January 14th, 2022 9:15am pst

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

Floodwater Tempered Hellfire

 read ( words)

"No one will like this shit.

My eyes must have looked like the wheels on a vintage mechanical slot machine. Spinning out of control. The situation went from bad to horrible, sidestepped to tolerable enough for me to think, and then back down to horrible in a very short period of time. Very uncomfortable, especially being in such close proximity to something I had never seen before. Over and over, back and forth. Never before, or at least not right there two feet from my eyes. I still can't believe it. And fashion of a style I had not seen in the past, as well. The entire fifteen minutes was awful. Over and over. I began in the front but asked to wait in the hallway because I became uncomfortable sitting in a brightly-lit room with others milling around. Once moving toward the back I had hoped the vision would not be as apparent. Alas, I was dead wrong. I should have avoided the inside of that place entirely. Back and forth. That was part of her job. Mine? Well, seeing everything like that in a very confined area and being off the beaten path was a huge opportunity to consider the inner processes going on at the same time, especially considering such a long period of time.

I was flooded by more than I could easily handle. It was a lot, believe me. I waited and then eventually we left the back area in favor of the very front of the store for a bit, but by that time the issue was masked by too much in the room. I faced the opposite direction for the remainder of our visit. Upon leaving, I could not calculate my way out of a paper fucking bag. Now I have to sit here and decide whether or not to attempt to describe some of what appeared so very different than in the past. Out of my head this morning. All the way out. 0700 straight up.

The trip yesterday was for the appointment and then three other stops on the return drive. Stop number two was also problem number two. An older Asian woman gliding toward the entrance as I grabbed a cart and then she slid right on by and I watched her form move about the store for a moment before losing sight. Very slender, that one, yet still with the curves. Her radii from the back were right fucking there, as were the lines leading from her knees. I could not believe how thin she appeared while still carrying everything. She glanced back at me twice, likely because I was staring. I only hope I didn't make her uncomfortable and rather helped her to see that she was really beautiful and something special. Maybe from apprehension to confidence. From that point forward I avoided looking at her. I saw enough. Again with the Asian. So very slender and still shapely. I wonder if anyone in her life has handed her the type of compliments which fly off my fingers nearly every day. Everything is a problem. Stop number two ended and we left the area. The legs remained painted on the inside of my eyelids.

By the time I arrived home and unloaded everything, the woman from the second stop had faded quite a bit due to another image inside me overtaking every though process. Every. Single. Item. I picked up from the trunk of the car and brought inside had an image of the girl's midsection all over it. I could not stop thinking about how she appeared standing and stretching to reach some eyeglass frames from a display. The image is still there right fucking now and I am losing grip over it. You thought I was ridiculous during the last few entries? Weak? Desperate? Oh, the entire shit storm is worse now. This feeling can be equated to the fucking race girl because it was not merely another form out there in the world, it was the proximity and the fact that I was able to watch her work for quite some time. Her voice, mannerisms, smile, everything. I took in as much as I could, and then she finished with a client and went to that damned display to put everything back. Reaching. Yep... She reached to the limit of her height, and as she did, the suit jacket and her button-down shirt rose far enough to reveal what is likely the smallest waist I've seen on an adult woman. Her position reminded me of one of the safety engineers at NASA reaching in a similar manner when I told her to stop and let me grab the item off the shelf because her chest was about to fall out of the bottom of her t-shirt. I had to stop her because it was WRONG. Well, the girl yesterday was in no danger of such a reveal because she was wearing an entire business suit. The problem was bare skin just above the waist of her pants, which was low to begin with. While stretching, the jacket hit its limit as well, and there was her chest defying the narrowness of her waist along with both feet up on toes. Once? Nope... Three fucking reaches to that shelf and my brain fell apart like a Jenga stack in an earthquake. I have never seen anything so amazing. Afterward was when I asked to sit in the hallway behind their counters to minimize my ability to see her. I soon learned that the maneuver did not help one bit. I saw her even more, but thank Christ none of the reaching. I could have died at that moment and not felt disappointment at all. That's how fucked up I am now.

Her chest was clearly out of proportion with her frame and shoulders, and such a fact only added to the wonder of that tiny waist. She must have walked by the chairs a dozen or more times before I was able to get the hell out and away from the wondrous, yearning experience. Each pass from my left to right accentuated her chest. Lots of movement inside that shirt. I was a crazy person. Black hair bouncing, her pants just loose enough in the rear to hide what she may have been wearing underneath, and me the entire time completely lost in all of her and wondering why I had to become so fucking desperate in this life to be thralled by a woman's shape and tormented for God-knows how long afterward. The race girl was an emotional experience once I got past her fucking rear end wrapped in very thin fabric, but yesterday was different. I was pulled into a small space with a little television displaying everything I needed to see. The basement? Hmm... Maybe my mind is already holed up down there and what I am seeing is a byproduct. I don't know. The girl was there, working and paying zero attention to anything beyond the scope of her duties, perhaps not thinking that she quickly moved to the head of the line with regard to beauty and structure in the real world. Not on the screen and not a professional model with a team of others grooming and training. Just a person selling eyeglasses. I can still see her bra sliding up and down inside the shirt as she walked by. Juliette's blouse appeared almost exactly the same all those years back. One of the most stirring sights on earth. And that one is nothing compared to the sight of her reaching up and stretching my brain to its limit. I am a crazy person.

I can still hear her shoes on the tile.


Never should have gone over there. I wanted to help by doing the driving. Mistake, dumb fuck. Big fucking mistake. Something always happens. Yesterday was a bad one. I already have enough to deal with. I have gone around the world for years regarding words like 'radii' and 'disparity'. Well, images aside, I saw one of the most striking examples of both terms less than a day ago. Reaching, just like my head at this very moment in search of anything sensible. Less than two hours before the Sunday football routine, yet I cannot focus on anything except seeing that little Asian girl stretching right before my eyes and showing off something very unexpected and one of the most beautiful, stirring and depressing sights ever. Football. Heh. Right. I'll have to petition God himself for a chance to give a fuck about anything today.

Monday, 0705. Everything is becoming unsatisfying for some reason. Yesterday should have been quite different than I had envisioned. The place was controlled and not open to the public, meaning I did not have to worry about stray visions here and there clogging up any thought processes, the market visit went fine, and at no point did anything come along to derail me. Nothing. Not even the cheerleaders on the televisions (although they are not on camera as often as in the past, nor do they really stand out). The game went our way. Lunch was pretty good. The crowd was pleasant. In the end -- and in the evening -- I left and drove home to find myself somewhat lost. Garbage, kitchen, whatever. The feeling continues at this very moment. I have to pick up my coworker to go put our eyes on the water heater job from three months ago and then I'll return to the quiet of home. That trip can split up the day and will hopefully help to break me out of this shit.

I need to pare down stuff. There is too much. All around me, seemingly never-ending stuff. I'll try later today.

Dreams and more dreams, and then I am led to misfiring synapses and failing fantasies. Yes, that again, and from more than four years ago when I first acquired this machine. Alexis was there but no more of her. Lately when I've been seeking images for this space, her demeanor in public and some of the things I have read are pushing her beyond what I find acceptable. No more of her. Anyway, I have to go to work soon which means part of the routine is finished already so my afternoon will be eased a bit. I am really looking forward to arriving home later, too. I've gone into the fact that daily life in this house is the main reason I am doing anything at all these days. Previous entry, I believe. The feeling of being at the job sites last week was reminiscent of when I first began this type of work many years ago. Each outing was like a little adventure in the beginning, really. My mind tends to attach meaning to inanimate objects many likely overlook.

0654 on Tuesday, January 11th of anno 2022. Coffee. Friends. Quiet. And the tree is still glowing. Work yesterday consisted of putting our eyes on the project a second time in order to refresh memories. The fact is we still can't go back there until next week due to a miscommunication from the general. There is the French girl again. Not a good time for her. Anyway, the work might go on sometime next week. We took off mid-morning and headed back here, had lunch at the bar, and then left for home. The remainder of the afternoon was uneventful other than my typical housework. The shit from the mall the other day is still plaguing me... Most the stretch event of a lifetime. This morning I am seeing her inside my head along with a few images from several dreams earlier. The very beginning of the string of pictures I can recall from last night and this morning is none other than Jamie herself on my arm as we walked a dirt road near home in the Midwest. That's right, people... For the very first time in life I actually dreamed of her. The situations of three different scenes during sleep are going to be difficult to describe, yet one idea was force-fed into me by whatever power dictates said dreaming. The idea is that I shall remain sad and alone, yearning and dreaming, for the rest of my life.

This shit just steered the entry away from the title. The truth is I felt such burning desire for that little waistline the other day that I continually need to be right in the middle of a spillway for even a chance of putting out the fire. There you go. I can't help it. I've never seen such a form before and immediately went off the deep end inside my head. And I am still there. I have to get the dreams to the screen first, though. I don't think anyone wants to hear about the Asian magical shapely goddess stretch again, anyway. Look for some images of the overflow spillways at Hoover Dam. While standing upon the north rim and overlooking Lake Mead, one can lean over the railing a bit and see the massive pathways for water should the lake rise too quickly. Never in my life have I seen such an enormous waterway made of concrete. That is the volume of water required for me to cease overheating while dreaming of that little waist and the disproportionate pair just above. Amazing. Now? Go ahead and call me whatever you wish. I don't care. Circumstances both past and present have forced me up to this level of yearning and desperation. I could have eaten her fucking pants. Floodwater. Now you know. Hellfire... Burning need. Tempered? Not even close. Ok, onward...

I don't recall what type of field or what was being grown there, but we were walking in the light rain on a path through the center. We may have been wearing ponchos. At some point I looked over at her adorable face and offered my arm. She wrapped both of hers and uttered a sound as if that was exactly what she needed at that moment. My heart swelled with love. Holy crap, that woman attached to me was almost too much to consider. We walked for a few minutes and then were in a house, like one of those big farmhouses which have stood the test of time since the 1800s. And then I fell down some. I realized I was a guest there and not connected to her in the manner I had thought. Sadness then blanketed me just the way Jamie was wrapped a short time earlier. I had my own bedroom which was small and set up as if I was only in the house temporarily. More sadness. And then someone else... I sensed it and became too embarrassed and upset for interacting with anyone. I knew the other person was her real partner and I was a nobody. Not good.

Others were there, too, like maybe her father and siblings but I can't be certain. The realization that I was nothing more than an outsider increased to the point of needing clarity from Jamie herself. So I asked. Last mistake, although she was very sweet toward me and held both my hands as she spoke. I decided to get the hell out of that house and away from the most beautiful woman in the world so I could breathe without having a heart attack at any given moment. I went to the closet to gather some things and saw ants on the blue carpet. I disregarded them and ensured my stuff was organized and packed well so I could sneak out during the night. Well, that did not go entirely as planned. My broken heart and shaking hands led me to the seashore in a small car. Rocks, the feeling of the tide approaching more quickly than it should, and me there without anywhere else to go. I needed to make sure I had enough stuff to sleep there. I began to go through my things and found the tools necessary for fabricating a makeshift shelter. Upon sitting on the rocks and seeing my huge Swiss Army knife at the ready, I then noticed I had dashed from Jamie's house in so much of a hurry that I overlooked my shoes. Not to worry. With my tools I figured I could make anything needed, so I carried on with gathering and every now and then looked toward the sea to find that it was very angry. Huge waves, some sort of lines from the water up onto the sand as if there were rivers down below which were carrying tons of water ashore. I was reminded of the big storms here last fall, one of which had been labeled an atmospheric river. My preparations had to move further inland due to the water rising so quickly. I found a massive, flat rock upon which to work and noticed I had left the car on the sand with one door open. And then I didn't care. The fact was everything appeared trivial because I was destroyed over the feeling that I had lost the woman of my dreams and then went ever further in the knowledge that I never had her in the first place. Salty tears mixed with salty spray.

Awake. I believe there is more but I am having trouble remembering. Sitting here right now I can still see her smiling as she took my arm. My heart swelled and I felt as if nothing else mattered but Jamie right there.


I don't know why I dreamed of her or the shore. And here come those thighs in Ronnie's house. A split second of light and they are amazing. Gone just as quickly, though. Whatever. Crazy person. Out of balance. Fucked.

There was more while I stayed at the farm. Some sort of gathering outside. I don't know. The shit part of all this is that she has been a dream for over a year and then appeared IN my dream. Now I feel twice as empty. Something is horribly wrong inside me in order to consider both of the situations and reactions in this essay. The girl at the mall should not have struck me so, nor should I have gone around the world longing to slather her with my mouth. That is fucking bad, plain and simple. And then the dreaming. I am understanding less and less as time passes. Missing pieces that I can't even identify. Nice. I certainly hope no one asks why I am always in a bad mood. That is called a rectal-cranial inversion. Fix it.

On top of the sundae is the idea that each day requires more effort on my part to carry myself like a person. More and more I need to force it. The game on Sunday was a good example. Lots of energy in the room, people all supporting the effort, and a very tense match from beginning to end. I followed along at every play, yet there in the background was my head trying to get a glance at one pair of legs nearby, and then thinking of the deli section of the market days earlier and those pants I can still see. This is derailing every fucking activity or effort on a daily basis. I stood there and cheered my team but at no time did the obsession, desire or need to be understood by the right person leave my internal vision. I am completely fucked. Please don't laugh.

I really didn't need to dream of her. Not now, anyway. Maybe in the future if I can find the coping methods for some of my problems the dreams won't hurt so much. Maybe. But the fact is it happened, and now the idea is in my head. As you may well know already, very little ever leaves my head, especially when it is related to beauty. She was right there on my arm and looked up to me with the eyes over which I completely fell last year, now leaving me void of any hope. Ah... Dr. Seuss...

'Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.'

I don't think so. Cynical may be my primary position, but it is not without reason. That sentiment is lacking in substance. It could be applied to almost any situation, and that means some very bad things. I don't fucking see it. Right now I miss her more than anything in the world and the experience was mere milliseconds inside my brain. A woman perched above all, and for eternity. Tell me again not to be sad. She was on my arm and smiling, and she is not real. Sound familiar?

1346 now, most of my crap is finished and I have some time alone while the other half is out running errands. I still have the dry cleaning, but otherwise lots of free time. Good and bad, that stuff. I can't get the image of us walking that dirt road holding each other. Why the fuck did that have to happen? I don't need any more shit in my life. There was another short dream, maybe attached to the second or maybe not, in which I was in my garage trying to close the big door and it was striking something. I kept pushing the button but the door only rose a few inches and was crooked. Wind was coming in. I don't know what to make of such a scene. The other one? I'll never forget being with her. My brain is broken again. The subject of my dreamy, juvenile mind placed next to me and warmed by holding my arm... The dream may further fracture my already weakened condition. Jamie does not push my head like the one in the mall. Not even close. I don't think of her in such terms primarily because of my heart.

This is a bad fucking time, worsening by the minute.

More hellfire. Splendid. Fucking bullshit, all of it.

The business of the day is finished and I am left to decide if I'll go beyond the norm. Right now I just don't know because the birds flying and splattering shit all over the inside of my head will not let up. It's a constant windstorm of wings, each with its own concern. Taken as a whole, I am surprised to be functioning as a person right now. Vulpine crap aside, I am myself and can work within my little world without much influence. That being said, all too often I feel pressing issues driven by foxes and they seem to be working in concert, somehow. I can't fucking explain this shit. No one is to blame, either. Ah... Fuck this entire line of thinking. Nothing can be done anyway. Done.

The Asian girl's waist came back to mind. Nice, huh? Again with the fucking dreamy, ethereal consideration of a genetic fluke. I think the defining factor was the difference in diameter between her tiny waist and hips just below. For a woman that fucking slender, the gradient is often much less pronounced. Well, not on her. I could not believe my eyes, and that being said before I ever noticed the upper widening. I am a crazy person, and that is not a fucking joke. Out of my mind. Pissed off. I have to stop writing about her or I'll end up drafting fictional scenarios, and no one needs that kind of shit. Not even me. At least the condition of my weakened mind is very apparent. This is how I fucking think, people. There will always be something, somewhere. Oof... Not Valentina, though. She is a vulgar train wreck. Damn.

1446. Dry cleaning finished and put away. I might go clean the bathroom. Exciting, eh? My brain is bouncing between two Asian breasts right now. Crazy person. Unbalanced. Unkempt. Un-everything. Uncouth? Not yet, thank Christ.

0545. More and more strange dreams. This morning was something... Sweeping a porch, my boss living in the house, someone there made me chicken for lunch, I don't fucking know. There is always more but it fades so quickly. Last night was a bit of a line again, not by my hand. One less rung on the ladder of life. Lines all over the place these days. I am a crazy person. The only upside to yesterday and all which took place is the fact that I made the decision to remain here. There was one short trip to the shopping center down the street because my belt fell apart and then a few minutes next door at the market. I was focused upon picking up things we needed and paid less attention to anyone nearby. I may have attached some meaning to recent conversations about the store and cooking which could have driven one of the dreams. For some reason I feel that the trip yesterday and the porch dream were related. Related. Relegated, as I am right now. Even in the dream...

I had been someone of note and very important, yet I was sweeping outside the porch when the woman appeared. I smiled and told her I could sweep the entire porch area if she'd allow me in the gate. Immediately I felt as if something happened earlier which left me on the outside of a wonderful career or organization, just like what I did in ten and eleven. And her demeanor communicated to me that she knew. Relegated to sweeping up after other people rather than performing work related to the space program. Related. Relegated. Very close, those two. I have felt that way for ten fucking years. The other one came along and was ripped away by my prior actions and inactions, after which I flipped the fuck out and changed myself permanently. Now I have to fucking do it again because no one will leave me alone. I don't want to do anything anymore.


This is one of many dead ends in life. Sitting here writing. There are any number of other activities I could be embracing, yet I always seem to end up here first thing in the morning and seven days a week. I don't know what it is. Maybe the quiet and my show up there. I may have mentioned before I've been keeping a journal of which episode is on when I fire up the television each morning, along with the exact time and how much of the episode has elapsed. When I began that journal last year, I noticed that I rolled through the entire series in less than fifteen days. Not good. Ah, yes. I have mentioned this. Whatever. Probably just the quiet time.

There were two cheerleaders in the market yesterday. Reminded me of watching the football last weekend and noticing that most of the professional cheerleaders are not terribly attractive anymore. Maybe just the bouncing hair got to me in the past. Those girls go through a lot for not much money and have very tight restrictions upon their appearance on and off the field. Anyway, cheerleaders in the market. They were in high school so I looked away after noticing the outfits. That is bad. Sometimes there is a shape and then my head turns, afterward feeling terrible because I glanced in the first place. I suppose it's not so bad if I at least know what I'm doing. Maybe the midriff reminded me of the wonder from last weekend. I don't know. I saw too much that day. Burning. Need floodwater. Burnt. Burned.

I am diminishing from the once-noteworthy and strong individual I once was. Degrading. Shrinking. The burning hellfire I feel inside sometimes will probably burn me alive at some point. All too often in the morning my situation drives the idea that I feel the world is 'unfair', however I still can't say it outright. The fact is I have fucked up over and over and still don't see a clear path to blame everything elsewhere. The past is gone and written and all that other shit. I know that period is a huge factor. Sitting here day after day filled with the same feelings which can never go anywhere again is very painful and feels unfair. Hmm. I honestly do not fucking know one way or the other. Likely this is not unfair at all and only seems as such because I am a good person and unhappy. Very fucking unhappy. That might drive anyone to feel that the way they have been treated ended up resulting in a shit condition. I can see that. Unfortunately, I cannot agree. There are simply too many factors over a long period which attach question marks to whatever I may be feeling on a given day. One certainty is that I am weaker than ever, tired from the simplest operation, and constantly yearning for all things impossible. And don't give me any shit, either. I know I have options. The problem is my options are completely pathetic and fucking oversimplified. The real needs are so far away that I will probably forget everything in life very soon. And none of it will make a lick of difference in the world. I'm no one anyway, so perhaps my words don't matter.

I always see too much because I am always searching. Not the 'she is out there' shit. Something, though. Always looking, sometimes seeing. I am being driven into the ground by my own weakness. All the images here should cement that fucking point. If I was truly hurt by the beauty I would not place any of it here, right? Maybe. No one's fault, most certainly not the woman pictured here. She aligns. I'm sure upon leaving the house for her appointment in a couple of hours and venturing into a nice little neighborhood in the city will end up a giant pile of problems. I'll be looking with roughly and hour or more to kill while waiting. Always looking. I know part of the reason -- a series of unanswerable questions which are more compelling than drawing actual breath -- will be spinning inside me during the morning. Something will be there, my head will descend, and then I'll start relating the sight to what I've seen before. Painting pictures inside. I've seen it, all of it. Wondering, dreaming, questioning. A bit later? Back here to my tiny existence bereft of hope. There will still be burning, though. The Asian waistline lit a fire which will not go out. I cannot help feeling this way. Wishing it away isn't accomplishing fuck-all, either. Maybe I'll sit here and go over the same shit after we return from the city. There will be something. There is always something up there.

I've seen it. 0638. This is the time when I arose from bed yesterday. Late, in my eyes. I've been lazy because there is no schedule. The early morning was shrinking like my ambition. I've seen it eight ways from Sunday.

Sunday. Sixes and sevens. Today is Wednesday. Eight ways from Wednesday. I am tired of knowing all this shit and then having to truncate so much that everything winds up meaningless. I wish I had never seen anything or been on those trips. Sick of this shit, and then I come across to other people as abrasive and angry because of the missing pieces but they don't know. And I can't explain it because I don't fucking understand much myself. Looks like everyone is fucked, eh? Nice. I can barely deal with myself, they can't deal with me, and I don't even fucking KNOW how to deal with other people. Maybe I should stop caring about anything. I'm just a small part of what I used to be. I mean, did you read all that shit at the top? That girl was just a person doing her job and dressed really nice, and there I was imagining all manner of you-know-what. I don't know what the fuck to do whenever I catch fire. All those questions without answers. I've seen it. The images of Georgia in the last couple of entries appeared because of a resemblance, yet later (and often while seeking the right images) I begin to catch fire and those very same questions arise. Do you honestly think it's possible for many to look upon those images of such a gorgeous, shapely woman and not dream of jumping her? Eh... Never mind. No one gives a shit what I believe, anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. Fucking obvious.


Some factors I know. I really do. Living through them is not something I will soon forget. This is a bad time. Light is beginning to form outside. Good and not good, and this is not good. Shitty time in life. The little things still exist, though. I guess they are better than nothing at all. Questions, always. I've seen it... Seen too much. Some needs to go away and some must remain. This is becoming fucking stupid again. I don't know where to go now. Lost again. Lost in everything unreal.

Leaving in an hour. I am already looking forward to returning home afterward. I believe we have to visit the pharmacy first, so that will delay the arrival a bit. No worries. And as is the custom of late, there will probably be some tall, silky black-haired Asian doll behind the counter over there. Lots of Asians at pharmacies these days because they are generally intelligent and ambitious, unlike me. Well, I am intelligent, yet all the other parts seem to have fallen away. Home later this morning means some housework and whatever else seems best for passing the time. Dreaming, too. Jamie on my arm out there in the cold, her big eyes looking at me with appreciation. Damn it all. I am so fucking lost these days...

I hate everything.

The image below was created by a fellow artist on the big site and is so funny. Like the fifty-foot woman, I guess. What makes me laugh is that pair of helicopters that seem to be reporting news of a giant woman by the freeway. Too much. It doesn't hurt that Georgia is one of those unreal goddess-types which tend to confuse the hell out of me. She is not always fully aligned, yet from some angles her dimensions are incredible. Maybe the helicopters are commenting on her beauty. Eh... I find the image very creative and entertaining alongside dreams of climbing into her top. Sue me. I don't fucking care. The tiny-waisted girl did it. Hellfire with nary a chance of being extinguished anymore. So lost. Broken. Look at the image and smile.

I hate the site but love this computer. Strange? At least I am not working on a crappy machine. Hmm... I have to take one series offline because I worry it reveals too much. Stand by. And... Gone. Don't know if it will return. That was some of the best, most heartfelt writing I have ever completed, but the subject matter upsets my stomach knowing some have read it. I can't turn the clock back and change anything, either. The positive to tossing that series offline is that no new eyes will see it. And if you don't know to what series I am referring, fucking figure it out. Eight entries out of nearly three hundred should not make much difference. Whatever. I can't get myself to give a shit right now.


Sitting in the land of legs with a coffee while she's at a consultation. I thought the procedure was today. We both did. Oh well, I guess I'll know forsooth. So far nothing to note, thank goodness, and the more I type, the less I'll see. There is a girl measuring and grinding coffee, though. Thin arms. Whatever. I'll be here for less than an hour anyway. Damn but that girl is tiny. A glimpse as she walked across the room. Again... Whatever. Nothing like some of the other nails pounded into my head in the past.

I'm looking forward to returning home. Part of the routine is finished leaving just the kitchen and a load of laundry. The kitchen means the third show in the background while I clean. One of my favorite things in this world. Oh boy, her pants. Oof... Didn't need that. Anyway, this is rather different sitting in a coffeehouse rather than the to-go routine which has been the norm. Lots of things to see. I'm all the way in the corner because I don't like anyone behind if I can help it. Plus I can see the door. Home will be nice. Maybe because of the sun I can work in the garage a bit. Haven't done much out there lately. As long as I can get through the next half hour without seeing anything dramatic, that is. Otherwise I'll be back here gushing again. It never ends.

Ah the music right now. I dashed to the iTunes Store and procured the album for later enjoyment. It has a special place in my heart all the way back to the late eighties. It's so easy to sit here and tap, tap, tap money away. Heh. Anyway...

She looks rather goofy. Beanie on her head, scruffy hair, and very pale. I can't say much about her face at this distance and with the mask, though. Too bad. That's most important. Well, her eyes, really, but too far away. Probably a good thing. Last time I connected with sensitive eyes the whole world went sideways. I don't need that again, although if the race girl was in this room I would approach her somehow. The likeliest result would be a very embarrassing moment and then I'd run away. Very bad. Less likely would be an ill-advised connection. Neither would be good. Yes, I am that fucking weak. Still searching. Fucking idiot. I may as well be an actual drug addict. Hmm... I thought I already was. Never mind.

Almost time to venture back to the office. The consultation was to be an hour, possibly slightly less. And then home. I don't have a clue of the procedure date. Eh... Soon. This place is a freakin’ gold mine. Non-stop. Damn.

And back in the office. A different receptionist now, too. Not good. Dark, and beauty everywhere. Maybe she will remain seated so only the top of her pretty head is visible. Ugh. There is always something because I am always fucking looking.

1239 and home for over an hour now. The routine is finished and I have the third show on again. I think this one will remain until the series concludes, and then over to one of the others. The guys at the bar are always discussing new programs on different streaming services but I am generally ignorant because I rarely branch out. I've gone into that crap before, so never mind. Fuck me, something just came back to mind from months ago. Damn it all. I thought of a funny line from an old comedy film and the shit flooded back into my head. I really didn't fucking need that right now. Angry again, as Dave sang all those years ago. I was hurt at the time but upon reflection the entire concern of feeling damaged and threatened has turned to disdain. Fuck. There were actually two such occurrences around the same time and regarding the same individual, believe it or not, and one was me investigating such comments and some kind of general consensus. Maybe I should have avoided looking into the subject, yet sometimes I can't help it. Knowledge is not to blame. I tend to see the learning as a part of education and insight into both myself and society as a whole. And this fucking paragraph was going to outline the morning and remainder of this day. Well, I fucked that up. Big surprise.

More floodwater to extinguish the anger over something I can never change. Honestly? A facet of living with which I can NEVER come to terms, either. There is not one fucking thing I can do to alleviate the roller coaster rising to concern and then dropping into a pit of despair. This is one of the worst aspects of being so fucking introspective and analytical. Just two more behaviors equally bereft of solutions. Nice. I should have driven into that bridge abutment outside Mojave after letting go of Ashley's endless loving manner. Well, here I am living the result of yet another wrong decision. Others were happy I returned home. Not me.

That last piece-of-shit subject is one of the highest orders of the vulpine fucking power. I am completely in the wrong here, too, yet I do not know of another way to live. I am in the WRONG, people. Wrong, wrong, wrong, but at least I know what I am. I am the way I am and expect no recognition nor reward for it. I expect no good to happen to, or for, me in the future. I KNOW this. I ACCEPT this. Can they do the same? Those of the past are gone. If they were in front of me at this moment, I would open their necks like a bed of fucking clams and bathe in the blood. You want anger, hatred? I am full-up, assholes. This is the worst I have ever felt in my fucking life. Right now... This moment. Believe it. Keep in mind the vulpine shit -- whatever entry title or descriptor -- cannot be held responsible. I was destroyed not long ago by something I cannot place here, but if you use your imagination you may gain insight. The girl in the mall the other day? I wanted to eat her like a plate of steak. Eat. Devour. Every fucking term you can apply... All of it. I am one-hundred percent guilty of lust in the most hideous sense of the word, and on the other side of the rusted fucking coin is a problem larger than the solar system. Unfair? I'll fucking show you unfair.

Again. Weakened, desperate and disillusioned like never before. These days not much is required for me to become completely derailed of thought and falling away from any situation or conversation. The same shit over and over, as well as unexpected. My situation has worsened since the previous hellfire. None of this matters, anyway. Whatever I say... It just fades and then I feel like shit. The anger is giving way to defeat. The cycle will return soon enough.

0714 on Thursday. I miss the dream so much. Just a few moments frozen in time. She was on my arm.

A little thing across the room. And then she was at the bar twisted just a bit with one foot up. That was when I swung my gaze halfway around to watch the music being set up. All that shit in my head forced me to push as hard as possible to ignore the wondrous shape across the room. Not long after, I succeeded and then left for home. My buddy wanted me to stay and I could not even hint at why I needed to escape. Out the door, pissed off and hurt again. I am so sick of this shit. Missing pieces. Broken parts. Half a person, at best. Georgia in the image below resembles a person I rarely discuss, and there is also a bit of the other one in her eyes, too. Jamie and the other one, and then the other one. Get it? Of course not. The woman in the image is stunning, though. Too much makeup half the time, yet still gorgeous. The resemblance to two from my past is striking. Fucking beautiful.


The last several days have shown me that my weak nature will continue into the future and there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing. Ever since the mall five days ago, my head keeps going into her clothing and then I fall down again. A little bit of housework and then fire. Hellfire. A trip to the market or bar, possibly a destination over the hill, and then hellfire. No water. I believe that gigantic spillway at Hoover was bone dry when I saw it all those years ago because of the drought. Well, there is no floodwater available now to extinguish the fire inside me during these events. And they will never stop. I feel like shit, see something because I am too fucking weak to avoid searching, fall all over myself trying to describe the sight without gushing about jumping her, and then feel even more shitty over the desire. I sit right here on this sofa and write a few things and then feel guilty for looking in the first place. A day or two later? There is another fucking stunning woman who resets this worst of cycles. Empty. Broken. This is breaking what little remains of my spirit. Not good.

Maybe I can make today a little different.

Maybe not.

There may be no tempering the hellfire. Not anymore. Sometimes I think the best thing to do would be to give in completely and just drown myself. Eventually those around me will give up as well, and then probably toss me into the trash. But I don't know. They may fucking push. I will push back. And then I will catch fire again as if nothing ever changed. My lot in life, perhaps. Whenever this began -- and I may have an inkling -- it could be here to stay. This month has been the worst I can recall. And I had thought December was bad.

Tempered? Really?

Fully enclosed, enshrouded, encapsulated and connected. And then the other. Over there, at that moment. Sparks. Something else. And then back the other way, then the other, and then the other. Glued. Tired. Worn the fuck out. Little, tiny Julie and me falling to our deaths, together. Hand-in-hand. Loving? Don't know. From one side to the other and back again several times. Covered in blood. Reminds me of the 'boat' references from zero three. What a crock of shit that was. The entire period was completely ridiculous. The fact that I didn't realize how stupid everything became indicates the situation was my doing and I was weak enough to run all over the fucking place for the power. I still feel fucking stupid after eighteen years. I really do. My personality is not the type to ever let anything go away or fade. I retain it all for good reason. What? What did you say? Holding on to all the bad things is a mistake? Fuck you. Govern your own shit and leave mine the fuck alone. If I choose to file everything away for reference, that is up to me and no one else. Shove your fucking advice where the 'sun don't shine'. I don't care. No matter my decisions, the two of us would still have fallen off that balcony. Go back and read about the little bloody girl who saved my life. A long while, right there, encapsulated. The other way and then the other way and then the other way. I would destroy all the power if I had the ability. All of it. All of life? A crock of shit.

Those fucking thumpers made a few good points but in the end I knew it was nothing more than recruitment and pressure. Well, not much pressure, but some very pointed questions to which I responded with pointed answers they loved. I don't know why, but I ended that afternoon after manipulating them into believing I was radically different than in reality. I did it. Maybe it was just entertainment. The action of steering them forcefully into seeing something that did not exist was the entertainment. I don't know anymore. But the point is I can understand their position from a certain standpoint. A savior. Unfortunately, I am on the other side of the universe with my beliefs. I can't see it. I just can't fucking see it. For a split second I actually allowed myself to hear everything and weigh the idea that their path could be helpful to me. Well, less than a split second, to use the popular parlance. In reality, the entire consideration was likely less than a millisecond. Heh. But it was there... A smidgen of hope that something other than the dire floodwater could help me avoid burning. Well, nope. No more of that shit.

One kind of trouble may not have a solution aside from removing the entire works. As of yet I have not seriously considered anything like that. It's just a thought sometimes when I am angry. I just wish I held some of the power. I don't see it anymore, but I know they are walking this planet with all of it, and my current condition could be a result of some power shifting a long time ago. The entry involving the word 'power' in its title did not go in such a direction because I needed to avoid power being referenced during that time period in order to maintain my own peace of mind (or what there is left of it). I may hit this shit harder in the future, though. I see connections but nothing overwhelming. My head is awash with too much these days. I don't even see the sense in this crap anymore. I have to hold so much back that the entire site is one big mixing bowl of euphemisms, sidestepping, and ambiguity.

The thumpers brought cookies right before the holiday. I may have mentioned that. They came across as if they honestly care, but I know underneath that the visit was nothing more than another attempt at recruitment. Bullshitting me is not recommended. One more visit or call and I may have to slam the door in such a way that they avoid this house in the future. I often feel incapable of quite a bit, but I can still motherfuck people if the need arises.

The tiny waist had so much power over my senses and dreams that I still don't fully understand. I wanted to turn her into an experiment, a plaything, and felt much guilt over the imagery my head began to paint. I still feel bad. This is what I've become as a result of too many years of feeling void of true understanding, and yet I know some of that is my own fault. I'm very thankful that she did not hit me with a meaningful expression, too. The race girl did it, and look how that turned out. Nearly six months of writing about her. One more look matching the blonde uber-goddess at that event and I may not survive. The upside is I can rarely hide the sadness and desperation in my own eyes, meaning a connection with another pair will likely force fear. That means no matter what a woman may be thinking, the likely outcome will be avoidance. Good for her.

This is a bad fucking time.

0909 and I am still sitting here with the last of the coffee. My day will be as if she was working, I believe. The usual routine and some more laundry. I still haven't touched the bathroom so it has to be done today. Ah... Emmylou's beautiful voice opening this episode. I could fuck the speakers. Heh. Anyway, the sunshine warmed the garage quite a bit the last two days, meaning I can get out there if the motivation is clear. Lately all this shit in my head has had me beaten down so far that I can't find the strength to do much at all. Not all problems have solutions. Fuck, a Jamie sighting from the fifth season is incoming. God damn fuck shit hell anyway, that woman is a universe of thrall over me. Her eyes; fuck me running. I keep feeling more and more on the heels of that Goddamned dream. Why did that have to happen? I don't ask for this shit. Ooh-fa, she is so beautiful. And I will not apologize for gushing over her in every fucking entry, either. This is my shit and my massive double-plus standard. Go write your own shit. I don't care. Where was I? The day. I need to try ousting Jamie from my head so I can think.


Words, words, and more words. 'Language used as shield and weapon', indeed. That is the subtitle of a book, in case you didn't know. I bought it in eleven when my sensitivity peaked for a time, and then donated it before ever reading because I was afraid. Words have crushed me in the past and probably will again. The keywords I went into somewhere back in the archive are somewhat related, too. Society dictates all that shit and I can't do anything about it if I still wish to be a part (a small part, to be sure). Oh, this is line 666. Grab your bible. It's full of words, too. The most powerful thing we have as humans is our language, be it spoken, written or otherwise. Some of that power is wielded like a sword while another portion is offered as love, solace, caring and the like. My double-standard actually extends into this because I do not -- nor will ever -- see the sexes as equals. That is very unrealistic because we are far too different. Not that I necessarily expect more from one sex, it's just that I expect much less from the other. There is a difference, too. Think about it. Eh... I brought this up before. The bottom line is some of the words emanating from one sex come across much worse than the other. Fact of life, for me. That is when they hurt even more. This relates to the power, if you can understand such a statement. Burning inside. Always.

Burning desire? I can't describe it at all. The floodwater will run out, anyway. I don't expect any good to happen to me in the future. Not because I gave away the power or feel things that seem wrong, just due to so many occasions of me throwing away the good in favor of the questionable. I am sitting in this house right now as a result of one such occasion which still haunts me. I no longer deserve to be happy.

Desire will eventually kill me. It is a paradox. Tell me otherwise and I'll smash you.

0934 and STILL I've done nothing other than wallowing down this page. Everything feels ill-advised. I still see all of them, from years ago to yesterday. Some stand out while others fade. This is a bad time.

Ooh-fa, again.

1134. Heh... Exactly two hours since I sat here and marked the time. I am most of the way through a fat cocktail in order to submarine some feelings. I think it's working. Underneath is all manner of pain, loss and torment, yet the booze does help my body push the bad things away sometimes. Today is apparently no different. Unfortunately, I already know everything will return like floodwater down that huge fucking spillway. Maybe not today, but the return and fall is inevitable. The routine is completely finished and I have the house to myself for a little while. My entire life to this point has been reduced like Little Italy in NYC... A fraction of its once-dramatic and powerful footprint. I used to be someone. Now I am nothing more than a sphere of concern and a punchline. I wish I could easily carry out some of the intentions in my brain. The world would be much simpler afterward.

Maybe I am this way because the simple act of a kiss on the cheek has grown in importance and expanded my feelings from a gesture to outright worship. There is that girl with the hair in the background of this scene and uncredited. I always look at her and wonder who she was at the time this was filmed. What a head of hair, I tell you. Anyway, 'worship' may seem a powerful term, but you must understand that my feelings regarding the other sex have blown wide open like a fucking supernova. I know not why, but the worship is apparent often enough for me to believe myself beyond help.

Friday morning, one week from my birthday. Don't give a shit.

Slighted. And yesterday's shit is still here in my head. Right up front, like when the French girl was first described and I couldn't get her shoulders out of my brain. Up front and center. She is fading. Everything is fading. The world is fading. I can't do anything about the burning. Water running out (or not there in the first place). Problems. The morning will move along and the shit from twenty-four hours back will again hit me in the head and leave my abilities foggy. This is becoming an everyday thing now. Fucking ridiculous, like everything else feeding the current period. Maybe I'll mix words again. That's always entertaining.

I don't know how to shelf some of these feelings. Between the beginning of this entry with so much shit about the girl with the little waist and a shit ton of daily preoccupation with my physiological condition and the way the last several years have affected me, I honestly have far too much to deal with at the same time. The simple truth is I have been hiding tons of shit and suppressing lots of anger for so long that the process has become second nature. I am either going to die angry or blow up at some point and never recover. Ahh... Splendid. Another reminder like the image of John. These guys on the screen are fucking awesome from the hair to the voices to everything. Love it. Unfortunately, this is the type of recollection I really don't fucking need while dealing with all the other shit like beauty, desire, and the million fucking stupid ways I became so Goddamned weak. Now I am becoming even more angry. Nothing I can do about anything. Not a shred of evidence that I have the power to change. Not a fucking clue as to how I could go about breaking out of this shit routine and doing something different. The words are all I have left.

Would you like to be the spark? I could use a target. You'll see me, all mellow and soft, smiling and friendly. And then you'll see black. I can do it from hundreds of miles away. Clear? Is this a threat? You betcha, yet just enough shade on the idea that no one can take clear issue with my words. All I did was mention the color black. See? Do you think I need to be patronized right now?

Today will be just like yesterday. Stuff in the house and then some stuff in the garage. I have to drive her to the city around noon to pick up an item and then return. Otherwise, I'll be in this house like usual. My need to hide is increasing due to this morning's imagery. I can't fucking change anything. Already known, already labeled from head to toe, already disregarded. Shoved aside because I have no impact upon anything. Small voice.

But here are the words, right? These words. I believe if I didn't have this to work with, I would probably be outside painting murals on the house. Not good. Here are the words. Others have their things, I have words. My voice is small but the words can be much larger.

I can still see that girl reaching to the shelves. Black suit, white shirt. The shirt rose enough for me to see. Chest going that way, rear going the other way, and right there in between both wondrous curves was not much at all. She walked back and forth. Little. Maybe five-three or less. Hard to tell because I was sitting. Now, maybe others see her either at work or out in the world and appreciate her shape, or maybe no one sees it. I saw quite a bit and immediately fell off the edge of the world because of everything I've written here since early fifteen.


Pissed off this morning.

There is a massive difference between what goes on inside my head and the manner in which I actually behave while out in the world. That girl looked like a million bucks not far from me, yet the last thing I would ever do is cause her discomfort. If her head was anywhere near turned toward me, I looked elsewhere. Staring is unfair. Staring can make a person very uncomfortable, especially a person full of tattoos. Stereotype or not, the fact is I could have scared her. I can't fucking have that. Not fair, not good, none of it. I turned and looked at my phone, the displays along the walls, wherever. Hopefully after we left the store she forgot I was ever there. She may have held a massive amount of power over me but the fact is she was not at fault. I've mentioned placing blame over and over and I need to stop such behavior. I believe the better path is to speak of who is NOT to blame, and nothing more. I need not go further. She was there, a beautiful woman and a person, I saw her and had a difficult time dealing with it, but there is no reason to continue gushing about blame. I am weak. We already know that. I will always look because I do not have the strength to stop searching. When I look, I will be respectful. My eyes can do the rest. Perpetual sadness and anger.

Further, when I looked at her walking or up on that step reaching for the shelves, I wanted to pounce. Yes, I said that. Big surprise that there was physical yearning inside me while gazing at such a form. There is no reason to leave it out because the result would be nothing aside from more anger and cunty words. No one wants to see more cunty on these pages, so I will try to avoid it. The truth is I can't fucking help it due to the last twenty-plus years of being so damaged (don't even get me started on the previous twenty). I cannot simply shut it off. I could sit here and lay out some serious fucking detail all day long but there is no good reason to do so. Use your imagination. Five years ago the first thoughts were drawings, measurements, and analysis. They are still there, in the background. Unfortunately, the first thought these days is something very different. Desperate yearning. Not good.

0730 and I need to cool off. I'm getting to that point in which my words will be more pointed and I can't have that right now. I need to remain mindful of the purpose here.

Wait a minute... The purpose? What? That's fucking hilarious.

I'll fucking tell you what is going to happen here. No doubt at all. I'm going to continue on this path because there are no exits. I'm going to sit here and type day after day and become worse and worse inside. I'm going to fall down occasionally, get back up a short time later feeling as if everything is ok, and then slide right the fuck back into the same position, as in where I am at this moment. Repeat. There it is. The subjects will change from time to time, I'll find other ways of saying the same things over and over, and then while outside the house I'll promptly gush here about whatever beautiful woman happens to grace my vision. Another fall down, and then repeat like the other one. That is all. This is it. The purpose is everything and nothing at the same time.

I did some of this... Decided to turn the site into a journal of sorts and write more than I did in the past. The decision was mine. I also made a conscious effort to describe whatever I may have seen out there. Several times, in fact. That went on for a while until the 'failing fantasy' came along and my head switched direction. Oh, fuck. 'LL' is about to be on screen for a moment. Jesus fucking hell in a silk thong, anyway. Her eyes and hair combine to make my brain melt. She is a hybrid, yet at the moment I can't recall the nationalities. Eh... Whatever. And she's gone. Splendid. What was I saying? Yes, the fact that some of my issue-laden brain is my own fault. I included provocative imagery, fictional stories involving very attractive women and even a machine designed by my desperate mind, and the cherry on top is the group of entries describing my gallivanting all over the fucking place. Those recollections are absolutely dripping with sexual imagery for good reason... That is the way I operated back then. So, sum all this shit and you can see I have built a small shelter for myself that is full of catalysts. I feel like a drug addict walking around with a needle poised to inject the very substance that is killing me yet can alleviate the need. Hmm... Nitroglycerin, anyone? Read about the origin of that one.

TB's fiancée again, with her huge eyes. She is just dopey enough to be cute. And yes, I am still attracted to brainless women sometimes. They tend to be needy, and that translates to security. All of the missing 'self-this' and 'self-that' means I am in need of constant reassurance (very fucking unhealthy and unattractive, believe me), so those clingy, goofy types fit the bill perfectly. Crucify me, please. I don't care. I said it and will leave it here for as long as the site exists. I know of what I am not. Don't argue that one. I know. And I also know I will remain just as I am at this moment because I carry enough negative traits to set me far apart from others. I fucking KNOW, so that is that. I only brought it up because the woman on TB's arm is cute and reminds me of when I sought those goofy types who needed someone to care for them. See? We are not supposed to 'need' other people when the subject is romantic relationships. We are supposed to 'want' them there. Much healthier.

I am sitting here on this sofa as the most dramatic, diametric opposite of all that is healthy, right, and recommended. There is no 'self-anything' left to work with. A red wine reduction being violently boiled down to a crust of anger. Don't even fucking TRY.

Back to today. Other than the ride to the city, I'll be here all day again. Yesterday I took care of more than the usual and I like the feeling. Hopefully I can do the same today. The whole shitaree is up to me, too. I know that. Sometimes I just don't give a fuck, though. 0824, third cup of coffee and I am still sitting here. I'll be up and about soon enough. Maybe this shit mess will be finished, maybe not. I'm having trouble concentrating today. Imagery, savagery... Both spinning in circles right now. From full of desire to full of anger and back again over and over. The routine can help, though. I don't want to have to hit the damage path this early in the day. That never ends well.

0843 and I am beginning to see that none of this will matter for very long. I've said so much in the last nearly two years that finding more is not easy. I used to be on a pendulum swinging between bliss and disaster. Now it moves from disaster to uncertainty. I don't know what the fuck to do other than sit here and type. Sometimes the same shit over and over, other times something new and different, but the bottom line is I am no better off for the effort. I suppose all I can do is keep typing whatever comes to mind.

Flooded after being burned. The tempering is not working."