December 17th, 2021 11:28am pst

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The Weakness

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"'Nothing is ever enough and we are weakened to the point of knowing the search can never end. This is our fucking destiny. A dull, constant and uncomfortable yearning. This is not entirely our fault.'

1345 and I have completed everything including a trip to the market. The assholes have not been a problem since slamming the situation this morning. The weather is yikes. There is water coming out of a crack in the driveway and flowing into the street. Unbelievable. Wind is going in circles, too.

The next morning and I have the house to myself.

Wow. Just fucking wow. I never imagined this much difficulty at my age. Not my fault. A tiny bit, perhaps, but overall? Nope. Not a chance. I just don't fucking understand this any longer. Yes, there were issues in the past which have permanently jaded me into oblivion with zero chance of alteration, but honestly most of the time I feel as if there have been words injected into my fucking head by others and by society with nary a shot at comprehension. Are they all simply jokes? Did I turn out like this due to being so weak? There can be no denying the weakness, either. Never before has my head been in such bad shape. The little enjoyments had better fucking hold up. The alternative is not pleasant at all...

'Your god of filth can't help you now;
Soon to meet the evil one...'

0913. Very cold outside, but at least it's not raining this morning. I have the gangsters on for the time being and my routine awaits inspiration or ambition. I have neither at the moment. Sick of everything right now. Nothing looks appealing.

I spent a bit of time at the bar yesterday and ended up partially regretting going there, although I did pick up my tools which were borrowed some days ago. That is a good thing as I like all my stuff right here with me. The afternoon there, though... Only slightly comfortable. I kept thinking of the party and that fucking woman standing next to the bar in full view for half a fucking hour. Not good. Now I can see her again and my brain will not stop with the drama. The injected words and partial thoughts related to them continue to plague me and there is absolutely no outlet whatsoever. I never wanted anything like this for myself, but due to the years passed coupled with a few individuals -- namely Ashley and her unique point of view which is STILL beyond comprehension after eighteen years -- I cannot live a fucking hour without the entire subject damned-near bringing me to my knees. As related to the woman at the party? Yep... Very bad. My head went around the world in eighty milliseconds only to leave me right back where I started, yet with another dreamy vision corrupting my thought processes. I fucking hate this shit more than I can express. The current entry will follow suit, as well. Put on a helmet, shitheads.

1129 and I have the routine finished. I'll have to continue eyeballing the kitchen all day, though. The little fuckers keep trickling, so I can't leave the area unattended for long. They will build a highway. I wish that was funny, too. On the upside (if there can be one for the most annoying issue in the house), the assholes coming into the house due to weather is minuscule when held against the vast power of my internal issues. Do you believe that shit? I barely can. The bar yesterday showed me that life remains unchanged beyond the door standing not ten feet from my position. Inside? Too much to describe here. The dire nature of my thinking is reminiscent of the early zeros when I was on the edge of running every fucking day. Believe that one, people. The fact is I am so dissatisfied with life at this age that even the small comforts are struggling to help me keep my head up. Everything is THAT bad. This will likely turn into yesterday. I ran out of gas and felt completely defeated by lunch. Not good, but as I continue to repeat here, this is a bad time.


Imagery, societal norms, societal mass opinions and the like have been weighing heavily and increasing the pressure upon my fucking head day after day. Yes, I watch some pretty fucking harsh programming from HBO quite often, but the reasoning is high quality writing, direction, acting and some of the deepest character development in the history of television. I am not kidding. The downside is a mass of realistic issues which periodically hits me in the heart and questions my ability to survive all those ideas in people's heads. I just can't help it anymore. I love the characters and their interaction. The programming hurts me but at the same time I love it deeply. Familiarity is part of the reason, too. I know them and I know what is going to be spoken or displayed. Such knowledge helps, believe it or not, along with watching alone a good portion of the time. Nearly all, actually. I typically cannot deal with another pair of eyes or ears close by while the show runs its course. Weakness. There are three personality traits which are missing inside me. Three. The first time I realized such a fact was eighteen years ago. I am further from those traits at present.

At this point I must admit that my general stress level has dropped in recent months. Nothing wrong with that, but such an admission is due to the time I spend alone, not with other people. People have created what you see here. They made me this way.

The site has topped last year's line count by eight thousand. Basket case, you say?

'God above; lord and love
It's fool's love.
Heart of fire; lord and liar Don't falter.'

Eh... This exploration and exposition is no longer enjoyable. Necessary, I believe, but not good. I have heard shit about the cathartic release, assistance through letting the difficulty come through the keyboard, but the truth is I am far worse off now than years ago. Twenty, in fact, because I was actually building the original, more simplistic site design months prior to going live in zero two. Everything in my world was better during that period and it didn’t even compare to the glow. Just imagine how I am feeling now. The weather is crazy at present, even for this tame locale. There is an Ashley on the screen with incredible structure, pretty much unlike any other female actor on the series. She reminds me of the other Ashley who succeeded in pouring me into my car and insisting I leave the goblet and head home to fix myself. Not her face, mind you, but the manner in which she carries herself in a dress and heels. Very similar. Seeing her walk makes me yearn to fly up her dress like a deranged pelican. Whatever. I digress as usual.

0736 on Wednesday and all is not well. Not even close. My morning hasn't been smooth like most days, but at least the quiet time has arrived. I need it. Too many little annoyances which are difficult to control right now continue to weigh on me. Sometimes I think the only time which brings me any satisfaction in life is the short period with the laptop and coffee in the morning. Everything else is either setting up for a little comfort or wrapping up comfort for the night. Enjoyment? Waning. This morning could have begun much better, too. I did my damnedest yesterday to clean and treat the kitchen after seeing a few scouts only to enter the area this morning and see many more coming from an opening which I cannot seal. This has all been caused by the weather, too. No blaming the weather. I can't do that. So, I have to simply deal with whatever happens in the best manner I can and then sit here and hope. Well, this morning has dashed my hopes and pissed me off again. I'm just so fucking sick and tired of having to deal with stupid shit when my main concern is to fucking SURVIVE at all. No one seems to understand that, either. I know the morning will pass and everything will eventually be fine, so don't give me shit about feeling defeated.

I feel like the new keyboard is being shipped via turtle. Slow boat. Something. The space bar is slowing my progress and becoming just another annoyance. I don't need any more piled on top.

Today is going to be rather all over the place. I have to go to the hardware, a visit up the hill afterward, and then some work for a friend even further up the hill. In and around all that stuff I will try to clear my tired head and consider longer-term solutions to some of the issues here in the house. Generally speaking, whenever I am severely annoyed things begin to change. The bad mood and my dissatisfaction in nearly every fucking stitch of living can often be alleviated for a time by my little devices, though. I'll have to try employing one or two this morning. And I need to see and hear this fucking character on the television like I need super glue poured up my nose. Damn it. Some things are going to remain screwed up no matter what I do.

There is that Ashley-thingy again, breasts looking amazing. Every time she takes a step there is slight movement above the line of her top which reveals the type of breasts hiding behind the clothing. That is a fucking toughie and I am certain no one needs me describing her appearance with such detail, but understand that at this moment in time I am so weakened that I can't fucking help it anymore. Deranged pelican. Even while she is pissy and yelling. Yep. Still amazing. None of it matters, though. Don't even get me started on her thighs. They send me back to the other Ashley and that position which is unequaled in the universe. This is a very bad fucking time.


My peace of mind has been very fragile this past year. Too much worry over the future and lamenting of the past combined with concern for the health of the house have taken their toll. I really do not need anything else crammed into my head right now. Too weak already. My stomach is paying the price for all this shit, as well. One more little straw and I am going to flip the fuck out toward whomever may be standing before me when it happens. Not good. More than ever I need comfort. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything and lately those things I love are elusive to the point of causing the dire feeling that the world is ending. I don't need this, I swear to God.

The third image resembles Ashley's form very closely, although the woman pictured is not as tall. I can see it. But everything else? Very close. Ashley was a dramatic example of thin while still curvy. I still can't believe she held me for a time. How did it happen? I hope her life is happy and fulfilling. She deserves it. What an angel. Never mind. I changed the images to those of drinks at the Mandalay Bay and Luxor.

Sarah is in the dungeon again. She did it to herself. 'I'm taking you back to blonde.' Awesome, Pam.

Now the woman is wearing a t-shirt with nothing underneath. Very telling, that look. My brain is aching. The weakness continues unimpeded. I can no longer be strong.

Maybe I should focus upon the evening because it always feels nice no matter what takes place on a given day. The dipshits in the kitchen are minor when held against my entire life and the worries inherent in being awake. I honestly believe the major hangup I have when they come in the house is a lack of control. Sound familiar? I sit here and look at Ashley's doppelgänger on the screen with her breasts poking forth and thighs screaming at me, yet the ants still take up space in my brain. That is a clear-cut case of control. An issue. The woman looks like a dream despite being blonde, but even her beauty cannot push away worries. When things don't go my way, I end up fairly upset and curt with people and I think the entire subject is a lack of control. This is very bad, but at least I understand and can define the problem. The evening, on the other hand, represents my control over the atmosphere and media. Very comfortable, honestly. Dinner, cocktails (calming, though that is not a positive fact), and some relaxation among the holiday lights and television. If I can work my way through this day and keep my sights set upon the evening, perhaps whatever difficulties come along can be eased.

I'd give my right arm to see her pull off that fucking shirt right now. Jesus fucking Christ is she ever thin. Basket case. Um... Weak basket case.

0649 on the day after problems. Yesterday morning worked my patience and the afternoon left my head flat as a pancake and more deflated than I have been in years. Not good. The concern is peaking right now. Between those blissful moments of the past which caused me to continuously analyze everything to the darkness of eleven which had me questioning everything, the current period has become a mulch pit of issues which cannot end. The beginning of this was other people but I am sustaining all of it because I cannot stop worrying for a second. This is still going. And the more I leave the house, the more I realize I should never leave the house.


Today will be split in half, roughly, because I need to carry her over to an appointment in the middle of the day. Before and after that trip, this machine will be commandeered for hours. I'll be left to the little devices here and there, I guess. Media will probably follow me around as I work today. Hopefully I can maintain a clear head and organize some crap without falling down again. Yesterday I dropped through the floor for good reason. That same shit carried over to this morning and has been affecting my ability to think about everything. 'Don't falter', indeed. Too late. I faltered and was left to become a different kind of basket case. Now I am sitting here wondering where this entry will lead if I cannot cease worrying. I am weakened even more than one day ago at this hour and my concern for the coming days, weeks, months is increasing by the second. I believe after everything which has taken place throughout the last two decades, my destiny may be a small chair holding me as I stare off into space forever. No talking, to writing, no nothing. Catatonic. Such a destination has become illuminated. Today will have to encompass more organization and planning, I guess. When the time comes that I completely give up, those tasks must already be completed to my own satisfaction.

I feel weaker today than yesterday at this time. The morning is better because I didn't have to deal with the kitchen today, yet deep down I know there are issues at work which are eventually going to leave me completely devastated and withdrawn. I'm fucking sick of thinking about this all the time but there is nothing I can do about it. Everything is now tempered by thought processes I cannot stop.

0737 and that is the fucking end of that.


Perhaps if the sun shines today I can pocket the portable media and work in the garage. Everything out there has been sitting due to the weather. None of it really bothers me much because I know the time will arrive, yet still I do need to move some shit around before the donation day next week. They are coming, rain or shine, so I have to gather all the crap and have it ready. All other projects out there are on hold, I suppose. Almost time to rise and do some work. My new keyboard is out for delivery, so that's one more detail I can care for today. After yesterday and being punched in the face by circumstance for the hundredth time, I could sure use some good things and a bit of peace. We shall see where the day takes us.

Well, here I sit at 0901 with the show and the last of the coffee for this morning. I took care of the floors and litter, happy to see no little bastards swept up on the way. That means things are under control for the time being, or until they pop up somewhere else. The kitchen is fine, too. I have some laundry going and the sun is shining a little. Hopefully it will warm the house today. The appointment is in just over two hours. Afterward I will have to keep things quiet by way of the portable media as I work at whatever seems best. Right now my options are narrow due to the need for the aforementioned quiet. Once again that dark beauty is on the screen all big eyes and wavy hair. She is the one who reminds me a bit of my friend's wife who is so fucking scary sometimes. Likely one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but oh so frightening when I consider the way her mind works. I've seen it. I will no longer approach her for any reason aside from a greeting. And then away with me. Distance. The woman on the screen is a character, though. Just a face. Soon I may hop to the garage and move some shit around.

This entry is stupid, yet still a decent example (like many others) of the weakness ruling my entire life.

'Ahh... I suppose it would be better if I never opened my mouth.' Yes, please. Most people would be better off if no one ever spoke. And Carmela uses my least favorite word in this episode. It still hurts after four decades. Deeply. That ruined me for all time. Pieces missing, worry every day, no real happiness, constant uptight concern with everything and everyone. Pissed off. Fuck everybody. My journal of one of the shows has a record of each and every occurrence. That is how bad it sits with me. At least I always know when to expect the cuts. I've been told -- by nothing more than an acquaintance, mind you -- that hanging on to the feelings means I continue to drive myself down by not letting go of the past. Well, fuck her. I can't. The subject is pervasive and has related to each and every day I've lived since then. It is on my mind several times per week and I cannot let it go or even attempt to forget. If this is an example of yet another weakness, so be it. I need to hold on or I may turn into one of 'them'. If you don't know of 'them', you are one. Anyway...

0744 on Friday morning. The days are running together. I have the show on again and some coffee for a little while before tackling anything else, if I even lift a finger in other directions. Yesterday was fine. I took care of the morning appointment, shopping, and then the furnace work for my buddy. I did what I could to get it going, but then later after arriving home I guess the thing fucked up again. I'll have to go over there later today. The morning crap is out of the way and I have adjusted the main index to reflect this very scattered frame of mind. The image of the woman bent to take a shot on the pool table makes me think of the title of an upcoming entry. What a fucking shape on that woman. Jesus.

I am going to sit here for a while and see if I can overcome the weakness and focus upon what needs to be done here and around the house. Maybe in my head, too. I honestly do not believe anything has been served or accomplished here in a very long time. The entire idea has been reduced to the sound of the keys clicking (and I have to replace the keyboard again in a little while) and the idea of choosing some images to be interspersed throughout the text. I feel what I feel, want and need what I want and need, yet there is no way to go about adjusting my life to allow for anything positive to actually burn in and remain. The writing here is beginning to feel loose and ill-conceived. I don't know what else to do so I keep typing.

The day is wide open at this point, but will anything change besides the keyboard? Will I come out the other side at the close of business and feel accomplished? More likely the dreams and weakness will tear down any productive thought and leave me just as they did two days ago. I don't know what to do. This is a bad time. Lots of options, little ambition anymore. I can't fucking stand the feelings inside, nor can I do anything about them. I've become chained to impossibility and disappointment. Twin dreams, twin coffins.

Maybe I'll open the garage after the interior chores are finished and slam the day with music and alcohol. I did it many times last year and came out the other side in decent shape (for the most part, anyway). There is little to do inside today. I have to keep my eyes on the kitchen and living room to ensure the little fucks don't come back in when or where I least expect them. Lately I've been able to nip the process early and avoid a highway being built, although there are areas I cannot access, so watching closely is the only way. To be honest, the shit inside me squashes much of the concern for ants invading. They are fairly easy to eliminate, whereas the weakness-inducing dreams have no solution. I am helpless and a slave to thought.

Getting angry. I am completely disappointed in the way I turned out after so many years. Shaped by other people and guided into adulthood along flexible rails. Everything changing, up in the air, questionable, yet there was nothing I could do because I was not taught to look beyond or 'know better'. Very bad. I can't stand much of society and have become a product of the same. Angry. Maybe I will lash. Sometimes it is necessary. The au jus of life is now solid, burned, cracked. Fused to the pan forever.

I only understand some of it. Too much unknown. Pissed off. Coming soon to a site near you...

Sick, twisted logic.


Pretty and ugly at the same time. Also coming here very soon, perhaps before we slam the little anniversary logo to the index. We know not what else to do. The chores will be finished soon and we shall head out and embrace the garage work until the temperature drives us back inside. We began a story many years ago when the site was young and it is still sitting in the folder, mostly unchanged. We added three other entries to follow the nonlinear theme but never really went anywhere with them. Images are there, along with ideas for crafting a tale which should have proven very interesting and compelling. Well, like everything else in this fucking life, the drive went away. We have sat on those four entries since early nineteen with nary a look back. They just sit there like the long fiction, as if elves will come during the night and add some words. No ambition. No reasons. Little drive. Waning hope. Massive discomfort and sadness. Seas of loss. Vast oceans of emptiness, just like that other story of the little boat and the man on the sea in the fog. One oar. Pretty and ugly at the same time. Something in the world needs to be fucking slammed. Maybe someone will come to the front door and kick us in the fucking head. Why not? Do you have the answer? We are getting worse and the words came forth the other day. This is a really bad fucking Goddamned motherfucking time.

Give me the big cards, you cheap fuck. 'I' again. Why not? No one gives half a blue fuck anymore.

If the woman on the screen were a machine, I could fuck her in half. Otherwise? She would kill me.

Sometimes we just fucking hate everything. This entire entry has been focused primarily upon what has taken place throughout the course of years due to our weakness, and the ideas continue to flow and dictate. We cannot do anything about the dreams and feelings. That means we will continue to fall flat on our faces daily no matter the effort in any direction. In and around the shit we may accomplish a few things but end up right fucking here in exactly the same condition, if not worse. Pretty and ugly at the same time. The music is coming up now...

Pretty and ugly at the same time.

The other day was a very bad slam over which I have partially imploded out of severe weakness. There will probably be no recovery from this because too many occasions have had me at sixes and sevens over much lesser occurrences of the same fucking situation. I just can't fucking deal with it anymore and have tired of the effort. I cannot expect people to bend and adapt to my weakness or past issues. That is wrong. I can be controlling, selfish and very small, yet no part of me is willing to be outright unfair. Wrong to the nth degree. And despite having such a severe and steadfast double standard, I realize I am in the wrong to begin with. I don't know how else to live anymore. Everything which has affected me for years -- not to mention the two shit events from the eighties -- is now cemented to my insides. There is nothing I or anyone else can do to alleviate the smallest detail. The die is cast and cooled. The only escapes I can employ are fiction and being alone. Left alone? Yes, that too. The words keep spinning in circles. I am going in circles, as well. Permanence... Just another effect. Not even a thaumaturgist can reverse this shit.

Where now? After all this... Where? I am so fucking weak.

Mi dispiace, ora sono mezzo morto."