June 8th, 2022 11:29am pdt

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

The Blown Gas and the Girl

 read ( words)

"Eh... Half an hour since the previous entry was published. Maybe I should just continue on the same page and extend the length until exhausted. I don't know. 0844. Last of the coffee. Third show. Quiet house. Brain overload since the dream. My head really ran with that one. The possibilities... Ugh.

I am already feeling like doing more today than during the past week. I know not why, but shying away from the work is not computing. Maybe this day will be better than the last several. Images in my head from last night are not as crippling as they were at the time, although I can't remove them. I also can't seem to free myself from the effects of two lions (mostly one, really). Still angry.

This situation is bad, and I predicted many years ago that the world could not improve, only experience a slow, steady decline into the future. I'm not claiming that I had some prescient insight into world affairs, either. The feeling was that apathy would grow along with the population. I'll go back and quote the passage for posterity. The dates in the archive do not lie. The Raven and I discussed this seven years ago, believe it or not. Rather than some massive global event -- like the war which would result in a nearly uninhabitable planet -- isolated problems and a continuing escalation of tensions due to an inability of society to honestly and willingly come 'together' regarding issues that affect everyone. And here we are... One mass shooting after another, the climate change which many believe to be bullshit, yet the effects cannot be denied, a nearly wide-scope conflict in the east which can very easily spread into NATO, and constant racial dissent which indicates any steps which accomplished change have been stymied by rolling backward rather than moving forward with understanding. That is impossible. There is no altering the way some people think... PERIOD. The pandemic is beginning to appear as nothing more than a step toward a larger, more destructive state of affairs. Only 1017 in the morning and I am already losing ground versus thought.

I went out there and tried to fill the tool pallets with those items I already own, but alas it is not the same. Not even close. My beautiful set within the case cannot be substituted by ordinary tools. Ugh. Right now there are no more than seven hand tools which have been sitting in those pockets for five years. The remainder of the pallets is empty. I cannot afford to rebuild right now. I had been hoping to work with the case and gather a set which could be both beautiful and useful. Unfortunately, this is just another example of the past shit situations coming back to bite me on the ass. Again... Ugh. I must carefully pick and choose those things on which to spend money, and that tool set is a very low priority. Damn. Third show, quiet house, bourbon cream over ice next to me. Where this day may head from here is a mystery unless I can muster the strength to affect change. Big surprise.

I'll have to do something soon. I can't sit here much longer.

And that was that. My day went on from there, with work in both the house and garage. Now it is Sunday morning coffee time, 0712 and I am feeling a little accomplished thanks to putting this crap aside and caring for some business yesterday. Sunday, as I have mentioned, is becoming my favorite day of the week due to the necessary schedule and typical 'break up' of the time. The situation is almost like there are specific sections of the day that come and go at regular intervals each week, with me following along and using those blocks of time to work on my routine and whatever else needs attention. The day just feels different. I can't fully explain this, but suffice to say that I do enjoy the Sundays and intend to fully embrace those parts of the time that I enjoy. The routine will kick off in roughly two hours. I will also continue to chip away at the small items going into the trash each week. First cup of coffee, third show, cats fed, flags out and the sun is shining.

Yesterday I successfully built two contacts for the garage door and installed one of them. I used brass shim stock because it can bend over and over without breaking down. Two contacts each with two terminals. They connect when the door is closed and send 5V DC to the experimental LED strip on the right side window. I stuck one up there just to see how much glow to expect when I set up the other two, and last night it seemed to look pretty nice from the outside. I still have to clean the windows, though. They catch all the dirt when there is rain. The main idea is at night while the door is closed, all three windows will glow a mysterious red (or whatever color I choose depending upon the mood). Since the test went well, I am going to run full-width strips across the bottom of each window and then fabricate the cabling to join them. The entire system will draw next to nothing. I have more than thirty feet of strips and several LED bulbs already on the color system, and everything combined draws less than a single incandescent light bulb. There will be very little power going to the garage door. I originally found the inspiration after researching lights on the big door, and found a video from a guy in the Midwest who accomplished the feat using a cord reel for the retractable power. I did not want anything so dramatic or intrusive, however. The contacts for my lighting are exposed on one side of the door, but they are only carrying the same 5V DC, which means there is zero danger of anyone being affected. I will still shield the brass a bit, though. That will look better. The other half of the door work is to find a way of mounting the new camera (a gift I received the other day) inside the door so it can 'look' through the window. I'll have to build an arm off the side of the garage that will protrude inward but remain clear of any motion. It will reside opposite the contacts for the lighting.

Everything feels blown wide open, or otherwise exposed and ridiculous. I don't understand the world anymore. Decades ago I didn't care, as I'm sure many feel during the younger years, but later in life some aspects of society must be dealt with on a regular basis. That is where the pitfalls begin. Right now I have much less dealing, if you will. My separation from both work and the social circle have allowed me to remove my concerns from the past and forge new ways of finding satisfaction in life... Almost completely alone. Not the concerns I mention here daily, mind you, only those related to being meshed within the societal machine. Despite my ability to hide away, however, the planet continues to rotate and revolve, and I see what takes place close to home and far away. Bad things at both distances. The paragraph above pretty much sums everything, too. I don't like knowing that world can be such a terrible place. There is no fixing it, unfortunately. Slow decline. Slow backward steps.

Look at Kerry below this section. I saw her on one of the shows and something snapped inside me. Her acting performance -- mostly during the first season when she is more prominent -- crammed so much appreciation into my brain that I nearly could not keep up. A few occasions of staring at her huge, amazing eyes and I began to see the race girl for some reason. I have no clue as to how it happened or why one was related to the other. After realizing what I was thinking, my appreciation for Kerry's face hit an all-time high, and the reason is not what you may think. I started to see her character as a real person in the world and I felt for her, deeply. And then I equated my life to hers (the character) even though they share absolutely zero similarities. I cannot easily explain this. When I see her on the screen during a dramatic, emotional moment, the instinct is dissimlar to others -- I generally either want them to hold me or the reverse; often a strong physical desire -- I need to tell her that I understand, and just looking upon her big eyes during those passages warms me from the inside out. I also fear losing sight, as if I need to know she is there or I will not be alright. This is crazy, I know. The only scenes in which I do not feel as such are when she is unclothed or in an otherwise compromising position. I really do not want to see beneath her clothing, ever. It hurts. Kerry is fast becoming very special to me, and in a way I have not tried to describe here before. I'll have to think further on this before commenting again. And yes, she is beautiful. Shut up.


0825 and I am beginning to feel the need to get some things finished.

Forced induction on gasoline. FORCED is the operative word. The state of world affairs and society continues to be pushed into worsening territory often by nothing more than one tiny person and the urge to be a fucking ridiculous catalyst by flipping the fuck out and causing people to suffer. Just one little person, not an entire nation or army. One person. Such events have been rampant in recent months and causing people worldwide to feel the burn of the fuel. Forced, because the planet is already in shitty condition without someone pushing themselves into the light by creating more damage. And the bad never seem to suffer at all. If I decide to be rude to another person, the world loses a few seconds and the recipient typically does not forget what took place. It is a small example of making things worse. My mood affects another individual, and no one knows how much that feeling may spider out to others, as in the fact that they may now be in a bad mood and translate that to someone else. All caused by me being rude... Once. Perhaps that person I affected was already having a shitty day and then the mood flares even worse upon another. See? That is one tiny sketch in the world. Now take that and amplify it a thousand-fold (or more) and as such we have the resulting burn 'forced' beyond the original energy potential. The gasoline can be compressed, like in an internal combustion engine, or it can be crammed by a supercharger and release energy far beyond its own design. Forced induction. Back many years ago when I used to drag race weekly, such a system was sometimes described by the colloqialism 'blown gas', meaning the 'blower' or supercharger was propagating the 'gas' by force. Blown gas is a way of describing the state of the world. Not some huge war between nations, but a shitload of smaller troubles all added together. I do not see an end to this. The gun laws do what they can but most of the time people cannot see their way through to agreeing with other people and nothing changes. And then blame flies around the world without end. I may not be able to offer a solution, but at least I know as of yet not a fucking thing has made any difference at all. If it had, these recent months would not have contributed to the compression of world fuels.

We have our hands full keeping an eye on the potential for all-out war without some penny-ante dipshit running around fucking shooting innocent people, and then typically themselves. That solves nothing and leaves no resolution other than a never-ending analysis and huge waste of life and time. If you hate people, join the fucking club, asshole. Many people hate many other people and do nothing more than just sit on it because there is NO SOLUTION WHATSOEVER. Going out there and shooting them will not change a fucking thing. Go fuck yourself.

Ah... If we just had a method to scope out those individuals in advance of something bad happening. That could be a really good time. The idea took away my pissy mood after the last couple of paragraphs, too. Nice. I have to begin the routine... 0920.

Blown fucking gas and the girl.

1138 and the routine is finished. Sunday business underway, as well. I'm taking a break to get off my feet for a little while before working elsewhere. Fourth show, cocktail (of course; nothing can change that shit), and the sun is shining, albeit with a ton of cool wind. The ocean is never warm, and when the wind comes from the west there can be no denying the resistance to warm sunshine. I have yet to eat lunch. I looked up another actor who guest starred in one episode and learned that she passed away almost four years ago. Jesus, now I feel bad for wanting to see images of her face. The gravity of this show's age is setting in.

After last night's experiment, I am going to move forward with more LED strips around the bottom of each window.

0644 on Memorial Day. I put the flags out before stepping off to the market this morning for creamer. I am not flying the Ukraine flag today, however. It will remain dark until tomorrow due to flying the POW/MIA colors that are much more important on this day of memorials. Cats fed, hot coffee, and I am glad this morning has arrived. Yesterday I finished the strips on the garage door and the wiring. Everything works as it should and the color shows up somewhat from the outside. I don't know if I'm happy with the system, though. Allie's eyes do not appear as large as they used to. Maybe there is something different about me since two years ago. I don't know. Anyway, today being a holiday means I'll take it easy and do whatever is light. We may venture to the big wine store later for some staples (to keep my 'flaming alcoholic' moniker alive). Right now I don't know, but I will say I'm pretty damned comfortable sitting here with the television and coffee. The girl is in my head even now.

Who is the girl? Someone different? Someone I saw pass by in a store? How many times have I gone on at length regarding some form out there, or a pair of eyes? Too many. At the beginning of the pandemic, I was all goo ga over the girl in the walnut commercial, remember? And then I ran all over the fucking place with those sisters clad in thongs. Jesus, that was a bad one. The blown gas and the GIRL. Which girl? Kerry? Cara? The search... Ah, this day may prove to be good for me. I can already feel some ideas forming inside my head at this very moment. What does this have to do with the girl? Well, let me clue you in... EVERYTHING I do on any given day is backed up by thoughts of the girl. She is directly behind each move, step, whatever. Always there, always alluring and mysterious, and always just out of reach. The girl may be a symbol, or she may simply be a girl. Right now I don't know, but since fantasy is the only satisfying aspect of life for me these days, I may as well run with this shit because there is no other way of remaining level-headed or even slightly able to function. Kerry is not the girl, but she holds a facet. Cara is not, either, yet she similarly carries something important. I chose to place them here because both are beautiful and about as different as two faces can be. Very interesting. And I don't know why ninety percent of the images I found of Cara all have one thing in common, and that is a very pissy expression on her pretty face. I don't know why. Maybe I just think way too much these days.

Fourth show again because I am a basket case. 0731. Second cup. Ok, I will admit that very early in the show -- not this one, keep up -- Kerry was completely nude for a few seconds and I stared at the shape of her upper thighs. There. Happy? Let's move on, shall we? You probably knew I looked at her form already, anyway. And keep in mind that was before my deeply emotional feeling for her began, so shut up.

Ooh-fa, and not in a good way. Not at all. This morning is tough.

I certainly hope there is nothing in the store later. I really don't need to daydream while within the fold of society. That is bad enough while alone. Oh, if something is there, I will stare. No getting around it these days because as time passes I become more and more withdrawn, more and more desperate. And angry. Like right this minute. I cannot unsee certain parts of the past. God damn it anyway. And some of those memories and scenes continue to plague me, like right fucking now. I just don't get it, honestly. If I've done so many bad things or amassed too many wrong decisions, could this be the outcome? Voodoo? Maybe, or maybe not. There is just no way of knowing 'why' anything has happened or played out as it did. I did not have a fucking crystal ball back then, only the feelings of a person. I can't get any of it out of my brain. If we travel to the wine store and I see something that slams my head back to one of the angels, what the hell can I do about it? That's right... Nothing. I'll return home and daydream, harking back to those moments in which all of the tumblers were aligned. I have to go to the store. No way around it.


I already know that my projects would never have worked. There is evidence of my head overloading and losing control while in the presence of so much beauty. I lived it more than once. All I wanted to do was have the time and space to SEE and attempt to UNDERSTAND, and in the end I lost my way and dove into a vat of desire. I failed, really. I failed to perform research due to my lifestyle at the time. Remember when I said I badly desired seeing more of that girl at the pool when she had her knees together? Well, I did, but there was so much more that I am nearly embarrassed to say it. The feelings were not uncontrollable, though. They caused much frustration at the time, however later that same day was an outlet. Eh... This is all so fucking bad. The girl in the title is probably not a girl at all. She is something else entirely. Undefinable, too. Fuck.

The Goddamned laptop just went into power saving mode and the screen dimmed. Shit. I'm all curled up and now I have to grab the power cord to recharge. Ugh.


Garbage trucks tell me that this holiday is still a Monday. One of my two favorite days, but I will not have the house to myself. No big deal. And forget the fucking blown gas topic. I already bitched enough and do not wish to belabor the subject of world affairs, no matter how bad they may be right now. I'll have to focus upon the girl.

The problem is I must still mask some of the true meaning. I can't just spell it out or I'll be ridiculed. Maybe the girl is Arina... An 'idea'? Or perhaps she is more like Jolaimora, a melting pot of everything I have found appealing. I don't know. Could she be the subject of that fucking search? It never ends, so she may be the point for which I have been searching all this time. Just like the one on the side of the highway two years ago (or so), a dream which cannot come true. Remember the train series? Well, I removed it some time ago because the story began to make me nervous due to so much having been revealed. The idea of Julia when she appeared in the caboose, right? Was she just an ordinary woman with insight? Nope. She was fucking stunning and I went into somewhat of a description straight out of my weakened subconscious. Yep... I made her something special, and something of which I've been dreaming for a decade. Why did I do that? Make her a goddess? Well... Too many reasons, some of which are going to result in me being labeled, and I can't have that. Even the tiny Julie who I found lying in a pool of blood in my hotel room was a fucking goddess. The reasoning may be obvious or it may still be cloudy. In any case, I chose to work from my dreams and create characters I could love. And then go a step further and recall the machine from two years ago. That's right... The one I named for the woman I covertly shot with the big Nikon many years ago. This all ties together. Everything missing was piled up, mixed well, and then poured into an impossible mold. Now my ideas of happiness and fulfillment are so far from reality that I may as well just give up. Did I say too much? Shut up.

0852 and I am beginning to feel antsy. I'll care for part of the routine as soon as I tire of typing. And who in the fuck was that random ensign that walked by in the background with the bouncing breasts? Damn this show, anyway. Or? Damn me. Basket case. People look at me and don't even know. Hmm... Maybe they do? Maybe I don't give a fuck either way.

'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.' Indeed. The proverb is nearly six hundred years old. Holy Jesus fuck in a rowboat, Roxann is so far beyond cute that words fail.

That minuscule thong is still within view inside my brain. She may have been the least-clothed woman I've ever seen in public, but that is not the point. You've seen tons of models on these pages -- some of their images retouched and others not -- but she was just a person lying on a lounger while on vacation, not some made-up model in a studio. Lines, striations, radii right there for the taking. No camera, just eyes. In less than three months will pass the three-year mark since that fucking wonderful trip (that I miss daily and will probably never forget), and I still see the entire scene right there. I went to the opposite end of the pool and made sure to avoid gazing at those sisters as I passed, only to turn around and see the younger one with her knees up and a picturesque thigh-gap pointed right for my sorry head. Unbelievable, and likely the pose with which I've been enamored more than any other in life. There was barely enough thin material to cover something which should not be on display, but that I badly needed in my mouth. Yes, I said that. Crucify me, I don't care. I am not embarrassed to admit such strong desire because it is perfectly natural. If you disagree, you are lying to yourself and the screen being read at this moment. Just leave it. I pointed the feeling out here so starkly because I need to convey the sheer power of what took place that afternoon, and the years-long resulting turmoil which continues to grow. I believe that woman lying on her back has been the largest catalyst for huge sections of this web site throughout hundreds of essays. I'm quite certain that if there was a way for readers to comment here, I'd receive more backlash for this paragraph than anything else. Well, stifle it. I don't want or need to hear your shit because I've already got worse thoughts going through my head.

Everyone in the pool area was wearing sunglasses. And at exactly what were they gazing? Each other. Not the palm trees, blue sky, or the beautiful architecture... Each other. Believe it. I was focused upon just three individuals, one of which apparently had the power to turn my life on its ear.

1558, still Monday.

The trip to the big wine store included heading next door for cat supplies. There was only one issue the entire time. I'm not accustomed to taveling over there, shopping and then returning home without something derailing my thought processes. This latest visit was very nice and the only problem was when I returned to the car and spied a girl sitting in the adjacent car. I won't go into detail, but suffice to say that older dream with the long, black hair and red thong came to mind immediately, and I had never seen the face of the girl standing next to me. The girl in the car had an Asian face framed by long, black hair. I've already seen it fade, though. Other than her, there was nothing to worry about. We made it back home and I relaxed a little bit.

0747 on Tuesday, the first day in ten that will find me alone for the next nine hours or so. I've got shit going through my head right now, the kind that can leave me flat if I'm not careful. The morning is peaceful thus far. Hopefully everything doesn't go to shit before long. I really don't need anything else pushing down. A bad (and very unexpected) situation arose some months ago and I have been trying to consider possible causes and ramifications as it repeats, today being one of those days I do not understand at all and would rather not deal with right now. My head goes many years back into the past and I see yet another fucking gradient piled atop the others. This may be a temporary situation or simply a period of time in which things are not what they seem, or it could be the beginning of another decline. I'll tell you what... Another decline right now is going to remove the last of the joy I experience daily. Think about that for a minute. No more joy in anything. The remainder of this day will be partially spent trying to keep my head above water while considering this latest development. There is only one thing which can help. Years ago it seemed improbable. Now I am realizing that solutions are impossible.

The ongoing worry is making me very angry this morning. I'm plain old sick of thinking all the time, yet as of late I have not found a way around some parts of life drifting into my thoughts and causing me to either fall or begin lashing. I actually did lash last night for a moment or two. Sometimes there is just no way around vocalizing so much frustration, and people near me should be thankful I have a measure of control left. The alternative is to return to old habits and push the last few individuals away from me. No one wants that. I'll have to keep in mind of my living conditions and think about whatever can be done to distract me from such a dire situation. The problems cannot take over completely or I'm dead.

The lions have done unconscionable things to me. Irreversible. I'd like to make some canoes.


I suppose this day will move along like all the rest. There is really no choice left to me. Nothing, really. I have to continue to do the routine, enjoy a bit of lunch, and care for whatever seems best from one day to the next. Years ago there seemed limitless possibilities. Now all that openness and promise are gone. This new development which has grown since the beginning of the year is going to cripple me at times and leave all those little things I still enjoy minimized like a window on the computer screen. Lions? Yes, partly. There has been more, though... Much more, from the near to far past, and everything completely beyond my control. Now I am left with nearly zero grasp. Splendid. I suppose I'll have to do my best in suppressing so much raw anger. Keeping busy may be the only option during the day. Evenings are not much of a problem lately.

There is actually one step I can take to help myself, however it is not something which can be mentioned here.

The blown gas is deflagrating inside my head right now, not just beyond these walls and all over the world. I am burning. Do I go back to the 'girl'? I don't know. She is not real. All my favorite pronouns are flying away at high speed.

1052 and my usual routine is finished. I also replenished the bar with staples picked up yesterday. Whiskey next to me. The kitchen was thrashed, yet after employing my typical prowess, it is now polished and ready for preparing lunch and dinner. First show on the television. The day is now wide open to whatever I wish to accomplish, if anything. I have some dry cleaning, but other than that nothing is really pressing. The yeoman on the shuttle is freaking gorgeous. The previous episode guest starred one of the most beautiful women I've seen on the screens in some time. Always something. The episode in question is now fifty-five years of age. It originally aired a mere sixteen days before I was born. Holy crap. And Emily? The actor of whom I speak? Nearly ninety years old.

The girl will supplant the blown gas very soon. I can already see her taking over. The fact is I am preoccupied nearly all of the time with dreams and a dream world, so attempting to push her away is just not going to work. No way. I've seen too many examples of templates and felt too much raw desire for the girl to cease growing in importance. This is bad and will contribute to everything I do on a daily basis in the directions of fortification or security. The simple fact is everything missing leads to anger, and in turn, toward the idea of being alone. Alone requires security. I cannot have my world disrupted in any way. Not now, for sure.

The blown gas has expanded. I honestly believe the conflict has caused a series of lines to have been drawn around the world as nations must suppress the necessary evil of pushing forth and causing open war. I also believe that we will arrive at that point sooner rather than later. Of course, we do not wish it, yet the facts do not lie. One little step and the conflict will widen in scope and then lead to a situation which can make the fucking pandemic crisis seem like a head cold. This all may sound very negative, but try to recall the preparative stance prior to something difficult. Plan for the... Hope for the... You know. And I don't mean to sound cold, but I am out of balance to the degree of believing that my issues can only be truly shoved aside in the case of survival. 'May you live in interesting times.' Yep. The last two-plus years have been almost unprecedented in history. I can use the current world climate to assist in placing what I believe to be debilitating circumstances in true perspective. That sounds better, as the world situation is not my doing at all. Wow... I said something positive.

0624 on Wednesday. Flags, coffee, cat food... Blah, blah, blah Morningcakes.

'No one can walk backwards into the future.'

I've been trying to travel backwards for more than two years. What does that say about me as a person? When reality is no longer enough? When possibility seems dead? Dreams usurp everyday life? I was discussing a few actors last night and one of the movies from the seventies came to mind... About androids. All the way back to the fucking seventies. The Cherry 2000 was during the eighties, although I don't believe I was able to see it until the latter part of the decade, or possibly around the middle of the glow. When it comes to dreaming, androids are not only at the top of a long list, they are also a focal point of my interests in the differing disciplines with which I have worked for years. The film in question came up due to the second actor about whom I began to gush. And then a bit further into the territory of the machinery that was one of the most fascinating aspects of Disneyland during its heyday (to me, anyway) in the eighties. The culmination of all those experiences and ideas is my current state of mind. The backward focus seems to be plaguing me daily now. I look upon those times with fondness and feel that nothing so special is in my future. The daily activites have become slightly more difficult due to imagery swirling in circles within my head while trying to think, and much of the media in the background supports my fantastic visions. If there was just one step further, I could actually become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The girl is right in the middle of all of it. She is the point, really. She is the impossibility of everything.

I nearly removed the remainder of the hedge yesterday. The trailing end is a pretty mangled mess of intertwining stems which seems to be so thick that the leaves and soil have slowly built into a small 'hill' below. That area is going to be a motherfucker to remove, but I happen to have the time. I also cleaned and reconfigured the cat furniture. They can really shred the material over time. Between the two projects, my calves and upper legs are quite sore this morning. Maybe I'll take it easy aside from the routine. I didn't work on the empire yesterday other than some light organization. The door lighting project continues to make me think that it is not exactly what I had hoped when I began. I may remove everything and simply clean the door and windows so they look better. The LED strips do illuminate the windows and glow from the outside, but honestly the idea of the glow being active while the door is closed doesn't really blow my skirt up. Any time there is something going on out there, the door is open, so having it lit while closed may end up just a holiday thing. For the time being, the system will sit and await inspiration.

This morning is a touch lighter than the last, likely due to falling down so fucking hard and then actually making it through the day and being productive in the process. I still don't know how I rose from the morning thinking. That was pretty fucking bad. I guess sometimes the anger does drive me to move around and care for some things rather than sitting still. Productive anger. I recall others telling me something similar in the past, too. I'd rather not be angry, though. This situation is constantly in my head and affects every moment of every day, not to mention dreaming of the shit which can never come to pass short of some divine fucking miracle (or some otherworldly engineering). Maybe I'll sit here for the rest of my life and type the same thoughts over and over. Sound familiar? The lighter morning still has its share of issues. Make no mistake.

West of the world. That's where I am right now... Off-center from a path most would consider 'proper' or 'typical'. Well, not over here. I am not on that path. The road before me is littered with mines and false panels which give way at the slightest pressure and force me to zigzag my way through life, back and forth between work, relaxation, heartache, and anger. Bouncing along... Every now and then I see diorama, something I love and hate at the same time. West of the world; their world, not mine. I cannot believe how different I seem to be from the others I've known. I just can't fucking believe it. No answers as to why I am this way. Nothing. Not a fucking clue. But here I am, nonetheless, dealing with it. The morning may be lighter than those in recent memory, yet still I feel so far away from everything that the lightness is constantly threatened and will end soon enough.


I had to remove 'The Sentient Weaponry' from the site due to the sheer number of assholes going on shooting rampages around the nation. There have been several such events this year, the latest I read just this morning. Here we are, 1003 on Thursday, June 2nd, the year not yet half elapsed, and already many such fucking shit situations have popped up on the news. I can't believe this. For whatever reason, people are flipping the fuck out more than ever. My essay involving figurative guns has nothing to do with what's been happening in the news, yet I can't help but think that using guns as representations of what takes place in my head can be viewed as insensitive. Well, maybe, but just the outside chance is simply too much right now. I've actually been proofreading and adjusting that entry for good form and the thought of leaving it out of the live content came to mind yesterday. The essay is now unavailable and I do not know if or when it may return. I had been very proud of the structure, too. It was tough to write. The greater good must be served because the world has much larger issues than those inside me. That is that.

1123. Routine finished, sun peeking through the gray, cats asleep, booze a'flowin.

Ah... In light of recent world crises, this is beginning to pale. The importance is within me, yet I cannot hold it up as I had in the past. The site will have to remain in the background of life. Still, I feel that nagging compulsion to write what I must.

I believe other than laundry, I shall remain indoors today. My legs and back are feeling the effects of working so diligently on the hedge two days ago and I need rest. Fortunately, I have both the time and space to do whatever is in my own best interest. Good God, Majel may have been absolutely fantastic as Lwaxana, but back in the sixties she was stunningly beautiful. No wonder Gene married her. Well, Lwaxana was beautiful too... God rest her soul. Yes, I'll remain inside and work on whatever feels important. And now something completely out of balance...

The girl is beautiful beyond description.
The girl is made to understand me.
I need not be concerned with what the girl may be thinking.
I need not be concerned with making requests of the girl.
The girl must be happy and feel loved.
Half of my existence must be devoted to ensuring the girl is content.

And more...

The blown gas will destroy the world.
The blown gas is already at work, on both small and large scales.
The blown gas is inside people's heads.
I am less than half concerned of the results of the blown gas.
The blown gas cannot destroy the girl.
The blown gas has furthered my fatalism more than anything in existence.

Maybe I'll switch to the vampires and build a model. That sounds very relaxing right now. It can also facilitate photography which I have not embraced for some weeks. I often recall those days building the big cars with the vampires keeping me company and a nice cocktail sitting nearby. I was very comfortable in doing so and felt almost completely at ease with regard to society. I have developed my own little society inside this tiny house. Ah... There is the face which promoted much conversation last year. I appreciate this episode more now than ever. If I live to be three hundred years of age, I would still not have adequate time to express my appreciation for what Gene created more than fifty years ago. The canon is in my heart.

I've decided that staying inside today is a good plan. I have lunch in the oven and laundry in the washer. The empire door is still closed because I'm feeling like being shuttered. The first show is still playing on two televisions as I move around the house. The girl is in my brain, all gorgeous and big-eyed. She is a dream above almost all others. Almost. Keep in mind that the one 'thing' I desire more than anything in the world is not a woman or some sort of 'understanding'. It is a wristwatch. Put that on a mirror and snort it. The female character in this story has blonde hair but such color does not detract from her allure. She carries much of the map I have filed away. Believe it. Chrissakes. I could...

0735 on a very drizzly Friday morning. Coffee and the usual stuff going on, although the flags are nice and dry in the garage rather than on display. They are not the 'storm flag' variety, so they must remain out of inclement weather. The front of the house has been a bit inconsistent of late, mostly due to the precipitation. No big deal. My display is my own. I have the fourth show on for posterity, second season. I may quiet the entire house in order to proofread more. Yesterday I did indeed remain indoors for much of the time. The little bit of garage work was laundry and the lower canopy over the window display that I began the day before. All the glue had dried, so I attached the canopy to the window cover and ran a test. Aside from those two items, nothing else went on out there. Allie's eyes do not appear as large as they did two years ago. Maybe my sense had been distorted out of desperation. I would not be surprised. I'm worse now, though. Believe it. She has that bright smile, too. Very pretty.

Every now and then I am slapped in the face by something related to the space program and shown on the news. I was a part of that and fairly proud of it, whereas now I only feel loss. Apparently there is another woman going into space very soon and she was featured on the news this morning. To be honest? My head was operating as two separate halves, one gazing at her and wondering what that level of anticipation feels like, and the other was staring at her dark hair and eyes. Double slap? Does it matter?

This morning is no different. I expect it sometimes and usually deal with it in one of two ways. I don't know what else to do and as of yet have been unable to affect any change. Likely, the alteration has not yet been important enough to me for action. I just don't fucking care yet. My feelings are so low on the priority ladder that they may as well not be acknowledged at all. I believe this is where I will remain as the dreamy girl continues to attach herself to my thoughts (not hopes). I think about the girl and everything she could represent quite often, leaving me in a pit and a slave to the knowledge that sitting here every day for the rest of my life is about as good as it will get. The morning is a symptom of the largest shift in consciousness ever. All I can do is fucking lump it. Pound sand. Kick rocks. Whatever you wish to say and however you may say it, that is all there is. Allie has a pretty large chest behind that dress. Just a thought.

More tension in the east, meaning the gas is still being forcibly compressed. The girl cannot help the gas. The people who can affect the gas are fucking idiots and will no make a change for the better. They are blind, hungry, and in the position to do whatever they wish for the time being, or until the entire surface is fried. And I sit here and worry as little as possible while feeling the acute sting of knowing that the girl is about as likely as my growing wings and flying to the space station so I can jump the girl on the news this morning. Yes... I am THAT bad. Mentioning Allie's seemingly oversized pair of breasts is nothing. Imagine what I could write about the thong girl. I've been holding back quite a lot lately. Be happy.

The blown gas is the only large concern right now because the rest can be dealt with in a fairly straightforward manner. The girl is pretty fucking difficult, though. I will write about my feelings over and over. There is nothing else I can do. There is nothing anyone can do. And one more time because I've not mentioned it for a while...



I suppose I'll go back to proofreading the other essay for a while. This is going nowhere, like always. I just keep typing for whatever reason, somewhere in the middle trying to tie everything in to a title.

The girl is pushing me into dire thinking. I do not like this at all. It reminds me of going through the motions at work years ago, feeling disappointment over being relocated to a facility far outside my comfort zone, and then deciding to simply turn the car and drive out the fucking gate. That drive concluded with me trying to draw cash off my card and then being led to the bank. And there was you-know-who behind the teller line and my very first reckless maneuver. The girl in my head has been pushing all morning. The only upside is that I am living present life as a hole in the world... I cannot go anywhere, least of all another state. Now, you're probably asking yourself: Would I actually leave? You bet your sweet ass I would, and with nary a glance to the rear. Unfortunately, I've had enough education in preparedness to know that the type of position required in such an adventure is impossible and probably will be for the rest of my life barring anything miraculous. And so I sit right here and see her face in my head. I think about who she is and what she could be to me, and then nothing comes of it. This is going to last a while. I am so fucking depressed right now that if foreign soldiers began to track up my driveway, I'd probably throw something at them with two middle fingers on display. Nothing they could do would be worse than what I am feeling right now.

Soldier: 'On the ground, now!!'
Me: 'Fuck off, cunts. I'm in a bad mood.'

0835 and I need some fucking inspiration. Once again I have to point out the massive upside to having all this time and space, and that is a combination of quiet and control. Soon that combination may be all I have left in the world. I am beginning to look around the house differently than I have in a decade. Desperate, weakened, but not fucking stupid.

Juliette's breasts were straining the silk blouse so as to create little ovals where the buttons held tight. Not a lot, but enough to accentuate the fact that she was curvy while slender. I still don't know how in the fuck that even happened in the first place, but I will say that I shall not look upon her like again. No way. Believe me, if there was even the slightest possibility, I would already be selling off my possessions like an escaped mental patient. What I wouldn't give to experience the feeling of those loving arms one more time...

The girl does not exist. Marvelous. Another reason to motherfuck the whole world.

The current situation is beyond frustrating and I have not clue one as to how I made it this far. Each day shows me possibilities, yet my brain cannot rise above the din enough to fully embrace any of them beyond the typical daily work. The smallest chore appears insurmountable, as if my ambition has been lowered so far that distraction is nearly impossible. During the routine, I feel the nostalgia of having improved the media system to the point of entertainment following me around the house. Once complete, though, everything bad returns and leaves me at the mercy of time. I've become so desperate that I actually look in the yard and down the hall in the hope that the representative 'girl' will turn a corner and appear to save me. Sometimes I hope for the race girl and her understanding eyes, and other times I yearn for anything with the power to help. And though I can sit here and type for hours, nothing has even scratched the surface of what is now a mass of underlying issues all rolled into one figurative portrait.

0916 and I feel as if the planet has ceased its rotation.

The Roku screen saver is rolling by with an image of someone I really do not need to see right now. Maybe the ugly head is rearing again. I don't fucking need that, either.

1114 and the routine is finished. Laundry in the dryer. I had a snack. Fourth show. Brain saturated. Pissed off. Fuck you. Fuck off.

I don't know what to do now. Imagery of the girl is swirling, the problems are seemingly unsolvable, and the conflict continues to expand. I wish I had the power of the blown gas. Perhaps then I could affect change. Alas, I am tiny and insignificant. I was in the empire just now to fold laundry and gazing at my artwork all over the walls. none of it really makes any difference in my life. Just decorations. Pencil and paint. Lights so everything is pretty at night. It is just a large room. I still have a load of dry cleaning awaiting my attention, but other than anything necessary for maintaining the house hold, there is no drive present. All I feel is loss... Loss of time, ambition, fulfillment and happiness. The blown gas can help me if it is to expand across the sea and cause destruction. I truly hope that does not take place, yet there is nothing else in the world with the power to alter my decline. At least the house is quiet other than my friends up there on the television. Quiet is good, and something I yearned for throughout the course of years. Is it too much? No way. Never. My days are open to whatever I feel may be best. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

The issue I suspected earlier this year has reared itself once again, much to my dismay. I really don't fucking need this shit right now. Months ago it was merely suspicion, whereas now I believe it to be true, and something over which I have zero control. Yes, that word which helps me to live life when all else is failing. I have no control over this and the resulting mood will undoubtedly force me into making changes others will not enjoy. The bad mood since last fall is now worse. I still see the possibility that the future could find me with help, yet each passing second seems to remove or lessen the same. In the previous paragraph I stated that I did not know what to do in a general sense. Well, now the idea is more specific. The current month is June. If I do not find a solution -- or at least some assistance and understanding -- before the close of the upcoming holiday season, I will be dead soon after. This is something without which I am unable to live. Believe it. I've had enough shit to plow. More is now too much. To employ the emotion of 'anger' in another sentence or context is simply not enough. I do not have the fucking words, but mark these... The end of the world is coming.

Still no lunch because my stomach is uncomfortable. 1236. Nothing but loss now. I should have followed through just after Ashley. I should have known. I don't even like the word 'should'. The lion's power was nowhere near comparable to this. I need some fucking help, right fucking now. I'd seek therapy again, but I already know the process would only lead to more anger and one derailed therapist. I've done it too many times. The girl may well be the only semblance of understanding in this world. She doesn't exist.

Nothing. Anger and sadness. Empty.

I saw the smiling faces and still do from time to time. Unfortunately, they are gone like everything else which makes me smile. I don't even have the drive to work in the garage with alcohol and loud, damaging music. This is a very sad state of affairs. I feel like two miles of bad road awaiting repair that can never arrive. Maybe a well-placed call to the east can yield an attack just large enough for one person... Me.

Eh... I am nowhere near that important.


I suppose I'll put on some movie and have lunch. I don't really feel like eating, though. I feel like drinking everything in the house. Damn it. Where is that fucking fictional girl when I need her to yell at me? What a fucking impossible conundrum.

'Do it'.

I didn't ask for this shit. Look at the image below and all those lines running everywhere. HOW IS THAT EVEN FUCKING POSSIBLE? I am losing grip right now. Her face reminds me of the girl down the street that I met some months ago. Good thing I never saw her again or I probably would have made an idiot of myself with some kind of attempt at communication. Goo, goo, ga, ga... Blah, blah, blah... Anothergoddesscakes. I definitely would have crossed the professional line and wreaked a bad situation upon all involved. I already know it. How I made it out of there without lighting a fire is beyond me. The model in the images above and below looks precisely like the dark beauty over there at the south end of town. I still see her because I am a fucking basket case and dealing with more problems than I am capable of solving. I did not even BEGIN to ask for this. Fuck you and what you're thinking. Shut the fuck up. The world made me this way. Wanna shut me up for good? Come over here and shoot me in the neck.

There was a situation some years ago at a job in the city. We had to enter a light well to do a quick repair which required shutting down the water to the entire building and then draining. I killed the water and waited. The light well was in an occupied apartment. Shortly thereafter, I saw something unbelievable and nearly destroyed the entire day along with my career. I didn't, yet the closeness almost ruined me for all time. I cannot go into detail, but suffice to say there was an image before my eyes that spun the calendar all the way back to the Polynesian and Andrea on all fours. I spoke to her. We finished the work and departed after returning water to its previous pressurized state. This story is an example of how weak I had become by that point in time, and I believe the period was the summer of seventeen... Five years ago. Imagine how fucked up I am right now. My state has become so fragile that I have no doubt something bad will happen before the end of the year. This new problem has put more pressure on my head than anything in memory. I've never felt so much anger.

0657 on Saturday morning. Flags, coffee, cat food, friends on the television. Head up inside clothing.

Wow, yesterday I decided to watch an older mob film and then into the evening, the sequel. Well, part of it anyway. There was a face unlike any other which I had forgotten. She was up there during the glow, too, and I didn't realize at first. The film came and went during that time as I was focused upon other parts of life. I saw her again last night and was reminded of some feelings when she was young, and then that realization translated to the present helped me to put some of my anger from earlier in the day into perspective. She helped without even knowing, and mostly due to the timing, not her gorgeous face. The beauty cannot be denied, but the important aspects are what I had been living through thirty years ago. She simply brought me back to likely the most fulfilling time of my life. And boy oh boy did I stare. That crooked upper lip just killed me inside. Unbelievable.

I am still reeling from the difficulty yesterday. Evening time was fine, though. Comfortable, for the most part. The earlier part of the day faded mostly so I could relax and enjoy the quiet time at night. It's coming back now, however, and I sincerely hope I am not at the mercy of the past again. I also do not need that newer circumstance that I have yet to understand. Three facets of that stuff now. Three. Only one is good, but I'll probably never feel it again. The other two shall rule me. This early in the morning and on a day when I do not have much to accomplish means lots of time for thinking, and that can get me into hot water if I'm not careful. I'll begin dreaming of the girl and then shit goes south. I'm trying to avoid that right now, believe it or not. The imagery is an everyday occurrence because of my weakened state. Yesterday was that symptom combined with trouble I had not imagined just a few years ago. And then the other situation popped into my head... The one I mentioned a few times over which I've never had control. There was a reminder a few entries back, remember? Well, when combined with the dire thinking each day, my comfort level drops through the fucking floor and I end up angry again. I don't think the face and crooked lip last night are contributing as much as they could right now, though. The issue is mostly related to memories. One minute at a time, I guess. The girl could help.

Today is going to be fairly mellow. I took care of some business yesterday in order to free up time to work on other projects which will hopefully be more enjoyable. I'll know soon enough. The mood is still shit despite my free time being wide open to whatever I need. There is enough missing and out of place to force the perpetual anger into me. It is here to stay. If I've learned anything throughout the last two-plus years, it is the idea that everything wonderful is now on the road behind. Just memories. So, the focus has to shift during the mornings so I can advance the house and shut down the bad feelings at the same time. Mellow is the key. So far, I've been at sixes and sevens over this shit and it has to ease up some before I lose my mind. The past rears its head often enough for me to predict issues. But then? A reminder pops onto the screen like last night and I am propelled into images and memories of the real glow before finally falling on my face with a combination of pissy and sad. I have to keep everything organized inside so the day can move along and be at least somewhat fulfilling before evening time. I may be upset most of the time, but that doesn't mean I want to blow up.

Tired of this. I have my own supercharged fuel.

0809 and I have to get to the work soon. My head is all over the map this morning, from thirty-plus years ago to the time of the lions and on to the present and everything I think about almost constantly. I would not have need to be concerned with the past in the correct situation. Lots of things would improve very quickly. On the other hand, I have the fuel. One is impossible and the other is improbable. The girl... Not Arina or anything else I've created to deal with daily life and try to understand, but a representation of everything which needs to change. Yes, this is another ill-fated and ridiculous entry designed to allow for exploration in the interest of learning why things have become this bad, yet despite my efforts and actual open mindedness in the exposition, nothing is changing. Nothing. I am still sitting here feeling as I have for a very long time and without answers. I made up another figure to help, but is she helping? Or am I merely deluding myself for the tenth time with another stupid fucking idea of how to proceed each day? This is why I can only sit her for so long. Eventually everything goes bad and I end up pissed off no matter what's been covered. Years of this, and still I am doing the same thing. Do you know what the answer is? Shove it in your ass.

The girl would never hurt me.
The girl would always hold me.

The blown gas is going to hurt me.
The blown gas holds only force.

Still sitting here. I paused the show for a while so I could read some of the other entry that needs attention. The one I pulled offline for good form. That was a watershed moment in the history of this site because it literally relates every type of difficulty that's been pointed at me throughout decades and organizes them into understandable, quantifiable groups. I am proud of that one even though the main ideas are all very negative and hurtful. At least I wrote the thing instead of allowing the bad mood to manifest itself in real life. That is never good.


That model has Andrea written all over her. Different hair, maybe a little taller, but she's there. I ran across the woman above by accident, too. I was looking for someone else. Now it's personal. Andrea's skin was nowhere near that dark, though.

Striations... Ugh. Subject change immediately. I am not helping myself by gazing at such imagery. Weakness, for sure. I am not proud of myself, either.

0854 and I am STILL at the editor. IDE. Whatever people call it these days. Still here. I did some research into a different type of portable computer and ended up in a circle, so I gave up. This will have to suffice until I can get another desktop machine. The physical hardware inside this laptop does not have the power for another OS upgrade, so eventually I have to either replace the motherboard and memory, or go for something else. Nearly five years have had me sitting and typing on this rugged machine, too. The problem is upgrading this to be ready for the future could be more expensive than an entire desktop with four times the power. Ugh. I originally opted for this because we traveled a few times per year and I wanted something tough. Now? We don't really go anywhere far very often, so perhaps I can just leave it alone and use the cloud documents application here and then transfer to the desktop later. I really do not want to completely shift to another machine because this one is fantastic. Time passes and software changes, so at some point I have to make a decision. Another rugged laptop is out of the question, though. Way too fucking expensive and I don't really have that much of a need.

The gas has not yet blown, really. I keep looking and learning, too. Remaining informed of world events has never been more important, be it the pandemic, other nations having trouble, or the invasion in the east. I need to stay updated as much as possible in case the fuel goes up. The blown gas has the ability to deflagrate very quickly (still subsonic, though) and wreak havoc on the world. Escalation means we have to be as ready as is feasible. I don't like the subject, but only an idiot would ignore what is happening over there. The girl is another story. She is hurting me without lifting a finger.

I am going to try remaining conscious of the overall situation being in this house all the time. For years I dreamed of being free of work and the difficulties inherent in such a physical career, and now I have no concern over such things because I am not only completely separated from the need to hold a job, but the connections which disturbed me from time to time are all but gone from life. The bar is a distant memory now, as evidenced by the numerous mentions of how many months have passed since I sat there with the usuals. There was always a background level of discomfort, and I am not referring to anything walking by or entering the bar and sending my brain sideways. I mean to say that the wall I held up was heavy no matter how I may have identified with others. It was tiring, and no matter how often I sat there or who may have been present, the discomfort was constant. I felt the need to be away from the public eye and home. If I recall correctly, there were but a few occasions of being there since the big football game in February. This is June. They probably think there is something wrong with me. Ooh-fa, if they only knew the truth of the situation. Eh... Fuck it. I made a solid decision to remain here and stuck to it. That's probably the only thing I've been proud of for a very long time. And it was necessary for my peace of mind.

Sundays make me think of that past routine of work and the bar. I've said this before, but Sunday was the day I tried to get everything in order by a certain time so there was ample time for relaxation before returning to the grind on Monday morning. Now? The present circumstance? I don't have to be concerned with time. There is the occasional responsibility that brings me a touch of discomfort, but nothing like what used to take place weekly. And then the huge downside... Plenty of time for me to think about everything. Yep.

0924. I have to move around for a while. The television has been silent for an hour so I can work here, and the house still needs to be quiet for another hour or so. Perhaps I can care for half the routine and then head in some other direction. I need something to do in order to extract the girl and all she represents from my tired brain. She is the impossible solution. Well, the blown gas could be another solution, albeit a very unpleasant sort.

1005 now, part of the routine finished, and my typical glass of booze is next to me, all icy and lovely. Just one, though. I never have another until many hours later. My ambition is already pretty damned low, and one more glass of alcohol will squash whatever remains. I have to be careful. There has been a cat hanging around the yards lately, probably much younger than the two living inside. The guy is a hunter, too. He already snagged a mole (or vole, I'm uncertain of which) from the front and ran with it. I don't know where the cat lives, either. He or she just shows up from time to time and spends a little while in the yard, mostly the back. My cats sit behind the screen door and clock it, too. Very entertaining. As for the time today, I don't know where I will go from here. Roxann gets more and more gorgeous as the days go by. Holy crap. Anyway, the house is still quiet at this hour, but at least I cared for part of my stuff already. The rest will be completed in good time. After? Not a clue as of yet.

The girl is a combination of very beautiful but damaging pictures. Inside, she is everything I need. These are the reasons I can't focus upon the idea for too long... I'll shut down. When something is impossible, the best course is to let it go and direct attention in some other way. That is the 'balanced' method, though. I am far from balanced and tend to dwell on the fact that there is an impossibility and cannot deal with it. The correct path would be to shift focus. My problem -- and this is something I've struggled with my entire life -- is the mere fact of no solution forces me to endlessly agonize. The girl is impossible, yet I have no intention of letting her go because there is no way to reconcile otherwise. I can't fucking do that because of all that is missing. The flip side, to actually leave the idea behind and move forward, shows me an equally impossible future. Everything will stay exactly as it is, or possibly worsen. Given the choice, I will continue to dream of a way out of this shit in the form of a very beautiful, understanding and loving woman. How's that for fucked up? Pretty nice, right? As much as I will try to exposit her in one or just a few entries, my fear is that she will be here in perpetuity. Also fucking splendid. I may not have a choice due to the power of dreams. Those dreams take over all to often and leave me with a reality of which I no longer wish to be a part. This is all so very bad.

The horizon shows me no improvement. 'An horizon of purples and reds; the still waters of my welcome end.' Yes, indeed, Mr. Stainthorpe. I could not agree more. I look out there and see nothing... No help, no understanding, nor any relief from a condition only partly equated to my own actions. I believe the girl will stay for a long while. I really do. There is no reason to think otherwise due to the idea having so much raw power. The solutions all rolled up into a gorgeous form. See? Even Jaime -- the original dream born of those covert photographs -- didn't move me as much, and keep in mind I fucking love her. No matter what takes place in real life, I am destined to be driven toward an impossible dream, one which seems the only repair procedure available. My future was written long ago. Destiny? I don't know what the hell that means anymore. Fate? No clue of that one, either. Basket case.

I have to write about the fried druit soon. Yes, I said fried druit, switching the first letters of dried fruit. It's a long story. The other day I was speaking of the glow, and a time when I had been working at night and recording the shows every Thursday to watch when I arrived home, typically sometime after midnight. That period continues to grow in importance and increase the gradient between then and now insofar as my feeling content or happy. Ugh. I'll get to it whenever the mood fully strikes.


There she is again, all dark and curvy. Are you sick of seeing scantily-clad females here? I am, too. But... Consider the source, people. I am far from well.

God damn it anyway. This is fucked.

1052. There is a fire not far from here. Tons of sirens. I went to the fire dispatch site and there are at least five engines less than a mile away due to a house fire. I hope no one is hurt. Damn. My problems tend to pale when something like this takes place. Bless the firefighters.

But I still have problems. Nothing goes away. The girl keeps floating into my brain. The blown gas cannot do a fucking thing to extricate dreams. They are just too damned powerful. And no matter how much of this shit is my own doing through actions, inactions or decisions, the fact remains that I am here, in the middle of whatever you wish to call it, and nothing can change it aside from some fucking miraculous set of circumstances, not a war or fire. Nothing. The girl came into my head out of sheer necessity. She is here, all beautiful and caring, and for the long haul. A symbol, of you will. Also? An escape from the idea that nothing can ever improve, or the realization that the strength required in rising above so many negatives may not reside within my being. Don't fucking argue with me.

Sunday morning, 0638. Very drizzly outside. Gray. Not bad. I used to yearn for this type of weather during the valley days. Very hot out there during the summer. Coffee, fourth show, no flags. Yesterday went very differently than I had first imagined. I received a message mid-morning and learned that less than a mile from home was an event of which I had no prior knowledge. I decided to head over there for a little while and say hello to some people I hadn't seen in a long time. It was ok... Lots of history. I returned during the mid-afternoon and cared for the rest of my business for the day. Overall, not bad. Hard to believe that the organization held such an event right in my own neighborhood. While there, I learned that no one had been hurt in the fire (which was literally right across the creek from the event). Very good.

Yesterday's anger has turned to sadness this morning. Back and forth. I was pretty upset about everything, then after returning home in the afternoon I felt a little better. There is a story related with a catalyst, but I can't go into it here. Suffice to say, I witnessed the interaction between two people and I am more than overjoyed that the living situation over here is radically different and very peaceful. I believe improving was because I came home. This is the only place I am truly comfortable anymore, and going out to shop or whatever only solidifies the feeling of security while home. Those little trials help me to remain mindful of the value of my free time and space. The sadness this morning only relates to the girl. Like the old song, 'she's not there'. Not there at all. Not anywhere, really. Not real. Not with me. Just... Not. The more I feel I need her to help me, the further away she seems. Maybe those eyes on the side of the highway eighteen months ago were indicative of one 'level' of desperation, this current situation being an exponent. I saw her standing and dreamed that maybe she was the one adventurous soul I needed to latch on to for comfort. Eh... That was the height of desperation, I guess. A few miles further up the road and the idea changed enough for me to keep the sight in perspective.

I remember wishing to run away with the hybrid at work. We were close, even flirty sometimes, but underneath was friendship. The real thing there, honestly, so nothing further would have been possible. I still dreamed of dashing off into the sunset with her, though. I couldn't help it most of the time and I believe she knew that I had feelings for her that were being suppressed. Nothing ever came of it for two reasons, her feelings being one of them. The running? I even dreamed of doing it after the first occasion when I basically drove my car out the gate and straight into the arms of Juliette. That had been years before the hybrid and I were close, too. And I probably would have attempted it again, although I don't believe there would have been a return trip the second time. By the point of running away with Andrea, my connections in life were minimal and I was not concerned with anything others may have been thinking. Every single indication that something was near snapping inside me was shoved back far enough to heep any trouble hidden from other people. That was very important, and I still feel the same at this very moment. No one knows of what the deep thoughts are at any time because I do not want the information available for societal consumption. There are plans in my head. I just don't have the resources to carry them out. The hybrid was the closest 'dream girl' to the imagery in my brain at the time. Years later there was another, but I will not speak of her. I don't believe a year has passed in life since the Shilo period in which I did not daydream of some 'girl' coming to my rescue. As ridiculous as that may sound, I felt it anyway. Strongly. The need is indicative of the sheer level of weakness inside. Directly related.

Now? The girl is all that shit rolled up and tied with a bow. Beautiful, able to save me, and the very image of everything I may need to hold me up. Not good. NOT GOOD. At least I realize I'm fucked up. Hence the anger turning to sadness again. I should be accustomed to it by now.

Rain outside. I guess no flags today.

The girl represents so many things that I am experiencing difficulty articulating all of it. She is too much sometimes. I don't know how to get the point across. There is a feeling attached; one of understanding, but that is not enough. The feeling encompasses tons more than just a few words can describe, and it goes all the way back to childhood, honestly. The same mysterious longing back then is still inside me and has likely been the driving force behind many of my snap decisions. The one seven years ago was a prime example of my almost constant questioning of... 'Is that her? Did I finally locate the dream?' I threw myself in such a direction and nearly destroyed everything out of weakness and longing. Fucking stupid, I realize. Don't say it. The girl then equated to the girl now, and as a result they are one and the same. All of the little dreams and encounters became rolled up together to form this girl. I don't have the fucking words to fully translate these ideas. I really don't. This will have to suffice because I don't know what the fuck else to say about the formation of such a powerful symbol.

Hmm... A symbol. That's a good one. Maybe I do have a few more thoughts. Who in the blue fuck is that dark, long-nosed and uncredited security officer in the background? Jesus holy hell is she ever gorgeous. Maybe she was the girl during the nineties? Heh. Laugh it up. The girl is the biggest problem right now. Out of my control and out of my mind. I keep thinking of all those desperate gazes around the highways and parking lots, stores and restaurants, in which my mind considered the possibility that something was there... Or could be there for me. Something helpful, understanding, gentle and kind. Caring and fucking stunningly beautiful. Do you see this? I've become so fucking twisted that my own words are appearing alien. All those years of turning my head back and forth in hopes of the girl being out there... Somewhere... Waiting. The search from the beginning of the pandemic? The same. Those long legs and heels gliding across the parking lot to the south? The same. The pants? Well, close to the same. I ran my ass off years ago and fell into the arms of caring so many times that I probably could have bought a house in this town with the money tossed to the winds. Splendid.

There had been an understanding, caring and beautiful woman, but I can't talk about her. The pain is acute. And then there was another, but I can't talk about her, either. Maybe I should stick to the blown gas because this subject, like most others in the more than three hundred entries, is going nowhere. The Westin balcony is shining.


Sunday means Sunday business in a while. Easy stuff. The weather will probably preclude anything further. I can still do some organization in the garage, though. One door closed. I will have the house to myself for some hours later, too. The day shall be quiet and peaceful.

The primary subject here was to be the blown gas, those aspects of the world no one seems to control, yet my brain continues to drive the content toward her. Damn it. And there is Roxann again, all soft and gorgeous, lips and eyes. Jesus is she ever a beauty. The content has not been steered toward Roxann, it has been toward 'her'. Fix it.

0835. Still light rain out there. I'll have to look at the forecast. And this entry is long. Another gorgeous but uncredited background character. Too many sometimes. My head is not on straight. The humidity is through the roof right now, as well. It goes with the rain, but honestly makes the inside of the house somewhat uncomfortable. This will pass.

When I searched for the entry involving the woman on the side of the highway, I ran across 'The Code Project' and some exposition about my perpetual attempts to hide myself from prying eyes. My car back then was a cocoon of sorts, and the feeling of being comfortable within it was important due to the length of my commute. A little world in there. And the idea of creating 'cover' near me while dining. All those procedures were products of being deeply introverted and self-conscious. I was constantly observing my surroundings and wishing to be hidden from view, no matter what I had been doing or my location. Those needs translate to the girl, as she would 'know' of what takes place inside me at any given time and could adapt accordingly. But there is more and it is difficult to describe. Rather like the connection that formed between Andrea and myself in a matter of hours with very few spoken words. I still don't fully know what happened on that flight, and the feeling was further evidenced by her dire need to get away and ask me for help in doing so. I could not understand what was between us, nor could I deny her wishes. Once she called me 'love', everything else in the world melted away. A new one began to form. Such are my feelings at this very moment for the girl... Alone and together, always knowing. As I said, this is tough.

I've created a few portmanteaus since the beginning of the pandemic, some involving proper names and others simply words, such as Jolaimora or the Andreoid. Periods of yearning for a combination of those for whom I felt deeply drove the ideas and left me in worse shape than before. I kept creating fictional beings and dreamed of the type of feelings I needed forming parts of them. The girl is an extension, with no name or other identifers because I do not know how she might appear in person. I never captured Jaime's face while nearby and pointing my huge camera at her, nor can I recall if I actually saw it. Faceless, partly. There was only enough to see that the feature for which I have a fetish was present. That's a big draw. I never formed a different name or set of names involving hers, and don't know why. All I did was create an android bearing her fictional name (because I made it up and spelled it incorrectly) and dreamed up her full appearance out of a combination of those with whom I've actually spent time in reality. And now I forgot where I was heading with this line of thinking. Damn it. Good thing the laptop is operating on line voltage instead of the batteries. Heh. I may be here for some hours.

There was always one name or another which became the focus for a while. Now I don't have one for the girl. She is just a girl. A woman. Whatever. An idea; the conglomeration of many features and details, none of which seem to be possible in reality. Perhaps each part came from one of those names, other more physical details coming from those I've known personally. Ideas and dreams. And then the actual dreams from when I slept. Everything rolled up and tied with a bow. But I no longer have a combination of words to employ. There is no point anymore because I am terribly out of balance and this is all so fucking stupid anyway. Writing can be cathartic, yet mine seems to be worsening the present condition through unrealistic desires and the process of spelling them out is the primary cause. Every time I describe some aspect of the girl, I see a face smiling back at me and find myself further from real life. Drowning, but willingly. No name. Just feelings and impossibilities. I need to get away from this but the compulsion keeps me at the keyboard this morning. The work can wait, I suppose. There is not much to do anyway.

Sherry Jackson portrayed the android named Andrea. That was a big deal at the time because I did not remember the episode from so many years ago, nor did I recall her appearance. Well, I again familiarized myself with the entire series, her episode being toward the beginning and right smack in the middle of me dreaming of a machine. There she was... A fucking STUNNING machine bearing the name of one of the greatest loves of my entire life. I imploded. Sherry was fucking amazing to see. The episode effectively drove me to dream on deeper levels and exposit far too much regarding a machine. That was a bad time, but it faded. I still mention the dream machine from time to time but not nearly as much as two years ago. The girl is not a machine, she is many other things, most notably a dream. I have no wish to pile one impossible idea atop another. That would be going backwards (even more than I already have). Living in the past means her physical appearance on the show will never change for me. Again... I've been derailed from the subject. And again, this is all so fucking stupid.

I knew full well that the idea of a machine was the only way. The girl is the same... The only way. One became the other, and that means I've taken into consideration those other figures -- the one with the knife and then Arina -- and the effects they've had upon me over time, combining ideas and fragments into one, massive dream. And now I've tied that fucking dream to the search. 'She is out there.' Nope, I'm afraid not. I have a better chance of going into orbital space than finding anything of the sort. Still, and despite all the negatives and inherent problems, the girl is the only way.

Do you get the meaning? Do you see the conclusion? Simple... There is no way. Nothing. Not a chance in hell.

Maybe I've been saying the same thing a thousand different ways. Eh... None of this matters, anyway. Just words on a page. I mean... Who the fuck am I, anyway? Someone of note? Ugh, that is another story.

0942, still quiet. I just ran across a fucking huge cache of images -- all Daria, the one above and below -- which are of excellent resolution. Get used to her being here. Maybe the girl resembles Daria... Basket case. Honestly, part of Daria's appeal is the fact that the girl up the street that I met once is nearly a ringer for the face. I'm not joking, the girl was THAT fucking cute. Ooh-fa, off the rails again, partly. I need to get some Sunday business out of the way right now. The usual plus garbage, and the rain is easing some. I must look at the forecast.

1141 and no more rain. The routine is finished, although I still need to check out the refrigerator and see if there are any science experiments that have to go and may yield more dish work. No big deal. I actually enjoy ensuring our kitchen is in good shape, and Sunday is like a line in the week. The key to that enjoyment is the fucking television, an extension of my deep-seated need for a near-constant connection to those characters who have become my family. Laugh it up. That's how far out of balance I've become. Anyway, I still have chores and lots of quiet to work through them. This is the ideal situation for me, especially considering the sheer amount of desperation for anything comfortable. I FUCKING NEED THIS. Believe it.

Something popped into my head while washing the dishes. The massive amount of time that science fiction programming follows me around the house -- from nearly dawn to dusk and beyond, seven days per week -- may have had a large influence upon my sense of dreams versus reality. The shows have become second nature to me after all this time, and I am speaking from the glow until the present, more than thirty years. All the way back to sitting at the dining table in Michigan with my drawing materials and a VHS tape of the second show playing to my left, over a speaker system I designed and constructed specifically for that very same program, I've drawn deep solace from the stories, settings and characters. All that time has saturated my brain with a mass of fictional technology, from a simple flat-panel touch interface and on to the complexity of holograms, androids, and particle synthesis, only one of which can exist in reality. Well, perhaps the other two will come to fruition after I am gone. That type of immersion likely deposited thinking into my brain that did not occur prior to becoming so heavily dependent upon what I watch daily. Look at Daria and imagine she is an android. Now go further...


The girl and the machine are destined to be one. There is no other possibility of finding what I so badly need. Not good. Not by a damned sight. And I will be exactly the same.

That paragraph regarding science fiction really hits home. Nearly everything I've watched for two years has been related to the same canon, and one in which a world of possibility and promise is portrayed. Jonas is a motherfucker in this episode. Oops... Off the rails. Anyway, all that programming has me considering facets of a universe that does not exist, rather than the one within I am currently mired. My head reacts accordingly. I'll give you an example. The girl I met up the street for a possible job ran across my vision months ago. No sooner did I see some details of her physical appearance when EVERYTHING related to the science fiction entered my mind... An android version of her, the ability to reside within a sphere guided by my imagination, and the promise of an unwritten yet positive future in which she would never fucking change. By the time we left that location, my brain had already run through a plethora of permutations regarding her and a million situations I dreamed could come to pass. Nothing else in my life could have had such a dramatic effect upon my weakened, desperate psyche as the television programming. Nothing. This realization came to mind a little while ago and is not going to leave my head, ever. The personalities on those cooking shows I used to love would call the knowledge 'spot-on'. I call it debilitating. Another fucking notch. This entry is not going to find an end anytime soon. Landmark.

1223 and I believe it is time to return to my kitchen. Oh, and the show will follow, God bless it.

What happened to the blown gas? Ah... Faaaaahck it.

The weather is shitty right now. As I worked in the kitchen making marinades and cleaning, the humidity almost drove me straight out. The sun has been shining, yet the moisture is out of fucking control. Muggy is the term, I believe. At least the living room has a ceiling fan. Better than nothing, I guess. Thank Christ I finished the installation last year, complete with an Internet-enabled speed control. Nice. I also took care of a good portion of the garbage, leaving the remainder for some cooler hours, namely late afternoon. Following along with me and the fourth show has been an impossible image... One with big, dark eyes.

All of the issues would melt away. Future concerns could ease. Threats of the current condition returning at a later time would be minimized. Tell me that is not enticing. Am I wrong for dreaming of the girl? Never mind. The problems are no one else's responsibility. Nor is my state of mind. I turned off the show in favor of a movie which began the other day. It has nothing to do with science fiction, although my friends and family will return to the screens very soon. On the heels of that? She will return in force. All of the issues would melt away. More basic than that statement, she could save me.

Maybe I should try to do something else for a while. The movie isn't really blowing my skirt up and there is always another avenue, even when I am this far down.

0650 on Monday morning, the sixth of June, anno twenty-two. I have to fill out my ballot this day. Fourth show, coffee, gray skies. Gray head. Too much in there right now. And I don't know whether or not to fly the flags because predicting precipitation this close to the ocean is futile. I plan to take it easy for much of my time today. I cared for all the usual stuff yesterday and prepared dinner on the charcoal grill, afterward sitting with one of my favorite movies and a nice, cold glass of bourbon. Yes... The solution I do not enjoy very often anymore. The bourbon has varying effects, whereas the standard whiskey is more relaxed. Anyway, everything was fine all evening. The work plan paid off as I felt the evening was earned.

This morning I have yet to hear the garbage trucks on the streets. The quiet time has begun and I have the second show on for a change. Ah... There is a truck. The point of the trucks not making their pickup any earlier is that there is always something I can drop into one of the cans in the morning. Today is no different. I went out there half an hour ago to find the street deserted aside from one key figure heading out of the court to my east and along the street away from this house. I've seen her before, always walking the opposite direction from the main routes. She walks her dog from time to time and I believe I've only seen her on a handful of occasions, meaning there is a mystery in my head. This is different than the Lexus girl, too, because she was spotted only a few times, eventually leading me to believe the car was hers, when the reality was nowhere near such a conclusion. The situation seemed to have changed quickly and the girl disappeared. Well, the tall, blonde gait I witnessed again this morning is certainly real and very consistent. I just wish she would stroll in the opposite direction so I can take a gander at least once and perhaps know what's going on. I need it... And this brings to light yet another fucked up problem born of searching for years.

Long ago during the height of the obsession and when I was in the big city every work day, something would eventually cross my vision and send my head flying. A problem arose once in a while in which I caught a glimpse of a form very striking and then it disappeared quickly enough to leave a mystery. That felt like a knife in my heart... A tease of a woman aligned with all of my dreams and then she was gone, effectively leaving me to wonder. I had to see more. I HAD to see. I needed it like I need to breathe. As soon as I lost sight of a striking vision, my being immediately ceased direction and any interest or work ahead became completely unimportant. I needed to see whatever I may have missed, and there may have been nothing of note to begin with. Think about that... I had been crippled by the 'possible' sight of a representation of the obsessive nature of my life at that point in time. Well, it honestly never went away. A slight glance and I see a tiny bit, and then later my brain concludes that I can barely survive without knowing what else may have been special about a certain figure. This is not good. I felt it this morning. Walking back toward the house (we have a long driveway) found me turning several times as she moved away, those long legs making the trip around the corner in short order. Maybe five times my head swung around to see her leaving the area. She always follows the same path.

Why do I feel a sense of loss after she rounds the corner and disappears? Because I am a basket case. The most likely answer is that I am still searching for the girl and hoping she is out there, somewhere. This is fucking pathetic, but I will not sit here and deny what I've become over time. I was searching two years ago and eased the mentions here on the site, but sure as hell all that is very strong to this second. I saw her walking along and immediately felt uncomfortable. Right now I am sitting in front of a computer that is connected to the Internet, meaning I can seek and find nearly anything in existence, yet right outside was a real woman and the sight of her is more stirring than anything I'll see here. It is a deep-seated yearning that is attached to the obsession, as if a failure to look to my heart's content will leave me completely debilitated. This is not good. Part of me feels the urge to grab the binoculars and sit in one of our front windows just in case she makes her way back. I'll miss it, of course, but thinking of waiting is not very far-fetched right now. That's how bad I am. Need. The girl. All this shit is rolled up and tied with a bow.

My life is becoming a mental burrito.

0805. The thought of seeing her again -- possibly somewhat closer and with increased detail -- is enticing beyond belief. This is a very strong pull on me. I will not go stare out the window in the off chance that I catch a glimpse. I'm not going to do that, damn it. Believe me, I'd love to see, but the truth and sad bottom line is that I will NEVER see everything. I will never see enough, and I MUST so badly see it all. I went to the front of the house and peered out to hopefully glimpse her again, just in case she actually walks around the block rather than returning from the same direction. Nothing. A family went by toward the west and I was reminded of that very damaging dream which brought thinking to my brain better left alone. I don't fucking need that right now. No reminders, please. There is already enough spinning my consciousness into a froth. Long legs are a large part of that, damn it. I'd love to see her up close, even just for a second. My head can record information very quickly these days. I'm in terrible shape if seeing her so briefly feels like a loss. Fucking... LOSS.


On the other front, the blown gas that seems to be percolating just below the surface of society, the news this morning informed me that loved ones of the victims in Texas are suing the manufacturer of one of the firearms. That is ridiculous. I am not a gun nut, but I do know that what kills people is a mind, not the hardware. The intention is key. If a person wishes to go out there and harm others, they will find a way, meaning the fault lies in the mental or emotional state of the individual in question, not what they may employ to carry out the deed. This is going to continue to happen well into the future. Or, it will stop when everything else stops and turns to dust. There is no third possibility. The laws can change, people will not. Ugh. I have never enjoyed commenting upon some aspects of society, however this is in stark contrast to what I've seen in the past and as a result I felt compelled. I will not express my thoughts to a person, though. All that accomplishes is the creation of a divide. The world has enough of those already.

God damn do I ever need some help. No one is listening, for fuck's sake. Just the keyboard. Full control.

Need is not a good thing sometimes. My needs have spiraled out of fucking control in the last few years, and believe me when I say that I have no wish to go into detail. That will find me on the outside, just as long ago when I began to express my opinion and was quickly shut the hell down. No one wants to hear of the processes in my brain. NO one. Believe me. The point is as time passes, everything which has worked overtime to put me down continues to expand, leaving me this outlet and nothing else. No people, although sometimes no people is a good thing. I stood there and stared out the fucking window in the off chance that the long legs would come strolling by and straight into my eyes. I stood there for several moments. Not good. I'll be dreaming of her soon, and I have not the first fucking clue as to her appearance. Tall, long hair, slender, and that's it. My sheer level of desperation is completely out of control. Just look at the face again. It resembles the one down the street. I put her on this page for that very reason. This is not the practice of a healthy individual. Not even slightly. I was told long ago by a very kind woman (coworker) that everyone has some sort of hangup -- a fetish, interest, or type of need that they keep buried inside -- and there is nothing wrong with it. Communication sometimes helps, but something shoved that far down is generally looked upon with fear, as in someone else learning of it would not approve. Well, I have enough hangups for the population of a small town. I can't recall her name anymore, but I'll tell you this... I'd give the rest of my life to speak with her again. She was someone who began to help me realize that my needs may not be all that bad. Unfortunately, anything I gleaned from our conversations has been all but lost. The intervening years molded me and taken a set. Like the charm of the same name... Permanence. I'll try to remember her name.

0918. My head is in places it probably should not be. I have to care for the routine soon. The second show is still up there, although I am barely paying attention. Editing the images for this entry -- which is still growing out of control -- distracts me from any sense. I keep thinking of the girl and her understanding eyes, and then I look around the living room and realize I'm completely fucked. No girl.

1134 and the routine is now finished. I also cruised a few miles to the cigarette store for unhealthy staples. Right out of the gate? Asian legs wrapped in yoga pants with all lines on display. I saw, drove, and spoke OUT LOUD all the way to the store regarding the sight. Unbelievable. Nothing else of consequence, thank the maker. I arrived home to care for my work and overheard a bit of an argument somewhere on the street nearby. Our driveway is quite long and my neighbor's truck blocks much of the view east, so I relied upon ears only. I heard what seemed to be a bad situation between a man and woman -- likely in a relationship of some kind -- and she was suggesting he go away after leaving the child with her. Oof. Not good. I saw him prior to the verbal scrape, looking shabby and carrying what I assumed to be the child in question. Afterward was the argument. I returned to clean the kitchen and gazed through the office window to see that the police had shown at some point and was in a conversation with the woman in her car. The other person was gone. The Asian beauty with flowing hair drifted out of my head, usurped by the dynamics between people when children are involved. That type of situation can become difficult and complex very quickly and I do not envy those who have produced children and then run into trouble of some flavor. The stance of society is such that I do not feel 'qualified' to comment further because I have no offspring. Whatever. Perhaps my lack of progeny is there to be objective. In any case, the scrape subsided and everyone is gone. Kitchen finished, second show yet again, and my typical glass of icy depressant next to me. This morning is no different than a thousand others.

93 occurrences of the word 'Asian' on this site as of the previous paragraph. Splendid. I don't have an Asian 'thingy' anymore, yet the shape of some cannot be denied. And leave me alone about that one, please. I don't need any more shit.

In contrast, there have been 360 mentions of the name 'Jamie'. There you go. No Asian thingy. Not anymore. The draw should be obvious and can be shared with any number of other appearances... Dark hair and eyes, slender, lines all over the place. Shut up.

1222. Nothing else has taken place here today. I am wide awake, though, so anything seemingly enticing will do fine. I have the time and space to explore, build, clean or whatever. The girl continues to float inside my head, meaning no matter what may come of the next several hours, she will be there awaiting my understaning. The symbol of symbols, born of years of this shit, and exacerbated by the fourteen months at home trying to make sense of my future. The impossibilities are mounting, and the girl is at the top of the list. The incidents and sightings throughout so many years are merely symptoms of the main issue here, and that is the idea of anything with the power to alleviate the weakness and desperation. The girl has been crafted in my mind, made up of every single fucking form, feeling and need I carry with me each day. She is impossible, yet I am more compelled than ever to sit here and attempt to describe and, more importantly, perhaps come to terms with that which I have become. To call my situation an uphill battle is the understatement of a lifetime.

The pants I spied two hours ago are going to continue to appear in one form or another, in one place or another. There can be no doubt that my condition will worsen over time. Even the fucking episode playing right now carries with it a vision of lines grouped and exaggerated so as to twist my head into a knot. Yep, even the science fiction displays a veritable corucopia of beauty from time to time, some of which are beyond description. Every single fucking sighting reinforces not only the need to see, but the power of an idea within my head that will not let up... The girl. The answer. The prowess of beauty. I need her more than I have ever needed ANYTHING in this life, and there is simply no fucking way. There will be more pants, faces, eyes, and whatever else I am weak enough to stare at and implode. Always something. The girl is all of it. Everything.

And at the same time? Nothing at all. I don't know what to do. Keep typing. Just... Keep typing. The blown gas must destroy me. There is no other way of saving me. Daria is not the girl. She is a model aligned with enough to warrant displaying her unending and unique beauty all down the page. The lines along the inside of her thighs are beyond description, yet still... Her face is key. Always with the eyes. Back to the girl at the race close to a year ago... Likely the most stark illumination of my sheer level of desperation. I cannot recall reaching so much in the space of a few minutes. I reached for a rung and it disappeared.

Soon I'll have something to eat and then work on whatever seems best. I can perofrm more organization in the office and garage, weather permitting for the latter. I also need to make some pickles from a simple recipe. Days such as this push me to yearn for the evening because of the structure. Free time is a godsend and damning force at the same time. A curse at some point each week, and one I've struggled to work through. Imagery flies around my head and derails productive thinking all too often.


I am still sitting here. Lunch is out of the way at 1352, but I don't know what to do for the remainder of the afternoon. There is still plenty of time to work on pretty much anything, yet my ambition is waning. The previous episode held a vision that stopped me in my tracks -- one I only just recently noticed, possibly some time last year -- and the internal workings once again turned to dreams of the girl. This is happening more and more as the days burn away. Thus far I have found no saving throw versus anything carrying such levels of beauty. I may sit here a while longer, or I may get up and do something productive. Fifty, fifty. Blah, blah, blah... Headfullofpantscakes. Not pancakes. Oof. The girl is becoming more and more beautiful by the second. I am falling down more and more at a similar rate.

Two possibilities are in view right now. One is the sudden ability to rise and work through the difficulty inherent in dreaming of all things impossible, leaving me more in tune with the real world and strong enough to prioritize and rationalize the flood of thoughts regarding her. The other is a mirror of what has been taking place all over the world... A slow, steady decline toward the end of all things. I see nothing in between. I spied the tall girl walking her dog and felt a deep sense of need, and then I drove north to the store a while later and fell all over myself due to a pair of legs wrapped in very form-fitting material. Once my routine was finished, I decided to return to this for a while and get off my feet, during which the episode showed me a background extra walking away from the camera's position, her legs appearing fucking amazing and more enticing than a bag full of cash. This all adds up to the needle pointing toward my decline. Throughout the past two years, my life has been reduced to a mixture of desperation and yearning, neither helping me in any way. Those feelings act like a hydraulic ram forcing impossible visions and fulfillment into my head, one being the aforementioned girl... The representative symbol of every aspect of my being. I cannot easily work toward anything with an upward trajectory. I just keep moving further and further down. This is going to come to a head one of these days. I know not when, but I do know it is inevitable.

What am I doing to help myself? Not much. My work around the house with friends and family in the background always leads into lunch, and then once I've eaten, all of the worry returns without fail. Often I'll move away from the computer and attempt to accomplish tasks which are not terribly taxing, and that does push dreams aside for a time. Not every day do I find such a direction, though. Equally often I will sit here not knowing which way to turn, daydreaming about all that the science fiction has shoved into mind, and then eventually giving up and awaiting dinner preparations. I just can't seem to get this shit out of my head for very long before I am slammed to the wall again. Many times I've sat here and stated that something must change. Here I sit, like always, and nothing is changing. All I've done this week is created a different word for my mass of problems... The girl. Fuck the gas. I'm not going to talk about that anymore because I may as well pound sand on the beach. Same result.

There is a 'powerline patrol' helicopter zig-zagging all over this end of the valley. I grabbed the binoculars to get some detail. Whenever I see a heli with a searchlight on the nose, I think they are searching for someone. Interesting. I guess with the fire season in full swing, the powers are doing whatever they can to ensure safety. A good thing, but noisy. Personally, I fucking love the sound of aircraft overhead, as long as we are not at war. Not funny. Ah... Here it comes again. There is no mistaking the sound of rotor turbulence.

1448 and I have all but given up on doing anything of substance today. I keep seeing imagery defined and pushed by the last image on this page. I can't help it anymore. She is displaying the lines that have ruled my existence for a very long time, and without any distortion whatsoever. The fact that her form is so compelling has been further exacerbated by a very beautiful and unique face. All the way back to Marci's walk in 'Our Man Bashir' nearly thirty years ago, those lines have been a focus. Only after seeing what was taking place beneath the clothing did I really begin to obsess. Now? I look at Daria and see my own construct... The girl. Everything over which I have agonized and yearned all rolled into one shining example of the highest order of both physical beauty and a loving, understanding heart. This may become too much for me to exposit further. It hurts. And I'll be God damned if Daria's face is not the spitting image of that fucking girl down the street. Thank God I never had to go back there and do the job. Hopefully I will never see her again. She was a knife.

One interesting tidbit is I never obsessed over those lines prior to Marci. During the glow, I had ample time and opportunity to explore, yet never did. Post glow, Michelle could have been another example. Most likely I did not think in such terms all those years ago. Marci was probably the first to swing my head in such a direction. As much as I agonized and researched the catalyst, now the more important consideration is my own mental health. The obsession grew from where it did. That is all. As of today, it also has a new utopian symbol. I can no longer waste my time searching for the true origin. Enough of that.

Utopian symbol, indeed. I have researched and amassed thousands of images over many years in search of that 'one' which tells the entire story the way it has played out within my head. That image is below. I am going to try avoiding the fact that Daria is the one model without one fucking detail out of place. Nothing. As I said, I'll do my best to refrain from saying she is without a doubt the most picturesque woman I've seen in my life. I'll try, I promise. She must be from another planet. So is the girl.

0627 on Tuesday morning. Coffee, fourth show up there, flags out, cats fed... All of it.

I had a really nice dream this morning. A combination of my last two careers. It was amazing, but now I am feeling more loss because nothing so interesting is going to happen to me in the future, most notably anything related to exploration. And there are two meanings within that last word, that of space and time, and then the other exploration... The lines of life. Only one was present in the dream, thank the maker. No form, strike, or anything so worrisome. Nothing good is going to develop. I will be this way perpetually. At least a little dream once in a while can bring me some enjoyment. The last time I had a dream that I recalled almost fully, my head ended up swirling with bad thoughts. I still feel some of them during the right type of situation, and believe me when I say every other dream has been easier on my mind. I cannot talk about the bad one. This morning I was working somewhere similar to our old facilities and had ordered some kind of 'kit' for a safer control room. Some time passed and all of the parts were delivered. I am speaking of thousands of components and a very large and complex process outlined on computer. And then, just like in zero five when I missed several weeks of work for jury duty, I felt as if I had been absent for a while and nearly the entire project had been assembled in the meantime. The system was like the cockpit of a very advanced aircraft and I had been put in charge of it. Me. Others were doing my bidding, and once it became operational, I ran the show from inside the room. It was like a sophisticated safe room, but much more. Hard to describe. The main issue is that I felt very important, something I've not enjoyed for more than a decade. I'm just glad the subject of the other dream did not return. I am forced to think about it too often, anyway. I don't need more of that shit.

Yesterday I relocated the new camera in the garage, something I never would have purchased in the first place. It was a gift and I promised to set it up somewhere. Well, now the camera resides on my center post and is mostly out of view. Very nice. I also made some pickles yesterday after the chores were complete. Something very interesting took place last night near ten o'clock. I had the empire lit for my own enjoyment and the doors open, feeling like going to bed soon after. Well, I saw a figure near the end of the driveway walking a small dog. She said hello, so I responded. The woman had been marveling about the way my garage appears at night, so I told her to look around. I believe she was a bit tipsy. A little bit of conversation told me that most garages she had seen -- including her own house -- were pretty much 'pieces of shit'. Heh. Ours was really beautiful in comparison. I've been in a lot of houses while working, and I will say it is the rare exception whose garage is in good order. The fact is the garage either houses a vehicle or 'stuff', meaning it is for storage first and foremost, so whenever I saw someone's garage all goofed up I really didn't think much about it. Personally, I like to spend time out there with the music or television and work on whatever holds my interest. I rather grew up under the hoods of cars and trucks thanks to my dad, and the more work I performed, the more the garage needed to resemble and operate as a shop. Things grew from there. Anyway, the woman was pleasant and scary at the same time, as if she was one of those lions, just older. Soon enough she was gone and I feel as if we made another acquaintance. Overall, not bad. Moments later, I shut down the system and went to sleep. That's how late her visit had been.


Sometimes I get the third and fourth shows confused and then type the wrong one. I did that this morning. The fourth show is actually on the television. Oopsie.

I believe much of today will be spent right here at this machine. The time is necessary for me to further explore the ideas above -- mostly the girl and all that is missing from my life -- so I can move along with the remainder of this entry. When the page becomes this lengthy, it's easy to lose track and waver all over the place. In a few minutes I'll have to hop to the morning business, and then afterward I can relax and think a while. Outside, the sky appears to be in such a way so as to allow for sunshine. I hope so. Sometimes I lament all this free time, but yesterday afternoon after I finished with the camera mount, my brain computed that the days are a godsend, honestly. Between working the way I was and being home as I have for the last two years, I'll take the latter. Things are very different than in the past. Again, this is the better path. Today will be partially spent in appreciation of my ability to be here as much as I'd like.

0710. Time for business.

0750. Morning business finished, plus half of the routine. Nice. I don't know what the remainder of this day has in store for me, but at least the morning has been productive. Now I have all those hours ahead to do whatever seems best, or nothing at all. The overpowering idea of the girl remains directly behind my eyes. I can't get away from the feelings. Ugh.

I will try to avoid going on and on about the images here. Unfortunately, sometimes I just can't help it due to the nature of her lines. The fact is her midsection as it transitions further south to thighs is seemingly becoming rarer. I don't often see anything close, so being able to stare at her is bettter than nothing. Well, it's the ONLY thing. There are zero avenues I can follow with regard to this fascination, obsession, or whatever the fuck gets the point across. The power cannot be denied. In fact, this issue outweighs all other powerful forces, even the vulpines, although they are directly related. Eh... This is too confusing. Never mind. The images help and hurt at the same time, mostly the one below this section. I wish it was of higher resolution. Wishes are shit anyway.

The day is wide open and my brain has been directing itself toward the girl. I'm not surprised after the events of yesterday... The legs on the street and then the others walking the dog. Those types of things put thoughts in my head and cause discomfort, and that leads to feeling very empty and void of strength. At least I didn't fall all the way down yesterday. The girl comes to mind because the likelihood of being affected so acutely would be reduced quite a bit with her on my arm (or around me). I can't help this shit. I've been driven to unhappiness by circumstances beyond my control, and then left to sit alone and wonder why. That is one fucked up situation after another, so to dream of something with the ability to fucking fix everything is not so much of a stretch, even in the manner I do it. I look at Daria (or whomever happens to grace the page) and see the lines which have almost completely eluded me throughout life. Within seconds, my brain goes elsewhere. I would die to be able to capture those types of images. I tried on a couple of occasions, yet without the proper lighting and such, I really did not have a chance of creating the symmetry and angles I needed to see. And don't even get me fucking started on the idea of a subject for such photography. There has been exactly one, and believe it or not she was very understanding and willing to allow me to shoot however I wished. Well, I saw the results and did not like them. Again, I did not have the type of setup required to properly light a model. So here we are... The imagery of Daria and many others is my vicarious method of seeing what I can no longer live without. The girl would be the last, best subject for my lens. Oh... And MUCH more. God damn shit fuck anyway, nothing off in the distance is even remotely attractive right now. I'd better head back to the little comforts while they last. The alternative is bad.

Maybe Daria simply wears a wider than average thigh gap. That contributes to such beautiful, compelling disparity. I can't believe the way she looks. The closest to the girl, in my head. My broken, distorted head that no longer functions like a person. Her form is the pinnacle of my years-long search. This is bad. I wish I had never run across such a woman.

Way back when I first wrote about the girl at the car wash, my intention was to learn of numbers. I needed a subject to measure -- and I mean barely clothed for likely a hundred different measurements -- and then I was going to attempt to draw comparisons. I wanted to create a database of numbers and then combine them with a few images of each subject so I could learn how far the numbers could be 'distorted' before the subject became either unattractive or an anomaly. I've said all this before. Anyway, the one woman during that period who was willing to help me was also the focus of more sexual desire than I can describe. As a result, I told her as much, and we decided anything related to measurments or the like were very bad ideas. I probably would have ended up even more fucked up. At least her mind was wide open. Well, the next subject went terribly bad in a very short period of time, and then the last never even got off the ground. I think I scared her away. This is probably something I will never be able to explore at all. And yes, I keep thinking that the girl would be the sole subject of pretty much ANYTHING I'VE EVER WANTED TO DO as relates to beauty, or the simplicity of female physical attractiveness, otherwise known as the most subjective topic on earth. The girl would serve as the resolution to so many problems, ideas and dreams that I would likely never have reason to write like this again.

The girl would help me.
She would never hurt me.

This entry may go bad, very soon.

The first woman was a neighbor, and likely one of the most unique I have ever seen. Her eyes alone were the stuff of dreams, all huge and emotional. When we had lunch and discussed some of the issues she had been experiencing with her partner, those huge eyes welled up a bit and drew me like a gun. A huge battle ensued inside me between doing my best to be a friend and offer support, or trying to lift her enough for possible exploration into the obsession. Few occasions in life have found me so full of need. I was flip-flopping from speaking quietly and helping to picturing her in a variety of very provocative positions, afterward plunging into the darkness as I had a few years earlier in Las Vegas. The lunch date was tough, to say the least. In the end, I did indeed help her rise and work through some issues. Pride and caring outweighed my deep-seated need to swallow every inch of her. If she were to show up at my door now, I doubt the strength I was able to muster that day would return. My life has been reduced like Satan's own au jus... Just a red wine residue burned to the bottom of the pot. Damn this condition. Just... Damn it to hell. Her name is Laura, and I honestly hope that she is happy.

These are the subjects which become tattooed to my brain and derail whatever I could otherwise accomplish on any given day. Sometimes there is nothing I can do to extricate information and move along like a normal person. The imagery and dreams cripple my ability to move around and think clearly. I won't even go into the other problems. Too difficult to spell out. The point is my slow dropping off of ambition throughout the last few months is for good reason. At least I understand it, but feel powerless to change. Too much time has elapsed and left me more weakened and desperate than ever before. The girl keeps popping into my head and ruining everything. And then I'll sit here and say 'something must change', yet as of right now, nothing has and I am worse. All morning I've been picturing Laura's five-eight stance, slender build, and those gorgeous shoulders I wanted to lick (she wore a tiny tank top to lunch and I may know why). The girl would fix all that. She really would. I said this entry might go bad. Let's ride the fall.


I believe the search was for a face. I may still be doing it. The faces I've actually known for more than a few minutes have all held me captive for a time. I couldn't help but stare. And then the difficulties inherent in each of those connections reared up and helped me craft the image of the girl. Holy Jesus fucking shit in a bucket, there is an uncredited Asian officer in the background that looks like breakfast. Damn, what I wouldn't give to... Never mind. The eyes into which I've stared in the past all came together and formed her face. The girl. The symbol. My demise? Probably. Anyway, I can see all of them. I've said many times that the face is key -- right up to and including this essay -- so the idea of searching for one rather than the entire form seems likely. Without that lovely face and a pair of understanding eyes, the remainder of the form no longer matters. Oh, I've included plenty of images here in which the model's face can't be see, but that was the best way to do it. Each of them held something to be later attached to the larger issue, which is now the girl. And this is so fucking ridiculous that I cannot even understand myself. Ugh. At 0903 it is almost time for me to indulge in an icy glass of depressant. Why not?

'Sometimes it is the eyes that blind a man.' Indeed. I appreciate my eyesight every single day I live, and especially when I learn of a person who has lost their sense of sight for some reason. I don't feel that I am blind to much, although this world is pretty big when held against my minuscule experience. The most important knowledge in the world is to know that I don't know everything. What I do know is that the sight of a few specific aspects of life have had a very detrimental effect upon my psyche. Coupled with trauma, the result has been nearly unlivable lately. I just keep getting worse and worse by the day. Today, for example, is one of the worst beginnings in memory. Falling.

Maybe I should have requested that Laura allow me to indulge. Eh... That would have damaged her and possibly had a detrimental effect upon their relationship. I don't know what I was thinking. Yes I do. I'm glad those words never found the light of day. Seldom have I felt so strongly.

1004 and I should get to the kitchen soon. This is going nowhere. Maybe the entry is too long. I tend to see that when I continue to repeat the same shit with different words. The bottom line is I am in bad shape and the dreams have taken over. Reality is not cutting the fucking mustard. I have my space, the shows, and those devices often employed when I don't know what else to do, yet I know full well I'll keep seeing those shapes that make me sad and flood the site with words. I'll keep dreaming of impossibilities. I'll keep trying to maintain an upright stance and then fall down again. I suppose after falling I do have the 'up'. That is something, anyway. Right now I am not seeing the value, though. The girl would fix everything. There is no girl.

Yesterday I made one of my favorite snacks. It is in the refrigerator awaiting lunch time. Maybe when the kitchen is finished I'll put on a movie and sit here a while. Movies can sometimes pause the damaging knowledge that I am going nowhere. The pause is refreshing. During the glow there appeared limitless options. Now I am reduced to making a decision regarding a movie. Marvelous. And no, I have not been lifting a finger to help myself. I no longer see the point in trying to believe that I can rise above this shit and balance myself. That type of thinking seems more like a pack of lies. I miss the glow and the way the world looked at the time. Everything is just so fucked up now. The blown gas -- yes, I'm still in mind of it -- has ruined the beauty of the world. Such will continue. Call me a fatalist, I don't fucking care. I am who I am.

I always chose a female therapist because I have little regard for males. That should be obvious. By extension, I believe some of my negativity toward myself is due to being male. All that disdain, you know? I don't often feel like one of 'them', however, even considering the nature of the content on this site. Eh... I actually hit on one therapist many years ago. That did not go well at all. Heh. The sheer amount of time it would take to express everything to a professional could be cost prohibitive. I could sit there and speak for a year and not cover very much at all. And then eventually the nature of what takes place inside me when I think of something like Daria's thigh gap and the lines all over her would derail every attempt to make sense. The most likely result would be embarrassment, and then I'd be compelled to flee the scene. Waste of time, waste of money. Isn't that fucking splendid? I already know because I've tried too many times.

The coffee is long gone and I have been typing for nearly four hours. Ugh. Time to clean the kitchen with my loving family on the television.

1107 and everything is finished. Whiskey next to me all cool and comforting. Not as comforting as the girl's arms around me, but not bad considering the possibilities. Fourth show, still. My garage is open for business, yet with the fog overhead it may be nothing more than a place to take a break. I don't see myself working out there today. The inside of the house is warmer and more comfortable. Now that the kitchen is polished and ready for this evening's meal preparation, I can move on to other things. I just don't know which. This is a detached home, meaning there is constantly something that can be cleaned or improved, but my ambition is leaning toward dreaming of the girl and what she can solve. For the millionth time, I can't fucking help it. The idea is too compelling. It shines almost constantly. Last week when I felt this way, the plan was to tackle small items one at a time rather than larger concerns. Perhaps that is a good method for living through this day and arriving at the evening. The hours after business are always easier. Dinner, too. Oh, and I've been doing my usual playing of the word game on the phone. The application offers a contest each week with word 'master' challenges and it is ever-changing. Put simply, they offer opponents that follow a theme, sometimes centered around the season, other times history. The game play is very relaxing and I've grown accustomed to it after many years. The current challenge is focused upon Pride month and the names follow suit. Well, this morning I was challenged by one name which caught me off guard in the extreme. The name in question? Arina. Believe it. I have nothing to gain by making up such things. Arina. Sound familiar? She was one of the symbols that is now a part of the girl. Perhaps a capture from the game will help...


There you go. I didn't create a bullshit image, either.

I don't know what the rest of my free time has in store. I have control over much of my time, but honestly I can be completely thrown off track by the tiniest thought, like yesterday's drive to the cigarette store. Legs and more wrapped tightly in thin, black fabric; something which has stirred me for years and will continue to do so barring any unforseen circumstances. Maybe I should take my breaks in the backyard rather than the open garage. That way I won't see anything aside from birds. And permit me to say that the combination of the fourth show and the whiskey is amazing. Well, in perspective, it can't hold a candle to the image below. Amazing is not enough of a term anymore. Do you see the lines? Never mind. No one gives half a shit. No one is listening anyway, so what does it matter? Fuck you.

This entry does not seem to be a mess, which is surprising. The length is crazy, though. Whatever.

I am feeling the numbing effect of the alcohol, although it is too late. I already fucking failed miserably. This day is like too many others... Nowhere fast. Nowhere. I still don't know how I lived this long. Maybe the sound of the keyboard is the only reason I am still drawing breath. The past is shining more than ever and the future could not be dimmer. Enjoyments? Shrinking. The upcoming holiday season had better be pretty Goddamned rewarding, or else.

I fucking need her so badly right now. My whole life is at risk. I need her. I need the idea to come true, as ridiculous and/or juvenile as it may sound. I just fucking NEED THE GIRL. Maybe I should have spoken to the race girl. She may have been the closest. I don't know. Do you have the fucking answer? I thought so. Shut your stupid fucking gaping maw and go away. Disappear into a muddy ditch. The situation is dire and I could not possibly care less about others in a billion years. Go away.


1255, meaningless in this era of all the time in the world. I need to find a way for killing the clock in favor of the evening. That is beginning to match the early morning quiet period insofar as comfort. I'll be flashing some leftover roast in a skillet for making salads later. All I have to do is live through the next four hours and the evening shall begin. I need it.

I don't know why I'm doing this. The point was probably made long ago, possibly as far back as the change in site direction, but I can't be sure. Even then when I was overtly enamored by the simplicity of one pair of legs and the infinite positioning that can affect them, deep inside was a longing for much more... A savior of sorts, I guess. I searched a very long time ago and found temporary solace before it was destroyed. And then I did it thrice more, always locating a bubble of warmth prior to falling further down than I had been in the first place. Perhaps the girl would kill me in one way or another. That seems as likely as finding her at all, though. I just cannot know due to everything in my brain being completely impossible. The dreams do not stop, ever. The more I live, the more I see and try to describe, the results being debilitating. Today is an ideal example of how my brain takes in what it can and then falls apart, soon after finding me completely unable to move in any useful direction. My downfall may have been cast when I decided to attempt detailing images of those forms over which I continue to agonize.

But I still need her in spite of it all. There can be nothing else on earth.

So... What does this mean? Sit here and blather on and on until the computer dies? Until I die? Or maybe right up until the blown gas becomes powerful enough to destroy the entire planet? Is that the only event capable of ceasing my exposition? 1800 lines here so far that no one will read. Wonderful.

I have a couple of ideas for improving the garage. There is laundry in need of washing. The outside of the windows on the garage door are dirty and obscure the lighting at night. There are a few items which can be wrapped and stored. I have the largest model ready to be assembled and photographed. The sofa needs to be vacuumed. I have some reorganization in the kitchen cabinets so more seldom used items can be relocated to the cabinet in the dining room. My car has a bunch of stuff in the console and doors that can be organized or tossed in the trash. I can paint the crown molding around the bathtub. I have been considering moving the streaming device to the top of the center speaker and relocate the splitter to the garage so the living room corner is cleaner. The office needs to be swept and the window cleaned.

The fact that nothing in the world short of the girl coming through the front door and saving me is even remotely enticing or interesting means the list above will probably remain lost for a while. See? Everything in life that once drew me away from sitting here wallowing is now being disregarded. Only the necessities have been completed. I don't know what the fuck to do. Depression can be a horrible word.

Look at the lines on Daria again. She is but one example, of course, yet the closest, ever. Do those lines look like a massive, life-altering issue? Or do you see nothing more than a pair of legs? That's what I thought. Whatever did this to me can take a flying leap. A long walk off a short pier. You know. Something, anyway. I don't fucking like it. I like her. I talk to myself out loud all day long, sometimes while driving. The good thing about automotive technology being coupled with mobile phones is that I can take a drive and speak to myself out loud and others will think I am on the phone. Heh. Nothing else is funny. When I saw the Asian legs yesterday I spoke about her all the way to the fucking store. Alone. The return trip had me gazing all over the place to catch a glimpse of her again. The lines make me a weirdo, methinks. A fucking weirdo. I've felt that I am a deviant for many years, but lately it's worse. The lines on Daria illustrate just how distorted I've become. But they are just lines. Two legs. Yes, the pose is provocative and her posture and lingerie are exotic, yet still... Legs. Lots of people have legs. Why do hers make me want to bury myself in the ground? Why do I talk to myself out loud as if she is right there listening? Why do I need the girl to have those legs? WHY? No answers. No one is listening.

The ridiculous pièce de résistance is the fact that the girl with the legs MUST be a machine. There is no other way. This just keeps getting worse. Or maybe all my shit is entertaining the hell out of someone. No way to know. Run with it. Fuck it.

At least the clock keeps rolling toward my evening.

I certainly hope this entry has gone somewhere. I mean, accomplished something. What it is, I have no idea, but I'd like to think this amount of effort is valid. No one knows. And I'm not proofreading all this shit, either. Too much time and I don't care.

I used to talk about how many things I fucked up and felt bad. And then I complained about not being taken seriously by some people. No one agreed, but they were the same assholes disregarding my opinions and chopping off their attention to my words before I completed a fucking sentence. And then I felt bad again because I know I can be forceful with my wording when provoked. Well, sometimes without being provoked, to be honest. I felt bad. Many early entries were centered upon a general dissatisfaction with society and those people who comprise the bad parts. I wrote reams of shit about that, beginning way back during the heyday of MySpace. I also went to great lengths in describing the way I dreamed of removing myself from the same society that affected me so badly. Years of it, although in comparison I am at the keyboard much more lately. So, now look at the lion's share of content over two years... Everything is nearly the same. There are exceptions, of course, but the main idea is weakness, desperation and obsession. Dreaming. Bitching about it. Gazing at all manner of beauty and then overly gushing here. One after another after another. Society still comes up, but mostly due to the outset of the pandemic and the eastern conflict. And then there are those entries in which I lash out at whomever and tell everyone to go fuck themselves. That accomplishes nothing.

This accomplishes nothing, either. No point. Just words.

Dreaming of the impossible girl and her impossible dimensions. Impossible beauty taken from others. Days and days of wasted time and effort in trying to either get the point across or learn through exploration. Wasted, like so many school kids in the park during the seventies. Fucking wasted. The impossible girl, all lovely, soft and wrapped around me while being ever-ready to make all my problems disappear in her loving manner. She would be perpetual, never changing, never leaving. I would not need to hesitate about anything. No fear.

And I could stare at her lines for the rest of my life. Half the time that's all I want to do anyway. I will not sit here and candy-coat this crap. I could just stare. Never changing, never leaving, right there with me.


0751 on Wednesday morning and this entry is about fucking long enough. I have my typical setup with the coffee and television, the flags are flying in the warm sun, and the cats are sacked out for the morning. This day is already not too bad. I have my usual stuff and will pick up where I left off yesterday, which was cleaning the windows. Something else may come along to draw my attention, but I can never be certain. The girl is now all-powerful and dictates when I will or will not have ambition. She will not allow me to completely forget, not even for a few minutes. Her presence is now attached to everything I experience. This is probably going to mean I won't make it through much more before giving up, however she will be with me, in mind. In heart. In eyes. I have little else in the world anymore.

Ah... There was a little push. I did not push back. The moment caught me off-guard. I didn't calculate anything for hours and now the push is far behind. My brain is already fully into this day and the girl on my arm. I didn't do anything, so perhaps the whole thing will just fade away. I thought that had already happened, but alas I do not control as much as I'd like. Not only that, but surprising me during the current period is quite a feat. My stance is so fatalistic and cynical that pretty much anything can come along and I will be expecting it. Nothing good, either. And I really don't need to see this fucking guy right now. The show may be either skipping or otherwise going away this morning. At first the push made me wonder, and then I became irritated, then solemn for a bit, and eventually I just didn't care. Every ship that has made an appearance throughout my entire life has fucking sailed. I have to try and forget the push. Sometimes I simply know too fucking much. Burn the file cabinet.

This shall be the last section and I'll begin something else, maybe a second part of this. The main subject is the girl. I wander with my writing, meaning she is only half the entry, at best. I can craft another and go much further into my insane territory. There is much more than I've placed here. I can't go into it. The words have already gone off the deep end in my brain. Placing them here will only force readers to draw conclusions that will jade them, afterward becoming scars. Like the damaging dream, some aspects of my personality must remain under wraps. A 'part two' will begin shortly. Plenty to say. The girl is becoming everything.

I have to go to the market in a little while. The trip will match what I did on Monday, leaving after the first half of the routine and then finishing after. Mid-morning is the best time to visit that store, too. Very few people in there and I can use the self checkout and avoid any imperial entanglements. Now is not the time for me to see anything special. There is already enough weight on my head. The visit will be quick, anyway.

The blown gas really took a back seat to my dreams. Oof. The damaging dream continues to return, much to my chagrin. I didn't need that shit and now I can't forget it. The subject is pretty bad, too. I've mentioned it in passing here, yet the details will never come to light. I can't even speak to another person about what I saw and felt. Well, I could speak to the girl, but she doesn't fucking exist. Only in my mind. But the gas seems to have flamed out for the time being. That means I am not as upset with society as I had been nearly two thousand lines up the page. One good, one bad. What does that tell us? I am a crazy person for the girl, the symbolic beauty that represents the idea that everything can be ok... I can be ok.

Wow. This just sucks out loud and right down to the ground. Shit.

I can't be 'ok'.

0903. I have to get some things done and then go to the market. This morning has not been as bad as yesterday because I actually feel some structure taking place for the hours ahead, whereas the last morning went very badly as I fell down. I still feel the consequences of the drop, too. Acutely, really. I can't just let it go and move forward like a real grown-up type of person. I am still just a little boy. I don't know what else to think or how to put the fall into perspective. At least this morning is better so far. These days, anything to ease the difficulty is wonderful. The push will be forgotten, as it should. I'll leave that one alone and watch it fade into history. If it happens again, well... I may have to do something. The chance is slim, I believe, so there is little concern. Nothing affects the main process, though. A wrecking ball could level the house with me inside and I would feel the same. Just loss. Emptiness. Yearning. There seems to be no good place for me. I'll hop to the first half of the routine and then head to the store. One thing will likely lead to others, and like yesterday I can do whatever seems best. The weather is helping.

1104 on the same day. I took care of my plan for half the routine and a trip to the store, afterward finishing the rest. Now my time is wide-open for whatever seems the best path. Nothing of note at the store. In fact, the shopping and checkout were a breeze. I secured a couple of pizzas just in case I feel the need to hole up inside and embrace the comfort. Second show, cocktail (yummy), cats asleep. The house is nice and quiet, just what I need most of the time. You'd think my life was pretty straightforward and comfortable, right? Nope. Quite the reverse... Turmoil over everything I see along with those recollections of bliss which bring on dreams of the girl. The massive positive is the quiet. I always need to think. I need other things, too, but they are impossible.

The recollections often show me the dire nature of this current period, as in the harsh gradient between where I was then versus the outlook toward the future. The more I daydream of the angels, the worse this part of my life begins to feel. That means the glow, too, yet even then I discovered restrictions. Fortunately, I was unaware of the difference. I only learned of said restrictions many years later. The fact is that period has become a bellwether for the value of every other part of life. It has created more comparisons than I care to remember, and they continue to this very second. Holiday season is always filled with visions of the past and the way everything looked back then. I didn't know, of course, meaning the days and weeks felt typical and the good things outweighed the downsides. I believe that is natural, but I am not placing that time on a pedestal and blinding myself to the negatives. Like other memories, the truth is nothing can be lived without at least a small measure of difficulty. The present time just happens to have more than its share. The glow is likely going to go down in history as the defining section of my existence. Too bad I did not fully embrace the joy, instead focusing upon too many details and closing my eyes too often. There have been many vacations which passed by and years later I tried to understand whether or not I enjoyed and appreciated the time enough. That is tough, I'm sure for many. Bottom line? Everything I recall appears more fulfilling than the present. Maybe I should have stated that in the first place.

The girl took over everything. She is the culmination of the obsession, the machine, and those few portmanteaus I created in order to combine facets of individuals into a single, utopian dream. She even squashed the fucking blown gas. That is a tall order. Or... It was. There is nothing in my life more powerful than the girl. The only method of removing her from my life is to remove my life.

There is no conclusion to this content. Usually, some closing shit resides right here, but this will continue for as long as I need it. Another part will commence when I feel I can actually say something different or move further than I have. We'll see.

The girl.

The... Her."