The Torment of Arina (IX) Mature content No. 311 Published May 5th, 2022 8:48am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I guess Arina is alive. She was in the previous entry. Never should have gone shopping last Wednesday. The only thing that trip accomplished was to provide me a glimpse of something I've seen in my head for years, and possibly the only real stir since either the girl down the street or the other at the race. 0813 on Saturday morning, and after a little shindig last night which turned out to be almost nothing. A bit of conversation with people in much better shape than myself. Everything turns into a gradient, just like the morsel in my eyes the other day... A feeling which is unattainable. Last night was the same. People see me and have no clue as to what I am thinking or the damage being inflicted with each passing moment. This morning I see the whole thing as if it was a little play on a stage sitting on the coffee table. The truth is I go out there to listen to some music and enjoy the work I've done all over the garage, and nothing more. A disturbing dream the other day after seeing breasts on the dragon show has me at sixes and sevens all the time, not to mention quickly filling me with worry over the future. I don't understand, unless the level of desperation in life has reached into my subconscious and created images I don't want to see. The show only displays certain details. My brain is the part causing the difficulty. The dream combined two situations which honestly do not work together. They cannot. The entire shitaree is very bad. As a result of the gradients being illuminated last night and the shitaree this morning, I am going to take it easy this day. Maybe further closed off. Dragons up there again. Some excellent, absolutely first-class television interspersed with some of the most pathetic dialog imaginable. The earlier seasons were much better, even the previous was excellent. The seventh? Partly great, partly stupid. One character arc and a few related situations, mostly. Really fucking bad, and believe me when I say I'm not the only with such a harsh opinion. Lots of research informed me that I am far from alone. All horseshit aside, there are still good moments and sequences. I'll roll through to the end and switch to another program, as always. 1206 and the routine is finished. The gardeners were here, too. The yards look nice again. Fifth show up there with Jolene in all her high-definition glory. I switched from the fourth show this morning because it is approaching the end and I wish to savor the last few episodes, instead opting for the dragons for a little while. Housework means one of the five, so I switched again. Heh. All over the place today. My LED strips arrived this morning. I should be able to light the newest symbol and then add a strip to the lower part of the shelving door to enhance the glow of the big representation of my feelings. The addition will solve two issues, one being the size of the circle and the fact that it is not adequately lit thus far, the other is the plywood door itself being warped. I can install another canopy across the lower part of the door which will flatten the sheet and make it easier for me to place an additional latch at the bottom. The coming weekdays should be plenty of time for both projects. Last night a person mentioned that I have 'Satanic' material in my garage. Excellent. My neighbor replied, 'I told you so.' Also excellent. Now that everything is done (the usual crap, anyway), I poured a cocktail and decided to take the remaining hours off any type of work. Tomorrow will be better, I believe. Today I just can't get myself to give a fuck. Laundry awaits my attention, as does continued work in the office and some spot cleaning of the floor. Another day. My brain is still wrapped up in the dream and the major strike walking near me while shopping three days ago. I can't get her our of my head, all well-fitted pants, suede booties pointing inward, and big, bright eyes full of wonder. Damn it. Some varieties of pants are very snug, while hers had just enough give to allow her shape to show through while not appearing too tight. Just unbelievable. That vision reminded me of seeing my traveling companion at a gas station somewhere down interstate five. She wore jeans and a baggy sweater. As I was emerging from the shop with some drinks for our drive, I saw her standing before the pump awaiting her card processing. At that moment, she decided to pull up her pants, much to the joy of a guy standing at the adjacent pump and staring as her pants pulled tight and revealed not much underneath, all the while her enormous chest pushing forward within the sweater. That was more than eleven years ago and I can still see her body all exaggerated and curvy while his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. The girl at the store three days ago had a similar appearance, honestly. Much smaller, but no less curvy. Had she stretched in some manner, I probably would have collapsed. And keep in mind all this gushing barely scratches what I actually feel at the time. Sunday morning, 0716, coffee and my third show. I had to run around and do a bit of the Ho Chi Minh two-step earlier because the cats left a present on my blanket. And then the flags out. And then before finally sitting here, I decided I'd had enough of waiting for inspiration. I relocated the RAID setup to the living room and it is up and running. Once again there is access to everything after the unit being down for the last two months or so. In attempting to recreate some of the symbols from my cave, the images on the site were a clue as to how they had been formed, yet the resolution is not great. I had to dig into the archives from my old camera as they are digital negatives and much larger. Now I have detail. That was the drive behind setting up the RAID again. In support of my ongoing garage improvement, another set of LEDs arrived yesterday and I figured out a way to operate them off the top canopy to add three more strips to the bottom after installing the aforementioned lower canopy. I had enough bridging strips to run down the back side of my big manometer all the way to the lower part of the door. Such a method will allow for the new controller to light the new, smaller symbol which replaced my road sign the other day. I may work on that stuff later today as I get the laundry and garbage going. I recalled a dream earlier, yet it was unlike the other day's torment and concern. I really don't need anything forcing the start of a new day to head straight into the trash. That is not good for my general outlook (or what there is left of it) and very bad for my ability to interact with others. Having already felt the effects of removing myself from one social circle, I do not wish to cease the other. In some ways I do miss the interaction, yet I must protect myself at the same time. The closer circle can remain, so if there arise other issues with the dreams, I'll have to change something. The last one was not good. By this time of the morning, I've lost any detail with regard to the dream earlier. At least I know it was nothing damning. Something happened when I saw that shot on the dragon show and it remained in my head for some days, eventually leading to the dream which I barely recall now. What I know for sure is that the situation was pretty fucking bad and if known by certain people could land me in deep muck. I am not the type of person to indulge in some parts of life, no matter how tempting or desirable. There are lines which do not move. Eh... I'll have to leave this alone because I'm not saying anything and no one will give a shit anyway. These episodes are from ninety-three. The trailing end of the glow, for sure. May of that year, I believe, meaning just a few months later we moved across the country and an era came to a close -- one I would never be able to duplicate. Not even close, although 1236 was pretty damned nice for a while. Ninety-three. That summer was the beginning of the radio adventures, an opening to a facet of the film industry to which I had never previously had access, and the time of the CD changer girl. Everything in a row leading up to fall when we made the decision to take that long drive. On the television right now is media from that spring. Makes my heart leap and ache at the same time. 1118 and the routine is finished. Garbage partially done, laundry in process. I'm taking a break. Vodka on ice and the third show up there. More Cindy down the page. You may have noticed her exaggerated lips and huge eyes. I don't know why she is here. Maybe just following suit after the previous Arina entries. Maybe I just like her. In any case, the beauty is always present in one form or another. Cindy does not torment me, although others have, just like the dreams. The dream on the heels of watching my show was a toughie and I am still trying to understand why that particular subject became related to another person rather than the actor with breasts on display. There have been droves of such images between the dragons and vampires, so why now? I don't get it. Nothing helps because no one is listening. I am more alone right now than ever. The chores and projects can only do so much, but at least the little enjoyments still hold sway at times. There is a clear reason for some of how I feel. The rest is a mystery and likely always will be. I spoke some time ago with another person and learned nothing because I witheld information critical to the subject. There was no other way. Right now I am seeing that as the last occasion of the type to happen in my life. As my feelings continue to stew, the likelihood of finding the strength to open any door is shrinking at the same rate. I am seeing that nothing can be done. The torment continues, unimpeded. Depression leads to anger, and though I've learned that 'depression is rage turned inward', the anger still feels like the sole outlet. Speaking to another person will only make me more angry. This is a circle. I am imploding. The aforementioned reason shall remain behind closed, locked doors for all time. The operative word related to speaking is trust, and that shit is long fucking gone, rather like the people who used to be involved in my life. Bye, bye. I did not think this way during the glow because the future was open to possibility and felt full of promise. Now it is black and closed off. Too bad no one knows what is taking place inside me. All alone. No one is listening. Arina is there but she is a part of the problem. 0741 on Monday morning. Another day open to my interpretation. Will it be any different? The torment continues unimpeded, as a combination of dreaming and daydreaming have taken me away from clear thinking. I am constantly distracted no matter what work is being done around the house. Yesterday, for example, I built the entire lower canopy for the shelving door and eventually tested it. During the entire project I continued to picture all manner of things unrelated, yet compelling. Like the dream which upset me so much. No matter how deeply I dropped myself into the woodwork, smiling faces were still there, along with thoughts of where I am in life. The worse I felt about everything in my world, the more angry I became, and then the symbolic nature of the garage appeared much more important. The other aspect running concurrently with being so fucking desperate is that there are no ears. Nothing. And then I become more angry due to the circumstances surrounding this condition. All the anger forces me to remain behind closed doors unless I'm doing something requiring ventilation. People look toward the house as they pass and wonder what the hell is going on and I don't fucking care. My work is already appearing off-putting. I just can't be around others right now. I can't. And for the tenth time, no one is listening because I've been placed behind everything else in life by those who purport to hear me. This is probably best for them, though. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. I can't see anything, measure anything, record shit for later study, nothing. I look upon those shapes and forms, wonder how I ended up in this stagnant, downward existence, and then dream later of all that is missing from me. Torment. Tor-fucking-ment. The feeling the other day was debilitating. I could not think straight for a while and then became 'ok' for a little while thanks to the massive shift in scenery when we arrived at the third and final store. And then later? I could not extract that girl's fucking gorgeous walk from my head and ended up with a double entendre of anger... There is not one fucking thing I can do about any of this shit. Not one thing. No options. I have been relegated to sit here and fucking stew over it. Like years ago when I quickly had it with the quality of life and dashed to where I could hold some semblance of control, except now I have the need but not the resources. I'd probably end up flat on my face or dead, anyway, so perhaps the torment is well-placed. I can't do a fucking thing about a fucking thing. The level of frustration inside is akin to the three dragons and their seemingly endless supply of flame. I am so pissed off that my efforts in controlling said mood during those moments spent near the neighbor or whomever may happen to be nearby when my garage is in full swing has become the toughest road while bearing the heaviest load. The single pathetic positive is when I become overly shitheaded I simply turn on my heel and disappear for a while. That is better than the alternative which will definitely leave me COMPLETELY alone. And I mean NO ONE, anywhere. I still have needs, albeit they are oversimplifications of the past, and there must be a few people present in order for me to be comfortable right now. The fucking torment leads me down the primrose path, past the same imagery and realizations, eventually landing my sorry skull in the territory of the damned angry. Even the fucking words don't cut the mustard right now. And believe me... I've been scouring the Internet for weeks in search of helpful information. No one is listening. The time for more dramatic measures is here, yet I have to be careful and remain mindful of the contributions of the past and the separation between then and now. Pretty fucking pissed off, but I can't spread it around. That is unfair. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything and everyone and wish to snap my fingers to cause everything to disappear, including myself. Leave the animals behind because they are the only ones who don't fuck each other over for a percentage. They just do what they do. All we do is ruin everything. Whatever. Powerless, like every other aspect of life. That's why I flex myself in the garage so much. It has become the only part of anything over which I have dominion. And it's just a big room with a big door, nothing more. Splendid. 1055 and the routine is finished. Cocktail almost finished. I now have the next six hours to myself, for whatever that may be worth. The sky is still overcast, yet it seems to be fighting with the sun. I don't know if this day will turn out warm or mild. I still have the third show up there, too. Comfort through media, I suppose. The second and third shows bring me back to the glow. Good or bad, I know not. 1526 and I stopped watching the dragons because the writing in season eight is half decent and half horseshit. If you've watched the series, you already know this. The manner in which Rhaegal dies is completely ridiculous and nearly impossible, and as such rails against the previous many hours of realism and verisimilitude. Many have spoken out regarding the scene, not just me. People have gone so far as to take it upon themselves to 'rewrite' many parts of season eight due to the sheer level of dissatisfaction with the direction of the writing as broadcast. The showrunners were apparently looking to shock and turn heads, and if that was their full intent, I suppose it was a success. But after being so deeply and emotionally invested in very complex settings, connectivity and character/relationship development -- as well as detailed history and plotline interactions -- the bulk of the audience felt robbed. I am no different. I actually stopped the playback in mid-episode due to becoming pissed off. Now, of course I realize that any series so loved and fantastic would be nearly impossible to close without flap from somewhere. I can't imagine hitting such highs and then trying to calculate a way to end the show and satisfy a very critical audience. Still, they fucked up bad with several aspects of season eight. The series ended nearly three years ago and I am still pissed off. As for this day, I haven't done very much inside the house or the garage. I did head out there a while ago to add the lighting for my small symbol adorning the end of the table, and that went fine. I'll have to think hard about from where to draw switched power, though. That's gonna be a chore. I also added a third strip of LEDs to the chimney canopy so the brightness matches that of the big door I just finished yesterday. My intention now is to remove the framed picture from the chimney and draw a matching symbol to one of those that I painted in my apartment. It's going to be a pain in the ass, yet the end result should far outweigh the effort. 0652 on Tuesday. Flags out. Coffee. My beloved third show. The usual problems. Torment, worry, all that shit. This day is wide open, yet I have not clue one as to how it will go. I have no early business. Just the routine later and some quiet time before she goes to the city. As I stated yesterday, not much was completed. I needed to take it easy and think a while. Like today. I'll be moving a few things around and possibly washing some clothes, but most of my time will be taken up continuing the journey through damaging memories and torment over all that is gone and all that shall not come to pass. The Race girl was a symbol, just as the other one down the street and the one in the store last week. Symbols of every need and desire, unmet. Unrealized forever. Obsessive thinking led to gushing over those forms (people) and still governs my actions day after day. I cannot cease consideration of their effects upon me no matter what kind of situation develops, including the eastern conflict and its possible consequences on this side of the world. Nothing can push away the desperation inherent in longing so deeply for all these years, and then realizing any situation I've experienced in the past cannot be repeated. Another ship, sailed. All the ships are gone. My head is rife with concern over what may happen in the future if this painful and obsessive thinking continues unrequited. I had thought seventeen was bad -- back when I first purchased this machine and wrote about Alexis -- but I am seeing the passage of time accomplishing nothing more than exacerbating an already difficult situation and leaving me weaker than I have ever been. I still see that face staring at me. Yes, the cat eyes. I see the pants down the street and her eye makeup. I even see the bright smile on the face of the rollercoaster girl. That was nearly a decade and a half back in time. I was heavily tormented by her then, and over time she's been joined by others. None of them have gone away. At least, none who meant something. The glimpses come and go like those background characters on the show, but deeper feelings always remain. The symbols in my garage are all I may have left in the future. The real symbols of my obsession may as well not exist at all. I can't spell out most of the torment. None of those words are allowed here because I'll never fucking hear the end of it. No one knows. Just me. Well, Ashley knew because she was a part of the beginning and helped me to realize that what I felt was not necessarily wrong or bad. Other than her? No one... Not even the Raven. The words shall remain absent from this content for all time. And that brings up a facet of being here all the time. Like King Benny said when the attorney asked how to get hold of him later, 'I am always here.' Heh. He was a gangster. I am not. Anyway, once in a while something funny takes place and my first thought is sharing the humorous story with another person (only natural), yet no one is there. I've isolated myself so much that unless a person approaches the garage while I'm out there, I see not one soul, ever. Oh, those people in the stores or whatever, but no one with whom I am familiar. No one there to hear me, but I did this. When I state 'no one is listening', I mean even if I were close to another person, I still could not speak. It's that bad. And no, this is not merely my imagination, dipshits. I know it by rote. I already know what will happen because I've opened the door in the last half decade and then fell down so hard that my fucking nose still hurts. No one is listening because there is no one there to hear. Remember the pins? 'A pin will drop and I don't hear...' Fuck it anyway. All boarded up, like always. Alone and miserable. Nothing exists outside my little space anymore. Maybe this is where I belong. I don't know how this shit became so powerful. I've experienced its commanding nature on so many occasions that the pain is still acute. Still there. A glimpse and a thought, possible chance of... Something, and then gone forever and I end up debilitated beyond belief. Crippled and unable to process the simplest task. I can't even talk to anyone about it. Nothing. All inside, always, and piled up. One atop another. The latest is there, perched like a bird and looking beautiful. They are all there and I can't do a fucking thing about it because any direction is going to be ridiculed, shunned, and then quickly dismissed as if I am a child. If I am going through some manner of 'trivial' infatuation from time to time, I may as well be dead. That level of weakness is unheard of at my age. But I don't fucking believe it. I really don't. Too much time and analysis are under my belt and I am not a fucking idiot. There is more, yet I cannot explain. The dream keeps returning to my head and I don't like it. The implication is very bad, too, so sharing this type of information could be damaging to my character, or what little is left of it. I actually need lots of help in this department, yet there is no one present and I can't afford to pay a person by the hour to gain some insight. Yes, I said that. If I were very well-off right now, I'd probably seek a professional. There have been occasions in which I sought some answers from qualified persons on the Internet, yet I seemed to end up with the same stock answers over and over. And the dream in question is not a subject I am inclined to reference because it's bad and I don't want my information spreading beyond whomever may be listening. Once the keystrokes go into the vast wonder of the net, they are susceptible to being copied, scrutinized, whatever, and I can't have that. There can be no possible concern over what is in my brain as long as it does not LEAVE my brain. Some thoughts should never be shared. Still, the compulsion is present in me. The contents of the dream, as well as the very unexpected context of the situation, must remain inside my head. I cannot share or even mention the subject to anyone, no matter how understanding and open-minded they may be. Even a fucking therapist, believe it or not. I'll be labeled. The words on the surface and any kind exchange is one thing, but the truth is there will be processes at work inside the other person's head over which I have no control. It WILL fucking happen. I know why some of this is taking place. I know the genesis, or at least a portion of it. But I can't say anything about it here. Like the dream, it is too sensitive. Again, I researched the subject on the Internet and came up with some tools and coping methods, although the condition is now such that any of those ideas will not help me. I've tried in the past. The obsession and subsequent torment over 'not knowing or seeing' what I desperately need cannot be researched. As of yet I've found not a single word in support of those feelings. Nothing. The exhaustive searching yielded only partially related information, as expected. I don't believe there is any way of learning aside from looking inward, and so far that type of consideration has fallen flat. Again, nothing. The singular path has been the act of sitting right here and typing over and over. Has it helped? Not one bit. Like the research, I only end up in the same place. Yep... A circle. The torment ebbs and flows, and lately it's been flowing like the muddy Stanislaus in spring. Over the banks. The basic certainty at the beginning of this paragraph has held the reins for so long that sometimes I overlook it. A way of life is the definition. The torment has become nothing more than a way of life. Where is Arina in this mess? Well, she is always there, watching. Believe it. There is Allie with her big, dark eyes again. She reminds me of the beginning of the pandemic when I had the local news on every morning and became enamored with her face for a while. Sarah, too. Remember? I mentioned those two newscasters several times. Now? She does not move me as she did two years ago. Still lovely, but not a problem any longer. I know not why. Ebb? No answers. 0834 and I have yet to do anything aside from typing and sipping coffee. Soon, I suppose. The routine is very straightforward lately. Maybe some laundry, too. Yesterday I evaluated the feasibility of removing the framed picture from the garage and drawing a fourth symbol in its place. I'll start the process at some point, but not yet. I have little motivation to do anything lately. I don't even know how some of that work was completed. It can be a distraction from the destruction, though. I suppose I just have to take a step and then another. The first is the tough step, for sure. There is so much beauty, desire, and torment swirling each day that I have a hell of a time finding those distractions being effective. This morning the chairman of the Joint Chiefs stated, 'The potential for significant international conflict between great powers is increasing, not decreasing.' The situation over there is not good, to say the least. I'll have to remain mindful of preparations and fortification due to the possibility of the conflict spreading. This may sound bad, but if anything can distract me from the torment, a war is it. A massive negative providing a tiny positive. Don't crucify me for that one. Given the choice, I'll take the torment. I stared at that girl as much as I could without her noticing. I doubt any bad was caused due to me looking at her walk and such. That is good. The last thing I want is to make a person uncomfortable, especially considering how young she is. Very bad, and I can't have it. The fact that I am all fucked up has nothing to do with her or anyone else. The feelings remain behind closed doors and the only evidence could be my eyes heading outward. One more time... I can't have another person disturbed by my torment. I did stare because the level of desperation inside is overwhelming and I literally cannot avoid seeing that type of form. She was amazing, honestly. Stared at her. I was supposed to be seeking a certain eyeglass frame, yet my eyes and brain were not paying attention to anything but that girl's fucking legs. While close, I gazed at her eyes as accentuated by the fact that much of her face was covered by a mask. Any eyeglass retailer which performs eye examinations is considered a medical facility and as such? Masks required. I wish I could have seen the rest of her face, but suffice to say the eyes had it. They had me, for what is likely the thousandth time in the last several years. Big and beautiful. The point is I fucking stared like a bank robber standing before a pallet of legal tender. Yep, I am that bad now. I stared until we were out the door several minutes later. That is when the torment took over. She is there, yet may as well be on Jupiter. Equally distant from my mind. I've never been able to reconcile the idea of the beauty being 'right over there' and the idea that I will never be close to it. At least, not close enough to fulfill or even scratch the surface of the obsession. I will sit here and bitch up one side and down the other, afterward realizing I am worse off for the thinking. But I can't help it. Hence, 'obsession'. Chances came along, chances disappeared. People came along, people disappeared. Now I am alone, worse than even five years ago, and relegated to this little house and my fucking stupid devices. I believe that is why I stared. I knew as soon as the first glimpse of her beauty that I would end up worse off, so my brain calculated the only thing to do was take in as much as possible. I am going to be miserable anyway, so I may as well stare. Nice, huh? This is so fucked. I still think of Jaime as the problem solver. You want to talk about fucked up? Read that again. What did you say? Focus upon reality? But... Why? And isn't that what I've been doing all down this entry? The reality within which I must remain? If you don't see that, I can't help. 0901. Still here. Tiny bit of coffee left. I'll get going soon. Ooh-fa, the abortion issue is on the table in Washington again. Talk about a difficult subject. Apparently, there is the possibility of it being overturned for the first time since 1973. Wow. That makes my problems seem pretty fucking trivial. Ah, but they are not. Fuck off. Shut up. 1141 and the routine is finished. I have the house to myself until sometime this afternoon. The abortion issue rumor has apparently been confirmed by a judge, meaning protests and all sorts of other bullshit will ensue shortly. I was concerned about her driving into the city due to what will be taking place at the capitol near five o'clock, although she will not be anywhere near that area today. I was also informed that there are people attempting to climb the outside of the big tower downtown, and that type of behavior is a good indication that much more shit will hit the fan in the coming days, not to mention the storm if the legislature from decades ago is actually overturned. For me? This means more fortification and keeping a good eye on the news. I doubt anything stemming from the current mood can trickle down to this tiny house, but vigilance is never a bad idea. Something that never ceases to amaze me is after all these decades, issues, protests and the rest of the crap due to politics, nothing ever really changes. A person shoots up a business or something, everyone screams for change, and then years later after the issue has faded the same thing happens again. Ban the guns, people will still get hold of them. Rewrite the laws, people will still cause a massive stink. The effort has always been for naught because one person cannot alter the way another person thinks. I've said it too many times to recall... If there is but one person on the planet, nothing will happen. Once there are two or more, eventually disagreement will escalate to dissent and eventually violence. There is simply no way around it. Violence is the supreme authority from which all other authority is derived. Period. Look back at history and tell me what has been improved. I thought so. Moving on... Other than spot cleaning the kitchen floor and a few other areas, I may not do fuck-all today. In fact, I'm beginning to lean toward breaking out the largest model and starting the build with my friends in the background. First, it's relaxing and comfortable beyond description, and second, some of that model may be good for the camera. As an aside, sometimes I love the depiction of the military aspect of these shows because they can cut through the bullshit in a hot minute. More authority, and when it comes to the military... 'We follow orders or people die.' There it is. As I was told numerous times in the Marines, 'What is second in combat? That's right... Second in combat is DEAD.' No argument. Where was I? Ah, the model. I don't know for sure yet, but I may get into it later. I have some dry cleaning, too. All in good time. Third show, still. Second season. Torment, almost constantly. When I am at home, it is dredged up by something on the television screen. While out, something walking along somewhere. Either way, the dreaming is injected and will not subside until the landscape changes sufficiently to draw my complete attention. Some images do not leave my head, ever. I mentioned the closet doors, smiling faces, and that fucking 'thing' of which I was recently reminded. It has happened to me on a few occasions. The last time was quite a while ago, too. I don't remember exactly when, either. Being reminded hurt me deeply because it grows from a set of circumstances that I do not understand and cannot replicate at will. Well, it doesn't matter what can be understood, anyway, because that part of my life is likely finished forever. I try not to dwell. The torment partially relates, and as such creates dreamy landscapes that are further away from reality than Pluto. The whole thing is fucking miserable. The torment can be dormant. That almost rhymes. Anyway, I believe it fell flat a while before seeing the girl last week, and then everything came back in force. Hence the references to Arina, the beautiful culmination of everything which hurts me. I'm so fucking sick of this shit that I cannot find enough swear words. Nowhere near enough middle fingers, either. 0639 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, third show again, flags out, cats fed. Sounds like I have ambition, eh? Nope. Just habits. The morning stuff has become more comfortable, especially if I don't become lazy and oversleep. I can't have that. I enjoy seeing the light come up, much like when I was working and we took off for a job long before most people were on their way out in the morning. Anyway, yesterday I really did not do much aside from the dry cleaning. A little bit in the office, though. That space is looking better, as is the garage. Mostly I took it easy because of such deep feelings of loss trying to take over. The torment moved away from me for a little while yesterday until a couple went walking along the sidewalk out front during the late afternoon. I saw them and became fairly disappointed in myself, which then pushed me to realize that there is no fucking way in hell that girl at the store last week would have noticed me staring. This realization is a completely different variety of trouble. Not good. As for today, baby steps in any direction may be good enough. The more thinking I do, the more worry I feel, and the end result of that can be a deep desire to erase the world. I can't do anything like that, though, because I am small and powerless, weak and insignificant. For those reasons, the second show shall remain in charge today so I can avoid seeing anything new. Other than Sandra and her absolutely unique facial structure, there are few reasons for me to fall down. After yesterday, I don't need any more reminders of what I've become. Some work, some consideration, some time to relax. That is fine. A slow decline into obscurity. 'Hidden by dull desires of a worn-out routine.' This morning I do not feel as bad as the last time a dream remained in my head. It is typical for me to dream of something fascinating or enticing and then awaken later with zero feelings of remorse or concern. They are only dreams, and whether or not they can be indicative of something questionable inside is not up to me. My brain operates the way it operates and due to a lifetime of situations failing to fulfill my imagination as combined with painful memories, the subject matter is quite a ways beyond my control. The dream from a while back which STILL has me wondering about my mental health was a first of its kind. Never before that has a certain subject or thought entered my head. Well, now the bad stuff is in there because I cannot forget the reference, nor can I spell it out here. At least that was the only occasion in which I had been slammed by feelings I never imagined. Today it stands as a reminder that my usual morning can be turned on its ear very quickly, yet most of the time I have nothing to worry about. I recall, yet there has been very little piled atop that issue since the first day. The dream in question came days before the girl at the store shook me, meaning she was not involved, but I know of at least one other person spinning inside that ethereal wonderland. At least nothing else has stabbed me since then. I think about this every day. Actually, it is a completely different type of torment that I must deal with and keep inside at all costs. If I fail in that effort, all is lost. I can't have that shit right now. I'll have to keep my head out of the din this morning. Busy with stuff or otherwise, I don't want to fall down and fail again. The feelings go south very quickly and I completely lose direction for a time. Something has to keep me away from the damage for several hours or until such time that I have a little alcohol to suppress some of the thinking. Later, I guess. In the meantime, I'll try to avoid anything which operates as a trigger. Usually, it is some sort of memory or past event. If I can refrain from strolling down memory lane inside my head, perhaps the morning can be saved. The girl at the store is beginning to fade now. Very good, but I'll miss the sight. 'Have you lost your mind?' 'I just misplaced it for a little while.' Almost time for the morning business before I return here. Upon finishing, I fill with what is sometimes the best feeling of a weekday, that of being alone and wide open to whatever I need to do. Ugh... This episode dredges up some issues which arose a while back during the vampires. That shit went all over the fucking map before I was able to rein it back into a small space. I ended up pretty damned angry for a while, later realizing that being unfair about the subject matter was pretty much my fault and had to stop. Unfortunately, such knowledge only made me lash out more and everything crashed. Whatever. At least I learned that discussing anything with another human being is likely too risky and should be avoided for the rest of my life, such as it is. I wonder how much longer I can sit here and type thousands of words per entry without actually saying anything. 0818 and I have the house and the day to myself. Very nice. But... How will I feel at the close of business hours? Will I be ok like yesterday? Ooh-fa, the girl in this commercial is about as cute as cute gets, yet she always has the high-waisted jeans below. Huge mistake, that trend. All the way back to the fucking seventies, too. I will never understand why fashion moves and develops the way it does. If the girl in the commercial wore the same type of pants once wrapped around the goddess or the Raven, she would look spectacular and likely have no current rival for beauty. Oh, well. At least I enjoyed the view for a while. Now everything is all fucked up. Her face? Holy shit, unbelievably cute. Anyway, I suppose I'll just do my best to move along whatever path draws my attention today, and then try to relax during the evening again. I don't know of another path right now. I dodged a bullet a while ago, thank the maker. This is becoming more and more difficult each day as the memories flow and the desperation increases. For years I wished for a ton of free time. At least, time to myself due to a deep need for peace and quiet to deal with difficulties. Now? I have a shitload of time each week. There is no longer a need for me to work, so remaining here has become the new life, as boosted by the pandemic two years ago. The downside of all this time is thinking. I have distractions and projects up the wazoo, yet nothing can stop the brain from crunching imagery and desire. Mornings have not become any easier despite my efforts. And I had to reboot the fucking streaming machine because the damned show lost audio for whatever reason. Every other channel was fine, but this one seems to have problems on occasion, like the wrong language last night. Yep, I started an episode of the third show and the dialog was dubbed in German. There seemed no solution, so I skipped it. This morning when the audio went away, the problem was limited to the very same series, leading me to believe the service was at fault. I restarted everything and the problem has gone away... For now. The downside is this episode is one of very few which dredges up the feelings and issue I mentioned a few paragraphs up the page. Eh... I can deal with it. A bit of anger, nothing too bad. 0915 now. The sun is shining, so hopefully the fog can remain over the ocean and allow the house to warm up this afternoon. A warm house means comfort in the evening and more motivation to move some things around. Yesterday's work in the office was short but effective. I can continue it today with my extended family in the background. I still have yet to break out the big model and begin building again. I'll get around to it. Anything to keep those Goddamned smiling faces out of my head. Had I known years ago that my living to this age was going to carry so many problems, I would not be sitting here right now. I just have to fucking deal with it. I will admit that the past has leveraged me into becoming much more sensitive to certain parts of life in recent years. This is not good, but alas I must be me. The sensitivity will likely not allow me to be completely relaxed or comfortable around other people for my remaining years, be them male or female, hence my staying home all the time. I am safe here, for lack of a better term. Hidden. No one is fucking listening anyway, so this seems the best plan. I just hope nothing is asked of me because the fuse is always ready and very short. If I blow up, everything goes away and I simply can't have that right now. I need my little routine and devices in order to continue drawing breath. As I said, no one is listening. Perhaps in the long run they are better off. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. 1043 and the routine is nearly finished. I have a pan soaking and intend to polish off the kitchen after lunch, whenever that may be. Whiskey next to me, as always. So far, the feelings have been partially suppressed, leaving mostly anger in their place. The anger never goes away, much like torment. One of the worst aspects of being tormented is the fact that despite the last major strike fading, something else will undoubtedly come along on the television or at one of the stores to fucking floor me again, thus beginning this horrible cycle all over. I have not found anything with the power to alleviate and make tolerable the days between. Nothing... That word which has been typed here 3373 times since the site was created. 3373 is a very large number, even spanning twenty years. I'm sick of this shit, and sick of feeling that everything wondrous has either been ripped away or otherwise destroyed. Promise, potential... Gone. 1112 and I believe the alcohol has succeeded. Call me what you will. I don't fucking care. In fact, there is damned little these days that I DO care about aside from the atmosphere in this house. Go fuck yourself in a muddy, snowy ditch. Stay there. I'm tired of being pissed off all the time but it's all I have left. I suppose I'll just keep living from one day to the next; no discernable change in the mood, no one listening, no possible means of relief from the torment and dissatisfaction. A while back I stated that I am afraid of what the future may hold, yet still scared to die. That is the truth. I get out of bed every morning because of the little enjoyments and nothing more. I don't see anything on the horizon but don't know what to change. I am not the type of person to rise all of a sudden, begin tackling physical fitness or some other form of improvement, and then expect a better outlook. The fact is I cannot see an avenue to what I have experienced in the past, nor can I be positive. Right now the time is 1138 and I am worse off than a mere four hours ago. Each day shows me the same possibilities, yet I am bereft of any motivation. Limping along. Stumbling, really. I just don't fucking care. Arina is everything inside me and everything that is missing. Those parts... Whenever I mentioned the missing pieces... I don't remember. I cannot be rebuilt. The feelings have been suppressed for this day, yet even the suppression angers me. I should not have need to do this. I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. 1616. Feeling very lost today. I finished everything and had lunch, but unfortunately I cannot get myself to accomplish anything else this afternoon. Just lost. I had so much. Now everything is gone. My brain is tired of churning all the time. 0634 on a foggy Thursday morning, just five days into May. Coffee, flags, friends, cats... You know. I have some ideas on how to push past the din from yesterday. I suppose the hours will reveal what they can. After the morning business I'll finish the coffee, and then I need to go to the market for a few items. No big deal. I have a routine while there; parking location, doors, route through the aisles, etc. I always find a tidbit of comfort being over there because my brain dictates the manner in which I shop as learned many years ago. I can't go into detail as the subject is quite personal. Suffice to say, a part of my little world always follows along when I go out the door to shop. This endeavor will probably be the status quo for a while, even after the morning stuff. I need to think about the last few days and whatever has been taking over my psyche and squashing ambition. I've considered the idea that I may be seeing less importance in these activities as I did two years ago (or even one), and hopefully that is not the case. Part of me still feels that my role here is important no matter how far I may drop at times. Slow progress is better than none. I'll have to keep the memory of yesterday very close as I move around the house today. I don't want that happening again, even if I have to resort to building the big model rather than working on the house. The lady up the street dropped a card and some cash in my mailbox the other day. I forgot to mention the payment here because the morning prior to finding the card I had all but written her off due to so much time passing since I generously did the repair. I am a nice person -- yes, all the way back to Eddie again -- but only up to a certain point. I have a very low opinion of society to begin with, so when I feel I've been 'had' the situation only worsens. Even the most benign, soft-spoken person can have an agenda, and if it does not show through the facade that only means the deception is quite accomplished. I don't know what the deal is over there, but a bit longer and I would likely have ignored her indefinitely. I don't need to work for anyone. The card being hand written and including the money gave her a partial pass. Hopefully my phone doesn't ring anytime soon with questions about another problem. I brought that up because of my continuing disdain for the workings of the world and progress in general. The commentary above regarding the conflict, guns, whatever, is but a slice of my feelings, and the bottom line is no matter what takes place anywhere in the world, the disdain trickles down to the average person. The scope of a problem is not the issue. The fact that the idea was conceived in a person's mind is precisely the problem. I don't know those people on the other side of my front door. They are all in the same category these days. Does this sound bad? I don't care. There is almost no trust left in me. Third show, third season. Marci will doubtless be up there soon, much to my dismay. She always reminds me of the search for the beginning of the obsession. The episode is so old, too. I don't recall when I first viewed it, though. Definitely not when it aired as new. That was within weeks of my moving back to California from the Midwest and I was not set up to watch the show for a while after arriving. I also seem to recall being in a relationship when first discovering Marci's appearance and having a conversation with my partner about her outfit and gait. I could be wrong, though. My memory is quite scattered these days. Oy, that episode is fourth season, not third. Oops. Anyway, there is a feeling attached to seeing her. I cannot fully explain right now because it's just fleeting and a partial memory. If anything solidifies I will recount here. The period just after moving back was wondrous, for a time. There are fond memories attached. The current episode carries issues I've mentioned before, too. One of the characters completely offsets another and the gradient is about as dramatic as is possible. From fear and intimidation all the way across the spectrum to beautiful and alluring. I am a fucking basket case. I can't wait to have some peace and quiet. 0813 and I am left to my day. Until the coffee is gone, I'll be sitting here with the keyboard and my friends up there. The routine will be short, as should my trip to the market. Lately I have not been concerned about seeing anything there because of the time of day, plus the big market is not like the others. Upon returning, I can sink back into my little world and work with whatever seems best. I don't want to have to resort to building the big model, for sure. That work is enjoyable and relaxing, yet I cannot feel comfortable sitting there unless there has been a bunch of chores and/or improvements completed. The model is for another day. The excessive torment yesterday has helped me to feel a bit better this morning. I went through a bad time for several hours after the morning realization that something is going wrong inside me. The missing pieces and lack of outlook continue to break me down, and attempting to right myself is not easy. The tiniest detail in memory or on the television (one can lead to the other quite often) will trigger the crevasse between past and present, effectively leaving me void of hope that there can be true happiness, even for a while. Something which popped into my head earlier this morning is the idea that all that behavior and mass of bad decisions have triggered some sort of 'voodoo', meaning this shit period is payment for what I've done in the past. I don't believe that actions 'come around', though. I believe the only reason such a thought entered my head is sheer desperation... An overwhelming need to understand why. Nothing has materialized, leading me to see that this road indeed has no fucking turns. Yesterday was very difficult and the morning probably slammed me so hard that the remainder of the day was affected. I am hoping nothing like that surfaces today. I have things to do and don't need to be derailed again. The result will be me all pissed off, and everyone knows that goes nowhere fast. Repeat... I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. The understanding is on two fronts, only one being needed inside me. The other was carried by other people. And despite my stating that I know how this happened, I am referring only to certain parts of life that have summed to a point, and they are few. The remainder is unknown and likely will be for all time. No one is listening. Even if someone was, my words would be so fucking cryptic that the understanding would be all but impossible. Any effort -- either by me or someone else -- would be for naught regardless of how much I may try. The truth is I am too afraid of being either labeled or ridiculed, meaning everything inside my head and causing this trouble is permanent barring some miraculous turn of events. I just don't see it happening anymore. Maybe all my chances have been squandered. This is not good, to say the least. 0847 and the day's work must begin. Her." 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 Torment of Arina (IX) Mature content No. 311 Published May 5th, 2022 8:48am pdt read ( words) Past entries "I guess Arina is alive. She was in the previous entry. Never should have gone shopping last Wednesday. The only thing that trip accomplished was to provide me a glimpse of something I've seen in my head for years, and possibly the only real stir since either the girl down the street or the other at the race. 0813 on Saturday morning, and after a little shindig last night which turned out to be almost nothing. A bit of conversation with people in much better shape than myself. Everything turns into a gradient, just like the morsel in my eyes the other day... A feeling which is unattainable. Last night was the same. People see me and have no clue as to what I am thinking or the damage being inflicted with each passing moment. This morning I see the whole thing as if it was a little play on a stage sitting on the coffee table. The truth is I go out there to listen to some music and enjoy the work I've done all over the garage, and nothing more. A disturbing dream the other day after seeing breasts on the dragon show has me at sixes and sevens all the time, not to mention quickly filling me with worry over the future. I don't understand, unless the level of desperation in life has reached into my subconscious and created images I don't want to see. The show only displays certain details. My brain is the part causing the difficulty. The dream combined two situations which honestly do not work together. They cannot. The entire shitaree is very bad. As a result of the gradients being illuminated last night and the shitaree this morning, I am going to take it easy this day. Maybe further closed off. Dragons up there again. Some excellent, absolutely first-class television interspersed with some of the most pathetic dialog imaginable. The earlier seasons were much better, even the previous was excellent. The seventh? Partly great, partly stupid. One character arc and a few related situations, mostly. Really fucking bad, and believe me when I say I'm not the only with such a harsh opinion. Lots of research informed me that I am far from alone. All horseshit aside, there are still good moments and sequences. I'll roll through to the end and switch to another program, as always. 1206 and the routine is finished. The gardeners were here, too. The yards look nice again. Fifth show up there with Jolene in all her high-definition glory. I switched from the fourth show this morning because it is approaching the end and I wish to savor the last few episodes, instead opting for the dragons for a little while. Housework means one of the five, so I switched again. Heh. All over the place today. My LED strips arrived this morning. I should be able to light the newest symbol and then add a strip to the lower part of the shelving door to enhance the glow of the big representation of my feelings. The addition will solve two issues, one being the size of the circle and the fact that it is not adequately lit thus far, the other is the plywood door itself being warped. I can install another canopy across the lower part of the door which will flatten the sheet and make it easier for me to place an additional latch at the bottom. The coming weekdays should be plenty of time for both projects. Last night a person mentioned that I have 'Satanic' material in my garage. Excellent. My neighbor replied, 'I told you so.' Also excellent. Now that everything is done (the usual crap, anyway), I poured a cocktail and decided to take the remaining hours off any type of work. Tomorrow will be better, I believe. Today I just can't get myself to give a fuck. Laundry awaits my attention, as does continued work in the office and some spot cleaning of the floor. Another day. My brain is still wrapped up in the dream and the major strike walking near me while shopping three days ago. I can't get her our of my head, all well-fitted pants, suede booties pointing inward, and big, bright eyes full of wonder. Damn it. Some varieties of pants are very snug, while hers had just enough give to allow her shape to show through while not appearing too tight. Just unbelievable. That vision reminded me of seeing my traveling companion at a gas station somewhere down interstate five. She wore jeans and a baggy sweater. As I was emerging from the shop with some drinks for our drive, I saw her standing before the pump awaiting her card processing. At that moment, she decided to pull up her pants, much to the joy of a guy standing at the adjacent pump and staring as her pants pulled tight and revealed not much underneath, all the while her enormous chest pushing forward within the sweater. That was more than eleven years ago and I can still see her body all exaggerated and curvy while his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. The girl at the store three days ago had a similar appearance, honestly. Much smaller, but no less curvy. Had she stretched in some manner, I probably would have collapsed. And keep in mind all this gushing barely scratches what I actually feel at the time. Sunday morning, 0716, coffee and my third show. I had to run around and do a bit of the Ho Chi Minh two-step earlier because the cats left a present on my blanket. And then the flags out. And then before finally sitting here, I decided I'd had enough of waiting for inspiration. I relocated the RAID setup to the living room and it is up and running. Once again there is access to everything after the unit being down for the last two months or so. In attempting to recreate some of the symbols from my cave, the images on the site were a clue as to how they had been formed, yet the resolution is not great. I had to dig into the archives from my old camera as they are digital negatives and much larger. Now I have detail. That was the drive behind setting up the RAID again. In support of my ongoing garage improvement, another set of LEDs arrived yesterday and I figured out a way to operate them off the top canopy to add three more strips to the bottom after installing the aforementioned lower canopy. I had enough bridging strips to run down the back side of my big manometer all the way to the lower part of the door. Such a method will allow for the new controller to light the new, smaller symbol which replaced my road sign the other day. I may work on that stuff later today as I get the laundry and garbage going. I recalled a dream earlier, yet it was unlike the other day's torment and concern. I really don't need anything forcing the start of a new day to head straight into the trash. That is not good for my general outlook (or what there is left of it) and very bad for my ability to interact with others. Having already felt the effects of removing myself from one social circle, I do not wish to cease the other. In some ways I do miss the interaction, yet I must protect myself at the same time. The closer circle can remain, so if there arise other issues with the dreams, I'll have to change something. The last one was not good. By this time of the morning, I've lost any detail with regard to the dream earlier. At least I know it was nothing damning. Something happened when I saw that shot on the dragon show and it remained in my head for some days, eventually leading to the dream which I barely recall now. What I know for sure is that the situation was pretty fucking bad and if known by certain people could land me in deep muck. I am not the type of person to indulge in some parts of life, no matter how tempting or desirable. There are lines which do not move. Eh... I'll have to leave this alone because I'm not saying anything and no one will give a shit anyway. These episodes are from ninety-three. The trailing end of the glow, for sure. May of that year, I believe, meaning just a few months later we moved across the country and an era came to a close -- one I would never be able to duplicate. Not even close, although 1236 was pretty damned nice for a while. Ninety-three. That summer was the beginning of the radio adventures, an opening to a facet of the film industry to which I had never previously had access, and the time of the CD changer girl. Everything in a row leading up to fall when we made the decision to take that long drive. On the television right now is media from that spring. Makes my heart leap and ache at the same time. 1118 and the routine is finished. Garbage partially done, laundry in process. I'm taking a break. Vodka on ice and the third show up there. More Cindy down the page. You may have noticed her exaggerated lips and huge eyes. I don't know why she is here. Maybe just following suit after the previous Arina entries. Maybe I just like her. In any case, the beauty is always present in one form or another. Cindy does not torment me, although others have, just like the dreams. The dream on the heels of watching my show was a toughie and I am still trying to understand why that particular subject became related to another person rather than the actor with breasts on display. There have been droves of such images between the dragons and vampires, so why now? I don't get it. Nothing helps because no one is listening. I am more alone right now than ever. The chores and projects can only do so much, but at least the little enjoyments still hold sway at times. There is a clear reason for some of how I feel. The rest is a mystery and likely always will be. I spoke some time ago with another person and learned nothing because I witheld information critical to the subject. There was no other way. Right now I am seeing that as the last occasion of the type to happen in my life. As my feelings continue to stew, the likelihood of finding the strength to open any door is shrinking at the same rate. I am seeing that nothing can be done. The torment continues, unimpeded. Depression leads to anger, and though I've learned that 'depression is rage turned inward', the anger still feels like the sole outlet. Speaking to another person will only make me more angry. This is a circle. I am imploding. The aforementioned reason shall remain behind closed, locked doors for all time. The operative word related to speaking is trust, and that shit is long fucking gone, rather like the people who used to be involved in my life. Bye, bye. I did not think this way during the glow because the future was open to possibility and felt full of promise. Now it is black and closed off. Too bad no one knows what is taking place inside me. All alone. No one is listening. Arina is there but she is a part of the problem. 0741 on Monday morning. Another day open to my interpretation. Will it be any different? The torment continues unimpeded, as a combination of dreaming and daydreaming have taken me away from clear thinking. I am constantly distracted no matter what work is being done around the house. Yesterday, for example, I built the entire lower canopy for the shelving door and eventually tested it. During the entire project I continued to picture all manner of things unrelated, yet compelling. Like the dream which upset me so much. No matter how deeply I dropped myself into the woodwork, smiling faces were still there, along with thoughts of where I am in life. The worse I felt about everything in my world, the more angry I became, and then the symbolic nature of the garage appeared much more important. The other aspect running concurrently with being so fucking desperate is that there are no ears. Nothing. And then I become more angry due to the circumstances surrounding this condition. All the anger forces me to remain behind closed doors unless I'm doing something requiring ventilation. People look toward the house as they pass and wonder what the hell is going on and I don't fucking care. My work is already appearing off-putting. I just can't be around others right now. I can't. And for the tenth time, no one is listening because I've been placed behind everything else in life by those who purport to hear me. This is probably best for them, though. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. I can't see anything, measure anything, record shit for later study, nothing. I look upon those shapes and forms, wonder how I ended up in this stagnant, downward existence, and then dream later of all that is missing from me. Torment. Tor-fucking-ment. The feeling the other day was debilitating. I could not think straight for a while and then became 'ok' for a little while thanks to the massive shift in scenery when we arrived at the third and final store. And then later? I could not extract that girl's fucking gorgeous walk from my head and ended up with a double entendre of anger... There is not one fucking thing I can do about any of this shit. Not one thing. No options. I have been relegated to sit here and fucking stew over it. Like years ago when I quickly had it with the quality of life and dashed to where I could hold some semblance of control, except now I have the need but not the resources. I'd probably end up flat on my face or dead, anyway, so perhaps the torment is well-placed. I can't do a fucking thing about a fucking thing. The level of frustration inside is akin to the three dragons and their seemingly endless supply of flame. I am so pissed off that my efforts in controlling said mood during those moments spent near the neighbor or whomever may happen to be nearby when my garage is in full swing has become the toughest road while bearing the heaviest load. The single pathetic positive is when I become overly shitheaded I simply turn on my heel and disappear for a while. That is better than the alternative which will definitely leave me COMPLETELY alone. And I mean NO ONE, anywhere. I still have needs, albeit they are oversimplifications of the past, and there must be a few people present in order for me to be comfortable right now. The fucking torment leads me down the primrose path, past the same imagery and realizations, eventually landing my sorry skull in the territory of the damned angry. Even the fucking words don't cut the mustard right now. And believe me... I've been scouring the Internet for weeks in search of helpful information. No one is listening. The time for more dramatic measures is here, yet I have to be careful and remain mindful of the contributions of the past and the separation between then and now. Pretty fucking pissed off, but I can't spread it around. That is unfair. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything and everyone and wish to snap my fingers to cause everything to disappear, including myself. Leave the animals behind because they are the only ones who don't fuck each other over for a percentage. They just do what they do. All we do is ruin everything. Whatever. Powerless, like every other aspect of life. That's why I flex myself in the garage so much. It has become the only part of anything over which I have dominion. And it's just a big room with a big door, nothing more. Splendid. 1055 and the routine is finished. Cocktail almost finished. I now have the next six hours to myself, for whatever that may be worth. The sky is still overcast, yet it seems to be fighting with the sun. I don't know if this day will turn out warm or mild. I still have the third show up there, too. Comfort through media, I suppose. The second and third shows bring me back to the glow. Good or bad, I know not. 1526 and I stopped watching the dragons because the writing in season eight is half decent and half horseshit. If you've watched the series, you already know this. The manner in which Rhaegal dies is completely ridiculous and nearly impossible, and as such rails against the previous many hours of realism and verisimilitude. Many have spoken out regarding the scene, not just me. People have gone so far as to take it upon themselves to 'rewrite' many parts of season eight due to the sheer level of dissatisfaction with the direction of the writing as broadcast. The showrunners were apparently looking to shock and turn heads, and if that was their full intent, I suppose it was a success. But after being so deeply and emotionally invested in very complex settings, connectivity and character/relationship development -- as well as detailed history and plotline interactions -- the bulk of the audience felt robbed. I am no different. I actually stopped the playback in mid-episode due to becoming pissed off. Now, of course I realize that any series so loved and fantastic would be nearly impossible to close without flap from somewhere. I can't imagine hitting such highs and then trying to calculate a way to end the show and satisfy a very critical audience. Still, they fucked up bad with several aspects of season eight. The series ended nearly three years ago and I am still pissed off. As for this day, I haven't done very much inside the house or the garage. I did head out there a while ago to add the lighting for my small symbol adorning the end of the table, and that went fine. I'll have to think hard about from where to draw switched power, though. That's gonna be a chore. I also added a third strip of LEDs to the chimney canopy so the brightness matches that of the big door I just finished yesterday. My intention now is to remove the framed picture from the chimney and draw a matching symbol to one of those that I painted in my apartment. It's going to be a pain in the ass, yet the end result should far outweigh the effort. 0652 on Tuesday. Flags out. Coffee. My beloved third show. The usual problems. Torment, worry, all that shit. This day is wide open, yet I have not clue one as to how it will go. I have no early business. Just the routine later and some quiet time before she goes to the city. As I stated yesterday, not much was completed. I needed to take it easy and think a while. Like today. I'll be moving a few things around and possibly washing some clothes, but most of my time will be taken up continuing the journey through damaging memories and torment over all that is gone and all that shall not come to pass. The Race girl was a symbol, just as the other one down the street and the one in the store last week. Symbols of every need and desire, unmet. Unrealized forever. Obsessive thinking led to gushing over those forms (people) and still governs my actions day after day. I cannot cease consideration of their effects upon me no matter what kind of situation develops, including the eastern conflict and its possible consequences on this side of the world. Nothing can push away the desperation inherent in longing so deeply for all these years, and then realizing any situation I've experienced in the past cannot be repeated. Another ship, sailed. All the ships are gone. My head is rife with concern over what may happen in the future if this painful and obsessive thinking continues unrequited. I had thought seventeen was bad -- back when I first purchased this machine and wrote about Alexis -- but I am seeing the passage of time accomplishing nothing more than exacerbating an already difficult situation and leaving me weaker than I have ever been. I still see that face staring at me. Yes, the cat eyes. I see the pants down the street and her eye makeup. I even see the bright smile on the face of the rollercoaster girl. That was nearly a decade and a half back in time. I was heavily tormented by her then, and over time she's been joined by others. None of them have gone away. At least, none who meant something. The glimpses come and go like those background characters on the show, but deeper feelings always remain. The symbols in my garage are all I may have left in the future. The real symbols of my obsession may as well not exist at all. I can't spell out most of the torment. None of those words are allowed here because I'll never fucking hear the end of it. No one knows. Just me. Well, Ashley knew because she was a part of the beginning and helped me to realize that what I felt was not necessarily wrong or bad. Other than her? No one... Not even the Raven. The words shall remain absent from this content for all time. And that brings up a facet of being here all the time. Like King Benny said when the attorney asked how to get hold of him later, 'I am always here.' Heh. He was a gangster. I am not. Anyway, once in a while something funny takes place and my first thought is sharing the humorous story with another person (only natural), yet no one is there. I've isolated myself so much that unless a person approaches the garage while I'm out there, I see not one soul, ever. Oh, those people in the stores or whatever, but no one with whom I am familiar. No one there to hear me, but I did this. When I state 'no one is listening', I mean even if I were close to another person, I still could not speak. It's that bad. And no, this is not merely my imagination, dipshits. I know it by rote. I already know what will happen because I've opened the door in the last half decade and then fell down so hard that my fucking nose still hurts. No one is listening because there is no one there to hear. Remember the pins? 'A pin will drop and I don't hear...' Fuck it anyway. All boarded up, like always. Alone and miserable. Nothing exists outside my little space anymore. Maybe this is where I belong. I don't know how this shit became so powerful. I've experienced its commanding nature on so many occasions that the pain is still acute. Still there. A glimpse and a thought, possible chance of... Something, and then gone forever and I end up debilitated beyond belief. Crippled and unable to process the simplest task. I can't even talk to anyone about it. Nothing. All inside, always, and piled up. One atop another. The latest is there, perched like a bird and looking beautiful. They are all there and I can't do a fucking thing about it because any direction is going to be ridiculed, shunned, and then quickly dismissed as if I am a child. If I am going through some manner of 'trivial' infatuation from time to time, I may as well be dead. That level of weakness is unheard of at my age. But I don't fucking believe it. I really don't. Too much time and analysis are under my belt and I am not a fucking idiot. There is more, yet I cannot explain. The dream keeps returning to my head and I don't like it. The implication is very bad, too, so sharing this type of information could be damaging to my character, or what little is left of it. I actually need lots of help in this department, yet there is no one present and I can't afford to pay a person by the hour to gain some insight. Yes, I said that. If I were very well-off right now, I'd probably seek a professional. There have been occasions in which I sought some answers from qualified persons on the Internet, yet I seemed to end up with the same stock answers over and over. And the dream in question is not a subject I am inclined to reference because it's bad and I don't want my information spreading beyond whomever may be listening. Once the keystrokes go into the vast wonder of the net, they are susceptible to being copied, scrutinized, whatever, and I can't have that. There can be no possible concern over what is in my brain as long as it does not LEAVE my brain. Some thoughts should never be shared. Still, the compulsion is present in me. The contents of the dream, as well as the very unexpected context of the situation, must remain inside my head. I cannot share or even mention the subject to anyone, no matter how understanding and open-minded they may be. Even a fucking therapist, believe it or not. I'll be labeled. The words on the surface and any kind exchange is one thing, but the truth is there will be processes at work inside the other person's head over which I have no control. It WILL fucking happen. I know why some of this is taking place. I know the genesis, or at least a portion of it. But I can't say anything about it here. Like the dream, it is too sensitive. Again, I researched the subject on the Internet and came up with some tools and coping methods, although the condition is now such that any of those ideas will not help me. I've tried in the past. The obsession and subsequent torment over 'not knowing or seeing' what I desperately need cannot be researched. As of yet I've found not a single word in support of those feelings. Nothing. The exhaustive searching yielded only partially related information, as expected. I don't believe there is any way of learning aside from looking inward, and so far that type of consideration has fallen flat. Again, nothing. The singular path has been the act of sitting right here and typing over and over. Has it helped? Not one bit. Like the research, I only end up in the same place. Yep... A circle. The torment ebbs and flows, and lately it's been flowing like the muddy Stanislaus in spring. Over the banks. The basic certainty at the beginning of this paragraph has held the reins for so long that sometimes I overlook it. A way of life is the definition. The torment has become nothing more than a way of life. Where is Arina in this mess? Well, she is always there, watching. Believe it. There is Allie with her big, dark eyes again. She reminds me of the beginning of the pandemic when I had the local news on every morning and became enamored with her face for a while. Sarah, too. Remember? I mentioned those two newscasters several times. Now? She does not move me as she did two years ago. Still lovely, but not a problem any longer. I know not why. Ebb? No answers. 0834 and I have yet to do anything aside from typing and sipping coffee. Soon, I suppose. The routine is very straightforward lately. Maybe some laundry, too. Yesterday I evaluated the feasibility of removing the framed picture from the garage and drawing a fourth symbol in its place. I'll start the process at some point, but not yet. I have little motivation to do anything lately. I don't even know how some of that work was completed. It can be a distraction from the destruction, though. I suppose I just have to take a step and then another. The first is the tough step, for sure. There is so much beauty, desire, and torment swirling each day that I have a hell of a time finding those distractions being effective. This morning the chairman of the Joint Chiefs stated, 'The potential for significant international conflict between great powers is increasing, not decreasing.' The situation over there is not good, to say the least. I'll have to remain mindful of preparations and fortification due to the possibility of the conflict spreading. This may sound bad, but if anything can distract me from the torment, a war is it. A massive negative providing a tiny positive. Don't crucify me for that one. Given the choice, I'll take the torment. I stared at that girl as much as I could without her noticing. I doubt any bad was caused due to me looking at her walk and such. That is good. The last thing I want is to make a person uncomfortable, especially considering how young she is. Very bad, and I can't have it. The fact that I am all fucked up has nothing to do with her or anyone else. The feelings remain behind closed doors and the only evidence could be my eyes heading outward. One more time... I can't have another person disturbed by my torment. I did stare because the level of desperation inside is overwhelming and I literally cannot avoid seeing that type of form. She was amazing, honestly. Stared at her. I was supposed to be seeking a certain eyeglass frame, yet my eyes and brain were not paying attention to anything but that girl's fucking legs. While close, I gazed at her eyes as accentuated by the fact that much of her face was covered by a mask. Any eyeglass retailer which performs eye examinations is considered a medical facility and as such? Masks required. I wish I could have seen the rest of her face, but suffice to say the eyes had it. They had me, for what is likely the thousandth time in the last several years. Big and beautiful. The point is I fucking stared like a bank robber standing before a pallet of legal tender. Yep, I am that bad now. I stared until we were out the door several minutes later. That is when the torment took over. She is there, yet may as well be on Jupiter. Equally distant from my mind. I've never been able to reconcile the idea of the beauty being 'right over there' and the idea that I will never be close to it. At least, not close enough to fulfill or even scratch the surface of the obsession. I will sit here and bitch up one side and down the other, afterward realizing I am worse off for the thinking. But I can't help it. Hence, 'obsession'. Chances came along, chances disappeared. People came along, people disappeared. Now I am alone, worse than even five years ago, and relegated to this little house and my fucking stupid devices. I believe that is why I stared. I knew as soon as the first glimpse of her beauty that I would end up worse off, so my brain calculated the only thing to do was take in as much as possible. I am going to be miserable anyway, so I may as well stare. Nice, huh? This is so fucked. I still think of Jaime as the problem solver. You want to talk about fucked up? Read that again. What did you say? Focus upon reality? But... Why? And isn't that what I've been doing all down this entry? The reality within which I must remain? If you don't see that, I can't help. 0901. Still here. Tiny bit of coffee left. I'll get going soon. Ooh-fa, the abortion issue is on the table in Washington again. Talk about a difficult subject. Apparently, there is the possibility of it being overturned for the first time since 1973. Wow. That makes my problems seem pretty fucking trivial. Ah, but they are not. Fuck off. Shut up. 1141 and the routine is finished. I have the house to myself until sometime this afternoon. The abortion issue rumor has apparently been confirmed by a judge, meaning protests and all sorts of other bullshit will ensue shortly. I was concerned about her driving into the city due to what will be taking place at the capitol near five o'clock, although she will not be anywhere near that area today. I was also informed that there are people attempting to climb the outside of the big tower downtown, and that type of behavior is a good indication that much more shit will hit the fan in the coming days, not to mention the storm if the legislature from decades ago is actually overturned. For me? This means more fortification and keeping a good eye on the news. I doubt anything stemming from the current mood can trickle down to this tiny house, but vigilance is never a bad idea. Something that never ceases to amaze me is after all these decades, issues, protests and the rest of the crap due to politics, nothing ever really changes. A person shoots up a business or something, everyone screams for change, and then years later after the issue has faded the same thing happens again. Ban the guns, people will still get hold of them. Rewrite the laws, people will still cause a massive stink. The effort has always been for naught because one person cannot alter the way another person thinks. I've said it too many times to recall... If there is but one person on the planet, nothing will happen. Once there are two or more, eventually disagreement will escalate to dissent and eventually violence. There is simply no way around it. Violence is the supreme authority from which all other authority is derived. Period. Look back at history and tell me what has been improved. I thought so. Moving on... Other than spot cleaning the kitchen floor and a few other areas, I may not do fuck-all today. In fact, I'm beginning to lean toward breaking out the largest model and starting the build with my friends in the background. First, it's relaxing and comfortable beyond description, and second, some of that model may be good for the camera. As an aside, sometimes I love the depiction of the military aspect of these shows because they can cut through the bullshit in a hot minute. More authority, and when it comes to the military... 'We follow orders or people die.' There it is. As I was told numerous times in the Marines, 'What is second in combat? That's right... Second in combat is DEAD.' No argument. Where was I? Ah, the model. I don't know for sure yet, but I may get into it later. I have some dry cleaning, too. All in good time. Third show, still. Second season. Torment, almost constantly. When I am at home, it is dredged up by something on the television screen. While out, something walking along somewhere. Either way, the dreaming is injected and will not subside until the landscape changes sufficiently to draw my complete attention. Some images do not leave my head, ever. I mentioned the closet doors, smiling faces, and that fucking 'thing' of which I was recently reminded. It has happened to me on a few occasions. The last time was quite a while ago, too. I don't remember exactly when, either. Being reminded hurt me deeply because it grows from a set of circumstances that I do not understand and cannot replicate at will. Well, it doesn't matter what can be understood, anyway, because that part of my life is likely finished forever. I try not to dwell. The torment partially relates, and as such creates dreamy landscapes that are further away from reality than Pluto. The whole thing is fucking miserable. The torment can be dormant. That almost rhymes. Anyway, I believe it fell flat a while before seeing the girl last week, and then everything came back in force. Hence the references to Arina, the beautiful culmination of everything which hurts me. I'm so fucking sick of this shit that I cannot find enough swear words. Nowhere near enough middle fingers, either. 0639 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, third show again, flags out, cats fed. Sounds like I have ambition, eh? Nope. Just habits. The morning stuff has become more comfortable, especially if I don't become lazy and oversleep. I can't have that. I enjoy seeing the light come up, much like when I was working and we took off for a job long before most people were on their way out in the morning. Anyway, yesterday I really did not do much aside from the dry cleaning. A little bit in the office, though. That space is looking better, as is the garage. Mostly I took it easy because of such deep feelings of loss trying to take over. The torment moved away from me for a little while yesterday until a couple went walking along the sidewalk out front during the late afternoon. I saw them and became fairly disappointed in myself, which then pushed me to realize that there is no fucking way in hell that girl at the store last week would have noticed me staring. This realization is a completely different variety of trouble. Not good. As for today, baby steps in any direction may be good enough. The more thinking I do, the more worry I feel, and the end result of that can be a deep desire to erase the world. I can't do anything like that, though, because I am small and powerless, weak and insignificant. For those reasons, the second show shall remain in charge today so I can avoid seeing anything new. Other than Sandra and her absolutely unique facial structure, there are few reasons for me to fall down. After yesterday, I don't need any more reminders of what I've become. Some work, some consideration, some time to relax. That is fine. A slow decline into obscurity. 'Hidden by dull desires of a worn-out routine.' This morning I do not feel as bad as the last time a dream remained in my head. It is typical for me to dream of something fascinating or enticing and then awaken later with zero feelings of remorse or concern. They are only dreams, and whether or not they can be indicative of something questionable inside is not up to me. My brain operates the way it operates and due to a lifetime of situations failing to fulfill my imagination as combined with painful memories, the subject matter is quite a ways beyond my control. The dream from a while back which STILL has me wondering about my mental health was a first of its kind. Never before that has a certain subject or thought entered my head. Well, now the bad stuff is in there because I cannot forget the reference, nor can I spell it out here. At least that was the only occasion in which I had been slammed by feelings I never imagined. Today it stands as a reminder that my usual morning can be turned on its ear very quickly, yet most of the time I have nothing to worry about. I recall, yet there has been very little piled atop that issue since the first day. The dream in question came days before the girl at the store shook me, meaning she was not involved, but I know of at least one other person spinning inside that ethereal wonderland. At least nothing else has stabbed me since then. I think about this every day. Actually, it is a completely different type of torment that I must deal with and keep inside at all costs. If I fail in that effort, all is lost. I can't have that shit right now. I'll have to keep my head out of the din this morning. Busy with stuff or otherwise, I don't want to fall down and fail again. The feelings go south very quickly and I completely lose direction for a time. Something has to keep me away from the damage for several hours or until such time that I have a little alcohol to suppress some of the thinking. Later, I guess. In the meantime, I'll try to avoid anything which operates as a trigger. Usually, it is some sort of memory or past event. If I can refrain from strolling down memory lane inside my head, perhaps the morning can be saved. The girl at the store is beginning to fade now. Very good, but I'll miss the sight. 'Have you lost your mind?' 'I just misplaced it for a little while.' Almost time for the morning business before I return here. Upon finishing, I fill with what is sometimes the best feeling of a weekday, that of being alone and wide open to whatever I need to do. Ugh... This episode dredges up some issues which arose a while back during the vampires. That shit went all over the fucking map before I was able to rein it back into a small space. I ended up pretty damned angry for a while, later realizing that being unfair about the subject matter was pretty much my fault and had to stop. Unfortunately, such knowledge only made me lash out more and everything crashed. Whatever. At least I learned that discussing anything with another human being is likely too risky and should be avoided for the rest of my life, such as it is. I wonder how much longer I can sit here and type thousands of words per entry without actually saying anything. 0818 and I have the house and the day to myself. Very nice. But... How will I feel at the close of business hours? Will I be ok like yesterday? Ooh-fa, the girl in this commercial is about as cute as cute gets, yet she always has the high-waisted jeans below. Huge mistake, that trend. All the way back to the fucking seventies, too. I will never understand why fashion moves and develops the way it does. If the girl in the commercial wore the same type of pants once wrapped around the goddess or the Raven, she would look spectacular and likely have no current rival for beauty. Oh, well. At least I enjoyed the view for a while. Now everything is all fucked up. Her face? Holy shit, unbelievably cute. Anyway, I suppose I'll just do my best to move along whatever path draws my attention today, and then try to relax during the evening again. I don't know of another path right now. I dodged a bullet a while ago, thank the maker. This is becoming more and more difficult each day as the memories flow and the desperation increases. For years I wished for a ton of free time. At least, time to myself due to a deep need for peace and quiet to deal with difficulties. Now? I have a shitload of time each week. There is no longer a need for me to work, so remaining here has become the new life, as boosted by the pandemic two years ago. The downside of all this time is thinking. I have distractions and projects up the wazoo, yet nothing can stop the brain from crunching imagery and desire. Mornings have not become any easier despite my efforts. And I had to reboot the fucking streaming machine because the damned show lost audio for whatever reason. Every other channel was fine, but this one seems to have problems on occasion, like the wrong language last night. Yep, I started an episode of the third show and the dialog was dubbed in German. There seemed no solution, so I skipped it. This morning when the audio went away, the problem was limited to the very same series, leading me to believe the service was at fault. I restarted everything and the problem has gone away... For now. The downside is this episode is one of very few which dredges up the feelings and issue I mentioned a few paragraphs up the page. Eh... I can deal with it. A bit of anger, nothing too bad. 0915 now. The sun is shining, so hopefully the fog can remain over the ocean and allow the house to warm up this afternoon. A warm house means comfort in the evening and more motivation to move some things around. Yesterday's work in the office was short but effective. I can continue it today with my extended family in the background. I still have yet to break out the big model and begin building again. I'll get around to it. Anything to keep those Goddamned smiling faces out of my head. Had I known years ago that my living to this age was going to carry so many problems, I would not be sitting here right now. I just have to fucking deal with it. I will admit that the past has leveraged me into becoming much more sensitive to certain parts of life in recent years. This is not good, but alas I must be me. The sensitivity will likely not allow me to be completely relaxed or comfortable around other people for my remaining years, be them male or female, hence my staying home all the time. I am safe here, for lack of a better term. Hidden. No one is fucking listening anyway, so this seems the best plan. I just hope nothing is asked of me because the fuse is always ready and very short. If I blow up, everything goes away and I simply can't have that right now. I need my little routine and devices in order to continue drawing breath. As I said, no one is listening. Perhaps in the long run they are better off. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. 1043 and the routine is nearly finished. I have a pan soaking and intend to polish off the kitchen after lunch, whenever that may be. Whiskey next to me, as always. So far, the feelings have been partially suppressed, leaving mostly anger in their place. The anger never goes away, much like torment. One of the worst aspects of being tormented is the fact that despite the last major strike fading, something else will undoubtedly come along on the television or at one of the stores to fucking floor me again, thus beginning this horrible cycle all over. I have not found anything with the power to alleviate and make tolerable the days between. Nothing... That word which has been typed here 3373 times since the site was created. 3373 is a very large number, even spanning twenty years. I'm sick of this shit, and sick of feeling that everything wondrous has either been ripped away or otherwise destroyed. Promise, potential... Gone. 1112 and I believe the alcohol has succeeded. Call me what you will. I don't fucking care. In fact, there is damned little these days that I DO care about aside from the atmosphere in this house. Go fuck yourself in a muddy, snowy ditch. Stay there. I'm tired of being pissed off all the time but it's all I have left. I suppose I'll just keep living from one day to the next; no discernable change in the mood, no one listening, no possible means of relief from the torment and dissatisfaction. A while back I stated that I am afraid of what the future may hold, yet still scared to die. That is the truth. I get out of bed every morning because of the little enjoyments and nothing more. I don't see anything on the horizon but don't know what to change. I am not the type of person to rise all of a sudden, begin tackling physical fitness or some other form of improvement, and then expect a better outlook. The fact is I cannot see an avenue to what I have experienced in the past, nor can I be positive. Right now the time is 1138 and I am worse off than a mere four hours ago. Each day shows me the same possibilities, yet I am bereft of any motivation. Limping along. Stumbling, really. I just don't fucking care. Arina is everything inside me and everything that is missing. Those parts... Whenever I mentioned the missing pieces... I don't remember. I cannot be rebuilt. The feelings have been suppressed for this day, yet even the suppression angers me. I should not have need to do this. I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. 1616. Feeling very lost today. I finished everything and had lunch, but unfortunately I cannot get myself to accomplish anything else this afternoon. Just lost. I had so much. Now everything is gone. My brain is tired of churning all the time. 0634 on a foggy Thursday morning, just five days into May. Coffee, flags, friends, cats... You know. I have some ideas on how to push past the din from yesterday. I suppose the hours will reveal what they can. After the morning business I'll finish the coffee, and then I need to go to the market for a few items. No big deal. I have a routine while there; parking location, doors, route through the aisles, etc. I always find a tidbit of comfort being over there because my brain dictates the manner in which I shop as learned many years ago. I can't go into detail as the subject is quite personal. Suffice to say, a part of my little world always follows along when I go out the door to shop. This endeavor will probably be the status quo for a while, even after the morning stuff. I need to think about the last few days and whatever has been taking over my psyche and squashing ambition. I've considered the idea that I may be seeing less importance in these activities as I did two years ago (or even one), and hopefully that is not the case. Part of me still feels that my role here is important no matter how far I may drop at times. Slow progress is better than none. I'll have to keep the memory of yesterday very close as I move around the house today. I don't want that happening again, even if I have to resort to building the big model rather than working on the house. The lady up the street dropped a card and some cash in my mailbox the other day. I forgot to mention the payment here because the morning prior to finding the card I had all but written her off due to so much time passing since I generously did the repair. I am a nice person -- yes, all the way back to Eddie again -- but only up to a certain point. I have a very low opinion of society to begin with, so when I feel I've been 'had' the situation only worsens. Even the most benign, soft-spoken person can have an agenda, and if it does not show through the facade that only means the deception is quite accomplished. I don't know what the deal is over there, but a bit longer and I would likely have ignored her indefinitely. I don't need to work for anyone. The card being hand written and including the money gave her a partial pass. Hopefully my phone doesn't ring anytime soon with questions about another problem. I brought that up because of my continuing disdain for the workings of the world and progress in general. The commentary above regarding the conflict, guns, whatever, is but a slice of my feelings, and the bottom line is no matter what takes place anywhere in the world, the disdain trickles down to the average person. The scope of a problem is not the issue. The fact that the idea was conceived in a person's mind is precisely the problem. I don't know those people on the other side of my front door. They are all in the same category these days. Does this sound bad? I don't care. There is almost no trust left in me. Third show, third season. Marci will doubtless be up there soon, much to my dismay. She always reminds me of the search for the beginning of the obsession. The episode is so old, too. I don't recall when I first viewed it, though. Definitely not when it aired as new. That was within weeks of my moving back to California from the Midwest and I was not set up to watch the show for a while after arriving. I also seem to recall being in a relationship when first discovering Marci's appearance and having a conversation with my partner about her outfit and gait. I could be wrong, though. My memory is quite scattered these days. Oy, that episode is fourth season, not third. Oops. Anyway, there is a feeling attached to seeing her. I cannot fully explain right now because it's just fleeting and a partial memory. If anything solidifies I will recount here. The period just after moving back was wondrous, for a time. There are fond memories attached. The current episode carries issues I've mentioned before, too. One of the characters completely offsets another and the gradient is about as dramatic as is possible. From fear and intimidation all the way across the spectrum to beautiful and alluring. I am a fucking basket case. I can't wait to have some peace and quiet. 0813 and I am left to my day. Until the coffee is gone, I'll be sitting here with the keyboard and my friends up there. The routine will be short, as should my trip to the market. Lately I have not been concerned about seeing anything there because of the time of day, plus the big market is not like the others. Upon returning, I can sink back into my little world and work with whatever seems best. I don't want to have to resort to building the big model, for sure. That work is enjoyable and relaxing, yet I cannot feel comfortable sitting there unless there has been a bunch of chores and/or improvements completed. The model is for another day. The excessive torment yesterday has helped me to feel a bit better this morning. I went through a bad time for several hours after the morning realization that something is going wrong inside me. The missing pieces and lack of outlook continue to break me down, and attempting to right myself is not easy. The tiniest detail in memory or on the television (one can lead to the other quite often) will trigger the crevasse between past and present, effectively leaving me void of hope that there can be true happiness, even for a while. Something which popped into my head earlier this morning is the idea that all that behavior and mass of bad decisions have triggered some sort of 'voodoo', meaning this shit period is payment for what I've done in the past. I don't believe that actions 'come around', though. I believe the only reason such a thought entered my head is sheer desperation... An overwhelming need to understand why. Nothing has materialized, leading me to see that this road indeed has no fucking turns. Yesterday was very difficult and the morning probably slammed me so hard that the remainder of the day was affected. I am hoping nothing like that surfaces today. I have things to do and don't need to be derailed again. The result will be me all pissed off, and everyone knows that goes nowhere fast. Repeat... I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. The understanding is on two fronts, only one being needed inside me. The other was carried by other people. And despite my stating that I know how this happened, I am referring only to certain parts of life that have summed to a point, and they are few. The remainder is unknown and likely will be for all time. No one is listening. Even if someone was, my words would be so fucking cryptic that the understanding would be all but impossible. Any effort -- either by me or someone else -- would be for naught regardless of how much I may try. The truth is I am too afraid of being either labeled or ridiculed, meaning everything inside my head and causing this trouble is permanent barring some miraculous turn of events. I just don't see it happening anymore. Maybe all my chances have been squandered. This is not good, to say the least. 0847 and the day's work must begin. Her."
The Torment of Arina (IX)
Mature content No. 311 Published May 5th, 2022 8:48am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"I guess Arina is alive. She was in the previous entry. Never should have gone shopping last Wednesday. The only thing that trip accomplished was to provide me a glimpse of something I've seen in my head for years, and possibly the only real stir since either the girl down the street or the other at the race. 0813 on Saturday morning, and after a little shindig last night which turned out to be almost nothing. A bit of conversation with people in much better shape than myself. Everything turns into a gradient, just like the morsel in my eyes the other day... A feeling which is unattainable. Last night was the same. People see me and have no clue as to what I am thinking or the damage being inflicted with each passing moment. This morning I see the whole thing as if it was a little play on a stage sitting on the coffee table. The truth is I go out there to listen to some music and enjoy the work I've done all over the garage, and nothing more. A disturbing dream the other day after seeing breasts on the dragon show has me at sixes and sevens all the time, not to mention quickly filling me with worry over the future. I don't understand, unless the level of desperation in life has reached into my subconscious and created images I don't want to see. The show only displays certain details. My brain is the part causing the difficulty. The dream combined two situations which honestly do not work together. They cannot. The entire shitaree is very bad. As a result of the gradients being illuminated last night and the shitaree this morning, I am going to take it easy this day. Maybe further closed off. Dragons up there again. Some excellent, absolutely first-class television interspersed with some of the most pathetic dialog imaginable. The earlier seasons were much better, even the previous was excellent. The seventh? Partly great, partly stupid. One character arc and a few related situations, mostly. Really fucking bad, and believe me when I say I'm not the only with such a harsh opinion. Lots of research informed me that I am far from alone. All horseshit aside, there are still good moments and sequences. I'll roll through to the end and switch to another program, as always. 1206 and the routine is finished. The gardeners were here, too. The yards look nice again. Fifth show up there with Jolene in all her high-definition glory. I switched from the fourth show this morning because it is approaching the end and I wish to savor the last few episodes, instead opting for the dragons for a little while. Housework means one of the five, so I switched again. Heh. All over the place today. My LED strips arrived this morning. I should be able to light the newest symbol and then add a strip to the lower part of the shelving door to enhance the glow of the big representation of my feelings. The addition will solve two issues, one being the size of the circle and the fact that it is not adequately lit thus far, the other is the plywood door itself being warped. I can install another canopy across the lower part of the door which will flatten the sheet and make it easier for me to place an additional latch at the bottom. The coming weekdays should be plenty of time for both projects. Last night a person mentioned that I have 'Satanic' material in my garage. Excellent. My neighbor replied, 'I told you so.' Also excellent. Now that everything is done (the usual crap, anyway), I poured a cocktail and decided to take the remaining hours off any type of work. Tomorrow will be better, I believe. Today I just can't get myself to give a fuck. Laundry awaits my attention, as does continued work in the office and some spot cleaning of the floor. Another day. My brain is still wrapped up in the dream and the major strike walking near me while shopping three days ago. I can't get her our of my head, all well-fitted pants, suede booties pointing inward, and big, bright eyes full of wonder. Damn it. Some varieties of pants are very snug, while hers had just enough give to allow her shape to show through while not appearing too tight. Just unbelievable. That vision reminded me of seeing my traveling companion at a gas station somewhere down interstate five. She wore jeans and a baggy sweater. As I was emerging from the shop with some drinks for our drive, I saw her standing before the pump awaiting her card processing. At that moment, she decided to pull up her pants, much to the joy of a guy standing at the adjacent pump and staring as her pants pulled tight and revealed not much underneath, all the while her enormous chest pushing forward within the sweater. That was more than eleven years ago and I can still see her body all exaggerated and curvy while his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. The girl at the store three days ago had a similar appearance, honestly. Much smaller, but no less curvy. Had she stretched in some manner, I probably would have collapsed. And keep in mind all this gushing barely scratches what I actually feel at the time. Sunday morning, 0716, coffee and my third show. I had to run around and do a bit of the Ho Chi Minh two-step earlier because the cats left a present on my blanket. And then the flags out. And then before finally sitting here, I decided I'd had enough of waiting for inspiration. I relocated the RAID setup to the living room and it is up and running. Once again there is access to everything after the unit being down for the last two months or so. In attempting to recreate some of the symbols from my cave, the images on the site were a clue as to how they had been formed, yet the resolution is not great. I had to dig into the archives from my old camera as they are digital negatives and much larger. Now I have detail. That was the drive behind setting up the RAID again. In support of my ongoing garage improvement, another set of LEDs arrived yesterday and I figured out a way to operate them off the top canopy to add three more strips to the bottom after installing the aforementioned lower canopy. I had enough bridging strips to run down the back side of my big manometer all the way to the lower part of the door. Such a method will allow for the new controller to light the new, smaller symbol which replaced my road sign the other day. I may work on that stuff later today as I get the laundry and garbage going. I recalled a dream earlier, yet it was unlike the other day's torment and concern. I really don't need anything forcing the start of a new day to head straight into the trash. That is not good for my general outlook (or what there is left of it) and very bad for my ability to interact with others. Having already felt the effects of removing myself from one social circle, I do not wish to cease the other. In some ways I do miss the interaction, yet I must protect myself at the same time. The closer circle can remain, so if there arise other issues with the dreams, I'll have to change something. The last one was not good. By this time of the morning, I've lost any detail with regard to the dream earlier. At least I know it was nothing damning. Something happened when I saw that shot on the dragon show and it remained in my head for some days, eventually leading to the dream which I barely recall now. What I know for sure is that the situation was pretty fucking bad and if known by certain people could land me in deep muck. I am not the type of person to indulge in some parts of life, no matter how tempting or desirable. There are lines which do not move. Eh... I'll have to leave this alone because I'm not saying anything and no one will give a shit anyway. These episodes are from ninety-three. The trailing end of the glow, for sure. May of that year, I believe, meaning just a few months later we moved across the country and an era came to a close -- one I would never be able to duplicate. Not even close, although 1236 was pretty damned nice for a while. Ninety-three. That summer was the beginning of the radio adventures, an opening to a facet of the film industry to which I had never previously had access, and the time of the CD changer girl. Everything in a row leading up to fall when we made the decision to take that long drive. On the television right now is media from that spring. Makes my heart leap and ache at the same time.
1118 and the routine is finished. Garbage partially done, laundry in process. I'm taking a break. Vodka on ice and the third show up there. More Cindy down the page. You may have noticed her exaggerated lips and huge eyes. I don't know why she is here. Maybe just following suit after the previous Arina entries. Maybe I just like her. In any case, the beauty is always present in one form or another. Cindy does not torment me, although others have, just like the dreams. The dream on the heels of watching my show was a toughie and I am still trying to understand why that particular subject became related to another person rather than the actor with breasts on display. There have been droves of such images between the dragons and vampires, so why now? I don't get it. Nothing helps because no one is listening. I am more alone right now than ever. The chores and projects can only do so much, but at least the little enjoyments still hold sway at times. There is a clear reason for some of how I feel. The rest is a mystery and likely always will be. I spoke some time ago with another person and learned nothing because I witheld information critical to the subject. There was no other way. Right now I am seeing that as the last occasion of the type to happen in my life. As my feelings continue to stew, the likelihood of finding the strength to open any door is shrinking at the same rate. I am seeing that nothing can be done. The torment continues, unimpeded. Depression leads to anger, and though I've learned that 'depression is rage turned inward', the anger still feels like the sole outlet. Speaking to another person will only make me more angry. This is a circle. I am imploding. The aforementioned reason shall remain behind closed, locked doors for all time. The operative word related to speaking is trust, and that shit is long fucking gone, rather like the people who used to be involved in my life. Bye, bye. I did not think this way during the glow because the future was open to possibility and felt full of promise. Now it is black and closed off. Too bad no one knows what is taking place inside me. All alone. No one is listening. Arina is there but she is a part of the problem. 0741 on Monday morning. Another day open to my interpretation. Will it be any different? The torment continues unimpeded, as a combination of dreaming and daydreaming have taken me away from clear thinking. I am constantly distracted no matter what work is being done around the house. Yesterday, for example, I built the entire lower canopy for the shelving door and eventually tested it. During the entire project I continued to picture all manner of things unrelated, yet compelling. Like the dream which upset me so much. No matter how deeply I dropped myself into the woodwork, smiling faces were still there, along with thoughts of where I am in life. The worse I felt about everything in my world, the more angry I became, and then the symbolic nature of the garage appeared much more important. The other aspect running concurrently with being so fucking desperate is that there are no ears. Nothing. And then I become more angry due to the circumstances surrounding this condition. All the anger forces me to remain behind closed doors unless I'm doing something requiring ventilation. People look toward the house as they pass and wonder what the hell is going on and I don't fucking care. My work is already appearing off-putting. I just can't be around others right now. I can't. And for the tenth time, no one is listening because I've been placed behind everything else in life by those who purport to hear me. This is probably best for them, though. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. I can't see anything, measure anything, record shit for later study, nothing. I look upon those shapes and forms, wonder how I ended up in this stagnant, downward existence, and then dream later of all that is missing from me. Torment. Tor-fucking-ment. The feeling the other day was debilitating. I could not think straight for a while and then became 'ok' for a little while thanks to the massive shift in scenery when we arrived at the third and final store. And then later? I could not extract that girl's fucking gorgeous walk from my head and ended up with a double entendre of anger... There is not one fucking thing I can do about any of this shit. Not one thing. No options. I have been relegated to sit here and fucking stew over it. Like years ago when I quickly had it with the quality of life and dashed to where I could hold some semblance of control, except now I have the need but not the resources. I'd probably end up flat on my face or dead, anyway, so perhaps the torment is well-placed. I can't do a fucking thing about a fucking thing. The level of frustration inside is akin to the three dragons and their seemingly endless supply of flame. I am so pissed off that my efforts in controlling said mood during those moments spent near the neighbor or whomever may happen to be nearby when my garage is in full swing has become the toughest road while bearing the heaviest load. The single pathetic positive is when I become overly shitheaded I simply turn on my heel and disappear for a while. That is better than the alternative which will definitely leave me COMPLETELY alone. And I mean NO ONE, anywhere. I still have needs, albeit they are oversimplifications of the past, and there must be a few people present in order for me to be comfortable right now. The fucking torment leads me down the primrose path, past the same imagery and realizations, eventually landing my sorry skull in the territory of the damned angry. Even the fucking words don't cut the mustard right now. And believe me... I've been scouring the Internet for weeks in search of helpful information. No one is listening. The time for more dramatic measures is here, yet I have to be careful and remain mindful of the contributions of the past and the separation between then and now. Pretty fucking pissed off, but I can't spread it around. That is unfair. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything and everyone and wish to snap my fingers to cause everything to disappear, including myself. Leave the animals behind because they are the only ones who don't fuck each other over for a percentage. They just do what they do. All we do is ruin everything. Whatever. Powerless, like every other aspect of life. That's why I flex myself in the garage so much. It has become the only part of anything over which I have dominion. And it's just a big room with a big door, nothing more. Splendid. 1055 and the routine is finished. Cocktail almost finished. I now have the next six hours to myself, for whatever that may be worth. The sky is still overcast, yet it seems to be fighting with the sun. I don't know if this day will turn out warm or mild. I still have the third show up there, too. Comfort through media, I suppose. The second and third shows bring me back to the glow. Good or bad, I know not. 1526 and I stopped watching the dragons because the writing in season eight is half decent and half horseshit. If you've watched the series, you already know this. The manner in which Rhaegal dies is completely ridiculous and nearly impossible, and as such rails against the previous many hours of realism and verisimilitude. Many have spoken out regarding the scene, not just me. People have gone so far as to take it upon themselves to 'rewrite' many parts of season eight due to the sheer level of dissatisfaction with the direction of the writing as broadcast. The showrunners were apparently looking to shock and turn heads, and if that was their full intent, I suppose it was a success. But after being so deeply and emotionally invested in very complex settings, connectivity and character/relationship development -- as well as detailed history and plotline interactions -- the bulk of the audience felt robbed. I am no different. I actually stopped the playback in mid-episode due to becoming pissed off. Now, of course I realize that any series so loved and fantastic would be nearly impossible to close without flap from somewhere. I can't imagine hitting such highs and then trying to calculate a way to end the show and satisfy a very critical audience. Still, they fucked up bad with several aspects of season eight. The series ended nearly three years ago and I am still pissed off. As for this day, I haven't done very much inside the house or the garage. I did head out there a while ago to add the lighting for my small symbol adorning the end of the table, and that went fine. I'll have to think hard about from where to draw switched power, though. That's gonna be a chore. I also added a third strip of LEDs to the chimney canopy so the brightness matches that of the big door I just finished yesterday. My intention now is to remove the framed picture from the chimney and draw a matching symbol to one of those that I painted in my apartment. It's going to be a pain in the ass, yet the end result should far outweigh the effort.
0652 on Tuesday. Flags out. Coffee. My beloved third show. The usual problems. Torment, worry, all that shit. This day is wide open, yet I have not clue one as to how it will go. I have no early business. Just the routine later and some quiet time before she goes to the city. As I stated yesterday, not much was completed. I needed to take it easy and think a while. Like today. I'll be moving a few things around and possibly washing some clothes, but most of my time will be taken up continuing the journey through damaging memories and torment over all that is gone and all that shall not come to pass. The Race girl was a symbol, just as the other one down the street and the one in the store last week. Symbols of every need and desire, unmet. Unrealized forever. Obsessive thinking led to gushing over those forms (people) and still governs my actions day after day. I cannot cease consideration of their effects upon me no matter what kind of situation develops, including the eastern conflict and its possible consequences on this side of the world. Nothing can push away the desperation inherent in longing so deeply for all these years, and then realizing any situation I've experienced in the past cannot be repeated. Another ship, sailed. All the ships are gone. My head is rife with concern over what may happen in the future if this painful and obsessive thinking continues unrequited. I had thought seventeen was bad -- back when I first purchased this machine and wrote about Alexis -- but I am seeing the passage of time accomplishing nothing more than exacerbating an already difficult situation and leaving me weaker than I have ever been. I still see that face staring at me. Yes, the cat eyes. I see the pants down the street and her eye makeup. I even see the bright smile on the face of the rollercoaster girl. That was nearly a decade and a half back in time. I was heavily tormented by her then, and over time she's been joined by others. None of them have gone away. At least, none who meant something. The glimpses come and go like those background characters on the show, but deeper feelings always remain. The symbols in my garage are all I may have left in the future. The real symbols of my obsession may as well not exist at all. I can't spell out most of the torment. None of those words are allowed here because I'll never fucking hear the end of it. No one knows. Just me. Well, Ashley knew because she was a part of the beginning and helped me to realize that what I felt was not necessarily wrong or bad. Other than her? No one... Not even the Raven. The words shall remain absent from this content for all time. And that brings up a facet of being here all the time. Like King Benny said when the attorney asked how to get hold of him later, 'I am always here.' Heh. He was a gangster. I am not. Anyway, once in a while something funny takes place and my first thought is sharing the humorous story with another person (only natural), yet no one is there. I've isolated myself so much that unless a person approaches the garage while I'm out there, I see not one soul, ever. Oh, those people in the stores or whatever, but no one with whom I am familiar. No one there to hear me, but I did this. When I state 'no one is listening', I mean even if I were close to another person, I still could not speak. It's that bad. And no, this is not merely my imagination, dipshits. I know it by rote. I already know what will happen because I've opened the door in the last half decade and then fell down so hard that my fucking nose still hurts. No one is listening because there is no one there to hear. Remember the pins? 'A pin will drop and I don't hear...' Fuck it anyway. All boarded up, like always. Alone and miserable. Nothing exists outside my little space anymore. Maybe this is where I belong. I don't know how this shit became so powerful. I've experienced its commanding nature on so many occasions that the pain is still acute. Still there. A glimpse and a thought, possible chance of... Something, and then gone forever and I end up debilitated beyond belief. Crippled and unable to process the simplest task. I can't even talk to anyone about it. Nothing. All inside, always, and piled up. One atop another. The latest is there, perched like a bird and looking beautiful. They are all there and I can't do a fucking thing about it because any direction is going to be ridiculed, shunned, and then quickly dismissed as if I am a child. If I am going through some manner of 'trivial' infatuation from time to time, I may as well be dead. That level of weakness is unheard of at my age. But I don't fucking believe it. I really don't. Too much time and analysis are under my belt and I am not a fucking idiot. There is more, yet I cannot explain. The dream keeps returning to my head and I don't like it. The implication is very bad, too, so sharing this type of information could be damaging to my character, or what little is left of it. I actually need lots of help in this department, yet there is no one present and I can't afford to pay a person by the hour to gain some insight. Yes, I said that. If I were very well-off right now, I'd probably seek a professional. There have been occasions in which I sought some answers from qualified persons on the Internet, yet I seemed to end up with the same stock answers over and over. And the dream in question is not a subject I am inclined to reference because it's bad and I don't want my information spreading beyond whomever may be listening. Once the keystrokes go into the vast wonder of the net, they are susceptible to being copied, scrutinized, whatever, and I can't have that. There can be no possible concern over what is in my brain as long as it does not LEAVE my brain. Some thoughts should never be shared. Still, the compulsion is present in me. The contents of the dream, as well as the very unexpected context of the situation, must remain inside my head. I cannot share or even mention the subject to anyone, no matter how understanding and open-minded they may be. Even a fucking therapist, believe it or not. I'll be labeled. The words on the surface and any kind exchange is one thing, but the truth is there will be processes at work inside the other person's head over which I have no control. It WILL fucking happen. I know why some of this is taking place. I know the genesis, or at least a portion of it. But I can't say anything about it here. Like the dream, it is too sensitive. Again, I researched the subject on the Internet and came up with some tools and coping methods, although the condition is now such that any of those ideas will not help me. I've tried in the past. The obsession and subsequent torment over 'not knowing or seeing' what I desperately need cannot be researched. As of yet I've found not a single word in support of those feelings. Nothing. The exhaustive searching yielded only partially related information, as expected. I don't believe there is any way of learning aside from looking inward, and so far that type of consideration has fallen flat. Again, nothing. The singular path has been the act of sitting right here and typing over and over. Has it helped? Not one bit. Like the research, I only end up in the same place. Yep... A circle. The torment ebbs and flows, and lately it's been flowing like the muddy Stanislaus in spring. Over the banks. The basic certainty at the beginning of this paragraph has held the reins for so long that sometimes I overlook it. A way of life is the definition. The torment has become nothing more than a way of life. Where is Arina in this mess? Well, she is always there, watching. Believe it. There is Allie with her big, dark eyes again. She reminds me of the beginning of the pandemic when I had the local news on every morning and became enamored with her face for a while. Sarah, too. Remember? I mentioned those two newscasters several times. Now? She does not move me as she did two years ago. Still lovely, but not a problem any longer. I know not why. Ebb? No answers. 0834 and I have yet to do anything aside from typing and sipping coffee. Soon, I suppose. The routine is very straightforward lately. Maybe some laundry, too. Yesterday I evaluated the feasibility of removing the framed picture from the garage and drawing a fourth symbol in its place. I'll start the process at some point, but not yet. I have little motivation to do anything lately. I don't even know how some of that work was completed. It can be a distraction from the destruction, though. I suppose I just have to take a step and then another. The first is the tough step, for sure. There is so much beauty, desire, and torment swirling each day that I have a hell of a time finding those distractions being effective. This morning the chairman of the Joint Chiefs stated, 'The potential for significant international conflict between great powers is increasing, not decreasing.' The situation over there is not good, to say the least. I'll have to remain mindful of preparations and fortification due to the possibility of the conflict spreading. This may sound bad, but if anything can distract me from the torment, a war is it. A massive negative providing a tiny positive. Don't crucify me for that one. Given the choice, I'll take the torment.
I stared at that girl as much as I could without her noticing. I doubt any bad was caused due to me looking at her walk and such. That is good. The last thing I want is to make a person uncomfortable, especially considering how young she is. Very bad, and I can't have it. The fact that I am all fucked up has nothing to do with her or anyone else. The feelings remain behind closed doors and the only evidence could be my eyes heading outward. One more time... I can't have another person disturbed by my torment. I did stare because the level of desperation inside is overwhelming and I literally cannot avoid seeing that type of form. She was amazing, honestly. Stared at her. I was supposed to be seeking a certain eyeglass frame, yet my eyes and brain were not paying attention to anything but that girl's fucking legs. While close, I gazed at her eyes as accentuated by the fact that much of her face was covered by a mask. Any eyeglass retailer which performs eye examinations is considered a medical facility and as such? Masks required. I wish I could have seen the rest of her face, but suffice to say the eyes had it. They had me, for what is likely the thousandth time in the last several years. Big and beautiful. The point is I fucking stared like a bank robber standing before a pallet of legal tender. Yep, I am that bad now. I stared until we were out the door several minutes later. That is when the torment took over. She is there, yet may as well be on Jupiter. Equally distant from my mind. I've never been able to reconcile the idea of the beauty being 'right over there' and the idea that I will never be close to it. At least, not close enough to fulfill or even scratch the surface of the obsession. I will sit here and bitch up one side and down the other, afterward realizing I am worse off for the thinking. But I can't help it. Hence, 'obsession'. Chances came along, chances disappeared. People came along, people disappeared. Now I am alone, worse than even five years ago, and relegated to this little house and my fucking stupid devices. I believe that is why I stared. I knew as soon as the first glimpse of her beauty that I would end up worse off, so my brain calculated the only thing to do was take in as much as possible. I am going to be miserable anyway, so I may as well stare. Nice, huh? This is so fucked. I still think of Jaime as the problem solver. You want to talk about fucked up? Read that again. What did you say? Focus upon reality? But... Why? And isn't that what I've been doing all down this entry? The reality within which I must remain? If you don't see that, I can't help. 0901. Still here. Tiny bit of coffee left. I'll get going soon. Ooh-fa, the abortion issue is on the table in Washington again. Talk about a difficult subject. Apparently, there is the possibility of it being overturned for the first time since 1973. Wow. That makes my problems seem pretty fucking trivial. Ah, but they are not. Fuck off. Shut up. 1141 and the routine is finished. I have the house to myself until sometime this afternoon. The abortion issue rumor has apparently been confirmed by a judge, meaning protests and all sorts of other bullshit will ensue shortly. I was concerned about her driving into the city due to what will be taking place at the capitol near five o'clock, although she will not be anywhere near that area today. I was also informed that there are people attempting to climb the outside of the big tower downtown, and that type of behavior is a good indication that much more shit will hit the fan in the coming days, not to mention the storm if the legislature from decades ago is actually overturned. For me? This means more fortification and keeping a good eye on the news. I doubt anything stemming from the current mood can trickle down to this tiny house, but vigilance is never a bad idea. Something that never ceases to amaze me is after all these decades, issues, protests and the rest of the crap due to politics, nothing ever really changes. A person shoots up a business or something, everyone screams for change, and then years later after the issue has faded the same thing happens again. Ban the guns, people will still get hold of them. Rewrite the laws, people will still cause a massive stink. The effort has always been for naught because one person cannot alter the way another person thinks. I've said it too many times to recall... If there is but one person on the planet, nothing will happen. Once there are two or more, eventually disagreement will escalate to dissent and eventually violence. There is simply no way around it. Violence is the supreme authority from which all other authority is derived. Period. Look back at history and tell me what has been improved. I thought so. Moving on... Other than spot cleaning the kitchen floor and a few other areas, I may not do fuck-all today. In fact, I'm beginning to lean toward breaking out the largest model and starting the build with my friends in the background. First, it's relaxing and comfortable beyond description, and second, some of that model may be good for the camera. As an aside, sometimes I love the depiction of the military aspect of these shows because they can cut through the bullshit in a hot minute. More authority, and when it comes to the military... 'We follow orders or people die.' There it is. As I was told numerous times in the Marines, 'What is second in combat? That's right... Second in combat is DEAD.' No argument. Where was I? Ah, the model. I don't know for sure yet, but I may get into it later. I have some dry cleaning, too. All in good time. Third show, still. Second season. Torment, almost constantly. When I am at home, it is dredged up by something on the television screen. While out, something walking along somewhere. Either way, the dreaming is injected and will not subside until the landscape changes sufficiently to draw my complete attention. Some images do not leave my head, ever. I mentioned the closet doors, smiling faces, and that fucking 'thing' of which I was recently reminded. It has happened to me on a few occasions. The last time was quite a while ago, too. I don't remember exactly when, either. Being reminded hurt me deeply because it grows from a set of circumstances that I do not understand and cannot replicate at will. Well, it doesn't matter what can be understood, anyway, because that part of my life is likely finished forever. I try not to dwell. The torment partially relates, and as such creates dreamy landscapes that are further away from reality than Pluto. The whole thing is fucking miserable. The torment can be dormant. That almost rhymes. Anyway, I believe it fell flat a while before seeing the girl last week, and then everything came back in force. Hence the references to Arina, the beautiful culmination of everything which hurts me. I'm so fucking sick of this shit that I cannot find enough swear words. Nowhere near enough middle fingers, either. 0639 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, third show again, flags out, cats fed. Sounds like I have ambition, eh? Nope. Just habits. The morning stuff has become more comfortable, especially if I don't become lazy and oversleep. I can't have that. I enjoy seeing the light come up, much like when I was working and we took off for a job long before most people were on their way out in the morning. Anyway, yesterday I really did not do much aside from the dry cleaning. A little bit in the office, though. That space is looking better, as is the garage. Mostly I took it easy because of such deep feelings of loss trying to take over. The torment moved away from me for a little while yesterday until a couple went walking along the sidewalk out front during the late afternoon. I saw them and became fairly disappointed in myself, which then pushed me to realize that there is no fucking way in hell that girl at the store last week would have noticed me staring. This realization is a completely different variety of trouble. Not good. As for today, baby steps in any direction may be good enough. The more thinking I do, the more worry I feel, and the end result of that can be a deep desire to erase the world. I can't do anything like that, though, because I am small and powerless, weak and insignificant. For those reasons, the second show shall remain in charge today so I can avoid seeing anything new. Other than Sandra and her absolutely unique facial structure, there are few reasons for me to fall down. After yesterday, I don't need any more reminders of what I've become. Some work, some consideration, some time to relax. That is fine.
A slow decline into obscurity. 'Hidden by dull desires of a worn-out routine.' This morning I do not feel as bad as the last time a dream remained in my head. It is typical for me to dream of something fascinating or enticing and then awaken later with zero feelings of remorse or concern. They are only dreams, and whether or not they can be indicative of something questionable inside is not up to me. My brain operates the way it operates and due to a lifetime of situations failing to fulfill my imagination as combined with painful memories, the subject matter is quite a ways beyond my control. The dream from a while back which STILL has me wondering about my mental health was a first of its kind. Never before that has a certain subject or thought entered my head. Well, now the bad stuff is in there because I cannot forget the reference, nor can I spell it out here. At least that was the only occasion in which I had been slammed by feelings I never imagined. Today it stands as a reminder that my usual morning can be turned on its ear very quickly, yet most of the time I have nothing to worry about. I recall, yet there has been very little piled atop that issue since the first day. The dream in question came days before the girl at the store shook me, meaning she was not involved, but I know of at least one other person spinning inside that ethereal wonderland. At least nothing else has stabbed me since then. I think about this every day. Actually, it is a completely different type of torment that I must deal with and keep inside at all costs. If I fail in that effort, all is lost. I can't have that shit right now. I'll have to keep my head out of the din this morning. Busy with stuff or otherwise, I don't want to fall down and fail again. The feelings go south very quickly and I completely lose direction for a time. Something has to keep me away from the damage for several hours or until such time that I have a little alcohol to suppress some of the thinking. Later, I guess. In the meantime, I'll try to avoid anything which operates as a trigger. Usually, it is some sort of memory or past event. If I can refrain from strolling down memory lane inside my head, perhaps the morning can be saved. The girl at the store is beginning to fade now. Very good, but I'll miss the sight. 'Have you lost your mind?' 'I just misplaced it for a little while.' Almost time for the morning business before I return here. Upon finishing, I fill with what is sometimes the best feeling of a weekday, that of being alone and wide open to whatever I need to do. Ugh... This episode dredges up some issues which arose a while back during the vampires. That shit went all over the fucking map before I was able to rein it back into a small space. I ended up pretty damned angry for a while, later realizing that being unfair about the subject matter was pretty much my fault and had to stop. Unfortunately, such knowledge only made me lash out more and everything crashed. Whatever. At least I learned that discussing anything with another human being is likely too risky and should be avoided for the rest of my life, such as it is. I wonder how much longer I can sit here and type thousands of words per entry without actually saying anything. 0818 and I have the house and the day to myself. Very nice. But... How will I feel at the close of business hours? Will I be ok like yesterday? Ooh-fa, the girl in this commercial is about as cute as cute gets, yet she always has the high-waisted jeans below. Huge mistake, that trend. All the way back to the fucking seventies, too. I will never understand why fashion moves and develops the way it does. If the girl in the commercial wore the same type of pants once wrapped around the goddess or the Raven, she would look spectacular and likely have no current rival for beauty. Oh, well. At least I enjoyed the view for a while. Now everything is all fucked up. Her face? Holy shit, unbelievably cute. Anyway, I suppose I'll just do my best to move along whatever path draws my attention today, and then try to relax during the evening again. I don't know of another path right now. I dodged a bullet a while ago, thank the maker. This is becoming more and more difficult each day as the memories flow and the desperation increases. For years I wished for a ton of free time. At least, time to myself due to a deep need for peace and quiet to deal with difficulties. Now? I have a shitload of time each week. There is no longer a need for me to work, so remaining here has become the new life, as boosted by the pandemic two years ago. The downside of all this time is thinking. I have distractions and projects up the wazoo, yet nothing can stop the brain from crunching imagery and desire. Mornings have not become any easier despite my efforts. And I had to reboot the fucking streaming machine because the damned show lost audio for whatever reason. Every other channel was fine, but this one seems to have problems on occasion, like the wrong language last night. Yep, I started an episode of the third show and the dialog was dubbed in German. There seemed no solution, so I skipped it. This morning when the audio went away, the problem was limited to the very same series, leading me to believe the service was at fault. I restarted everything and the problem has gone away... For now. The downside is this episode is one of very few which dredges up the feelings and issue I mentioned a few paragraphs up the page. Eh... I can deal with it. A bit of anger, nothing too bad. 0915 now. The sun is shining, so hopefully the fog can remain over the ocean and allow the house to warm up this afternoon. A warm house means comfort in the evening and more motivation to move some things around. Yesterday's work in the office was short but effective. I can continue it today with my extended family in the background. I still have yet to break out the big model and begin building again. I'll get around to it. Anything to keep those Goddamned smiling faces out of my head. Had I known years ago that my living to this age was going to carry so many problems, I would not be sitting here right now. I just have to fucking deal with it. I will admit that the past has leveraged me into becoming much more sensitive to certain parts of life in recent years. This is not good, but alas I must be me. The sensitivity will likely not allow me to be completely relaxed or comfortable around other people for my remaining years, be them male or female, hence my staying home all the time. I am safe here, for lack of a better term. Hidden. No one is fucking listening anyway, so this seems the best plan. I just hope nothing is asked of me because the fuse is always ready and very short. If I blow up, everything goes away and I simply can't have that right now. I need my little routine and devices in order to continue drawing breath. As I said, no one is listening. Perhaps in the long run they are better off. I wouldn't want to hear me, either. 1043 and the routine is nearly finished. I have a pan soaking and intend to polish off the kitchen after lunch, whenever that may be. Whiskey next to me, as always. So far, the feelings have been partially suppressed, leaving mostly anger in their place. The anger never goes away, much like torment. One of the worst aspects of being tormented is the fact that despite the last major strike fading, something else will undoubtedly come along on the television or at one of the stores to fucking floor me again, thus beginning this horrible cycle all over. I have not found anything with the power to alleviate and make tolerable the days between. Nothing... That word which has been typed here 3373 times since the site was created. 3373 is a very large number, even spanning twenty years. I'm sick of this shit, and sick of feeling that everything wondrous has either been ripped away or otherwise destroyed. Promise, potential... Gone. 1112 and I believe the alcohol has succeeded. Call me what you will. I don't fucking care. In fact, there is damned little these days that I DO care about aside from the atmosphere in this house. Go fuck yourself in a muddy, snowy ditch. Stay there. I'm tired of being pissed off all the time but it's all I have left.
I suppose I'll just keep living from one day to the next; no discernable change in the mood, no one listening, no possible means of relief from the torment and dissatisfaction. A while back I stated that I am afraid of what the future may hold, yet still scared to die. That is the truth. I get out of bed every morning because of the little enjoyments and nothing more. I don't see anything on the horizon but don't know what to change. I am not the type of person to rise all of a sudden, begin tackling physical fitness or some other form of improvement, and then expect a better outlook. The fact is I cannot see an avenue to what I have experienced in the past, nor can I be positive. Right now the time is 1138 and I am worse off than a mere four hours ago. Each day shows me the same possibilities, yet I am bereft of any motivation. Limping along. Stumbling, really. I just don't fucking care. Arina is everything inside me and everything that is missing. Those parts... Whenever I mentioned the missing pieces... I don't remember. I cannot be rebuilt. The feelings have been suppressed for this day, yet even the suppression angers me. I should not have need to do this. I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. 1616. Feeling very lost today. I finished everything and had lunch, but unfortunately I cannot get myself to accomplish anything else this afternoon. Just lost. I had so much. Now everything is gone. My brain is tired of churning all the time. 0634 on a foggy Thursday morning, just five days into May. Coffee, flags, friends, cats... You know. I have some ideas on how to push past the din from yesterday. I suppose the hours will reveal what they can. After the morning business I'll finish the coffee, and then I need to go to the market for a few items. No big deal. I have a routine while there; parking location, doors, route through the aisles, etc. I always find a tidbit of comfort being over there because my brain dictates the manner in which I shop as learned many years ago. I can't go into detail as the subject is quite personal. Suffice to say, a part of my little world always follows along when I go out the door to shop. This endeavor will probably be the status quo for a while, even after the morning stuff. I need to think about the last few days and whatever has been taking over my psyche and squashing ambition. I've considered the idea that I may be seeing less importance in these activities as I did two years ago (or even one), and hopefully that is not the case. Part of me still feels that my role here is important no matter how far I may drop at times. Slow progress is better than none. I'll have to keep the memory of yesterday very close as I move around the house today. I don't want that happening again, even if I have to resort to building the big model rather than working on the house. The lady up the street dropped a card and some cash in my mailbox the other day. I forgot to mention the payment here because the morning prior to finding the card I had all but written her off due to so much time passing since I generously did the repair. I am a nice person -- yes, all the way back to Eddie again -- but only up to a certain point. I have a very low opinion of society to begin with, so when I feel I've been 'had' the situation only worsens. Even the most benign, soft-spoken person can have an agenda, and if it does not show through the facade that only means the deception is quite accomplished. I don't know what the deal is over there, but a bit longer and I would likely have ignored her indefinitely. I don't need to work for anyone. The card being hand written and including the money gave her a partial pass. Hopefully my phone doesn't ring anytime soon with questions about another problem. I brought that up because of my continuing disdain for the workings of the world and progress in general. The commentary above regarding the conflict, guns, whatever, is but a slice of my feelings, and the bottom line is no matter what takes place anywhere in the world, the disdain trickles down to the average person. The scope of a problem is not the issue. The fact that the idea was conceived in a person's mind is precisely the problem. I don't know those people on the other side of my front door. They are all in the same category these days. Does this sound bad? I don't care. There is almost no trust left in me. Third show, third season. Marci will doubtless be up there soon, much to my dismay. She always reminds me of the search for the beginning of the obsession. The episode is so old, too. I don't recall when I first viewed it, though. Definitely not when it aired as new. That was within weeks of my moving back to California from the Midwest and I was not set up to watch the show for a while after arriving. I also seem to recall being in a relationship when first discovering Marci's appearance and having a conversation with my partner about her outfit and gait. I could be wrong, though. My memory is quite scattered these days. Oy, that episode is fourth season, not third. Oops. Anyway, there is a feeling attached to seeing her. I cannot fully explain right now because it's just fleeting and a partial memory. If anything solidifies I will recount here. The period just after moving back was wondrous, for a time. There are fond memories attached. The current episode carries issues I've mentioned before, too. One of the characters completely offsets another and the gradient is about as dramatic as is possible. From fear and intimidation all the way across the spectrum to beautiful and alluring. I am a fucking basket case. I can't wait to have some peace and quiet. 0813 and I am left to my day. Until the coffee is gone, I'll be sitting here with the keyboard and my friends up there. The routine will be short, as should my trip to the market. Lately I have not been concerned about seeing anything there because of the time of day, plus the big market is not like the others. Upon returning, I can sink back into my little world and work with whatever seems best. I don't want to have to resort to building the big model, for sure. That work is enjoyable and relaxing, yet I cannot feel comfortable sitting there unless there has been a bunch of chores and/or improvements completed. The model is for another day. The excessive torment yesterday has helped me to feel a bit better this morning. I went through a bad time for several hours after the morning realization that something is going wrong inside me. The missing pieces and lack of outlook continue to break me down, and attempting to right myself is not easy. The tiniest detail in memory or on the television (one can lead to the other quite often) will trigger the crevasse between past and present, effectively leaving me void of hope that there can be true happiness, even for a while. Something which popped into my head earlier this morning is the idea that all that behavior and mass of bad decisions have triggered some sort of 'voodoo', meaning this shit period is payment for what I've done in the past. I don't believe that actions 'come around', though. I believe the only reason such a thought entered my head is sheer desperation... An overwhelming need to understand why. Nothing has materialized, leading me to see that this road indeed has no fucking turns. Yesterday was very difficult and the morning probably slammed me so hard that the remainder of the day was affected. I am hoping nothing like that surfaces today. I have things to do and don't need to be derailed again. The result will be me all pissed off, and everyone knows that goes nowhere fast. Repeat... I know how this happened. I know how I arrived in this place. I can't talk about it. The understanding is on two fronts, only one being needed inside me. The other was carried by other people. And despite my stating that I know how this happened, I am referring only to certain parts of life that have summed to a point, and they are few. The remainder is unknown and likely will be for all time. No one is listening. Even if someone was, my words would be so fucking cryptic that the understanding would be all but impossible. Any effort -- either by me or someone else -- would be for naught regardless of how much I may try. The truth is I am too afraid of being either labeled or ridiculed, meaning everything inside my head and causing this trouble is permanent barring some miraculous turn of events. I just don't see it happening anymore. Maybe all my chances have been squandered. This is not good, to say the least. 0847 and the day's work must begin. Her."
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