may come along to provide hope or ambition, the same shit slams us and leaves us bereft of both in the longer term. We keep trying for whatever reason. The losses have piled upon each other like dead bodies in a field of battle. We must navigate around them and seek whatever may provide solace, yet no matter the steps or direction, we end up right back in the same place. Just like long ago when we tried to describe the cycle of desire and the fact that it accomplishes nothing more than the same misdirection, we come right back here after every occurrence and attempt to alleviate the sadness and loss with other devices. No resolution. There will be an epilogue, however. No one will understand any of it, though. All of the 'R' titled entries were to be a cycle of their own, yet we cannot find the correct words or path any longer. This is a bad time. 1402 and everything is exactly the same. We hopped to a bit of work but still no difference inside. The war continues with reinforcement from a pair of pairs on the television (portable now because the bandwidth is on and off this afternoon) which we have seen umpteen times with the same result. Difficulty. Desire. Problems. No outlet, no deposit, no return. Pissed off and stewing in it. The only path right now seems to be maintaining some work ethic for the remainder of the business hours. Otherwise we shall implode all over the place while filling with booze. Not good, so we choose not good over not good. Read it. "Convene your sheriffs so we can kill this uppity Wiccan cunt!" -- Pamela "Pam" Swynford De Beaufort... God love her. Still no beer cans on the back lawn because the only benefit is us seeing them lying there just like the first time more than six years ago when the act meant something and we fully supported it. Now? Everything is too different, all trivialized and exposed (partly). We can't fall back on the old axioms and expect similar results within the psyche. Nothing from the past seems to work. We need new avenues with fresh pavement for people to choke on. We must begin the wars in earnest. Slowly, painstakingly, and calculated. Baby steps. Well, a baby with horn buds, that is. The war is becoming everything we are and everything we must project. There may be no way around this. But beer cans? Stupid. We shall find something else to display our rampant dissatisfaction with society and its effects upon the intelligent thinkers. 0628 on Thursday morning. I can barely type or do anything else with my left hand. Something happened last night. I was sitting here after dinner and made a gesture of some sort and felt a sharp pain in the middle of my hand. Within an hour I was miserable. Sleep was haphazard. This morning it's worse. I may not be able to live my typical morning. Three different dreams, though. Two were interesting and one was disturbing. I was alone and the situation felt dire. Something was beginning to happen and working really well until I awakened. The end was never realized. Describing what was taking place or the emotional peak is not something I wish to place here. Not good. The other two helped keep me sane, however disappointing the ends became.
Another title derailed. We were heading in the right direction yesterday but now do not feel the same. The war is paused. We are also experiencing the bad feelings like yesterday morning. Very bad. Today may not add up to much at all. Between sadness and anger, we simply have little left to offer. This is a bad time. War? We don't even know if the end can be achieved. Maybe everything is bullshit. 0803, the morning business is out of the way and my hand feels the same. I was able to take care of everything without too much difficulty. I guess that is a good thing in the middle of a sea of bad things. 1104 and switch, for Christ's sake. This is all bullshit. We keep approaching the same fucking issues from differing angles yet nothing is ever accomplished. Treading water, like every entry. Bullshit. There may be nothing we can do any longer. This place has become the norm, from typing and organizing to gathering and editing images and all the way to archiving and publishing, but honestly... All the same for a very long time. Pissed off. Relegated like back in eleven when we grasped at any fucking distraction but knowing full well of the temporary nature. This is fucking stupid and has been for nearly two years. A little while ago we finished off the routine and cleaned up to go out later and none of it fucking matters. Going through motions, always. The little enjoyments have been diminishing, last night being the latest kick in the ambition. Up and then down, down and down further until we see the bottom. Once realized, everything is finished. Done. Over. Through. Let the direction of this entry follow the mood. What few readers may remain are navigating to the archive and finding the links lead nowhere. The two-hundred some-odd entries have been moved to an unreachable location. Titles are all that remain. The subfolders are confusing even to us, yet necessary for exercising the control over this content we've needed for years. Not just ownership, either. Just this morning we relocated the hosting from shared to a dedicated server for the next year just to tighten the noose upon anyone wishing to read. The funny part is we are sitting now and describing the situation. Why? Just because we can. The site has not solved anything in nearly twenty years, anyway. Fuck it. No one needs to read this shit anyway. And the only entry available is now on the main index from almost a year ago. 'Tinned' will sit there for the duration. Jason just took one look at Jamie and her big eyes and nearly lost the ability to breathe. At least he was able to be in the same room with her. Lucky fuck. We would not have come out alive. The more we see her character, the more we are in love with her character. No choice anymore. She is artificial, fictional, whatever, and we are on board for the duration. Pure love sans war. There is no way. We are diminished. We have written much of her, hence part of the need to make the content disappear in a most frustrating manner. Live with it or don't. We don't fucking care about you and your needs. Not enough time. Everything is gone because that is the way we need to be right now. We ordered a new (used) keyboard for this machine because the present unit has lost some of its labeling due to much use. After upgrading and securing the operating system some months back, we realized the hardware can be maintained better for supporting this endeavor. The site may be worthless and a waste of time, but we are still going to type and add to the content no one can access. Just a circle we created out of hatred. 'Get outta my room, you sick cunt.' -- Tony Nothing will ever hold up to conjecture or dreams. Nothing can make it that far because the dreams are in the trees and no one is allowed in there. Not a soul. Not even Jamie, believe it or not. There has been too much either thrown at us or willed near us to the point of despising everyone. It continues to deepen no matter the fucking stupid platitudes or attempts to lift. The words accomplish zero. We already know. We know too fucking much these days. Paulie just shut down Father Sleepover in the funniest manner possible. Love. It. Anyway, we can't relay anything to another soul because we have no control over where it may travel or the bullshit given back to us in response. There is no longer any trust with regard to people. We know there are problems. We fucking know because we are more intelligent than we can describe here, especially when it comes to the subject of dreams. Nothing can hold up against the images we've seen. All we have left is a small space within which we reside with very few devices. Angry. This is a bad time. 'I'. Two days later. 0632 on Saturday morning and all is not well. At least I am comfortable with coffee and friends. The problems continue without relief and there is another war of sorts on the horizon. Yesterday morning we drove into the city for her exam and I had to kill some time before leaving. I walked, mostly, did some reading and picked up coffee. The walking represented my first real time spent over there for some years and being out of the car was very different. At this point in time and after everything published here for God-knows how long, the very idea of me wandering the downtown and waterfront areas immediately seems like a bad idea. Well, there was more than I would care to define right now. I literally had to turn myself away as each ferry was offloaded. I tried walking north but the same happened. Just grabbing a cup of coffee in the marketplace provided some sights I could not believe. Lots of swearing to myself. Lots of torment. At the beginning I looked forward to walking along the Embarcadero and sipping a good cup of coffee, but in the end I was just happy to drive the hell out of that area and return to the mundane. One of those issues I have avoided for a while is still alive and well, meaning my weakened condition is not going away. A small battle took place between my desire to see and the more important stance of leaving people alone and out of my fucking problems. I don't understand why some aspects of living must be so elusive or difficult. I just don't get it. Naturally, I am not referring to everything being easy or handed to a person, only a few parts of daily life. If I were a complete idiot this entire line of thinking would be meaningless, but I can't help thinking some of the small ideas are going to remain difficult to see or find no matter what I do. This is beginning to sound ridiculous again. Damn it. The entire idea of the title has gone away. Fuck it anyway, I don't fucking care. This morning some things are different in forward vision, resulting in the need to be angry. Ugh... There is the dancer with the face and stomach again. Her expression seems impossible to describe, as if she created a look or a way to gaze back at those watching her with complete mystery. I don't get it. The scene is short-lived but has had a lasting impression upon me due to always dreaming of something special out there waiting to be discovered or connected. Like when I saw that woman by the highway last year when I drove each day, the feeling was nearly indescribable and directly related to being completely desperate and pathetic since youth. I saw her standing there and actually hoped she was in the middle of a similar search. No way. No. Fucking. Way. Yet that is how I functioned for so long that the perspective is now ingrained. The dancer up there is a mystery, sealed in a little box, frozen in time and there only to be seen and never understood. The very idea of my sitting here relating the dancer to some weak and desperate fantasy is worse than I could have imagined while taking those drives last year, and at the time I already felt pretty fucking stupid. Imagine how I feel now. Yes, the dancer struck me that much. I began this paragraph with a mention of the title being lost again. Now even the topic of one section is also lost. I am lost. This is not good. All that shit from the expression on a fictional dancer's face when the rest of the world was probably focused upon her bare skin. Unbelievable. What IS this? Maybe seeing twenty pairs of black yoga pants wrapped around so much beauty yesterday hit me upside the head enough to drive more shit to the screen. I don't know. Some of those pants were pretty fucking scary, too. I made myself scarce. When it comes to the television, however, I know that face well enough to feel much more, including being completely detached no matter how many viewings may pile up over time. I don't have to worry even if there is desire. Much better. Another entire entry with one intention and subject completely obliterated by the fact that I never recovered from the shit situations and grew into a person unable to understand anything. Another entire entry disabled by weakness. I am certain the story of Shilo from way back has had more of an impact upon my life than I described during the later 'Arina' essays. There was a reason for such isolated dreaming. There still is. Yesterday was not terribly productive, although the morning really derailed me for quite some time. Today I can make up for all of it and then have the space to enjoy the championship this afternoon. The work must lead into tomorrow because I'll be out of here early to watch several games from the morning to late afternoon. I'll have to get everything in order today and then make revolutions for both Sunday and the upcoming donation pickup in a few weeks. I may be disjointed and smashed up inside, but the clock rolls regardless of my problems. If I am to maintain any sort of comfort I have to keep things in order. Today will be ideal for that. I can deal with all the legs in the city. I can deal with the dancer and the fact that I will never know how she created such a facial expression. I can even work around the house and keep the keel almost completely vertical (swing keel?). The underlying strain continues to build out of control, though. The largest and most difficult downside is taking place and piling upon itself each day and with every little incident. I am apparently powerless to change a fucking single sliver of life, so I'll just go on being miserable and needy for all time while tallying all the problems coming down the pike without end. I won't sit here and complain about 'no one understands', either. I cannot truly expect a person to understand a problem I will not clearly identify to them. That is unfair. I suppose remaining as quiet as possible is the only way right now. At least, until there is a better idea in the future (unlikely)."
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
legal
about
archive
home
