Darkened Doorsteps Mature content No. 335 Published September 28th, 2022 1:23pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "'...finally I'll be able to play out the third dream, in reality.' The previous entry was completed three minutes ago. I am wrecked. I don’t know what the fuck to do now. The imagery has been enhanced to the point of driving me insane, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. The only path I now see is to carry on with my days as they have passed, drinking and wallowing within a sphere of desperation and depression, and finding comforts where I am able. This latest dream pretty much cemented how I feel (or, at least it has shown me that my brain is operating in a very bad way) and has served to reinforce the prior three dreams. I really didn't need so be in such a situation, dream or otherwise. In reality, the processes inside me are going to cause problems, mark my words. Yesterday morning was horrible. Today is already worse. Again, there is nothing I can do. Forcing the thoughts from my head is impossible. The time is 0900 straight up and I am completely lost. To be honest, I know from where some of this was born. Dreams are often extensions of situations which have played out in the real world, sometimes exaggerated and other times quite simple. Due to the condition of my head throughout the last several years, the most likely cause is a series of missing pieces. Yes, pieces of me. Some were never there while others disappeared shortly after the cave period. Whichever case is related to such desperation leading me to dream of her again, the fact is that this entire world which has come about in the last few months is scaring the shit out of me. As I said before, some is understandable and can even be considered natural, but the rest? No fucking way. Not in this life. I can believe it, of course, because of how my mind has operated in the past, but still... What the hell can I do to survive? I keep seeing her in my mind over and over and fucking over. The beauty, sweetness, flowing hair, everything. Over and over. Have I lost so much and been affected so deeply to have become something that scares even me? Prior to the first beautiful dream, I was already in bad fucking shape. Believe it. Every damned sight, strike, actor, or whatever, remained inside me and was processed as if tossed into a Cuisinart. I just kept thinking and picturing and dreaming, and then I would go back to that fucking paragraph which has caused so much turmoil, and then on to the story that I can't fucking publish only to find myself right back where I started and worse off than before any such considerations. I can rationalize quite a bit when you think of my damaging past, but this is different and I don't know what the fuck to do. I cannot stress that enough. Something has to give way at some point, but what? Help me, please. Just... Help me. Someone. I know everything of which I have dreamed for decades is in there. Everything, and most likely it is all fucking amazing beyond imagination (and I can imagine quite a bit, believe me). As badly as I need to see those lines, I also need to understand how this whole train wreck came about in the first place. Desperation? Have I become that bad? Well, try and recall the situation between myself and the race girl. Was there something present in that expression, or was I just reaching? Neither of those possibilities seems important when you consider the fact that I went on for a very long time without even knowing if my perception was true. See? I am crazier right now than I thought when I began to write about the race girl. I really am. There is no other way to put it. Yes, the past has led me to become desperate and saddened beyond words, but the fact remains that I stood before that girl and created a universe in less than a second, one in which the original visions of Shilo came true. Some sort of trouble inside me? No shit. There are many bad parts of this line of thinking, as well as many others I've railroaded in the past. The worst, however, is the possibility that NOTHING WILL EVER COME OF MY CONDITION. NOTHING. I'll remain sitting here trying to find what I need, only to continue falling on my face over and over. The manner in which I view other people will worsen, I will continue to suffer endlessly, and whenever I feel cornered, the reaction will escalate more and more until something -- or someone -- is destroyed. If you see another possibility, by all means... State it. Does my demeanor come across as worse than say, a year ago? You make the call. Jesus God, she is so beautiful, head to tiny toes. Soft, shining hair flowing in the breeze. Gorgeous, bouncing breasts attempting to escape the confines of clothing... Calling to me in dreams AND reality. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. She is something special. I don't know what to do. Help me, please. The time for housework and swilling alcohol has arrived. 1045 and I don't fucking care what is finished. My head is further sideways than ever. I can't seem to get her or the other shit out of my mind this morning. The truck has seen tons of progress lately, I have solved several issues to the point of operating the entire steering system from the transmitter, more parts and hardware are arriving today, yet everything is covered in darkness. Many times I've stated that I am not well. This is the most difficult morning in memory. Everything aside from desperation is now tertiary, including my beloved model sitting out there on the bench. Everything. I have no outlet whatsoever. No one is listening. I am spiraling down at breakneck speed right now. I keep seeing too much, remembering too much, and picturing too many impossibilities. I can't fucking handle this. Throughout the last four-plus decades, I have lived behind many doorsteps. None of them have ever been darkened like this. I am losing my fucking mind and cannot do anything about it. Worsening. Ever worsening. I did not ask for such dreams. Help me. I have a huge glass of depression to my right. Something very bad is going to happen soon. God damn this situation. I did not fucking ask for this shit. I just wanted to find some happiness and maybe a little satisfaction in life. I tried... I ran after whatever appeared to be a solution, even if only for a short time. Yes, I know some of it was bad, but what am I supposed to do after decades of pain? The trauma rears its ugly head every fucking day, so is what I did so bad? What about what has been inflicted upon me? Does it compare? Do you even give half a shit? I am to blame for many things in this life, difficulties piled upon others due to my reckless behavior. What about the early eighties? Was that shit my fault? I need help. I badly need to... Once again – thankfully – the alcohol has halted some of my thought processes. A negative has been employed in order to subdue a negative. Tell me I am wrong. Go for it. I want to shove all of her into my mouth. Shoot me. I have very few reasons to avoid anything bad right now. One foot in the ground. An end to thinking. No more thinking. No more dreaming. No more pain. As I sit here at this very moment, I swear to all that is holy... If the most basic of solutions does not present itself soon, I will be dead. That is a threat. 0656 on Wednesday after one of the worst Tuesdays in memory. There were dreams but I can’t recall the subject matter, thankfully. The previous dreamy strike was bad enough and found me waking with a head full of confusion. To make matters worse, everything became exacerbated yesterday while I was still trying to understand the kissing. Once again I saw way more than I should have given my penchant for a three-second gaze and then dwelling on it for years. This morning I am beginning to believe that no matter what distractions I may find interesting for a time, eventually nothing will have the power to alleviate the depression or satiate such deep desperation. Nothing. I awakened a little while ago with a dire need to understand. That is just not going to happen. I have never felt so alone, and yesterday was one of the worst examples of why. I don’t know how in the hell I am going to go out shopping later. I’d love to just... I have my coffee and the fourth show for a change. The third ended last night after it ran twice concurrently because I am a crazy person who needs familiarity for comfort. All of the words and scenes running through my head yesterday can never be revealed here or to another person. My imagination went from nearly completely ‘off’ to full power in a matter of three fucking seconds, and then I mentally fell down but had to hold the facade for others’ benefit. The entire shitaree was exhausting and I am still feeling the effects more than twelve hours later. I pictured all manner of things. Everything, in fact. This is the worst time of my life, and yesterday may have been the toughest day in memory. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Ah... Alicia is in this episode for a little bit. You wanna talk about a woman I’d love to swallow whole? Well, back then she was in her late twenties and so was I. Everything is so stupid now. Living in the past, watching television from the past, dreaming of impossible things, and sitting here day in and day out trying to find reasons to keep going. I’m tired. One thing for sure is I am going to be at the IDE for quite some time today. I need to exercise my fingers and say what can be said. I really don’t need a repeat of yesterday, although I know it will happen at some point because nothing good is on the horizon, just more pain and difficulty. I already know. Nothing surprises me anymore. I need her... I can see this day will be all uphill, from the housework to the shopping and on to helping my neighbor with a few items. I am happy to help, too. There are never bad feelings regarding that type of thing, but I do have to shove everything to the rear in order to socialize with people. That’s tough sometimes. Once the morning business is complete, I’ll try to head over the hill sooner rather than later in order to return at a decent time. Maybe the shopping will help to distract me, but I don’t know yet. I placed the order for the wine store already so I can pick it up without wandering the aisles. Walking around in there is asking for trouble. I also have to go next door to the pet store. Last time, I was in and out of both in less than half an hour. Hopefully today I can get through both even more quickly. I don’t need any trouble while shopping. If anything can get her image out of my head, the occasion will be immediately embraced to last as long as possible. I’m dying on the inside and would prefer to slow the process. I don’t want to end up loving her. 0824. Splash one set of morning business. I still have coffee and a head full of hell, so here I sit. None of the dreams or strikes will leave my head no matter what I try. Over and over those scenes play out and hurt me. There is nothing I can do about it, either. Nothing. I suppose I’ll sit here and bitch a while longer while the coffee remains. The incident which followed the first dream was plenty. I still don’t understand it, although I will say that a small part of this seems perfectly natural (I think). Well, ‘seems’, anyway. I am not trying to justify anything, there is a need to understand, that’s all. The last thing I would attempt is to explain myself. The idea is one more impossibility. The dreams that followed the first were concerning, but I have to say that the last outlined her desire very clearly and left me without sense. I still can’t seem to learn from where all this stemmed, unless my head is worse off than I had previously thought. That could be bad. Not a moment passes without visions of her swirling inside my mind and nearly derailing anything I may be doing at the time. I can’t stop seeing the face (or anything else for that matter). I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. I’ll keep going through the motions, I suppose. There may be no way of knowing the ‘why’ of the entire series of events. I need to keep that in mind. Not a good morning. If I could just... Damn. Painful morning. I desperately need to... 0916. I’m beginning to see shopping today as a good thing. I’ll be out for a while, through three stores, and then returning home to my devices with less time remaining on the clock as I head toward the evening. Sometimes being here all day is worse than whatever I might see traveling to other places. The situation in my head is much worse than those random incidents, anyway, and remaining here only leaves me with a massive amount of quiet. Quiet means daydreaming, and then I fall down hard. Like yesterday. Not good. Maybe all of the parts arriving between tomorrow and Monday will help me while home all day. Yesterday I sat in the garage and began work on the primary drive. Along with some mellow music in the background, the peaceful nature of the daytime hours helped me to concentrate and get a good head start on some brackets. Everything was fine until a while later when my brain was wrung out in the worst way, effectively forcing me into a mental fetal position whilst simultaneously reinforcing the most difficult facade in memory. Still, and up to the point when everything fell apart, the work helped me to remain calm and collected. In the end, all I have left is a pair of trying endeavors; this mess and the fucking truck. My life has been reduced from limitless options to only two. Marvelous. I included imagery of the lines for good reason. Well, not that good, actually, but they represent what my head goes through during several moments each day. Many of my waking moments are preoccupied by such imagery, and shortly after conjuring such provocative poses, I tend to relate every possible aspect to a subject I've not mentioned for some time... The 'Girl'. So here we are, months later, and one fucking detail of life I'd rather not think about is this: I believe I know who the Girl is. I am not well. God damn it all, anyway. Nothing is helping me. Maybe I deserve this. What do you think? Have I fucked up so much in life that my path has been permanently altered in order to send me into bad places all the time? This road has no turns. There were three – two were key – and now the fourth has come along and completely derailed everything, not to mention that I had to deal with a fucking trial beyond comprehension. I was out of my mind, yet my outward appearance was controlled and completely calm. No one can get a sense of anything or I’ll fucking lose it entirely, and in the space of mere seconds. I can’t believe I made it through that situation without flipping the fuck out. I really can’t. Roxann is so far beyond beautiful that I don’t have the ability to structure a description. Jesus. Anyway, the fact is I did make it out of that fucking difficult situation and ended up calming shortly thereafter. I still don’t know how I did it, but I suppose surviving should not be questioned too deeply. The sight and sound drove me in-fucking-sane for a while. Insane. I am soon going to be in a straitjacket, no doubt. This is fucking nuts. The darkened doorstep has occurred on very few occasions. The other one should not be mentioned due to the dramatic nature of the first glimpse. Too much, damn it. Way too fucking much for me to handle. At some point I need to care for the routine so I can head out the door afterward. I don’t want anything left when I return. I don’t want to fucking see anything, either. My wishes do not come true no matter how minuscule. The doorsteps shall remain clear for the time being. No more visions are necessary for slamming my head. I already have enough imagery saved up for several lifetimes. 1106. I have the routine finished and laundry going. As soon as my morning cocktail is gone, I’ll take off to go shopping. All morning I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of difficulty. Believe it. Are there varying degrees of impossibility? If so, the girl is at the extreme end of the spectrum. There is NO FUCKING WAY for me to embrace any of the ideas or dreams which reside in my brain. Reality is just not going to happen and I have to sell myself on the idea that what I want and need is, once again, impossible. The impossibility as it relates to the Passion could be clarified as improbable, but not completely impossible. The reason is money. Short of some insane windfall like a jackpot or other massive influx of cash, the watch is out of reach, but possible. I’ve often mused that if I won one of the big lottery caches, I could hire a personal assistant – something probably necessary in such a situation – and request that the person go on a quest around the world to find the watch and acquire one in mint condition. That type of quest would require a massive amount of resources. It could be accomplished, however. The current issue in my head as driven by the dreams is much further out, and that is to say that an even more unlikely set of circumstances would be necessary for anything to become reality. That is what I mean by ‘varying degrees’; the idea of my dreams coming true is so far-fetched that the watch actually seems attainable. Isn’t that just fucking peachy? And to put a finer point on this shit, I would give up the Passion for the dream. Yep. Believe it, baby. Nothing in the known universe can cause it to happen, but I still yearn for her more than anything else. And that brings on another damned issue. Since yesterday, and pushed by the latest dream of the girl, I’ve been picturing some wild adventure similar to the weeks Andrea and I spent together, but with the dream girl instead. I cannot go into any detail whatsoever, unfortunately. Nothing. This shit must remain locked away for all time or I’ll be crucified beyond comprehension. That much is certain, at least. I’ve been feeling so much for her that much of the worry over being in the wine or pet stores and seeing something compelling has been squashed. All I see right now is that sweet smile and bouncing chest, not to mention the idea of the lines. I can honestly say in no uncertain terms that the current situation in my mind is the WORST within which I’ve EVER been mired. The worst. Nothing, past or present, can compare. Dreams of her make the fucking reproach look like a cake walk. God damn, what I would give for five minutes of... This can’t last much longer or I will die. No more dreaming, no more impossibility. No more ‘her’, and that is the fucking key, people. She is the key. She is the end-all be-all. I did not see this coming early in the year. Had I known? I would be gone already. My reasons are shrinking at breakneck speed. This is bad. All the way around. No options abound. The girl has been found. Rest me in the ground. Please help me. Please. I've not felt this level of emotional turmoil before and I don't know how to handle it. I keep trying, but to no avail. I need some fucking HELP. My whiskey is almost gone. Soon I will venture into the world of others and do the shopping. Four stops today... Wine store, pet store, cigarette shop and market. I don’t give a flying fuck how many pairs of pants may end up waddling before my eyes. My mood is going downhill, fast. All I will do is talk to myself on the inside, words such as ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, or ‘damn’ will float around in my brain if I see anything. Maybe I’ll be reckless and toss out a compliment, most of which are dismissed these days. Upon returning, I plan to sit at the workbench and contemplate the aluminum mounts I began yesterday. They will support the primary drive, albeit temporarily. I need to work on the truck or I’ll lose myself again. I fucking need it like oxygen. 1324. I am back from the fucking shopping which yielded more than its share of sightings, most notably upon entering the pet store. Damn it. Not just the cashier – who also helped me with checkout, looking fucking adorable beyond belief – but the girl standing there with all the lines on display. And then the wine store... Another cashier from another planet. I did not say anything, however believe me when I say the compulsion was on its way to my vocal cords just prior to walking to my car. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I really don’t need that shit right now. Above, I said I don’t care what I may see. Well, everything reminded me of the dreams. I bypassed the market on my return trip due to needing the bathroom. To be honest, I was right down the street from my favorite Mexican restaurant and damned–near went there for lunch. I could have used the restroom and then headed on down to the market. Nope. My better judgment took over and I saved money by avoiding that place. Now I am home, lunch is in the oven, and I organized everything I bought. Unfortunately, more damage has occurred and I am worse off than before leaving the fucking house. Splendid. God damn did that girl in the wine store have numbers for the taking. I wanted to say something but my mind did not have the power. The most likely outcome of saying something is an expression of disapproval, honestly. It’s probably better to keep my trap shut all the time. The subject is almost impossible to glean. Fuck me. Unbelievable. I may not go to the market until tomorrow. I need to be alone right now. I hate this. Maybe if she would have... I suppose this afternoon I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday. The aluminum pays no mind whatsoever. The only rub is I’m out of beer. I didn’t want to carry so much shit from the big store, so I figured I’d grab some at the market. We already know where that idea went; right out the fucking window with my brainpower. I’m going to flip out soon. 0657, Thursday. Two days from the festival. Shit. The months are rolling under my trucks. I have coffee and the fifth show for a change. Sometimes I lose track of the stories until something jogs my memory. In this case it will be Jolene writhing on the floor in silk pajamas. Everything reminds me of dreams. I’d love to forget, but at this point too much has transpired for anything good to develop. All I see in the future is more dreaming and more pain. Each morning I feel so alone. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday, either. Some middle ground must be located where I can enjoy a bit of solace. Ah... There she is. Jesus fucking Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be allowed some free reign. Just a little while, please. Anyway, today will be the food shopping and then back to the garage for a continuation of my accomplishment of operating the primary drive from the transmitter. The work is not really very attractive, but I’ll get out there and tool around as much as I can. I’m quite sure I’ll see some errant breasts or pants at the store just to pile a little more shit on top of my head. And speaking of piles, one of the women of my dreams is right there in high definition with some of the most amazing lines I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on her facial features. I have to stop talking about her or I’m going to run screaming down the street. A few minutes of... And now there is Linda slip-sliding her way through the Jeffries tubes above the main corridors. You want to talk about a petite woman? Five-two, I think, yet there is nothing out of place on her. Jolene is another story entirely. Not only one of my favorite first names beginning with my favorite letter of the alphabet, but also my beloved cousin’s name (rest her beautiful soul). Sometimes I speak too much of Jolene. Can’t help it. I blow kisses at the television when her name appears during the opening theme. Yes, I said that. I have loved that woman for several years. 0803. The morning business is complete and I have many hours to myself, thank the maker. I may need to change to another show for fear of losing myself in her face again. She is amazing. Ugh... I did it again. This reminds me of watching Jamie up there. She is another level, and every time I see her face I try to recall just exactly when I became so enamored. Jolene is the same. I can’t remember when I went from simply watching the show to actually feeling something inside when I saw her. Some years ago, I guess. She is wearing a cardigan sweater right now. I’d give up the rest of my life to embrace her for half a minute. Believe it. I need help. This paragraph went astray. Holy fuck is she ever unique. Damn. If she would just... No dreams this morning, thankfully. There is enough damaging imagery and situational analysis going on inside me already. I’m sure something will happen to reinforce my feelings and fears. I don’t know when, but I’ve lost all faith in this issue leaving me alone. The doorstep will be colored in the future. I know it. The most recent dream pretty much solidified my feelings and pushed me to consider my current condition in a much more dire light. Even yesterday when asked about my day, I could not respond in the positive at all. I made it clear that what I’ve been going through is neither easy nor something I can discuss with another human being. The response was as expected. The truth is as much pain and confusion as the dreams have brought to my doorstep, I still want to see her in that world where we can embrace and there is no fear. I’ve been in a fucking dream world for years with my friends and family on the television, so why not a bit of romance, too? Am I so wrong? Well, don’t answer that because you do not have all the information for an informed response. Not even close. Let’s just leave it alone. The girl's hands continue to creep into my head. The kiss, too. Of all the ethereal, foggy or otherwise smoky memories from dreams, that one was very clear and basically showed me her feelings. I can’t comment further. Just know that I keep thinking about those images over and over. There is no way out of this right now. Help me deal with it, please. I haven’t begged yet. Wait until the end of the page. The gardeners are here. I have to make a note. Sometime during the next hour or so, I will head to the market and get that work out of the way. Upon returning, I’ll be happier than a pig in shit to put the show back on and pour myself a nice, fat cocktail. Eventually I’ll make it to the workbench. Right now I have a little coffee left, so everything has to wait. Plus, I really need to gawk at the goddess on the television for a while. Shoot me. I don’t care anymore. Jolene used to be like a sister to me, plus there is the whole cousin-name connection (I loved her dearly), but I have to be honest... I have never wanted to surf my way across Jolene's lips more than I do right now. Good God, she is so unique. And this is all driven by years of weakness and desperation. It would be nice if there was something I could do about the feelings. Alas, my lot in life has been solidified. So sad. Mark my fucking words, this is the beginning of the end. I just blew a kiss toward her name again because my little world includes an entire relationship with a fictional character that has not existed for more than seventeen years. I'm trying to avoid going into details that no one wants to read. The images are indicative of another detail, and that is the fact that Jolene shows off somewhat of a ‘bubble butt’ when she wears those sheer pajamas. I don’t know what goes on behind the scenes when the costuming is underway for production, but I have to say that the narrowness of her waist appears absolutely incredible against her hips, rear and chest. You want to talk about disparity? Fucking hell, anyway. Jolene should be in the encyclopedia of forms. Um... As the reference standard. The images here remind me of her body. Yes, I know they are provocative and some would see them as borderline vulgar. I understand that. Just try to imagine how bad my mind has become to include more than a thousand images of such detail throughout the course of many years. Think about that for a minute. How often do I gush about some actor, model, or errant vision in society? Every fucking essay, that’s how often. Every single entry for years. And I need to find more descriptors. ‘Desperation’ is not cutting the fucking mustard anymore. Many times I’ve placed the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’, within the writing. To be more accurate, 112 as of this sentence. The time is actually much worse than I’ve tried to describe. Believe it. I’ve been holding back so much information that sometimes I have to close this machine and cool off. I am getting to such a point right now. Jolene will be wearing alternating colored outfits beginning with the start of the third season. My words will be completely OUT OF FUCKING CONTROL AND I DON’T CARE. Live with it. I love her. And due to everything being so fucking far from my control, a thought comes to mind. There is a strong possibility that what I need most right now is not the girl wrapped around me in all her gorgeous splendor, but actually someone to tell me straight out exactly why I am still here. I honestly don't know. It sure as hell isn't the fucking pizza. Go ahead... Laugh it up, motherfucks. 0933. I have to get going with something other than this shit. I have never felt so depressed, alone, desperate or downright disillusioned in my life. 1148. My routine is finished and I visited the market for some staples and dinner items. Now I am all set and do not need to leave the house again today. The fifth show has kept me company because I am feeling a strong desire to lick Jolene’s ears. I will refrain from mentioning any other tongue-related destination. The driveline bushings arrived from Micro Logic, and aside from a fucking lousy finish on the major diameter, they should work better than those I fabricated some years ago. I simply cannot have the shafts wobbling. They must be concentric or the entire drive system is crap. At some point – most likely when I tire of this shit – I’ll move to the shop and get them ready to install. I need to drill and thread holes for set screws, sand the outside diameters a touch, and then they can be connected to the center differential and axles. The drive shafts have been sitting on the bench for a month now. I am also expecting some unions for the steering system which means some of that work can be finalized and tested. All this metalwork is fortuitous, meaning I must be busy out there for hours in order to extract the dream and fantasy imagery from my brain. I never expected to be so fucking desperate this many years into life. The whole subject is fucking pathetic, yet there are seemingly no other choices. I am stuck with brightly-lit doorsteps. Considering the newly-established realization that I am nothing more than a whelp/whore, I do not believe Jolene would respect me at all. Worship is bad, plain and simple, and I would constantly worship every fucking aspect of her as a human being. The fact is, mere days into being close (as if anything so wondrous could ever come to pass) would force her into the conclusion that I am very unhealthy and far from a balanced person. That is not good. Unfortunately, this is what I have become, and the condition is worsening with each passing day. I just wanted to point out that I can never be ‘good’ for anyone no matter the circumstances. What a lovely thought, all covered with roses and bunnies. Now she is in the decontamination chamber in tiny shorts and a tank. Worship. I will not go into detail. You can thank me later. The thoughts in my head when I see her skin are such that no one wants to hear them. Oh, God... How in the holy blue fuck did I get so bad? This is the worst position imaginable. For me, anyway. I have to stop talking about her. A few more thoughts that come to mind during this episode? Sure. this is the second to which I’ve been exposed that reinforce EVERY FUCKING THING that is wrong with me. I feel smaller, less significant, and on a much more dire path than during other episodes. Very small. Tiny. Inadequate. Broken. Without recourse. I will say straight out that if not for the truck, I would be much worse off right now. The project can be completed and it will represent positive traits and vast skill. Nothing else in my life can boast such terms. Nothing. I think it’s time to move to the garage because anger is building at an alarming rate right now, not to mention more physical desire for Jolene than in memory. Ears. I need to lick her fucking ears RIGHT NOW. And? My tongue would come out her nose. Don’t inquire of the entry point. Hmm... Maybe some detail, but you probably already knew what I was thinking. God damn does this ever hurt. Bye for now. 0652 on a gray Friday morning. Gray inside, gray outside. Jolene is wearing that white outfit again. I haven’t watched this series for some months due to sticking with the third and fourth shows for a long time. The beginning of the third season is when the design changes are apparent, but every now and then during seasons one and two she is in something bright. Right now, for example, that outfit leaves no stone unturned. All I need is a few minutes of... I mentioned that the bushings arrived yesterday, but had not performed a full inspection until now. Well, they are complete shit. They will not work. Due to the cost of having them manufactured, I went on a long tirade about a waste of money during the afternoon and evening but eventually shut it down because I was going in circles. The fact is the material does not appear to have been machined at all, just sanded perhaps. The center holes are not concentric with the outer diameters. The runout is several thousandths of an inch beyond even the parts I made by hand. The difference in outer diameter from one end to the other of EACH bushing is in excess of .010”. That may not sound like much, but from a machining standpoint it is a football field. There are so many issues with the parts that I don’t even know where to begin when I address the company. The parts will be sent back to them and I plan to make it clear that I really don’t give a fuck if they refund my money. They simply need to know that I am aware of the parts not actually having been machined. More likely they were fabricated by hand. I could have made them from less than a dollar’s worth of material in roughly half an hour if I had the machinery. They should have spun them off a CNC lathe more quickly and efficiently than I ever could. 0816 and the morning business is finished, leaving me here for the duration and whatever I wish to do today. There may be some laundry, but the dry cleaning will be going out this time. The suits really need to be properly cleaned and pressed whenever I have the opportunity. Well, one other project is my need to measure every aspect of the bushings because I just opened the drawing in their software and noticed that I may have had the specifications all fucked up in the first place. That means they are not at fault. If the parts are within spec, I can’t take issue with anyone other than myself due to leaving the accuracy too wide-open. Damn it. That’s all I needed... Something else to knock me down. Maybe some Andrea/Ashley combination will come to my door wearing yoga pants, booties and a tank top while soliciting something so I can completely lose my shit. She would help by... This is a terrible morning. My brain is so fucked up over everything which has transpired in the last few months, and then to add the bushing failure only presses me down further. I am so far from happy that I don’t even know how to say it. I am glad the RC switch and unions arrived in the mail yesterday afternoon because at least I have something to work with today. The bushings mean that despite all my accomplishments in getting the primary drive to operate from the transmitter, the axles cannot be connected at all. The parts I made are failures so I went with the machine shop, and now those won’t work either due to my not having paid proper attention to the specifications. I have the girl in my head, all those problems from earlier in the year, and the pain of knowing I am stuck in such a position for the foreseeable future. Moreover, the show last night added tidbits of visions when the little goddess was on the screen and I can’t get her face out of my brain. I need to go back in time to when... Impossible, just like everything else. I’d better accomplish something today. Right now I just don’t know how. 1003. The routine is finished. Fifth show and whiskey. Call the alcohol a crutch, I don’t care. I am many things, and the good parts seem to be only technical. Emotionally? Ruined. No one is going to darken my doorstep in the future no matter how dire my thinking may be. I fucking hate everything right now. Everything. I’ll be in the garage shortly to work on the steering. Hopefully that part of the system doesn’t shift its trajectory downward. I need more problems like I need Satan’s penis up my ass. Laugh it up. And sometimes I think Porthos is cuter than T’Pol. That little doggie is something else. I need to lick her ears, damn it. I need lots of things, actually. Something bad is going to happen. Today seems like a good day to throw things into the trash. I just feel like streamlining, and such a case generally comes to mind when everything has been heading downhill, just like yesterday and this morning. I have control over the atmosphere, truck and entertainment, yet the reality is that the control I truly need in order to survive is most decidedly absent from life. I’ve enjoyed that control on very few occasions, honestly. The last was so many years ago that the memories are beginning to fade. Hence all that shit about the machine two years ago. She was the end-all be-all of human existence, and the last bastion of my way of life. Impossible, but no less appealing. I still believe a machine is the only way. Ah... I hear my neighbor pulling up on the Italian bike. What a great exhaust note. Anyway, a big part of my feelings toward a mechanized woman stemmed from Ashley and the way she considered humanity and intersex relationships. I still can’t believe the way she spoke to me, nor can I reconcile the idea that she may have been the only individual to feel the way she did. I believe I became permanently scarred due to her words and demeanor toward me. Nothing like that will ever exist again. Not near me, anyway. I sit here day after miserable day dreaming of all things unlikely, much of it resulting from all that Ashley told me in the tiny space of a few days. The Raven was similar in her mindset, but to be honest she was different in enough ways to force the conclusion that we were doomed from the beginning. Well, allow me to rephrase. Every single reach I’ve made in searching for comfort resulted in doom, most likely at my hands or due to my tragic circumstances. The doorstep shall remain black for all time. Nothing good can be on the horizon because I am so fucking jaded by this point in time that even the simplest exchange will end in disaster. Believe it. And black in this context is not a color. It is a condition. I could live the rest of my life on her lips. Jolene is unbelievably gorgeous and her physical form unmatched in modern history. I have never gazed upon her equal. As I said before, she used to be like a sister in that I felt deeply in my heart but nothing further. Now? I am feeling a dire need to make her a fucking machine and a plaything forever. Tongue. Nose. Think about it. Remember the Sushi girl? Right up there and out the other side. Fucking kill me, I don’t care. I have little left to lose at this point. Everything causes pain, be it north or south, and there is not one damned thing I can do about any of it. Jesus fucking shit fuck damn hell, anyway. Time and circumstance have done this. Desperation is dangerous, although if I were to apply the solution, no one would have a snowball’s chance in hell of contradicting me. Such a thought may be the only real control I have or have ever had. Maybe that is more appealing than putting an end to the pain. I just don’t fucking know. I hope I didn't offend anyone's delicate sensibilities. Well, I honestly don't care. Go fuck yourself. I made this mess... It's mine. The truth is that the problems I have in life far outweigh anything coming from someone else, and I don't give a shit whether I hear words or gunfire. Lick THIS." 0654 on Saturday morning. Coffee, cats fed, gray sky. Jolene is also in gray. Oh, yesterday. Again I have to point out the failures and pitfalls rather than anything positive. The largest pitfall was a vision, of course, and I still see it, all plaid and soft. Cute. Breasts all over the fucking place. Fuck it, shoot me in the face for talking in such a way. I don’t care. The fact is my head cannot remove her during the day, only sometimes at night am I able to push back. Today we are going to the festival – none have been available since nineteen due to the pandemic – and there is generally a large contingent of strikes present on the street. During the last occasion three years ago, the biggest strike was a little too close to home for my comfort. I dealt with it because there was little choice in the matter (at the time). This year? I don’t know what to expect. So far, the only certainty is the fact that there is alcohol for sale up and down the festival. That should help me relax while walking. The other tidbit which makes me a little uncomfortable is being away from my little world for a few hours. Being out there among the mass makes it very difficult for me to retreat if I become agitated or hurt. I’d rather remain home all the time, but alas I am not the only one living in this house. My buddy came by yesterday to scope the patio and roof work. He has to consult an engineer soon and we will have another meeting so he can work up some numbers. I am really looking forward to seeing that old patio cover disappear and the back door replaced with something that works properly and keeps the weather out. I wish I hadn’t dreamed of her. Nothing good has come of it. Nothing. And I’ve been having a difficult time concentrating upon anything else since that first vision. Jolene’s calm demeanor makes me want to... Doorsteps of life, all bright and awaiting that most powerful of ideas. It will not come to pass, though. My dreams are far too unrealistic and generally tend to lean toward the impossible to actually have a chance of coming true. Not the dreams of the girl or any of that other shit, either. I am referring to ideas of the type of comfort which has eluded me for decades. Such ideas originally came about right around the time I left high school, took a few years off, and then re-emerged in the Midwest. They again came about while standing outside this house in front of five in the morning and waiting to go to work. That period lasted several years and I am glad it’s over. But the dream is still very strong. I remember dreaming of things that come in threes, soon after finding myself far away from everyone and safe. Now the only time I feel even slightly safe is while home. The outing later this morning will reinforce such a fact. The powerful idea has changed since those first daydreams in the eighties, most likely due to me changing as the years passed. The underlying idea, however, remains the same. The doorstep is bright. I cannot make it change. No power. I have no pull with anything in the world. These feelings are so bad that I don’t even know where to begin, nor can I simply describe the situation. Believe me when I say that I really NEED to talk about it. The problem is I fear the reaction – ANY reaction, to be honest. No one is listening anyway, so I don’t even know why I’ve gone over this so much. Maybe I’m more concerned than originally thought. The three dreams were pretty bad, but the fourth, more recent connection through dreaming had me all fucked up for a long while. I can’t stop thinking of how much I need her all wrapped around me like clothing. My doorstep is destined to remain lit, unfortunately. I already know such a fact and no one can convince me otherwise. Jolene’s voice can be very soothing at times. Anyway, what I am saying is similar to a few lines from a very old album... ‘Bottled in; a strong compression. My distortion shows obsession...’ There you go. Do you get it? Keep trying. Or maybe I’ll just go straight out with the idea. Everything is inside my head and sealed like a bottle. The obsession has driven me completely out of my mind and left my sense of reality so distorted that I barely recognize myself in the fucking mirror. Clear? I wish she could just hold me for a minute. Please. 0811. I have to begin thinking of preparations to go out. The festival is only ten minutes from here, but I have to be at least a little bit pleased with the way I look before leaving the house. My sunglasses should help keep others from seeing what I may be thinking at a given time. Most of the visits to this event have resulted in my feeling very sad while strolling the booths. Yes, I said ‘sad’. Much like being in what could be the most blissful situation within my dreams, the brain tries to imagine far too much for me to actually handle, and then I end up hit in the face with reality. There was her voice again. Good God, please just let me... 2023. Still Saturday. I am sitting in the lit empire with quiet music, my cocktail, and the day’s events running through my mind. Yes... My fucking mind. It has shifted a great distance from the time before that first damaging dream. Never in a million years could I have predicted this type of change, and I can say in no uncertain terms that I don’t like it. The festival today quickly reinforced said change, and as a result I did not move around the streets as I have in the past. Vast differences. A mere fifteen minutes after arriving and catching the tail end of the parade, I calculated that the issues related to being at such an event would be minimal. Well, that changed some time later. I noticed aspects of the atmosphere that went unnoticed for many years, perhaps more than a decade of visiting. Once the first issue arose, I knew there would be many others and began to steel myself against the possibility. Less than halfway through the three-hour stroll up and down the line, my head came apart and forced me to narrow my view of the landscape. Early this morning my entire mind was controlled by my feelings for Jolene’s character and all of the impossibilities related to how I feel about beauty. By mid-afternoon however, everything changed and I can no longer view myself as anything short of a heretic. A red-letter day, to be sure. Jolene is in the standard gray. Her eyes are speaking to me but I cannot reply because the moment is two decades old. I wish she would hold me, but alas the doorsteps can no longer darken. I just received a split-second glimpse of her lines. I have not accomplished much today. The reasons are the festival and then a visit to her parents’ for the installation of another awning. No big deal. In between those two, I decided to stop at the bar due to the traffic situation in town. Rather than grinding the trip home and then north again, I figured we could rest at the bar in the cool breeze. That turned out to be a very good decision after walking in the sun and suffering in three distinct ways. Yes, I said three. Anyway, a little while ago I ordered some dinner to be delivered and cleaned the kitchen while waiting. That means tomorrow’s routine will be much shorter than the typical day. Nice. I have the garbage business and whatever work can be done in the garage, and both will probably round out my Sunday without anything screwing with my head like today. 0657. Sunday. I have my usual coffee and the fifth series up there. This is good stuff. The first order of business after the parade was to find something to drink, and then eat. In the past, I’ve stumbled around for hours trying to find the ‘perfect’ or ‘ideal’ lunch item, only to push it too far and then end up senseless and tired. We had a snack right out of the gate yesterday. There was a large booth nearby with souvenir glasses and a variety of alcohol, across from which was another booth with some good stuff to eat. We grabbed both, and then I moved to the side of the second booth for some condiments and a place to stand and eat in the shade. And here we go, off to the races of me feeling very guilty due to staring at a girl for an extended period of time. We finished our snack and strolled around the corner to have a cigarette, and soon after I needed to return to the food booth for a napkin. There she was again. I immediately hoped that nothing else all day would rival the sight of her because otherwise I would not make it through the day on my feet. There is typically an entire orchestra of issues running through my brain and to add too much weight in a short period of time is very bad, and can even be dangerous. She was dangerous, believe it or not. I’m not joking. Jolene’s voice is so poetic, cool and controlled that overhearing just two words drives me insane. I had a solid three minutes of staring at that girl while she ate lunch. Staring. There was a mass of people in the street and a band beginning to play music on the south stage, meaning most eyes were all over the place and not looking in my direction at all. I stared at her clothing, hair, eyes, fingers, everything. She was dressed comfortably with jeans and a tank which showed off her midsection. Tennis shoes and a small backpack. The problem is I was trying to see lines, meaning my fucking brain calculated looking ‘through’ her clothing to what may have been inside, and therein lies the rub. Soon I began to feel as if I was invading her privacy (though she was standing on a public street and in a veritable crowd), and had to get the fuck out of there. We headed north and I only glimpsed her once during the next couple of hours, walking in the opposite direction. And there was more. I can’t say. The idea of me standing there staring at her is not so bad, I suppose. I can appreciate the sight and try to compute a few things, and in the end nothing comes of it and no harm was done. Jolene’s voice again. God damn it. Anyway, I saw plenty enough to cause me problems for a while, so perhaps feeling guilty about staring has been offset by the process inside me. I could tell there was something... I could see clues here and there which lent to the idea that what I saw could be classified as very unique and possibly similar in form to Ashley or a few others, albeit not as tall. Her hair alone was enough to send me flying off the handle and wishing to go home. At the outset of the day, I figured there would be problems considering the warm weather combined with such an event. I already knew. What I did not know was how my desperation continues to worsen and drive me out of my mind much of the time. The girl in question was a strike, for sure, yet I should not feel so tormented and lost after walking away. I should be able to continue the day and enjoy the festival without images of her stomach swirling in my head and causing me to miss some of the fucking booths. Believe me when I say that some of what I began to imagine cannot be written here. This morning? I no longer know how I feel about myself. The glaring positive is that at no time did her eyes meet mine. She did not look in my direction as far as I could tell, so that makes me feel a tiny bit better. Just because I wanted to eat the pants right off her little rear end doesn't mean the world is worse off due to the way I think. What takes place inside me is private. No one need be aware that I am so fucked up, least of all a person out there having a good time and unaware of the mass of unique beauty all over her. The worst part of all this should probably remain out of the writing. Just know that I don't feel very good about myself this morning, but at the same time there is anger building in the opposite direction... Those who caused me to turn out this way. And don't give me a blast of shit over choices, either. Formative years are just that; fucking FORMATIVE. My need for a specific and very loving type of connection or comfort has been born of years of pain and difficulty. I did not cause those to happen when I was young, and now you can view the result. I wanted to swallow that girl in one fucking piece and actually felt GENUINE PAIN upon walking away and knowing nothing could ever come of the situation. She is also related to the damaging dream, naturally. Why not, right? Just pile everything on top of everything else and package it. Then? Throw it at me and hit my head hard enough to disallow future thinking. As a result of the trouble this morning and everything which has taken place since the first dream earlier this year, the doorsteps shall heretofore remain entitling the entries until something (anything!) can be resolved or dealt with to my satisfaction. This is simply the first chapter. The situation inside me is apparently far worse than I had thought just one day ago. I really believe that. My weakened vision was all over that fucking street for three hours, and the only good thing to come from such an extended period is the fact that there were VERY few examples of beauty capable of drawing my attention. The one near the food booth was plenty. There was another one some time later I think, but I can’t talk about it. Trust me. You don’t want to know. Last night I had a few hours to myself – as evidenced by the small amount of writing I did while in the garage after dark – and really enjoyed the quiet. I ordered pizza and watched my show for a time before transitioning to the garage. I had been awaiting the neighbor to return from a dinner meeting because we were to talk a bit, but alas that did not pan out, so I closed everything down and returned here. Soon after? Sleep. The entire evening, much like right fucking now, my head could not push away thoughts of that girl and her smooth skin. I kept flip-flopping back and forth between the fourth dream and the girl at the festival. There were similarities, although I can say for sure most of them cannot be shared here. I believe the bare midriff was the clincher for a time. I wish I could talk about this, like fleshing it out to hopefully better understand the exact motivation for my thoughts (dreams). Without that outlet or someone off which to bounce thoughts, everything remains tightly wound inside me and causes nothing more than confusion and pain. The quiet last night was very nice, but honestly I think the better way to spend my evening would have been with dinner and the television, like usual. Anything with the ability to minimize the turmoil is always welcomed. I am having a hard time avoiding more detail but this is how things must be. Damn it. Today is Sunday, so at some point I’ll rise and take care of business. I will have the usual time to myself for a little while and that may be the bulk of the work. Afterward, I may sit and stare at the truck a while and try to plan my next move. I still have not mounted the primary drive because I am hesitant to drill holes in the main chassis plate without being completely certain of the location and any possible future alterations. Mark Rolston is on the screen in this episode. He is always fantastic and I’ve probably mentioned his acting ability in the past. I wish I could write to him. Whatever. Anyway, after the last few days, I’ve been feeling very destructive in response to all that anger combined with my cemented, powerless position in this mess. In order to deal with my wishes to burn everything to the ground and continue in life like a real grown-up type of person, I need to take the anger and leverage it into work around the house and garage. That is the only way I can survive this shit and perhaps come out the other side (if there even IS another side). The garbage can is never full regarding what we toss in an average week, and last time I was able to put parts of the disassembled chairs in it. I’ll continue that today and see what else can be tossed. I like empty space. Maybe I can create empty space inside my fucking head. I could see that her bra was ineffective in hiding the size and shape of her breasts. There you go. Shoot me in the face for feeling this way. Empty doorsteps. And don’t think I forgot about the backward strike, either. Nothing leaves my brain, ever. I am a tennis ball these days, one second on the end of the court surrounded by impossible dreams, and then the other end after seeing or hearing too much and then retreating and feeling like half of what I had hoped to be. The racket strikes me whenever I least expect it. I wish I had not seen her. I don’t need any more of this shit. The memory of her smile leads to all manner of thought processes, not the least of which is the idea of her posing while I measure and capture her with my camera, lines all over the place. The lines were in there. I knew they were present, yet her clothing precluded detail of any kind. It’s a feeling, really, partially driven by her motions and all that I was actually able to see. Dreams ensued... Poses; conversation; appreciation. I felt a dire need to TELL her what she meant to my decades-long obsession and search, and then experience the reaction. I have no fucking idea how something like that would progress. I will probably never know, nor will she know of the unbelievable and otherworldly draw she carried every second of every day. Maybe I should not have mentioned the bra. Fuck, I don’t know anymore. I feel like shit for so many reasons that I can’t find all the words. Tormented without end. Doorsteps, forever bright. Pain, forever present. I am left to wonder how much longer I can live this way. The images no longer appear to align with my intentions here. I guess this can be a single entry rather than a series. I have much to say and even more that must be left out. I feel bad all the time these days. 0842. Last cup of coffee. The show has been disregarded. Not even Jolene can lift my spirits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at some festival or other event – like the car shows across the bay, perhaps – in which I end up following behind a woman with an incredible form, only to see her turn and reveal a face that should be avoided at all costs. It’s a feeling, I suppose, due to some expression or other detail that tells me she may be troubling. I’m sure that happens for many people due to the idea that we do not ‘know’ anyone until after ‘seeing’ them, meaning a lot of connections could have been circumvented due to vanity. I don’t know for sure, though. As I said, it’s just a feeling. The girl yesterday appeared kind and caring, considerate and sweet. It was her face.... Her eyes. Just like what Andrea told me she saw in my eyes before we ever spoke, I could tell that girl was a very nice person, and such an observation makes me feel even worse. Above all things – beauty, form, clothing, hair, or whatever – she is a person. Not an object, just a person. A human being living her life however she sees fit. And over there not fifteen feet away stood me, staring and yearning. I feel horrible. Once more... She did not see me, and as such remains unaffected by all the fucked up shit in my head, thank Christ. I no longer feel like a person. I feel as a product of what others have caused within me. The words regarding the girl yesterday are also products of my past. This will happen again. I don’t know where to go from here. Not the day, in general. I don’t have a fucking clue. More visions like yesterday are going to take place. That cannot be argued unless I literally remain behind closed doors for all time. But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities that extend beyond my little world. Shopping and such. I think I’m going to move this machine into the garage right now and kill the television. Stand by. Ok, I am set up on the bench. The truck has been relegated to the table behind me. The fish continue to grow. All is quiet except the fucking crows and their vocalizations. I dumped the remaining coffee because I need nothing more than water for the next couple of hours. Good stuff. Why the lines? Was it Marci? Or maybe the beginning image of Mercedes? That was a huge turning point, and could have influenced me deeply. The position of her waist and thighs caught me off-guard so terribly that she could have been the first. And yes, I’ve asked that question several times throughout the site since early fifteen (and Mercedes was there), but I cannot avoid questioning every fucking time I see something which moves me to the point of painful tears. I can’t fucking help it anymore. This is not a fetish. Not by strict definition, anyway, and I will argue that point until I’m dead. I don’t see it as such because no other part of my life has been affected as deeply. We can see the tremendous force wielded upon me by the girl yesterday. This entry was almost steered away completely from the title. That is what I would define as ‘power’. It supports the titles bearing the same word and all were referring to the obsession in one way or another. I am worse off now than in years due to the simple fact that I am alone in this... No one is listening, partially by choice and somewhat as a result of trust. The lines have driven me insane. I am going to try to avoid the connection between the lines and desire. That may be too much right now. My condition has weakened dramatically. I need help. I guess I’ll begin the routine. Ah, shit. A woman just walked by pushing a stroller. LINES again. Fuck me. Maybe she'd let me... 1133. Nothing has left my head, but at least I have the next few hours to myself. I can contemplate and drink beer out here in the garage. The stroller woman remains in my brain, just like the girl yesterday. Inside me. I can’t fucking let any of them go because my level of desperation is at an all-time high. Believe it. I am crazy, broken, worried, yet there is nothing in the fucking world I can do about any of it. I just keep writing. Part of the routine is finished, as is some of the garbage work. I noticed that the little motherfuckers created an interstate highway from part of the front yard to the green can, so I squashed them. The perimeter is secure, but outside I generally won’t waste the treatment on areas further from the foundation. Today is an exception because they are creatures of opportunity. By close of business there will be nothing crawling within twenty feet of the cans. I tend to hit even the smallest and most malleable target with the biggest hammer I can find. I have no reason to be gentle anymore. The anger is overwhelming. I can't fucking wait to cut up the chair frames. Miter saw, beer, loud music... Ah, the action will be good for my pissy fucking mood. I wish someone would darken my doorstep. Loneliness is painful, difficult, and something of which I have had more than enough. Desperation? Worse. I have been weakened more than I would care to admit, and infinitely more than I could have imagined in a century. I can’t even go into the tears that flowed a while ago due to one actor’s short performance on my two televisions. God help me. On other occasions I would state that I can’t get the image of her out of my head. Today, on the other hand, the statement is different. I can’t get the way I felt to leave me. Everything I’ve said in this entry all adds up to the fact that I am becoming unfit to be within society. Nothing changes out there, but I’ve changed a lot in the last half year or less, and the results are all bad. The only positive right now is the fact that I am not going to leave the house. Yes, there will be the occasional pedestrian cruising along my street – like the woman with the stroller – and I’ll fall down accordingly, however the fact remains that I am much better off removing myself from the possibility of seeing something along the ‘lines’ of yesterday’s fucking failure. Monday morning, 0715 with coffee and the extended family. The way I feel these days should be outlawed. Ah hell, I don’t know. I am all screwed up. There is just too much going on inside lately. And there is Jolene, all cold and gorgeous. Super cute. Anyway, today is the first Monday in months in which I will not be alone all day, only a part. Most of my time will be occupied, though. Between this machine, the truck progress and my usual housework, I may as well be alone. And on the inside I am completely alone. More than ever in my life. The work and projects are still helping me get out of bed in the morning, so I suppose today will be much like yesterday. Right now I am feeling the loss more acutely than in the past. Work may or may not help to remove that feeling. I just don’t know. If my doorstep would darken... The series we’ve been watching during the evenings is coming to an end, meaning that girl will no longer be plaguing me. Last night was a tough one, for sure. She looked so beautiful and stirring, and for whatever reason – possibly some fucking cosmic alignment – the producers saw fit to darken her gorgeous, flowing hair to nearly black. Yep, that is a problem. Now she has an additional feature that has helped to propel her beauty into the exosphere. I didn’t want the change, but my love for dark hair will not cease. The girl is fucking amazing and in my head on and off all day, every day. The way she relates to the dreams is uncanny sometimes. I wish I could say more, and I also wish I could... Yesterday I aligned one axle’s steering mechanics and reworked the wire ropes through some spacers at each end. The system behaved much more smoothly, so I reworked the opposite wire rope ends. Now when the steering operates from the transmitter it is quieter, as if the motor is not working quite as hard to swing everything from lock to lock. Today I will pull the rear steering hubs and go through the same alignment. I still have not mounted the primary drive. It remains floating on and off the chassis plate because I don’t like the way it looks, nor do I want to do any fabrication on the plate unless it is absolutely necessary. I would prefer to side-mount the drive system to the right frame rail and may work toward that end today. I also have the new mosfet switch that I hope can control the fluorescent lighting under the main PC board, effectively replacing my original idea of individual discrete LEDs all over the frame rails. I need to break out the prototyping system and build a circuit to see if the power and ground ideas are feasible, plus I’ll learn what the system draws. Thankfully, the mounting of the tubes and power module will be via foam tape, so nothing permanent needs to be done. If the lights don’t look good, everything can be removed without issue. The hurdle will be in finding a suitable location for the switch. At least I have plenty of time these days. I am glad we didn’t do the typical two days at the festival. There is little chance that same girl would have been there the second day, yet something else would have come along to fuck over my head. I already know that. I mean, there is always a vision somewhere, be it along the lines of the obsession or some reference to the past. Visiting a second time only would have worsened how I feel and I really don’t need it. Some of my thinking is very critical to the way I view myself. Saturday represented a drop in my value. Sunday likely would have gone even further down. I can’t completely spell it out, either. The girl has been mentioned and partially described. That will have to be good enough. Well, I will say that since the first damaging dream, my thinking process has been altered. There are categories, and the girl at the festival was in the opposite section of my brain from the dream. That is it. I can still see her with the French fries. Her navel. Long, black hair. Nails. Lips. I am going down a slippery slope here. I was grabbing a napkin and excused myself. And then I glanced at her face and desperately needed to... 0754. The show is losing my interest. I may turn it off and move to the garage like yesterday. Maybe that yoga-clad rear end will waddle by again so I can fall down and feel more alone just like every other occasion. Splendid thought, don’t you think? There is something else I could do after refilling the coffee, but very little that comes to mind these days is what the average person would consider ‘normal’. My head has deviated from the typical path of living to a great degree, and I can honestly say that I have never thought in such a fashion. I mean that. This is the year of the acute feelings combined with the chronic obsession, the former being my Achilles’ heel. I never expected this and my feelings have changed. I will also say that unlike when I was younger, the emotions driven by dreams have not faded. They have done the reverse. As I sit here right now, I can see each dream clearly and my heart becomes involved at each recollection. This is not good. Oh, God, Jolene’s fucking form again. All the way across the room and cramming my head full of numbers that I will never know. I need to wrap myself in her lines like a blanket. Nothing has left my head, from the past bliss in the arms of more than one woman, to the peaking of the obsession and my realization that I’ve become more desperate than ever, and on to the newest set of problems made possible by one simple dream some months ago. The ‘Shilo’ condition is at full power right now. There is also a crossover taking place between every single difficulty through which I live each day. The present is much worse than I could have imagined, and that is pretty telling considering how buried I was just two years ago. And now Laura Interval is gracing the screen, all five-nine and with one of those faces that cannot be easily described. Upon seeing her, I immediately need to be right in the middle of... Anyway, all this shit is dragging me down and making the enjoyments that much harder to embrace and appreciate. I am ever-falling into a hole that cannot be defined. I just keep typing and going through the motions every day, and I am still searching for reasons. My future appears grayer than the sky this morning. There she is again. Unreal. I wonder if she would let me... 0856. I am tired of this effort but don’t know what else to do. No one is listening, I have more turmoil inside than ever before, and I need help more badly right now than I did even during eleven. Oh, and that other period... The mandated counseling during late zero-three when I was hospitalized not long after being torn from the arms of the doll herself. I can’t seek anything due to fear on more than one level. The only path right now is to alter nothing. My housework, the truck, and the shows. This is becoming the thinnest, most pathetic type of living imaginable. And don’t give me shit about how difficult others may have it. I can’t do much about them because I have to look out for number one as a priority. If I was happy and healthy, I’d be helping others. Shut up. Besides, making comparisons is not good. Unrealistic daydreaming is not going to help anything. The situation is stagnant. Those early morning visions back when I was waiting to go to work have jaded me in the extreme. All the way back to the Midwest when I sat on the couch in the heat with fans humming and the tennis championships on the television, I can recall being so desperate to escape the mundane and be in the fold of those much more fortunate. I could picture it. Well, many years later I forced the issue and created my own blissful conditions. Unfortunately, they were nothing more than deluded, temporary circumstances which always resulted in the same dire need to go away permanently, and I am not speaking of a positive solution. More than one of those trips was intended to be one-way. I returned after each, further down and more desperate than at the outset. I just could not muster the courage required to remain away. All I did was cause more damage. This morning I am in a similar mindset due to what has taken place and affected me this year, yet still... I can’t fucking DO ANYTHING. I am going to try to focus upon the positives of being here, an idea I’ve had before, and one which always seems to find derailment when I least expect it. For years I wished to be free of that difficult, downtrodden work situation, and here I am without the need to work, plenty of time for whatever I wish to do, but in the end I am no better off for the change. I still sit here and daydream. Most of it is very bad. 0932 and I need to move away from this soon and begin some chores. The show will follow, and then at some point the third season will begin and I’ll fall all over myself gushing about Jolene again. I can’t help it. I am cornered, and the doorstep is bright. Nothing is going to happen. No one will approach the door. There will be no true understanding. There will be no one listening. I will continue to dream and wallow in a vat of turmoil. I will see things which torment me endlessly. I will sit here and write about all of it. This is all I have left in the world. 1043 and I have fallen down again. This is nearly completely debilitating. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Feeling this way is going to kill me in no uncertain terms. Just a matter of fucking time. I am close to flipping the fuck out for the umpteenth time. I finished part of the routine and decided to sit with my cocktail and this shit for a while before continuing. The kitchen will not take very long. When it is finished, I’ll probably move to the garage and work on the electronics experiment. I can only hope being out there busy with something can help. The fifth show is still playing, but my attention is elsewhere. It is in a pair of pants, if you must know the truth. Pick one. They are all lined up inside my brain. I don’t understand how I became so controlled by the visions, but at the same time I haven’t really lifted a finger to help myself deal with everything. More dreams, more writing, more thoughts of the past. Nothing is good right now. Maybe the sun will appear at some point and warm the garage enough for me to be comfortable in my attempts to solve truck problems. Maybe. I don’t expect anything good in my life. I expect more disappointment and disillusionment. I have been in the bliss. I have been there. Now I am here. Blissless. Is that a word? Jolene’s lips are a universe in and of themselves. Oh, God... Watching her walk through sickbay. I am insane for her right now. All I desire is a few minutes of... Fucking hell is she ever amazing to see. The Goddamned document cloud is losing and regaining its connection. I am now relegated to writing into a common note, which I don't enjoy. This machine is very reliable, albeit also very old. The cloud allows me to type without worry of losing information. Perhaps the gateway needs to be rebooted. That usually clears any errors within minutes. The funny thing is that whenever I transfer information from the cloud to the local web form, I will immediately back it up to the server so nothing can be lost. Call me paranoid, but aside from the fucking truck, this is the only part of my life about which I still give half a shit. Go ahead and laugh. I would, but I'm in the middle of a very bad time and nothing is funny anymore. There was her name again. I blew a kiss like always. I love her. I LOVE her, for crying out loud. Jolene is one of two fictional characters over which I fantasize several times during a given hour. I am a crazy person. There is a massive difference between the two, though. Jamie is a different type of feeling. As much as I want to hold and be held by her, the truth is Jolene is on the other side of a thin line. I want to live the rest of my life inside her clothing. There you go... Another opportunity to laugh at me. I don't blame you. And back to the cloud. Her face again. Eyebrows up, eyes looking absolutely huge, and her expression leveraging my brain into needing very badly to... I can’t take much more of this shit. At least I’m a raging alcoholic. That helps. Others don't seem to understand. Well, to their credit, they are unable to 'know' me because I am more closed off than a fucking Egyptian cemetery. I am considering watching Battlestar Galactica again. No, not the original. The newer series which aired beginning in zero-four. Part of that idea is driven by my desire to see Tricia and her five-ten-plus fucking unreal frame. I can’t deny that. Most of it, though, is due to the series being absolutely fantastic and one of the most highly-rated science fiction programs in history. One of the characters scares the shit out of me, however. She is the one reason to avoid watching. I’ve seen it, so that does ease the apprehension a bit. Trip is my favorite character within this series. You’d think my choice would be Jolene, but my appreciation for her is vastly different. Would you like me to go into detail? Her lines? Her sex? My tongue? I didn’t think so. 1600 hours. Jolene is wearing blue. Jesus. I’d like to... I worked on the electronics for a little while and found a way to power the fluorescent tubes from the new mosfet. I’ll have to fabricate some sort of mount for the thing since it was never included in the original design. I was not out there very long, though. My inspiration and ambition are waning today due to the steamroller in my head. This is not a good day by any means. The morning seemed fine, but later? Not the ideal mental situation. The fifth show is still on. Third season, meaning Jolene’s hair and apparel have been updated beautifully. This is the point when I first began to feel deeply for her. My dreams are ash. I am so unhappy these days that I can’t recall ever being in such a negative circumstance. Everything I need is gone or has otherwise been torn away. No one understands. No one is listening. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. What? The enjoyments? Waning, still. Jolene is in all orange now. 0711 on Tuesday morning after a miserable Monday. One positive is that I turned down the idea of working for a few days. I can’t be out there in the force with my head so fucked up. Yesterday I couldn’t push any of the difficulty far enough away to really concentrate on the mosfet switch. I gave up and did not know what to do. Those few items I continue to mention have taken over my psyche. Something bad is going to happen. I suppose I’ll just sit here and go over the same subjects. I have coffee and the fifth show again. I also have an appointment to attend this afternoon. In a couple of hours I’ll care for the routine and then move to the garage to see if I can figure out a way to mount the switch. I would also like to realign the steering hubs on one axle. Eventually, I’ll get to the primary drive again. Yesterday I discovered a nice piece of aluminum in my toolbox which may work well for the mount. I was seconds from falling further yesterday afternoon. Looking back this morning, I still can’t believe I took such a path, although I should not be terribly surprised, honestly. My feelings become pretty fucking dire and such a process can grow inside me quickly. Jolene is wearing light blue. Her hair is so lovely. Anyway, I managed to get the fuck out of there and alter my thinking before the situation became disastrous. I then figured the garage might be the only way of getting through the rest of the day intact. I don’t see possibilities on the horizon, unfortunately, meaning I’ll be hit in the face again very soon. I will say straight out that between the first period in which I began to feel ‘alone’ and the ensuing years, I feel much more strongly than I did less than a half decade back. All of it came crashing down on my head yesterday and I nearly faltered very badly. I can’t go running and screaming into the fucking street, so everything remains bottled up under strong compression. This state is unhealthy and very dangerous. My stress level has risen, as has my need to be understood. Combined, those sum to me seeing only two paths in life; one to which I have already been routed, the other being death. As of yet, these daily situations which arise have not had the power to send me into the ground. There are no guarantees. This will happen again and again. To be honest, I am expecting today to be a complete disaster. It is just a matter of time. The fall is coming, and I don’t mean leaves. Jolene is wearing those thin, blue pajamas. The damaging dreams have not returned since the fourth some time ago. The show last night gave me a wonderful view of the girl about whom I continue to obsess, so I am surprised the bad things did not creep into my sleep time. My doorstep needs some fucking help, and one of those two girls could cast a shadow. But they wouldn’t and will not. Read that again. Nothing good will ever come along for me. Nothing. They do not know me and never will. My head manufactured all this shit due to being very out of balance, desperate, and lonely. I doubt I am the only person in the world yearning for understanding. No dreams lately means I am more relaxed when hitting the sheets at night. I have no doubt that another will come along at some point just when I least expect it, and the visions and feelings will probably leave me wrecked again. Something will happen during one of my days and cause my head to retain some errant image and then run with it later just because it can. The girl on the show is in the same category as the ‘damage’, much like my weakened eyes drinking in the one at the festival last Saturday. Same fucking category. The things I imagined should not be placed within this content. I am all fucked up, but I still have a bit of respectful comportment left. A little bit, really. I can stand there and make nice, be very pleasant to other people even in the presence of dramatic, striking beauty, and generally what happens is I turn immediately after the exchange and exhale as much pain as I am able. If I have to turn again, so be it. My ability to maintain composure in society should have won awards. Later? When I am alone once again? Well... You have read some of it. Jolene in orange again. The feelings I keep inside tend to come to me at night and then have me at their mercy the following morning after some wondrous yet impossible situation plays out in fiction. Twice the affection, double the fall. And here I sit, completely fucked over, only this time without the push of a dream. I rarely am the train anymore. Much of the last few years, I’ve either been in control of the locomotive or a passenger. I used to ‘be’ the train most of the time, guiding and learning. These days, and considering how desperate I’ve become with regard to the doorsteps, I have little control over anything, as if I have already given up. God damn do I ever love her controlled voice sometimes. Jesus. Anyway, today is one of those in which the train is not under my direct control. Circumstances took the knobs and levers from my hands and have left me at their mercy. So far, this is not a good day. And I overheard something which brought something else to mind – a ‘thing’ far more enticing and stirring than anything else – and I can’t say what it was. How is that for a statement? This is another example of how the train can drive me. The rails have been crafted and directed by events beyond my grip and people out to hurt me. And then I end up like this morning and stare at the front door. On the other side is the step. It is well-lit right now. The way I’ve felt since the first damaging dream some months ago is much like when I sat at the bar in zero-three – mere days or weeks after leaving Ashley’s arms and returning to my home – and was often asked if I was ok. My response was always the same: ‘I’ve been waiting ten years for the phone to ring’. The darkened doorsteps are about as likely as the ring. Jolene? All in white now. Picture it. Oops... That was the result of lighting. She’s wearing the blue uniform and trying to fight off some insane, zombie Vulcans. God bless her pointed ears. Anyway, this line of thinking came about as I refilled my coffee because I felt much the same back then. Little did I know that nearly two decades later I would be suffering through the worst part of my life. Had I known, the pyramid-slide would likely have taken place and removed possibilities. The thirtieth floor is pretty far up the side of that hotel, and snobby me had to be way above the ‘riff raff’. I contemplated my living situation and feelings at several bars while there, plus the same one near home upon my return. I was waiting for something. Right now I am again waiting for something, only I’m on the sofa rather than out there among society. I am all over the place again, but I will say that the sight and sound of Jolene’s character up there are not helping. I can’t fucking concentrate half the time due to dreaming about being all tangled up with her. Tangled. Wrapped, much like the others. So... Why don’t I turn off the show and focus here? Because I fucking NEED her up there like I need oxygen. My weakness will not allow me to avoid anything dreamy, and I am far too desperate to avoid any subject matter aligned with all of my dire fucking needs these days. Just like the pants. When something comes along, my eyes dart to it rather than allowing the brain to employ a self-protection function. I know beforehand that it will hurt me, but I look anyway because one need outweighs another. The opposite of the fear-war I mentioned some time ago. As for the concentration, this is about as good as it gets anymore. The other four series’ would not be pulling my eyes away from this screen as often, honestly. Jolene is pretty much the focus. Jamie is the same, but I have not felt like watching the gangsters lately. If I am going to sit here and splay my heart all down the fucking screen, something is going to be up there keeping me company. Bottom line. The writing may suffer and I don’t care. Every fucking entry seems the same, anyway. Other than the four dreams which began months ago, I don’t believe there has been anything ‘new’ here in years. The date and time changes. That is all. If my words waver all over the map, it means I’ve been affected by something missing from my existence and cannot deal with it very well. There you go. A messy entry with topic sentences chosen by a roll of the dice. 0833. Almost time for the last cup of coffee. Playing right now is one of the worst episodes of this series, although the aphorism still applies. Plus, there is the woman. You know. I have to do something different today. I’ve mentioned such an idea many times but have yet to change anything. Looking around doesn’t get it done. Maybe just a small step in some new direction can lead to more. I don’t know, though. The truck will take up some of my time, as will the typical housework. The other time often leads me to wonder if I am even capable of more. I guess I’m just feeling like I need to try. There are three girls in my head other than the one actor. Nothing can come of this, meaning at some point I will have to go outside the norm in order to maintain my sanity. I already know as much. The dreams will come along again, more visions will be placed before my eyes, and I’ll lose my way over and over for all time. I will fall all over myself trying to describe everything without saying a word. The work may be the only fucking road I can travel which does not lead to disaster. Jolene is wearing purple, damn it. Her face is a wonderland of superlatives, and my heart is following suit... Leaping. And then she left the mess hall and walked along the corridor with the center seam outlining each side of her rear end, effectively ruining this paragraph. Sometimes I want her so badly that the entire universe must take a back seat. This has to fade or my day is over before it begins. The purple and orange just fucking KILL ME. Anyway, I am going to do my damnedest to go outside the circle of my daily life today. I need it. The routine will be quick due to a simple dinner last night, and then I can look to another avenue of effort. The truck will be last, I believe. It is always there no matter what else may be taking place on a given day. There is plenty to do with the truck, both electronic and mechanical, so perhaps that is the way to go once my routine is finished. I’m already feeling as if my ambition to go outside the norm will wane very soon. I just don’t fucking care most of the time because whatever I may try will have zero effect upon the underlying issues. The best I can hope for is a temporary distraction from everything causing pain. Oh, and I should mention that while in the garage with the big door open, my head will occasionally scan the driveway and street for a miracle that can darken my doorstep. The odds of running my tongue all over Jolene are better than those of the previous thought. Nice, huh? The doorstep is bright. Linda is wearing a sundress. Her dark, flowing hair is dangling over the tanned skin of her bare back. Jesus. I am a crazy person. Nothing has the power to extricate the desire, not even working around the house or on the truck. Nothing. I have become a caricature of what I once was... A product whose sell-by date passed many years ago. Expectation or hope for the doorstep is more unrealistic than anything in existence. God damn that woman is gorgeous. Crazy person. Half-track mind. Hopeless. People throw around that last word as if it is a punchline, or some other way of expressing dissatisfaction in life due to things not going ‘their way’. I do not feel the same, however, and the word is used here because my wants and needs are so far beyond unrealistic that I have created my own fucking category. Believe it. I’ve mentioned before that the science fiction programming to which I always gravitate does not help. All things are possible in that universe. The shows have affected me and caused my issues to combine into one, giant sphere which cannot be broken down. I watch them over and over because I need to know that somewhere in the universe resides a place where happiness and fulfillment are real, be it fictional or otherwise. I don’t give a blue fuck in the wind if my perception is hurting me, either. I fucking need something, and in the grand scheme of the world, well... Those people are all I have. Jolene is once again wrapped in purple. She will never darken my doorstep. It’s possible that all of the ships have sailed and left me here alone. Marvelous. I need a fucking drink, bad. 0710. Wednesday. We are still in the third season. Jolene in orange. I had so many dreams this morning that I can’t even begin to recall the number of different subjects. The first took the cake, though. I was with someone I barely remember now and that fact hurts. We were special. Yes, I said that. We were isolated somehow, out and away from the thinking of others, and together on such a deep level that everything between us was understood. All of it was ripped away sometime during the early morning and left me broken and sad. From the doldrum and depression of my days all the way to an idyllic, beautiful relationship that I cannot adequately describe. And then it is gone. I guess the rest of the dreams no longer matter. I don’t know who she was but I miss her badly right now; enough that it hurts. And now there is Talas. Fuck. Everything appears worse today. I feel like I made it out of the shit only to be tossed right back in without a saving throw. The connection is key. Unreal, unlikely, and so stirring that I still have goosebumps. Today is going to be different. Fucking hell is that woman ever cute despite having blue skin. My doorstep darkened and we knew... We just knew. The world appeared different because of what we shared. We were where we needed to be. And gone. She is gone. Now I feel so empty and bereft of hope that I don’t know what to do other than to sit here and type. I wish I could know who that girl was. Unrecognizable. And now none of it matters. I miss her so much. Jolene switched to purple again. She was not the one in the dream. The longer I sit here – just over thirty minutes so far – the worse everything feels this morning. Yesterday I had a brilliant idea for solving several problems on the main board of the truck. Brilliant, if I do say so myself. In one fell swoop, I can expand one section, do away with something that should not have been there in the first place, and fix three connection debacles I’ve been wrestling with for the last few months. The entire idea popped into my head and continued to appear better and more effective as the day went by. Right now? All that ‘good’ has escaped. I miss the girl. She could have been... I am really going to have to concentrate later this morning if I am to accomplish anything. My mind cannot focus very well right now. I keep seeing our hands intertwined. I was not looking at lines. My eyes were on our hands. They laid right there on her tummy. The scenes in the dream are fading very quickly. Soon, she will be gone forever. Of all the fucking shit that could have been thrown at me or heat to burn me, this is the LAST FUCKING SITUATION I CAN HANDLE. It is nearly too much because my sensitivity has grown out of control in the last half decade. Out of fucking control. Believe it. All I wanted for a very long time was a darkened doorstep, and then I finally received such love. IN A DREAM. This is getting worse by the second. And my coffee does not taste very good. There was Talas again right on the heels of Jolene perched beautifully on the edge of the captain’s chair. Neither of them is the girl. I don’t know who she was. A dream girl. Doesn’t that sound fucking stupid? There you go. Stupid. I don’t care. Today is Wednesday and I have nowhere to go. Well, maybe the market for a few items. I will really have to push because my mood is worsening by the fucking second. There are WAY too many shots of Jolene walking toward the camera, damn it. The sights make me want to spend an hour inside... 0756. I feel so empty. Jolorange again. She was Jolurple prior to the final scene. New names just in case you thought I was doing alright. Jolene was not in the dream. I can still remember some of the one dream involving Jamie. We held hands, too. We were very close, I think perhaps close enough to be defined as love. Somehow I just knew how she felt without conversation, much like this latest fucking scrape of a dream. We both knew. There was nothing physical running through my head, and that is damned rare. Physical desire generally rules my dream states, but not this morning. Much like when I was walking with Jamie through the field, sitting with the girl and holding hands felt like where I belonged; where I needed to be in order to survive. Dependent, needy, and leaning on another person. Those three terms equate to unhealthy, unhealthy and unhealthy. But that is me... What I have become. The dream only reinforced my deviant sense of love. We sat there and knew everything we needed to know. And all this probably sounds like some fucking romance novel. Well, slice off my head and help both of us. This morning I went from the highest possible high to the pit of despair and disillusionment. I feel more alone right now than even when I typed the last set of superlatives. This is not good for me or anything I need to do today. The time is 0929 and I am completely lost in a haze of sadness. The doorsteps may as well exist in some alternate, parallel universe; one I can never visit. Jolurple was on the screen to add insult to injury. Splendid. I don’t know where this day will lead, but I am certain the destination is nowhere good. I have the routine, some truck work awaiting my attention, and plenty of other tasks which can be addressed, yet my heart is so shattered this morning that I don’t know if I can do ANYTHING other than sitting here trying to describe what is now the biggest loss in recent memory. The last of the coffee is next to me. Alcohol? Very soon. My condition has never felt more dire than it does at this very moment. I did not see her face, although the feeling was akin to being very close to the girl from the show we had been watching during the evenings. That series has concluded. Her face remains inside me, however. The girl in the dream meant everything to me in a matter of milliseconds. Microseconds? Nano? Pico? Femto? Atto? The process was very quick. Jolorange again. God damn shit fuck anyway, she is climbing my universal scale of beauty like an Olympic athlete. Ugh... Now she is wearing civilian clothing. Holy fucking forms, Batman. Sometimes I can’t believe what I am seeing, nor can I muster the words to get my feelings across. What was I saying? Ah, the dream girl. Remember ‘The Blown Gas and the Girl’? I may have built up that utopian image to the point of forcing my subconscious to create her in the dream. I have never felt worse in my life. I need her. Alas, she is another in a long line of impossibilities, much like the doorsteps ever darkening. Remember that I never feel as if I am having a tougher time than anyone else on Earth. I focus upon myself because that is all I know how to do. All of my time is spent either trying to understand myself or distract my head enough to be a grownup. This is very painful. 1106. Jamie and Jolene could not be more different with regard to my feelings. Well, they do have one thing in common. Neither will ever darken my doorstep. The fact is Jamie’s character is a person with whom I am completely in love and have been for years. There is no getting around it, so I can spell out my deep sense of loss without hesitation. She is an impossibility, whereas Jolene’s character is probably the most desirable in existence. Therein lies the massive gradient between the two; I love Jamie, and the draw is all related to love and understanding, but Jolene’s character is a person I love and wish to devour, in a gentle, loving way, of course. The physical draw of her face and form are unmatched in my history, and that includes Andrea, who may have had the most amazing body ever to grace my vision. The difference between Jamie and Jolene is pretty fucking stark when you think about it, the impact upon my emotional condition being equally stark due to the simple fact that they are both fictional and were portrayed many years ago. I live in a hole in the ground, and that hole is located in the past. I don’t even know why I brought this up. Well, aside from the visions of Jolene that have been on my mind since beginning this series for the tenth time, that is. My level of desperation dictates what takes place inside me when I see her. And speaking of which, she is Jolurple again. I am destroyed by everything. The doorsteps pay no mind to the trials piled upon individual shoulders, leaving me distressed like never before. The time is 1315 and I need to move into the garage. This is not going anywhere (like usual) and the more I sit in front of the IDE, the more I see a galactic waste of time. Nothing is served here. I just type. Bright doorsteps. Dark of mind. Both of her hands on my face told me she wanted to..." 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
Darkened Doorsteps Mature content No. 335 Published September 28th, 2022 1:23pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "'...finally I'll be able to play out the third dream, in reality.' The previous entry was completed three minutes ago. I am wrecked. I don’t know what the fuck to do now. The imagery has been enhanced to the point of driving me insane, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. The only path I now see is to carry on with my days as they have passed, drinking and wallowing within a sphere of desperation and depression, and finding comforts where I am able. This latest dream pretty much cemented how I feel (or, at least it has shown me that my brain is operating in a very bad way) and has served to reinforce the prior three dreams. I really didn't need so be in such a situation, dream or otherwise. In reality, the processes inside me are going to cause problems, mark my words. Yesterday morning was horrible. Today is already worse. Again, there is nothing I can do. Forcing the thoughts from my head is impossible. The time is 0900 straight up and I am completely lost. To be honest, I know from where some of this was born. Dreams are often extensions of situations which have played out in the real world, sometimes exaggerated and other times quite simple. Due to the condition of my head throughout the last several years, the most likely cause is a series of missing pieces. Yes, pieces of me. Some were never there while others disappeared shortly after the cave period. Whichever case is related to such desperation leading me to dream of her again, the fact is that this entire world which has come about in the last few months is scaring the shit out of me. As I said before, some is understandable and can even be considered natural, but the rest? No fucking way. Not in this life. I can believe it, of course, because of how my mind has operated in the past, but still... What the hell can I do to survive? I keep seeing her in my mind over and over and fucking over. The beauty, sweetness, flowing hair, everything. Over and over. Have I lost so much and been affected so deeply to have become something that scares even me? Prior to the first beautiful dream, I was already in bad fucking shape. Believe it. Every damned sight, strike, actor, or whatever, remained inside me and was processed as if tossed into a Cuisinart. I just kept thinking and picturing and dreaming, and then I would go back to that fucking paragraph which has caused so much turmoil, and then on to the story that I can't fucking publish only to find myself right back where I started and worse off than before any such considerations. I can rationalize quite a bit when you think of my damaging past, but this is different and I don't know what the fuck to do. I cannot stress that enough. Something has to give way at some point, but what? Help me, please. Just... Help me. Someone. I know everything of which I have dreamed for decades is in there. Everything, and most likely it is all fucking amazing beyond imagination (and I can imagine quite a bit, believe me). As badly as I need to see those lines, I also need to understand how this whole train wreck came about in the first place. Desperation? Have I become that bad? Well, try and recall the situation between myself and the race girl. Was there something present in that expression, or was I just reaching? Neither of those possibilities seems important when you consider the fact that I went on for a very long time without even knowing if my perception was true. See? I am crazier right now than I thought when I began to write about the race girl. I really am. There is no other way to put it. Yes, the past has led me to become desperate and saddened beyond words, but the fact remains that I stood before that girl and created a universe in less than a second, one in which the original visions of Shilo came true. Some sort of trouble inside me? No shit. There are many bad parts of this line of thinking, as well as many others I've railroaded in the past. The worst, however, is the possibility that NOTHING WILL EVER COME OF MY CONDITION. NOTHING. I'll remain sitting here trying to find what I need, only to continue falling on my face over and over. The manner in which I view other people will worsen, I will continue to suffer endlessly, and whenever I feel cornered, the reaction will escalate more and more until something -- or someone -- is destroyed. If you see another possibility, by all means... State it. Does my demeanor come across as worse than say, a year ago? You make the call. Jesus God, she is so beautiful, head to tiny toes. Soft, shining hair flowing in the breeze. Gorgeous, bouncing breasts attempting to escape the confines of clothing... Calling to me in dreams AND reality. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. She is something special. I don't know what to do. Help me, please. The time for housework and swilling alcohol has arrived. 1045 and I don't fucking care what is finished. My head is further sideways than ever. I can't seem to get her or the other shit out of my mind this morning. The truck has seen tons of progress lately, I have solved several issues to the point of operating the entire steering system from the transmitter, more parts and hardware are arriving today, yet everything is covered in darkness. Many times I've stated that I am not well. This is the most difficult morning in memory. Everything aside from desperation is now tertiary, including my beloved model sitting out there on the bench. Everything. I have no outlet whatsoever. No one is listening. I am spiraling down at breakneck speed right now. I keep seeing too much, remembering too much, and picturing too many impossibilities. I can't fucking handle this. Throughout the last four-plus decades, I have lived behind many doorsteps. None of them have ever been darkened like this. I am losing my fucking mind and cannot do anything about it. Worsening. Ever worsening. I did not ask for such dreams. Help me. I have a huge glass of depression to my right. Something very bad is going to happen soon. God damn this situation. I did not fucking ask for this shit. I just wanted to find some happiness and maybe a little satisfaction in life. I tried... I ran after whatever appeared to be a solution, even if only for a short time. Yes, I know some of it was bad, but what am I supposed to do after decades of pain? The trauma rears its ugly head every fucking day, so is what I did so bad? What about what has been inflicted upon me? Does it compare? Do you even give half a shit? I am to blame for many things in this life, difficulties piled upon others due to my reckless behavior. What about the early eighties? Was that shit my fault? I need help. I badly need to... Once again – thankfully – the alcohol has halted some of my thought processes. A negative has been employed in order to subdue a negative. Tell me I am wrong. Go for it. I want to shove all of her into my mouth. Shoot me. I have very few reasons to avoid anything bad right now. One foot in the ground. An end to thinking. No more thinking. No more dreaming. No more pain. As I sit here at this very moment, I swear to all that is holy... If the most basic of solutions does not present itself soon, I will be dead. That is a threat. 0656 on Wednesday after one of the worst Tuesdays in memory. There were dreams but I can’t recall the subject matter, thankfully. The previous dreamy strike was bad enough and found me waking with a head full of confusion. To make matters worse, everything became exacerbated yesterday while I was still trying to understand the kissing. Once again I saw way more than I should have given my penchant for a three-second gaze and then dwelling on it for years. This morning I am beginning to believe that no matter what distractions I may find interesting for a time, eventually nothing will have the power to alleviate the depression or satiate such deep desperation. Nothing. I awakened a little while ago with a dire need to understand. That is just not going to happen. I have never felt so alone, and yesterday was one of the worst examples of why. I don’t know how in the hell I am going to go out shopping later. I’d love to just... I have my coffee and the fourth show for a change. The third ended last night after it ran twice concurrently because I am a crazy person who needs familiarity for comfort. All of the words and scenes running through my head yesterday can never be revealed here or to another person. My imagination went from nearly completely ‘off’ to full power in a matter of three fucking seconds, and then I mentally fell down but had to hold the facade for others’ benefit. The entire shitaree was exhausting and I am still feeling the effects more than twelve hours later. I pictured all manner of things. Everything, in fact. This is the worst time of my life, and yesterday may have been the toughest day in memory. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Ah... Alicia is in this episode for a little bit. You wanna talk about a woman I’d love to swallow whole? Well, back then she was in her late twenties and so was I. Everything is so stupid now. Living in the past, watching television from the past, dreaming of impossible things, and sitting here day in and day out trying to find reasons to keep going. I’m tired. One thing for sure is I am going to be at the IDE for quite some time today. I need to exercise my fingers and say what can be said. I really don’t need a repeat of yesterday, although I know it will happen at some point because nothing good is on the horizon, just more pain and difficulty. I already know. Nothing surprises me anymore. I need her... I can see this day will be all uphill, from the housework to the shopping and on to helping my neighbor with a few items. I am happy to help, too. There are never bad feelings regarding that type of thing, but I do have to shove everything to the rear in order to socialize with people. That’s tough sometimes. Once the morning business is complete, I’ll try to head over the hill sooner rather than later in order to return at a decent time. Maybe the shopping will help to distract me, but I don’t know yet. I placed the order for the wine store already so I can pick it up without wandering the aisles. Walking around in there is asking for trouble. I also have to go next door to the pet store. Last time, I was in and out of both in less than half an hour. Hopefully today I can get through both even more quickly. I don’t need any trouble while shopping. If anything can get her image out of my head, the occasion will be immediately embraced to last as long as possible. I’m dying on the inside and would prefer to slow the process. I don’t want to end up loving her. 0824. Splash one set of morning business. I still have coffee and a head full of hell, so here I sit. None of the dreams or strikes will leave my head no matter what I try. Over and over those scenes play out and hurt me. There is nothing I can do about it, either. Nothing. I suppose I’ll sit here and bitch a while longer while the coffee remains. The incident which followed the first dream was plenty. I still don’t understand it, although I will say that a small part of this seems perfectly natural (I think). Well, ‘seems’, anyway. I am not trying to justify anything, there is a need to understand, that’s all. The last thing I would attempt is to explain myself. The idea is one more impossibility. The dreams that followed the first were concerning, but I have to say that the last outlined her desire very clearly and left me without sense. I still can’t seem to learn from where all this stemmed, unless my head is worse off than I had previously thought. That could be bad. Not a moment passes without visions of her swirling inside my mind and nearly derailing anything I may be doing at the time. I can’t stop seeing the face (or anything else for that matter). I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. I’ll keep going through the motions, I suppose. There may be no way of knowing the ‘why’ of the entire series of events. I need to keep that in mind. Not a good morning. If I could just... Damn. Painful morning. I desperately need to... 0916. I’m beginning to see shopping today as a good thing. I’ll be out for a while, through three stores, and then returning home to my devices with less time remaining on the clock as I head toward the evening. Sometimes being here all day is worse than whatever I might see traveling to other places. The situation in my head is much worse than those random incidents, anyway, and remaining here only leaves me with a massive amount of quiet. Quiet means daydreaming, and then I fall down hard. Like yesterday. Not good. Maybe all of the parts arriving between tomorrow and Monday will help me while home all day. Yesterday I sat in the garage and began work on the primary drive. Along with some mellow music in the background, the peaceful nature of the daytime hours helped me to concentrate and get a good head start on some brackets. Everything was fine until a while later when my brain was wrung out in the worst way, effectively forcing me into a mental fetal position whilst simultaneously reinforcing the most difficult facade in memory. Still, and up to the point when everything fell apart, the work helped me to remain calm and collected. In the end, all I have left is a pair of trying endeavors; this mess and the fucking truck. My life has been reduced from limitless options to only two. Marvelous. I included imagery of the lines for good reason. Well, not that good, actually, but they represent what my head goes through during several moments each day. Many of my waking moments are preoccupied by such imagery, and shortly after conjuring such provocative poses, I tend to relate every possible aspect to a subject I've not mentioned for some time... The 'Girl'. So here we are, months later, and one fucking detail of life I'd rather not think about is this: I believe I know who the Girl is. I am not well. God damn it all, anyway. Nothing is helping me. Maybe I deserve this. What do you think? Have I fucked up so much in life that my path has been permanently altered in order to send me into bad places all the time? This road has no turns. There were three – two were key – and now the fourth has come along and completely derailed everything, not to mention that I had to deal with a fucking trial beyond comprehension. I was out of my mind, yet my outward appearance was controlled and completely calm. No one can get a sense of anything or I’ll fucking lose it entirely, and in the space of mere seconds. I can’t believe I made it through that situation without flipping the fuck out. I really can’t. Roxann is so far beyond beautiful that I don’t have the ability to structure a description. Jesus. Anyway, the fact is I did make it out of that fucking difficult situation and ended up calming shortly thereafter. I still don’t know how I did it, but I suppose surviving should not be questioned too deeply. The sight and sound drove me in-fucking-sane for a while. Insane. I am soon going to be in a straitjacket, no doubt. This is fucking nuts. The darkened doorstep has occurred on very few occasions. The other one should not be mentioned due to the dramatic nature of the first glimpse. Too much, damn it. Way too fucking much for me to handle. At some point I need to care for the routine so I can head out the door afterward. I don’t want anything left when I return. I don’t want to fucking see anything, either. My wishes do not come true no matter how minuscule. The doorsteps shall remain clear for the time being. No more visions are necessary for slamming my head. I already have enough imagery saved up for several lifetimes. 1106. I have the routine finished and laundry going. As soon as my morning cocktail is gone, I’ll take off to go shopping. All morning I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of difficulty. Believe it. Are there varying degrees of impossibility? If so, the girl is at the extreme end of the spectrum. There is NO FUCKING WAY for me to embrace any of the ideas or dreams which reside in my brain. Reality is just not going to happen and I have to sell myself on the idea that what I want and need is, once again, impossible. The impossibility as it relates to the Passion could be clarified as improbable, but not completely impossible. The reason is money. Short of some insane windfall like a jackpot or other massive influx of cash, the watch is out of reach, but possible. I’ve often mused that if I won one of the big lottery caches, I could hire a personal assistant – something probably necessary in such a situation – and request that the person go on a quest around the world to find the watch and acquire one in mint condition. That type of quest would require a massive amount of resources. It could be accomplished, however. The current issue in my head as driven by the dreams is much further out, and that is to say that an even more unlikely set of circumstances would be necessary for anything to become reality. That is what I mean by ‘varying degrees’; the idea of my dreams coming true is so far-fetched that the watch actually seems attainable. Isn’t that just fucking peachy? And to put a finer point on this shit, I would give up the Passion for the dream. Yep. Believe it, baby. Nothing in the known universe can cause it to happen, but I still yearn for her more than anything else. And that brings on another damned issue. Since yesterday, and pushed by the latest dream of the girl, I’ve been picturing some wild adventure similar to the weeks Andrea and I spent together, but with the dream girl instead. I cannot go into any detail whatsoever, unfortunately. Nothing. This shit must remain locked away for all time or I’ll be crucified beyond comprehension. That much is certain, at least. I’ve been feeling so much for her that much of the worry over being in the wine or pet stores and seeing something compelling has been squashed. All I see right now is that sweet smile and bouncing chest, not to mention the idea of the lines. I can honestly say in no uncertain terms that the current situation in my mind is the WORST within which I’ve EVER been mired. The worst. Nothing, past or present, can compare. Dreams of her make the fucking reproach look like a cake walk. God damn, what I would give for five minutes of... This can’t last much longer or I will die. No more dreaming, no more impossibility. No more ‘her’, and that is the fucking key, people. She is the key. She is the end-all be-all. I did not see this coming early in the year. Had I known? I would be gone already. My reasons are shrinking at breakneck speed. This is bad. All the way around. No options abound. The girl has been found. Rest me in the ground. Please help me. Please. I've not felt this level of emotional turmoil before and I don't know how to handle it. I keep trying, but to no avail. I need some fucking HELP. My whiskey is almost gone. Soon I will venture into the world of others and do the shopping. Four stops today... Wine store, pet store, cigarette shop and market. I don’t give a flying fuck how many pairs of pants may end up waddling before my eyes. My mood is going downhill, fast. All I will do is talk to myself on the inside, words such as ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, or ‘damn’ will float around in my brain if I see anything. Maybe I’ll be reckless and toss out a compliment, most of which are dismissed these days. Upon returning, I plan to sit at the workbench and contemplate the aluminum mounts I began yesterday. They will support the primary drive, albeit temporarily. I need to work on the truck or I’ll lose myself again. I fucking need it like oxygen. 1324. I am back from the fucking shopping which yielded more than its share of sightings, most notably upon entering the pet store. Damn it. Not just the cashier – who also helped me with checkout, looking fucking adorable beyond belief – but the girl standing there with all the lines on display. And then the wine store... Another cashier from another planet. I did not say anything, however believe me when I say the compulsion was on its way to my vocal cords just prior to walking to my car. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I really don’t need that shit right now. Above, I said I don’t care what I may see. Well, everything reminded me of the dreams. I bypassed the market on my return trip due to needing the bathroom. To be honest, I was right down the street from my favorite Mexican restaurant and damned–near went there for lunch. I could have used the restroom and then headed on down to the market. Nope. My better judgment took over and I saved money by avoiding that place. Now I am home, lunch is in the oven, and I organized everything I bought. Unfortunately, more damage has occurred and I am worse off than before leaving the fucking house. Splendid. God damn did that girl in the wine store have numbers for the taking. I wanted to say something but my mind did not have the power. The most likely outcome of saying something is an expression of disapproval, honestly. It’s probably better to keep my trap shut all the time. The subject is almost impossible to glean. Fuck me. Unbelievable. I may not go to the market until tomorrow. I need to be alone right now. I hate this. Maybe if she would have... I suppose this afternoon I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday. The aluminum pays no mind whatsoever. The only rub is I’m out of beer. I didn’t want to carry so much shit from the big store, so I figured I’d grab some at the market. We already know where that idea went; right out the fucking window with my brainpower. I’m going to flip out soon. 0657, Thursday. Two days from the festival. Shit. The months are rolling under my trucks. I have coffee and the fifth show for a change. Sometimes I lose track of the stories until something jogs my memory. In this case it will be Jolene writhing on the floor in silk pajamas. Everything reminds me of dreams. I’d love to forget, but at this point too much has transpired for anything good to develop. All I see in the future is more dreaming and more pain. Each morning I feel so alone. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday, either. Some middle ground must be located where I can enjoy a bit of solace. Ah... There she is. Jesus fucking Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be allowed some free reign. Just a little while, please. Anyway, today will be the food shopping and then back to the garage for a continuation of my accomplishment of operating the primary drive from the transmitter. The work is not really very attractive, but I’ll get out there and tool around as much as I can. I’m quite sure I’ll see some errant breasts or pants at the store just to pile a little more shit on top of my head. And speaking of piles, one of the women of my dreams is right there in high definition with some of the most amazing lines I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on her facial features. I have to stop talking about her or I’m going to run screaming down the street. A few minutes of... And now there is Linda slip-sliding her way through the Jeffries tubes above the main corridors. You want to talk about a petite woman? Five-two, I think, yet there is nothing out of place on her. Jolene is another story entirely. Not only one of my favorite first names beginning with my favorite letter of the alphabet, but also my beloved cousin’s name (rest her beautiful soul). Sometimes I speak too much of Jolene. Can’t help it. I blow kisses at the television when her name appears during the opening theme. Yes, I said that. I have loved that woman for several years. 0803. The morning business is complete and I have many hours to myself, thank the maker. I may need to change to another show for fear of losing myself in her face again. She is amazing. Ugh... I did it again. This reminds me of watching Jamie up there. She is another level, and every time I see her face I try to recall just exactly when I became so enamored. Jolene is the same. I can’t remember when I went from simply watching the show to actually feeling something inside when I saw her. Some years ago, I guess. She is wearing a cardigan sweater right now. I’d give up the rest of my life to embrace her for half a minute. Believe it. I need help. This paragraph went astray. Holy fuck is she ever unique. Damn. If she would just... No dreams this morning, thankfully. There is enough damaging imagery and situational analysis going on inside me already. I’m sure something will happen to reinforce my feelings and fears. I don’t know when, but I’ve lost all faith in this issue leaving me alone. The doorstep will be colored in the future. I know it. The most recent dream pretty much solidified my feelings and pushed me to consider my current condition in a much more dire light. Even yesterday when asked about my day, I could not respond in the positive at all. I made it clear that what I’ve been going through is neither easy nor something I can discuss with another human being. The response was as expected. The truth is as much pain and confusion as the dreams have brought to my doorstep, I still want to see her in that world where we can embrace and there is no fear. I’ve been in a fucking dream world for years with my friends and family on the television, so why not a bit of romance, too? Am I so wrong? Well, don’t answer that because you do not have all the information for an informed response. Not even close. Let’s just leave it alone. The girl's hands continue to creep into my head. The kiss, too. Of all the ethereal, foggy or otherwise smoky memories from dreams, that one was very clear and basically showed me her feelings. I can’t comment further. Just know that I keep thinking about those images over and over. There is no way out of this right now. Help me deal with it, please. I haven’t begged yet. Wait until the end of the page. The gardeners are here. I have to make a note. Sometime during the next hour or so, I will head to the market and get that work out of the way. Upon returning, I’ll be happier than a pig in shit to put the show back on and pour myself a nice, fat cocktail. Eventually I’ll make it to the workbench. Right now I have a little coffee left, so everything has to wait. Plus, I really need to gawk at the goddess on the television for a while. Shoot me. I don’t care anymore. Jolene used to be like a sister to me, plus there is the whole cousin-name connection (I loved her dearly), but I have to be honest... I have never wanted to surf my way across Jolene's lips more than I do right now. Good God, she is so unique. And this is all driven by years of weakness and desperation. It would be nice if there was something I could do about the feelings. Alas, my lot in life has been solidified. So sad. Mark my fucking words, this is the beginning of the end. I just blew a kiss toward her name again because my little world includes an entire relationship with a fictional character that has not existed for more than seventeen years. I'm trying to avoid going into details that no one wants to read. The images are indicative of another detail, and that is the fact that Jolene shows off somewhat of a ‘bubble butt’ when she wears those sheer pajamas. I don’t know what goes on behind the scenes when the costuming is underway for production, but I have to say that the narrowness of her waist appears absolutely incredible against her hips, rear and chest. You want to talk about disparity? Fucking hell, anyway. Jolene should be in the encyclopedia of forms. Um... As the reference standard. The images here remind me of her body. Yes, I know they are provocative and some would see them as borderline vulgar. I understand that. Just try to imagine how bad my mind has become to include more than a thousand images of such detail throughout the course of many years. Think about that for a minute. How often do I gush about some actor, model, or errant vision in society? Every fucking essay, that’s how often. Every single entry for years. And I need to find more descriptors. ‘Desperation’ is not cutting the fucking mustard anymore. Many times I’ve placed the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’, within the writing. To be more accurate, 112 as of this sentence. The time is actually much worse than I’ve tried to describe. Believe it. I’ve been holding back so much information that sometimes I have to close this machine and cool off. I am getting to such a point right now. Jolene will be wearing alternating colored outfits beginning with the start of the third season. My words will be completely OUT OF FUCKING CONTROL AND I DON’T CARE. Live with it. I love her. And due to everything being so fucking far from my control, a thought comes to mind. There is a strong possibility that what I need most right now is not the girl wrapped around me in all her gorgeous splendor, but actually someone to tell me straight out exactly why I am still here. I honestly don't know. It sure as hell isn't the fucking pizza. Go ahead... Laugh it up, motherfucks. 0933. I have to get going with something other than this shit. I have never felt so depressed, alone, desperate or downright disillusioned in my life. 1148. My routine is finished and I visited the market for some staples and dinner items. Now I am all set and do not need to leave the house again today. The fifth show has kept me company because I am feeling a strong desire to lick Jolene’s ears. I will refrain from mentioning any other tongue-related destination. The driveline bushings arrived from Micro Logic, and aside from a fucking lousy finish on the major diameter, they should work better than those I fabricated some years ago. I simply cannot have the shafts wobbling. They must be concentric or the entire drive system is crap. At some point – most likely when I tire of this shit – I’ll move to the shop and get them ready to install. I need to drill and thread holes for set screws, sand the outside diameters a touch, and then they can be connected to the center differential and axles. The drive shafts have been sitting on the bench for a month now. I am also expecting some unions for the steering system which means some of that work can be finalized and tested. All this metalwork is fortuitous, meaning I must be busy out there for hours in order to extract the dream and fantasy imagery from my brain. I never expected to be so fucking desperate this many years into life. The whole subject is fucking pathetic, yet there are seemingly no other choices. I am stuck with brightly-lit doorsteps. Considering the newly-established realization that I am nothing more than a whelp/whore, I do not believe Jolene would respect me at all. Worship is bad, plain and simple, and I would constantly worship every fucking aspect of her as a human being. The fact is, mere days into being close (as if anything so wondrous could ever come to pass) would force her into the conclusion that I am very unhealthy and far from a balanced person. That is not good. Unfortunately, this is what I have become, and the condition is worsening with each passing day. I just wanted to point out that I can never be ‘good’ for anyone no matter the circumstances. What a lovely thought, all covered with roses and bunnies. Now she is in the decontamination chamber in tiny shorts and a tank. Worship. I will not go into detail. You can thank me later. The thoughts in my head when I see her skin are such that no one wants to hear them. Oh, God... How in the holy blue fuck did I get so bad? This is the worst position imaginable. For me, anyway. I have to stop talking about her. A few more thoughts that come to mind during this episode? Sure. this is the second to which I’ve been exposed that reinforce EVERY FUCKING THING that is wrong with me. I feel smaller, less significant, and on a much more dire path than during other episodes. Very small. Tiny. Inadequate. Broken. Without recourse. I will say straight out that if not for the truck, I would be much worse off right now. The project can be completed and it will represent positive traits and vast skill. Nothing else in my life can boast such terms. Nothing. I think it’s time to move to the garage because anger is building at an alarming rate right now, not to mention more physical desire for Jolene than in memory. Ears. I need to lick her fucking ears RIGHT NOW. And? My tongue would come out her nose. Don’t inquire of the entry point. Hmm... Maybe some detail, but you probably already knew what I was thinking. God damn does this ever hurt. Bye for now. 0652 on a gray Friday morning. Gray inside, gray outside. Jolene is wearing that white outfit again. I haven’t watched this series for some months due to sticking with the third and fourth shows for a long time. The beginning of the third season is when the design changes are apparent, but every now and then during seasons one and two she is in something bright. Right now, for example, that outfit leaves no stone unturned. All I need is a few minutes of... I mentioned that the bushings arrived yesterday, but had not performed a full inspection until now. Well, they are complete shit. They will not work. Due to the cost of having them manufactured, I went on a long tirade about a waste of money during the afternoon and evening but eventually shut it down because I was going in circles. The fact is the material does not appear to have been machined at all, just sanded perhaps. The center holes are not concentric with the outer diameters. The runout is several thousandths of an inch beyond even the parts I made by hand. The difference in outer diameter from one end to the other of EACH bushing is in excess of .010”. That may not sound like much, but from a machining standpoint it is a football field. There are so many issues with the parts that I don’t even know where to begin when I address the company. The parts will be sent back to them and I plan to make it clear that I really don’t give a fuck if they refund my money. They simply need to know that I am aware of the parts not actually having been machined. More likely they were fabricated by hand. I could have made them from less than a dollar’s worth of material in roughly half an hour if I had the machinery. They should have spun them off a CNC lathe more quickly and efficiently than I ever could. 0816 and the morning business is finished, leaving me here for the duration and whatever I wish to do today. There may be some laundry, but the dry cleaning will be going out this time. The suits really need to be properly cleaned and pressed whenever I have the opportunity. Well, one other project is my need to measure every aspect of the bushings because I just opened the drawing in their software and noticed that I may have had the specifications all fucked up in the first place. That means they are not at fault. If the parts are within spec, I can’t take issue with anyone other than myself due to leaving the accuracy too wide-open. Damn it. That’s all I needed... Something else to knock me down. Maybe some Andrea/Ashley combination will come to my door wearing yoga pants, booties and a tank top while soliciting something so I can completely lose my shit. She would help by... This is a terrible morning. My brain is so fucked up over everything which has transpired in the last few months, and then to add the bushing failure only presses me down further. I am so far from happy that I don’t even know how to say it. I am glad the RC switch and unions arrived in the mail yesterday afternoon because at least I have something to work with today. The bushings mean that despite all my accomplishments in getting the primary drive to operate from the transmitter, the axles cannot be connected at all. The parts I made are failures so I went with the machine shop, and now those won’t work either due to my not having paid proper attention to the specifications. I have the girl in my head, all those problems from earlier in the year, and the pain of knowing I am stuck in such a position for the foreseeable future. Moreover, the show last night added tidbits of visions when the little goddess was on the screen and I can’t get her face out of my brain. I need to go back in time to when... Impossible, just like everything else. I’d better accomplish something today. Right now I just don’t know how. 1003. The routine is finished. Fifth show and whiskey. Call the alcohol a crutch, I don’t care. I am many things, and the good parts seem to be only technical. Emotionally? Ruined. No one is going to darken my doorstep in the future no matter how dire my thinking may be. I fucking hate everything right now. Everything. I’ll be in the garage shortly to work on the steering. Hopefully that part of the system doesn’t shift its trajectory downward. I need more problems like I need Satan’s penis up my ass. Laugh it up. And sometimes I think Porthos is cuter than T’Pol. That little doggie is something else. I need to lick her ears, damn it. I need lots of things, actually. Something bad is going to happen. Today seems like a good day to throw things into the trash. I just feel like streamlining, and such a case generally comes to mind when everything has been heading downhill, just like yesterday and this morning. I have control over the atmosphere, truck and entertainment, yet the reality is that the control I truly need in order to survive is most decidedly absent from life. I’ve enjoyed that control on very few occasions, honestly. The last was so many years ago that the memories are beginning to fade. Hence all that shit about the machine two years ago. She was the end-all be-all of human existence, and the last bastion of my way of life. Impossible, but no less appealing. I still believe a machine is the only way. Ah... I hear my neighbor pulling up on the Italian bike. What a great exhaust note. Anyway, a big part of my feelings toward a mechanized woman stemmed from Ashley and the way she considered humanity and intersex relationships. I still can’t believe the way she spoke to me, nor can I reconcile the idea that she may have been the only individual to feel the way she did. I believe I became permanently scarred due to her words and demeanor toward me. Nothing like that will ever exist again. Not near me, anyway. I sit here day after miserable day dreaming of all things unlikely, much of it resulting from all that Ashley told me in the tiny space of a few days. The Raven was similar in her mindset, but to be honest she was different in enough ways to force the conclusion that we were doomed from the beginning. Well, allow me to rephrase. Every single reach I’ve made in searching for comfort resulted in doom, most likely at my hands or due to my tragic circumstances. The doorstep shall remain black for all time. Nothing good can be on the horizon because I am so fucking jaded by this point in time that even the simplest exchange will end in disaster. Believe it. And black in this context is not a color. It is a condition. I could live the rest of my life on her lips. Jolene is unbelievably gorgeous and her physical form unmatched in modern history. I have never gazed upon her equal. As I said before, she used to be like a sister in that I felt deeply in my heart but nothing further. Now? I am feeling a dire need to make her a fucking machine and a plaything forever. Tongue. Nose. Think about it. Remember the Sushi girl? Right up there and out the other side. Fucking kill me, I don’t care. I have little left to lose at this point. Everything causes pain, be it north or south, and there is not one damned thing I can do about any of it. Jesus fucking shit fuck damn hell, anyway. Time and circumstance have done this. Desperation is dangerous, although if I were to apply the solution, no one would have a snowball’s chance in hell of contradicting me. Such a thought may be the only real control I have or have ever had. Maybe that is more appealing than putting an end to the pain. I just don’t fucking know. I hope I didn't offend anyone's delicate sensibilities. Well, I honestly don't care. Go fuck yourself. I made this mess... It's mine. The truth is that the problems I have in life far outweigh anything coming from someone else, and I don't give a shit whether I hear words or gunfire. Lick THIS." 0654 on Saturday morning. Coffee, cats fed, gray sky. Jolene is also in gray. Oh, yesterday. Again I have to point out the failures and pitfalls rather than anything positive. The largest pitfall was a vision, of course, and I still see it, all plaid and soft. Cute. Breasts all over the fucking place. Fuck it, shoot me in the face for talking in such a way. I don’t care. The fact is my head cannot remove her during the day, only sometimes at night am I able to push back. Today we are going to the festival – none have been available since nineteen due to the pandemic – and there is generally a large contingent of strikes present on the street. During the last occasion three years ago, the biggest strike was a little too close to home for my comfort. I dealt with it because there was little choice in the matter (at the time). This year? I don’t know what to expect. So far, the only certainty is the fact that there is alcohol for sale up and down the festival. That should help me relax while walking. The other tidbit which makes me a little uncomfortable is being away from my little world for a few hours. Being out there among the mass makes it very difficult for me to retreat if I become agitated or hurt. I’d rather remain home all the time, but alas I am not the only one living in this house. My buddy came by yesterday to scope the patio and roof work. He has to consult an engineer soon and we will have another meeting so he can work up some numbers. I am really looking forward to seeing that old patio cover disappear and the back door replaced with something that works properly and keeps the weather out. I wish I hadn’t dreamed of her. Nothing good has come of it. Nothing. And I’ve been having a difficult time concentrating upon anything else since that first vision. Jolene’s calm demeanor makes me want to... Doorsteps of life, all bright and awaiting that most powerful of ideas. It will not come to pass, though. My dreams are far too unrealistic and generally tend to lean toward the impossible to actually have a chance of coming true. Not the dreams of the girl or any of that other shit, either. I am referring to ideas of the type of comfort which has eluded me for decades. Such ideas originally came about right around the time I left high school, took a few years off, and then re-emerged in the Midwest. They again came about while standing outside this house in front of five in the morning and waiting to go to work. That period lasted several years and I am glad it’s over. But the dream is still very strong. I remember dreaming of things that come in threes, soon after finding myself far away from everyone and safe. Now the only time I feel even slightly safe is while home. The outing later this morning will reinforce such a fact. The powerful idea has changed since those first daydreams in the eighties, most likely due to me changing as the years passed. The underlying idea, however, remains the same. The doorstep is bright. I cannot make it change. No power. I have no pull with anything in the world. These feelings are so bad that I don’t even know where to begin, nor can I simply describe the situation. Believe me when I say that I really NEED to talk about it. The problem is I fear the reaction – ANY reaction, to be honest. No one is listening anyway, so I don’t even know why I’ve gone over this so much. Maybe I’m more concerned than originally thought. The three dreams were pretty bad, but the fourth, more recent connection through dreaming had me all fucked up for a long while. I can’t stop thinking of how much I need her all wrapped around me like clothing. My doorstep is destined to remain lit, unfortunately. I already know such a fact and no one can convince me otherwise. Jolene’s voice can be very soothing at times. Anyway, what I am saying is similar to a few lines from a very old album... ‘Bottled in; a strong compression. My distortion shows obsession...’ There you go. Do you get it? Keep trying. Or maybe I’ll just go straight out with the idea. Everything is inside my head and sealed like a bottle. The obsession has driven me completely out of my mind and left my sense of reality so distorted that I barely recognize myself in the fucking mirror. Clear? I wish she could just hold me for a minute. Please. 0811. I have to begin thinking of preparations to go out. The festival is only ten minutes from here, but I have to be at least a little bit pleased with the way I look before leaving the house. My sunglasses should help keep others from seeing what I may be thinking at a given time. Most of the visits to this event have resulted in my feeling very sad while strolling the booths. Yes, I said ‘sad’. Much like being in what could be the most blissful situation within my dreams, the brain tries to imagine far too much for me to actually handle, and then I end up hit in the face with reality. There was her voice again. Good God, please just let me... 2023. Still Saturday. I am sitting in the lit empire with quiet music, my cocktail, and the day’s events running through my mind. Yes... My fucking mind. It has shifted a great distance from the time before that first damaging dream. Never in a million years could I have predicted this type of change, and I can say in no uncertain terms that I don’t like it. The festival today quickly reinforced said change, and as a result I did not move around the streets as I have in the past. Vast differences. A mere fifteen minutes after arriving and catching the tail end of the parade, I calculated that the issues related to being at such an event would be minimal. Well, that changed some time later. I noticed aspects of the atmosphere that went unnoticed for many years, perhaps more than a decade of visiting. Once the first issue arose, I knew there would be many others and began to steel myself against the possibility. Less than halfway through the three-hour stroll up and down the line, my head came apart and forced me to narrow my view of the landscape. Early this morning my entire mind was controlled by my feelings for Jolene’s character and all of the impossibilities related to how I feel about beauty. By mid-afternoon however, everything changed and I can no longer view myself as anything short of a heretic. A red-letter day, to be sure. Jolene is in the standard gray. Her eyes are speaking to me but I cannot reply because the moment is two decades old. I wish she would hold me, but alas the doorsteps can no longer darken. I just received a split-second glimpse of her lines. I have not accomplished much today. The reasons are the festival and then a visit to her parents’ for the installation of another awning. No big deal. In between those two, I decided to stop at the bar due to the traffic situation in town. Rather than grinding the trip home and then north again, I figured we could rest at the bar in the cool breeze. That turned out to be a very good decision after walking in the sun and suffering in three distinct ways. Yes, I said three. Anyway, a little while ago I ordered some dinner to be delivered and cleaned the kitchen while waiting. That means tomorrow’s routine will be much shorter than the typical day. Nice. I have the garbage business and whatever work can be done in the garage, and both will probably round out my Sunday without anything screwing with my head like today. 0657. Sunday. I have my usual coffee and the fifth series up there. This is good stuff. The first order of business after the parade was to find something to drink, and then eat. In the past, I’ve stumbled around for hours trying to find the ‘perfect’ or ‘ideal’ lunch item, only to push it too far and then end up senseless and tired. We had a snack right out of the gate yesterday. There was a large booth nearby with souvenir glasses and a variety of alcohol, across from which was another booth with some good stuff to eat. We grabbed both, and then I moved to the side of the second booth for some condiments and a place to stand and eat in the shade. And here we go, off to the races of me feeling very guilty due to staring at a girl for an extended period of time. We finished our snack and strolled around the corner to have a cigarette, and soon after I needed to return to the food booth for a napkin. There she was again. I immediately hoped that nothing else all day would rival the sight of her because otherwise I would not make it through the day on my feet. There is typically an entire orchestra of issues running through my brain and to add too much weight in a short period of time is very bad, and can even be dangerous. She was dangerous, believe it or not. I’m not joking. Jolene’s voice is so poetic, cool and controlled that overhearing just two words drives me insane. I had a solid three minutes of staring at that girl while she ate lunch. Staring. There was a mass of people in the street and a band beginning to play music on the south stage, meaning most eyes were all over the place and not looking in my direction at all. I stared at her clothing, hair, eyes, fingers, everything. She was dressed comfortably with jeans and a tank which showed off her midsection. Tennis shoes and a small backpack. The problem is I was trying to see lines, meaning my fucking brain calculated looking ‘through’ her clothing to what may have been inside, and therein lies the rub. Soon I began to feel as if I was invading her privacy (though she was standing on a public street and in a veritable crowd), and had to get the fuck out of there. We headed north and I only glimpsed her once during the next couple of hours, walking in the opposite direction. And there was more. I can’t say. The idea of me standing there staring at her is not so bad, I suppose. I can appreciate the sight and try to compute a few things, and in the end nothing comes of it and no harm was done. Jolene’s voice again. God damn it. Anyway, I saw plenty enough to cause me problems for a while, so perhaps feeling guilty about staring has been offset by the process inside me. I could tell there was something... I could see clues here and there which lent to the idea that what I saw could be classified as very unique and possibly similar in form to Ashley or a few others, albeit not as tall. Her hair alone was enough to send me flying off the handle and wishing to go home. At the outset of the day, I figured there would be problems considering the warm weather combined with such an event. I already knew. What I did not know was how my desperation continues to worsen and drive me out of my mind much of the time. The girl in question was a strike, for sure, yet I should not feel so tormented and lost after walking away. I should be able to continue the day and enjoy the festival without images of her stomach swirling in my head and causing me to miss some of the fucking booths. Believe me when I say that some of what I began to imagine cannot be written here. This morning? I no longer know how I feel about myself. The glaring positive is that at no time did her eyes meet mine. She did not look in my direction as far as I could tell, so that makes me feel a tiny bit better. Just because I wanted to eat the pants right off her little rear end doesn't mean the world is worse off due to the way I think. What takes place inside me is private. No one need be aware that I am so fucked up, least of all a person out there having a good time and unaware of the mass of unique beauty all over her. The worst part of all this should probably remain out of the writing. Just know that I don't feel very good about myself this morning, but at the same time there is anger building in the opposite direction... Those who caused me to turn out this way. And don't give me a blast of shit over choices, either. Formative years are just that; fucking FORMATIVE. My need for a specific and very loving type of connection or comfort has been born of years of pain and difficulty. I did not cause those to happen when I was young, and now you can view the result. I wanted to swallow that girl in one fucking piece and actually felt GENUINE PAIN upon walking away and knowing nothing could ever come of the situation. She is also related to the damaging dream, naturally. Why not, right? Just pile everything on top of everything else and package it. Then? Throw it at me and hit my head hard enough to disallow future thinking. As a result of the trouble this morning and everything which has taken place since the first dream earlier this year, the doorsteps shall heretofore remain entitling the entries until something (anything!) can be resolved or dealt with to my satisfaction. This is simply the first chapter. The situation inside me is apparently far worse than I had thought just one day ago. I really believe that. My weakened vision was all over that fucking street for three hours, and the only good thing to come from such an extended period is the fact that there were VERY few examples of beauty capable of drawing my attention. The one near the food booth was plenty. There was another one some time later I think, but I can’t talk about it. Trust me. You don’t want to know. Last night I had a few hours to myself – as evidenced by the small amount of writing I did while in the garage after dark – and really enjoyed the quiet. I ordered pizza and watched my show for a time before transitioning to the garage. I had been awaiting the neighbor to return from a dinner meeting because we were to talk a bit, but alas that did not pan out, so I closed everything down and returned here. Soon after? Sleep. The entire evening, much like right fucking now, my head could not push away thoughts of that girl and her smooth skin. I kept flip-flopping back and forth between the fourth dream and the girl at the festival. There were similarities, although I can say for sure most of them cannot be shared here. I believe the bare midriff was the clincher for a time. I wish I could talk about this, like fleshing it out to hopefully better understand the exact motivation for my thoughts (dreams). Without that outlet or someone off which to bounce thoughts, everything remains tightly wound inside me and causes nothing more than confusion and pain. The quiet last night was very nice, but honestly I think the better way to spend my evening would have been with dinner and the television, like usual. Anything with the ability to minimize the turmoil is always welcomed. I am having a hard time avoiding more detail but this is how things must be. Damn it. Today is Sunday, so at some point I’ll rise and take care of business. I will have the usual time to myself for a little while and that may be the bulk of the work. Afterward, I may sit and stare at the truck a while and try to plan my next move. I still have not mounted the primary drive because I am hesitant to drill holes in the main chassis plate without being completely certain of the location and any possible future alterations. Mark Rolston is on the screen in this episode. He is always fantastic and I’ve probably mentioned his acting ability in the past. I wish I could write to him. Whatever. Anyway, after the last few days, I’ve been feeling very destructive in response to all that anger combined with my cemented, powerless position in this mess. In order to deal with my wishes to burn everything to the ground and continue in life like a real grown-up type of person, I need to take the anger and leverage it into work around the house and garage. That is the only way I can survive this shit and perhaps come out the other side (if there even IS another side). The garbage can is never full regarding what we toss in an average week, and last time I was able to put parts of the disassembled chairs in it. I’ll continue that today and see what else can be tossed. I like empty space. Maybe I can create empty space inside my fucking head. I could see that her bra was ineffective in hiding the size and shape of her breasts. There you go. Shoot me in the face for feeling this way. Empty doorsteps. And don’t think I forgot about the backward strike, either. Nothing leaves my brain, ever. I am a tennis ball these days, one second on the end of the court surrounded by impossible dreams, and then the other end after seeing or hearing too much and then retreating and feeling like half of what I had hoped to be. The racket strikes me whenever I least expect it. I wish I had not seen her. I don’t need any more of this shit. The memory of her smile leads to all manner of thought processes, not the least of which is the idea of her posing while I measure and capture her with my camera, lines all over the place. The lines were in there. I knew they were present, yet her clothing precluded detail of any kind. It’s a feeling, really, partially driven by her motions and all that I was actually able to see. Dreams ensued... Poses; conversation; appreciation. I felt a dire need to TELL her what she meant to my decades-long obsession and search, and then experience the reaction. I have no fucking idea how something like that would progress. I will probably never know, nor will she know of the unbelievable and otherworldly draw she carried every second of every day. Maybe I should not have mentioned the bra. Fuck, I don’t know anymore. I feel like shit for so many reasons that I can’t find all the words. Tormented without end. Doorsteps, forever bright. Pain, forever present. I am left to wonder how much longer I can live this way. The images no longer appear to align with my intentions here. I guess this can be a single entry rather than a series. I have much to say and even more that must be left out. I feel bad all the time these days. 0842. Last cup of coffee. The show has been disregarded. Not even Jolene can lift my spirits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at some festival or other event – like the car shows across the bay, perhaps – in which I end up following behind a woman with an incredible form, only to see her turn and reveal a face that should be avoided at all costs. It’s a feeling, I suppose, due to some expression or other detail that tells me she may be troubling. I’m sure that happens for many people due to the idea that we do not ‘know’ anyone until after ‘seeing’ them, meaning a lot of connections could have been circumvented due to vanity. I don’t know for sure, though. As I said, it’s just a feeling. The girl yesterday appeared kind and caring, considerate and sweet. It was her face.... Her eyes. Just like what Andrea told me she saw in my eyes before we ever spoke, I could tell that girl was a very nice person, and such an observation makes me feel even worse. Above all things – beauty, form, clothing, hair, or whatever – she is a person. Not an object, just a person. A human being living her life however she sees fit. And over there not fifteen feet away stood me, staring and yearning. I feel horrible. Once more... She did not see me, and as such remains unaffected by all the fucked up shit in my head, thank Christ. I no longer feel like a person. I feel as a product of what others have caused within me. The words regarding the girl yesterday are also products of my past. This will happen again. I don’t know where to go from here. Not the day, in general. I don’t have a fucking clue. More visions like yesterday are going to take place. That cannot be argued unless I literally remain behind closed doors for all time. But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities that extend beyond my little world. Shopping and such. I think I’m going to move this machine into the garage right now and kill the television. Stand by. Ok, I am set up on the bench. The truck has been relegated to the table behind me. The fish continue to grow. All is quiet except the fucking crows and their vocalizations. I dumped the remaining coffee because I need nothing more than water for the next couple of hours. Good stuff. Why the lines? Was it Marci? Or maybe the beginning image of Mercedes? That was a huge turning point, and could have influenced me deeply. The position of her waist and thighs caught me off-guard so terribly that she could have been the first. And yes, I’ve asked that question several times throughout the site since early fifteen (and Mercedes was there), but I cannot avoid questioning every fucking time I see something which moves me to the point of painful tears. I can’t fucking help it anymore. This is not a fetish. Not by strict definition, anyway, and I will argue that point until I’m dead. I don’t see it as such because no other part of my life has been affected as deeply. We can see the tremendous force wielded upon me by the girl yesterday. This entry was almost steered away completely from the title. That is what I would define as ‘power’. It supports the titles bearing the same word and all were referring to the obsession in one way or another. I am worse off now than in years due to the simple fact that I am alone in this... No one is listening, partially by choice and somewhat as a result of trust. The lines have driven me insane. I am going to try to avoid the connection between the lines and desire. That may be too much right now. My condition has weakened dramatically. I need help. I guess I’ll begin the routine. Ah, shit. A woman just walked by pushing a stroller. LINES again. Fuck me. Maybe she'd let me... 1133. Nothing has left my head, but at least I have the next few hours to myself. I can contemplate and drink beer out here in the garage. The stroller woman remains in my brain, just like the girl yesterday. Inside me. I can’t fucking let any of them go because my level of desperation is at an all-time high. Believe it. I am crazy, broken, worried, yet there is nothing in the fucking world I can do about any of it. I just keep writing. Part of the routine is finished, as is some of the garbage work. I noticed that the little motherfuckers created an interstate highway from part of the front yard to the green can, so I squashed them. The perimeter is secure, but outside I generally won’t waste the treatment on areas further from the foundation. Today is an exception because they are creatures of opportunity. By close of business there will be nothing crawling within twenty feet of the cans. I tend to hit even the smallest and most malleable target with the biggest hammer I can find. I have no reason to be gentle anymore. The anger is overwhelming. I can't fucking wait to cut up the chair frames. Miter saw, beer, loud music... Ah, the action will be good for my pissy fucking mood. I wish someone would darken my doorstep. Loneliness is painful, difficult, and something of which I have had more than enough. Desperation? Worse. I have been weakened more than I would care to admit, and infinitely more than I could have imagined in a century. I can’t even go into the tears that flowed a while ago due to one actor’s short performance on my two televisions. God help me. On other occasions I would state that I can’t get the image of her out of my head. Today, on the other hand, the statement is different. I can’t get the way I felt to leave me. Everything I’ve said in this entry all adds up to the fact that I am becoming unfit to be within society. Nothing changes out there, but I’ve changed a lot in the last half year or less, and the results are all bad. The only positive right now is the fact that I am not going to leave the house. Yes, there will be the occasional pedestrian cruising along my street – like the woman with the stroller – and I’ll fall down accordingly, however the fact remains that I am much better off removing myself from the possibility of seeing something along the ‘lines’ of yesterday’s fucking failure. Monday morning, 0715 with coffee and the extended family. The way I feel these days should be outlawed. Ah hell, I don’t know. I am all screwed up. There is just too much going on inside lately. And there is Jolene, all cold and gorgeous. Super cute. Anyway, today is the first Monday in months in which I will not be alone all day, only a part. Most of my time will be occupied, though. Between this machine, the truck progress and my usual housework, I may as well be alone. And on the inside I am completely alone. More than ever in my life. The work and projects are still helping me get out of bed in the morning, so I suppose today will be much like yesterday. Right now I am feeling the loss more acutely than in the past. Work may or may not help to remove that feeling. I just don’t know. If my doorstep would darken... The series we’ve been watching during the evenings is coming to an end, meaning that girl will no longer be plaguing me. Last night was a tough one, for sure. She looked so beautiful and stirring, and for whatever reason – possibly some fucking cosmic alignment – the producers saw fit to darken her gorgeous, flowing hair to nearly black. Yep, that is a problem. Now she has an additional feature that has helped to propel her beauty into the exosphere. I didn’t want the change, but my love for dark hair will not cease. The girl is fucking amazing and in my head on and off all day, every day. The way she relates to the dreams is uncanny sometimes. I wish I could say more, and I also wish I could... Yesterday I aligned one axle’s steering mechanics and reworked the wire ropes through some spacers at each end. The system behaved much more smoothly, so I reworked the opposite wire rope ends. Now when the steering operates from the transmitter it is quieter, as if the motor is not working quite as hard to swing everything from lock to lock. Today I will pull the rear steering hubs and go through the same alignment. I still have not mounted the primary drive. It remains floating on and off the chassis plate because I don’t like the way it looks, nor do I want to do any fabrication on the plate unless it is absolutely necessary. I would prefer to side-mount the drive system to the right frame rail and may work toward that end today. I also have the new mosfet switch that I hope can control the fluorescent lighting under the main PC board, effectively replacing my original idea of individual discrete LEDs all over the frame rails. I need to break out the prototyping system and build a circuit to see if the power and ground ideas are feasible, plus I’ll learn what the system draws. Thankfully, the mounting of the tubes and power module will be via foam tape, so nothing permanent needs to be done. If the lights don’t look good, everything can be removed without issue. The hurdle will be in finding a suitable location for the switch. At least I have plenty of time these days. I am glad we didn’t do the typical two days at the festival. There is little chance that same girl would have been there the second day, yet something else would have come along to fuck over my head. I already know that. I mean, there is always a vision somewhere, be it along the lines of the obsession or some reference to the past. Visiting a second time only would have worsened how I feel and I really don’t need it. Some of my thinking is very critical to the way I view myself. Saturday represented a drop in my value. Sunday likely would have gone even further down. I can’t completely spell it out, either. The girl has been mentioned and partially described. That will have to be good enough. Well, I will say that since the first damaging dream, my thinking process has been altered. There are categories, and the girl at the festival was in the opposite section of my brain from the dream. That is it. I can still see her with the French fries. Her navel. Long, black hair. Nails. Lips. I am going down a slippery slope here. I was grabbing a napkin and excused myself. And then I glanced at her face and desperately needed to... 0754. The show is losing my interest. I may turn it off and move to the garage like yesterday. Maybe that yoga-clad rear end will waddle by again so I can fall down and feel more alone just like every other occasion. Splendid thought, don’t you think? There is something else I could do after refilling the coffee, but very little that comes to mind these days is what the average person would consider ‘normal’. My head has deviated from the typical path of living to a great degree, and I can honestly say that I have never thought in such a fashion. I mean that. This is the year of the acute feelings combined with the chronic obsession, the former being my Achilles’ heel. I never expected this and my feelings have changed. I will also say that unlike when I was younger, the emotions driven by dreams have not faded. They have done the reverse. As I sit here right now, I can see each dream clearly and my heart becomes involved at each recollection. This is not good. Oh, God, Jolene’s fucking form again. All the way across the room and cramming my head full of numbers that I will never know. I need to wrap myself in her lines like a blanket. Nothing has left my head, from the past bliss in the arms of more than one woman, to the peaking of the obsession and my realization that I’ve become more desperate than ever, and on to the newest set of problems made possible by one simple dream some months ago. The ‘Shilo’ condition is at full power right now. There is also a crossover taking place between every single difficulty through which I live each day. The present is much worse than I could have imagined, and that is pretty telling considering how buried I was just two years ago. And now Laura Interval is gracing the screen, all five-nine and with one of those faces that cannot be easily described. Upon seeing her, I immediately need to be right in the middle of... Anyway, all this shit is dragging me down and making the enjoyments that much harder to embrace and appreciate. I am ever-falling into a hole that cannot be defined. I just keep typing and going through the motions every day, and I am still searching for reasons. My future appears grayer than the sky this morning. There she is again. Unreal. I wonder if she would let me... 0856. I am tired of this effort but don’t know what else to do. No one is listening, I have more turmoil inside than ever before, and I need help more badly right now than I did even during eleven. Oh, and that other period... The mandated counseling during late zero-three when I was hospitalized not long after being torn from the arms of the doll herself. I can’t seek anything due to fear on more than one level. The only path right now is to alter nothing. My housework, the truck, and the shows. This is becoming the thinnest, most pathetic type of living imaginable. And don’t give me shit about how difficult others may have it. I can’t do much about them because I have to look out for number one as a priority. If I was happy and healthy, I’d be helping others. Shut up. Besides, making comparisons is not good. Unrealistic daydreaming is not going to help anything. The situation is stagnant. Those early morning visions back when I was waiting to go to work have jaded me in the extreme. All the way back to the Midwest when I sat on the couch in the heat with fans humming and the tennis championships on the television, I can recall being so desperate to escape the mundane and be in the fold of those much more fortunate. I could picture it. Well, many years later I forced the issue and created my own blissful conditions. Unfortunately, they were nothing more than deluded, temporary circumstances which always resulted in the same dire need to go away permanently, and I am not speaking of a positive solution. More than one of those trips was intended to be one-way. I returned after each, further down and more desperate than at the outset. I just could not muster the courage required to remain away. All I did was cause more damage. This morning I am in a similar mindset due to what has taken place and affected me this year, yet still... I can’t fucking DO ANYTHING. I am going to try to focus upon the positives of being here, an idea I’ve had before, and one which always seems to find derailment when I least expect it. For years I wished to be free of that difficult, downtrodden work situation, and here I am without the need to work, plenty of time for whatever I wish to do, but in the end I am no better off for the change. I still sit here and daydream. Most of it is very bad. 0932 and I need to move away from this soon and begin some chores. The show will follow, and then at some point the third season will begin and I’ll fall all over myself gushing about Jolene again. I can’t help it. I am cornered, and the doorstep is bright. Nothing is going to happen. No one will approach the door. There will be no true understanding. There will be no one listening. I will continue to dream and wallow in a vat of turmoil. I will see things which torment me endlessly. I will sit here and write about all of it. This is all I have left in the world. 1043 and I have fallen down again. This is nearly completely debilitating. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Feeling this way is going to kill me in no uncertain terms. Just a matter of fucking time. I am close to flipping the fuck out for the umpteenth time. I finished part of the routine and decided to sit with my cocktail and this shit for a while before continuing. The kitchen will not take very long. When it is finished, I’ll probably move to the garage and work on the electronics experiment. I can only hope being out there busy with something can help. The fifth show is still playing, but my attention is elsewhere. It is in a pair of pants, if you must know the truth. Pick one. They are all lined up inside my brain. I don’t understand how I became so controlled by the visions, but at the same time I haven’t really lifted a finger to help myself deal with everything. More dreams, more writing, more thoughts of the past. Nothing is good right now. Maybe the sun will appear at some point and warm the garage enough for me to be comfortable in my attempts to solve truck problems. Maybe. I don’t expect anything good in my life. I expect more disappointment and disillusionment. I have been in the bliss. I have been there. Now I am here. Blissless. Is that a word? Jolene’s lips are a universe in and of themselves. Oh, God... Watching her walk through sickbay. I am insane for her right now. All I desire is a few minutes of... Fucking hell is she ever amazing to see. The Goddamned document cloud is losing and regaining its connection. I am now relegated to writing into a common note, which I don't enjoy. This machine is very reliable, albeit also very old. The cloud allows me to type without worry of losing information. Perhaps the gateway needs to be rebooted. That usually clears any errors within minutes. The funny thing is that whenever I transfer information from the cloud to the local web form, I will immediately back it up to the server so nothing can be lost. Call me paranoid, but aside from the fucking truck, this is the only part of my life about which I still give half a shit. Go ahead and laugh. I would, but I'm in the middle of a very bad time and nothing is funny anymore. There was her name again. I blew a kiss like always. I love her. I LOVE her, for crying out loud. Jolene is one of two fictional characters over which I fantasize several times during a given hour. I am a crazy person. There is a massive difference between the two, though. Jamie is a different type of feeling. As much as I want to hold and be held by her, the truth is Jolene is on the other side of a thin line. I want to live the rest of my life inside her clothing. There you go... Another opportunity to laugh at me. I don't blame you. And back to the cloud. Her face again. Eyebrows up, eyes looking absolutely huge, and her expression leveraging my brain into needing very badly to... I can’t take much more of this shit. At least I’m a raging alcoholic. That helps. Others don't seem to understand. Well, to their credit, they are unable to 'know' me because I am more closed off than a fucking Egyptian cemetery. I am considering watching Battlestar Galactica again. No, not the original. The newer series which aired beginning in zero-four. Part of that idea is driven by my desire to see Tricia and her five-ten-plus fucking unreal frame. I can’t deny that. Most of it, though, is due to the series being absolutely fantastic and one of the most highly-rated science fiction programs in history. One of the characters scares the shit out of me, however. She is the one reason to avoid watching. I’ve seen it, so that does ease the apprehension a bit. Trip is my favorite character within this series. You’d think my choice would be Jolene, but my appreciation for her is vastly different. Would you like me to go into detail? Her lines? Her sex? My tongue? I didn’t think so. 1600 hours. Jolene is wearing blue. Jesus. I’d like to... I worked on the electronics for a little while and found a way to power the fluorescent tubes from the new mosfet. I’ll have to fabricate some sort of mount for the thing since it was never included in the original design. I was not out there very long, though. My inspiration and ambition are waning today due to the steamroller in my head. This is not a good day by any means. The morning seemed fine, but later? Not the ideal mental situation. The fifth show is still on. Third season, meaning Jolene’s hair and apparel have been updated beautifully. This is the point when I first began to feel deeply for her. My dreams are ash. I am so unhappy these days that I can’t recall ever being in such a negative circumstance. Everything I need is gone or has otherwise been torn away. No one understands. No one is listening. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. What? The enjoyments? Waning, still. Jolene is in all orange now. 0711 on Tuesday morning after a miserable Monday. One positive is that I turned down the idea of working for a few days. I can’t be out there in the force with my head so fucked up. Yesterday I couldn’t push any of the difficulty far enough away to really concentrate on the mosfet switch. I gave up and did not know what to do. Those few items I continue to mention have taken over my psyche. Something bad is going to happen. I suppose I’ll just sit here and go over the same subjects. I have coffee and the fifth show again. I also have an appointment to attend this afternoon. In a couple of hours I’ll care for the routine and then move to the garage to see if I can figure out a way to mount the switch. I would also like to realign the steering hubs on one axle. Eventually, I’ll get to the primary drive again. Yesterday I discovered a nice piece of aluminum in my toolbox which may work well for the mount. I was seconds from falling further yesterday afternoon. Looking back this morning, I still can’t believe I took such a path, although I should not be terribly surprised, honestly. My feelings become pretty fucking dire and such a process can grow inside me quickly. Jolene is wearing light blue. Her hair is so lovely. Anyway, I managed to get the fuck out of there and alter my thinking before the situation became disastrous. I then figured the garage might be the only way of getting through the rest of the day intact. I don’t see possibilities on the horizon, unfortunately, meaning I’ll be hit in the face again very soon. I will say straight out that between the first period in which I began to feel ‘alone’ and the ensuing years, I feel much more strongly than I did less than a half decade back. All of it came crashing down on my head yesterday and I nearly faltered very badly. I can’t go running and screaming into the fucking street, so everything remains bottled up under strong compression. This state is unhealthy and very dangerous. My stress level has risen, as has my need to be understood. Combined, those sum to me seeing only two paths in life; one to which I have already been routed, the other being death. As of yet, these daily situations which arise have not had the power to send me into the ground. There are no guarantees. This will happen again and again. To be honest, I am expecting today to be a complete disaster. It is just a matter of time. The fall is coming, and I don’t mean leaves. Jolene is wearing those thin, blue pajamas. The damaging dreams have not returned since the fourth some time ago. The show last night gave me a wonderful view of the girl about whom I continue to obsess, so I am surprised the bad things did not creep into my sleep time. My doorstep needs some fucking help, and one of those two girls could cast a shadow. But they wouldn’t and will not. Read that again. Nothing good will ever come along for me. Nothing. They do not know me and never will. My head manufactured all this shit due to being very out of balance, desperate, and lonely. I doubt I am the only person in the world yearning for understanding. No dreams lately means I am more relaxed when hitting the sheets at night. I have no doubt that another will come along at some point just when I least expect it, and the visions and feelings will probably leave me wrecked again. Something will happen during one of my days and cause my head to retain some errant image and then run with it later just because it can. The girl on the show is in the same category as the ‘damage’, much like my weakened eyes drinking in the one at the festival last Saturday. Same fucking category. The things I imagined should not be placed within this content. I am all fucked up, but I still have a bit of respectful comportment left. A little bit, really. I can stand there and make nice, be very pleasant to other people even in the presence of dramatic, striking beauty, and generally what happens is I turn immediately after the exchange and exhale as much pain as I am able. If I have to turn again, so be it. My ability to maintain composure in society should have won awards. Later? When I am alone once again? Well... You have read some of it. Jolene in orange again. The feelings I keep inside tend to come to me at night and then have me at their mercy the following morning after some wondrous yet impossible situation plays out in fiction. Twice the affection, double the fall. And here I sit, completely fucked over, only this time without the push of a dream. I rarely am the train anymore. Much of the last few years, I’ve either been in control of the locomotive or a passenger. I used to ‘be’ the train most of the time, guiding and learning. These days, and considering how desperate I’ve become with regard to the doorsteps, I have little control over anything, as if I have already given up. God damn do I ever love her controlled voice sometimes. Jesus. Anyway, today is one of those in which the train is not under my direct control. Circumstances took the knobs and levers from my hands and have left me at their mercy. So far, this is not a good day. And I overheard something which brought something else to mind – a ‘thing’ far more enticing and stirring than anything else – and I can’t say what it was. How is that for a statement? This is another example of how the train can drive me. The rails have been crafted and directed by events beyond my grip and people out to hurt me. And then I end up like this morning and stare at the front door. On the other side is the step. It is well-lit right now. The way I’ve felt since the first damaging dream some months ago is much like when I sat at the bar in zero-three – mere days or weeks after leaving Ashley’s arms and returning to my home – and was often asked if I was ok. My response was always the same: ‘I’ve been waiting ten years for the phone to ring’. The darkened doorsteps are about as likely as the ring. Jolene? All in white now. Picture it. Oops... That was the result of lighting. She’s wearing the blue uniform and trying to fight off some insane, zombie Vulcans. God bless her pointed ears. Anyway, this line of thinking came about as I refilled my coffee because I felt much the same back then. Little did I know that nearly two decades later I would be suffering through the worst part of my life. Had I known, the pyramid-slide would likely have taken place and removed possibilities. The thirtieth floor is pretty far up the side of that hotel, and snobby me had to be way above the ‘riff raff’. I contemplated my living situation and feelings at several bars while there, plus the same one near home upon my return. I was waiting for something. Right now I am again waiting for something, only I’m on the sofa rather than out there among society. I am all over the place again, but I will say that the sight and sound of Jolene’s character up there are not helping. I can’t fucking concentrate half the time due to dreaming about being all tangled up with her. Tangled. Wrapped, much like the others. So... Why don’t I turn off the show and focus here? Because I fucking NEED her up there like I need oxygen. My weakness will not allow me to avoid anything dreamy, and I am far too desperate to avoid any subject matter aligned with all of my dire fucking needs these days. Just like the pants. When something comes along, my eyes dart to it rather than allowing the brain to employ a self-protection function. I know beforehand that it will hurt me, but I look anyway because one need outweighs another. The opposite of the fear-war I mentioned some time ago. As for the concentration, this is about as good as it gets anymore. The other four series’ would not be pulling my eyes away from this screen as often, honestly. Jolene is pretty much the focus. Jamie is the same, but I have not felt like watching the gangsters lately. If I am going to sit here and splay my heart all down the fucking screen, something is going to be up there keeping me company. Bottom line. The writing may suffer and I don’t care. Every fucking entry seems the same, anyway. Other than the four dreams which began months ago, I don’t believe there has been anything ‘new’ here in years. The date and time changes. That is all. If my words waver all over the map, it means I’ve been affected by something missing from my existence and cannot deal with it very well. There you go. A messy entry with topic sentences chosen by a roll of the dice. 0833. Almost time for the last cup of coffee. Playing right now is one of the worst episodes of this series, although the aphorism still applies. Plus, there is the woman. You know. I have to do something different today. I’ve mentioned such an idea many times but have yet to change anything. Looking around doesn’t get it done. Maybe just a small step in some new direction can lead to more. I don’t know, though. The truck will take up some of my time, as will the typical housework. The other time often leads me to wonder if I am even capable of more. I guess I’m just feeling like I need to try. There are three girls in my head other than the one actor. Nothing can come of this, meaning at some point I will have to go outside the norm in order to maintain my sanity. I already know as much. The dreams will come along again, more visions will be placed before my eyes, and I’ll lose my way over and over for all time. I will fall all over myself trying to describe everything without saying a word. The work may be the only fucking road I can travel which does not lead to disaster. Jolene is wearing purple, damn it. Her face is a wonderland of superlatives, and my heart is following suit... Leaping. And then she left the mess hall and walked along the corridor with the center seam outlining each side of her rear end, effectively ruining this paragraph. Sometimes I want her so badly that the entire universe must take a back seat. This has to fade or my day is over before it begins. The purple and orange just fucking KILL ME. Anyway, I am going to do my damnedest to go outside the circle of my daily life today. I need it. The routine will be quick due to a simple dinner last night, and then I can look to another avenue of effort. The truck will be last, I believe. It is always there no matter what else may be taking place on a given day. There is plenty to do with the truck, both electronic and mechanical, so perhaps that is the way to go once my routine is finished. I’m already feeling as if my ambition to go outside the norm will wane very soon. I just don’t fucking care most of the time because whatever I may try will have zero effect upon the underlying issues. The best I can hope for is a temporary distraction from everything causing pain. Oh, and I should mention that while in the garage with the big door open, my head will occasionally scan the driveway and street for a miracle that can darken my doorstep. The odds of running my tongue all over Jolene are better than those of the previous thought. Nice, huh? The doorstep is bright. Linda is wearing a sundress. Her dark, flowing hair is dangling over the tanned skin of her bare back. Jesus. I am a crazy person. Nothing has the power to extricate the desire, not even working around the house or on the truck. Nothing. I have become a caricature of what I once was... A product whose sell-by date passed many years ago. Expectation or hope for the doorstep is more unrealistic than anything in existence. God damn that woman is gorgeous. Crazy person. Half-track mind. Hopeless. People throw around that last word as if it is a punchline, or some other way of expressing dissatisfaction in life due to things not going ‘their way’. I do not feel the same, however, and the word is used here because my wants and needs are so far beyond unrealistic that I have created my own fucking category. Believe it. I’ve mentioned before that the science fiction programming to which I always gravitate does not help. All things are possible in that universe. The shows have affected me and caused my issues to combine into one, giant sphere which cannot be broken down. I watch them over and over because I need to know that somewhere in the universe resides a place where happiness and fulfillment are real, be it fictional or otherwise. I don’t give a blue fuck in the wind if my perception is hurting me, either. I fucking need something, and in the grand scheme of the world, well... Those people are all I have. Jolene is once again wrapped in purple. She will never darken my doorstep. It’s possible that all of the ships have sailed and left me here alone. Marvelous. I need a fucking drink, bad. 0710. Wednesday. We are still in the third season. Jolene in orange. I had so many dreams this morning that I can’t even begin to recall the number of different subjects. The first took the cake, though. I was with someone I barely remember now and that fact hurts. We were special. Yes, I said that. We were isolated somehow, out and away from the thinking of others, and together on such a deep level that everything between us was understood. All of it was ripped away sometime during the early morning and left me broken and sad. From the doldrum and depression of my days all the way to an idyllic, beautiful relationship that I cannot adequately describe. And then it is gone. I guess the rest of the dreams no longer matter. I don’t know who she was but I miss her badly right now; enough that it hurts. And now there is Talas. Fuck. Everything appears worse today. I feel like I made it out of the shit only to be tossed right back in without a saving throw. The connection is key. Unreal, unlikely, and so stirring that I still have goosebumps. Today is going to be different. Fucking hell is that woman ever cute despite having blue skin. My doorstep darkened and we knew... We just knew. The world appeared different because of what we shared. We were where we needed to be. And gone. She is gone. Now I feel so empty and bereft of hope that I don’t know what to do other than to sit here and type. I wish I could know who that girl was. Unrecognizable. And now none of it matters. I miss her so much. Jolene switched to purple again. She was not the one in the dream. The longer I sit here – just over thirty minutes so far – the worse everything feels this morning. Yesterday I had a brilliant idea for solving several problems on the main board of the truck. Brilliant, if I do say so myself. In one fell swoop, I can expand one section, do away with something that should not have been there in the first place, and fix three connection debacles I’ve been wrestling with for the last few months. The entire idea popped into my head and continued to appear better and more effective as the day went by. Right now? All that ‘good’ has escaped. I miss the girl. She could have been... I am really going to have to concentrate later this morning if I am to accomplish anything. My mind cannot focus very well right now. I keep seeing our hands intertwined. I was not looking at lines. My eyes were on our hands. They laid right there on her tummy. The scenes in the dream are fading very quickly. Soon, she will be gone forever. Of all the fucking shit that could have been thrown at me or heat to burn me, this is the LAST FUCKING SITUATION I CAN HANDLE. It is nearly too much because my sensitivity has grown out of control in the last half decade. Out of fucking control. Believe it. All I wanted for a very long time was a darkened doorstep, and then I finally received such love. IN A DREAM. This is getting worse by the second. And my coffee does not taste very good. There was Talas again right on the heels of Jolene perched beautifully on the edge of the captain’s chair. Neither of them is the girl. I don’t know who she was. A dream girl. Doesn’t that sound fucking stupid? There you go. Stupid. I don’t care. Today is Wednesday and I have nowhere to go. Well, maybe the market for a few items. I will really have to push because my mood is worsening by the fucking second. There are WAY too many shots of Jolene walking toward the camera, damn it. The sights make me want to spend an hour inside... 0756. I feel so empty. Jolorange again. She was Jolurple prior to the final scene. New names just in case you thought I was doing alright. Jolene was not in the dream. I can still remember some of the one dream involving Jamie. We held hands, too. We were very close, I think perhaps close enough to be defined as love. Somehow I just knew how she felt without conversation, much like this latest fucking scrape of a dream. We both knew. There was nothing physical running through my head, and that is damned rare. Physical desire generally rules my dream states, but not this morning. Much like when I was walking with Jamie through the field, sitting with the girl and holding hands felt like where I belonged; where I needed to be in order to survive. Dependent, needy, and leaning on another person. Those three terms equate to unhealthy, unhealthy and unhealthy. But that is me... What I have become. The dream only reinforced my deviant sense of love. We sat there and knew everything we needed to know. And all this probably sounds like some fucking romance novel. Well, slice off my head and help both of us. This morning I went from the highest possible high to the pit of despair and disillusionment. I feel more alone right now than even when I typed the last set of superlatives. This is not good for me or anything I need to do today. The time is 0929 and I am completely lost in a haze of sadness. The doorsteps may as well exist in some alternate, parallel universe; one I can never visit. Jolurple was on the screen to add insult to injury. Splendid. I don’t know where this day will lead, but I am certain the destination is nowhere good. I have the routine, some truck work awaiting my attention, and plenty of other tasks which can be addressed, yet my heart is so shattered this morning that I don’t know if I can do ANYTHING other than sitting here trying to describe what is now the biggest loss in recent memory. The last of the coffee is next to me. Alcohol? Very soon. My condition has never felt more dire than it does at this very moment. I did not see her face, although the feeling was akin to being very close to the girl from the show we had been watching during the evenings. That series has concluded. Her face remains inside me, however. The girl in the dream meant everything to me in a matter of milliseconds. Microseconds? Nano? Pico? Femto? Atto? The process was very quick. Jolorange again. God damn shit fuck anyway, she is climbing my universal scale of beauty like an Olympic athlete. Ugh... Now she is wearing civilian clothing. Holy fucking forms, Batman. Sometimes I can’t believe what I am seeing, nor can I muster the words to get my feelings across. What was I saying? Ah, the dream girl. Remember ‘The Blown Gas and the Girl’? I may have built up that utopian image to the point of forcing my subconscious to create her in the dream. I have never felt worse in my life. I need her. Alas, she is another in a long line of impossibilities, much like the doorsteps ever darkening. Remember that I never feel as if I am having a tougher time than anyone else on Earth. I focus upon myself because that is all I know how to do. All of my time is spent either trying to understand myself or distract my head enough to be a grownup. This is very painful. 1106. Jamie and Jolene could not be more different with regard to my feelings. Well, they do have one thing in common. Neither will ever darken my doorstep. The fact is Jamie’s character is a person with whom I am completely in love and have been for years. There is no getting around it, so I can spell out my deep sense of loss without hesitation. She is an impossibility, whereas Jolene’s character is probably the most desirable in existence. Therein lies the massive gradient between the two; I love Jamie, and the draw is all related to love and understanding, but Jolene’s character is a person I love and wish to devour, in a gentle, loving way, of course. The physical draw of her face and form are unmatched in my history, and that includes Andrea, who may have had the most amazing body ever to grace my vision. The difference between Jamie and Jolene is pretty fucking stark when you think about it, the impact upon my emotional condition being equally stark due to the simple fact that they are both fictional and were portrayed many years ago. I live in a hole in the ground, and that hole is located in the past. I don’t even know why I brought this up. Well, aside from the visions of Jolene that have been on my mind since beginning this series for the tenth time, that is. My level of desperation dictates what takes place inside me when I see her. And speaking of which, she is Jolurple again. I am destroyed by everything. The doorsteps pay no mind to the trials piled upon individual shoulders, leaving me distressed like never before. The time is 1315 and I need to move into the garage. This is not going anywhere (like usual) and the more I sit in front of the IDE, the more I see a galactic waste of time. Nothing is served here. I just type. Bright doorsteps. Dark of mind. Both of her hands on my face told me she wanted to..."
Darkened Doorsteps
Mature content No. 335 Published September 28th, 2022 1:23pm pdt read ( words) Past entries
"'...finally I'll be able to play out the third dream, in reality.' The previous entry was completed three minutes ago. I am wrecked. I don’t know what the fuck to do now. The imagery has been enhanced to the point of driving me insane, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. The only path I now see is to carry on with my days as they have passed, drinking and wallowing within a sphere of desperation and depression, and finding comforts where I am able. This latest dream pretty much cemented how I feel (or, at least it has shown me that my brain is operating in a very bad way) and has served to reinforce the prior three dreams. I really didn't need so be in such a situation, dream or otherwise. In reality, the processes inside me are going to cause problems, mark my words. Yesterday morning was horrible. Today is already worse. Again, there is nothing I can do. Forcing the thoughts from my head is impossible. The time is 0900 straight up and I am completely lost. To be honest, I know from where some of this was born. Dreams are often extensions of situations which have played out in the real world, sometimes exaggerated and other times quite simple. Due to the condition of my head throughout the last several years, the most likely cause is a series of missing pieces. Yes, pieces of me. Some were never there while others disappeared shortly after the cave period. Whichever case is related to such desperation leading me to dream of her again, the fact is that this entire world which has come about in the last few months is scaring the shit out of me. As I said before, some is understandable and can even be considered natural, but the rest? No fucking way. Not in this life. I can believe it, of course, because of how my mind has operated in the past, but still... What the hell can I do to survive? I keep seeing her in my mind over and over and fucking over. The beauty, sweetness, flowing hair, everything. Over and over. Have I lost so much and been affected so deeply to have become something that scares even me? Prior to the first beautiful dream, I was already in bad fucking shape. Believe it. Every damned sight, strike, actor, or whatever, remained inside me and was processed as if tossed into a Cuisinart. I just kept thinking and picturing and dreaming, and then I would go back to that fucking paragraph which has caused so much turmoil, and then on to the story that I can't fucking publish only to find myself right back where I started and worse off than before any such considerations. I can rationalize quite a bit when you think of my damaging past, but this is different and I don't know what the fuck to do. I cannot stress that enough. Something has to give way at some point, but what? Help me, please. Just... Help me. Someone. I know everything of which I have dreamed for decades is in there. Everything, and most likely it is all fucking amazing beyond imagination (and I can imagine quite a bit, believe me). As badly as I need to see those lines, I also need to understand how this whole train wreck came about in the first place. Desperation? Have I become that bad? Well, try and recall the situation between myself and the race girl. Was there something present in that expression, or was I just reaching? Neither of those possibilities seems important when you consider the fact that I went on for a very long time without even knowing if my perception was true. See? I am crazier right now than I thought when I began to write about the race girl. I really am. There is no other way to put it. Yes, the past has led me to become desperate and saddened beyond words, but the fact remains that I stood before that girl and created a universe in less than a second, one in which the original visions of Shilo came true. Some sort of trouble inside me? No shit. There are many bad parts of this line of thinking, as well as many others I've railroaded in the past. The worst, however, is the possibility that NOTHING WILL EVER COME OF MY CONDITION. NOTHING. I'll remain sitting here trying to find what I need, only to continue falling on my face over and over. The manner in which I view other people will worsen, I will continue to suffer endlessly, and whenever I feel cornered, the reaction will escalate more and more until something -- or someone -- is destroyed. If you see another possibility, by all means... State it. Does my demeanor come across as worse than say, a year ago? You make the call. Jesus God, she is so beautiful, head to tiny toes. Soft, shining hair flowing in the breeze. Gorgeous, bouncing breasts attempting to escape the confines of clothing... Calling to me in dreams AND reality. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. I am losing my fucking mind. She is something special. I don't know what to do. Help me, please. The time for housework and swilling alcohol has arrived. 1045 and I don't fucking care what is finished. My head is further sideways than ever. I can't seem to get her or the other shit out of my mind this morning. The truck has seen tons of progress lately, I have solved several issues to the point of operating the entire steering system from the transmitter, more parts and hardware are arriving today, yet everything is covered in darkness. Many times I've stated that I am not well. This is the most difficult morning in memory. Everything aside from desperation is now tertiary, including my beloved model sitting out there on the bench. Everything. I have no outlet whatsoever. No one is listening. I am spiraling down at breakneck speed right now. I keep seeing too much, remembering too much, and picturing too many impossibilities. I can't fucking handle this. Throughout the last four-plus decades, I have lived behind many doorsteps. None of them have ever been darkened like this. I am losing my fucking mind and cannot do anything about it. Worsening. Ever worsening. I did not ask for such dreams. Help me. I have a huge glass of depression to my right. Something very bad is going to happen soon. God damn this situation. I did not fucking ask for this shit. I just wanted to find some happiness and maybe a little satisfaction in life. I tried... I ran after whatever appeared to be a solution, even if only for a short time. Yes, I know some of it was bad, but what am I supposed to do after decades of pain? The trauma rears its ugly head every fucking day, so is what I did so bad? What about what has been inflicted upon me? Does it compare? Do you even give half a shit? I am to blame for many things in this life, difficulties piled upon others due to my reckless behavior. What about the early eighties? Was that shit my fault? I need help. I badly need to... Once again – thankfully – the alcohol has halted some of my thought processes. A negative has been employed in order to subdue a negative. Tell me I am wrong. Go for it. I want to shove all of her into my mouth. Shoot me. I have very few reasons to avoid anything bad right now. One foot in the ground. An end to thinking. No more thinking. No more dreaming. No more pain. As I sit here at this very moment, I swear to all that is holy... If the most basic of solutions does not present itself soon, I will be dead. That is a threat. 0656 on Wednesday after one of the worst Tuesdays in memory. There were dreams but I can’t recall the subject matter, thankfully. The previous dreamy strike was bad enough and found me waking with a head full of confusion. To make matters worse, everything became exacerbated yesterday while I was still trying to understand the kissing. Once again I saw way more than I should have given my penchant for a three-second gaze and then dwelling on it for years. This morning I am beginning to believe that no matter what distractions I may find interesting for a time, eventually nothing will have the power to alleviate the depression or satiate such deep desperation. Nothing. I awakened a little while ago with a dire need to understand. That is just not going to happen. I have never felt so alone, and yesterday was one of the worst examples of why. I don’t know how in the hell I am going to go out shopping later. I’d love to just... I have my coffee and the fourth show for a change. The third ended last night after it ran twice concurrently because I am a crazy person who needs familiarity for comfort. All of the words and scenes running through my head yesterday can never be revealed here or to another person. My imagination went from nearly completely ‘off’ to full power in a matter of three fucking seconds, and then I mentally fell down but had to hold the facade for others’ benefit. The entire shitaree was exhausting and I am still feeling the effects more than twelve hours later. I pictured all manner of things. Everything, in fact. This is the worst time of my life, and yesterday may have been the toughest day in memory. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Ah... Alicia is in this episode for a little bit. You wanna talk about a woman I’d love to swallow whole? Well, back then she was in her late twenties and so was I. Everything is so stupid now. Living in the past, watching television from the past, dreaming of impossible things, and sitting here day in and day out trying to find reasons to keep going. I’m tired. One thing for sure is I am going to be at the IDE for quite some time today. I need to exercise my fingers and say what can be said. I really don’t need a repeat of yesterday, although I know it will happen at some point because nothing good is on the horizon, just more pain and difficulty. I already know. Nothing surprises me anymore. I need her... I can see this day will be all uphill, from the housework to the shopping and on to helping my neighbor with a few items. I am happy to help, too. There are never bad feelings regarding that type of thing, but I do have to shove everything to the rear in order to socialize with people. That’s tough sometimes. Once the morning business is complete, I’ll try to head over the hill sooner rather than later in order to return at a decent time. Maybe the shopping will help to distract me, but I don’t know yet. I placed the order for the wine store already so I can pick it up without wandering the aisles. Walking around in there is asking for trouble. I also have to go next door to the pet store. Last time, I was in and out of both in less than half an hour. Hopefully today I can get through both even more quickly. I don’t need any trouble while shopping. If anything can get her image out of my head, the occasion will be immediately embraced to last as long as possible. I’m dying on the inside and would prefer to slow the process. I don’t want to end up loving her. 0824. Splash one set of morning business. I still have coffee and a head full of hell, so here I sit. None of the dreams or strikes will leave my head no matter what I try. Over and over those scenes play out and hurt me. There is nothing I can do about it, either. Nothing. I suppose I’ll sit here and bitch a while longer while the coffee remains. The incident which followed the first dream was plenty. I still don’t understand it, although I will say that a small part of this seems perfectly natural (I think). Well, ‘seems’, anyway. I am not trying to justify anything, there is a need to understand, that’s all. The last thing I would attempt is to explain myself. The idea is one more impossibility. The dreams that followed the first were concerning, but I have to say that the last outlined her desire very clearly and left me without sense. I still can’t seem to learn from where all this stemmed, unless my head is worse off than I had previously thought. That could be bad. Not a moment passes without visions of her swirling inside my mind and nearly derailing anything I may be doing at the time. I can’t stop seeing the face (or anything else for that matter). I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. I’ll keep going through the motions, I suppose. There may be no way of knowing the ‘why’ of the entire series of events. I need to keep that in mind. Not a good morning. If I could just... Damn. Painful morning. I desperately need to... 0916. I’m beginning to see shopping today as a good thing. I’ll be out for a while, through three stores, and then returning home to my devices with less time remaining on the clock as I head toward the evening. Sometimes being here all day is worse than whatever I might see traveling to other places. The situation in my head is much worse than those random incidents, anyway, and remaining here only leaves me with a massive amount of quiet. Quiet means daydreaming, and then I fall down hard. Like yesterday. Not good. Maybe all of the parts arriving between tomorrow and Monday will help me while home all day. Yesterday I sat in the garage and began work on the primary drive. Along with some mellow music in the background, the peaceful nature of the daytime hours helped me to concentrate and get a good head start on some brackets. Everything was fine until a while later when my brain was wrung out in the worst way, effectively forcing me into a mental fetal position whilst simultaneously reinforcing the most difficult facade in memory. Still, and up to the point when everything fell apart, the work helped me to remain calm and collected. In the end, all I have left is a pair of trying endeavors; this mess and the fucking truck. My life has been reduced from limitless options to only two. Marvelous. I included imagery of the lines for good reason. Well, not that good, actually, but they represent what my head goes through during several moments each day. Many of my waking moments are preoccupied by such imagery, and shortly after conjuring such provocative poses, I tend to relate every possible aspect to a subject I've not mentioned for some time... The 'Girl'. So here we are, months later, and one fucking detail of life I'd rather not think about is this: I believe I know who the Girl is. I am not well. God damn it all, anyway. Nothing is helping me. Maybe I deserve this. What do you think? Have I fucked up so much in life that my path has been permanently altered in order to send me into bad places all the time? This road has no turns. There were three – two were key – and now the fourth has come along and completely derailed everything, not to mention that I had to deal with a fucking trial beyond comprehension. I was out of my mind, yet my outward appearance was controlled and completely calm. No one can get a sense of anything or I’ll fucking lose it entirely, and in the space of mere seconds. I can’t believe I made it through that situation without flipping the fuck out. I really can’t. Roxann is so far beyond beautiful that I don’t have the ability to structure a description. Jesus. Anyway, the fact is I did make it out of that fucking difficult situation and ended up calming shortly thereafter. I still don’t know how I did it, but I suppose surviving should not be questioned too deeply. The sight and sound drove me in-fucking-sane for a while. Insane. I am soon going to be in a straitjacket, no doubt. This is fucking nuts. The darkened doorstep has occurred on very few occasions. The other one should not be mentioned due to the dramatic nature of the first glimpse. Too much, damn it. Way too fucking much for me to handle. At some point I need to care for the routine so I can head out the door afterward. I don’t want anything left when I return. I don’t want to fucking see anything, either. My wishes do not come true no matter how minuscule. The doorsteps shall remain clear for the time being. No more visions are necessary for slamming my head. I already have enough imagery saved up for several lifetimes. 1106. I have the routine finished and laundry going. As soon as my morning cocktail is gone, I’ll take off to go shopping. All morning I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of difficulty. Believe it. Are there varying degrees of impossibility? If so, the girl is at the extreme end of the spectrum. There is NO FUCKING WAY for me to embrace any of the ideas or dreams which reside in my brain. Reality is just not going to happen and I have to sell myself on the idea that what I want and need is, once again, impossible. The impossibility as it relates to the Passion could be clarified as improbable, but not completely impossible. The reason is money. Short of some insane windfall like a jackpot or other massive influx of cash, the watch is out of reach, but possible. I’ve often mused that if I won one of the big lottery caches, I could hire a personal assistant – something probably necessary in such a situation – and request that the person go on a quest around the world to find the watch and acquire one in mint condition. That type of quest would require a massive amount of resources. It could be accomplished, however. The current issue in my head as driven by the dreams is much further out, and that is to say that an even more unlikely set of circumstances would be necessary for anything to become reality. That is what I mean by ‘varying degrees’; the idea of my dreams coming true is so far-fetched that the watch actually seems attainable. Isn’t that just fucking peachy? And to put a finer point on this shit, I would give up the Passion for the dream. Yep. Believe it, baby. Nothing in the known universe can cause it to happen, but I still yearn for her more than anything else.
And that brings on another damned issue. Since yesterday, and pushed by the latest dream of the girl, I’ve been picturing some wild adventure similar to the weeks Andrea and I spent together, but with the dream girl instead. I cannot go into any detail whatsoever, unfortunately. Nothing. This shit must remain locked away for all time or I’ll be crucified beyond comprehension. That much is certain, at least. I’ve been feeling so much for her that much of the worry over being in the wine or pet stores and seeing something compelling has been squashed. All I see right now is that sweet smile and bouncing chest, not to mention the idea of the lines. I can honestly say in no uncertain terms that the current situation in my mind is the WORST within which I’ve EVER been mired. The worst. Nothing, past or present, can compare. Dreams of her make the fucking reproach look like a cake walk. God damn, what I would give for five minutes of... This can’t last much longer or I will die. No more dreaming, no more impossibility. No more ‘her’, and that is the fucking key, people. She is the key. She is the end-all be-all. I did not see this coming early in the year. Had I known? I would be gone already. My reasons are shrinking at breakneck speed. This is bad. All the way around. No options abound. The girl has been found. Rest me in the ground. Please help me. Please. I've not felt this level of emotional turmoil before and I don't know how to handle it. I keep trying, but to no avail. I need some fucking HELP. My whiskey is almost gone. Soon I will venture into the world of others and do the shopping. Four stops today... Wine store, pet store, cigarette shop and market. I don’t give a flying fuck how many pairs of pants may end up waddling before my eyes. My mood is going downhill, fast. All I will do is talk to myself on the inside, words such as ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, or ‘damn’ will float around in my brain if I see anything. Maybe I’ll be reckless and toss out a compliment, most of which are dismissed these days. Upon returning, I plan to sit at the workbench and contemplate the aluminum mounts I began yesterday. They will support the primary drive, albeit temporarily. I need to work on the truck or I’ll lose myself again. I fucking need it like oxygen. 1324. I am back from the fucking shopping which yielded more than its share of sightings, most notably upon entering the pet store. Damn it. Not just the cashier – who also helped me with checkout, looking fucking adorable beyond belief – but the girl standing there with all the lines on display. And then the wine store... Another cashier from another planet. I did not say anything, however believe me when I say the compulsion was on its way to my vocal cords just prior to walking to my car. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I really don’t need that shit right now. Above, I said I don’t care what I may see. Well, everything reminded me of the dreams. I bypassed the market on my return trip due to needing the bathroom. To be honest, I was right down the street from my favorite Mexican restaurant and damned–near went there for lunch. I could have used the restroom and then headed on down to the market. Nope. My better judgment took over and I saved money by avoiding that place. Now I am home, lunch is in the oven, and I organized everything I bought. Unfortunately, more damage has occurred and I am worse off than before leaving the fucking house. Splendid. God damn did that girl in the wine store have numbers for the taking. I wanted to say something but my mind did not have the power. The most likely outcome of saying something is an expression of disapproval, honestly. It’s probably better to keep my trap shut all the time. The subject is almost impossible to glean. Fuck me. Unbelievable. I may not go to the market until tomorrow. I need to be alone right now. I hate this. Maybe if she would have... I suppose this afternoon I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday. The aluminum pays no mind whatsoever. The only rub is I’m out of beer. I didn’t want to carry so much shit from the big store, so I figured I’d grab some at the market. We already know where that idea went; right out the fucking window with my brainpower. I’m going to flip out soon. 0657, Thursday. Two days from the festival. Shit. The months are rolling under my trucks. I have coffee and the fifth show for a change. Sometimes I lose track of the stories until something jogs my memory. In this case it will be Jolene writhing on the floor in silk pajamas. Everything reminds me of dreams. I’d love to forget, but at this point too much has transpired for anything good to develop. All I see in the future is more dreaming and more pain. Each morning I feel so alone. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday, either. Some middle ground must be located where I can enjoy a bit of solace. Ah... There she is. Jesus fucking Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be allowed some free reign. Just a little while, please. Anyway, today will be the food shopping and then back to the garage for a continuation of my accomplishment of operating the primary drive from the transmitter. The work is not really very attractive, but I’ll get out there and tool around as much as I can. I’m quite sure I’ll see some errant breasts or pants at the store just to pile a little more shit on top of my head. And speaking of piles, one of the women of my dreams is right there in high definition with some of the most amazing lines I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on her facial features. I have to stop talking about her or I’m going to run screaming down the street. A few minutes of... And now there is Linda slip-sliding her way through the Jeffries tubes above the main corridors. You want to talk about a petite woman? Five-two, I think, yet there is nothing out of place on her. Jolene is another story entirely. Not only one of my favorite first names beginning with my favorite letter of the alphabet, but also my beloved cousin’s name (rest her beautiful soul). Sometimes I speak too much of Jolene. Can’t help it. I blow kisses at the television when her name appears during the opening theme. Yes, I said that. I have loved that woman for several years. 0803. The morning business is complete and I have many hours to myself, thank the maker. I may need to change to another show for fear of losing myself in her face again. She is amazing. Ugh... I did it again. This reminds me of watching Jamie up there. She is another level, and every time I see her face I try to recall just exactly when I became so enamored. Jolene is the same. I can’t remember when I went from simply watching the show to actually feeling something inside when I saw her. Some years ago, I guess. She is wearing a cardigan sweater right now. I’d give up the rest of my life to embrace her for half a minute. Believe it. I need help. This paragraph went astray. Holy fuck is she ever unique. Damn. If she would just... No dreams this morning, thankfully. There is enough damaging imagery and situational analysis going on inside me already. I’m sure something will happen to reinforce my feelings and fears. I don’t know when, but I’ve lost all faith in this issue leaving me alone. The doorstep will be colored in the future. I know it. The most recent dream pretty much solidified my feelings and pushed me to consider my current condition in a much more dire light. Even yesterday when asked about my day, I could not respond in the positive at all. I made it clear that what I’ve been going through is neither easy nor something I can discuss with another human being. The response was as expected. The truth is as much pain and confusion as the dreams have brought to my doorstep, I still want to see her in that world where we can embrace and there is no fear. I’ve been in a fucking dream world for years with my friends and family on the television, so why not a bit of romance, too? Am I so wrong? Well, don’t answer that because you do not have all the information for an informed response. Not even close. Let’s just leave it alone. The girl's hands continue to creep into my head. The kiss, too. Of all the ethereal, foggy or otherwise smoky memories from dreams, that one was very clear and basically showed me her feelings. I can’t comment further. Just know that I keep thinking about those images over and over. There is no way out of this right now. Help me deal with it, please. I haven’t begged yet. Wait until the end of the page. The gardeners are here. I have to make a note. Sometime during the next hour or so, I will head to the market and get that work out of the way. Upon returning, I’ll be happier than a pig in shit to put the show back on and pour myself a nice, fat cocktail. Eventually I’ll make it to the workbench. Right now I have a little coffee left, so everything has to wait. Plus, I really need to gawk at the goddess on the television for a while. Shoot me. I don’t care anymore. Jolene used to be like a sister to me, plus there is the whole cousin-name connection (I loved her dearly), but I have to be honest... I have never wanted to surf my way across Jolene's lips more than I do right now. Good God, she is so unique. And this is all driven by years of weakness and desperation. It would be nice if there was something I could do about the feelings. Alas, my lot in life has been solidified. So sad. Mark my fucking words, this is the beginning of the end. I just blew a kiss toward her name again because my little world includes an entire relationship with a fictional character that has not existed for more than seventeen years. I'm trying to avoid going into details that no one wants to read. The images are indicative of another detail, and that is the fact that Jolene shows off somewhat of a ‘bubble butt’ when she wears those sheer pajamas. I don’t know what goes on behind the scenes when the costuming is underway for production, but I have to say that the narrowness of her waist appears absolutely incredible against her hips, rear and chest. You want to talk about disparity? Fucking hell, anyway. Jolene should be in the encyclopedia of forms. Um... As the reference standard. The images here remind me of her body. Yes, I know they are provocative and some would see them as borderline vulgar. I understand that. Just try to imagine how bad my mind has become to include more than a thousand images of such detail throughout the course of many years. Think about that for a minute. How often do I gush about some actor, model, or errant vision in society? Every fucking essay, that’s how often. Every single entry for years. And I need to find more descriptors. ‘Desperation’ is not cutting the fucking mustard anymore. Many times I’ve placed the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’, within the writing. To be more accurate, 112 as of this sentence. The time is actually much worse than I’ve tried to describe. Believe it. I’ve been holding back so much information that sometimes I have to close this machine and cool off. I am getting to such a point right now. Jolene will be wearing alternating colored outfits beginning with the start of the third season. My words will be completely OUT OF FUCKING CONTROL AND I DON’T CARE. Live with it. I love her. And due to everything being so fucking far from my control, a thought comes to mind. There is a strong possibility that what I need most right now is not the girl wrapped around me in all her gorgeous splendor, but actually someone to tell me straight out exactly why I am still here. I honestly don't know. It sure as hell isn't the fucking pizza. Go ahead... Laugh it up, motherfucks. 0933. I have to get going with something other than this shit. I have never felt so depressed, alone, desperate or downright disillusioned in my life. 1148. My routine is finished and I visited the market for some staples and dinner items. Now I am all set and do not need to leave the house again today. The fifth show has kept me company because I am feeling a strong desire to lick Jolene’s ears. I will refrain from mentioning any other tongue-related destination. The driveline bushings arrived from Micro Logic, and aside from a fucking lousy finish on the major diameter, they should work better than those I fabricated some years ago. I simply cannot have the shafts wobbling. They must be concentric or the entire drive system is crap. At some point – most likely when I tire of this shit – I’ll move to the shop and get them ready to install. I need to drill and thread holes for set screws, sand the outside diameters a touch, and then they can be connected to the center differential and axles. The drive shafts have been sitting on the bench for a month now. I am also expecting some unions for the steering system which means some of that work can be finalized and tested. All this metalwork is fortuitous, meaning I must be busy out there for hours in order to extract the dream and fantasy imagery from my brain. I never expected to be so fucking desperate this many years into life. The whole subject is fucking pathetic, yet there are seemingly no other choices. I am stuck with brightly-lit doorsteps. Considering the newly-established realization that I am nothing more than a whelp/whore, I do not believe Jolene would respect me at all. Worship is bad, plain and simple, and I would constantly worship every fucking aspect of her as a human being. The fact is, mere days into being close (as if anything so wondrous could ever come to pass) would force her into the conclusion that I am very unhealthy and far from a balanced person. That is not good. Unfortunately, this is what I have become, and the condition is worsening with each passing day. I just wanted to point out that I can never be ‘good’ for anyone no matter the circumstances. What a lovely thought, all covered with roses and bunnies. Now she is in the decontamination chamber in tiny shorts and a tank. Worship. I will not go into detail. You can thank me later. The thoughts in my head when I see her skin are such that no one wants to hear them. Oh, God... How in the holy blue fuck did I get so bad? This is the worst position imaginable. For me, anyway. I have to stop talking about her. A few more thoughts that come to mind during this episode? Sure. this is the second to which I’ve been exposed that reinforce EVERY FUCKING THING that is wrong with me. I feel smaller, less significant, and on a much more dire path than during other episodes. Very small. Tiny. Inadequate. Broken. Without recourse. I will say straight out that if not for the truck, I would be much worse off right now. The project can be completed and it will represent positive traits and vast skill. Nothing else in my life can boast such terms. Nothing. I think it’s time to move to the garage because anger is building at an alarming rate right now, not to mention more physical desire for Jolene than in memory. Ears. I need to lick her fucking ears RIGHT NOW. And? My tongue would come out her nose. Don’t inquire of the entry point. Hmm... Maybe some detail, but you probably already knew what I was thinking. God damn does this ever hurt. Bye for now. 0652 on a gray Friday morning. Gray inside, gray outside. Jolene is wearing that white outfit again. I haven’t watched this series for some months due to sticking with the third and fourth shows for a long time. The beginning of the third season is when the design changes are apparent, but every now and then during seasons one and two she is in something bright. Right now, for example, that outfit leaves no stone unturned. All I need is a few minutes of... I mentioned that the bushings arrived yesterday, but had not performed a full inspection until now. Well, they are complete shit. They will not work. Due to the cost of having them manufactured, I went on a long tirade about a waste of money during the afternoon and evening but eventually shut it down because I was going in circles. The fact is the material does not appear to have been machined at all, just sanded perhaps. The center holes are not concentric with the outer diameters. The runout is several thousandths of an inch beyond even the parts I made by hand. The difference in outer diameter from one end to the other of EACH bushing is in excess of .010”. That may not sound like much, but from a machining standpoint it is a football field. There are so many issues with the parts that I don’t even know where to begin when I address the company. The parts will be sent back to them and I plan to make it clear that I really don’t give a fuck if they refund my money. They simply need to know that I am aware of the parts not actually having been machined. More likely they were fabricated by hand. I could have made them from less than a dollar’s worth of material in roughly half an hour if I had the machinery. They should have spun them off a CNC lathe more quickly and efficiently than I ever could. 0816 and the morning business is finished, leaving me here for the duration and whatever I wish to do today. There may be some laundry, but the dry cleaning will be going out this time. The suits really need to be properly cleaned and pressed whenever I have the opportunity. Well, one other project is my need to measure every aspect of the bushings because I just opened the drawing in their software and noticed that I may have had the specifications all fucked up in the first place. That means they are not at fault. If the parts are within spec, I can’t take issue with anyone other than myself due to leaving the accuracy too wide-open. Damn it. That’s all I needed... Something else to knock me down. Maybe some Andrea/Ashley combination will come to my door wearing yoga pants, booties and a tank top while soliciting something so I can completely lose my shit. She would help by... This is a terrible morning. My brain is so fucked up over everything which has transpired in the last few months, and then to add the bushing failure only presses me down further. I am so far from happy that I don’t even know how to say it. I am glad the RC switch and unions arrived in the mail yesterday afternoon because at least I have something to work with today. The bushings mean that despite all my accomplishments in getting the primary drive to operate from the transmitter, the axles cannot be connected at all. The parts I made are failures so I went with the machine shop, and now those won’t work either due to my not having paid proper attention to the specifications. I have the girl in my head, all those problems from earlier in the year, and the pain of knowing I am stuck in such a position for the foreseeable future. Moreover, the show last night added tidbits of visions when the little goddess was on the screen and I can’t get her face out of my brain. I need to go back in time to when... Impossible, just like everything else. I’d better accomplish something today. Right now I just don’t know how. 1003. The routine is finished. Fifth show and whiskey. Call the alcohol a crutch, I don’t care. I am many things, and the good parts seem to be only technical. Emotionally? Ruined. No one is going to darken my doorstep in the future no matter how dire my thinking may be. I fucking hate everything right now. Everything. I’ll be in the garage shortly to work on the steering. Hopefully that part of the system doesn’t shift its trajectory downward. I need more problems like I need Satan’s penis up my ass. Laugh it up. And sometimes I think Porthos is cuter than T’Pol. That little doggie is something else. I need to lick her ears, damn it. I need lots of things, actually. Something bad is going to happen.
Today seems like a good day to throw things into the trash. I just feel like streamlining, and such a case generally comes to mind when everything has been heading downhill, just like yesterday and this morning. I have control over the atmosphere, truck and entertainment, yet the reality is that the control I truly need in order to survive is most decidedly absent from life. I’ve enjoyed that control on very few occasions, honestly. The last was so many years ago that the memories are beginning to fade. Hence all that shit about the machine two years ago. She was the end-all be-all of human existence, and the last bastion of my way of life. Impossible, but no less appealing. I still believe a machine is the only way. Ah... I hear my neighbor pulling up on the Italian bike. What a great exhaust note. Anyway, a big part of my feelings toward a mechanized woman stemmed from Ashley and the way she considered humanity and intersex relationships. I still can’t believe the way she spoke to me, nor can I reconcile the idea that she may have been the only individual to feel the way she did. I believe I became permanently scarred due to her words and demeanor toward me. Nothing like that will ever exist again. Not near me, anyway. I sit here day after miserable day dreaming of all things unlikely, much of it resulting from all that Ashley told me in the tiny space of a few days. The Raven was similar in her mindset, but to be honest she was different in enough ways to force the conclusion that we were doomed from the beginning. Well, allow me to rephrase. Every single reach I’ve made in searching for comfort resulted in doom, most likely at my hands or due to my tragic circumstances. The doorstep shall remain black for all time. Nothing good can be on the horizon because I am so fucking jaded by this point in time that even the simplest exchange will end in disaster. Believe it. And black in this context is not a color. It is a condition. I could live the rest of my life on her lips. Jolene is unbelievably gorgeous and her physical form unmatched in modern history. I have never gazed upon her equal. As I said before, she used to be like a sister in that I felt deeply in my heart but nothing further. Now? I am feeling a dire need to make her a fucking machine and a plaything forever. Tongue. Nose. Think about it. Remember the Sushi girl? Right up there and out the other side. Fucking kill me, I don’t care. I have little left to lose at this point. Everything causes pain, be it north or south, and there is not one damned thing I can do about any of it. Jesus fucking shit fuck damn hell, anyway. Time and circumstance have done this. Desperation is dangerous, although if I were to apply the solution, no one would have a snowball’s chance in hell of contradicting me. Such a thought may be the only real control I have or have ever had. Maybe that is more appealing than putting an end to the pain. I just don’t fucking know. I hope I didn't offend anyone's delicate sensibilities. Well, I honestly don't care. Go fuck yourself. I made this mess... It's mine. The truth is that the problems I have in life far outweigh anything coming from someone else, and I don't give a shit whether I hear words or gunfire. Lick THIS." 0654 on Saturday morning. Coffee, cats fed, gray sky. Jolene is also in gray. Oh, yesterday. Again I have to point out the failures and pitfalls rather than anything positive. The largest pitfall was a vision, of course, and I still see it, all plaid and soft. Cute. Breasts all over the fucking place. Fuck it, shoot me in the face for talking in such a way. I don’t care. The fact is my head cannot remove her during the day, only sometimes at night am I able to push back. Today we are going to the festival – none have been available since nineteen due to the pandemic – and there is generally a large contingent of strikes present on the street. During the last occasion three years ago, the biggest strike was a little too close to home for my comfort. I dealt with it because there was little choice in the matter (at the time). This year? I don’t know what to expect. So far, the only certainty is the fact that there is alcohol for sale up and down the festival. That should help me relax while walking. The other tidbit which makes me a little uncomfortable is being away from my little world for a few hours. Being out there among the mass makes it very difficult for me to retreat if I become agitated or hurt. I’d rather remain home all the time, but alas I am not the only one living in this house. My buddy came by yesterday to scope the patio and roof work. He has to consult an engineer soon and we will have another meeting so he can work up some numbers. I am really looking forward to seeing that old patio cover disappear and the back door replaced with something that works properly and keeps the weather out. I wish I hadn’t dreamed of her. Nothing good has come of it. Nothing. And I’ve been having a difficult time concentrating upon anything else since that first vision. Jolene’s calm demeanor makes me want to... Doorsteps of life, all bright and awaiting that most powerful of ideas. It will not come to pass, though. My dreams are far too unrealistic and generally tend to lean toward the impossible to actually have a chance of coming true. Not the dreams of the girl or any of that other shit, either. I am referring to ideas of the type of comfort which has eluded me for decades. Such ideas originally came about right around the time I left high school, took a few years off, and then re-emerged in the Midwest. They again came about while standing outside this house in front of five in the morning and waiting to go to work. That period lasted several years and I am glad it’s over. But the dream is still very strong. I remember dreaming of things that come in threes, soon after finding myself far away from everyone and safe. Now the only time I feel even slightly safe is while home. The outing later this morning will reinforce such a fact. The powerful idea has changed since those first daydreams in the eighties, most likely due to me changing as the years passed. The underlying idea, however, remains the same. The doorstep is bright. I cannot make it change. No power. I have no pull with anything in the world. These feelings are so bad that I don’t even know where to begin, nor can I simply describe the situation. Believe me when I say that I really NEED to talk about it. The problem is I fear the reaction – ANY reaction, to be honest. No one is listening anyway, so I don’t even know why I’ve gone over this so much. Maybe I’m more concerned than originally thought. The three dreams were pretty bad, but the fourth, more recent connection through dreaming had me all fucked up for a long while. I can’t stop thinking of how much I need her all wrapped around me like clothing. My doorstep is destined to remain lit, unfortunately. I already know such a fact and no one can convince me otherwise. Jolene’s voice can be very soothing at times. Anyway, what I am saying is similar to a few lines from a very old album... ‘Bottled in; a strong compression. My distortion shows obsession...’ There you go. Do you get it? Keep trying. Or maybe I’ll just go straight out with the idea. Everything is inside my head and sealed like a bottle. The obsession has driven me completely out of my mind and left my sense of reality so distorted that I barely recognize myself in the fucking mirror. Clear? I wish she could just hold me for a minute. Please. 0811. I have to begin thinking of preparations to go out. The festival is only ten minutes from here, but I have to be at least a little bit pleased with the way I look before leaving the house. My sunglasses should help keep others from seeing what I may be thinking at a given time. Most of the visits to this event have resulted in my feeling very sad while strolling the booths. Yes, I said ‘sad’. Much like being in what could be the most blissful situation within my dreams, the brain tries to imagine far too much for me to actually handle, and then I end up hit in the face with reality. There was her voice again. Good God, please just let me... 2023. Still Saturday. I am sitting in the lit empire with quiet music, my cocktail, and the day’s events running through my mind. Yes... My fucking mind. It has shifted a great distance from the time before that first damaging dream. Never in a million years could I have predicted this type of change, and I can say in no uncertain terms that I don’t like it. The festival today quickly reinforced said change, and as a result I did not move around the streets as I have in the past. Vast differences. A mere fifteen minutes after arriving and catching the tail end of the parade, I calculated that the issues related to being at such an event would be minimal. Well, that changed some time later. I noticed aspects of the atmosphere that went unnoticed for many years, perhaps more than a decade of visiting. Once the first issue arose, I knew there would be many others and began to steel myself against the possibility. Less than halfway through the three-hour stroll up and down the line, my head came apart and forced me to narrow my view of the landscape. Early this morning my entire mind was controlled by my feelings for Jolene’s character and all of the impossibilities related to how I feel about beauty. By mid-afternoon however, everything changed and I can no longer view myself as anything short of a heretic. A red-letter day, to be sure. Jolene is in the standard gray. Her eyes are speaking to me but I cannot reply because the moment is two decades old. I wish she would hold me, but alas the doorsteps can no longer darken. I just received a split-second glimpse of her lines. I have not accomplished much today. The reasons are the festival and then a visit to her parents’ for the installation of another awning. No big deal. In between those two, I decided to stop at the bar due to the traffic situation in town. Rather than grinding the trip home and then north again, I figured we could rest at the bar in the cool breeze. That turned out to be a very good decision after walking in the sun and suffering in three distinct ways. Yes, I said three. Anyway, a little while ago I ordered some dinner to be delivered and cleaned the kitchen while waiting. That means tomorrow’s routine will be much shorter than the typical day. Nice. I have the garbage business and whatever work can be done in the garage, and both will probably round out my Sunday without anything screwing with my head like today. 0657. Sunday. I have my usual coffee and the fifth series up there. This is good stuff. The first order of business after the parade was to find something to drink, and then eat. In the past, I’ve stumbled around for hours trying to find the ‘perfect’ or ‘ideal’ lunch item, only to push it too far and then end up senseless and tired. We had a snack right out of the gate yesterday. There was a large booth nearby with souvenir glasses and a variety of alcohol, across from which was another booth with some good stuff to eat. We grabbed both, and then I moved to the side of the second booth for some condiments and a place to stand and eat in the shade. And here we go, off to the races of me feeling very guilty due to staring at a girl for an extended period of time. We finished our snack and strolled around the corner to have a cigarette, and soon after I needed to return to the food booth for a napkin. There she was again. I immediately hoped that nothing else all day would rival the sight of her because otherwise I would not make it through the day on my feet. There is typically an entire orchestra of issues running through my brain and to add too much weight in a short period of time is very bad, and can even be dangerous. She was dangerous, believe it or not. I’m not joking. Jolene’s voice is so poetic, cool and controlled that overhearing just two words drives me insane. I had a solid three minutes of staring at that girl while she ate lunch. Staring. There was a mass of people in the street and a band beginning to play music on the south stage, meaning most eyes were all over the place and not looking in my direction at all. I stared at her clothing, hair, eyes, fingers, everything. She was dressed comfortably with jeans and a tank which showed off her midsection. Tennis shoes and a small backpack. The problem is I was trying to see lines, meaning my fucking brain calculated looking ‘through’ her clothing to what may have been inside, and therein lies the rub. Soon I began to feel as if I was invading her privacy (though she was standing on a public street and in a veritable crowd), and had to get the fuck out of there. We headed north and I only glimpsed her once during the next couple of hours, walking in the opposite direction. And there was more. I can’t say. The idea of me standing there staring at her is not so bad, I suppose. I can appreciate the sight and try to compute a few things, and in the end nothing comes of it and no harm was done. Jolene’s voice again. God damn it. Anyway, I saw plenty enough to cause me problems for a while, so perhaps feeling guilty about staring has been offset by the process inside me. I could tell there was something... I could see clues here and there which lent to the idea that what I saw could be classified as very unique and possibly similar in form to Ashley or a few others, albeit not as tall. Her hair alone was enough to send me flying off the handle and wishing to go home. At the outset of the day, I figured there would be problems considering the warm weather combined with such an event. I already knew. What I did not know was how my desperation continues to worsen and drive me out of my mind much of the time. The girl in question was a strike, for sure, yet I should not feel so tormented and lost after walking away. I should be able to continue the day and enjoy the festival without images of her stomach swirling in my head and causing me to miss some of the fucking booths. Believe me when I say that some of what I began to imagine cannot be written here. This morning? I no longer know how I feel about myself. The glaring positive is that at no time did her eyes meet mine. She did not look in my direction as far as I could tell, so that makes me feel a tiny bit better. Just because I wanted to eat the pants right off her little rear end doesn't mean the world is worse off due to the way I think. What takes place inside me is private. No one need be aware that I am so fucked up, least of all a person out there having a good time and unaware of the mass of unique beauty all over her. The worst part of all this should probably remain out of the writing. Just know that I don't feel very good about myself this morning, but at the same time there is anger building in the opposite direction... Those who caused me to turn out this way. And don't give me a blast of shit over choices, either. Formative years are just that; fucking FORMATIVE. My need for a specific and very loving type of connection or comfort has been born of years of pain and difficulty. I did not cause those to happen when I was young, and now you can view the result. I wanted to swallow that girl in one fucking piece and actually felt GENUINE PAIN upon walking away and knowing nothing could ever come of the situation. She is also related to the damaging dream, naturally. Why not, right? Just pile everything on top of everything else and package it. Then? Throw it at me and hit my head hard enough to disallow future thinking. As a result of the trouble this morning and everything which has taken place since the first dream earlier this year, the doorsteps shall heretofore remain entitling the entries until something (anything!) can be resolved or dealt with to my satisfaction. This is simply the first chapter. The situation inside me is apparently far worse than I had thought just one day ago. I really believe that. My weakened vision was all over that fucking street for three hours, and the only good thing to come from such an extended period is the fact that there were VERY few examples of beauty capable of drawing my attention. The one near the food booth was plenty. There was another one some time later I think, but I can’t talk about it. Trust me. You don’t want to know. Last night I had a few hours to myself – as evidenced by the small amount of writing I did while in the garage after dark – and really enjoyed the quiet. I ordered pizza and watched my show for a time before transitioning to the garage. I had been awaiting the neighbor to return from a dinner meeting because we were to talk a bit, but alas that did not pan out, so I closed everything down and returned here. Soon after? Sleep. The entire evening, much like right fucking now, my head could not push away thoughts of that girl and her smooth skin. I kept flip-flopping back and forth between the fourth dream and the girl at the festival. There were similarities, although I can say for sure most of them cannot be shared here. I believe the bare midriff was the clincher for a time. I wish I could talk about this, like fleshing it out to hopefully better understand the exact motivation for my thoughts (dreams). Without that outlet or someone off which to bounce thoughts, everything remains tightly wound inside me and causes nothing more than confusion and pain. The quiet last night was very nice, but honestly I think the better way to spend my evening would have been with dinner and the television, like usual. Anything with the ability to minimize the turmoil is always welcomed. I am having a hard time avoiding more detail but this is how things must be. Damn it. Today is Sunday, so at some point I’ll rise and take care of business. I will have the usual time to myself for a little while and that may be the bulk of the work. Afterward, I may sit and stare at the truck a while and try to plan my next move. I still have not mounted the primary drive because I am hesitant to drill holes in the main chassis plate without being completely certain of the location and any possible future alterations. Mark Rolston is on the screen in this episode. He is always fantastic and I’ve probably mentioned his acting ability in the past. I wish I could write to him. Whatever. Anyway, after the last few days, I’ve been feeling very destructive in response to all that anger combined with my cemented, powerless position in this mess. In order to deal with my wishes to burn everything to the ground and continue in life like a real grown-up type of person, I need to take the anger and leverage it into work around the house and garage. That is the only way I can survive this shit and perhaps come out the other side (if there even IS another side). The garbage can is never full regarding what we toss in an average week, and last time I was able to put parts of the disassembled chairs in it. I’ll continue that today and see what else can be tossed. I like empty space. Maybe I can create empty space inside my fucking head. I could see that her bra was ineffective in hiding the size and shape of her breasts. There you go. Shoot me in the face for feeling this way. Empty doorsteps. And don’t think I forgot about the backward strike, either. Nothing leaves my brain, ever. I am a tennis ball these days, one second on the end of the court surrounded by impossible dreams, and then the other end after seeing or hearing too much and then retreating and feeling like half of what I had hoped to be. The racket strikes me whenever I least expect it. I wish I had not seen her. I don’t need any more of this shit. The memory of her smile leads to all manner of thought processes, not the least of which is the idea of her posing while I measure and capture her with my camera, lines all over the place.
The lines were in there. I knew they were present, yet her clothing precluded detail of any kind. It’s a feeling, really, partially driven by her motions and all that I was actually able to see. Dreams ensued... Poses; conversation; appreciation. I felt a dire need to TELL her what she meant to my decades-long obsession and search, and then experience the reaction. I have no fucking idea how something like that would progress. I will probably never know, nor will she know of the unbelievable and otherworldly draw she carried every second of every day. Maybe I should not have mentioned the bra. Fuck, I don’t know anymore. I feel like shit for so many reasons that I can’t find all the words. Tormented without end. Doorsteps, forever bright. Pain, forever present. I am left to wonder how much longer I can live this way. The images no longer appear to align with my intentions here. I guess this can be a single entry rather than a series. I have much to say and even more that must be left out. I feel bad all the time these days. 0842. Last cup of coffee. The show has been disregarded. Not even Jolene can lift my spirits. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at some festival or other event – like the car shows across the bay, perhaps – in which I end up following behind a woman with an incredible form, only to see her turn and reveal a face that should be avoided at all costs. It’s a feeling, I suppose, due to some expression or other detail that tells me she may be troubling. I’m sure that happens for many people due to the idea that we do not ‘know’ anyone until after ‘seeing’ them, meaning a lot of connections could have been circumvented due to vanity. I don’t know for sure, though. As I said, it’s just a feeling. The girl yesterday appeared kind and caring, considerate and sweet. It was her face.... Her eyes. Just like what Andrea told me she saw in my eyes before we ever spoke, I could tell that girl was a very nice person, and such an observation makes me feel even worse. Above all things – beauty, form, clothing, hair, or whatever – she is a person. Not an object, just a person. A human being living her life however she sees fit. And over there not fifteen feet away stood me, staring and yearning. I feel horrible. Once more... She did not see me, and as such remains unaffected by all the fucked up shit in my head, thank Christ. I no longer feel like a person. I feel as a product of what others have caused within me. The words regarding the girl yesterday are also products of my past. This will happen again. I don’t know where to go from here. Not the day, in general. I don’t have a fucking clue. More visions like yesterday are going to take place. That cannot be argued unless I literally remain behind closed doors for all time. But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities that extend beyond my little world. Shopping and such. I think I’m going to move this machine into the garage right now and kill the television. Stand by. Ok, I am set up on the bench. The truck has been relegated to the table behind me. The fish continue to grow. All is quiet except the fucking crows and their vocalizations. I dumped the remaining coffee because I need nothing more than water for the next couple of hours. Good stuff. Why the lines? Was it Marci? Or maybe the beginning image of Mercedes? That was a huge turning point, and could have influenced me deeply. The position of her waist and thighs caught me off-guard so terribly that she could have been the first. And yes, I’ve asked that question several times throughout the site since early fifteen (and Mercedes was there), but I cannot avoid questioning every fucking time I see something which moves me to the point of painful tears. I can’t fucking help it anymore. This is not a fetish. Not by strict definition, anyway, and I will argue that point until I’m dead. I don’t see it as such because no other part of my life has been affected as deeply. We can see the tremendous force wielded upon me by the girl yesterday. This entry was almost steered away completely from the title. That is what I would define as ‘power’. It supports the titles bearing the same word and all were referring to the obsession in one way or another. I am worse off now than in years due to the simple fact that I am alone in this... No one is listening, partially by choice and somewhat as a result of trust. The lines have driven me insane. I am going to try to avoid the connection between the lines and desire. That may be too much right now. My condition has weakened dramatically. I need help. I guess I’ll begin the routine. Ah, shit. A woman just walked by pushing a stroller. LINES again. Fuck me. Maybe she'd let me... 1133. Nothing has left my head, but at least I have the next few hours to myself. I can contemplate and drink beer out here in the garage. The stroller woman remains in my brain, just like the girl yesterday. Inside me. I can’t fucking let any of them go because my level of desperation is at an all-time high. Believe it. I am crazy, broken, worried, yet there is nothing in the fucking world I can do about any of it. I just keep writing. Part of the routine is finished, as is some of the garbage work. I noticed that the little motherfuckers created an interstate highway from part of the front yard to the green can, so I squashed them. The perimeter is secure, but outside I generally won’t waste the treatment on areas further from the foundation. Today is an exception because they are creatures of opportunity. By close of business there will be nothing crawling within twenty feet of the cans. I tend to hit even the smallest and most malleable target with the biggest hammer I can find. I have no reason to be gentle anymore. The anger is overwhelming. I can't fucking wait to cut up the chair frames. Miter saw, beer, loud music... Ah, the action will be good for my pissy fucking mood. I wish someone would darken my doorstep. Loneliness is painful, difficult, and something of which I have had more than enough. Desperation? Worse. I have been weakened more than I would care to admit, and infinitely more than I could have imagined in a century. I can’t even go into the tears that flowed a while ago due to one actor’s short performance on my two televisions. God help me. On other occasions I would state that I can’t get the image of her out of my head. Today, on the other hand, the statement is different. I can’t get the way I felt to leave me. Everything I’ve said in this entry all adds up to the fact that I am becoming unfit to be within society. Nothing changes out there, but I’ve changed a lot in the last half year or less, and the results are all bad. The only positive right now is the fact that I am not going to leave the house. Yes, there will be the occasional pedestrian cruising along my street – like the woman with the stroller – and I’ll fall down accordingly, however the fact remains that I am much better off removing myself from the possibility of seeing something along the ‘lines’ of yesterday’s fucking failure. Monday morning, 0715 with coffee and the extended family. The way I feel these days should be outlawed. Ah hell, I don’t know. I am all screwed up. There is just too much going on inside lately. And there is Jolene, all cold and gorgeous. Super cute. Anyway, today is the first Monday in months in which I will not be alone all day, only a part. Most of my time will be occupied, though. Between this machine, the truck progress and my usual housework, I may as well be alone. And on the inside I am completely alone. More than ever in my life. The work and projects are still helping me get out of bed in the morning, so I suppose today will be much like yesterday. Right now I am feeling the loss more acutely than in the past. Work may or may not help to remove that feeling. I just don’t know. If my doorstep would darken... The series we’ve been watching during the evenings is coming to an end, meaning that girl will no longer be plaguing me. Last night was a tough one, for sure. She looked so beautiful and stirring, and for whatever reason – possibly some fucking cosmic alignment – the producers saw fit to darken her gorgeous, flowing hair to nearly black. Yep, that is a problem. Now she has an additional feature that has helped to propel her beauty into the exosphere. I didn’t want the change, but my love for dark hair will not cease. The girl is fucking amazing and in my head on and off all day, every day. The way she relates to the dreams is uncanny sometimes. I wish I could say more, and I also wish I could... Yesterday I aligned one axle’s steering mechanics and reworked the wire ropes through some spacers at each end. The system behaved much more smoothly, so I reworked the opposite wire rope ends. Now when the steering operates from the transmitter it is quieter, as if the motor is not working quite as hard to swing everything from lock to lock. Today I will pull the rear steering hubs and go through the same alignment. I still have not mounted the primary drive. It remains floating on and off the chassis plate because I don’t like the way it looks, nor do I want to do any fabrication on the plate unless it is absolutely necessary. I would prefer to side-mount the drive system to the right frame rail and may work toward that end today. I also have the new mosfet switch that I hope can control the fluorescent lighting under the main PC board, effectively replacing my original idea of individual discrete LEDs all over the frame rails. I need to break out the prototyping system and build a circuit to see if the power and ground ideas are feasible, plus I’ll learn what the system draws. Thankfully, the mounting of the tubes and power module will be via foam tape, so nothing permanent needs to be done. If the lights don’t look good, everything can be removed without issue. The hurdle will be in finding a suitable location for the switch. At least I have plenty of time these days. I am glad we didn’t do the typical two days at the festival. There is little chance that same girl would have been there the second day, yet something else would have come along to fuck over my head. I already know that. I mean, there is always a vision somewhere, be it along the lines of the obsession or some reference to the past. Visiting a second time only would have worsened how I feel and I really don’t need it. Some of my thinking is very critical to the way I view myself. Saturday represented a drop in my value. Sunday likely would have gone even further down. I can’t completely spell it out, either. The girl has been mentioned and partially described. That will have to be good enough. Well, I will say that since the first damaging dream, my thinking process has been altered. There are categories, and the girl at the festival was in the opposite section of my brain from the dream. That is it. I can still see her with the French fries. Her navel. Long, black hair. Nails. Lips. I am going down a slippery slope here. I was grabbing a napkin and excused myself. And then I glanced at her face and desperately needed to... 0754. The show is losing my interest. I may turn it off and move to the garage like yesterday. Maybe that yoga-clad rear end will waddle by again so I can fall down and feel more alone just like every other occasion. Splendid thought, don’t you think? There is something else I could do after refilling the coffee, but very little that comes to mind these days is what the average person would consider ‘normal’. My head has deviated from the typical path of living to a great degree, and I can honestly say that I have never thought in such a fashion. I mean that. This is the year of the acute feelings combined with the chronic obsession, the former being my Achilles’ heel. I never expected this and my feelings have changed. I will also say that unlike when I was younger, the emotions driven by dreams have not faded. They have done the reverse. As I sit here right now, I can see each dream clearly and my heart becomes involved at each recollection. This is not good. Oh, God, Jolene’s fucking form again. All the way across the room and cramming my head full of numbers that I will never know. I need to wrap myself in her lines like a blanket. Nothing has left my head, from the past bliss in the arms of more than one woman, to the peaking of the obsession and my realization that I’ve become more desperate than ever, and on to the newest set of problems made possible by one simple dream some months ago. The ‘Shilo’ condition is at full power right now. There is also a crossover taking place between every single difficulty through which I live each day. The present is much worse than I could have imagined, and that is pretty telling considering how buried I was just two years ago. And now Laura Interval is gracing the screen, all five-nine and with one of those faces that cannot be easily described. Upon seeing her, I immediately need to be right in the middle of... Anyway, all this shit is dragging me down and making the enjoyments that much harder to embrace and appreciate. I am ever-falling into a hole that cannot be defined. I just keep typing and going through the motions every day, and I am still searching for reasons. My future appears grayer than the sky this morning. There she is again. Unreal. I wonder if she would let me... 0856. I am tired of this effort but don’t know what else to do. No one is listening, I have more turmoil inside than ever before, and I need help more badly right now than I did even during eleven. Oh, and that other period... The mandated counseling during late zero-three when I was hospitalized not long after being torn from the arms of the doll herself. I can’t seek anything due to fear on more than one level. The only path right now is to alter nothing. My housework, the truck, and the shows. This is becoming the thinnest, most pathetic type of living imaginable. And don’t give me shit about how difficult others may have it. I can’t do much about them because I have to look out for number one as a priority. If I was happy and healthy, I’d be helping others. Shut up. Besides, making comparisons is not good. Unrealistic daydreaming is not going to help anything. The situation is stagnant. Those early morning visions back when I was waiting to go to work have jaded me in the extreme. All the way back to the Midwest when I sat on the couch in the heat with fans humming and the tennis championships on the television, I can recall being so desperate to escape the mundane and be in the fold of those much more fortunate. I could picture it. Well, many years later I forced the issue and created my own blissful conditions. Unfortunately, they were nothing more than deluded, temporary circumstances which always resulted in the same dire need to go away permanently, and I am not speaking of a positive solution. More than one of those trips was intended to be one-way. I returned after each, further down and more desperate than at the outset. I just could not muster the courage required to remain away. All I did was cause more damage. This morning I am in a similar mindset due to what has taken place and affected me this year, yet still... I can’t fucking DO ANYTHING. I am going to try to focus upon the positives of being here, an idea I’ve had before, and one which always seems to find derailment when I least expect it. For years I wished to be free of that difficult, downtrodden work situation, and here I am without the need to work, plenty of time for whatever I wish to do, but in the end I am no better off for the change. I still sit here and daydream. Most of it is very bad. 0932 and I need to move away from this soon and begin some chores. The show will follow, and then at some point the third season will begin and I’ll fall all over myself gushing about Jolene again. I can’t help it. I am cornered, and the doorstep is bright. Nothing is going to happen. No one will approach the door. There will be no true understanding. There will be no one listening. I will continue to dream and wallow in a vat of turmoil. I will see things which torment me endlessly. I will sit here and write about all of it. This is all I have left in the world. 1043 and I have fallen down again. This is nearly completely debilitating. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Feeling this way is going to kill me in no uncertain terms. Just a matter of fucking time. I am close to flipping the fuck out for the umpteenth time. I finished part of the routine and decided to sit with my cocktail and this shit for a while before continuing. The kitchen will not take very long. When it is finished, I’ll probably move to the garage and work on the electronics experiment. I can only hope being out there busy with something can help. The fifth show is still playing, but my attention is elsewhere. It is in a pair of pants, if you must know the truth. Pick one. They are all lined up inside my brain. I don’t understand how I became so controlled by the visions, but at the same time I haven’t really lifted a finger to help myself deal with everything. More dreams, more writing, more thoughts of the past. Nothing is good right now. Maybe the sun will appear at some point and warm the garage enough for me to be comfortable in my attempts to solve truck problems. Maybe. I don’t expect anything good in my life. I expect more disappointment and disillusionment. I have been in the bliss. I have been there. Now I am here. Blissless. Is that a word? Jolene’s lips are a universe in and of themselves. Oh, God... Watching her walk through sickbay. I am insane for her right now. All I desire is a few minutes of... Fucking hell is she ever amazing to see. The Goddamned document cloud is losing and regaining its connection. I am now relegated to writing into a common note, which I don't enjoy. This machine is very reliable, albeit also very old. The cloud allows me to type without worry of losing information. Perhaps the gateway needs to be rebooted. That usually clears any errors within minutes. The funny thing is that whenever I transfer information from the cloud to the local web form, I will immediately back it up to the server so nothing can be lost. Call me paranoid, but aside from the fucking truck, this is the only part of my life about which I still give half a shit. Go ahead and laugh. I would, but I'm in the middle of a very bad time and nothing is funny anymore. There was her name again. I blew a kiss like always. I love her. I LOVE her, for crying out loud. Jolene is one of two fictional characters over which I fantasize several times during a given hour. I am a crazy person. There is a massive difference between the two, though. Jamie is a different type of feeling. As much as I want to hold and be held by her, the truth is Jolene is on the other side of a thin line. I want to live the rest of my life inside her clothing. There you go... Another opportunity to laugh at me. I don't blame you. And back to the cloud. Her face again. Eyebrows up, eyes looking absolutely huge, and her expression leveraging my brain into needing very badly to... I can’t take much more of this shit. At least I’m a raging alcoholic. That helps. Others don't seem to understand. Well, to their credit, they are unable to 'know' me because I am more closed off than a fucking Egyptian cemetery. I am considering watching Battlestar Galactica again. No, not the original. The newer series which aired beginning in zero-four. Part of that idea is driven by my desire to see Tricia and her five-ten-plus fucking unreal frame. I can’t deny that. Most of it, though, is due to the series being absolutely fantastic and one of the most highly-rated science fiction programs in history. One of the characters scares the shit out of me, however. She is the one reason to avoid watching. I’ve seen it, so that does ease the apprehension a bit. Trip is my favorite character within this series. You’d think my choice would be Jolene, but my appreciation for her is vastly different. Would you like me to go into detail? Her lines? Her sex? My tongue? I didn’t think so. 1600 hours. Jolene is wearing blue. Jesus. I’d like to...
I worked on the electronics for a little while and found a way to power the fluorescent tubes from the new mosfet. I’ll have to fabricate some sort of mount for the thing since it was never included in the original design. I was not out there very long, though. My inspiration and ambition are waning today due to the steamroller in my head. This is not a good day by any means. The morning seemed fine, but later? Not the ideal mental situation. The fifth show is still on. Third season, meaning Jolene’s hair and apparel have been updated beautifully. This is the point when I first began to feel deeply for her. My dreams are ash. I am so unhappy these days that I can’t recall ever being in such a negative circumstance. Everything I need is gone or has otherwise been torn away. No one understands. No one is listening. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. What? The enjoyments? Waning, still. Jolene is in all orange now. 0711 on Tuesday morning after a miserable Monday. One positive is that I turned down the idea of working for a few days. I can’t be out there in the force with my head so fucked up. Yesterday I couldn’t push any of the difficulty far enough away to really concentrate on the mosfet switch. I gave up and did not know what to do. Those few items I continue to mention have taken over my psyche. Something bad is going to happen. I suppose I’ll just sit here and go over the same subjects. I have coffee and the fifth show again. I also have an appointment to attend this afternoon. In a couple of hours I’ll care for the routine and then move to the garage to see if I can figure out a way to mount the switch. I would also like to realign the steering hubs on one axle. Eventually, I’ll get to the primary drive again. Yesterday I discovered a nice piece of aluminum in my toolbox which may work well for the mount. I was seconds from falling further yesterday afternoon. Looking back this morning, I still can’t believe I took such a path, although I should not be terribly surprised, honestly. My feelings become pretty fucking dire and such a process can grow inside me quickly. Jolene is wearing light blue. Her hair is so lovely. Anyway, I managed to get the fuck out of there and alter my thinking before the situation became disastrous. I then figured the garage might be the only way of getting through the rest of the day intact. I don’t see possibilities on the horizon, unfortunately, meaning I’ll be hit in the face again very soon. I will say straight out that between the first period in which I began to feel ‘alone’ and the ensuing years, I feel much more strongly than I did less than a half decade back. All of it came crashing down on my head yesterday and I nearly faltered very badly. I can’t go running and screaming into the fucking street, so everything remains bottled up under strong compression. This state is unhealthy and very dangerous. My stress level has risen, as has my need to be understood. Combined, those sum to me seeing only two paths in life; one to which I have already been routed, the other being death. As of yet, these daily situations which arise have not had the power to send me into the ground. There are no guarantees. This will happen again and again. To be honest, I am expecting today to be a complete disaster. It is just a matter of time. The fall is coming, and I don’t mean leaves. Jolene is wearing those thin, blue pajamas. The damaging dreams have not returned since the fourth some time ago. The show last night gave me a wonderful view of the girl about whom I continue to obsess, so I am surprised the bad things did not creep into my sleep time. My doorstep needs some fucking help, and one of those two girls could cast a shadow. But they wouldn’t and will not. Read that again. Nothing good will ever come along for me. Nothing. They do not know me and never will. My head manufactured all this shit due to being very out of balance, desperate, and lonely. I doubt I am the only person in the world yearning for understanding. No dreams lately means I am more relaxed when hitting the sheets at night. I have no doubt that another will come along at some point just when I least expect it, and the visions and feelings will probably leave me wrecked again. Something will happen during one of my days and cause my head to retain some errant image and then run with it later just because it can. The girl on the show is in the same category as the ‘damage’, much like my weakened eyes drinking in the one at the festival last Saturday. Same fucking category. The things I imagined should not be placed within this content. I am all fucked up, but I still have a bit of respectful comportment left. A little bit, really. I can stand there and make nice, be very pleasant to other people even in the presence of dramatic, striking beauty, and generally what happens is I turn immediately after the exchange and exhale as much pain as I am able. If I have to turn again, so be it. My ability to maintain composure in society should have won awards. Later? When I am alone once again? Well... You have read some of it. Jolene in orange again. The feelings I keep inside tend to come to me at night and then have me at their mercy the following morning after some wondrous yet impossible situation plays out in fiction. Twice the affection, double the fall. And here I sit, completely fucked over, only this time without the push of a dream. I rarely am the train anymore. Much of the last few years, I’ve either been in control of the locomotive or a passenger. I used to ‘be’ the train most of the time, guiding and learning. These days, and considering how desperate I’ve become with regard to the doorsteps, I have little control over anything, as if I have already given up. God damn do I ever love her controlled voice sometimes. Jesus. Anyway, today is one of those in which the train is not under my direct control. Circumstances took the knobs and levers from my hands and have left me at their mercy. So far, this is not a good day. And I overheard something which brought something else to mind – a ‘thing’ far more enticing and stirring than anything else – and I can’t say what it was. How is that for a statement? This is another example of how the train can drive me. The rails have been crafted and directed by events beyond my grip and people out to hurt me. And then I end up like this morning and stare at the front door. On the other side is the step. It is well-lit right now. The way I’ve felt since the first damaging dream some months ago is much like when I sat at the bar in zero-three – mere days or weeks after leaving Ashley’s arms and returning to my home – and was often asked if I was ok. My response was always the same: ‘I’ve been waiting ten years for the phone to ring’. The darkened doorsteps are about as likely as the ring. Jolene? All in white now. Picture it. Oops... That was the result of lighting. She’s wearing the blue uniform and trying to fight off some insane, zombie Vulcans. God bless her pointed ears. Anyway, this line of thinking came about as I refilled my coffee because I felt much the same back then. Little did I know that nearly two decades later I would be suffering through the worst part of my life. Had I known, the pyramid-slide would likely have taken place and removed possibilities. The thirtieth floor is pretty far up the side of that hotel, and snobby me had to be way above the ‘riff raff’. I contemplated my living situation and feelings at several bars while there, plus the same one near home upon my return. I was waiting for something. Right now I am again waiting for something, only I’m on the sofa rather than out there among society. I am all over the place again, but I will say that the sight and sound of Jolene’s character up there are not helping. I can’t fucking concentrate half the time due to dreaming about being all tangled up with her. Tangled. Wrapped, much like the others. So... Why don’t I turn off the show and focus here? Because I fucking NEED her up there like I need oxygen. My weakness will not allow me to avoid anything dreamy, and I am far too desperate to avoid any subject matter aligned with all of my dire fucking needs these days. Just like the pants. When something comes along, my eyes dart to it rather than allowing the brain to employ a self-protection function. I know beforehand that it will hurt me, but I look anyway because one need outweighs another. The opposite of the fear-war I mentioned some time ago. As for the concentration, this is about as good as it gets anymore. The other four series’ would not be pulling my eyes away from this screen as often, honestly. Jolene is pretty much the focus. Jamie is the same, but I have not felt like watching the gangsters lately. If I am going to sit here and splay my heart all down the fucking screen, something is going to be up there keeping me company. Bottom line. The writing may suffer and I don’t care. Every fucking entry seems the same, anyway. Other than the four dreams which began months ago, I don’t believe there has been anything ‘new’ here in years. The date and time changes. That is all. If my words waver all over the map, it means I’ve been affected by something missing from my existence and cannot deal with it very well. There you go. A messy entry with topic sentences chosen by a roll of the dice. 0833. Almost time for the last cup of coffee. Playing right now is one of the worst episodes of this series, although the aphorism still applies. Plus, there is the woman. You know. I have to do something different today. I’ve mentioned such an idea many times but have yet to change anything. Looking around doesn’t get it done. Maybe just a small step in some new direction can lead to more. I don’t know, though. The truck will take up some of my time, as will the typical housework. The other time often leads me to wonder if I am even capable of more. I guess I’m just feeling like I need to try. There are three girls in my head other than the one actor. Nothing can come of this, meaning at some point I will have to go outside the norm in order to maintain my sanity. I already know as much. The dreams will come along again, more visions will be placed before my eyes, and I’ll lose my way over and over for all time. I will fall all over myself trying to describe everything without saying a word. The work may be the only fucking road I can travel which does not lead to disaster. Jolene is wearing purple, damn it. Her face is a wonderland of superlatives, and my heart is following suit... Leaping. And then she left the mess hall and walked along the corridor with the center seam outlining each side of her rear end, effectively ruining this paragraph. Sometimes I want her so badly that the entire universe must take a back seat. This has to fade or my day is over before it begins. The purple and orange just fucking KILL ME. Anyway, I am going to do my damnedest to go outside the circle of my daily life today. I need it. The routine will be quick due to a simple dinner last night, and then I can look to another avenue of effort. The truck will be last, I believe. It is always there no matter what else may be taking place on a given day. There is plenty to do with the truck, both electronic and mechanical, so perhaps that is the way to go once my routine is finished. I’m already feeling as if my ambition to go outside the norm will wane very soon. I just don’t fucking care most of the time because whatever I may try will have zero effect upon the underlying issues. The best I can hope for is a temporary distraction from everything causing pain. Oh, and I should mention that while in the garage with the big door open, my head will occasionally scan the driveway and street for a miracle that can darken my doorstep. The odds of running my tongue all over Jolene are better than those of the previous thought. Nice, huh? The doorstep is bright. Linda is wearing a sundress. Her dark, flowing hair is dangling over the tanned skin of her bare back. Jesus. I am a crazy person. Nothing has the power to extricate the desire, not even working around the house or on the truck. Nothing. I have become a caricature of what I once was... A product whose sell-by date passed many years ago. Expectation or hope for the doorstep is more unrealistic than anything in existence. God damn that woman is gorgeous. Crazy person. Half-track mind. Hopeless. People throw around that last word as if it is a punchline, or some other way of expressing dissatisfaction in life due to things not going ‘their way’. I do not feel the same, however, and the word is used here because my wants and needs are so far beyond unrealistic that I have created my own fucking category. Believe it. I’ve mentioned before that the science fiction programming to which I always gravitate does not help. All things are possible in that universe. The shows have affected me and caused my issues to combine into one, giant sphere which cannot be broken down. I watch them over and over because I need to know that somewhere in the universe resides a place where happiness and fulfillment are real, be it fictional or otherwise. I don’t give a blue fuck in the wind if my perception is hurting me, either. I fucking need something, and in the grand scheme of the world, well... Those people are all I have. Jolene is once again wrapped in purple. She will never darken my doorstep. It’s possible that all of the ships have sailed and left me here alone. Marvelous. I need a fucking drink, bad. 0710. Wednesday. We are still in the third season. Jolene in orange. I had so many dreams this morning that I can’t even begin to recall the number of different subjects. The first took the cake, though. I was with someone I barely remember now and that fact hurts. We were special. Yes, I said that. We were isolated somehow, out and away from the thinking of others, and together on such a deep level that everything between us was understood. All of it was ripped away sometime during the early morning and left me broken and sad. From the doldrum and depression of my days all the way to an idyllic, beautiful relationship that I cannot adequately describe. And then it is gone. I guess the rest of the dreams no longer matter. I don’t know who she was but I miss her badly right now; enough that it hurts. And now there is Talas. Fuck. Everything appears worse today. I feel like I made it out of the shit only to be tossed right back in without a saving throw. The connection is key. Unreal, unlikely, and so stirring that I still have goosebumps. Today is going to be different. Fucking hell is that woman ever cute despite having blue skin. My doorstep darkened and we knew... We just knew. The world appeared different because of what we shared. We were where we needed to be. And gone. She is gone. Now I feel so empty and bereft of hope that I don’t know what to do other than to sit here and type. I wish I could know who that girl was. Unrecognizable. And now none of it matters. I miss her so much. Jolene switched to purple again. She was not the one in the dream. The longer I sit here – just over thirty minutes so far – the worse everything feels this morning. Yesterday I had a brilliant idea for solving several problems on the main board of the truck. Brilliant, if I do say so myself. In one fell swoop, I can expand one section, do away with something that should not have been there in the first place, and fix three connection debacles I’ve been wrestling with for the last few months. The entire idea popped into my head and continued to appear better and more effective as the day went by. Right now? All that ‘good’ has escaped. I miss the girl. She could have been... I am really going to have to concentrate later this morning if I am to accomplish anything. My mind cannot focus very well right now. I keep seeing our hands intertwined. I was not looking at lines. My eyes were on our hands. They laid right there on her tummy. The scenes in the dream are fading very quickly. Soon, she will be gone forever. Of all the fucking shit that could have been thrown at me or heat to burn me, this is the LAST FUCKING SITUATION I CAN HANDLE. It is nearly too much because my sensitivity has grown out of control in the last half decade. Out of fucking control. Believe it. All I wanted for a very long time was a darkened doorstep, and then I finally received such love. IN A DREAM. This is getting worse by the second. And my coffee does not taste very good. There was Talas again right on the heels of Jolene perched beautifully on the edge of the captain’s chair. Neither of them is the girl. I don’t know who she was. A dream girl. Doesn’t that sound fucking stupid? There you go. Stupid. I don’t care. Today is Wednesday and I have nowhere to go. Well, maybe the market for a few items. I will really have to push because my mood is worsening by the fucking second. There are WAY too many shots of Jolene walking toward the camera, damn it. The sights make me want to spend an hour inside... 0756. I feel so empty. Jolorange again. She was Jolurple prior to the final scene. New names just in case you thought I was doing alright. Jolene was not in the dream. I can still remember some of the one dream involving Jamie. We held hands, too. We were very close, I think perhaps close enough to be defined as love. Somehow I just knew how she felt without conversation, much like this latest fucking scrape of a dream. We both knew. There was nothing physical running through my head, and that is damned rare. Physical desire generally rules my dream states, but not this morning. Much like when I was walking with Jamie through the field, sitting with the girl and holding hands felt like where I belonged; where I needed to be in order to survive. Dependent, needy, and leaning on another person. Those three terms equate to unhealthy, unhealthy and unhealthy. But that is me... What I have become. The dream only reinforced my deviant sense of love. We sat there and knew everything we needed to know. And all this probably sounds like some fucking romance novel. Well, slice off my head and help both of us. This morning I went from the highest possible high to the pit of despair and disillusionment. I feel more alone right now than even when I typed the last set of superlatives. This is not good for me or anything I need to do today. The time is 0929 and I am completely lost in a haze of sadness. The doorsteps may as well exist in some alternate, parallel universe; one I can never visit. Jolurple was on the screen to add insult to injury. Splendid. I don’t know where this day will lead, but I am certain the destination is nowhere good. I have the routine, some truck work awaiting my attention, and plenty of other tasks which can be addressed, yet my heart is so shattered this morning that I don’t know if I can do ANYTHING other than sitting here trying to describe what is now the biggest loss in recent memory. The last of the coffee is next to me. Alcohol? Very soon. My condition has never felt more dire than it does at this very moment. I did not see her face, although the feeling was akin to being very close to the girl from the show we had been watching during the evenings. That series has concluded. Her face remains inside me, however. The girl in the dream meant everything to me in a matter of milliseconds. Microseconds? Nano? Pico? Femto? Atto? The process was very quick. Jolorange again. God damn shit fuck anyway, she is climbing my universal scale of beauty like an Olympic athlete. Ugh... Now she is wearing civilian clothing. Holy fucking forms, Batman. Sometimes I can’t believe what I am seeing, nor can I muster the words to get my feelings across. What was I saying? Ah, the dream girl. Remember ‘The Blown Gas and the Girl’? I may have built up that utopian image to the point of forcing my subconscious to create her in the dream. I have never felt worse in my life. I need her. Alas, she is another in a long line of impossibilities, much like the doorsteps ever darkening. Remember that I never feel as if I am having a tougher time than anyone else on Earth. I focus upon myself because that is all I know how to do. All of my time is spent either trying to understand myself or distract my head enough to be a grownup. This is very painful. 1106. Jamie and Jolene could not be more different with regard to my feelings. Well, they do have one thing in common. Neither will ever darken my doorstep. The fact is Jamie’s character is a person with whom I am completely in love and have been for years. There is no getting around it, so I can spell out my deep sense of loss without hesitation. She is an impossibility, whereas Jolene’s character is probably the most desirable in existence. Therein lies the massive gradient between the two; I love Jamie, and the draw is all related to love and understanding, but Jolene’s character is a person I love and wish to devour, in a gentle, loving way, of course. The physical draw of her face and form are unmatched in my history, and that includes Andrea, who may have had the most amazing body ever to grace my vision. The difference between Jamie and Jolene is pretty fucking stark when you think about it, the impact upon my emotional condition being equally stark due to the simple fact that they are both fictional and were portrayed many years ago. I live in a hole in the ground, and that hole is located in the past. I don’t even know why I brought this up. Well, aside from the visions of Jolene that have been on my mind since beginning this series for the tenth time, that is. My level of desperation dictates what takes place inside me when I see her. And speaking of which, she is Jolurple again. I am destroyed by everything. The doorsteps pay no mind to the trials piled upon individual shoulders, leaving me distressed like never before. The time is 1315 and I need to move into the garage. This is not going anywhere (like usual) and the more I sit in front of the IDE, the more I see a galactic waste of time. Nothing is served here. I just type. Bright doorsteps. Dark of mind. Both of her hands on my face told me she wanted to..."
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