October 24th, 2022 10:55am pdt

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




Apud Te, Mi Amare (Her VI)

 read ( words)

"0847 on the same day that the previous mess of an entry was published. Last of the coffee, and my friends are still keeping me company. I don’t know how in the fuck they became so important. Perhaps it is the setting, as in a future in which the universe is better than present reality. That could be it, or maybe I just dream of being in that universe a bit too much these days. All the problems would disappear very quickly.

I can’t believe this scene. Julian is sitting in front of a nice, big chicken sandwich, yet he is so distracted by his conversation with Dax that he barely touches the food. For fuck’s sake, eat the sandwich! It looks yummy. I am so ridiculous...

Fresh, hot coffee in the morning is wonderful. At least that is something.

The ‘image’ is still pushing. Nearly nine in the morning and I am angling my work pattern today, yet inside there is still a storm of shit. Damn it. ‘I wish you would make it real’. Indeed, such a circumstance could save me from this condition. I need her so badly right now. This is nearly crippling. If today was not Sunday, I’d be in further trouble. Since it is my favorite day of the week, I need to work hard in order to avoid becoming angry. I don’t like being really angry, although the last occasion provided enough drive to fabricate the laundry doors. Whatever. Productivity aside, I really do not like being angry. This is going to be an uphill morning, but I believe I can make it through the next few hours ok. I just have to eliminate the ‘image’ from my head. Not easy.

The ‘caverns’ essay has been on hold for days. I don’t know what happened to the motivation, nor can I feel the flow of that one. I don’t have a muse, either. Everything has to originate from my broken fucking head. I guess it will wait.

0912. I am all fucked up. Help me, please.

Please.

I have to get away from this computer for a while. I’ll begin the routine and see where it leads, I guess. My mood is still ok, so perhaps when I get into the middle of the Sunday chores, my head will let the ‘image’ fall away for a time. I’m sure I’ll see some shit during the game, though. That’s tough sometimes, although if you consider the other day and what that fucking sight did to me, the television just can’t compare. Maybe I’ll be ok, maybe I won’t, but I need to try.

1140. The routine is finished and I cleaned out the refrigerator. The garbage work is in process and on hold while I sit here and finish my morning glass of depressant. I had the early football game on for a while, too. Now the third show graces my big television. The home team plays in less than two hours. I’m certain everything will be in order by that time. All the while I’ve been wrestling with everything difficult... The ‘image’, my desperate need to be held and understood by ‘her’, and the flowing hair and bouncing breasts carried by the ‘girl’. Yep, all that shit still plagues me by the fucking minute. I don’t believe I can do anything about them. Not even one, really. The most powerful dream is ‘her’. Unfortunately, she does not exist. There are lines in my head. I can’t get rid of them.

As unreal as that woman was the other day, part of me wishes I had not seen her. Those moments only twisted my head even further than before. I’ve watched tons of people walk by while being home for more than two and a half years. The fact is I never expected to see anything like her on the street. I recall the girl walking the dog, the other one who I previously referred to as the ‘Lexus girl’ (she did not actually exist), and the girl who lives up the block that used to wave to me when she cruised by pushing a double stroller. None of them have been present for a long time, or at least not while I’ve been at my workbench. The stroller pusher was a rarity, for sure, but I don’t think about her terribly often. Two days ago I saw what is now the pinnacle of real beauty. I mean to say that I’ve never seen such a form on my street. They exist, somewhere, but the chance of me seeing a woman with such vast beauty is very slim considering the size of this neighborhood and the time I spend actually looking out the door. Had I not gazed upon such wonder, some of the turmoil in my head may have been avoided. Jesus... Do you hear this shit? What am I? I suppose being overwhelmed by fucking desperation drove me to constantly search for ‘her’. That means my eyes dart from whatever work I’m doing to the street several hundred times per hour. Isn’t that nice? I am forever searching.

1427. The game is on and I am alone. Most of my work is finished other than a bit of garbage. I destroyed the padded headboard that came with the twin bed a few weeks ago and most of it is in the trash can. The remainder will go away next week. I’ve been the world champion at reducing large items into rubble and fitting them in the garbage. There is more, too. I’ll take care of a little at a time as is my custom. The remainder of this day is open. All the while, my brain resides inside the pants of that woman the other day. Shoot me. This is what time and circumstance has made me. Believe me, I am not proud of the comments. I would rather not feel this way.



09

Early this morning I stated that there was a .07% chance of me watching the game at the bar. Yep. I don’t really feel like putting myself in that room these days. I was there for the first week. That is all. Oh, the commercial that just aired is solid reinforcement of last year’s prime difficulty. Good thing I don’t give a fuck anymore. People will do whatever they do and feel however they feel, all the while I remain outside everything. I have enough heat on my back and shit to plow already. I don’t need anything emanating from other mouths. I have to stay away from everyone.

I need her, God damn it all. ‘Her’. Sometimes I hate everything in existence. Maybe I’ll fuck the game in the ass and switch to the goddess of the universe. That’s right... I’ll skip to the sixth season and grab my sketch pad so I can draw little floaty hearts and flowers. Jamie should be ‘her’. I need to go back to the dream in which we were holding hands and everything was ok. I understood the feelings. She understood me. All the trouble fell away.

This is not my best day.

I actually dreamed that the woman the other day was going to approach me and inform my tired self that she was the ‘her’ for whom I’ve been searching. I imagined details, such as her eyes and the way her hair framed her face in the breeze. And then I was ok. She saved me. I loved her. Isn’t that just wonderful? I am out of my fucking mind, people. This is a very uncomfortable and dangerous situation. Not kidding.

1600 straight up and this is exactly how it happens... The commentators are biased through the entire second and third quarters, one big play to set up a touchdown, and I immediately switch back to the third show. I think I used every single fucking swear word in existence in the space of five minutes, ran out, and then invented more. Shit on it, anyway. See you next week, motherfucks.

Whew! Sometimes I hate football. That is probably completely normal. The only humor was one of the billion ads pushing the upcoming election. They referred to the vote as ‘pivotal’ and the idea that it could represent ‘big changes’. Right. Nothing fucking changes. Keep lying to yourselves. Smell the bullshit?

I have the trash out of the house and not much left to do. I also went on ‘da innernets’ and updated some payment accounts. All in all, this has been a productive day, swearing aside. Now that the game is off and the house is quiet, all of the visions have returned. Yep, that same impossible, desperate dream of the woman from two days ago actually being ‘her’. I need her so fucking badly that I an barely see straight half the time. There may be no way out of this shit. I am a hole in the world. At least I can still finish my chores. Droplets of good in an ocean of bad. I hate this. My words may seem like nothing more than posturing after so many years of writing, but something is going to happen. Something bad. It is only a matter of when. Deadly serious.

So, where from here? More lamenting that woman? More lines? More Jamie? The words are driven by my heart. The rails are routed by something far worse. The beginning of wisdom is, ‘I do not know’.



10

Charlotte and her big eyes all down the page. Chiclets of the highest order. Could Charlotte be ‘Her’? Bad mood.

Monday morning. 0805. Coffee. My friends on the television. The girl in my brain. I hear the garbage trucks outside. Very good. Yesterday I made short work of the headboard and tossed most of it in the trash. All that remains is one section of fiber board that can disappear next Sunday. I’ll try to dismantle the TV stand this week. The morning has been quiet but difficult. I keep thinking of the ‘image’ and everything it represents. At least I don’t have to deal with the prospect of a proto-universe like my friends on the screen. Heh. There are already enough problems inside me.

Very cold outside this morning. The news told me yesterday that there would be a frost advisory for the coast. I guess they weren’t kidding. The sun is shining, so hopefully the house and garage will warm up as the morning progresses. Otherwise, my work may be truncated. Aside from the routine and more organization in the office, I need to drive to the cleaners to pick up clothing at some point. That may be the door which leads me to visit the hardware store, too. And I just remembered that the furnace filter should be replaced soon. No problem. I still have six or seven more new filters.



11

I am literally running out of words to type. My mood and interest have swung from one name to another and back again so many times that I have become confused. You’ve seen the names here. Plenty. Obsessing over the main three does not help me, but as of right this minute I have not been able to avoid gushing about one or more. I even combined them in the past. That is a good indication of just how fucked up I’ve become. Obsession combined with desire is very bad, especially when you go back in time a few years and read all that shit I wrote while trying to circumvent the key issue. That was probably the longest line of bullshit on the entire site. The fact remains, however, I am severely broken and out of balance with absolutely nothing good on the horizon. This is why I stated that I am running out of things to say. Perhaps after all this time I really have covered everything. No happiness, no help, no understanding... All connected to dreams. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. You see I’ve gone on at length describing work around the house and on the truck. They fill in some of the entries because the only ‘new’ material that shows up here is typically a woman – much like the other day when I wanted to bury myself in the ground just to end the pain – and such references are unnecessary at this late date. If I stick to the key issues, these essays would be much more concise.





1040. Half the routine is finished and my brain fell off the edge of the galaxy. This is bad. Very bad, indeed. I mentioned a change which seemed to have taken place earlier this year. Well, I don’t know the cause, but I can say it is something that is breaking my heart into even smaller pieces than the idea of a ‘her’ existing somewhere out there in the world. This is bad. My life is soon going to boil down to nothingness. I did not ask for this, nor do I feel I deserve it despite my sordid, unfeeling past. It is unrelated to everything else through which I have lived. The last few months have found me concerned that such a problem could have a very negative effect upon my day to day life, and I have not been in error. Not by a damned sight. This is completely fucked, and a condition with which I am unwilling to live. I cannot speak to anyone, I cannot seek help within society, and the combination leads me to one conclusion.

Everything has already been said and then railroaded several times. My situation has not benefited from the words. I have not improved through the interface and exposition. There are no ears, nor will there be. There is no ‘her’. There is only the ‘image’, and it is half the fucking problem. I don’t see any point in sitting here trying to understand the nature of me, nor do I feel like continuing.

Fallen away.”



top