The Battleship Eye Effect Mature content No. 313 Published May 18th, 2022 10:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Ten minutes after the previous entry was published, and here I sit. Same day -- 1103 on May 10th -- same situation, whiskey now gone. I think the best idea is to shower and head out to the big wine store for some reinforcements. Bottled depression? Yep, that's it. Upon returning, I'll probably move out to the empire and add some symbolism to the last drawing while caring for the dry cleaning. I'm going to avoid the typical beer consumption, though. Yesterday I ended up feeling as if the evening cocktail hour was not as special as it should be. From this point forward today, no more booze. I need the evening to feel deserved, but you probably already know that. Battleship eyes, just to let you know, are generally steel-blue. The girl at the eyeglass store carried two large versions of such eyes, close to the diametric opposite of the eyes over which I typically gush. Not dark, but mysterious and beautiful. The apellation has two meanings, however. The other battleship eyes are those against which I cannot defend, often taking me outside myself through the appearance of tears. This will not be easy commentary. 1340. Everything is finished save for the dry cleaning. I need to keep an eye on the machine, so it will wait until I head out to work in the garage. I traveled to the big wine store and back. Naturally, there was a vendor near the checkout lanes wearing those fucking pants looking tall and dark, and I did my best to only glance a bit. After loading my car, she was outside working with someone else and appearing even taller than when closer to me. Whatever. The pants again. I stopped by the little market on my return trip for a few items, and of course there was another tall, slender beauty gliding in the opposite direction. There is always something, somewhere. At least I avoided the goddess market. That's typically much worse. The one at the wine store had amazing hair, too... Long, black, and flowing in the breeze as if to draw my gaze like a gun from Satan's own holster. One more notch. Why not? I am overjoyed to be home again. I really don't feel like adding detail to the newest mural in the garage. Not today. I don't know from where the motivation comes, but there is no pattern. Yesterday I finished the outline and painted the entire symbol, whereas today I just don't give a shit. Inside, all day. Wednesday morning. One of the reference blonde women of the universe is guest starring in this episode. Older, lines here and there, yet still amazing. Doesn't matter. I have coffee and a little time before the morning business commences. Cats already fed and likely dozing now, flags out, and sometimes Dey looks like a rabbit. Her mouth is the opposite of Susanna, meaning that no matter what shape appears there, the attraction is no different. I'm not being disrespectful, either. Referring only to appearance. Anyway, I indeed stuck to the inside of the house yesterday other than taking little breaks here and there. No work on the empire, and damned little in the house. I finished the dry cleaning. Today appears bright, much like yesterday at this hour. I'll see what the next several hours have in store for my head. I am already missing a dream from earlier that remained with me a little while. Hopefully the memory will return because I know it was something special and I'd like to recall whatever took place. I don't believe I need to go anywhere today. Maybe work on the mural later, but I don't know. My head is actually relaxed right now so I will remain here a while. 0903. Still sitting here with all sort of thoughts. The trouble has not really come about, however, and I do not know why. I'll take it, though. I need more difficult thinking like I need another hole in my fucking head. All morning I've been seeing those battleship eyes in the store from nearly two weeks ago. Pushing them away is all I can do right now. There has been an inkling of thought toward displaying the OTHER battleship eyes, yet I do not know if it is a good idea today. The trouble is remaining at arm's length and I'd like to keep it that way. Those eyes have the power to send me flying, no matter what may be taking place at a given moment. Don't need that. Maybe the third and fourth images will show them. So far, there are no images attached to this crap. I'll figure it out. All in good time. I will care for the routine soon, I guess. The compulsion to write words on these pages stemmed from so much turmoil way back more than seven years ago, at the outset of fifteen when the site direction changed for good. I did my best to describe the obsession and/or anything I spied out there in society which drove me to dream of fulfilling said obsession. The first time I was frightened by battleship eyes was also the first near opportunity to research the subject of form. And then everything went to shit real quick. The scare was due to desire. Cut to just two years ago and I decided to explore the idea that suppressed desire may have been a partial catalyst for the entire works. And then I figured the desire was merely on and off and depending upon my mood at the time. In about three months' time, the calendar will have advanced three years since those Goddamned thongs at the pool. I realize I've gone over that in spades, too. I know, and I will not be gushing about them here. I only wish to point out that the occasion may have been one of the most stark and cutting examples of the suppression. That went on for weeks, if I recall correctly. The point is they were several years after the site change. Years. No eyes, though. I don't believe I ever saw the eyes on either of those women because of sunglasses (the fucking sunshine and heat were excessive), meaning there was no battleship approaching. That day at the pool can now be defined as purely mathematical leading to purely physical. I don't feel good about this, either. And I am losing my way here, damn it. Whatever. Nothing will be solved through this shit. I only meant to point out that even after seven years, I am still compelled to sit at this IDE and write what I feel, good or bad. The battleship eyes have come along at every single point in my life in which there was difficulty over beauty. Two types, one draw. 1118. The routine is finished. Sunshine out there, too. Hopefully the sun will warm the house throughout this day. I may still head into the empire after lunch to add details to the newest mural. Third show, fifth season. Nothing of note, thank the maker. My brain is still not processing the morning difficulties for whatever reason, and believe me when I say I am thankful for the lack of trouble. My depression is to the point of leaving me very little ambition, meaning any failures are going to send me into a downward spiral right fucking quick. I can't have that today. Leeta's eyes are huge and goofy, as always. The decision has been made to work on the empire for a little while after lunch. I need to be out there with my devices and music. My mood is growing more negative by the fucking second despite one of my favorite shows up there in all its glory. Sometimes even my friends and extended family can't help at all. Wednesday morning, May the 12th, 0732. Coffee, third show at the end of the fifth season, flags out, cats asleep, alone. The mural indeed advanced yesterday... A few circles and a pair of snakes to match the appearance on my cave wall back years ago. I may add a bit today, as well. This morning is fairly slow due to the early business and the fact that I've barely touched the coffee. My brain is half into the work yesterday and half down a pair of pants. I knew the shit would return sooner rather than later. Improvement is only a temporary situation at best, and at any time. I expect nothing good in the future and that is a part of the reason this crap returns within a few days of feeling better. The catalyst or reasoning causing this on random days and at random moments still eludes. I don't recall dreaming, nor did I see anything for a while. Maybe all six feet of Cathy in that skin-tight outfit had something to do with it. Last night she was in the background as another species and appeared wondrous. Could be her, could be something else, but most likely this was caused by something I will never know or be able to identify. The damage is done. Now all I have to do is avoid failing or flailing. The disturbing dream from whenever is irritating me and causing difficulty in dealing with other people, even more than just a week ago. Again a person reached out to ask how I've been doing recently and I politely shut it down, yet it does force me to consider that dream as a part of the reasoning behind me remaining in this little house as often as possible. I am safer here, as are other people. The dream is on my mind every damned day, and that first image of Carol just above this section is a reminder. The last image, too. Globes? Yes, that pair is why the dream was so troubling. I cannot explain further, unfortunately, or I'll end up in deep shit over the way I now think. Rest assured, none of it is good. I dreamed and then saw, and dreamed more. A portion of daydreaming and a portion of dreaming while asleep. I have no control over the subject matter that pops up when I am sleeping, yet still I consider my position these days as at least partly causal. I have to, really, because of all the dwelling upon beauty for decades. Too much focus and I am awash in thought. That fact simply MUST push some of the dreams into the bad territory. This latest was very unexpected and has me at sixes and sevens for the thousandth time. I wish I had not seen one particular angle that day. Fateful, for lack of a better term. I can see at least a bit of good coming from this. The difficulty and thinking may force me to remain home even more than I already am. Less trips to the stores. That means my narrow view from the garage door will be all that remains available. No more occasions like the girl two weeks ago. Here we go... 'To suppress a truth is to give it force beyond endurance.' Is that what I've been doing? Visions on the street outside my garage door, and more. Was the dream inevitable? I don't know, but if this line of thinking has been a 'truth', I am in very big trouble and can NEVER speak to another person on the subject. Not even a therapist, believe it or else. Maybe the smiling faces and closet doors did this. The vision of snow outside the window, which later led to a decision to drive at an hour that was not recommended. There I was... In dress shoes and a button-down shirt, attaching snow chains to the front tires of her car at the state line, snow falling and my fingers numb. Had we left a few hours earlier, none of that would have been necessary. Alas, the closet door was a repeat and I could not resist the temptation. I put myself in a very bad position due to the beauty. A smiling face. This is going to kill me, sure as hell. Sooner or later the dreaming will become too much for me to handle and I'll lose what remaining grip I have on reality. If the truth is I've been suppressing a certain type of thinking, well... It's just too damned bad. I cannot do anything about it. I still have coffee left but my head needs a glass full of depressant. 100029 lines of code since the ill-fated introduction to the machine named Jaime. Splendid. Basket case. Keep in mind I created just north of 7200 lines over the course of the thirteen years leading up to the change in site direction. Do you think I'm a little fucked up? 0846 and I have yet to do anything aside from daydreaming and typing. Well, I've been sipping coffee, too. I guess there's nothing wrong with that, unlike the thoughts swirling inside my brain. Very bad. Dire. Tough. Some of them are even dead wrong. No one is listening, though, so the exposition matters not. What about the fucking battleship eyes? Look at Carol. She has the second variety. Thoughts, injected. I was going to include the primary eyes but changed my mind because Carol is too lovely for just one or two images. That shit doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing seems to matter or make any fucking difference regardless of how much beauty or how many examples are displayed. This has become so stupid that sometimes I can't believe it myself. 1034. The routine is finished, laundry and dry cleaning in process. At least I can still perform the daily work about the house. All the while, and I mean ALL THE FUCKING WHILE, images of the fateful dream and the battleship eyes at the store swirled inside and nearly caused me to falter. I had a conversation with the cats regarding the vast difference between a stimulant and a depressant, seeing as how I generally pour a big glass of alcohol when I begin cleaning the kitchen. They commented that the caffeine should offset the booze providing I limit the morning ritual to just one drink of vodka or whiskey. I cannot disagree, knowing through history that a second cocktail leads nowhere good. The first is simply resistance to desire, a combination of feelings that both cripples and angers me. As of yet, I have found no saving throw on some days. There may be nothing on the horizon for me, a thought which causes more rancor and drives me further into the ground with each passing day. 'What once was, may never be again.' That is the standpoint through which I approached every single fucking opportunity to explore. My situation has never been worse or more dire. Not a day passes without me contemplating suicide. Shut up. You are not me, nor will your wisdom and uplifiting attempts gain ground. Only the enjoyments keep me upright. Six-foot Cathy on the screen again. She doesn't matter. I wish there was some understanding, on both sides. I tried, I gave up. The remainder of this day will see the garage door closed. I have no wish to expose the important work ongoing toward the end result of my shit mood as rooted in disrespect, pain and loss. Yesterday I drew and painted two circular outlines flanking the shield and today printed another symbol to be drawn within one of them. The other circle is still up in the air, though. I don't know what may be best. In the meantime, I'll work on the sole print and scale it to the mural. 1419. I ruined the pizza lunch by adding a cheese better left alone. Damn. At least I didn't eat too much and become lazy. Quite the opposite, in fact. I finished the laundry and dry cleaning, cared for the floor in our bathroom, and then scaled and printed two sigils for the mural. By that point I became distracted by the excellent sixth-season storyline. Sometimes I just have to see it play out without interruption. Moreover, the anger over how I felt this morning drove me to finalize the sigils and have them ready to put up and paint. I completed them in record time as a result of feeling left on the side of the road like so much trash. Years of it. So, the evil is coming to the empire sooner than originally planned. 0738 on Friday morning, business done and I'm here in the quiet for the duration. Third show on pause so I can think a while. Dreams earlier... Mostly regarding a big house in my hometown which was built by my great uncle after finding success in business. I used to love that house, although we were not invited up there very often. The context of the dream was quite confusing. I didn't realize until waking up, though, because dreams have a way of coming across as perfectly natural, like merging the past with the present. I haven't been in that house since the mid-eighties as far as I can recall, and despite the fact that it has changed much over the years -- updating and whatnot -- the interior appeared just as it had years ago when I first dreamed of being inside again. Very dark, exotic, and looking like something I would actually design, yet somehow I knew the house was in my family as it had always been. This is a very strange feeling. I may jot down a few design elements in order to recall the appearance of the home's interior. There could be meaning within those walls. And I am glad to experience a dream not involving the issues from days ago. Don't need any more of that because I am already reminded every day. All bad, that one. In the quiet now. My brain is in bad shape, though. Street cleaner driving by. I am in a bad way. The feelings are going to lead to anger, I just know it. Too much of this shit lately. Yesterday I added the two sigils to the newest mural. They look decent, I suppose. Better at night, too. There was a short period during the evening when I had the empire lit for a while. Not much, but some. There is still more work to be done out there before I am satisfied. Life would be easier if I hadn't seen those blue-gray eyes. Now my head is all fucked up over the girl AND the fucking dream. I don't know why the latter had to take place. Is there not already enough shit in my brain? I can't let go of it, either. The dream just keeps slapping me over and over and there is nothing I can do or say to help the situation. All of the details must remain hidden, too. I can't type it out here, I can't talk to anyone (although no one is fucking listening anyway), and I can't simply forget. The imagery is unrelenting, especially considering everything I've tried to describe here in more than seven years. All of it is now rolled up in a ball and striking me upside the head again and again. Nearly unlivable. I mentioned that the anger is going to result from so much shit, and I can already feel it. This 'no outlet' crap will create one of two dire situations. Period. I can only take so much. Torment is perpetual. The battleship eyes catalyzed my current living condition and ruined the future for me. I forget exactly NOTHING. Unacceptable. Wow. Just... Wow. This is going downhill much more quickly than I had thought possible. The current shit in my head drove me to pour a big glass of vodka two minutes shy of nine this morning. Not good, but what the fuck else can I do? That's right, kids. Not a fucking thing. After decades of the on-again, off-again vise on my body, now there is one in my fucking head. I know part of what happened. The rest is a mystery. Perhaps this year should be the last in which I must live with such issues. 1158, routine finished, lunch in the oven to make up for yesterday's fucking shit meal (my fault), and the rest of the day shall be indoors due to my brain's inability to deal with what took place this morning. I have the third show up there for comfort. Thank the maker for those programs these days. Without them, I'd be in some real pretty shit. I also went to the cigarette store and the big market. Nothing of note, either. The smaller market was unnecessary today. I may switch the television over to HBO for watching an older series I haven't seen for some years. It only ran two seasons, but the quality is excellent. If it works for comfort, I can add it to my repertoire of daily media. Rarely do I step outside the norm. 0725 on Saturday morning. I did not put out the flags due to precipitation. My flags are not the 'storm' variety, so they must remain dry. Coffee, third show in the seventh season. I would give everything I have or ever had to live there. Honestly. Believe it. That is dream number one. The machine is dream number two. The trouble is dream number three. I'm still thinking about it and I know the effect of that girl's battleship eyes helped me to assemble imagery inside which then drove me to dream in a very bad direction. I still can't talk about it. I will say that yesterday's issue may have been partially caused by concern rather than fully physical. Emotional problems can have a dire effect upon the body, that's for sure. Dreams. Ugh. The girl is not at fault, though. I can't blame her for my situation. I know a good portion of why this current situation continues to unfold and affect me, but I can't talk about that, either. Great, huh? The afternoon was worthless. I barely even tried to do anything because nothing felt remotely possible or appealing. I dozed off twice. I think my lifestyle has cautght up with me somewhat and my body is telling me in no uncertain terms to make changes, or else. I'll have to see what I can do. I suppose, anyway. Everything is just so fucking shitty these days. I barely have reason to lift a fucking finger in any direction. One thing for sure is that I cannot have another day like yesterday. Between the failure within a failure and then losing my way so badly after lunch, well... I simply cannot fucking have that again. I'm already in a shitty enough mood, nothing else needs to be added atop the pile or I'll blow the fuck up. That means today I need to consider my moves carefully and deliberately, just like the workflow back at the ballistic ranges. We had a very specific pace and method of communication that kept everything in order, minimized failures and mistakes, and kept us safe. I'll try to take steps today and match that old routine so coming out the other side feeling better is much more likely than yesterday's loss of direction. As for the other half of what happened during the morning, I don't have any say in that these days. Without ears, the future is dim. 'Your great attention to detail is both a blessing and a curse.' Hmm. Yes, technicality and detail have turned me into a very picky person. Control, too. I suppose that is an aspect rife with details. And details are all over the obsession, it's literally built upon such things. And then something comes along -- the race girl, for example -- and then I dissect the situation for months on end, soon losing my shit. When it comes to a project in the house or garage, detail is fine. The race girl? I went all over that one, and then every subsequent vision since then has been equally scrutinized because nothing is ever enough... I cannot get enough fucking DETAIL to satisfy the obsession. See? I'm fucked. The race girl and her big cat eyes was just an example. Don't get your shit in a twist. Sometimes those little fortunes hold a great deal of wisdom. Other times? Tons of irony. I can still see her face, too. How about that? I won't go on about it. Today. I have the usual stuff and then a ton of free time. Something has to be accomplished by the early afternoon or I won't feel good this evening. I don't know what, but something. Back to the title, just like the visit to the eyeglass store. The appearance of her eyes caused several types of feelings, not the least of which was a strong desire to pose her in a certain way and see of the holy fucking grail of form would be present (probably, and I can't get that out of my head lately). There was a point in the past in which I had been able to see the shape I had been seeking, and right there in front of my face. I just wanted to see in three dimensions rather than one, that's all. My request was approved and I sat there amazed beyond belief. The problem came along almost immediately, however, as I'm certain would have occurred as related to the girl in the store. That is the effect... I see the eyes and there is a feeling unrelated to form, but deeper, and then a massive shift takes place leaving me absolutely senseless and overflowing with tremendous desire to be in complete control of the situation. Keep in mind that 'battleship' eyes are not labeled as such due to being the same color as a naval vessel. The other type is out there, too, and with the same power over me. And I mean enough power to recreate past feelings and situations. I have destroyed much in search of another facet of that fucking obsession, and thanks to Ashley and her amazing fucking standpoint in life, nothing will ever be satisfactory no matter whether I search or not. This is all so bad that I still can't believe I'm typing the words. The effect of certain eyes upon my psyche is so powerful that I am ashamed for being this weak. There you go. Laugh it up. I didn't think in such terms during the glow. There were little inklings here and there, yet my focus when it came to beauty and desire was different. Also difficult to describe without sounding like a fool. Since I was in the same relationship throughout that period, whatever I felt was always related to the same woman, and that was the period with the closet doors and such. The point is I was not searching for anything, only wishing for something. Very different. Had my current mindset been in place during those years, I probably would have driven her away very quickly. Heh. I can't say this, I can't say that, I can't spell out certain events which have crippled me and driven away my desire to be near people (females, that is), and I can't figure out why they think the way they do. Everything has just left me alone with thoughts. Bad thoughts, things missing, dire need, and desperate dreaming. I even dreamed over a line no one should ever cross. That's how fucking bad this shit is right now. I've been typing different words outlining the same problems in different ways. Nothing more. And then a form or two and I fall down. And then I try to describe the trauma involved in seeing certain things. I'll tell you one thing, damn it, and that is the fact that I don't believe I can repeat this shit next year. I had a countdown a while ago, remember? I gave up on it due to holding on to a sliver of hope -- one so thin it has already developed holes -- that someone may eventually hear me and perhaps a tiny bit of what I need can be alleviated. Well, I've since learned that the first four-plus months of this year have been worse than the previous year, and why in the blue fuck would I want to repeat them? Next year? Bullshit. Tell me different and I'll turn your head into a fucking canoe. Try it, fucksticks. I've had it and now feel the need to draw a line again. Nicole was on the screen a bit in this episode. I remember watching the documentary and the shots of a convention somewhere, and there she stood on the right end of the line of actors, all fucking unreal thighs and radii apparent. Right there. It was a short glimpse, but enough to send my brain all the way up you-know-where because I am a weak, desperate fucking nutcase with zero chance of happiness. Laugh it up. Another year of this shit? Go fuck yourself. I can already see this day is going to be an uphill battle in the fucking mud. I've done that, by the way... Uphill in the mud with an Alice pack and rifle, so I know about the subject. Just in case you suspect I've been exaggerating. Sometimes I get so pissed off that I stop paying attention to chores and schedules and simply dive into whatever is in front of me at the time. This morning I can already see that the day will end up noisy and haphazard if I don't try to control my directions. The Satanic imagery surrounding my empire could not have been created at a better time, too. I need people to remain in the dark about my mindset. The weaker I feel inside, the more powerful the front. Maybe I'll end up so angry that I can finish a few lingering projects. The back lawn full of beer cans does not take place any longer because I never really demonstrated my sheer level of frustration due to being a fucking weakened 'softy'. We need to change that shit right quick. Hmm... 'We'. This may lead somewhere aside from the inner line of Cathy's fucking LONG legs. There have been many pairs of battleship eyes over the course of years, although I did not label them as such until just a few months ago. I jotted down notes because of eyes I saw on television and then the information just sat there until the girl in the eyeglass store two weeks back. Once her form caused my head to explode, I simply had to explore further. And here we are... Another term, another set of problems, and another session of sitting at the keyboard with a head full of ill-advised thoughts. Marvelous. My coffee is almost gone now at 0927. I may rise and do something else very soon. I feel like shit after what happened yesterday morning. I guess that is something I need to keep in mind if the dreams take over. 0734 all the way toward Monday morning. Yesterday I was on the disabled list for several hours leading up to bedtime due to my fucking back. There may have been a muscle strain after my first trip to the store. I had to head over there twice yesterday for medication and such. Not a big deal, though. Saturday I cared for the empire a little while due to the possibility of socializing with the only people I can still be near. I have to remember that if and when the shit hits the fan on a global scale I will need to rely on the protection of this house combined with the neighbor's. We maintain a good relationship, which means being social on those few occasions when we have the time. Saturday night turned into a little meeting time, so I had the empire lit for some hours before closing down after midnight. The lateness had me taking it easy yesterday morning, although I did not really feel crappy to begin with. The only problem was some trouble with a muscle in my back. That problem slowed my Sunday progress to a crawl. I did the garbage business and my usual stuff, though. This morning the issue in still lingering, meaning today may be slow as well. I have the day and house to myself for the next several hours. I'll try to get my routine finished a bit early so the afternoon is left wide open in case my back eases. Saturday afternoon became a bit of a problem due to that ill-found dream returning for a while as I moved around the garage. The imagery and subject matter swirled for a while, but the basic reasoning and initial push cannot be discussed here, as usual. The fact remains that I am slammed in the head too fucking often for being completely comfortable unless totally alone and isolated. Not good, but part of me predicted this some months ago due to my feelings about being in certain types of social situations, like the bar. Those little driveway gatherings are not the same at all. Much more comfortable due to being home. If anything comes along that I need to hide away, I simply walk away and enter the house, effectively cutting off any contact within seconds. I can recover, cool off, and then relax. The dream hits every now and again but two specific cuts that occasionally take place cannot be removed from life if I am to be in any contact at all with people. Rather like going to the market when I see something special and then return home and record the experience here, if I am to be outside these walls, a slice will eventually bring that dream back to the forefront. There is as of yet nothing I can do. My brain goes into autopilot more quickly than I can handle, thus the negative feelings. The afternoon held a strike of pretty sizable proportions. Fortunately, I became distracted from the issue by some work needing to be completed. Eventually I calmed enough to appear as a normal person, or at least as much as is feasible these days. As time progressed into the evening and then night, my level of comfort evened out some. Battleship eyes were not present, nor were they spotted in the stores yesterday. I was the hell in and out pretty damned quickly. I tried to avoid wandering, too. The drug store next to the market is sometimes suspect, but yesterday it was nearly deserted, thank Christ. Today I will probably not do much beyond the normal scope. My back is not good. 1044 and I finished the routine, albeit very slowly. Whiskey and the third show heading toward the series finale. Good stuff. But ugh... Kasidy again. Just... Ugh. Anyway, I have no laundry or other regular chores awaiting my attention, so the likely path will be to care for small items during the next few hours. The pleasant thought of breaking out the largest model and relaxing at the dining table keeps flirting with my need for comfort, but I believe I would have to switch to the vampires to add nostalgia from last year. If I can accomplish some of the assembly, the camera and my attention may bear fruit. I can also continue to streamline the office and toss more crap I've been holding for too long. The last time I went in there to improve the space, many items went into the trash and the storage did benefit from my efforts. I can continue in the same vein, very slowly. Maybe I won't talk about the battleship eyes for the remainder of this entry. Nothing seems to help my brain. Saturday was a massive push into territory I cannot describe, and that was the second fucking occasion of imagery contorting my head into shapes previously unknown and unwanted. I don't know why that single dream had such an impact upon my obsession, but I will say that the feeling is very uncomfortable. Too bad I must refrain from any further information or detail. As I made clear above, the result could be disastrous. I don't need anything worse right now. One curious fact? This may be a perfectly natural extension of similar thinking at a younger age. Unfortunately, I will probably never know. Like yesterday, the weather is completely socked-in. Overhead fog from the ocean all the way to the other side of the hill. I have ideas for further wiring and plans for additional lighting for the empire which will have to wait for increased mercury. My garage has been closed so far today. Normally, the big door is open by mid-morning for when I take breaks from inside the house. The weather is too cool for it, though. Yesterday I had everything wide open to care for the garbage. I think I'm going to change all four images. 0704 on Tuesday morning. Yesterday was not too bad. I didn't do that much because of my back, however. Little things here and there, and I'm pretty certain the efforts are the reason I am feeling a bit of relief today. I have no early morning business, only the usual routine. I ordered some material to ease the empire lighting system. Everything should arrive tomorrow. There is wire and other components that will keep the project going for quite some time. The main ingredient is a power supply which can operate all of the strip LED elements and free up some receptacles. Lots of work, plenty of time. This morning is going to be rather slow. I plan to remain here a while and then move into the routine. Partial sunshine. Coffee. Fifth show. Jolene and her eyes. My head blew wide open during the mid-morning yesterday. Afterward, I cut off the typing time in order to avoid complaining even more than I already have on the subject. Not the battleship eyes, but a smiling face this time. The bright eyes were present, just not the type I've included here. The simple fact is I may not ever have control over a few aspects of living and such a thought is now worse than when I first suggested the possibility months ago. This is not going to blow my fucking skirt up. 'There is a difference between keeping an open mind and believing something because you want it to be true.' Ah, yes. Thank you for pointing out the truth, miss big-eyes. Anyway, what I believe is that as the days pass I am becoming weaker and more desperate, the weekend issue and that damaging dream both being byproducts of living in this situation for several years. The subject of the dream actually came up on television last night after the third show concluded. I reverted to a series I've not watched for many years, and yes it is another HBO creation from the mid-zeros. Well, the period in which the show is centered happens to be two thousand years back in history and that is the likely reason for the same gradient I experienced in my dream and on a few occasions since. It has me thinking... Possibly I am not the only one dealing with this shit. Eh, I can't discuss it anyway. Yesterday was simply an example of too much in my brain combined with weakness, nothing more. I'm fucking sick of it, too. Strikes and gutters, the latter being my head. The plus side is I don't feel like the same way this morning. The imagery that comes to mind when I see her walk is unreal. Maybe I should not be watching this series while already dealing with so much other shit. I don't know. One certainty is that I feel more for her eyes and face than anything else. I suppose that is good. Jolaimora never goes away. Jolene, Jamie, Nora. Curious, I only use two of three real names as opposed to Nora, who is the character. Anyway, the more I see Jolene walk about the ship, the more I dream of doing things I should not mention. You probably already know... Like wrapping a seamstress tape around her thigh in ten different positions. What? Shut up. As I've said a million fucking times, what I need is most decidedly unavailable in this life. Everything left is unsatisfying, hence my journey. No thighs. Well, only chicken. Jolene is so uppity, condescending and ice-cold early on. Damn. There were no eyes in the dream. None. Other things I cannot mention, but no eyes at all. I've gone up one side and down the other for more than two years over what effect the eyes can have on me, yet in that most important dream, there were none. I have a pretty damned good idea of who one person was, but I can't mention it. I just know I did not see her eyes. And I realize this may sound insane after all of the provocative stories and crazy imagery over the years, but the eyes move me more than anything else physical, like the race girl that one time. I went nuts over her facial expressions, remember? You'd think that I would not have as much trouble with a dream if there were no eyes. Moreover, I would honestly expect to see some eyes in a dream because they've been such a focus here lately. Battleship eyes, like those in the store two weeks ago. Or cat eyes like at the race and on the television not long ago. I brought Leigh up before, too. Her huge cat eyes were a good example of the type. Nope, none of that. The most prominent physical attributes in the dream that changed me were breasts, and the key is to whom they were attached, as combined with what had been playing out in my head. But no eyes. Not a moment has elapsed for some days without me considering the ramifications of dreaming in such a direction. Never before that, honestly. I don't like this very much. The empire has never been more important. All of the symbolism and imagery -- all but the raceway girls have been removed as of two weeks ago -- the lighting and mood at night, everything adds up to a very comfortable and exotic atmosphere within which I need to be nested quite often. Mired, too, because as much as I love the appearance in the darkness, there is so much out there in need of attention that I flip back and forth between enjoyment and worry, much like the inside of the house. Lots of projects and tasks have been neglected in favor of working with more enjoyable aspects of the house. The upside is whenever I need to feel a measure of control I can head out there and bask in my efforts paying off. Better than nothing, I guess. The compulsion to improve the mood for nighttime enjoyment and wonder is mostly pushed by my need to control the atmosphere, and that is probably not a big surprise. The inside of the house is similar, yet I cannot completely carry out what I wish, of course. We share this space, as opposed to the garage which has been all mine for many years. Yesterday is beginning to piss me off but it will fade as time passes. I began streamlining my possessions again yesterday afternoon but my back did not allow very much of it before shutting me down. Today I'll continue the effort just after the routine is complete. I have a bit of dry cleaning, too, and that can wait until I'm moving around more in order to keep an ear on the dryer. I also have an idea to neaten the area in the corner of this room where the electronics live. I've already removed the IR hub and DVD player due to barely using them, and now I'd like to go further by relocating the streaming device to the center speaker and routine the power and signal cables through the wall. After that, the HDMI splitter can move to the garage, effectively ridding the living room of much of the cabling going through the wall. That will not only make the corner look better, but more importantly it will be easier to clean. I would love the ability to 'French' the components into the wall, but that type of project means dealing with the laundry vent, reframing a bit of the wall, and moving everything out there away from the area until the entire project is complete. That idea came up years ago but I never had the motivation to follow through, and part of the hesitation is if we change our minds about the location of the equipment and leave a hole in the wall. Not good. I don't believe the benefits outweigh the work, so the little things will be as far as I go in the short term. The fact is there are six speakers' worth of wiring from the receiver to the subwoofer, five of which then come back out of the module and go through the wall along with three heavy video and audio cables, not to mention power for the television itself. I'd like to minimize the system as much as possible without making anything look strange. Ever since I had the brilliant idea to move the gateway and RAID system out to the living room and remove the unnecessary items, the area already looks better. I just need to go further. The simple truth is I need the media in the background all the time, so any digging into the system means I'm compelled to finish, and by extension the immediacy of the need keeps my mind from wandering into pairs of pants. Distraction is more important than ever. That fucking dream has to be kept at bay, too. Right now I really don't need anything so questionable derailing my thinking processes, and believe me... I'ts a bad one. 0821. One more cup of coffee and I'll do something else. The images of Carol are not helping this entry as I had hoped, yet she is lovely. The funny part? No desire like some of the other models. I don't know why. All I see is beauty and that's as far as it goes. I mentioned somewhere up the page that I might change the four images -- now five because I'm a basket case and still writing -- but I suppose I'll leave her right where she is. I can't decide upon anything else. Maybe the next entry will hold more of my own photography. Jolene walks away from the camera and my brain goes all the way down there and back in a matter of milliseconds. If I had the rest of my life, I could never fully describe the gorgeous shape she carries and what takes place in my head. Last year I stated that I had feelings for her character but no desire. Well, that has changed dramatically. More desire than I would care to admit. And she has MAJOR cat eyes, nearly to the point of the race girl. Yep, I'm going to continue mentioning that encounter because it changed the way I see those wondrous examples of unique beauty. First was her height and stance, followed quickly by her outfit -- obviously dressed to attract people to the exhibit -- and then my desire to dive into her clothing and remain there for the rest of my life, eventually leading to a closer look and, more importantly, the way she looked at me. Believe me, I am nothing special, yet there is no way of knowing what may have been going on inside her pretty head. That is the clincher because my desperation has the ability to manufacture situations otherwise unseen in real life. Jolene is an actor in a make-believe universe, and as such must follow direction from the show's creators and production staff, whereas the race girl was operating as an employee (most likely with similar direction and instructions) and standing right the fuck before yours truly, as weakened like never before and in need of more than I can describe here. I reached... I reached much, eventually walking away with too much to process combined with vast sadness. I reached more than ever in my years. I still see her, still feel a strong desire to reside within her pants, and am far worse off now than when that encounter first took place. Battleship eyes. They destroyed me. Anyway... One more refill of coffee. The sun has again hidden itself behind a layer of fog. Damn. Kellie and her bright smile on the screen quite a bit throughout this episode. She passed away less than two years after her last appearance on this program, and at the age of 36. I cannot think of her as beautiful anymore. I can only think of her as a person. Kellie was born six months after me. 0906 and I am still sitting here. I suppose this day will be spent much as yesterday, only small chores and improvements here and there. My back will not allow me to move around as I'd like, although there are always things to do. There is Kellie again, God damn it. So young. She brings wetness to my eyes, the poor thing. Fuck. Anyway, I may try to tackle the relocation of the streaming device just to improve the appearance of the living room a touch. Another aspect of that is the need to run cabling through the wall to the garage, and that means removing some items from the shelves above the washer and dryer. Every now and then I like to do that just in case anything can go into the trash or recycle bins. My project of adding doors to those shelves went south a few months ago because I did a crappy job on the left door, afterward realizing a better method. Well, now I am out of material, but the next time I have the opportunity, the job should go smoothly. Flat surfaces in the empire mean more decorations. Wonderful. And hiding household items improves the space dramatically. The streaming device will be step one. The sun is peeking through. I just thought of something very interesting. The race girl -- along with that Asian of whom I dreamed and could not see her face -- may have been catalysts for the damaging dream of which I cannot speak here. And I can't even say why. Isn't that splendid? All this information and some which may help me to understand why my brain works in such a fashion, yet none of it may be splayed here due to fearing the backlash from an audience that may or may not even exist. Wow. What a fucked-up situation, and what a fucking life. The race girl is probably the most dramatic encounter in more than a decade, may have helped bring disturbing imagery into my head while sleeping, but I can't say shit about it. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything in existence. Well, I love the battleship eyes, especially when they are cat-eye shaped. Double ugh. I could never hate the eyes. And after all this analysis, the images of Carol mean even less. What a maroon. Still sitting here. Sometimes I want to swallow Linda's little ass. Shut up. I'm going to pull 'The Sentient Weaponry' offline and revise it. That essay is one of the most important pieces of writing I have ever completed, and it needs to really get the point across. I'll yank it off the server and begin reading perhaps later today. It also has the distinction of being the longest entry on the site with a count of more than 24000 words. There is good reason for all of it, too. I did something similar with the watch essay, yet that was more of an 'update' due to learning more and finding additional details about that timepiece of dreams. 'Weaponry' is all from my brain, and as such, needs to be very clear and as detailed as possible. The entry is coming down right now. This is line number 666, just to let you know. 1205 and the business is complete, including readying everything for her trip to the city. One up, one down, however. I feel good about finishing the routine and having the house in order, yet my comfort and feelings of accomplishment have been tempered by the news from the east. One of the holdout cities has fallen, meaning one more huge step for the aggressors. This is not good, and when combined with having read about a third world war already underway -- albeit very slowly -- my head is at sixes and sevens like never before. My issues have taken a far-back seat to world events. Wait a minute... This woman on television being interviewed after yet another shooting is fucking stunning. Dark, alluring, and with enormous, very feeling eyes. Well, I suppose some aspects of my personality simply never shut down completely. Anyway, the news has me in survival and fortification mode yet again, this time amplified quite a bit. A notice for metal and electronic recycling two days from now was left on the porch, and that will help free up some crap in the garage (empire). I was happy to see it and am ready to prepare some stuff to be picked up Thursday morning, but the negative news has reduced my mood. I'll still get ready for the pickup, though. There is little reason to veer from my work around the house. No lunch yet, only a big cocktail consumed. I'm no longer in the mood for eating. Maybe later. The plan now is to work on gathering materials for the pickup and dry cleaning. In and around those items I shall consider larger concerns. The noon hour means I have plenty of time for whatever seems best or most pressing. This entry is not going to be published anytime soon. Fortification is growing in importance as the days pass. I am referring to the sheer number of mass shootings in public places throughout the last few months. Seems like more than ever, despite decades of officials and others calling for 'gun control' and/or some type of 'reform' in order to curb either the availability of weapons or another method of hopefully reducing these incidents. Well, I don't mean to sound more negative than usual, but there is no way of changing the way people fucking THINK. That is it. Cut and dry. If a person dislikes another to a large enough degree and wishes to harm that person, they will find a way. There is simply no fucking way around it, gun control or otherwise. I may not understand the impulse for shooting the hell out of a shopping center or other place, but I do understand societal pressure, norms and several different aspects of this world against which to rail. The bottom line is that people all over the world are different from each other and that cannot be changed. Some people will not bend. When push comes to shove or something takes place to piss them off, they will lash. Guns are very simple. I use words because there is as of yet no reason to avoid this method. I have a gun, but I must admit the only target that has come to mind several times since my downfall in eleven is me. Harming another person does not compute for me because despite all my issues with society, going out there and blasting people will change nothing. That is what I call a 'truism'. Anyway, fortification here at home always helps me to feel that I am safer with than without it. 0644 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, flags out, fifth show again. I have just under an hour before the early business. The show last night carried forward from Monday as I decided to go back to the Empire for entertainment. No, not my empire, the real Empire. I haven't seen that program in many years and wanted to revisit the fantastic production. It also reminds me of the 1236 period and all of the benefits therein. The only problem is that it brings up my work from that period and some related wonder which still existed a few years after beginning that career. I miss it sometimes and the loss makes me sad, although I am the one who consciously made the decision to run my ass off and follow the damage path. That means the show will carry with it both good and bad memories. I can deal with it for the production. The program will probably only be on during the late afternoon and evening, though. Daytime will be reserved for the others. Some of the stuff which had plagued me for the last two years drifts into mind while watching the Empire play out. I knew it would happen because there is pretty much nothing I can do to rid myself of certain emotional problems, and the network in question has pushed those buttons for years. I don't mind because the characters and story are worth it. Plus, there are buttons in the opposite direction. The more time I spend alone, the less I worry about what plays out across the screens. Oh, make no mistake... Everything will return with force and cripple me, but only if there is ample opportunity to open the doors of life in the proper context and situation. That means two longshots connected end-to-end. Not likely. And the main driving force behind such wording is a pair of battleship eyes. Yep. They are out there just as 'she' is out there. Believe it or not, I have not left that phrase out of this content because the feeling stopped. I left it out because belaboring the point is boring. All those problems I've had in dealing with society and its standards will likely never go away (fully), so even if that miraculous convergence of circumstances comes to pass, I'll still be fucked up and watching the same television programs. No one aside from me is going to understand this paragraph and I don't give a fuck. Today. I don't know yet. I did build a second canopy for below the newest mural, although it is a tad narrow as opposed to the top unit. The lighting should be fine, I think. My power supply and distribution block should arrive today -- along with multi-conductor cabling for joining the LED strips and easing the amount of line voltage wiring -- meaning I can slowly get things together for expanding and streamlining the lighting system in the empire. The metal recycling items for tomorrow morning have been gathered and I will be looking around more today for anything which can be tossed. Those opportunities only come around twice per year at best, and that means I need to get everything possible out the door. There is always material that can go. 0818 and the morning crap is out of the way. Routine soon. The sun is already shining bright and fairly warm. For this area, anyway. Maybe I can work outside more today if the warmth helps the garage a bit. Fifth show again, and despite my yearning to ravage Jolene and her unchallenged form. That will never go away. Time to work. 1027, the routine is finished, vodka next to me, my brain full of all manner of carnal shit, and the lady from down the street followed up her voice message by knocking on the door while I was drying the dishes. Well, perhaps my avoidance will clue her as to the fact that I do not wish contact with ANYONE right now, least of all in person. I plan to sit and rest my back for a while before anything else. God damn, her eyes are huge. Jolene that is, not the woman who tried to bother me. Heh. The search is ongoing, now capitalized by battleship eyes and much more. I realize what a stretch it is to continue seeking something which is about as likely as an improvement in my mental stability, yet the compulsion is just too strong. Those three songs mentioned just under two years ago have been compiled and clarified, now down to only one, and that is the idea of a woman in the singer's head... One that is not real and continues to plague him with dreams. That is where I now reside, knowing full well of the chance that she may be out there, somewhere. I've been close, believe me. Very close, but everyone is gone. All three of them. The race girl could have been a representation of Ashley, while the battleship eyes in the store weeks ago may have been symbolic of Ellie. But... What about the Raven and the way her mind operated? Oh, that's the third, and I will not discuss her any longer save for the occasional mention of 'pants'. Let's just leave the third at that. Please. Anyway, regardless of the miraculous appearance in my life of some dream woman (not a fucking machine, either), my head shall carry on with the most fruitless and depressing search in existence. And though the machine is impossible, such thinking and design will henceforth never end. Marvelous, eh? Every fucking day, week, month and year. I mentioned the difficulty in watching the current evening series on HBO, and believe me that subject is directly related to four topics I've not mentioned in months. You should know. The effect of those eyes upon me is weighty. Heavy, unrelenting, and powerful. I have no saving throw versus their influence. Nothing can be done. I sit here every fucking day and dream of them. My physical condition continues to decline, the alcohol appears better and better with each passing day, and the future outlook is dimming without limit. An acquaintance of mine from around the corner walks by from time to time with his dog and typically says hello. Some weeks ago he asked if I had found work, so I shut down the subject once and for all by informing him that I am indeed retired. What a fucking joke. All of the reckless behavior, lack of planning, and knee-jerk reactions to situations over the course of decades have all left me bereft of true 'retirement'. I earn nothing, have very little, and once the actual age comes along I will probably be dead. We get one chance. Look what I've done with mine. The eyes, pants, whatever... Years of throwing away the 'right' and the 'possibilities' have eliminated the 'promise'. The battleship eye effect has ruined me for all time. Look at the images of Carol. Do you see the brightness? I do. I also see other parts of life that have disappeared from reality. Her." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Battleship Eye Effect Mature content No. 313 Published May 18th, 2022 10:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Ten minutes after the previous entry was published, and here I sit. Same day -- 1103 on May 10th -- same situation, whiskey now gone. I think the best idea is to shower and head out to the big wine store for some reinforcements. Bottled depression? Yep, that's it. Upon returning, I'll probably move out to the empire and add some symbolism to the last drawing while caring for the dry cleaning. I'm going to avoid the typical beer consumption, though. Yesterday I ended up feeling as if the evening cocktail hour was not as special as it should be. From this point forward today, no more booze. I need the evening to feel deserved, but you probably already know that. Battleship eyes, just to let you know, are generally steel-blue. The girl at the eyeglass store carried two large versions of such eyes, close to the diametric opposite of the eyes over which I typically gush. Not dark, but mysterious and beautiful. The apellation has two meanings, however. The other battleship eyes are those against which I cannot defend, often taking me outside myself through the appearance of tears. This will not be easy commentary. 1340. Everything is finished save for the dry cleaning. I need to keep an eye on the machine, so it will wait until I head out to work in the garage. I traveled to the big wine store and back. Naturally, there was a vendor near the checkout lanes wearing those fucking pants looking tall and dark, and I did my best to only glance a bit. After loading my car, she was outside working with someone else and appearing even taller than when closer to me. Whatever. The pants again. I stopped by the little market on my return trip for a few items, and of course there was another tall, slender beauty gliding in the opposite direction. There is always something, somewhere. At least I avoided the goddess market. That's typically much worse. The one at the wine store had amazing hair, too... Long, black, and flowing in the breeze as if to draw my gaze like a gun from Satan's own holster. One more notch. Why not? I am overjoyed to be home again. I really don't feel like adding detail to the newest mural in the garage. Not today. I don't know from where the motivation comes, but there is no pattern. Yesterday I finished the outline and painted the entire symbol, whereas today I just don't give a shit. Inside, all day. Wednesday morning. One of the reference blonde women of the universe is guest starring in this episode. Older, lines here and there, yet still amazing. Doesn't matter. I have coffee and a little time before the morning business commences. Cats already fed and likely dozing now, flags out, and sometimes Dey looks like a rabbit. Her mouth is the opposite of Susanna, meaning that no matter what shape appears there, the attraction is no different. I'm not being disrespectful, either. Referring only to appearance. Anyway, I indeed stuck to the inside of the house yesterday other than taking little breaks here and there. No work on the empire, and damned little in the house. I finished the dry cleaning. Today appears bright, much like yesterday at this hour. I'll see what the next several hours have in store for my head. I am already missing a dream from earlier that remained with me a little while. Hopefully the memory will return because I know it was something special and I'd like to recall whatever took place. I don't believe I need to go anywhere today. Maybe work on the mural later, but I don't know. My head is actually relaxed right now so I will remain here a while. 0903. Still sitting here with all sort of thoughts. The trouble has not really come about, however, and I do not know why. I'll take it, though. I need more difficult thinking like I need another hole in my fucking head. All morning I've been seeing those battleship eyes in the store from nearly two weeks ago. Pushing them away is all I can do right now. There has been an inkling of thought toward displaying the OTHER battleship eyes, yet I do not know if it is a good idea today. The trouble is remaining at arm's length and I'd like to keep it that way. Those eyes have the power to send me flying, no matter what may be taking place at a given moment. Don't need that. Maybe the third and fourth images will show them. So far, there are no images attached to this crap. I'll figure it out. All in good time. I will care for the routine soon, I guess. The compulsion to write words on these pages stemmed from so much turmoil way back more than seven years ago, at the outset of fifteen when the site direction changed for good. I did my best to describe the obsession and/or anything I spied out there in society which drove me to dream of fulfilling said obsession. The first time I was frightened by battleship eyes was also the first near opportunity to research the subject of form. And then everything went to shit real quick. The scare was due to desire. Cut to just two years ago and I decided to explore the idea that suppressed desire may have been a partial catalyst for the entire works. And then I figured the desire was merely on and off and depending upon my mood at the time. In about three months' time, the calendar will have advanced three years since those Goddamned thongs at the pool. I realize I've gone over that in spades, too. I know, and I will not be gushing about them here. I only wish to point out that the occasion may have been one of the most stark and cutting examples of the suppression. That went on for weeks, if I recall correctly. The point is they were several years after the site change. Years. No eyes, though. I don't believe I ever saw the eyes on either of those women because of sunglasses (the fucking sunshine and heat were excessive), meaning there was no battleship approaching. That day at the pool can now be defined as purely mathematical leading to purely physical. I don't feel good about this, either. And I am losing my way here, damn it. Whatever. Nothing will be solved through this shit. I only meant to point out that even after seven years, I am still compelled to sit at this IDE and write what I feel, good or bad. The battleship eyes have come along at every single point in my life in which there was difficulty over beauty. Two types, one draw. 1118. The routine is finished. Sunshine out there, too. Hopefully the sun will warm the house throughout this day. I may still head into the empire after lunch to add details to the newest mural. Third show, fifth season. Nothing of note, thank the maker. My brain is still not processing the morning difficulties for whatever reason, and believe me when I say I am thankful for the lack of trouble. My depression is to the point of leaving me very little ambition, meaning any failures are going to send me into a downward spiral right fucking quick. I can't have that today. Leeta's eyes are huge and goofy, as always. The decision has been made to work on the empire for a little while after lunch. I need to be out there with my devices and music. My mood is growing more negative by the fucking second despite one of my favorite shows up there in all its glory. Sometimes even my friends and extended family can't help at all. Wednesday morning, May the 12th, 0732. Coffee, third show at the end of the fifth season, flags out, cats asleep, alone. The mural indeed advanced yesterday... A few circles and a pair of snakes to match the appearance on my cave wall back years ago. I may add a bit today, as well. This morning is fairly slow due to the early business and the fact that I've barely touched the coffee. My brain is half into the work yesterday and half down a pair of pants. I knew the shit would return sooner rather than later. Improvement is only a temporary situation at best, and at any time. I expect nothing good in the future and that is a part of the reason this crap returns within a few days of feeling better. The catalyst or reasoning causing this on random days and at random moments still eludes. I don't recall dreaming, nor did I see anything for a while. Maybe all six feet of Cathy in that skin-tight outfit had something to do with it. Last night she was in the background as another species and appeared wondrous. Could be her, could be something else, but most likely this was caused by something I will never know or be able to identify. The damage is done. Now all I have to do is avoid failing or flailing. The disturbing dream from whenever is irritating me and causing difficulty in dealing with other people, even more than just a week ago. Again a person reached out to ask how I've been doing recently and I politely shut it down, yet it does force me to consider that dream as a part of the reasoning behind me remaining in this little house as often as possible. I am safer here, as are other people. The dream is on my mind every damned day, and that first image of Carol just above this section is a reminder. The last image, too. Globes? Yes, that pair is why the dream was so troubling. I cannot explain further, unfortunately, or I'll end up in deep shit over the way I now think. Rest assured, none of it is good. I dreamed and then saw, and dreamed more. A portion of daydreaming and a portion of dreaming while asleep. I have no control over the subject matter that pops up when I am sleeping, yet still I consider my position these days as at least partly causal. I have to, really, because of all the dwelling upon beauty for decades. Too much focus and I am awash in thought. That fact simply MUST push some of the dreams into the bad territory. This latest was very unexpected and has me at sixes and sevens for the thousandth time. I wish I had not seen one particular angle that day. Fateful, for lack of a better term. I can see at least a bit of good coming from this. The difficulty and thinking may force me to remain home even more than I already am. Less trips to the stores. That means my narrow view from the garage door will be all that remains available. No more occasions like the girl two weeks ago. Here we go... 'To suppress a truth is to give it force beyond endurance.' Is that what I've been doing? Visions on the street outside my garage door, and more. Was the dream inevitable? I don't know, but if this line of thinking has been a 'truth', I am in very big trouble and can NEVER speak to another person on the subject. Not even a therapist, believe it or else. Maybe the smiling faces and closet doors did this. The vision of snow outside the window, which later led to a decision to drive at an hour that was not recommended. There I was... In dress shoes and a button-down shirt, attaching snow chains to the front tires of her car at the state line, snow falling and my fingers numb. Had we left a few hours earlier, none of that would have been necessary. Alas, the closet door was a repeat and I could not resist the temptation. I put myself in a very bad position due to the beauty. A smiling face. This is going to kill me, sure as hell. Sooner or later the dreaming will become too much for me to handle and I'll lose what remaining grip I have on reality. If the truth is I've been suppressing a certain type of thinking, well... It's just too damned bad. I cannot do anything about it. I still have coffee left but my head needs a glass full of depressant. 100029 lines of code since the ill-fated introduction to the machine named Jaime. Splendid. Basket case. Keep in mind I created just north of 7200 lines over the course of the thirteen years leading up to the change in site direction. Do you think I'm a little fucked up? 0846 and I have yet to do anything aside from daydreaming and typing. Well, I've been sipping coffee, too. I guess there's nothing wrong with that, unlike the thoughts swirling inside my brain. Very bad. Dire. Tough. Some of them are even dead wrong. No one is listening, though, so the exposition matters not. What about the fucking battleship eyes? Look at Carol. She has the second variety. Thoughts, injected. I was going to include the primary eyes but changed my mind because Carol is too lovely for just one or two images. That shit doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing seems to matter or make any fucking difference regardless of how much beauty or how many examples are displayed. This has become so stupid that sometimes I can't believe it myself. 1034. The routine is finished, laundry and dry cleaning in process. At least I can still perform the daily work about the house. All the while, and I mean ALL THE FUCKING WHILE, images of the fateful dream and the battleship eyes at the store swirled inside and nearly caused me to falter. I had a conversation with the cats regarding the vast difference between a stimulant and a depressant, seeing as how I generally pour a big glass of alcohol when I begin cleaning the kitchen. They commented that the caffeine should offset the booze providing I limit the morning ritual to just one drink of vodka or whiskey. I cannot disagree, knowing through history that a second cocktail leads nowhere good. The first is simply resistance to desire, a combination of feelings that both cripples and angers me. As of yet, I have found no saving throw on some days. There may be nothing on the horizon for me, a thought which causes more rancor and drives me further into the ground with each passing day. 'What once was, may never be again.' That is the standpoint through which I approached every single fucking opportunity to explore. My situation has never been worse or more dire. Not a day passes without me contemplating suicide. Shut up. You are not me, nor will your wisdom and uplifiting attempts gain ground. Only the enjoyments keep me upright. Six-foot Cathy on the screen again. She doesn't matter. I wish there was some understanding, on both sides. I tried, I gave up. The remainder of this day will see the garage door closed. I have no wish to expose the important work ongoing toward the end result of my shit mood as rooted in disrespect, pain and loss. Yesterday I drew and painted two circular outlines flanking the shield and today printed another symbol to be drawn within one of them. The other circle is still up in the air, though. I don't know what may be best. In the meantime, I'll work on the sole print and scale it to the mural. 1419. I ruined the pizza lunch by adding a cheese better left alone. Damn. At least I didn't eat too much and become lazy. Quite the opposite, in fact. I finished the laundry and dry cleaning, cared for the floor in our bathroom, and then scaled and printed two sigils for the mural. By that point I became distracted by the excellent sixth-season storyline. Sometimes I just have to see it play out without interruption. Moreover, the anger over how I felt this morning drove me to finalize the sigils and have them ready to put up and paint. I completed them in record time as a result of feeling left on the side of the road like so much trash. Years of it. So, the evil is coming to the empire sooner than originally planned. 0738 on Friday morning, business done and I'm here in the quiet for the duration. Third show on pause so I can think a while. Dreams earlier... Mostly regarding a big house in my hometown which was built by my great uncle after finding success in business. I used to love that house, although we were not invited up there very often. The context of the dream was quite confusing. I didn't realize until waking up, though, because dreams have a way of coming across as perfectly natural, like merging the past with the present. I haven't been in that house since the mid-eighties as far as I can recall, and despite the fact that it has changed much over the years -- updating and whatnot -- the interior appeared just as it had years ago when I first dreamed of being inside again. Very dark, exotic, and looking like something I would actually design, yet somehow I knew the house was in my family as it had always been. This is a very strange feeling. I may jot down a few design elements in order to recall the appearance of the home's interior. There could be meaning within those walls. And I am glad to experience a dream not involving the issues from days ago. Don't need any more of that because I am already reminded every day. All bad, that one. In the quiet now. My brain is in bad shape, though. Street cleaner driving by. I am in a bad way. The feelings are going to lead to anger, I just know it. Too much of this shit lately. Yesterday I added the two sigils to the newest mural. They look decent, I suppose. Better at night, too. There was a short period during the evening when I had the empire lit for a while. Not much, but some. There is still more work to be done out there before I am satisfied. Life would be easier if I hadn't seen those blue-gray eyes. Now my head is all fucked up over the girl AND the fucking dream. I don't know why the latter had to take place. Is there not already enough shit in my brain? I can't let go of it, either. The dream just keeps slapping me over and over and there is nothing I can do or say to help the situation. All of the details must remain hidden, too. I can't type it out here, I can't talk to anyone (although no one is fucking listening anyway), and I can't simply forget. The imagery is unrelenting, especially considering everything I've tried to describe here in more than seven years. All of it is now rolled up in a ball and striking me upside the head again and again. Nearly unlivable. I mentioned that the anger is going to result from so much shit, and I can already feel it. This 'no outlet' crap will create one of two dire situations. Period. I can only take so much. Torment is perpetual. The battleship eyes catalyzed my current living condition and ruined the future for me. I forget exactly NOTHING. Unacceptable. Wow. Just... Wow. This is going downhill much more quickly than I had thought possible. The current shit in my head drove me to pour a big glass of vodka two minutes shy of nine this morning. Not good, but what the fuck else can I do? That's right, kids. Not a fucking thing. After decades of the on-again, off-again vise on my body, now there is one in my fucking head. I know part of what happened. The rest is a mystery. Perhaps this year should be the last in which I must live with such issues. 1158, routine finished, lunch in the oven to make up for yesterday's fucking shit meal (my fault), and the rest of the day shall be indoors due to my brain's inability to deal with what took place this morning. I have the third show up there for comfort. Thank the maker for those programs these days. Without them, I'd be in some real pretty shit. I also went to the cigarette store and the big market. Nothing of note, either. The smaller market was unnecessary today. I may switch the television over to HBO for watching an older series I haven't seen for some years. It only ran two seasons, but the quality is excellent. If it works for comfort, I can add it to my repertoire of daily media. Rarely do I step outside the norm. 0725 on Saturday morning. I did not put out the flags due to precipitation. My flags are not the 'storm' variety, so they must remain dry. Coffee, third show in the seventh season. I would give everything I have or ever had to live there. Honestly. Believe it. That is dream number one. The machine is dream number two. The trouble is dream number three. I'm still thinking about it and I know the effect of that girl's battleship eyes helped me to assemble imagery inside which then drove me to dream in a very bad direction. I still can't talk about it. I will say that yesterday's issue may have been partially caused by concern rather than fully physical. Emotional problems can have a dire effect upon the body, that's for sure. Dreams. Ugh. The girl is not at fault, though. I can't blame her for my situation. I know a good portion of why this current situation continues to unfold and affect me, but I can't talk about that, either. Great, huh? The afternoon was worthless. I barely even tried to do anything because nothing felt remotely possible or appealing. I dozed off twice. I think my lifestyle has cautght up with me somewhat and my body is telling me in no uncertain terms to make changes, or else. I'll have to see what I can do. I suppose, anyway. Everything is just so fucking shitty these days. I barely have reason to lift a fucking finger in any direction. One thing for sure is that I cannot have another day like yesterday. Between the failure within a failure and then losing my way so badly after lunch, well... I simply cannot fucking have that again. I'm already in a shitty enough mood, nothing else needs to be added atop the pile or I'll blow the fuck up. That means today I need to consider my moves carefully and deliberately, just like the workflow back at the ballistic ranges. We had a very specific pace and method of communication that kept everything in order, minimized failures and mistakes, and kept us safe. I'll try to take steps today and match that old routine so coming out the other side feeling better is much more likely than yesterday's loss of direction. As for the other half of what happened during the morning, I don't have any say in that these days. Without ears, the future is dim. 'Your great attention to detail is both a blessing and a curse.' Hmm. Yes, technicality and detail have turned me into a very picky person. Control, too. I suppose that is an aspect rife with details. And details are all over the obsession, it's literally built upon such things. And then something comes along -- the race girl, for example -- and then I dissect the situation for months on end, soon losing my shit. When it comes to a project in the house or garage, detail is fine. The race girl? I went all over that one, and then every subsequent vision since then has been equally scrutinized because nothing is ever enough... I cannot get enough fucking DETAIL to satisfy the obsession. See? I'm fucked. The race girl and her big cat eyes was just an example. Don't get your shit in a twist. Sometimes those little fortunes hold a great deal of wisdom. Other times? Tons of irony. I can still see her face, too. How about that? I won't go on about it. Today. I have the usual stuff and then a ton of free time. Something has to be accomplished by the early afternoon or I won't feel good this evening. I don't know what, but something. Back to the title, just like the visit to the eyeglass store. The appearance of her eyes caused several types of feelings, not the least of which was a strong desire to pose her in a certain way and see of the holy fucking grail of form would be present (probably, and I can't get that out of my head lately). There was a point in the past in which I had been able to see the shape I had been seeking, and right there in front of my face. I just wanted to see in three dimensions rather than one, that's all. My request was approved and I sat there amazed beyond belief. The problem came along almost immediately, however, as I'm certain would have occurred as related to the girl in the store. That is the effect... I see the eyes and there is a feeling unrelated to form, but deeper, and then a massive shift takes place leaving me absolutely senseless and overflowing with tremendous desire to be in complete control of the situation. Keep in mind that 'battleship' eyes are not labeled as such due to being the same color as a naval vessel. The other type is out there, too, and with the same power over me. And I mean enough power to recreate past feelings and situations. I have destroyed much in search of another facet of that fucking obsession, and thanks to Ashley and her amazing fucking standpoint in life, nothing will ever be satisfactory no matter whether I search or not. This is all so bad that I still can't believe I'm typing the words. The effect of certain eyes upon my psyche is so powerful that I am ashamed for being this weak. There you go. Laugh it up. I didn't think in such terms during the glow. There were little inklings here and there, yet my focus when it came to beauty and desire was different. Also difficult to describe without sounding like a fool. Since I was in the same relationship throughout that period, whatever I felt was always related to the same woman, and that was the period with the closet doors and such. The point is I was not searching for anything, only wishing for something. Very different. Had my current mindset been in place during those years, I probably would have driven her away very quickly. Heh. I can't say this, I can't say that, I can't spell out certain events which have crippled me and driven away my desire to be near people (females, that is), and I can't figure out why they think the way they do. Everything has just left me alone with thoughts. Bad thoughts, things missing, dire need, and desperate dreaming. I even dreamed over a line no one should ever cross. That's how fucking bad this shit is right now. I've been typing different words outlining the same problems in different ways. Nothing more. And then a form or two and I fall down. And then I try to describe the trauma involved in seeing certain things. I'll tell you one thing, damn it, and that is the fact that I don't believe I can repeat this shit next year. I had a countdown a while ago, remember? I gave up on it due to holding on to a sliver of hope -- one so thin it has already developed holes -- that someone may eventually hear me and perhaps a tiny bit of what I need can be alleviated. Well, I've since learned that the first four-plus months of this year have been worse than the previous year, and why in the blue fuck would I want to repeat them? Next year? Bullshit. Tell me different and I'll turn your head into a fucking canoe. Try it, fucksticks. I've had it and now feel the need to draw a line again. Nicole was on the screen a bit in this episode. I remember watching the documentary and the shots of a convention somewhere, and there she stood on the right end of the line of actors, all fucking unreal thighs and radii apparent. Right there. It was a short glimpse, but enough to send my brain all the way up you-know-where because I am a weak, desperate fucking nutcase with zero chance of happiness. Laugh it up. Another year of this shit? Go fuck yourself. I can already see this day is going to be an uphill battle in the fucking mud. I've done that, by the way... Uphill in the mud with an Alice pack and rifle, so I know about the subject. Just in case you suspect I've been exaggerating. Sometimes I get so pissed off that I stop paying attention to chores and schedules and simply dive into whatever is in front of me at the time. This morning I can already see that the day will end up noisy and haphazard if I don't try to control my directions. The Satanic imagery surrounding my empire could not have been created at a better time, too. I need people to remain in the dark about my mindset. The weaker I feel inside, the more powerful the front. Maybe I'll end up so angry that I can finish a few lingering projects. The back lawn full of beer cans does not take place any longer because I never really demonstrated my sheer level of frustration due to being a fucking weakened 'softy'. We need to change that shit right quick. Hmm... 'We'. This may lead somewhere aside from the inner line of Cathy's fucking LONG legs. There have been many pairs of battleship eyes over the course of years, although I did not label them as such until just a few months ago. I jotted down notes because of eyes I saw on television and then the information just sat there until the girl in the eyeglass store two weeks back. Once her form caused my head to explode, I simply had to explore further. And here we are... Another term, another set of problems, and another session of sitting at the keyboard with a head full of ill-advised thoughts. Marvelous. My coffee is almost gone now at 0927. I may rise and do something else very soon. I feel like shit after what happened yesterday morning. I guess that is something I need to keep in mind if the dreams take over. 0734 all the way toward Monday morning. Yesterday I was on the disabled list for several hours leading up to bedtime due to my fucking back. There may have been a muscle strain after my first trip to the store. I had to head over there twice yesterday for medication and such. Not a big deal, though. Saturday I cared for the empire a little while due to the possibility of socializing with the only people I can still be near. I have to remember that if and when the shit hits the fan on a global scale I will need to rely on the protection of this house combined with the neighbor's. We maintain a good relationship, which means being social on those few occasions when we have the time. Saturday night turned into a little meeting time, so I had the empire lit for some hours before closing down after midnight. The lateness had me taking it easy yesterday morning, although I did not really feel crappy to begin with. The only problem was some trouble with a muscle in my back. That problem slowed my Sunday progress to a crawl. I did the garbage business and my usual stuff, though. This morning the issue in still lingering, meaning today may be slow as well. I have the day and house to myself for the next several hours. I'll try to get my routine finished a bit early so the afternoon is left wide open in case my back eases. Saturday afternoon became a bit of a problem due to that ill-found dream returning for a while as I moved around the garage. The imagery and subject matter swirled for a while, but the basic reasoning and initial push cannot be discussed here, as usual. The fact remains that I am slammed in the head too fucking often for being completely comfortable unless totally alone and isolated. Not good, but part of me predicted this some months ago due to my feelings about being in certain types of social situations, like the bar. Those little driveway gatherings are not the same at all. Much more comfortable due to being home. If anything comes along that I need to hide away, I simply walk away and enter the house, effectively cutting off any contact within seconds. I can recover, cool off, and then relax. The dream hits every now and again but two specific cuts that occasionally take place cannot be removed from life if I am to be in any contact at all with people. Rather like going to the market when I see something special and then return home and record the experience here, if I am to be outside these walls, a slice will eventually bring that dream back to the forefront. There is as of yet nothing I can do. My brain goes into autopilot more quickly than I can handle, thus the negative feelings. The afternoon held a strike of pretty sizable proportions. Fortunately, I became distracted from the issue by some work needing to be completed. Eventually I calmed enough to appear as a normal person, or at least as much as is feasible these days. As time progressed into the evening and then night, my level of comfort evened out some. Battleship eyes were not present, nor were they spotted in the stores yesterday. I was the hell in and out pretty damned quickly. I tried to avoid wandering, too. The drug store next to the market is sometimes suspect, but yesterday it was nearly deserted, thank Christ. Today I will probably not do much beyond the normal scope. My back is not good. 1044 and I finished the routine, albeit very slowly. Whiskey and the third show heading toward the series finale. Good stuff. But ugh... Kasidy again. Just... Ugh. Anyway, I have no laundry or other regular chores awaiting my attention, so the likely path will be to care for small items during the next few hours. The pleasant thought of breaking out the largest model and relaxing at the dining table keeps flirting with my need for comfort, but I believe I would have to switch to the vampires to add nostalgia from last year. If I can accomplish some of the assembly, the camera and my attention may bear fruit. I can also continue to streamline the office and toss more crap I've been holding for too long. The last time I went in there to improve the space, many items went into the trash and the storage did benefit from my efforts. I can continue in the same vein, very slowly. Maybe I won't talk about the battleship eyes for the remainder of this entry. Nothing seems to help my brain. Saturday was a massive push into territory I cannot describe, and that was the second fucking occasion of imagery contorting my head into shapes previously unknown and unwanted. I don't know why that single dream had such an impact upon my obsession, but I will say that the feeling is very uncomfortable. Too bad I must refrain from any further information or detail. As I made clear above, the result could be disastrous. I don't need anything worse right now. One curious fact? This may be a perfectly natural extension of similar thinking at a younger age. Unfortunately, I will probably never know. Like yesterday, the weather is completely socked-in. Overhead fog from the ocean all the way to the other side of the hill. I have ideas for further wiring and plans for additional lighting for the empire which will have to wait for increased mercury. My garage has been closed so far today. Normally, the big door is open by mid-morning for when I take breaks from inside the house. The weather is too cool for it, though. Yesterday I had everything wide open to care for the garbage. I think I'm going to change all four images. 0704 on Tuesday morning. Yesterday was not too bad. I didn't do that much because of my back, however. Little things here and there, and I'm pretty certain the efforts are the reason I am feeling a bit of relief today. I have no early morning business, only the usual routine. I ordered some material to ease the empire lighting system. Everything should arrive tomorrow. There is wire and other components that will keep the project going for quite some time. The main ingredient is a power supply which can operate all of the strip LED elements and free up some receptacles. Lots of work, plenty of time. This morning is going to be rather slow. I plan to remain here a while and then move into the routine. Partial sunshine. Coffee. Fifth show. Jolene and her eyes. My head blew wide open during the mid-morning yesterday. Afterward, I cut off the typing time in order to avoid complaining even more than I already have on the subject. Not the battleship eyes, but a smiling face this time. The bright eyes were present, just not the type I've included here. The simple fact is I may not ever have control over a few aspects of living and such a thought is now worse than when I first suggested the possibility months ago. This is not going to blow my fucking skirt up. 'There is a difference between keeping an open mind and believing something because you want it to be true.' Ah, yes. Thank you for pointing out the truth, miss big-eyes. Anyway, what I believe is that as the days pass I am becoming weaker and more desperate, the weekend issue and that damaging dream both being byproducts of living in this situation for several years. The subject of the dream actually came up on television last night after the third show concluded. I reverted to a series I've not watched for many years, and yes it is another HBO creation from the mid-zeros. Well, the period in which the show is centered happens to be two thousand years back in history and that is the likely reason for the same gradient I experienced in my dream and on a few occasions since. It has me thinking... Possibly I am not the only one dealing with this shit. Eh, I can't discuss it anyway. Yesterday was simply an example of too much in my brain combined with weakness, nothing more. I'm fucking sick of it, too. Strikes and gutters, the latter being my head. The plus side is I don't feel like the same way this morning. The imagery that comes to mind when I see her walk is unreal. Maybe I should not be watching this series while already dealing with so much other shit. I don't know. One certainty is that I feel more for her eyes and face than anything else. I suppose that is good. Jolaimora never goes away. Jolene, Jamie, Nora. Curious, I only use two of three real names as opposed to Nora, who is the character. Anyway, the more I see Jolene walk about the ship, the more I dream of doing things I should not mention. You probably already know... Like wrapping a seamstress tape around her thigh in ten different positions. What? Shut up. As I've said a million fucking times, what I need is most decidedly unavailable in this life. Everything left is unsatisfying, hence my journey. No thighs. Well, only chicken. Jolene is so uppity, condescending and ice-cold early on. Damn. There were no eyes in the dream. None. Other things I cannot mention, but no eyes at all. I've gone up one side and down the other for more than two years over what effect the eyes can have on me, yet in that most important dream, there were none. I have a pretty damned good idea of who one person was, but I can't mention it. I just know I did not see her eyes. And I realize this may sound insane after all of the provocative stories and crazy imagery over the years, but the eyes move me more than anything else physical, like the race girl that one time. I went nuts over her facial expressions, remember? You'd think that I would not have as much trouble with a dream if there were no eyes. Moreover, I would honestly expect to see some eyes in a dream because they've been such a focus here lately. Battleship eyes, like those in the store two weeks ago. Or cat eyes like at the race and on the television not long ago. I brought Leigh up before, too. Her huge cat eyes were a good example of the type. Nope, none of that. The most prominent physical attributes in the dream that changed me were breasts, and the key is to whom they were attached, as combined with what had been playing out in my head. But no eyes. Not a moment has elapsed for some days without me considering the ramifications of dreaming in such a direction. Never before that, honestly. I don't like this very much. The empire has never been more important. All of the symbolism and imagery -- all but the raceway girls have been removed as of two weeks ago -- the lighting and mood at night, everything adds up to a very comfortable and exotic atmosphere within which I need to be nested quite often. Mired, too, because as much as I love the appearance in the darkness, there is so much out there in need of attention that I flip back and forth between enjoyment and worry, much like the inside of the house. Lots of projects and tasks have been neglected in favor of working with more enjoyable aspects of the house. The upside is whenever I need to feel a measure of control I can head out there and bask in my efforts paying off. Better than nothing, I guess. The compulsion to improve the mood for nighttime enjoyment and wonder is mostly pushed by my need to control the atmosphere, and that is probably not a big surprise. The inside of the house is similar, yet I cannot completely carry out what I wish, of course. We share this space, as opposed to the garage which has been all mine for many years. Yesterday is beginning to piss me off but it will fade as time passes. I began streamlining my possessions again yesterday afternoon but my back did not allow very much of it before shutting me down. Today I'll continue the effort just after the routine is complete. I have a bit of dry cleaning, too, and that can wait until I'm moving around more in order to keep an ear on the dryer. I also have an idea to neaten the area in the corner of this room where the electronics live. I've already removed the IR hub and DVD player due to barely using them, and now I'd like to go further by relocating the streaming device to the center speaker and routine the power and signal cables through the wall. After that, the HDMI splitter can move to the garage, effectively ridding the living room of much of the cabling going through the wall. That will not only make the corner look better, but more importantly it will be easier to clean. I would love the ability to 'French' the components into the wall, but that type of project means dealing with the laundry vent, reframing a bit of the wall, and moving everything out there away from the area until the entire project is complete. That idea came up years ago but I never had the motivation to follow through, and part of the hesitation is if we change our minds about the location of the equipment and leave a hole in the wall. Not good. I don't believe the benefits outweigh the work, so the little things will be as far as I go in the short term. The fact is there are six speakers' worth of wiring from the receiver to the subwoofer, five of which then come back out of the module and go through the wall along with three heavy video and audio cables, not to mention power for the television itself. I'd like to minimize the system as much as possible without making anything look strange. Ever since I had the brilliant idea to move the gateway and RAID system out to the living room and remove the unnecessary items, the area already looks better. I just need to go further. The simple truth is I need the media in the background all the time, so any digging into the system means I'm compelled to finish, and by extension the immediacy of the need keeps my mind from wandering into pairs of pants. Distraction is more important than ever. That fucking dream has to be kept at bay, too. Right now I really don't need anything so questionable derailing my thinking processes, and believe me... I'ts a bad one. 0821. One more cup of coffee and I'll do something else. The images of Carol are not helping this entry as I had hoped, yet she is lovely. The funny part? No desire like some of the other models. I don't know why. All I see is beauty and that's as far as it goes. I mentioned somewhere up the page that I might change the four images -- now five because I'm a basket case and still writing -- but I suppose I'll leave her right where she is. I can't decide upon anything else. Maybe the next entry will hold more of my own photography. Jolene walks away from the camera and my brain goes all the way down there and back in a matter of milliseconds. If I had the rest of my life, I could never fully describe the gorgeous shape she carries and what takes place in my head. Last year I stated that I had feelings for her character but no desire. Well, that has changed dramatically. More desire than I would care to admit. And she has MAJOR cat eyes, nearly to the point of the race girl. Yep, I'm going to continue mentioning that encounter because it changed the way I see those wondrous examples of unique beauty. First was her height and stance, followed quickly by her outfit -- obviously dressed to attract people to the exhibit -- and then my desire to dive into her clothing and remain there for the rest of my life, eventually leading to a closer look and, more importantly, the way she looked at me. Believe me, I am nothing special, yet there is no way of knowing what may have been going on inside her pretty head. That is the clincher because my desperation has the ability to manufacture situations otherwise unseen in real life. Jolene is an actor in a make-believe universe, and as such must follow direction from the show's creators and production staff, whereas the race girl was operating as an employee (most likely with similar direction and instructions) and standing right the fuck before yours truly, as weakened like never before and in need of more than I can describe here. I reached... I reached much, eventually walking away with too much to process combined with vast sadness. I reached more than ever in my years. I still see her, still feel a strong desire to reside within her pants, and am far worse off now than when that encounter first took place. Battleship eyes. They destroyed me. Anyway... One more refill of coffee. The sun has again hidden itself behind a layer of fog. Damn. Kellie and her bright smile on the screen quite a bit throughout this episode. She passed away less than two years after her last appearance on this program, and at the age of 36. I cannot think of her as beautiful anymore. I can only think of her as a person. Kellie was born six months after me. 0906 and I am still sitting here. I suppose this day will be spent much as yesterday, only small chores and improvements here and there. My back will not allow me to move around as I'd like, although there are always things to do. There is Kellie again, God damn it. So young. She brings wetness to my eyes, the poor thing. Fuck. Anyway, I may try to tackle the relocation of the streaming device just to improve the appearance of the living room a touch. Another aspect of that is the need to run cabling through the wall to the garage, and that means removing some items from the shelves above the washer and dryer. Every now and then I like to do that just in case anything can go into the trash or recycle bins. My project of adding doors to those shelves went south a few months ago because I did a crappy job on the left door, afterward realizing a better method. Well, now I am out of material, but the next time I have the opportunity, the job should go smoothly. Flat surfaces in the empire mean more decorations. Wonderful. And hiding household items improves the space dramatically. The streaming device will be step one. The sun is peeking through. I just thought of something very interesting. The race girl -- along with that Asian of whom I dreamed and could not see her face -- may have been catalysts for the damaging dream of which I cannot speak here. And I can't even say why. Isn't that splendid? All this information and some which may help me to understand why my brain works in such a fashion, yet none of it may be splayed here due to fearing the backlash from an audience that may or may not even exist. Wow. What a fucked-up situation, and what a fucking life. The race girl is probably the most dramatic encounter in more than a decade, may have helped bring disturbing imagery into my head while sleeping, but I can't say shit about it. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything in existence. Well, I love the battleship eyes, especially when they are cat-eye shaped. Double ugh. I could never hate the eyes. And after all this analysis, the images of Carol mean even less. What a maroon. Still sitting here. Sometimes I want to swallow Linda's little ass. Shut up. I'm going to pull 'The Sentient Weaponry' offline and revise it. That essay is one of the most important pieces of writing I have ever completed, and it needs to really get the point across. I'll yank it off the server and begin reading perhaps later today. It also has the distinction of being the longest entry on the site with a count of more than 24000 words. There is good reason for all of it, too. I did something similar with the watch essay, yet that was more of an 'update' due to learning more and finding additional details about that timepiece of dreams. 'Weaponry' is all from my brain, and as such, needs to be very clear and as detailed as possible. The entry is coming down right now. This is line number 666, just to let you know. 1205 and the business is complete, including readying everything for her trip to the city. One up, one down, however. I feel good about finishing the routine and having the house in order, yet my comfort and feelings of accomplishment have been tempered by the news from the east. One of the holdout cities has fallen, meaning one more huge step for the aggressors. This is not good, and when combined with having read about a third world war already underway -- albeit very slowly -- my head is at sixes and sevens like never before. My issues have taken a far-back seat to world events. Wait a minute... This woman on television being interviewed after yet another shooting is fucking stunning. Dark, alluring, and with enormous, very feeling eyes. Well, I suppose some aspects of my personality simply never shut down completely. Anyway, the news has me in survival and fortification mode yet again, this time amplified quite a bit. A notice for metal and electronic recycling two days from now was left on the porch, and that will help free up some crap in the garage (empire). I was happy to see it and am ready to prepare some stuff to be picked up Thursday morning, but the negative news has reduced my mood. I'll still get ready for the pickup, though. There is little reason to veer from my work around the house. No lunch yet, only a big cocktail consumed. I'm no longer in the mood for eating. Maybe later. The plan now is to work on gathering materials for the pickup and dry cleaning. In and around those items I shall consider larger concerns. The noon hour means I have plenty of time for whatever seems best or most pressing. This entry is not going to be published anytime soon. Fortification is growing in importance as the days pass. I am referring to the sheer number of mass shootings in public places throughout the last few months. Seems like more than ever, despite decades of officials and others calling for 'gun control' and/or some type of 'reform' in order to curb either the availability of weapons or another method of hopefully reducing these incidents. Well, I don't mean to sound more negative than usual, but there is no way of changing the way people fucking THINK. That is it. Cut and dry. If a person dislikes another to a large enough degree and wishes to harm that person, they will find a way. There is simply no fucking way around it, gun control or otherwise. I may not understand the impulse for shooting the hell out of a shopping center or other place, but I do understand societal pressure, norms and several different aspects of this world against which to rail. The bottom line is that people all over the world are different from each other and that cannot be changed. Some people will not bend. When push comes to shove or something takes place to piss them off, they will lash. Guns are very simple. I use words because there is as of yet no reason to avoid this method. I have a gun, but I must admit the only target that has come to mind several times since my downfall in eleven is me. Harming another person does not compute for me because despite all my issues with society, going out there and blasting people will change nothing. That is what I call a 'truism'. Anyway, fortification here at home always helps me to feel that I am safer with than without it. 0644 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, flags out, fifth show again. I have just under an hour before the early business. The show last night carried forward from Monday as I decided to go back to the Empire for entertainment. No, not my empire, the real Empire. I haven't seen that program in many years and wanted to revisit the fantastic production. It also reminds me of the 1236 period and all of the benefits therein. The only problem is that it brings up my work from that period and some related wonder which still existed a few years after beginning that career. I miss it sometimes and the loss makes me sad, although I am the one who consciously made the decision to run my ass off and follow the damage path. That means the show will carry with it both good and bad memories. I can deal with it for the production. The program will probably only be on during the late afternoon and evening, though. Daytime will be reserved for the others. Some of the stuff which had plagued me for the last two years drifts into mind while watching the Empire play out. I knew it would happen because there is pretty much nothing I can do to rid myself of certain emotional problems, and the network in question has pushed those buttons for years. I don't mind because the characters and story are worth it. Plus, there are buttons in the opposite direction. The more time I spend alone, the less I worry about what plays out across the screens. Oh, make no mistake... Everything will return with force and cripple me, but only if there is ample opportunity to open the doors of life in the proper context and situation. That means two longshots connected end-to-end. Not likely. And the main driving force behind such wording is a pair of battleship eyes. Yep. They are out there just as 'she' is out there. Believe it or not, I have not left that phrase out of this content because the feeling stopped. I left it out because belaboring the point is boring. All those problems I've had in dealing with society and its standards will likely never go away (fully), so even if that miraculous convergence of circumstances comes to pass, I'll still be fucked up and watching the same television programs. No one aside from me is going to understand this paragraph and I don't give a fuck. Today. I don't know yet. I did build a second canopy for below the newest mural, although it is a tad narrow as opposed to the top unit. The lighting should be fine, I think. My power supply and distribution block should arrive today -- along with multi-conductor cabling for joining the LED strips and easing the amount of line voltage wiring -- meaning I can slowly get things together for expanding and streamlining the lighting system in the empire. The metal recycling items for tomorrow morning have been gathered and I will be looking around more today for anything which can be tossed. Those opportunities only come around twice per year at best, and that means I need to get everything possible out the door. There is always material that can go. 0818 and the morning crap is out of the way. Routine soon. The sun is already shining bright and fairly warm. For this area, anyway. Maybe I can work outside more today if the warmth helps the garage a bit. Fifth show again, and despite my yearning to ravage Jolene and her unchallenged form. That will never go away. Time to work. 1027, the routine is finished, vodka next to me, my brain full of all manner of carnal shit, and the lady from down the street followed up her voice message by knocking on the door while I was drying the dishes. Well, perhaps my avoidance will clue her as to the fact that I do not wish contact with ANYONE right now, least of all in person. I plan to sit and rest my back for a while before anything else. God damn, her eyes are huge. Jolene that is, not the woman who tried to bother me. Heh. The search is ongoing, now capitalized by battleship eyes and much more. I realize what a stretch it is to continue seeking something which is about as likely as an improvement in my mental stability, yet the compulsion is just too strong. Those three songs mentioned just under two years ago have been compiled and clarified, now down to only one, and that is the idea of a woman in the singer's head... One that is not real and continues to plague him with dreams. That is where I now reside, knowing full well of the chance that she may be out there, somewhere. I've been close, believe me. Very close, but everyone is gone. All three of them. The race girl could have been a representation of Ashley, while the battleship eyes in the store weeks ago may have been symbolic of Ellie. But... What about the Raven and the way her mind operated? Oh, that's the third, and I will not discuss her any longer save for the occasional mention of 'pants'. Let's just leave the third at that. Please. Anyway, regardless of the miraculous appearance in my life of some dream woman (not a fucking machine, either), my head shall carry on with the most fruitless and depressing search in existence. And though the machine is impossible, such thinking and design will henceforth never end. Marvelous, eh? Every fucking day, week, month and year. I mentioned the difficulty in watching the current evening series on HBO, and believe me that subject is directly related to four topics I've not mentioned in months. You should know. The effect of those eyes upon me is weighty. Heavy, unrelenting, and powerful. I have no saving throw versus their influence. Nothing can be done. I sit here every fucking day and dream of them. My physical condition continues to decline, the alcohol appears better and better with each passing day, and the future outlook is dimming without limit. An acquaintance of mine from around the corner walks by from time to time with his dog and typically says hello. Some weeks ago he asked if I had found work, so I shut down the subject once and for all by informing him that I am indeed retired. What a fucking joke. All of the reckless behavior, lack of planning, and knee-jerk reactions to situations over the course of decades have all left me bereft of true 'retirement'. I earn nothing, have very little, and once the actual age comes along I will probably be dead. We get one chance. Look what I've done with mine. The eyes, pants, whatever... Years of throwing away the 'right' and the 'possibilities' have eliminated the 'promise'. The battleship eye effect has ruined me for all time. Look at the images of Carol. Do you see the brightness? I do. I also see other parts of life that have disappeared from reality. Her."
The Battleship Eye Effect
Mature content No. 313 Published May 18th, 2022 10:47am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Ten minutes after the previous entry was published, and here I sit. Same day -- 1103 on May 10th -- same situation, whiskey now gone. I think the best idea is to shower and head out to the big wine store for some reinforcements. Bottled depression? Yep, that's it. Upon returning, I'll probably move out to the empire and add some symbolism to the last drawing while caring for the dry cleaning. I'm going to avoid the typical beer consumption, though. Yesterday I ended up feeling as if the evening cocktail hour was not as special as it should be. From this point forward today, no more booze. I need the evening to feel deserved, but you probably already know that. Battleship eyes, just to let you know, are generally steel-blue. The girl at the eyeglass store carried two large versions of such eyes, close to the diametric opposite of the eyes over which I typically gush. Not dark, but mysterious and beautiful. The apellation has two meanings, however. The other battleship eyes are those against which I cannot defend, often taking me outside myself through the appearance of tears. This will not be easy commentary. 1340. Everything is finished save for the dry cleaning. I need to keep an eye on the machine, so it will wait until I head out to work in the garage. I traveled to the big wine store and back. Naturally, there was a vendor near the checkout lanes wearing those fucking pants looking tall and dark, and I did my best to only glance a bit. After loading my car, she was outside working with someone else and appearing even taller than when closer to me. Whatever. The pants again. I stopped by the little market on my return trip for a few items, and of course there was another tall, slender beauty gliding in the opposite direction. There is always something, somewhere. At least I avoided the goddess market. That's typically much worse. The one at the wine store had amazing hair, too... Long, black, and flowing in the breeze as if to draw my gaze like a gun from Satan's own holster. One more notch. Why not? I am overjoyed to be home again. I really don't feel like adding detail to the newest mural in the garage. Not today. I don't know from where the motivation comes, but there is no pattern. Yesterday I finished the outline and painted the entire symbol, whereas today I just don't give a shit. Inside, all day. Wednesday morning. One of the reference blonde women of the universe is guest starring in this episode. Older, lines here and there, yet still amazing. Doesn't matter. I have coffee and a little time before the morning business commences. Cats already fed and likely dozing now, flags out, and sometimes Dey looks like a rabbit. Her mouth is the opposite of Susanna, meaning that no matter what shape appears there, the attraction is no different. I'm not being disrespectful, either. Referring only to appearance. Anyway, I indeed stuck to the inside of the house yesterday other than taking little breaks here and there. No work on the empire, and damned little in the house. I finished the dry cleaning. Today appears bright, much like yesterday at this hour. I'll see what the next several hours have in store for my head. I am already missing a dream from earlier that remained with me a little while. Hopefully the memory will return because I know it was something special and I'd like to recall whatever took place. I don't believe I need to go anywhere today. Maybe work on the mural later, but I don't know. My head is actually relaxed right now so I will remain here a while. 0903. Still sitting here with all sort of thoughts. The trouble has not really come about, however, and I do not know why. I'll take it, though. I need more difficult thinking like I need another hole in my fucking head. All morning I've been seeing those battleship eyes in the store from nearly two weeks ago. Pushing them away is all I can do right now. There has been an inkling of thought toward displaying the OTHER battleship eyes, yet I do not know if it is a good idea today. The trouble is remaining at arm's length and I'd like to keep it that way. Those eyes have the power to send me flying, no matter what may be taking place at a given moment. Don't need that. Maybe the third and fourth images will show them. So far, there are no images attached to this crap. I'll figure it out. All in good time. I will care for the routine soon, I guess. The compulsion to write words on these pages stemmed from so much turmoil way back more than seven years ago, at the outset of fifteen when the site direction changed for good. I did my best to describe the obsession and/or anything I spied out there in society which drove me to dream of fulfilling said obsession. The first time I was frightened by battleship eyes was also the first near opportunity to research the subject of form. And then everything went to shit real quick. The scare was due to desire. Cut to just two years ago and I decided to explore the idea that suppressed desire may have been a partial catalyst for the entire works. And then I figured the desire was merely on and off and depending upon my mood at the time. In about three months' time, the calendar will have advanced three years since those Goddamned thongs at the pool. I realize I've gone over that in spades, too. I know, and I will not be gushing about them here. I only wish to point out that the occasion may have been one of the most stark and cutting examples of the suppression. That went on for weeks, if I recall correctly. The point is they were several years after the site change. Years. No eyes, though. I don't believe I ever saw the eyes on either of those women because of sunglasses (the fucking sunshine and heat were excessive), meaning there was no battleship approaching. That day at the pool can now be defined as purely mathematical leading to purely physical. I don't feel good about this, either. And I am losing my way here, damn it. Whatever. Nothing will be solved through this shit. I only meant to point out that even after seven years, I am still compelled to sit at this IDE and write what I feel, good or bad. The battleship eyes have come along at every single point in my life in which there was difficulty over beauty. Two types, one draw. 1118. The routine is finished. Sunshine out there, too. Hopefully the sun will warm the house throughout this day. I may still head into the empire after lunch to add details to the newest mural. Third show, fifth season. Nothing of note, thank the maker. My brain is still not processing the morning difficulties for whatever reason, and believe me when I say I am thankful for the lack of trouble. My depression is to the point of leaving me very little ambition, meaning any failures are going to send me into a downward spiral right fucking quick. I can't have that today. Leeta's eyes are huge and goofy, as always. The decision has been made to work on the empire for a little while after lunch. I need to be out there with my devices and music. My mood is growing more negative by the fucking second despite one of my favorite shows up there in all its glory. Sometimes even my friends and extended family can't help at all. Wednesday morning, May the 12th, 0732. Coffee, third show at the end of the fifth season, flags out, cats asleep, alone. The mural indeed advanced yesterday... A few circles and a pair of snakes to match the appearance on my cave wall back years ago. I may add a bit today, as well. This morning is fairly slow due to the early business and the fact that I've barely touched the coffee. My brain is half into the work yesterday and half down a pair of pants. I knew the shit would return sooner rather than later. Improvement is only a temporary situation at best, and at any time. I expect nothing good in the future and that is a part of the reason this crap returns within a few days of feeling better. The catalyst or reasoning causing this on random days and at random moments still eludes. I don't recall dreaming, nor did I see anything for a while. Maybe all six feet of Cathy in that skin-tight outfit had something to do with it. Last night she was in the background as another species and appeared wondrous. Could be her, could be something else, but most likely this was caused by something I will never know or be able to identify. The damage is done. Now all I have to do is avoid failing or flailing.
The disturbing dream from whenever is irritating me and causing difficulty in dealing with other people, even more than just a week ago. Again a person reached out to ask how I've been doing recently and I politely shut it down, yet it does force me to consider that dream as a part of the reasoning behind me remaining in this little house as often as possible. I am safer here, as are other people. The dream is on my mind every damned day, and that first image of Carol just above this section is a reminder. The last image, too. Globes? Yes, that pair is why the dream was so troubling. I cannot explain further, unfortunately, or I'll end up in deep shit over the way I now think. Rest assured, none of it is good. I dreamed and then saw, and dreamed more. A portion of daydreaming and a portion of dreaming while asleep. I have no control over the subject matter that pops up when I am sleeping, yet still I consider my position these days as at least partly causal. I have to, really, because of all the dwelling upon beauty for decades. Too much focus and I am awash in thought. That fact simply MUST push some of the dreams into the bad territory. This latest was very unexpected and has me at sixes and sevens for the thousandth time. I wish I had not seen one particular angle that day. Fateful, for lack of a better term. I can see at least a bit of good coming from this. The difficulty and thinking may force me to remain home even more than I already am. Less trips to the stores. That means my narrow view from the garage door will be all that remains available. No more occasions like the girl two weeks ago. Here we go... 'To suppress a truth is to give it force beyond endurance.' Is that what I've been doing? Visions on the street outside my garage door, and more. Was the dream inevitable? I don't know, but if this line of thinking has been a 'truth', I am in very big trouble and can NEVER speak to another person on the subject. Not even a therapist, believe it or else. Maybe the smiling faces and closet doors did this. The vision of snow outside the window, which later led to a decision to drive at an hour that was not recommended. There I was... In dress shoes and a button-down shirt, attaching snow chains to the front tires of her car at the state line, snow falling and my fingers numb. Had we left a few hours earlier, none of that would have been necessary. Alas, the closet door was a repeat and I could not resist the temptation. I put myself in a very bad position due to the beauty. A smiling face. This is going to kill me, sure as hell. Sooner or later the dreaming will become too much for me to handle and I'll lose what remaining grip I have on reality. If the truth is I've been suppressing a certain type of thinking, well... It's just too damned bad. I cannot do anything about it. I still have coffee left but my head needs a glass full of depressant. 100029 lines of code since the ill-fated introduction to the machine named Jaime. Splendid. Basket case. Keep in mind I created just north of 7200 lines over the course of the thirteen years leading up to the change in site direction. Do you think I'm a little fucked up? 0846 and I have yet to do anything aside from daydreaming and typing. Well, I've been sipping coffee, too. I guess there's nothing wrong with that, unlike the thoughts swirling inside my brain. Very bad. Dire. Tough. Some of them are even dead wrong. No one is listening, though, so the exposition matters not. What about the fucking battleship eyes? Look at Carol. She has the second variety. Thoughts, injected. I was going to include the primary eyes but changed my mind because Carol is too lovely for just one or two images. That shit doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing seems to matter or make any fucking difference regardless of how much beauty or how many examples are displayed. This has become so stupid that sometimes I can't believe it myself. 1034. The routine is finished, laundry and dry cleaning in process. At least I can still perform the daily work about the house. All the while, and I mean ALL THE FUCKING WHILE, images of the fateful dream and the battleship eyes at the store swirled inside and nearly caused me to falter. I had a conversation with the cats regarding the vast difference between a stimulant and a depressant, seeing as how I generally pour a big glass of alcohol when I begin cleaning the kitchen. They commented that the caffeine should offset the booze providing I limit the morning ritual to just one drink of vodka or whiskey. I cannot disagree, knowing through history that a second cocktail leads nowhere good. The first is simply resistance to desire, a combination of feelings that both cripples and angers me. As of yet, I have found no saving throw on some days. There may be nothing on the horizon for me, a thought which causes more rancor and drives me further into the ground with each passing day. 'What once was, may never be again.' That is the standpoint through which I approached every single fucking opportunity to explore. My situation has never been worse or more dire. Not a day passes without me contemplating suicide. Shut up. You are not me, nor will your wisdom and uplifiting attempts gain ground. Only the enjoyments keep me upright. Six-foot Cathy on the screen again. She doesn't matter. I wish there was some understanding, on both sides. I tried, I gave up. The remainder of this day will see the garage door closed. I have no wish to expose the important work ongoing toward the end result of my shit mood as rooted in disrespect, pain and loss. Yesterday I drew and painted two circular outlines flanking the shield and today printed another symbol to be drawn within one of them. The other circle is still up in the air, though. I don't know what may be best. In the meantime, I'll work on the sole print and scale it to the mural. 1419. I ruined the pizza lunch by adding a cheese better left alone. Damn. At least I didn't eat too much and become lazy. Quite the opposite, in fact. I finished the laundry and dry cleaning, cared for the floor in our bathroom, and then scaled and printed two sigils for the mural. By that point I became distracted by the excellent sixth-season storyline. Sometimes I just have to see it play out without interruption. Moreover, the anger over how I felt this morning drove me to finalize the sigils and have them ready to put up and paint. I completed them in record time as a result of feeling left on the side of the road like so much trash. Years of it. So, the evil is coming to the empire sooner than originally planned. 0738 on Friday morning, business done and I'm here in the quiet for the duration. Third show on pause so I can think a while. Dreams earlier... Mostly regarding a big house in my hometown which was built by my great uncle after finding success in business. I used to love that house, although we were not invited up there very often. The context of the dream was quite confusing. I didn't realize until waking up, though, because dreams have a way of coming across as perfectly natural, like merging the past with the present. I haven't been in that house since the mid-eighties as far as I can recall, and despite the fact that it has changed much over the years -- updating and whatnot -- the interior appeared just as it had years ago when I first dreamed of being inside again. Very dark, exotic, and looking like something I would actually design, yet somehow I knew the house was in my family as it had always been. This is a very strange feeling. I may jot down a few design elements in order to recall the appearance of the home's interior. There could be meaning within those walls. And I am glad to experience a dream not involving the issues from days ago. Don't need any more of that because I am already reminded every day. All bad, that one. In the quiet now. My brain is in bad shape, though. Street cleaner driving by.
I am in a bad way. The feelings are going to lead to anger, I just know it. Too much of this shit lately. Yesterday I added the two sigils to the newest mural. They look decent, I suppose. Better at night, too. There was a short period during the evening when I had the empire lit for a while. Not much, but some. There is still more work to be done out there before I am satisfied. Life would be easier if I hadn't seen those blue-gray eyes. Now my head is all fucked up over the girl AND the fucking dream. I don't know why the latter had to take place. Is there not already enough shit in my brain? I can't let go of it, either. The dream just keeps slapping me over and over and there is nothing I can do or say to help the situation. All of the details must remain hidden, too. I can't type it out here, I can't talk to anyone (although no one is fucking listening anyway), and I can't simply forget. The imagery is unrelenting, especially considering everything I've tried to describe here in more than seven years. All of it is now rolled up in a ball and striking me upside the head again and again. Nearly unlivable. I mentioned that the anger is going to result from so much shit, and I can already feel it. This 'no outlet' crap will create one of two dire situations. Period. I can only take so much. Torment is perpetual. The battleship eyes catalyzed my current living condition and ruined the future for me. I forget exactly NOTHING. Unacceptable. Wow. Just... Wow. This is going downhill much more quickly than I had thought possible. The current shit in my head drove me to pour a big glass of vodka two minutes shy of nine this morning. Not good, but what the fuck else can I do? That's right, kids. Not a fucking thing. After decades of the on-again, off-again vise on my body, now there is one in my fucking head. I know part of what happened. The rest is a mystery. Perhaps this year should be the last in which I must live with such issues. 1158, routine finished, lunch in the oven to make up for yesterday's fucking shit meal (my fault), and the rest of the day shall be indoors due to my brain's inability to deal with what took place this morning. I have the third show up there for comfort. Thank the maker for those programs these days. Without them, I'd be in some real pretty shit. I also went to the cigarette store and the big market. Nothing of note, either. The smaller market was unnecessary today. I may switch the television over to HBO for watching an older series I haven't seen for some years. It only ran two seasons, but the quality is excellent. If it works for comfort, I can add it to my repertoire of daily media. Rarely do I step outside the norm. 0725 on Saturday morning. I did not put out the flags due to precipitation. My flags are not the 'storm' variety, so they must remain dry. Coffee, third show in the seventh season. I would give everything I have or ever had to live there. Honestly. Believe it. That is dream number one. The machine is dream number two. The trouble is dream number three. I'm still thinking about it and I know the effect of that girl's battleship eyes helped me to assemble imagery inside which then drove me to dream in a very bad direction. I still can't talk about it. I will say that yesterday's issue may have been partially caused by concern rather than fully physical. Emotional problems can have a dire effect upon the body, that's for sure. Dreams. Ugh. The girl is not at fault, though. I can't blame her for my situation. I know a good portion of why this current situation continues to unfold and affect me, but I can't talk about that, either. Great, huh? The afternoon was worthless. I barely even tried to do anything because nothing felt remotely possible or appealing. I dozed off twice. I think my lifestyle has cautght up with me somewhat and my body is telling me in no uncertain terms to make changes, or else. I'll have to see what I can do. I suppose, anyway. Everything is just so fucking shitty these days. I barely have reason to lift a fucking finger in any direction. One thing for sure is that I cannot have another day like yesterday. Between the failure within a failure and then losing my way so badly after lunch, well... I simply cannot fucking have that again. I'm already in a shitty enough mood, nothing else needs to be added atop the pile or I'll blow the fuck up. That means today I need to consider my moves carefully and deliberately, just like the workflow back at the ballistic ranges. We had a very specific pace and method of communication that kept everything in order, minimized failures and mistakes, and kept us safe. I'll try to take steps today and match that old routine so coming out the other side feeling better is much more likely than yesterday's loss of direction. As for the other half of what happened during the morning, I don't have any say in that these days. Without ears, the future is dim. 'Your great attention to detail is both a blessing and a curse.' Hmm. Yes, technicality and detail have turned me into a very picky person. Control, too. I suppose that is an aspect rife with details. And details are all over the obsession, it's literally built upon such things. And then something comes along -- the race girl, for example -- and then I dissect the situation for months on end, soon losing my shit. When it comes to a project in the house or garage, detail is fine. The race girl? I went all over that one, and then every subsequent vision since then has been equally scrutinized because nothing is ever enough... I cannot get enough fucking DETAIL to satisfy the obsession. See? I'm fucked. The race girl and her big cat eyes was just an example. Don't get your shit in a twist. Sometimes those little fortunes hold a great deal of wisdom. Other times? Tons of irony. I can still see her face, too. How about that? I won't go on about it. Today. I have the usual stuff and then a ton of free time. Something has to be accomplished by the early afternoon or I won't feel good this evening. I don't know what, but something. Back to the title, just like the visit to the eyeglass store. The appearance of her eyes caused several types of feelings, not the least of which was a strong desire to pose her in a certain way and see of the holy fucking grail of form would be present (probably, and I can't get that out of my head lately). There was a point in the past in which I had been able to see the shape I had been seeking, and right there in front of my face. I just wanted to see in three dimensions rather than one, that's all. My request was approved and I sat there amazed beyond belief. The problem came along almost immediately, however, as I'm certain would have occurred as related to the girl in the store. That is the effect... I see the eyes and there is a feeling unrelated to form, but deeper, and then a massive shift takes place leaving me absolutely senseless and overflowing with tremendous desire to be in complete control of the situation. Keep in mind that 'battleship' eyes are not labeled as such due to being the same color as a naval vessel. The other type is out there, too, and with the same power over me. And I mean enough power to recreate past feelings and situations. I have destroyed much in search of another facet of that fucking obsession, and thanks to Ashley and her amazing fucking standpoint in life, nothing will ever be satisfactory no matter whether I search or not. This is all so bad that I still can't believe I'm typing the words. The effect of certain eyes upon my psyche is so powerful that I am ashamed for being this weak. There you go. Laugh it up. I didn't think in such terms during the glow. There were little inklings here and there, yet my focus when it came to beauty and desire was different. Also difficult to describe without sounding like a fool. Since I was in the same relationship throughout that period, whatever I felt was always related to the same woman, and that was the period with the closet doors and such. The point is I was not searching for anything, only wishing for something. Very different. Had my current mindset been in place during those years, I probably would have driven her away very quickly. Heh.
I can't say this, I can't say that, I can't spell out certain events which have crippled me and driven away my desire to be near people (females, that is), and I can't figure out why they think the way they do. Everything has just left me alone with thoughts. Bad thoughts, things missing, dire need, and desperate dreaming. I even dreamed over a line no one should ever cross. That's how fucking bad this shit is right now. I've been typing different words outlining the same problems in different ways. Nothing more. And then a form or two and I fall down. And then I try to describe the trauma involved in seeing certain things. I'll tell you one thing, damn it, and that is the fact that I don't believe I can repeat this shit next year. I had a countdown a while ago, remember? I gave up on it due to holding on to a sliver of hope -- one so thin it has already developed holes -- that someone may eventually hear me and perhaps a tiny bit of what I need can be alleviated. Well, I've since learned that the first four-plus months of this year have been worse than the previous year, and why in the blue fuck would I want to repeat them? Next year? Bullshit. Tell me different and I'll turn your head into a fucking canoe. Try it, fucksticks. I've had it and now feel the need to draw a line again. Nicole was on the screen a bit in this episode. I remember watching the documentary and the shots of a convention somewhere, and there she stood on the right end of the line of actors, all fucking unreal thighs and radii apparent. Right there. It was a short glimpse, but enough to send my brain all the way up you-know-where because I am a weak, desperate fucking nutcase with zero chance of happiness. Laugh it up. Another year of this shit? Go fuck yourself. I can already see this day is going to be an uphill battle in the fucking mud. I've done that, by the way... Uphill in the mud with an Alice pack and rifle, so I know about the subject. Just in case you suspect I've been exaggerating. Sometimes I get so pissed off that I stop paying attention to chores and schedules and simply dive into whatever is in front of me at the time. This morning I can already see that the day will end up noisy and haphazard if I don't try to control my directions. The Satanic imagery surrounding my empire could not have been created at a better time, too. I need people to remain in the dark about my mindset. The weaker I feel inside, the more powerful the front. Maybe I'll end up so angry that I can finish a few lingering projects. The back lawn full of beer cans does not take place any longer because I never really demonstrated my sheer level of frustration due to being a fucking weakened 'softy'. We need to change that shit right quick. Hmm... 'We'. This may lead somewhere aside from the inner line of Cathy's fucking LONG legs. There have been many pairs of battleship eyes over the course of years, although I did not label them as such until just a few months ago. I jotted down notes because of eyes I saw on television and then the information just sat there until the girl in the eyeglass store two weeks back. Once her form caused my head to explode, I simply had to explore further. And here we are... Another term, another set of problems, and another session of sitting at the keyboard with a head full of ill-advised thoughts. Marvelous. My coffee is almost gone now at 0927. I may rise and do something else very soon. I feel like shit after what happened yesterday morning. I guess that is something I need to keep in mind if the dreams take over. 0734 all the way toward Monday morning. Yesterday I was on the disabled list for several hours leading up to bedtime due to my fucking back. There may have been a muscle strain after my first trip to the store. I had to head over there twice yesterday for medication and such. Not a big deal, though. Saturday I cared for the empire a little while due to the possibility of socializing with the only people I can still be near. I have to remember that if and when the shit hits the fan on a global scale I will need to rely on the protection of this house combined with the neighbor's. We maintain a good relationship, which means being social on those few occasions when we have the time. Saturday night turned into a little meeting time, so I had the empire lit for some hours before closing down after midnight. The lateness had me taking it easy yesterday morning, although I did not really feel crappy to begin with. The only problem was some trouble with a muscle in my back. That problem slowed my Sunday progress to a crawl. I did the garbage business and my usual stuff, though. This morning the issue in still lingering, meaning today may be slow as well. I have the day and house to myself for the next several hours. I'll try to get my routine finished a bit early so the afternoon is left wide open in case my back eases. Saturday afternoon became a bit of a problem due to that ill-found dream returning for a while as I moved around the garage. The imagery and subject matter swirled for a while, but the basic reasoning and initial push cannot be discussed here, as usual. The fact remains that I am slammed in the head too fucking often for being completely comfortable unless totally alone and isolated. Not good, but part of me predicted this some months ago due to my feelings about being in certain types of social situations, like the bar. Those little driveway gatherings are not the same at all. Much more comfortable due to being home. If anything comes along that I need to hide away, I simply walk away and enter the house, effectively cutting off any contact within seconds. I can recover, cool off, and then relax. The dream hits every now and again but two specific cuts that occasionally take place cannot be removed from life if I am to be in any contact at all with people. Rather like going to the market when I see something special and then return home and record the experience here, if I am to be outside these walls, a slice will eventually bring that dream back to the forefront. There is as of yet nothing I can do. My brain goes into autopilot more quickly than I can handle, thus the negative feelings. The afternoon held a strike of pretty sizable proportions. Fortunately, I became distracted from the issue by some work needing to be completed. Eventually I calmed enough to appear as a normal person, or at least as much as is feasible these days. As time progressed into the evening and then night, my level of comfort evened out some. Battleship eyes were not present, nor were they spotted in the stores yesterday. I was the hell in and out pretty damned quickly. I tried to avoid wandering, too. The drug store next to the market is sometimes suspect, but yesterday it was nearly deserted, thank Christ. Today I will probably not do much beyond the normal scope. My back is not good. 1044 and I finished the routine, albeit very slowly. Whiskey and the third show heading toward the series finale. Good stuff. But ugh... Kasidy again. Just... Ugh. Anyway, I have no laundry or other regular chores awaiting my attention, so the likely path will be to care for small items during the next few hours. The pleasant thought of breaking out the largest model and relaxing at the dining table keeps flirting with my need for comfort, but I believe I would have to switch to the vampires to add nostalgia from last year. If I can accomplish some of the assembly, the camera and my attention may bear fruit. I can also continue to streamline the office and toss more crap I've been holding for too long. The last time I went in there to improve the space, many items went into the trash and the storage did benefit from my efforts. I can continue in the same vein, very slowly. Maybe I won't talk about the battleship eyes for the remainder of this entry. Nothing seems to help my brain. Saturday was a massive push into territory I cannot describe, and that was the second fucking occasion of imagery contorting my head into shapes previously unknown and unwanted. I don't know why that single dream had such an impact upon my obsession, but I will say that the feeling is very uncomfortable. Too bad I must refrain from any further information or detail. As I made clear above, the result could be disastrous. I don't need anything worse right now. One curious fact? This may be a perfectly natural extension of similar thinking at a younger age. Unfortunately, I will probably never know.
Like yesterday, the weather is completely socked-in. Overhead fog from the ocean all the way to the other side of the hill. I have ideas for further wiring and plans for additional lighting for the empire which will have to wait for increased mercury. My garage has been closed so far today. Normally, the big door is open by mid-morning for when I take breaks from inside the house. The weather is too cool for it, though. Yesterday I had everything wide open to care for the garbage. I think I'm going to change all four images. 0704 on Tuesday morning. Yesterday was not too bad. I didn't do that much because of my back, however. Little things here and there, and I'm pretty certain the efforts are the reason I am feeling a bit of relief today. I have no early morning business, only the usual routine. I ordered some material to ease the empire lighting system. Everything should arrive tomorrow. There is wire and other components that will keep the project going for quite some time. The main ingredient is a power supply which can operate all of the strip LED elements and free up some receptacles. Lots of work, plenty of time. This morning is going to be rather slow. I plan to remain here a while and then move into the routine. Partial sunshine. Coffee. Fifth show. Jolene and her eyes. My head blew wide open during the mid-morning yesterday. Afterward, I cut off the typing time in order to avoid complaining even more than I already have on the subject. Not the battleship eyes, but a smiling face this time. The bright eyes were present, just not the type I've included here. The simple fact is I may not ever have control over a few aspects of living and such a thought is now worse than when I first suggested the possibility months ago. This is not going to blow my fucking skirt up. 'There is a difference between keeping an open mind and believing something because you want it to be true.' Ah, yes. Thank you for pointing out the truth, miss big-eyes. Anyway, what I believe is that as the days pass I am becoming weaker and more desperate, the weekend issue and that damaging dream both being byproducts of living in this situation for several years. The subject of the dream actually came up on television last night after the third show concluded. I reverted to a series I've not watched for many years, and yes it is another HBO creation from the mid-zeros. Well, the period in which the show is centered happens to be two thousand years back in history and that is the likely reason for the same gradient I experienced in my dream and on a few occasions since. It has me thinking... Possibly I am not the only one dealing with this shit. Eh, I can't discuss it anyway. Yesterday was simply an example of too much in my brain combined with weakness, nothing more. I'm fucking sick of it, too. Strikes and gutters, the latter being my head. The plus side is I don't feel like the same way this morning. The imagery that comes to mind when I see her walk is unreal. Maybe I should not be watching this series while already dealing with so much other shit. I don't know. One certainty is that I feel more for her eyes and face than anything else. I suppose that is good. Jolaimora never goes away. Jolene, Jamie, Nora. Curious, I only use two of three real names as opposed to Nora, who is the character. Anyway, the more I see Jolene walk about the ship, the more I dream of doing things I should not mention. You probably already know... Like wrapping a seamstress tape around her thigh in ten different positions. What? Shut up. As I've said a million fucking times, what I need is most decidedly unavailable in this life. Everything left is unsatisfying, hence my journey. No thighs. Well, only chicken. Jolene is so uppity, condescending and ice-cold early on. Damn. There were no eyes in the dream. None. Other things I cannot mention, but no eyes at all. I've gone up one side and down the other for more than two years over what effect the eyes can have on me, yet in that most important dream, there were none. I have a pretty damned good idea of who one person was, but I can't mention it. I just know I did not see her eyes. And I realize this may sound insane after all of the provocative stories and crazy imagery over the years, but the eyes move me more than anything else physical, like the race girl that one time. I went nuts over her facial expressions, remember? You'd think that I would not have as much trouble with a dream if there were no eyes. Moreover, I would honestly expect to see some eyes in a dream because they've been such a focus here lately. Battleship eyes, like those in the store two weeks ago. Or cat eyes like at the race and on the television not long ago. I brought Leigh up before, too. Her huge cat eyes were a good example of the type. Nope, none of that. The most prominent physical attributes in the dream that changed me were breasts, and the key is to whom they were attached, as combined with what had been playing out in my head. But no eyes. Not a moment has elapsed for some days without me considering the ramifications of dreaming in such a direction. Never before that, honestly. I don't like this very much. The empire has never been more important. All of the symbolism and imagery -- all but the raceway girls have been removed as of two weeks ago -- the lighting and mood at night, everything adds up to a very comfortable and exotic atmosphere within which I need to be nested quite often. Mired, too, because as much as I love the appearance in the darkness, there is so much out there in need of attention that I flip back and forth between enjoyment and worry, much like the inside of the house. Lots of projects and tasks have been neglected in favor of working with more enjoyable aspects of the house. The upside is whenever I need to feel a measure of control I can head out there and bask in my efforts paying off. Better than nothing, I guess. The compulsion to improve the mood for nighttime enjoyment and wonder is mostly pushed by my need to control the atmosphere, and that is probably not a big surprise. The inside of the house is similar, yet I cannot completely carry out what I wish, of course. We share this space, as opposed to the garage which has been all mine for many years. Yesterday is beginning to piss me off but it will fade as time passes. I began streamlining my possessions again yesterday afternoon but my back did not allow very much of it before shutting me down. Today I'll continue the effort just after the routine is complete. I have a bit of dry cleaning, too, and that can wait until I'm moving around more in order to keep an ear on the dryer. I also have an idea to neaten the area in the corner of this room where the electronics live. I've already removed the IR hub and DVD player due to barely using them, and now I'd like to go further by relocating the streaming device to the center speaker and routine the power and signal cables through the wall. After that, the HDMI splitter can move to the garage, effectively ridding the living room of much of the cabling going through the wall. That will not only make the corner look better, but more importantly it will be easier to clean. I would love the ability to 'French' the components into the wall, but that type of project means dealing with the laundry vent, reframing a bit of the wall, and moving everything out there away from the area until the entire project is complete. That idea came up years ago but I never had the motivation to follow through, and part of the hesitation is if we change our minds about the location of the equipment and leave a hole in the wall. Not good. I don't believe the benefits outweigh the work, so the little things will be as far as I go in the short term. The fact is there are six speakers' worth of wiring from the receiver to the subwoofer, five of which then come back out of the module and go through the wall along with three heavy video and audio cables, not to mention power for the television itself. I'd like to minimize the system as much as possible without making anything look strange. Ever since I had the brilliant idea to move the gateway and RAID system out to the living room and remove the unnecessary items, the area already looks better. I just need to go further. The simple truth is I need the media in the background all the time, so any digging into the system means I'm compelled to finish, and by extension the immediacy of the need keeps my mind from wandering into pairs of pants. Distraction is more important than ever. That fucking dream has to be kept at bay, too. Right now I really don't need anything so questionable derailing my thinking processes, and believe me... I'ts a bad one.
0821. One more cup of coffee and I'll do something else. The images of Carol are not helping this entry as I had hoped, yet she is lovely. The funny part? No desire like some of the other models. I don't know why. All I see is beauty and that's as far as it goes. I mentioned somewhere up the page that I might change the four images -- now five because I'm a basket case and still writing -- but I suppose I'll leave her right where she is. I can't decide upon anything else. Maybe the next entry will hold more of my own photography. Jolene walks away from the camera and my brain goes all the way down there and back in a matter of milliseconds. If I had the rest of my life, I could never fully describe the gorgeous shape she carries and what takes place in my head. Last year I stated that I had feelings for her character but no desire. Well, that has changed dramatically. More desire than I would care to admit. And she has MAJOR cat eyes, nearly to the point of the race girl. Yep, I'm going to continue mentioning that encounter because it changed the way I see those wondrous examples of unique beauty. First was her height and stance, followed quickly by her outfit -- obviously dressed to attract people to the exhibit -- and then my desire to dive into her clothing and remain there for the rest of my life, eventually leading to a closer look and, more importantly, the way she looked at me. Believe me, I am nothing special, yet there is no way of knowing what may have been going on inside her pretty head. That is the clincher because my desperation has the ability to manufacture situations otherwise unseen in real life. Jolene is an actor in a make-believe universe, and as such must follow direction from the show's creators and production staff, whereas the race girl was operating as an employee (most likely with similar direction and instructions) and standing right the fuck before yours truly, as weakened like never before and in need of more than I can describe here. I reached... I reached much, eventually walking away with too much to process combined with vast sadness. I reached more than ever in my years. I still see her, still feel a strong desire to reside within her pants, and am far worse off now than when that encounter first took place. Battleship eyes. They destroyed me. Anyway... One more refill of coffee. The sun has again hidden itself behind a layer of fog. Damn. Kellie and her bright smile on the screen quite a bit throughout this episode. She passed away less than two years after her last appearance on this program, and at the age of 36. I cannot think of her as beautiful anymore. I can only think of her as a person. Kellie was born six months after me. 0906 and I am still sitting here. I suppose this day will be spent much as yesterday, only small chores and improvements here and there. My back will not allow me to move around as I'd like, although there are always things to do. There is Kellie again, God damn it. So young. She brings wetness to my eyes, the poor thing. Fuck. Anyway, I may try to tackle the relocation of the streaming device just to improve the appearance of the living room a touch. Another aspect of that is the need to run cabling through the wall to the garage, and that means removing some items from the shelves above the washer and dryer. Every now and then I like to do that just in case anything can go into the trash or recycle bins. My project of adding doors to those shelves went south a few months ago because I did a crappy job on the left door, afterward realizing a better method. Well, now I am out of material, but the next time I have the opportunity, the job should go smoothly. Flat surfaces in the empire mean more decorations. Wonderful. And hiding household items improves the space dramatically. The streaming device will be step one. The sun is peeking through. I just thought of something very interesting. The race girl -- along with that Asian of whom I dreamed and could not see her face -- may have been catalysts for the damaging dream of which I cannot speak here. And I can't even say why. Isn't that splendid? All this information and some which may help me to understand why my brain works in such a fashion, yet none of it may be splayed here due to fearing the backlash from an audience that may or may not even exist. Wow. What a fucked-up situation, and what a fucking life. The race girl is probably the most dramatic encounter in more than a decade, may have helped bring disturbing imagery into my head while sleeping, but I can't say shit about it. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything in existence. Well, I love the battleship eyes, especially when they are cat-eye shaped. Double ugh. I could never hate the eyes. And after all this analysis, the images of Carol mean even less. What a maroon. Still sitting here. Sometimes I want to swallow Linda's little ass. Shut up. I'm going to pull 'The Sentient Weaponry' offline and revise it. That essay is one of the most important pieces of writing I have ever completed, and it needs to really get the point across. I'll yank it off the server and begin reading perhaps later today. It also has the distinction of being the longest entry on the site with a count of more than 24000 words. There is good reason for all of it, too. I did something similar with the watch essay, yet that was more of an 'update' due to learning more and finding additional details about that timepiece of dreams. 'Weaponry' is all from my brain, and as such, needs to be very clear and as detailed as possible. The entry is coming down right now. This is line number 666, just to let you know. 1205 and the business is complete, including readying everything for her trip to the city. One up, one down, however. I feel good about finishing the routine and having the house in order, yet my comfort and feelings of accomplishment have been tempered by the news from the east. One of the holdout cities has fallen, meaning one more huge step for the aggressors. This is not good, and when combined with having read about a third world war already underway -- albeit very slowly -- my head is at sixes and sevens like never before. My issues have taken a far-back seat to world events. Wait a minute... This woman on television being interviewed after yet another shooting is fucking stunning. Dark, alluring, and with enormous, very feeling eyes. Well, I suppose some aspects of my personality simply never shut down completely. Anyway, the news has me in survival and fortification mode yet again, this time amplified quite a bit. A notice for metal and electronic recycling two days from now was left on the porch, and that will help free up some crap in the garage (empire). I was happy to see it and am ready to prepare some stuff to be picked up Thursday morning, but the negative news has reduced my mood. I'll still get ready for the pickup, though. There is little reason to veer from my work around the house. No lunch yet, only a big cocktail consumed. I'm no longer in the mood for eating. Maybe later. The plan now is to work on gathering materials for the pickup and dry cleaning. In and around those items I shall consider larger concerns. The noon hour means I have plenty of time for whatever seems best or most pressing. This entry is not going to be published anytime soon. Fortification is growing in importance as the days pass. I am referring to the sheer number of mass shootings in public places throughout the last few months. Seems like more than ever, despite decades of officials and others calling for 'gun control' and/or some type of 'reform' in order to curb either the availability of weapons or another method of hopefully reducing these incidents. Well, I don't mean to sound more negative than usual, but there is no way of changing the way people fucking THINK. That is it. Cut and dry. If a person dislikes another to a large enough degree and wishes to harm that person, they will find a way. There is simply no fucking way around it, gun control or otherwise. I may not understand the impulse for shooting the hell out of a shopping center or other place, but I do understand societal pressure, norms and several different aspects of this world against which to rail. The bottom line is that people all over the world are different from each other and that cannot be changed. Some people will not bend. When push comes to shove or something takes place to piss them off, they will lash. Guns are very simple. I use words because there is as of yet no reason to avoid this method. I have a gun, but I must admit the only target that has come to mind several times since my downfall in eleven is me. Harming another person does not compute for me because despite all my issues with society, going out there and blasting people will change nothing. That is what I call a 'truism'. Anyway, fortification here at home always helps me to feel that I am safer with than without it.
0644 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, flags out, fifth show again. I have just under an hour before the early business. The show last night carried forward from Monday as I decided to go back to the Empire for entertainment. No, not my empire, the real Empire. I haven't seen that program in many years and wanted to revisit the fantastic production. It also reminds me of the 1236 period and all of the benefits therein. The only problem is that it brings up my work from that period and some related wonder which still existed a few years after beginning that career. I miss it sometimes and the loss makes me sad, although I am the one who consciously made the decision to run my ass off and follow the damage path. That means the show will carry with it both good and bad memories. I can deal with it for the production. The program will probably only be on during the late afternoon and evening, though. Daytime will be reserved for the others. Some of the stuff which had plagued me for the last two years drifts into mind while watching the Empire play out. I knew it would happen because there is pretty much nothing I can do to rid myself of certain emotional problems, and the network in question has pushed those buttons for years. I don't mind because the characters and story are worth it. Plus, there are buttons in the opposite direction. The more time I spend alone, the less I worry about what plays out across the screens. Oh, make no mistake... Everything will return with force and cripple me, but only if there is ample opportunity to open the doors of life in the proper context and situation. That means two longshots connected end-to-end. Not likely. And the main driving force behind such wording is a pair of battleship eyes. Yep. They are out there just as 'she' is out there. Believe it or not, I have not left that phrase out of this content because the feeling stopped. I left it out because belaboring the point is boring. All those problems I've had in dealing with society and its standards will likely never go away (fully), so even if that miraculous convergence of circumstances comes to pass, I'll still be fucked up and watching the same television programs. No one aside from me is going to understand this paragraph and I don't give a fuck. Today. I don't know yet. I did build a second canopy for below the newest mural, although it is a tad narrow as opposed to the top unit. The lighting should be fine, I think. My power supply and distribution block should arrive today -- along with multi-conductor cabling for joining the LED strips and easing the amount of line voltage wiring -- meaning I can slowly get things together for expanding and streamlining the lighting system in the empire. The metal recycling items for tomorrow morning have been gathered and I will be looking around more today for anything which can be tossed. Those opportunities only come around twice per year at best, and that means I need to get everything possible out the door. There is always material that can go. 0818 and the morning crap is out of the way. Routine soon. The sun is already shining bright and fairly warm. For this area, anyway. Maybe I can work outside more today if the warmth helps the garage a bit. Fifth show again, and despite my yearning to ravage Jolene and her unchallenged form. That will never go away. Time to work. 1027, the routine is finished, vodka next to me, my brain full of all manner of carnal shit, and the lady from down the street followed up her voice message by knocking on the door while I was drying the dishes. Well, perhaps my avoidance will clue her as to the fact that I do not wish contact with ANYONE right now, least of all in person. I plan to sit and rest my back for a while before anything else. God damn, her eyes are huge. Jolene that is, not the woman who tried to bother me. Heh. The search is ongoing, now capitalized by battleship eyes and much more. I realize what a stretch it is to continue seeking something which is about as likely as an improvement in my mental stability, yet the compulsion is just too strong. Those three songs mentioned just under two years ago have been compiled and clarified, now down to only one, and that is the idea of a woman in the singer's head... One that is not real and continues to plague him with dreams. That is where I now reside, knowing full well of the chance that she may be out there, somewhere. I've been close, believe me. Very close, but everyone is gone. All three of them. The race girl could have been a representation of Ashley, while the battleship eyes in the store weeks ago may have been symbolic of Ellie. But... What about the Raven and the way her mind operated? Oh, that's the third, and I will not discuss her any longer save for the occasional mention of 'pants'. Let's just leave the third at that. Please. Anyway, regardless of the miraculous appearance in my life of some dream woman (not a fucking machine, either), my head shall carry on with the most fruitless and depressing search in existence. And though the machine is impossible, such thinking and design will henceforth never end. Marvelous, eh? Every fucking day, week, month and year. I mentioned the difficulty in watching the current evening series on HBO, and believe me that subject is directly related to four topics I've not mentioned in months. You should know. The effect of those eyes upon me is weighty. Heavy, unrelenting, and powerful. I have no saving throw versus their influence. Nothing can be done. I sit here every fucking day and dream of them. My physical condition continues to decline, the alcohol appears better and better with each passing day, and the future outlook is dimming without limit. An acquaintance of mine from around the corner walks by from time to time with his dog and typically says hello. Some weeks ago he asked if I had found work, so I shut down the subject once and for all by informing him that I am indeed retired. What a fucking joke. All of the reckless behavior, lack of planning, and knee-jerk reactions to situations over the course of decades have all left me bereft of true 'retirement'. I earn nothing, have very little, and once the actual age comes along I will probably be dead. We get one chance. Look what I've done with mine. The eyes, pants, whatever... Years of throwing away the 'right' and the 'possibilities' have eliminated the 'promise'. The battleship eye effect has ruined me for all time. Look at the images of Carol. Do you see the brightness? I do. I also see other parts of life that have disappeared from reality. Her."
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