September 12th, 2022 7:05am pdt

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The Black Noise

 read ( words)

"...the noise I knew would come? Black.

Today has been horrible. I learned why my thermal circuit has not worked, solved the board hinge issue (brilliantly), and successfully prepared everything for dinner. All good things. Behind each step, however, was an underlying problem with the power to force me into very bad decisions. I’ve made those decisions, too. You can read about a good portion of them right here on this very site. Oh yes, there were pluses, but remember that with each blissful moment was an invoice lasting years. I paid for much of it. Well, I am still paying. The fact is my head has been coping less and less as the days roll by. I can get pretty fucking deep into the truck, too. It is highly complex and technical, yet right there ready to strike (ugh... That word) is the same issue which came along some months ago and has left me perpetually cunty. And on the heels of it? Dreams. And then the strap and so much difficulty inherent in considering just how this most stirring of situations arose out of the magical, clear blue sky. Just a moment or two, and my life has been turned on its ear.

0823 on Friday morning. I do not feel well at all. Yesterday was crappy. My foot did not improve until this morning, leaving me hobbling around the garage yesterday afternoon and sitting as often as possible. There has been a bit of improvement, but I’m not going to push my luck. The strikes in my head are driving me crazy and there is nothing I can do about it. I am helpless. Feeling this way makes the foot problem seem pretty fucking trivial. I’ve mentioned this before and will again. There is no way around it, although I realize that the situation can change over time. I just don’t know how much time. Years? Everything comes to an end.

All that shit. Years of it. I’ve been literally PUSHED into being worried and fearful all the time. This is not my doing. It is the purview of a society with undeniable power; enough to effect change whenever or wherever the whims are steered. Think of a pair of handlebars a thousand miles wide, with the hooves of sheep along each side, pushing and pulling to manipulate the perception of those unwilling to be involved. Naturally, and like everything else plaguing me these days, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. The people win.

0722 on Saturday morning. I feel a little better than yesterday, but only on the outside. Another dream has me on the floor. This was the worst of three as related to the wicked strike, and now there can be no doubt as to what is going on inside my head while I sleep. The imagery in this latest dream was clear enough for me to be certain. It made the bra strap vision pale in comparison. And I still cannot give out any details. I am going to need time to reconcile myself with all that has developed in the last few months. I never expected anything of the sort to enter my head. I now have another picture from dream number three, and one which is more enticing and beautiful than the first. She spoke to me this time. I wish I could go in one of two directions with all this fucking information, but the truth is I only have one option, and that is direction number three... Keep everything inside forever. The consequences could be disastrous and I can’t have anything bad happening. As much as I’d like to run away to somewhere comfortable and anonymous, the truth is I would have to make it a one-way trip, and I am not ready for that right now. I just need to get this shit out of my head... Please. If ever I needed help, this is the time. A few seconds of an understood interaction (not what you may believe) will soon become permanent. I can still hear her words and see that adorable smile.

Later today I need to go across town and help mount a canopy. It should not take very long. I am also scheduled to head down the street a bit to install a couple of smoke detectors, but I may put that off until Monday or so. I need to be home as much as possible just in case the shit in my head hits the internal fan and I fall on my face. I don’t want anyone around if and when my brain fails to operate. The wire and one connector arrived yesterday but I was too fucked up to work in the garage. My foot kept me immobile. I am hoping today I can make plans for the two main inputs on the board and perhaps finish the hinge.

0901. My foot is much better than yesterday. Maybe I can indeed install the smoke detectors this afternoon once the canopy is finished. I’ll stop at the hardware store on the return trip. I have the routine in front of me once the coffee is gone, and that is very soon. None of this will take much time, either, meaning I can sit in the shop and work on details for the truck. I need to go over the numbers and see if everything will be lined up properly just in case I can order parts to be machined. We shall see if my past work still holds up.

The dream this morning involved the same breast as the original vision, but with its twin. Last time it was a woman on a bicycle with whom I was not familiar, yet the situation was near enough to the principal for me to be taken aback. The first dream was the manicured finger tugging a bra strap. That bra held one of the two breasts from this morning. I saw plenty. I also saw two hands and heard the voice. There may be something taking place inside me of which I had not been aware until recently. If true, I cannot speak further. This shit is beyond disconcerting. The woman in the dream... Eh, never mind. I have to hold onto so much information that my internal file cabinet is becoming overloaded. This is very uncomfortable, not to mention downright confusing. I believe I just decided to drown myself in the garage work later today for no other reason than to push aside the breasts.

1019 and my daily routine is finished. I have the third show on again for comfort, along with a fat glass of whiskey. This program helps to minimize the massive amount of preoccupation I have for the wicked strike. It has become quite literally the most difficult aspect of my waking hours. The time is early right now, thank the maker. I’ll head over to help with the canopy in a little over three hours. Working at their house should also assist my brain in keeping the latest dream from taking control of my psyche. Right now, however, I am still seeing those breasts. They may have been held by a person wishing for me to help her deal with a troubling situation. Had I not awakened when I did, the scene may have played out further, meaning my head could be much worse than it is right now. The wickedness continues to grow beyond my ability to keep it at bay. I am weaker than ever; also feeling less and less control over this as the hours pass. To say that I am ‘not well’ is a gross understatement.

The dream caught me off-guard this morning. To be clear, there have been three dreams related to each other, the first being the catalyst for the other two, I have no doubt. The first dream came about (and I know precisely who was in the fucking thing) some months ago and forced me to realize that an aspect of my personality which had been dormant for a very long time had resurfaced. Think of the ‘sin’. Shortly thereafter, I saw the actions of the dream play out before my eyes, in reality. Yes, I said that. Don’t fucking ask me to explain. The second dream came about some time later, but did not involve the same person. That scene played out with the first dream in my head. They are related. I cannot state the reason, though. This third dream is an extension of the first, and likely the most difficult vision with which I’ve had to deal in a very long time. Let’s call it almost twenty fucking years. All of it is nearly too much for me considering everything else I have to fucking swallow each day in order to remain upright and on top of the soil rather than within it. I don’t fucking like this one bit, but you probably already knew such a fact. I am having more difficulty dealing with the vision of those Goddamned breasts than almost anything else in life. Thank Christ I can write about it, at the very least. This is all I have left in the world, and ‘it ain’t much’. Believe it, baby.

0711 on Sunday morning. My foot is a little better again. Yesterday I had trouble after the morning work, though. We indeed took off to help with the canopy, about an hour’s worth of work over there, and then headed south to the shoe store. Once the return was completed – literally five minutes after walking into the store – I carried us across the street in hopes of finding two barstools and some comfort for a little while. Everything lined up as if I was being called to the restaurant... Driving, parking, a short walk, and then two empty stools at the far right. Anyway, we sat there a while and then headed home. Only once was there something to see, and she was nothing insanely disturbing. I did like the bartender, however. She was really nice.

Helping with the canopy over there pushed me up a little bit. They were very appreciative of the effort. The only downside was the aforementioned difficulty with my foot. By the time we sat in the car for half an hour and then exited, my foot had tightened somewhat and had me limping to and from both the store and restaurant. I felt good about getting out of the house as requested and doing something nice for them, yet arriving home showed me the fruit of my effort... Lots of trouble walking. This morning it’s better, but time will tell if I can get all the way through the day without issue. Today I have my usual business and then maybe some work on the truck.

In line at the shoe store was one of the most petite Asian girls I’ve ever seen. I believe what struck me was the ratio between her hips and waist. Rather unreal, honestly, and trust me when I say such a thing. Years of study. Her waist was so small that I nearly could not believe my eyes. Above, her chest sent the numbers in the exact opposite direction. Anyway, I stared as much as possible without being rude before she walked out. Had she not been displaying a bit of midriff or wearing booties, I may not have noticed at all. Those accents can really send the entire image off the rails as opposed to an everyday outfit (or maybe such clothing IS an everyday outfit in the present). She was the only standout during the entire trip. When we arrived at the bar, there was a pair of blonde women sitting to my immediate left, and by the time we were finished, another pair of blondes was there. During the entirety of lunch, I did not see any of their faces, nor did I attempt to look in their direction. Soon after, I drove us home and forgot about all four. I didn’t think about the Asian girl until this morning. Exotic, I suppose. And tiny. As much as I’ve gone around the world on the subject of height, sometimes there are far more important aspects, such as the sheer weight of beauty in the first place. I can recall one other petite woman, and believe me, her size was fucking amazing and more beautiful than I can possibly describe here. She rather makes the Asian sight yesterday seem like nothing at all. Just trust me.

Problems this morning. My head is sideways again. Cross-threaded, if you will. I need Molykote. Anyway, once again I have been reminded of whatever has changed this year, some months back if I recall correctly. The issue has become an everyday concern lately. The more I try to understand and deal with this, the angrier and more closed-off I become. Eventually I will be nothing more than an island amidst society; completely shut off. I will have no desire nor inclination to communicate with anyone for any reason because something much larger and more critical to my survival has been damaged and partially torn away, possibly for good. I do not understand why I must endure this shit, but let me tell you that last Friday was pretty much the tipping point, this morning only cementing the idea and now forcing me to push away any thoughts regarding the same. I’ve been stating how sick and tired I am quite a bit lately. I will only say the words for so long before taking action against those whom I deem either responsible or uncaring. The situation has become so frustrating that I have come very close in the last forty-eight hours to actually confiding in someone else just to see if anything can be served. If not? Well, a shutdown. If it helps? Nothing will change. I am glad today is Sunday. That means work around the house and my typical garbage routine. Such efforts might help me set aside all the anger for a time. Maybe my head will straighten itself, too.

I am completely alone in part by choice. I’ve been asked on more than one occasion if I’d care to seek something, but the answer is always the same... I cannot trust anyone and will not speak to someone who does not know me, even for the purpose of becoming acquainted. This situation within which I live and breathe each day is the black noise, or the absence of sound. My hearing is worsening by the minute and aside from music or video media, I really don’t fucking care. Being deaf means I will not have to hear others talking and that is just fine. More black noise, perhaps? No. There will always be sound present, deaf or not. This sphere I am inside - the housework, media, other things - my entire life right now... This is the noise. I dream and end up in pain. I write and nothing changes. I work and none of it matters. And then some tiny aspect of life brings me joy for half an hour and my black noise becomes ‘reset’. Do it all over again. Just again and again and again. The noise has stopped in the past, though. I remember. Unfortunately, the avenues to those wondrous and stirring destinations have been ripped apart and are bleeding, awaiting a slow death, and bereft of light. Completely alone, more than ever in my existence. I wish I had known this could happen. There was the possibility of prevention.

0839 and I am tired of sitting here saying the same shit in different ways.

Calling this situation dangerous is just not enough anymore. I cannot overstate it, yet I also cannot spell it out. Decades of troubling need and dire thinking have molded the person typing on this fucking keyboard into something no longer identifiable. This morning is a perfect example of what the past has done to me. While staring at the form in the shoe store, I was reminded of Jana in Vegas and the way her little self appeared to my tired, hungry eyes. She was tiny as well, yet so curvy that the attraction was strong and immediate. Yesterday, by comparison, I felt nothing more than torment and turmoil. This is not good by any stretch of the word. Each day I am one rung lower on the ladder of life. The pit awaits. The sad part is that no one truly knows of the processes inside. Not a fucking soul. Some have been allowed to partially enter – rather like my attempts to fully step into the forest – but they always became lost in a sea of unknowing and frustrating conversational analysis. Nothing had been served in either direction. Fear maintains the lock. Just fear. I need to decide the worst of two possibilities; one being the idea of revealing everything and risking the consequences, and the other remaining as I am right now, likely growing worse over time. I want and need to be in the forest. I want and need to be understood. One could result in the other being beyond my control. Pick one. The fact is, either direction is possible. I am in danger of remaining inside the black noise and eventually finding myself unable to cope with life in any fashion. Not good. Not fucking good. I have been cornered. Some will contend that the most dangerous animal is a female protecting her young. I must disagree. Even more dangerous is an individual with nothing to lose.

The third show has been gracing my big screen all morning, like usual. I need the comfort of my friends up there and the familiarity that goes with each story. Without my media of choice, I would be even more unpleasant. The coffee is almost gone and my Sunday work awaits. There is plenty to do. This afternoon while I am alone, the truck work may commence again. I have some electronics work and soldering, one of my favorite activities. Sometime later, I’ll decide to bring the show into the garage or play music. And I am leaving words out of this content due to the intimate nature of my thoughts. Nothing will be served by gushing what no one wishes to read. Believe me... You don't want to hear it.

1119 and my routine is nearly finished. Not much to the kitchen due to the late lunch yesterday and no dinner at home. I have the next few hours alone, laundry in process, and an icy glass of depressive medicine to my right. I can’t get the imagery, dreams and troubling feelings out of my fucking head today. The housework has been accompanied by an ethereal vision of happiness; something I need very badly yet cannot achieve in life. I guess I’m still paying the fucking tab. In no way will I attempt to deny that I owe a great deal. That much is certain.

I can’t get the image of the latest damaging dream out of my fucking brain. I see it everywhere I look, from the washer and dryer to the workbench and beyond. The more I see it and remember the words which accompanied such a stirring sight, the further down I fall. I have no outlet for anything right now. Not words, understanding, the past, the dreams... Not a fucking iota of anything with the power to bring me even the smallest measure of solace. I wish I had never dreamed of her. Once was enough, but thrice? The last was so fucking bad that I still can’t believe it. There was a feeling transmitted along with her words and actions, one I am hesitant to mention here. It is more compelling than even the Asian form with her amazing lines and numbers standing not three feet from my desperate eyes. The rest of this day shall not be spent with the show. There is going to be music and posturing. I can’t help it. There is no defense against such dark and overpowering visions. I am in a very bad way right now... Singularly distraught like never before. I fucking hate this more than I can say, yet there is nothing I can do but sit on it.

Something had better come along today. This mindset is more dangerous than any other.

0710 on Monday morning. Labor Day. I have the flag displayed already. Coffee, third show. There was a dream this morning but I’ve forgotten. There is a latent feeling that the dream was nothing bad. The wickedness gave me a pass today. Well, so far.

Yesterday I felt good enough to work on the truck wiring for a little while, plus I improved upon my hinge idea and made it work.

Today is going to be like any other. I might do more on the truck, I might work more in the house before I fire the grill, or I might sit here and do nothing at all. The motivation is flying out of me like a flock of frightened birds. Slowly, and as I predicted nearly two years ago, everything is declining in importance. I don’t feel as I did then. The projects are no longer exciting. Those parts of life that bothered me and began to preoccupy my time more than I felt I could handle are now overpowering. Some of the wicked strikes are in my head daily now. Thoughts are different, as if the desperation has increased ten-fold in mere weeks. As I’ve said before, much of my decline has been expected. A portion has not, however. The dreams are still new to me and causing more distress than anything else in my life. I can’t seem to get through an hour without visions of those breasts intruding upon whatever I may be doing at the time. And no, not because they are breasts. The entire situation played out and it bothers me more than I’d care to admit. The breasts were her focus, not mine. I did not speak during any of the three dreams. She did, but only during the last and most difficult moment I’ve seen in quite some time. This shit is what keeps the black noise from engulfing me. Not good. A while back, I mentioned the show we had been watching and the fact that the damaging dream came to mind one night during an episode. Well, last night the fucking idea spiraled out of control and took away my concentration. The dream and a character on the show became fused and now I can’t look anywhere without seeing her face or features. The original strike somewhat resembles the character, too. Isn’t this a real nice fucking clambake? Everything is going to continue to press me until I lose it completely and apply the final solution. I honestly don’t see another pathway in life. There is a small part of me feeling that thinking in such a manner is ok. Another, larger part wants nothing to do with this shit. Nothing.

I searched for images of the actor and found that some of the photo shoots display some gorgeous facial expressions. This type of behavior – seeking images and finding similarities to other visions from the past – took place two holiday seasons back on the calendar. You may recall. That was very bad and I ended up removing the images for good form. I don’t want that to happen again, though, so no images here.

The noise is being pushed out by a few issues, not the least of which is the aforementioned actor (well, her character, like always) over whom I am beginning to fall all over myself while her face is gracing the screen. I don’t know if this will turn into anything, but I can see myself overly gushing in the future. I’ve done it, and you’ve seen it. Time will tell. There are less than two seasons remaining, so perhaps once she is absent from my big television, I can watch her fade. And yes, she is related to the damaging dream even more than the other actor from two years ago. This is all so fucking stupid. All I want to do is understand from where that original dream stemmed and why. If it is the obvious, that is fine and I will do my best to shove it away. If there is something more complex at work inside me, well... I may be powerless, a word employed here more than I care to admit. Barely after 0800 and I am already becoming aggravated. I need the black noise like oxygen. Unfortunately, the hand of cards in front of me is experiencing ever-changing values. My hearing is at risk, now more than ever.

My level of frustration over the dreams, missing pieces of life, and the landscape having been forcibly altered so much by other people has become nearly debilitating. I honestly don’t know how I made it this far. Perhaps I really do like pizza THAT much. Not funny. Remaining bottled up like this is compressing my head. Add the tension which is typical of someone having been alone for a long time, and one may see the difficult position within which I am presently mired. I need to constantly seek those little details of living which can pull me up some, and the effort is exhausting. The result of avoiding the enjoyments and allowing everything to come to the forefront of my thinking will be rage. No one needs that. Not even me, although sometimes the idea of destruction is very enticing. I cannot allow what others have done to influence me to the point of ruining my own life. That is fucking bullshit. Back and forth I swing on a shingle, from dreams to anger. Each pinnacle carries with it a hand trying to grab me as I arrive. The black noise is dead-centered upon my path.

I’ll have to move to the garage in a little bit because this is not blowing my skirt up right now. Yes, I have the show on, but still... There are simply too many scratches all over me to sit here for very long these days. I become antsy, and it is usually combined with the need to simplify everything in my life. That is instinctive, to be honest. I’ve always found comfort in streamlining just in case I need to run away. Of course, I’m not fucking going anywhere, however the feeling comes along regardless of my actual options. I have to go and spend some time in my element – surrounded by devices and imagery which has little to do with my problems – and hopefully I’ll find some relaxation out there. I’ll be rolling out the grill later because her dad is going to visit when I begin cooking. This is a holiday, but it sure doesn’t feel like I’m taking a vacation from ANYTHING. No loud music today unless something changes. I just need to be out there.

I’m so sick of everything operating like this. I have to get up and make a conscious effort in order to avoid becoming overly angry. What the fuck is that? And from where did that first dream originate? Too much video media? Some suppressed fetish? A dream born of other dreams? I hate everything right now. Feeling cornered creates danger, but you probably don’t believe me. I just keep typing over and over like some backward, quacking duck swimming in circles. No threat to anyone or anything. Keep thinking that, motherfuckers.

I have to get the hell away from this shit for a while.

Tuesday morning arrives with zero fanfare for the common webmaster. 0648 with coffee and my friends. And here we are after yet another fucking SLAM IN THE FACE AND TO THE LIFE OF THE MISERABLE. I really don’t need any more visions. I don’t want them, either. I’ve lived and seen enough. One of those big stretches with arms back would have sent me out of the state in a cold minute. Fortunately, everything was as concealed as possible considering the circumstances. That is not to say that two of the three dreams didn’t haunt me as I tried to remain pleasant, and mostly the last one. I can still see it and her, plus I can hear her words as her beautiful hands moved in circles. More of this shit in my life can only make things worse. The noise was nowhere to be found. I played along and relaxed. The slam/strike/whatever the fuck it was, well... It came along unexpectedly and turned my day on its ear. The beauty involved continues to expand and commandeer more of my ability to think. From the point of the breast reference forward, my day was all but finished. I slumped and drank. All else became tertiary. The angle of view toward her smile? Amazing. I had no idea so many aspects of my brain could be painted all over one person. That may have been the first time I realized that the lower part of her face aligns with those in the media that I’ve been coveting for months, one in particular. This situation continues to expand and worsen as time passes, no doubt in part due to my past coming back to haunt me.

Those dreams from the Midwest period and shortly thereafter used to push me toward losing my way no matter what I may have been doing. My last summer there was the toughest, with my head wandering all over the world more often than in previous years. I still don’t know how I made it through the last semester of school just before graduation. My dreamy nature had me almost giving up on a few occasions. Many years later, I typically stood in the driveway very early in the morning awaiting work and the dream of breaking the hell out of such a routine would float in quite often. It was wondrous, beautiful, exciting, yet completely unrealistic. And now? Those fantasy situations I manufactured have now changed context. That is to say the main idea of which I used to dream has been reduced to the second most important desire during my typical day, the first having become something I cannot discuss here. This is not good. The whole fucking shootin’ match was initiated by the damaging dream and catalyzed by this last vision I can’t remove from my head. Yesterday was a bit of a banner.


Today will involve a visit to the hardware store for a few items to install under my neighbor’s kitchen sink. I had to put off that job last week due to my fucking foot, but now I believe I can take care of the problem without worry.

0901. Half the routine is finished in anticipation of going to the store. I’ll care for the rest upon returning, and likely sit here for a while, too. I cannot seem to get the imagery out, even for a second. Preoccupation is an understatement. This is bad for more than one reason, not the least of which is the fact that I have felt this way before, albeit not for many years. The dream was unexpected, as was the incident shortly thereafter which turned my life upside down. The third dream came along and caused me more distress than I’d like at this point in time. There was already enough shit swirling inside without another curve-ball. More recently, visions overtook me so often that I could barely move. Now I don’t know what to do. The situation from the past had one key difference, but I can’t identify it here. No way. Hence, compound problems right now.

1125. I still see those globes. Hands on them. Words. A very sweet voice. This is going to worsen.

I went to the hardware store earlier and secured repair parts along with a sheet of plywood. They cut the wood into thirds for me, which was very nice. No charge. Upon returning, I finished the routine and had something to eat with my extended family (whom I love dearly) in the background. I’ll be heading next door in a little over an hour to perform the repair. I also put in a call to a friend of mine who is a general contractor. He is going to return my call and set up a time to meet here for an estimate. This is very good. The patio cover, back door and roof will all be included. Three problems at once. The existing cover is very old, leaky and tends to amplify heat toward the back of the house and patio. I am looking forward to seeing the work completed. Due to the temperature ramping up more than yesterday, I’ll be taking it easy for the rest of the day. Aside from the neighbor’s sink, that is. Replacing the drain is very simple and will not take long.

Wow, is the temperature ever ramping up quickly. Yesterday started very warm, but nothing compared to this. The valleys are nearing one hundred already. Thank the maker for the ocean right down the street. Without it, I’d be miserable. This weather is precluding work in the garage.

0800 Wednesday. The temperature yesterday set records in some places. So much heat. My garage topped out at 100 degrees during the mid-afternoon, hence nothing here for the rest of the day. I went next door and replaced the kitchen drain, afterward finding myself unable to do much of anything. The heat was pretty fucking bad.

Where are we? Strike five? Six? Seven... Eight... Nine? I said this would continue because I have no control over anything. I have yet to find a coping method for alleviating the sadness when these situations develop. Yes, I said sadness. I am in moderately poor shape to say the least, and when something comes along with the power to knock me off my feet, the immediate response is simple depression. Yes, I said that, too. I am no longer in any position to move or capture, meaning the further into the damaging dream I go, the further from reality I retreat. And believe me, the latest was a bad one... So beautiful that I thought my eyes were going to pop out. Unfortunately, and as usual, I can’t spell it out, so you’ll just have to wonder what has been taking place. This is nearly too much for me to carry, honestly. The latest strike took my head and twisted it into a pretzel. Naturally, I had to distract myself from the daydreaming in order to maintain a facade, and the effort was exhausting. God damn it, I really did not need this. The dream keeps returning, my brain can’t wrap itself around such depth of feeling, and again I see something better left out of my life. I can’t do anything about this, I can’t talk to anyone about the subject, leaving me to conclude that my only option in the future is to remain inside the house with the doors closed. I do not like this one bit. The only time when the wonder takes over everything else is during the actual strike to my head. The newest incident was not long ago and more fantastic than I could possibly describe. This entire year is not good.

The weather thus far this morning is much cooler than at the same time yesterday. I hope the mercury doesn’t travel too far north today. That heat really stymied anything I wanted to do. I believe it even contributed to the nature of the shit in the previous paragraph. Maybe. Anyway, there are things I wish to do today. I need the weather to ease up a bit. The fucking beauty is bad enough. I don’t need other shit pressing me down.

I can’t stop seeing that third dream. The hands and words absolutely floored me. I could not believe how enticing she was and the gorgeous inflections in her voice. I still see those hands. The latest two incidents have shown me that the dreamy nature of those seconds of reality continues to draw me as it increases in importance. I don’t see a way out of this, either. When I mention that I feel cornered, I am not kidding. This is a very bad position in which to be stuck because I am capable of using force to find comfort. I’ve done it too many times to deny the facts. What I have to do in the short term is bury myself in SOMETHING so that I can lose the thinking and steer myself away from some of the worst imagery ever. I need to distract myself.

There must be something I can do in order to cease dreaming of what those lines look like. I know they are in there, too. I fucking know it by rote. The lines have been driving me insane for a lot of years, so to add that idea and the beautiful visions I already know exist all over her is only going to make things worse. But I can’t stop right now. This shit is crazy. It began with the damaging dream, yet that was but one tiny aspect of her being. Now? Everything has expanded from that little strap-tug to the whole fucking disheartening enchilada. The whole thing. Everything. And believe me, my head has already traveled to more places than should be allowed by a human being. Bottom line? Just like when I was a boy nearly fifty years ago, one smidgen of ‘dream information’ and I am completely infatuated and close to losing control. I have to stop trying to imagine the fucking lines. This is not good. And I should not be so weak.

Think about this: Prior to this year I had been hanging by a fucking thread and full of problems seemingly without solutions. Now? Pile the dreams and all that other shit on top. See? And...

There is nothing I can do about any of it.

Where did the noise go? Eh... It's here, all over me. Around me. I am within it, yet completely alone, like always. No outlet, no ears, no nothing. Alone. The dreams have encapsulated me. This is a small space with room for only myself and the impossible. Oh, and the noise. I keep seeing her and picturing all manner of reprehensible behavior. I can’t fucking help it anymore. The visions are simply too much. Everything which has developed in my head throughout the last few months is both unbelievable and unexpected. I suppose there is a natural component to it all – most likely the cause of the first dream (wishful thinking of the highest order) – yet still I don’t feel very good about the whole issue. I just can’t. Perhaps the sheer levels of weakness and desperation inside me have finally come to a head, but there is no way to be certain. The clock is still rolling. To make matters worse, there have been many occasions in the past when the obsession crossed over into the territory of desire, and this may be the most powerful in memory. It’s bad. I cannot seem to get this shit out of my brain for more than a few minutes at a time. I’m losing my way. And the situation is going to happen again. I know it. I am convinced that the time for ‘good’ things happening in my life is over. ‘Bad’ is all that can remain. Don’t even fucking get me started on the ‘impossible’.

I mentioned that the damaging dream began to relate to the program we’ve been watching on television during dinner. Well, that situation and my subsequent drooling over a part of the principle cast are also worsening. Everything is worsening as the days pass. When I see her on the screen, my head immediately loses track of the story and dialog. All I can think about is her appearance, as she carries every single fucking detail over which I have EVER gushed, including the lower face structure that still defies explanation. The more I see her, the more I feel, and then my head rolls straight into the buffer stop of life... The damaging dream and all it has spawned. Back and forth just like a tennis match in hell. Splendid.

The routine will be truncated a bit this morning. I don’t have the energy for anything dramatic. I may draw a diagram for the power wiring on the truck and do some soldering later. I can already feel that the weather has eased. At this hour yesterday the mercury was much higher. This is very good since I need both relaxation and adequate time for thinking.

The tsunami warning system just announced a test. This is about once a month, I believe, and always seems to catch me off-guard. A voice echoing across the city can be pretty freakish. And then the huge siren. Yikes.

Today is much cooler than yesterday. I am fascinated by the way the weather can swing so quickly from one end of the scale to the other. I definitely prefer the lower temperatures, though. I didn’t wait twenty years to live by the ocean only to be mired in heat. I need the cool - especially now - because there is enough at work inside me already, and zero help. The heat not only exacerbated my already difficult situation, but actually increased it to a great degree. It was unexpected and caught me so off-guard that I could not process kindergarten math problems for several minutes. I can’t say why, however. Just trust me. What I saw was enough to drive me all the way out of my mind. Moreover, the aforementioned ‘desire’ which stemmed from the obsession is at an all-time high right now. Out of my mind. All the way. One fucking glimpse and my entire existence is shifted into some errant, alternate universe in which my dreams become possible. Returning to reality is a very slow process. And there is another component to this; one I hesitated to mention until I realized that it holds sway on my behavior at times. The past has shown me that the correct set of tumblers can align and force my innate, weakened nature to believe that I’ve loved a few individuals after precious little contact. The phase lock girl is a prime example and may have been the first. She was a fantasy, for sure. The same situation may be unfolding as I type these words. The other side of this latest issue is the one on the television at night and my feelings for her are expanding, as well. I see only two ways out of this shit right now. One has been mentioned on a number of occasions, whereas the other would find me locked up in a mental hospital. I am not fucking kidding. The only upside I see today is cooler weather. At least I can fucking think. Or... Can I? The evidence appears to the contrary.

1114 and the routine is nearly finished. The dishes are drip-drying. I have the requisite cocktail next to me and the third show rolls along uninterrupted this morning. I have to drive down the coast in a little while to make a delivery. The trip will break up the day and provide me with some distraction from the mountains of shit in my head. Maybe I’ll pick up something for lunch on the return drive. I also ordered a few more connectors and another twenty feet of silicone wire to complete the temporary power setup for the truck. I’ll be fabricating a ‘Y’ harness to provide voltage to both of the inputs from my bench power supply. All those connections have historically been via test leads and I became tired of how it looked. Plus, the distance restriction was making any work on the truck difficult. The mechanical side is awaiting parts and hardware from McMaster. I should be able to fully assemble the steering system once all that crap hits the porch. I’ve been preoccupied to the nth degree lately, but the truck work still progresses because I enjoy it. I honestly don’t even care if it ever moves on its own, either. I really don’t. If I can get the model to the point of operating the drive and steering smoothly from the transmitter, I’ll be pleased. I believe the wheel/tire combinations are too large and heavy to expect the steering motor to swing everything, so it can sit on the bench without them. The steering hubs may be the only movement. I will also switch the nylon spacers below each motor controller for those with double the height. When first designing the component layout, I failed to take into consideration some of the physical connections while focusing upon traces on the actual PC board. I need to raise both controllers for ease of connecting the computer and external power.

I guess I’ll drive down the coast when my drink is finished.

God damn it all. I still see her. Details, like her smile being slightly crooked and some sort of motion when she speaks, like her jaw displaying traits I’ve loved for years. I can’t describe them. The lower temperature, upcoming trip down the highway, and returning here to work on the truck had better prove effective in removing such visions from my head. The alternative is my becoming completely fucking useless like yesterday, only without the heat. This is so ridiculous that I can barely understand my own feelings and wishes. One word I’ve often shied away from is ‘should’. The avoidance is due to the fact that the word is seldom appropriate in any emotional situation. The fact remains, though, that I 'should' not be feeling this way. I 'should' not be so fucking weak. I feel like a child peering into a toy store window and drooling over the sight. Bottom line? I did not lift a finger to chase my dreams earlier in life and am now attempting to reap all that I failed to sow.

An entire family of squareheads came up my driveway last night. Four of us out there full of alcohol combined with several lit Satanic symbols did not dissuade their efforts. They were bright, pleasant, and willing to invite us to some fucking festival at their church despite the appearance of my insane empire, a lit cigarette, and music which is not exactly aligned with the Christian faith. I had to salute them, honestly. I can only wish for such conviction. Heh. My brain does not operate as theirs, most likely. I was awash with visions of everything better left unsaid. The other positive is the fact that the twenty-something girl in the group was not an example of the obsession. I was overjoyed that she did not add insult to injury.

1301. I have lunch in the oven due to making a u-turn after leaving for the drive. The need was canceled minutes after I left home. Now I have the rest of the day to relax. My parts arrived, so after lunch I plan to drag this machine to the garage and spend the remainder of the afternoon at my workbench. The black noise is following me wherever I go, from the house to the garage, down the road a piece, and then back here to make lunch. Black noise in my head, meaning nothing is taking place in a positive direction. The absence of sound is not the same. This is my black noise. Mine. I need to harness it in order to alleviate the symptoms of someone who is losing their mind. I have to block everything. She is inside me, pretty fucking deep now, and anything with the power to push back will be employed if I am to survive this situation. I just can’t have it anymore. Blackness of thought. Evil inside. Noise of the type that can kill me. There may be no way out of this. I am glad to be home and within my sphere of control again. In the end, this controlled atmosphere is all I have left.

Here I am on a typical Thursday morning with coffee, the morning business out of the way, and the lovely Jamie herself up there in high definition. God bless that beauty. This is the outset of the fifth season, so she is well on her way to being the goddess of the universe several episodes ahead. I have not watched this show since... Well, let me check the show journal. Ah... Five weeks have passed. The other programs have been commanding my attention. I might lose my shit a little bit during the sixth season, though. Sometimes I feel physical pain when I see her face during the trailing end of the series. I really do. It is rather like the situation with the damaging dream and what happened in reality. I feel pain on occasion when I think of the last few weeks, to be honest. Like the Passion (if anyone actually follows along here and remembers things which have become overly important to me), the current issue is impossibility, just as within the title of that essay. I am not speaking of Jamie. She is different, frozen in time and never changing. What I am dealing with these days is a ‘real’ beauty, and my subsequent bullshit which is beginning to overtake the remainder of my thoughts has been following suit. My weakness will not allow me to avoid the subject. Impossibility is not something of which I am fond at all. It is also one of those facts of life dealt with by every single person on earth. I just happen to be far beyond desperate these days. This will continue to plague me. ‘Worse every day’ is not something I feel I deserve. There are plenty of other aspects of living representing payments for my past misdeeds. I don’t need this one. I mentioned that I’ve been relating the dreams to a character on the show we watch at night. Well, that is actually another downward situation illuminating the idea of too many wondrous things in the world being impossible. I don’t like this. Too many facets mean I can barely keep up. I have a really nice image of the actor who portrays the character I mentioned, yet I have been hesitant to place it here. I included Karlie Kloss again just because the photograph is so colorful. Oh, and she stands six-two. Just a thought.

0827 and I am left to my devices. Today I really need the time to work on myself and the truck. The gangsters may follow me into the garage later, but as of yet I am unsure. The rest of the connectors for my wiring harness will arrive at some point later. Once I have them in hand, I can complete the power setup and run a few tests. Yesterday I attached the DC connectors for both motors, although the drive harness looks crappy. I may have to come up with another idea. The steering harness is really nice. I mentioned raising both controllers, too. I did that yesterday and then replaced all four wires for the motor inputs. The drive controller actually looks odd being 3/4" above the main board. I may have to drop it by 1/4" or so just for posterity. I am fucking picky when it comes to the appearance of the entire system (no shit, huh?).

There are words I can include here which may shed light on the horrible situation inside my head, yet they would also give away information with the power to ruin me. I can’t have that, but I must admit that the idea is tempting. I see it as feeling guilty for something and eventually finding someone who can listen without judgment or backlash. Unfortunately, that is not possible through this interface because of the audience being elsewhere (if there is a fucking audience anymore). I need to control the information to avoid being attacked. That is all I will say about it. Just know that such thinking is a daily occurrence.

I recall no dreams from last night or this morning, thankfully. The others are still very clear and do not leave my head for more than a few minutes at a time, most notably the third. That was bad and I needed to see and hear her like I need another fucking hole in my head. Freud said, ‘Dreams are wishes.’ I can see that, yet at the same time I often read a dream as fear, even those which may seem enticing on the surface. The third dream will probably not play out in reality as the first one did, though. I don’t see it happening due to the sheer level of potential intimacy combined with her words. She was looking to me for help with another individual and felt it deeply enough to share a situation by telling me of her perception. I know not of whom she spoke, however. Some random person of which I’ll probably never be aware. The point is she told me and I felt infinitely closer to her because of it. Her words were accompanied by a gesture I can’t extricate from my brain, and one I keep seeing in action over and over no matter what I may be doing at a given time.

Everything I’ve said about the black noise is inaccurate. I've tried to understand it, meaning this entire essay up to the current point was required for me to completely flesh it out. The truth is SHE is the black noise, or, more to the point, the way I feel and think of her is the reality of the situation. The noise. Much like the near-constant ringing in my ears due to years of audio-related damage, the black noise will not go away because I have zero control over it. All of my daydreaming, picturing beautiful circumstances which are impossible, and placing myself in a universe that is not real have contributed to the sheer levels of desperation inside my head and heart. She may be the culmination of everything. I have to move around this house, perform my daily work, break out the projects and hobbies to find enjoyment, and every single second is difficult because of a massive hole inside me. The dreams (beginning with that beautiful strap-tug) have only worsened this condition over time and shown me that my future is nothing more than black noise combined with seeing things that may as well be in another fucking galaxy. That is how far away the answers to my needs have traveled. All of this is the result of what others have done to me. None is her fault. She is just a person. I’m driving myself crazy right now.

0927 and I have to get away from this for a while. The words don’t help. I simply enjoy the sound and feel of such a nice keyboard. The entry doesn’t matter, either. I just keep talking to no one and searching for comfort. Nothing helps. I’m going to rise and care for the routine and then move to the garage to make another wiring harness.

Oh, and I’ll be swilling alcohol all the while because I am so broken that I don’t care. Something bad is going to happen soon. I can feel it.

1053 and the usual crap is finished. The whiskey is keeping me company for the time being. I need something to smooth everything I’ve been thinking lately. The imagery from the first and third dreams will not fucking leave my head, not even while cleaning the kitchen with the show in the background. I really don’t need this shit right now, or ever. She is beginning to dominate my thinking every day, leaving me a concerned mess. The image of Daria in black lingerie and on all fours continues to remind me of Ashley and her lengthy features, and then on the heels (heels?) of her is the one in the dreams... I just can’t help it. My brain can manufacture some pretty exotic visions sometimes, and lately they have been flip-flopping back and forth from the dreams to Ashley. She was fucking tall, I tell you. My height, and not far north of one hundred pounds. Thin, lanky, and so beautiful that I felt a near-constant juxtaposition of tremendous guilt and pure lust. The third dream was similar, although the guilt tends to step in with more force. I don’t know what to do with all this information. Everything is jammed inside my brain and holding me hostage. No one is there to listen, yet my need to tell someone of the details has never been stronger.

And there is Drea, a ‘sister’ in my heart. I wish I could have held her during the fifth season. She needed it, and badly. So do I. Many fans of the show were absolutely goo-ga over her physical appearance – and I will not disagree because she was in AMAZING shape when the series was shot – but I have not focused upon her beauty for a very long time. All that crap gave way to loads of deep emotion over both her portrayal of Adriana and the character’s tragic arc. I can’t help but feel sympathy. Yes, she has one hell of a physique, yet the most important aspects of Drea’s involvement in the show are her performance and sensitivity. There are a few key scenes in which her facial expressions alone could garner an armload of Emmy awards. Drea was and is a powerful actor.

The electronics work awaits, as does a trip to the market and some dry cleaning. I’ll get around to everything soon enough, I guess. Right now I can’t seem to move very much. The visions are cemented and painful. All of this is painful, in fact. I don’t know what to do. Damn it all. Just... Damn it. There are times when I am actually glad to be alone in this. The reason is I can hide everything away from others and avoid being worried about any sort of reaction to the way I think. That sword has two edges, however, and both are quite sharp. I am in pain all the time for one reason or another – sometimes mental and other times physical – and it does not fade, meaning the shopping, truck work, or whatever else can be done to help push away the bad thoughts must be embraced for me to remain breathing. I’ll get to everything very soon. I will also talk to myself the entire time, mostly out loud. Yep, I talk to myself out loud. I cannot remember ever being in a worse situation than the present.

0652 on Friday. Coffee and my friends.

I know the lines are in there, somewhere. I fucking know it, and my need to see them has grown with each passing day. There is more, too. Much more. I’ve been holding back. Often I dream about those lines and what they look like; what I might feel while wrapping a seamstress’ tape around her upper thighs. Excitement? Wonder? There is no way to know. I do recall another person who offered to allow me to measure, photograph or draw her form. There have actually been very few, and I also remember where the idea of lines went from that point. Bad places. But I still need to see them, I need to see how everything operates together. Does that sound strange? Probably. I don’t care, either. This is the way I think and that is the long and short of it. Each time I consider the dreams and subsequent visions before me, my head descends into the dark places of life. Well, not that dark, I suppose, but at least a bit off. I’ve been thinking this way for many weeks. The mere thought of a glance or a few seconds of conversation stirs me to the core. In the beginning there was a dream of a strap. And then the real strap. Later? A pair. Now I am yearning to see the lines. This is going to end badly, and only for me. No one else has a clue as to what has developed inside me. Believe it or not, the four issues and the paragraph I always complain about have been pushed back by this latest development. She has taken over everything aside from the work on my truck. I did not believe that any situation could have so much power over my psyche. She has the power and the prowess, and I am wrecked. I just keep dreaming of the impossible and then falling down before realizing that the desperation is much worse than I had calculated. The lines can do worse, honestly, and I am expecting conditions to suffer even more very soon.

0810. The morning business is complete, as is half the routine. I need to go to the market later this morning after putting it off yesterday. I didn’t feel like leaving the house at all. Today is the day, plus I can venture to the hardware store if I can compute what I need for the truck. I don’t like to order too much from McMaster because I end up with loads of spare fasteners. If I get a few things locally, I need not worry about over-buying. The other half of the routine and shopping will hopefully get the difficulty out of my head for a while. Upon returning from the store, I’ll try to remain busy.

1358. Everything is finished except for laundry, which is running right now. I went to the market without a problem. I’ll have to touch up the kitchen in a little while. For now, I need to be off my feet for a bit. I am still limping. The morning has been productive and I intend to keep it going for a time before settling at the bench to ponder my truck. New nightstands are arriving tomorrow and I have to rearrange some things so they fit well. Anything I can do to keep the bad thoughts at bay is important. She keeps creeping in and I often find myself wishing to go back in time to the third dream just to watch it play out before my eyes again. Damn it. My condition is worsening. There doesn’t seem to be any activity or media with enough power to hold back the dreams; initially the catalyst, two and three, and now all those visions born of wishful thinking. All that shit leads me down a rabbit hole of negative possibilities with nary a chance of hope. Eh... I just decided to move to the garage for a while.

0702 on Saturday morning with coffee and my friends on the television. I may switch to the gangsters in a bit, though. I’d like to see Jamie’s face again. I’m having problems at present and the comfort of seeing those wondrous eyes may help. I am a crazy person for feeling that a fictional character can assist me like a therapist, but then again I already felt I was crazy prior to thinking of her as someone with the ability to help me. Now, get a load of this shit...

I often dream of being in Jamie’s arms – much like those ethereal moments with Ashley and her never-ending compassion – and gushing everything into her waiting ears. That may be the only possibility for me, and it is impossible. Nice. I think of Ashley all the time, and considering the damaging dream, I can see how the two are related, as if there was some force at work to place a beautiful, understanding soul right in front of me and then snatch it away. While in Ashley’s loving arms, I felt as if we were on another plane of existence. The real world melted away as soon as her front door was closed and a new one grew in its place within moments. Her apartment felt as a dream world, yet I was right there inside it. Deep in my psyche I knew full well the entire time that at some point everything was going to disappear and I would be left once again in the middle of the desert with nothing more than my car and standing amongst the largest conglomeration of luxury resorts in existence, alone in every conceivable way. Sometimes I think that my time spent with Ashley was not even real, as if I created her as a point of reference for the rest of the world. Well, that is not true. I was there, in her waiting arms, and still do not know what the motivation was which placed her so close to me for a few days. Perhaps she was simply a wonderful person and wished to enjoy the time. Whatever it was, the type of thinking which comes from recalling Ashley pulls me back in time all the way to Shilo... Nothing more than dreams and wishes, none of which were based in any reality aside from the artificial scene in my own head. Ashley was real. Jamie’s character is not. Shilo was not, yet all three appear very similar to me. This is heading somewhere strange. And the damaging dream? I believe I also wanted to be in HER arms, not just her shirt. Could it be that after all these decades I’m still yearning for something that does not and cannot exist? That might be a problem.

Wait a minute... Of course it is a problem. And maybe the last thought in the above paragraph has actually been the problem all along, going back further than I would care to admit. Shilo was before both the trauma and shit situation. I could have been completely drowned in dreams that far back, and then those two key events from eighty and eighty-two affected me enough to drown further in self-defense. Could that be the issue? Having never emerged from such a position? Maybe every fucking question I’ve asked here has been answered in the previous paragraph. Honestly, I just don’t know. What I DO know is that something has been missing for a very long time and whatever I’ve tried to do in hopes of filling that emptiness has simply failed because it is impossible. There is that word again. And let us go further, into a different ‘obsession’...

The truck. What? What did you say? Hear me out.

That fucking project encompasses every aspect of my personality, and it is as of yet incomplete. I do have control over it, though. I really do. Much of the work I’ve performed in the past (and more recently) has been toward making it appear the way I want. It’s my design, so it must look good or the functioning aspects are moot. I don’t care if it moves, really, but while sitting still the fucking thing must look special. I’ve spent loads of money on fasteners and other items in order to align the image of the truck with a picture in my head. Lately, I’ve been working toward making it actually move on its own from the transmitter, something I felt was not possible years ago due to my very impractical design. Well, just yesterday I solved two issues with both the drive and steering systems which could allow it to run fairly smoothly. Yep, I said that. I still need to spend money in order to have a few components machined, however. In the past I have shied away from having too much external work completed because of the pride I felt in creating so much all by myself and with nothing more than my own ingenuity. The truth is the truck will still be all mine despite some parts not being made by me alone, and the idea of it running is too compelling to let go out of pride. Now, let us take a look at the progress in another context...

The machine can be completed the way I wanted in the beginning. It can actually be complete, a state I can’t apply to other aspects of my life. Upon firing up the electronics and making it drive across the floor, I will most likely feel validation for all I’ve gone through in creating such a machine (and hopefully some of the cash, too). The bottom line is that very little in my life has gone the way I wished, and the only part of said life that remains which still goes my way is the truck. It represents me. No, that is not to say that once it is complete I will be the same. Nope. It means there is something in life over which I hold sole control and can actually finish. This is not coming out the way I had hoped. Maybe I didn’t have an epiphany. I will try harder.

I’ve been struggling for years between the idea of either trying to continue over the hurdles of the truck or simply giving up and leaving it on display. Back and forth, all the time. Losing the facilities and ability to manufacture parts was a big negative and ended up forcing me to embrace designing on the computer and ‘farming out’ the manufacturing of a few components. That fact alone nearly broke me in half emotionally because I felt I had lost the ‘special’ nature of the vehicle. But it is still completely unique regardless of the machining I have not performed because I still drew the parts from my own head. Lately, and seeing as how I alleviated some issues with the systems mentioned above, I’ve been heading toward more pride and less problems with what I have created. The continuing side of the fight is winning. Unlike everything else in the world that I either need or desire, the truck is possible. Nothing else. Does that make any fucking sense? I don’t know.

Up the page I said ‘there is nothing I can do about any of it’, referring to many aspects of my daily life and the inherent issues I’ve been wrestling with for years. Ah... There’s the fucking point. When it comes to the truck, there most decidedly IS something I can do. I can keep going and put to rest the decade-long battle between giving up and continuing the work. There it is. Of all the impossible shit in my life and my dire feeling each morning when I rise from bed, the truck is the one fucking part of me which has a solution.

Maybe that fucking truck can end the black noise.

Sunday morning. The first full day of football. Interesting. Coffee.

I forgot to mention that some nights ago something I feared actually happened. Yep, after hemming and hawing over building a canopy around the neon sign, I continued to put it off day after day until something occurred which negated the project. That’s right... Someone accidentally bumped the power supply and caused the primary tube to explode. My neon sign is now garbage, and after waiting several years to acquire that exact model. Now I have to search all over again. Initially I had to calm the person who hit it and assure them that the blame should be exclusively mine because of the placement and lack of protection. Once I realized that the incident was fading from that person, my heart began to break. The other person was adamant about buying another for me, but not so much after being told how scarce they are. Well, I’ll keep looking for another sign. I believe I only had the thing lit on three occasions before this took place. Damn.

I’ve gone all over the place lately with the three dreams. I don’t know what else to say about everything at this point, and repeating myself is a practice which came about because of how important all this is to me. I’ve repeated plenty in the last couple of years, too. Plenty. Nothing is worse than tiring of my own words, especially when they don’t convey much to anyone aside from myself. I can’t say certain things. This is so ridiculous. All of the shit in my head from forty years ago and leading all the way to just days ago has become impossible to ignore. I see little flashes of scenery from the Midwest that I have been trying to forget, still images extracted from dreams both old and new, and then attempt to work or enjoy part of a given day while straining myself to push everything away. This shit works in concert with my already failing ability to hear, and now has become the black noise of life. Silence while screaming. Or conversely, screaming silence. The absence of everything.

I only have a couple of hours before driving to the bar. I’d like to finish half the routine before heading out. Upon my return, I’ll have lots of time for the rest of the Sunday business. And one thing popped into my head early this morning. Generally speaking, football Sundays are not typically worrisome, although I’ve seen my share of trouble over there in the past. This will be the first visit in several weeks, and honestly I am not concerned at all. The shit in my brain has already superseded anything that may take place in advance. That’s right. The most recent issue has overpowered everything else. There may be one or two little visions, but believe me they cannot hold a candle to the damaging dream, or more importantly, the third. I lived through moments I cannot describe, none of which are possible while at a bar or restaurant. Well, I suppose anything is possible. It’s just that the likelihood is in the stars.

For whatever reason, I am nervous about watching the game over there this morning. This may be due to only visiting the place on very few occasions throughout the last six months. That would make sense. The upside is that I can cancel the whole fucking thing if the idea makes me too uncomfortable. The one item that must be addressed is a gift I’d like to deliver (which is a month late, but whatever). I can drop it off and say hello before returning home if the situation becomes overwhelming and fear keeps me here. Being home on Sunday means I have plenty of time to care for my housework and the garbage, plus the comfort of being alone (no, not THAT kind of alone). It also means control over my environment, something sorely lacking while in public. Right now I see the odds of either decision split in half. The next half hour will decide.

I don’t know where this is going, nor can I know what the future holds for my head. So far, I’ve been slammed in the face several times in the last few months, most notably on the two most recent occasions. I can’t stop seeing the imagery and dreaming of situations which must be left out of this content. I feel as if I’ve been stuck in that hallway of portraits again, although this time no one is shooting at me. The portraits are staring right at me as if to challenge my need to stare. When I look back at certain moments from the past, I see myself angling to ‘look’ at what I saw as unique beauty, such as the CD changer girl or a few others. The race girl, too. Maybe I’ve been damaging myself through exposure, but then what about all the staring I did in those two dreams? The second was different, but the during first and third I was a slave to eyesight. I stared and took in all I could in a short period of time. Believe me, it was plenty. All these weeks later, I can still see details. The form directly before my eyes was another level. If I continue to obsess, the likelihood of desperation and desire creeping into my sleeping hours would seem higher than if I was able to avoid everything. I honestly don’t know how to proceed because I’ve become so fucking weak in the last half year that any effort appears impossible. I am an addict, plain and simple, and for very good fucking reason.

So... Why am I still sitting here typing? Good question.

The noise is constant. It is also a state of silence. I love it and hate it. Mostly? Hate it. I keep thinking and thinking and trying to understand so much, and perhaps I actually do understand most of it but cannot let up on the effort. I’ve been conditioned to constantly believe that I am supposed to give others the benefit of the doubt and simply be nice. I am supposed to care for other people. Am I still being a whore? Or has that consideration been combined with the possibility that I can never be anything but the whelp? The noise tells me to destroy everything or it will remain forever. I can’t do that. I am too small. Powerless and angry, a dangerous combination, but to whom exactly? Others? Myself? This is stupid.

Once I saw those hands come up and wrinkle the thin material, I knew I would be given free reign for the second time, not to mention...”