March 16th, 2022 12:09pm pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.

Draulen Vold

 read ( words)

"That dream really fucked with my head. I can still see details. Three people, and quite the reverse of the typical imagery from my mind while sleeping. I don't fucking get it. This morning I've completed one entry and the routine, the other activities will probably wait until after lunch. Despite the show being in the background and some ABSOLUTELY STUNNING Jamie scenes, the still images and video in my brain from the dream have not left me for a second. I don't fucking understand and there is not one fucking person with whom I can speak about it or anything else. I am so lost that I can't even find the words anymore.

1222 on the same Sunday that closed the last crap entry.

'All brides are beautiful.' Nope.

1322. No lunch yet because my head is once again aslant. I've been reading a bit on the subject which distresses me all the time, but to no avail. Nothing helps. This is a situation with one of two outcomes, the worst (maybe) of which is the end of everything. I am not kidding. In concert with a lack of ears, my feelings toward this most dire of circumstances will eventually end badly. I will end badly. As of yet, those little comforts keep the days rolling by because they are still enjoyable and I deeply embrace the freedom of having my own schedule. A few years ago this was a dream, and one I figured was impossible. Times change, though, and the result of our efforts in stabilizing the household and income have combined to allow me the lifestyle I now live. Not all is good, however. The bad is always right there below the surface... Every fucking day. God fucking damn are her eyes huge in this shot at the wedding. Jesus, how does that happen? I digress. Anyway, my dissatisfaction in life is breeding reckless and damaging plans, possibly for the last time. I may work toward amassing resources just as in the bleach box of eleven. If driven, that will be the last run and the aforementioned end. I tried in zero three and again in eleven, yet right now I am older, more confused and frustrated, and far more dangerous than ever before. Aslant means not straight or level. Not plumb. Too many days and too many entries have carried those fucking words. There is a limit.

No one is listening.

I have to admit that my affinity for the film industry flares almost daily due to the near-constant media on one, two or three televisions, my head getting the better of the bad feelings. It is another notch I see every day. I see that piece of paper the sound engineer handed me along with hearing the helpful words. I see it right now. As of the 1236 period, I still had those notes he jotted down after I asked about the industry. I honestly do not know what happened to it. There is a possibility that the paper is in my keepsake binder, but I can't be certain. I try to avoid looking in that space for fear of falling down far enough that I will not be able to reach back up to living. Leaning toward familiar media usually helps on at least one front, and that is knowing in advance of what will take place on the screen. I've delved into some newer stuff, yet it's all been science fiction. The drama we tried last year left me pissed off. Twice, actually. I can't stand the way people think and the reinforcement feels like a fucking knife in my heart, leaving me half of whatever I was before the occurrence. Maybe if I had followed that path when I had the chance, the end result would have been me fleeing the industry due to some of the possible subject matter. I don't fucking know, but I guess dwelling accomplishes nothing. The toughie is never having tried. Twenty years. That paper was handed to me twenty fucking years ago. Good/bad... I'll never know. Loss.

The film industry woes are minuscule when held against the larger issue. Believe it. No one is listening.

No one is fucking listening. Maybe no one wants to hear me. Can't deny that one. I wouldn't want it.

Those two look adorable leaving for their honeymoon. A while back I mentioned how cute the bride is despite her being physically larger than all those fucking images I placed here for seven years. Well, the truth is she is beautiful and her size matters not. And her new husband looks great, head to toe. I don't know what massive talent is required for casting such ideally-suited faces when developing the media, but I will say I've never seen it done better than this program. Both of those young people share very little time in the course of the series, yet the impact on my psyche has been powerful. I love it, and will continue to embrace this episode for as long as I draw breath. A year ago the whole thing centered upon Jamie's eyes. Now there is much, much more. Whatever. There is life in their eyes, the life exuded through the story, and everything else related of which I am bereft every fucking day of every fucking year. I have a hard time completely severing the idea of possibilities, but the truth is I feel too far gone now; the point at which I will not embrace improvement even if it is dropped right there at the door. Ruined. All I have left is the constant overanalyzing of every fucking aspect of life. No relaxation about anything. I was a pile of carbon. Now I am a diamond. Put that shit together. No one is listening.

No one is listening.

1523. I completed lots of garage organization with music entertaining anyone within a hundred feet. The work needed to be finished, I guess. Where the motivation came from I'll never know. Perhaps my need for distraction has taken over. The way I feel right now? Blood on the cauliflower again. I fucking hate everything. The shit storm in the east is just another atop the pile. If I could just...

Too much reading. I should not have done that.

0647 on Monday morning, soon to be my entire day within an hour. I am still keeping up with the east, too. I hope it ends soon.

And the day has arrived. Roughly nine hours ahead of whatever is best. I still have coffee thanks to the early schedule, so sitting here at the IDE will be the standard. Gangsters. I've rolled through seventy-three hours of the series in almost exactly nine days. Frightening. Carmine has video games in his family room. I noticed some time ago but forgot to mention it here. Seeing those machines reminds me of my desire to own one particular pinball machine from many years ago. Cost prohibitive, those games. I may never have one. Whatever.

I am concerned about where my feelings are going to go today. Yesterday was tough in the morning due to that fucking dream, and now I can't seem to extricate the shit from my head. It's always back there in the shadows. The quiet is nice but my mind wanders, and then the slightest bump and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. I put four images of Viki here for some reason, but may still change them to shots from the Sea. This is only just beginning anyway, but honestly the sight of her can cram thoughts into my brain and ruin everything. I may change all of them soon. The mornings are sometimes tough. You'd think by now I would be smart enough to avoid all those curves down the page. Well, I guess not.


Neglected is one word which came to mind this morning. I am feeling as if I've been left on the side of an unknown road to suffer with nary a chance of survival. Sitting here alone... This is what happened in zero three before I threw a mass of resources at the problem. Now I don't have that mass. I have nothing, really, in so many ways that I would not even know where to begin. Thank Christ I have to leave most of the details out of the content here. This is a very dangerous situation. I mentioned before that I do not easily deal with unchangeable circumstances, and the ongoing issues are just that. I have no options. This is not good.

The episode prior to what I am currently watching is entitled 'Cold Stones' and that pair of words has multiple meanings within the series. Well, it could have a few meanings, anyway. Grapes? Sour? That may come into play, as well. I don't know yet, but one certainty is that I am feeling completely alone over here and bereft of hope for the future. The vold may come into place with great force, and soon. I don't see anything better helping this situation. I really don't. Resorting to that which comes on the heels of anger is never good, nor will it fix problems. The only fact is that it will shake up the quotidian and possibly leave me with at least a few pairs of eyes full of questions. Such an outcome may be satisfying enough. Several times I've mentioned that no on is listening. Well, I have to be honest... No matter what takes place in the future nor the outside chance that there ends up someone listening, I will no longer speak. Part of what has ruined me is the simplicity of conversation, believe it or not. No more of that. For me, cold stones may as well represent those fucking people.

0942 and I have yet to move away from this. The morning has already been a failure, so remaining here a bit longer than usual really does not matter in the least. I am on my own schedule. Moreover, the possibility of some work in the coming days may be shut down by yours truly. I have not been in a social atmosphere or near anyone for two weeks and fully intend to continue this isolation. Putting up a pleasant front is nearly impossible anymore. I don't need that kind of effort wearing me out just for other people. Fuck them. Pissed off. This is also the reason I ceased publishing anything over a month ago. Placing my thoughts in broadcast mode has been nothing more than entertainment for other people. There is no longer any reason to put myself out there. If the catharsis is in the writing, nothing will be gained by opening those doors.

I moved away from voodoo a long time ago, even going so far as to push back against any conjecture on the subject. When I took that class and studied religions of the world, it was basically to satisfy a requirement for the degree program and had zero to do with my interest. I pushed even harder at that time. The squareheads sent me a message two days ago asking about a good time to meet. I'm going to respond in such a way so as to push them, as well. The wording will result in one of two outcomes. The most likely will be questions, and the other option will be silence. More questions will spawn more pushing, eventually enough to offend. Either way, the deal is off. I'm tired of placating those people and do not agree one iota with their referendum. The moving away years ago opened my eyes to the idea of keeping much of society at a distance through people fearing my beliefs. Everything relates to force, gentle or not. I will force the issue. At some point I will no longer have need to contend with someone knocking on the door. Lose my number, fellas, lest I speak my mind. You don't want that, believe me. Voodoo, indeed. I'll show you my voodoo, fuckheads.

'The bloody train is bloody late.
You bloody wait, you bloody wait.
You're bloody lost and bloody found,
Stuck in fuckin' chickentown.'

Trains... Right.

1128 and my routine is finished. I don't believe much will be accomplished today aside from it, either. I just need to relax and think a bit. Nothing really helps, but at least I can embrace the solitude and maintain my time in any way I see fit. I was told this morning to take it easy. Who am I to contradict such a thought?

A message to the squareheads has been sent. I'm hoping they will not reply, lest my words become forceful. As much as I do not wish to hear back from anyone, the truth is I will relish the idea of shoving my ideals down their throats. Physical violence is not in my view, although some violent thinking can help to craft a response no one wishes to hear. Ah... There it is again. The shit on the screen which serves two purposes these days. The first is to entertain, and the second is to make me angry. Intentions aside, I just plain disagree because the effects upon the whole of society have already been demonstrated in spades, most notably by a television commercial some months ago. It made me angry enough to seek the source and destroy it, yet anything in such a direction would backfire and destroy my life instead. There is an answer, too. Honestly. Unfortunately, I have not the power to demonstrate. The squareheads have heightened my sensitivity these last few days. I'm sure it will fade or back off again, but right now it is hitting the summit and forcing me to view people in a very bad light. Hmm... Perhaps the conflict in the east will lead to something I've been thinking for decades. All the problems just disappear. This issue is like the loudest voice in a room. Everything upon which I have focused during the past few weeks has been drowned out. And I can't even tell my feelings to the keyboard. I'll be condemned. That is how fucked-up the world has become.

Damn it. Now I'm all fucked up again over the same shit which recurs on and off in media. I fucking hate it, hate society in general, yet do not know who to single-out. Remember the analogy of a thousand people in a room? Think of that on a much larger scale. Again... I can't fucking say it.

1225 and I'm still up against an immovable wall made up of everything about which I can do nothing. I am so fucking sick of this shit that I can't even word it properly. I closed the garage door and locked the front, popped a pizza in the oven and am sitting in front of the show. Whatever I've accomplished today is about all that is going to happen. I might tool around the office a bit and care for smaller items, but other than that I intend to relax and think. People are becoming the sole enemy yet again. And I mean EVERY FUCKING PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT GODDAMNED DOOR. I am not kidding. I can't do anything about anything, so from limitless options I have been reduced to just one... Hatred. I can't kill people or my comfort goes away. All I can do is remain away as much as is humanly possible. The process began when I stopped shaving my face a few weeks ago. The one upside to my life becoming seemingly singular is the fact that I am in this house with whatever devices are necessary for me to be comfortable. That is it. Cut and dry. The hatred shall keep me warm.

Nancy Sinatra looks like an alien life form in this episode.

Satan may be nothing more than a point of reference, but the idea behind such a figurehead is still compelling.

0625 and Tuesday and March 15th and 2022 and all that shit. Where the fuck am I?

Vampires again. I flew through the other series in just under eleven days, meaning I have to switch up the programming for a while. The evenings are all science fiction. As for the day, I broke out both cameras to get everything in order for the upcoming outing. I also learned that my slingshot can be stabilized while walking by an accessory which connects the tripod socket to the main strap so the heavy camera does not swing. And I'm disappointed in this keyboard due to a lack of backlighting. I should have sprung for the genuine article instead of looking to spend less. Damn. Anyway, I kept everything clean yesterday so I could relax, and then the camera came to mind again so I screwed with it on and off all afternoon. Today may be the same. I still have the bedroom project to get off the ground, but honestly I haven't felt like getting into that shit as of yet. One of these days. And I never received a response from the squareheads. Ooh-fa... There is Evan. Her first name graced a title some years ago. What a talent.

The failure does not appear as bad this morning, likely due to the passage of time. The clock always helps once it moves along a while.


'You bloody wait, you bloody wait.'

Indeed. What's the fucking point? Nothing is out there to be found, although there are plenty of enticing details and little morsels within view to force one to believe there can be satiation. Nope. Dive in and learn that you are diving into an empty pool. Smack! Nothing there to find, plus nothing to cushion the impact. You blood wait. I bloody wait. Oh, and I have waited. That's all I've been doing and probably all I will ever be able to do. The filler is not enough but there are no other options. Now the failure is expanding inside my head and making me sad. Maybe I should remove Viki and put other images here. I don't know. Just keep waiting, but for what? The knowledge that the only destination is emptiness? Andrea whispered that into my ear just outside Spaceship Earth with tears in her eyes. She knew, so we shut it down and enjoyed our time. Well, I'm having trouble repeating such a method because back then I at least had her on my arm and in my eyes. Now? I have a fucking keyboard and deeper issues. If I could snap my fingers and go back to that park, coming out the other side would not be me arriving at SFO. I would go elsewhere.

Maybe I am paying for all that shit. Even little Jana had insight into my reckless behavior and loose tongue. She was barely old enough to be in the club, let alone working there, yet she saw everything from her vantage point on the bridge and prior to that as she strolled around the casino floor. Quite the wisdom for so few years, like Ashley. Jana was taken aback by my modus operandi and implored me to shut it off and relax a while. She felt I would eventually fall down after all of the flamboyant behavior, as if I had hit a peak and remained balanced atop for too long. Now? Miserable and empty every fucking day with absolutely nothing on the fucking horizon. Am I where she predicted? I don't know how to define such ideas. The squareheads probably do, although there would be too much of the 'plan' and the 'books' and all that other crap I really don't want to hear. An answer for everything, yet every answer seems to be the same. Whatever. The fact is I am reaching right now by writing this type of paragraph in the first place. Questioning due to running out of other ideas.

I suppose I'll stick to the little things today. Nothing heavy or dramatic. No big changes, only baby steps, I guess. Lately I've accomplished some good stuff and knocked a couple of projects off the long-term list, but don't really feel like getting into anything else right now. This entry may be completed to the standard length of content before noon. There is little reason to do anything else this morning. The quiet time cannot arrive soon enough.

Also, the office. After completing the big table-swap and getting everything in order, I still have things to move around in there, most notably the closet. I don't like when certain items sit in the same place for five years. Things like that need to be stored instead. This is all so very exciting, don't you think? I sit here and discuss moving shit out of a closet. Wow. I guess back in sixteen and seventeen the entries were much shorter for good reason. They said what needed to be said and nothing more. This is fucking ridiculous, right? The problems have become so overpowering that I'm guessing any fucking activity keeping my head upright is what I'll embrace.

0835 and I have the next several hours to myself. Coffee, vampires, news, whatever. The last of the coffee, anyway.

I am beginning to have a love affair with the camera again, just like in eleven. This is a different body, though. Same model but not the first one I purchased at the end of ten. The camera sits out here in the living area every day, sometimes being grabbed to shoot the television and other times whatever strikes me. I even have the battery grip in place. It makes the thing hellishly heavy, yet the beauty of what Nikon designed is too much to pass on. I have to look at it all the time. Is that strange? All the way back to the race in Nevada with my dad, ninety-five perhaps. We first raced in ninety-three and then the following year, but the third was spent mostly in support of the race operations and staff. I always brought my camera along, too. Lots of cars every year, plus many different examples of my favorite. The only downside was the fact that I had been shooting on film because digital was just too fucking expensive for someone of my means. Not a big deal, really, because I was accustomed to film. That fourth trip to the race ended up being somewhat of a turning point with cameras. There was a professional photographer present with a Nikon digital camera I had been unfamiliar with. I had not known there was an SLR in digital form, and once I had a conversation with him about it I was enamored with the idea.

Hmm... I just looked up the model and it was introduced four years after the race in question. I must be mistaken about the date. Damn. Well, the point is the camera. Now I have a DSLR that is many years old yet with little use, and fully intend to keep it as long as possible. The very idea of such quick control over the exposure combined with interchangeable lenses are the two main pulls on me when I first learned of that camera he had at the race. Years later, the gun range where I worked purchased a Fuji which was similar yet less expensive, eventually graduating up to the same one I have now. That is the reason I chose this particular model. I learned it at work and even borrowed the camera for outings once in a while. Now I'm completely goo ga over it, even after all these years. The models have advanced, too. I don't care.

Enough about the camera. 0855 and I am pleased to have hours alone.

Yesterday is still in mind, mostly the morning. I am having a difficult time dealing with some of the thoughts and dreams which seem inescapable at times. Not dreams which occur while sleeping, but those I have carried for decades. They flared on several occasions, too, not the least of which was just a week ago. Lots of trouble, that shit. I've gone around and around with causes and such, yet still I sit here with nearly zero insight. One would think that study and analysis could eventually lead to coping methods. Nope. Just distractions from those two words: Weakness and desperation. Essay titles, numerous mentions of both terms, and nothing has come of it which helps. There are things I need in my head and others which must be removed in order for me to function better and feel less distraught on a daily basis. As of this very moment, I have exactly fuck-all to work with. So sick of this. Yesterday was bad and I'm glad it's gone. Unfortunately, the same feelings will evenutally surface and leave me weak as hell. I know it. I've tried to change the idea from bad to a lesson, as well. I've tried for years. Again... Nothing.

0943 and I haven't done anything yet. I browsed some camera accessories and read some news. The coffee is gone. Soon I suppose the routine has to begin.

The other problem -- right on the heels of this daily bullshit -- came about last fall. Aside from climbing into the fucking television to employ some science fiction tools for altering the flow of time, the situation which played out is going to remain in my head for a very long time and continue to plague me. Little cuts, all the time, and especially while watching certain programs on the television. I am almost constantly reminded of what took place and there is no 'out' as of yet. The problems may stem from my own past (as I've mentioned on multiple occasions), but the only help seems to be the right pair of ears. Well, there are no ears. Even if some pop up in the future, by that point I may be too far gone to volunteer anything. This is all so very bad that no matter what I write or have written has accomplished zero. No improvement. No help. No relief. Every day is exactly the same. I really hope no one takes issue with my perpetual bad mood. They'll regret it.

SOMETHING has to happen or I am fucking DEAD.


The weather is beautifully dreary this morning. All gray and drizzly. Deborah has blood all over her cheeks.

I have to get these fucking images off the page and replace them with others with zero sexual connotation. They are fucking stupid. Hmm... Maybe I am fucking stupid and in need of disposal.

Jesus Christ does Carrie ever have a beautiful pair of getaway sticks. And the two girls in this booth at the restaurant are disgusting. Gorgeous and with some nice features, but oy fuck... Stay away. Far away.

1135 and the routine is finished. My bloody friends kept me company along with the typical glass of whiskey.

Now 1413. I don't know what I've been doing. I went to the market a little while ago. I feel as if I've lost more than two hours for no reason. This happens more often than not these days unless I have an actual plan for what to accomplish. The camera occupies a decent amount of my time on weekdays, though. It sat in the bag damned-near since the beginning of the pandemic and I missed it quite often. I don't know why I decided to mess around with it again, but I will say the last week or so has found me preoccupied by shooting, meaning some of the other work around the house has gone by the wayside. I can't get myself to care right now, either. Shit will be finished in good time. I have plenty.

1616 and I reinforced the metal button on my jeans. The three pairs used to be my 'nice' clothes, but alas being home all this time -- nearly two years now, actually -- means I've put on weight and the nicer jeans have been the only pairs which fit. So sad, but as I said about the projects, I just don't fucking care. I also performed some experiments for a safety leash to work in concert with my camera slingshot strap. There is a lovely leather piece made by the strap manufacturer which is on backorder, so in the meantime I fabricated something out of paracord and split rings. Everything is black and matches the camera body, and it will support the weight in the event the strap mount fails. I can't have my precious camera hitting the ground. Thousands of dollars have been wrapped up in this hobby. The last time I fumbled it, the lens suffered. But that's a story I already told. There is Brit again with her otherworldly shoulders. I haven't seen her since the last time I worked on the big models at the dining table. Funny. Anyway, the camera needs to be secure because not only is it important to me, but valuable when I carry it. Body, battery grip, lens, hood and GPS are all together. I need to know there is zero chance it can let go of the strap.

I'll eventually get back to work on stuff around the house, it's just that right now I need to spend time trying to understand a part of life. That requires calm and quiet much of the time if I am to have a chance of coming out the other side of all this shit alive. My head goes nearly out of control daily. I don't see anything changing soon, though, because as I've stated several times, no one is listening and the horizon appears dim. 'An horizon of purples and reds; the still waters of my welcome end.' Regardless of the futility of this situation, my only option is to continue analyzing. Even after years of it, I can't deny there may be something helpful. So far, nothing. It's all I have anymore. The search? Two-fold now. This life has become so fucking pathetic that I embrace the quiet more than ever just to try offsetting everything I was and had. Each morning still feels pretty nice. I sit with coffee and the darkness and have the space to explore whatever seems best. And at that point, the day appears open to anything. The next few hours tend to shape the remainder of any day. Too much pressure and far too much loss. I've done quite a bit around here for the last two years, so dealing with internal shit doesn't really hurt production at all.

I imagine not much time will pass before I begin to assemble at least one model during the day. Whatever. At least building is enjoyable, along with a cocktail and the vampires up there.

This is a very bad situation, and actually worse in many ways than the black and gray of eleven.

0656 on the sixteenth day of the month. Tomorrow is an Irish holiday. Those guys I know through the bar who are from Ireland don't make a big deal out of the day. Neither do I, as I will be right here in this house like every other day. Holidays on the periphery do not move me at all. The high holidays are barely hanging on, like last year when I tried to make something out of Thanksgiving and fell flat on my face over the past. Well, you can probably imagine how I feel about tomorrow. Just another day. Maybe I'll grab a four-pack of Guinness at the market today just to get in the mood. Or not. Every day is an extension of the previous.

I barely scratched anything yesterday besides my camera. Later I'll see if there is any motivation to go beyond the last couple of weeks. For the time being, I'll be right here trying to understand a few things. I have the morning business in roughly half an hour and then my quiet begins. There are two errands I need to run later, both on this side of the hill. I keep thinking of last week when I ventured to the big hardware store and didn't even get out of the car. I sat there and had lunch, afterward having changed my mind about shopping due to not wanting to spend money. Well, I could have picked up a few necessities that afternoon had I not been so damned lazy and apprehensive. I'm not going over there today, though. If I feel we need more of the treatment around the outside of the house I can get it right down the street at our smaller hardware store. If nothing comes to mind in the next few hours, I'll stick to this side of the hill and preserve my time.

Already I am sitting here with too much of the past creeping in. Back as far as the early eighties combined with just a few months ago. The trailing end of last year. The eyes of the calendar. I still hear it, I still see it all, I still have nothing. The worst is hearing all that shit. And look at me sitting here now watching the vampires in favor of continuing my saga of the gangsters over and over for months. I'm doing it despite all of the shit laying on my head since last year, some from even further back. If I can't reconcile this shit soon, I will be a mere sliver of myself very soon. Coffee, typing, television, and nothing else. Well, I'm actually most of the way there right now so perhaps I should focus upon making my little world a bit more comfortable. I just keep hearing it. No speaking over here. None. When I question things, nothing is solved. When I take issue with people or their behavior, nothing is solved. When I hole up in this house all by myself and left to whatever can make me comfortable, nothing is solved. All which I have heard and seen for a long time is summing again, like early last year when I was counting the fucking days at the end of each entry. I'm not going to do that again, but understand that I am seeing less and less reason to remain here for other people. The value of many individuals has decreased dramatically since two years ago. They are all lumped together now, too. I keep hearing it over and over and over and see very little reason to interact. The past was only the beginning. Everything ends up combined, anyway, so perhaps from here forward I need to employ some different terms for describing the lot of it.

Almost time to get the morning business out of the way. Afterward, I will be right here to finish this before the routine. After that? I don't know yet. Perhaps I will fail like two days ago.

0813 and I am left to my 'whatevers' for the next several hours. Right now everything appears wide open. Time will tell if the day remains as such. The early hour has helped contribute to falling a bit on the inside of my head, God knows what will happen now. I plan to care for the routine, embrace the photo hobby (maybe like yesterday when I grabbed a few experimental shots of Brit with a very angry expression), and perhaps spend a bit more time in the garage with the organization. Currently there is coffee left, so this is it.


I can't do fuck about the manner in which others think, nor can I influence even the closest soul. Modifications to behavior and lifestyle are to be internal and not influenced by other people. Still, the compulsion is as powerful as those lines. I can't help it. I've tried in a roundabout sort of way in the past, the positive being that I am intelligent and tactful enough to get the point across without hurting anyone's feelings. The fact that I know (but I don't know) what takes place in there much of the time is both good and bad. The upside is that I can protect myself by maintaining distance in every way possible, eventually leading to no contact whatsoever. The downside is even with said distance, I still feel it inside me as if the problem is ongoing no matter what effort I put forth to alleviate the same. In other words, whatever I do to alleviate the trouble, the bottom line is that I cannot succeed. The only real progress is distraction. Everything eventually comes back, just like those daily issues which have plagued me for a fucking decade. This paragraph makes very little sense and I don't care.

0906. The morning is good and bad. I still have some coffee left before rising and taking care of my routine and then whatever else seems best. Nothing about my mood is positive, though. I'm having a difficult time trying to remain upright during the hours spent alone. This is the type of free time I dreamed of for years, as if I have 'retired' after many years of work and am now reaping the benefits, yet that is not the case. I simply fell into this position due to circumstances allowing me to remain home every day. I don't even need to work part time anymore. Now, this does not mean I am willing to return to work for the sole reason of being occupied during weekdays. Not at all. Due to the problems of the past and the manner in which they combine to leave me nearly completely broken, work cannot be an option because I will only end up thinking about the same shit as right now, only doing it while out there among society. Given the choice, I have to stay away from people. I can't have those visions driving me into the ground while being all worn out again. Honestly, the visions are but a small piece of the shit pie in my brain. The images and words more often get the best of me, not some pair of fucking legs on the street. Not even that fucking goddess nearby that hooked me like a half-dead worm to a fishing line. She is all but gone after knowing the problem cannot lead to shit anymore. I have no hope.

Anna's character drives me up the wall sometimes. Thank Christ for the rest of the cast.

Still, once I care for the floor and litter and get set up in the kitchen, the feeling is still good. Not necessarily 'up', but not all bad. The kitchen has become one of the few places in the world which can still bring me some peace. Either cooking or cleaning, really. Either. The problems begin when it is finished and I have all the time in the world to do pretty much anything I want or need. Hmm... 'Need'. Bad shit. Very bad. From the fucking closet doors to the goblet, on to Florida and flights, and then into late ten when I thought I could find help, the truth is everything pushed me down further, as if I was shown bliss and then witnessed it ripped away almost immediately. Eleven pretty much took the proverbial cake, however. Weeks of it. And then nothing. But I still ran one more time... And then again, nothing. Right now I am so far from anything of the like that I can't believe where I've been. Did those situations really take place?

Just since the bleach box of this year, the shit from a few months earlier has become paramount all too often, and much worse than those jabs during the previous months. I keep hearing it no matter what I try to bury myself within at a given time. There seems to be nothing I can do. This is getting worse, too. Every day. Worse. Failure after failure. Believe it.

'With great violence or force -- vengeance -- to an extreme degree.'

That is how angry I am right now. I only maintain an even keel for the sake of two individuals. That is all. No one else rates a fucking stitch of effort.

0929 and I have to do my work very soon. Sometimes I sit here too long and become discouraged to the point of passing on the routine for the day and I can't have that type of crap. Things must be accomplished at whatever cost. If I don't feel the evening is deserved, I'll fall back the following morning so bad that weeks will see me still wallowing in such a failure. I already have one failure on my brain every fucking morning. I really don't need another. The work will commence in a few minutes.

I don't even know if I am capable of anything constructive anymore.

1137 and the day has progressed. The routine is finished and I ventured to the smoke shop. Nowhere else, though I did bring my cigarettes just in case an idea of other destinations came to mind. Nope. Moreover, on the return trip I was listening to something which cannot be mentioned here, but suffice to say it ruined any joy I've felt today and for the last several weeks. Affront. Vapid. Colder than liquid nitrogen. Zero Kelvins. This is very bad right now because it will cause all manner of hideous behavior, not just words. Oh, there are other words, too. Bad words. Those are dredged up out of the dead soil and usurp everything else... Anything I may have said is now moot. Only the bad remains. I already removed all of the content from the published site, but now I must add a statement on the landing page just in case anyone runs across this fucking place. Others did this. Murderous rage.

Don't attach that fucking word to me or even an image of me in your mind. You are not qualified to make such a determination, nor is anyone else. Write it down and burn the paper, and then write it in ink on your forehead and likewise burn it. Yes, burn your forehead. The word is beyond your understanding and has become one of the largest points of contention on earth. Too bad, eh? Just shut your fucking face and forget you ever heard it.

The secret name should have remained here from seven years ago.

And fuck it... Viki stays.