Her (Seven) Lines

Mature content No. 342 Published October 25th, 2022 8:18am pdt read ( words) Past entries

"Another pair of pants, this time walking a dog from east to west. She appeared to be training the puppy and doing a good job of it. Her pants were fucking painted and I yearned to see everything; all of the lines in place and wondrous. Staring. Lining. Drawing. Imagining. Recording. Following. I needed to see her lines so badly that my garage work immediately ceased. I could do nothing more out there because there was no longer an operating brain in my weakened head. The only parts in working order were my eyes. And they worked overtime. I watched her walk as much as possible before she disappeared beyond vision. I yearned, fell down, and then gave up on the rest of the work today.

0646 on Tuesday morning. Nothing in my head yet. I have the third show on because I need it. In fact, most of yesterday afternoon while I was working on the truck in the garage, this program followed me. I love it and the people keep me company while otherwise alone. They are my family, for the umpteenth time. I have a bit of a plan today. I’ll take care of my usual stuff and then clear the dining table so I can disassemble one of the big cars. Yep, those models again. I want them all back in the boxes and organized nicely. There are only four together right now, though. The fifth was waiting for me to feel inspired enough to tackle it again. I guess the inspiration never arrived. Whatever. I am trying to create open space in the house as pushed by the rearrangement of the bedroom a while back. I worked in the office a bit yesterday, and the conclusion was that if the cars are in their boxes, I’ll see how much space is available for the upcoming desktop computer. There is a bit of time remaining before the morning business and I’ve been trying to keep the imagery and dreamy situations out of my head. This is not easy and I’m tired of it. The pants yesterday, or, more specifically the rear end wrapped by them, drove me out of my fucking mind with desire and I need it to fade away in favor of something with which I can actually work. After all this time I should not need to point out how unpleasant I can be when angered. The yoga-rear is not helping. Again... This is what I’ve become. Out of my fucking mind. I am beginning to wonder if anyone wears yoga pants to a yoga class, or if they only wear them in the market just to destroy my ability to remember the items I need. That was meant to be funny.

Roughly a year or more back when I was actually still rather sociable, people knew what to expect when they were near me. Now? I do not believe anyone would recognize my personality, and that is not an overstatement or joke.

0756. All quiet on the western front except for my extended family up there on the big screen. Coffee. I see drizzly weather outside. Maybe I’ll keep the work inside the house today. I may begin the car disassembly just after the routine. The only rub could be too many outside pressures upon my head that remove my ability to find ambition. Sometimes I can’t do shit. This is the time of day when I try to consider the hours ahead and all that can be accomplished. Once there is a flicker of the past or one of those three items in my brain, however, I can’t seem to move in any direction without falling down. I really don’t need that shit today. Pants, pants, pants.

And no... It’s not just the pants. Don’t be stupid.

This morning is not the best so far. I can already see that I will need to push hard upon moving away from this crap and into the work.

You already know that I don’t believe in all sorts of voodoo mumbo jumbo, but I cannot get around the idea that I may have been destined to turn out this way. My imagination will not stop at all. Even yesterday while in the midst of rebuilding the new tail light bar for the truck, both of those recent sightings on the street continued their attempts to overpower my attention. Believe me, the truck electronics are complex and delicate, meaning I can’t just throw things together. Everything must be just right and work together without issue or I’ll cause power problems. The main board is huge and cannot be replaced. Thus far, the system is fine, but I can’t promise that some fucking strike will not come along and cause my work to fail. That is how fucked up my head has become. One vision was bad enough, but two? I cannot easily rise from this situation.

I am going to flip the fuck out.

1030 and the routine is finished. I’ve kept the third series in the background to help my brain push away all of the dissatisfaction, disappointment, impossible imagery and those fucking women the fuck out. I was only half successful. The plan is to finish my morning glass of depressant and then move outside. I need to disconnect the two cables running from the garage to the roof and then set up a temporary radio antenna on the fence. I can’t have anything strewn across the roof when the construction begins. Also, I plan to remove the old antenna from the mast on the chimney since it has become partly damaged over time. The insulation on the connections tends to become very brittle due to the sun, and then high winds can increase resistance, meaning the signal degrades. I’ve been hearing distortion and static for months. The woman from the other day will probably remain right behind my eyes during the entire process. Splendid. I don’t know how much longer I can live like this. I need help, but alas there is none.

Here's a lovely thought...

I used to calibrate and phase-lock YIG oscillators and other high-frequency test equipment used in the manufacture of RF devices. They were built into both the guidance systems inside nuclear missiles and the electronic countermeasures housed in pods on military aircraft. In short, systems used for national defense. And then I worked on research in support of the nation’s space program including planetary impact studies, aerothermodynamics, and future space exploration vehicle design. The impact studies have been all over the news since zero-five, including those missions that sent spacecraft into comets and asteroids millions of miles from the earth. Part of the aerodynamics research was the ‘return to flight’ effort after the Columbia disaster in zero-three. Yes, I was a part of the team which helped NASA to improve and launch the subsequent shuttle missions. Now what do I do? Sweep the floor, clean the cat litter boxes, wash and dry clothes, and work on whatever can hold my interest long enough to avoid consideration of exactly where I am in this fucking life. Oh, and I also obsess over everything I will never have or experience, all the while feeling my physical condition deteriorate over time. I will take responsibility for part of this, but not all.

Something bad is going to happen. A matter of time.

0652 on Wednesday morning. I have had exactly two sips of coffee thus far and already feel the pressure and pain of the early part of the year. Two sips. I have the third show again on the television to keep me company this morning. Business will commence shortly. Afterward, I’ll return to this and see if I can accomplish anything good.

Yesterday I pulled all of the cabling off the roof and set up a temporary radio antenna on the side fence. I also removed my big CB antenna and collapsed it to stand in the garage. The patio string lights have been removed, as well. I am trying to get the area set up for when the construction commences, yet I still need the radio antenna functional since it serves two garages and may eventually supply a signal to the receiver here in the living room. Everything is set up and I have very little to do prior to the work on the house. I also spent a bit of time in the garage to build two canopies on the left laundry cabinet door. One more symbol will soon grace that door, too. Later today I may set up lighting in preparation for the holiday on Monday. That day is one of only two throughout the year when the garage should be in full swing, and it is actually the more important of the two. This weekend I will straighten the area so everything can be viewed from the driveway as we hand out candy to the neighborhood kids. Almost time for a pause. My friends will follow along this morning.

0806. I have the day to myself. I’ll be visiting the market in the next couple of hours for a few items, after which I can take care of the routine. Maybe I will do half before and half after returning from the store. That will be cocktail time, as bad as such a thought may sound. I just don’t care and have little reason to avoid anything enjoyable, regardless of how damaging the behavior may be. To hell with it.

No dreams last night or this morning, thankfully. I don’t want or need anything else that lifts me to the sky and warms my heart, only to be dropped back down to the ground in a violent manner. The damaging dreams were quite enough, thank you, not to mention sitting and being held by none other than ‘her’ and knowing everything would be ok. More of that is only going to further damage my head and heart. Between that one and walking with Jamie hand-in-hand, I’ve already been about as ‘up’ as is humanly possible, meaning both occasions provided double the fall. At least the damaging dreams made sense. Those were not easy to consider in some terms, but they did come from a place of desire, which was understandable. At this very moment, I could really use any one of those five dreams coming true.

I’ve brought those up too much.

Desperation and depression. Danger.

0924. I have yet to do anything other than sit here and wallow. Had I known during the cave period that my life would be so fucking miserable years later, I would have applied the solution while isolated there. This is debilitating, and I am not kidding. I don’t know what happened earlier this year, but the effects are fucking killing me. I honestly feel that I do not deserve to be in such a way. There used to be angels flying around me, whereas now there are only demons. Believe me, they all have names, too. I will refrain from further detail. Help me, please.

1127 and the routine is finished. I went to the market and to my surprise it was nearly empty. That was ideal. No pants, no breasts bouncing through the produce department, no nothing. I was in and out of there in good time. Lunch is heating. The third show continues. Whiskey is flowing.

Despite needing to paint and wire the newest symbol in the garage, I may instead opt to remain inside for most of the day. There are lots of things to be organized and relocated, plus I had the idea the other day to disassemble one of the big cars, and today may be the day. The funny part is when I was building those last year (and again early this year) I was watching a specific program on the television. I am such a creature of habit that I will probably do the same today. Certain foods or activities go with certain television shows, and those combinations help to comfort me and provide some much-needed solace. Considering the early morning situation and my heart breaking into pieces for the umpteenth time, I could use some of that fucking comfort. I don’t know why this current dilemma has developed as such, but I am not fucking happy about it. Since I have no clue as to how to help my situation, sinking into as much comfort as possible has become one of the most important aspects of my weekdays. The truck can wait, as can the lighting and painting of the cabinet door. I will still have the garage ready for the holiday.

0645 on Thursday. The temperature outside is below forty degrees. This is the time of year for which I used to yearn while living through the first nine months. Warm weather and long days were never my favorite. Things were very different then, however. Different to the point of forcing me to consider myself even more alone right now than was pointed out in the last couple of entries. I thought about the holiday season last night, too, and concluded that my only option is to make the best of it. At some point during each October (sometimes earlier in September) I would get the idea to drive into the high country just to enjoy the weather and be away from home for a little while. I always tried to formulate a plan for heading up and over 120 before the highway was closed for the season. Rarely did we actually go, however. I dreamed of being in the cold and up on high where the air is truly clear. I suppose those four decades of visiting Tahoe remained inside me. The cold outside this morning reminds me of all the little details which demonstrate the arrival of fall and makes me worry for the future. I realize there is already an entry related to the holidays, but sometimes the feelings overtake my senses and I have to go on about them again. Four days from now is Halloween. That might represent the edge of the world this year.

This is going to be a dead-end day. I have no reason to push, nor am I in the mood to accomplish much. My brain is sideways for the hundredth time and causing me to feel pretty damned angry for this early hour. I am being forced to recall situations that I’d rather forget. I am also being forced to see imagery that causes pain. The day could still go somewhere, though. I’ll have to wait until the morning business is finished and the quiet abounds. If I can successfully push some of that shit away, I may be able to move along with some work. Right now? I am feeling nothing aside from ‘hurt’ by the world. I am also beginning to feel as if I don’t matter, and that is something I have not mused for many years. It is also even more dangerous than being desperate. Believe me, I don’t want any of this shit but have been tossed into the mixing bowl of emotions by circumstances far beyond my control.

0836 now. My head is the same. I’ve been sitting here trying to compute methods for saving myself and this day. One change from earlier is that I made the decision to head over to the goddess market a bit later for some produce. They sell in smaller quantities than the larger stores, plus they carry a better selection for Asian dishes. Anyway, the idea of visiting that difficult place is piled atop the already-painful thoughts over which I have little to no control. I am slipping at this very moment and do not have a clue as to where this morning will lead. I can’t stop thinking about that Goddamned ‘image’ and one of the smiling faces. Don’t ask. Remember... I am beginning to frame the idea that I don’t fucking matter. Oh, there were words and looks and situations, yet I was not seeing clearly due to the blinding circumstances that had been underway at the time. I was there, I saw and felt, but in the end the understanding I sensed was being used to the advantage of those who began the process. If I sit here and state that the entire situation is unacceptable, what does that mean? I can’t or won’t accept it? What fucking choice do I have? Do my feelings even fucking MATTER anymore? What will happen if I become angry? That’s right... NOTHING. I’ll still be right here spouting the same shit in a bad mood with zero chance of resolution. Maybe I should focus upon an epilogue instead.

Everything is narrowing. I am a truncated human being.

0927 and I am beginning to see that my efforts in any direction don’t make a damned bit of difference. Words, loud music, work around the house or on projects... None of it. I am going to be exactly the fucking same no matter what I try.

1040. I have the routine finished and my drink to the right. The third show is still playing, just as it has for the last several days. I mentioned that there are key moments for which I wait, yet skipping to them is unacceptable. The story must build. On the inside? All fucked up. I am not concerned with the market at this point. I’ll go and return regardless of whatever may hit me upside the head. I’m used to it by now. Besides, nothing makes any fucking difference anymore. I will sit here and continue typing. What else is there? Am I waiting for something to happen? Am I expecting ‘her’ to come up the driveway and save me from the grave?

I’ve gone weeks, but not months. The choice was not mine, either. It was dictated by others and the odd-chance of a different situation. This year, I am not the same. I am actually worried for my health. I don’t know what to do and have become tired of typing the words. Exhausted, actually. Over and over and fucking over, the same shit is applied to this insignificant space and nothing ever comes of it. Just imagine how much I could have accomplished had I not sat here for years. Wow. Garak just mentioned the word ‘pants’. Ugh... My downfall. Oh, I’ve seen pants aplenty. The last two pairs have been the worst in recent memory. I recall the server at that Mexican restaurant that I love so much (the goddess and I spent tons of time there, not to mention all those afternoons with the Raven) and her incredible form and gait. I was awash with all manner of imagery for days. The goddess and I returned there some time later and I realized the server may have been wishful, meaning I was so desperate to see something special that I overstated her appearance after the fact. We discussed the subject at length, too. The truth is I cannot remember that woman’s form, nor can I recall her face. The more recent strikes right close to my driveway were much worse, both due to the memories being much more vivid and the fact that I am weaker and more desperate than at any time in my life. Believe me, that is saying a mouthful. When I saw the server, I was reaching. I still do not know why with such amazing beauty sitting right next to me, but I stared and dreamed anyway. The set of lines the other day drove my head into a very negative space, to be sure. I have not recovered, and the relationship between seeing her and my present physical condition is causing more difficulty than I can handle. The worst part? I feel like none of this matters. Alone... Broken... Close to something I’d rather leave out of this content right now. I can go back forty years and place all the blame I want, but nothing I can say or feel will make a damned bit of difference. The devices still wane.

Today may find me fated to that second fucking cocktail. Embracing damaging behavior is all the freedom and power I have left, and THAT is fucking sad. Gloria said it best; her final lines on the show. Do the math.

Ahh... Alcohol. The solution for weak-minded people who can't deal with reality. Let us toast to those broken, desperate souls who will never find direction.

0654 on Friday morning with my coffee and friends (family). Each day is worse than the previous. Yesterday morning was very difficult because I finally realized that the early part of the year was merely a premonition. I did the usual stuff in the morning, fell off the edge of the world again, and then moved to the garage. Later, I went to the market. Upon returning, I went back to my work in the garage and finished the new cabinet door decoration. It is operational and will be lit up along with the rest on Monday night. You’d think the day was positive.

The only thing I expect today is to become upset all over again after resting for the night. The process will not take very long. It never does. In a little while I’ll have to care for the morning business and then return to this shit for a while. Soon after will be the routine. And then I won’t know what the fuck to do unless something changes. If the late morning is anything like yesterday, I’ll be completely flattened prior to lunch.

If I could just be there... Live there for a while. Everything would be different. The two main concerns, really. The rest could be good for me but nothing more than frosting.

0800 straight up. I have several hours ahead for whatever seems best, or more like whatever I can fucking tolerate. There is imagery in my head right now, the type which has the power to stop me in my tracks on any kind of day. I don’t know how to stop this shit, but I will say that yesterday I ended up in a similar circumstance and then became very productive, albeit while feeling quite angry. The ‘image’ will not leave me alone some days. I am not a person who deals with impossible situations or those without conclusions very well at all. Rather than trying to follow others’ advice and simply ‘accept’ something, I tend to grate against it due to living without happiness for so long. Don’t give me advice, ever. Just let me live as I see fit.

And speaking of just living, I do not understand why things must be this way. I did not ask to dream of ‘her’ and the others. Perhaps my preoccupation with a certain type of understanding – as driven by the past and beyond anyone’s control – pushes my head into those places when I sleep. There have been no dreams for days, but those which have come along are drilling holes in my head and making me very sad, still. The three damaging dreams have let up lately, although I am certain the subject matter will return when I least expect it or while comfortable here at home. When something comes along that brings me some temporary joy, I tend to let go for a while and relax about the way this life has moved forward through time. And then? A slam to my psyche will grip me and will not let go for days. Obviously, I have no sway over dreams. All I can do is wait.

1728. Not the best day, but I did pull the 5v power supply from the rafters and disconnect the fan. It was bothering me during those nights when the empire was lit. Honestly, I need not worry about heat because the unit is capable of supplying over forty amps and the draw when everything is powered totals less than two. Now the garage is very quiet. Also, the gardener came by and removed the remaining hedge stumps and hauled them away. He pulled the rest of the wooden border from the front yard, too. One day next week he is going to drop off a malfunctioning drone he’d like me to troubleshoot. I am looking forward to investigating the problem and helping with repair (if possible).

My morning was ruined, so after tooling in the garage while the hedge was being removed, I took care of the routine and then sat with the big car until it was finished. All the pieces are neatly tucked away in the box. I’ll begin disassembling the next model in the morning. I am not happy about this day despite the work being finished. Not happy in the least.

0706. Saturday morning. Third show and coffee. Cats are fed. Still dark outside. I guess that will change in eight days because the clocks go back an hour. The government really fucked up Halloween when they changed the schedule all those years ago, too. We used to set the clocks back just before Halloween which meant sunset was an hour earlier. That led to kids being able to roam the neighborhood sooner. Whatever. This country is on standard time for just over four months. It should be closer to six.

I can’t go back to yesterday’s failure. I can’t do things the same as I did during the quiet hours yesterday morning. I cannot have a repeat of any of it. Conversely, I don’t understand why this is a problem. My life has already been reduced like Satan’s own au jus, so what difference could my behavior make? Does anything I do matter? The more I think about yesterday, the less I care. That is the truth. I just don’t fucking care like I did mere weeks ago.

The light is coming up. It reminds me of camping when I was young. And that brings on a thought... I wish there had been a way for me to know just a little bit of the future. Those holiday seasons... Four of them, beginning in eighty-nine. I’ve tried to describe the feelings involved, but honestly they appear brighter now due to the passage of time. That is natural, I’m sure. Comparing is something I do very well and likely more widespread than one’s imagination. The fact is, the closer the calendar crawls toward the end of the year, the further I feel separated from myself and the way my life played out during that period. In short, I feel worse with each passing day. More light is coming up now. The sun may shine today. I suppose I can return to the garage and work toward the goal of more empty space, too. I was out there for a little while yesterday. The angle of the sun also reinforces the past and the way I viewed fall as opposed to the rest of the year. The crisp air, the smell of fireplaces, and leaves blowing along the streets all summed to the appearance of a massive shift in climate. And my mood, as well. I loved everything about the fall. The holiday highs also appeared years after that glowing period. I cannot say they were the same, yet the joy was present into the mid and late zeros. I crashed that vehicle soon after and the holiday feelings were destroyed permanently. Nice. More light outside. The level changes more quickly during fall and Winter than the other seasons due to the angle of the sun. Very interesting.

I have to slice up a decent amount of wood today. That is to say I have sections of furniture which are already reduced to just piles of plywood. I can cut them into small pieces and then toss them tomorrow. The garage space is very important for the holiday on Monday. I’d like everything to be visible. After all, there is very little in which I take pride anymore. I may as well embrace all that fucking work I did to make the empire glow.

Marci is going to be on the screen in a few minutes. I wrote an entire essay a few years ago outlining my endless quest to learn if her lines had been the beginning of the obsession. I honestly don’t recall what began to catalyze my interest in those fucking lines, but Marci was definitely a shove in such a direction. Maybe it was the walk... When she crosses the room to put away one of Bashir’s many weapons. I know what relationship I was in the first time I really watched Marci’s gait, meaning there is a window of time. There are definitely other references I can recall that are related to the lines, one of which goes all the way back to the late eighties, yet the whole thing did not become so important until many years later. I may never find any clarity in this, but at least I know of a few moments in time that helped the subject to develop into a massive weight on my life. Marci was one of them. Oh, and just like everything else of which I dream, she is not real, frozen in time many years ago, and lumped in with all the other impossibilities with which I wrestle every fucking day.

I just realized that my personality is such that I never should have been in any of the relationships from the past, nor should I be in my current situation. I am not built for that type of thing. There are words I can employ which relate directly, for sure. Unfortunately, they must be left out of this. Whatever it is that I have become due to the past, one fact stands out from the rest of these circumstances, and that is I have changed dramatically since moving to the coast, and people are better off remaining away from me. I recently mentioned that I have become too unbalanced to ever be ‘good’ for another person. Well, I have worsened since that statement was published. I am worsening right now. My skewed sense of reality will not allow any understanding for me, or from me and toward other people. I cannot go further than this because I’m losing my way. Bad subject, but what do I have to lose if someone takes issue with me? Do I apologize for the way I am? Nope. I didn’t fucking do this, dipshits. I am intelligent and can reason my way through almost anything in existence, yet to convey my current feelings to another person would be an exercise in patience, not to mention an enormous reach for new terms. All I am trying to say is that though I just recently admitted that I can’t be good for another person, the fact is I do not believe I was any good years ago, either. The die was there from birth and the tool began its clamping motion nearly thirteen years later.

Maybe I was short-shot. Look it up.

This coffee is not that great.

There is a group of three big doves in the backyard grabbing seed from the ground below our feeder. I think they are too large for the small perches. Heh.

The garage is very cold this morning. Less than forty-five degrees, in fact. I’ll have to wait until the sun warms everything before heading out there to work. In the meantime, there is one cup of coffee remaining as images of impossibility swirl in my brain. I’ve spoken of issues so often that sometimes I don’t have a clue as to how this endeavor can continue. I began trying to explore and understand the obsession close to eight years ago, and then more recently went into more personal difficulties. And now? I am worse off than in the beginning. Such a fact begs the question: Why am I still typing? More importantly, why am I still trying? Is there a certain grace period through which I have to live before answers are illuminated for my benefit? Even that fucking question remains unanswered. I can’t even ask about asking. I’ll have to get the hell away from this very soon. My words solve nothing.

Brock Peters is on the screen right now. He was an absolute force in film and on television for more than fifty fucking years. You have my respect, sir, and rest in peace. Despite all my shit for many years, sometimes my biggest wish is to simply shake hands with a person and thank them for enriching my feeble existence. The list is long.

0943 and the coffee is nearly gone. The garage is warming at a steady rate, meaning I can be out there very soon. I’ll probably take care of the floor and cat litter prior to heading outside. There is not much to the kitchen since I did not cook dinner last night. I plan to remain home all day to work on whatever seems best. I feel so fucking depressed right now that I’ll have to force the issue in a little while. Nothing seems appealing.

I added some content to the private essay this morning. It began in June and continues from time to time, or whenever the losses are more acute. Seeing those memories on the screen is very depressing, though. Everything is gone, likely never to return. So sad. Sometimes I wish that I had never been with anyone in life. There is always an end. None of them were good.

1124. I finished the routine with lines in my fucking head. LINES, again. Earlier when I strolled into the front bedroom to grab the broom, one of the dog walkers – the same one from the beginning of this entry – was across the street in pants that seemed to have been applied by electroplating. I’m not kidding. They were so form-fitting that nothing was left to the imagination. And then... Jesus holy hell shit damn in a warm thong, she turned to allow her doggie to sniff a hydrant and stood her little feet together just close enough to place every fucking gorgeous line on display for seconds. I saw everything. The most beautiful symmetry in the universe. And then she moved a bit and accentuated certain curves, tugged at the leash, and continued down the street. I stood there and stared at her (is that an invasion of her privacy?) until she moved – beautifully – out of view, swearing under my breath the entire time and feeling pain deep enough inside to be completely confident in my sheer level of desperation. Swearing was not enough... IS not enough. My brain melted again. This is going to continue to occur until one of two changes takes place. Either I am going to completely lose my mind, or I am going to put an end to the ability to see such beauty moving around in the world. Thank Christ I was able to finish the routine without falling flat on my face and losing control of my temper. For the second time this week, the following ridiculous and insane question entered my head: Is that ‘her’? And then I asked the same question out loud.

Would you like to hear one other little tidbit? I noticed that after pouring my typical and beloved morning cocktail, my hand was shaking as I reached for the glass to take a sip. Splendid. I am not long for what is left of reality.

And on the heels of all this other shit – as if none of it was enough to destroy more of me – there was a gorgeous goddess of an ensign on the television for the umpteenth time. The desire was immediate. IMMEDIATE, God damn it all. I wanted to fly up her pant leg like a deranged pelican and apply what so badly needed to be applied. You know. Jesus, what a fucking sight she was. And hers was not the only pant leg up which I needed to fly.

0704 on football Sunday morning. Coffee and the typical scene here in the living room. Cats, all that shit. I still see the girl walking that dog from yesterday. I see details. I see curves. I do not recall any dreams this morning, either. That is good.

I did most of my garage organization yesterday along with some music and beer. Once those pants went by and hit me in the face, much of my concentration disappeared, leaving the work rather messy in the beginning. I focused a little while later and took care of lots of nagging items in order to make room for the holiday. Pulling out the grinder for reasons of luggage compaction really helped my head realign for the afternoon, too. That tool pays no mind to whatever may come along to give me trouble. It is loud, powerful, destructive, and throws sparks thirty feet down the driveway at times. The suitcase has been floating around my fucking garage for over a year and probably should have been donated last Christmas, but alas after looking at it closely, I noticed that the bag was in no shape for use. So, out came the power tools and now the large, rolling luggage is in a small trash bag. Very nice. I also moved some items to the rafters and secured one end of my big shelf. The last item was to disassemble the bent-wood rocker so it could be laid flat. That chair needs to stay, but I don’t want it taking up space out there. Besides, it needs to be rebuilt with proper hardware. If I ever make room in the house for the chair, I’ll take care of everything and give it a good cleaning. For now, the floor is nearly empty out there.

I am actually going to watch a game at the bar today. Well, most likely just half, but I’m going nonetheless. There is to be a bit of a meeting regarding one small job tomorrow. I’ll be helping in the morning with setup and testing at a house nearby. I also wish to go over there today so I can drop off a few items that have gone by the wayside for weeks. The last time I was at the bar for a game was the first week, nearly two months ago. Part of me does not want to be exposed to uncomfortable shit. Such a possibility is what will dictate the length of my stay. I’ll take care of the routine and part of the trash prior to leaving. Ziyal is making her second appearance, meaning Melanie’s gorgeous smile will be on the screen within a season or so. God damn was she ever beautiful. Anyway, I’m not concerned with working for part of tomorrow because I’ve already got a huge head start on having the garage ready for the holiday. Today will be helpful, as well. I’m hoping to avoid any imperial entanglements over there because I’ve already caught my limit of fucking pants and lines this week. I don’t fucking need any more.

The first one, perhaps a week ago or more, was pretty fucking bad, especially considering I see nothing without that damned question entering my head and leaving me saddened. The first was amazing beyond description and I can still see her. The main reason is she was more slender than the second. The girl yesterday had a bit of a bubble, yet she was still along the LINES of what I have tried to study for many years. The other difference between those two beauties is the fact that the second filled me with more desire than I was able to handle at the time. The first girl was different. Yes, I questioned whether or not either one of them was ‘her’, yet the second pushed my head into the pants almost immediately. And now I feel partly bad, although she has been up and down this street many times with nary a glance in my direction. Hopefully, the girl does not even realize that I exist at all. When I am in the garage with my car backed into the driveway, the combination of such ‘cover’ along with the gradient of light from outside to inside, means passers by can’t see into the garage anyway. I have had some people approach me as they make their way up the driveway and then tell me they cannot see shit beyond the line of the door. The woman did not turn her head at all. Maybe I have not been invading anyone’s privacy. Remember, I feel that she is a person and undeserving of any connection to what I have become. I do express desire here and it probably comes across as horrible, I don’t know. I am in pretty fucking bad shape these days, yet still... I can’t have a person affected (afflicted?) by yours truly. None of this shit is her fault. She just happens to occasionally walk by the open door of the most desperate, pathetic soul on the fucking planet. I wish I knew why the lines and beauty trouble me so. That one has never been understood. Do you think someone is going to come along and help me with such a question? Or have I been overstating the fact just to avoid admitting that part of me desires the lines closeup? To see? Stare? Whatever the case, I am fucked for all time.

I was close enough once to smell Her skin. I stared at the front, asked Her to turn halfway around and then stared at the back. The lines, all up and down from Her knees to the most private space. They are vastly different from front to back, as well, and I told Her as much. She did not understand my need to stare, but She did state that regardless of what She may or may not have understood about my desire to ‘see’, it didn’t matter. She obliged because She cared. And there was more. I did not know prior to that exact day, but deep inside, She had desired me for months. That was a huge problem. Anyway, the point is when I see a woman such as the taller of the two in the previous paragraph, my need to stare turns very quickly into heartache. That is the main idea here, not physical desire. I can’t do anything about either issue, so the fact is I have to do my best to simply breathe when those gorgeous forms appear within my vision. Now, if there is any additional information you can glean from the above sentences, go for it. Some of the earlier entries may make more sense after the fact.

This entry is turning to shit and I must put a stop to it.

A bit of backstory which has been gleaned before. I had lunch with Laura more than fifteen years ago, and at that time my interest was little different than it is right now. We spoke quietly for a while, ate some light food, and then spoke more. Two hours of conversation during which she had tears in her huge eyes more than once. We did not discuss frivolous, trivial shit, either. That was a deep conversation about love, fulfillment, life directions, and more. Hopeful decisions which alter circumstances negatively. The idea of beauty being a complete and utter distraction from the reality of a situation or relationship. We discussed topics of importance. At some point I told her of the torment in my head upon seeing lines and other details of a woman’s physique (which were all over her, believe it or not). Again there were tears because she could see in my eyes that I was not happy and the fact that what I so badly desired was very elusive. The woman was beyond amazing, inside and out. Prior to that lunch date, I did not desire her. After? I had to stay away. Everything became amplified due to knowing her better on the inside. Damn it. When we parted for the day, I fell into my car and watched her tall, slender frame, shorts, tank and heels stroll straight away from my position and I dropped all the way to the bottom of an ocean of sadness. To this very second, I still wish I would have popped back out of the car and said something. I really do. But that didn’t happen because above all of the wonder of her big eyes and beauty was a person. A human being. I had no wish to cause trouble. The die had been cast, however. Our lunch was a bellwether for my future. Had I pushed, something terrible would have likely transpired and affected her relationship, not to mention mine. I don’t know if I have ever desired a woman more than that very afternoon, nor can I understand how I remained quiet from that point forward.

Ah, yes... I have brought that lunch and other occasions when I spent time with Laura. Eight mentions of her name on the site leading up to this entry. I am shocked there are not more. That woman was unreal. As I sit here under this lap desk, I swear I’ve never seen larger eyes on a woman, television or otherwise. Laura’s eyes were absolutely huge and I would fucking die to see them in front of my face again. Kind, caring, and genuine, she was. I’ll fucking bet that she would have let me measure and record every fucking inch of her being with nothing more than a short, pointed disclaimer. She was THAT fucking sweet. A very stout boundary later and perhaps I could have studied her without restriction. Holy God. I have to stop thinking about this shit or I’m going to flip my lid for good. And the answer to what you are thinking is NO... I have not exaggerated her beauty due to the passage of time. I have images of her. Leave it.

1106 and I am at the bar, one of only eight including the adorably pregnant bartender. I decided to come early so I can leave early. The noise level is surprisingly high right now, too. It makes me a tad uncomfortable. Maybe I'll leave at the half. Or perhaps manufacture an excuse and disappear prior to the fucking kickoff.

0636, Monday morning. All the typical stuff is in place today. I have to work for a few hours, but other than that I shall be preparing and organizing for the holiday tonight. Yesterday’s fiasco took quite a bit of time, so I must catch up on everything later today. I will say that after being out of the house for a while and then needing to work this morning, the feeling is that Tuesday is going to feel like the actual beginning of my week.

I brought up the prospect of performing research on that woman because of how she relates to what has taken place in recent years. The entire affair would most likely have been halted due to my brain being full of desire. Pretty much every fucking time I saw her, there was an inkling in such a direction due to mystery and the manner in which my skewed sense of reality had developed while living in that area. I was pretty low during the trailing end of those three years, to be honest, and did not allow anyone to know what had been going on inside me. I was closed off and unfair, for sure. My thoughts were way outside reality and so out of balance that I did not feel that sharing with someone else was going to help them, or myself. I kept everything out of the public's eyes and ears, wrote on the site very little (which was so veiled that no one ever gave a shit), and dreamed, much as I do now. Laura was one of those dreams. I believe anything beyond conversation would have pushed my desperation over the top and ruined our friendship. As I have said several times already, in no way could I be good for anyone. True now, true then. At least I have learned to strike a balance between my issues and living life fairly comfortably. That is also true due to becoming so fucked in the head that I know I cannot be in any position to a possible ‘study’ in the future. I’ll just have to remember the past possibilities and sit on the rest.

The two recent sights outside my garage door remind me of my feelings for Laura. She has quickly become the ideal example of what NOT to do in life... I can no longer pursue anything related to the obsession because my brain will be unable to separate beauty from desire. That is the bottom fucking line. I must learn how to accept the fact that I am far too gone to be close to beauty anymore. Yesterday was a prime example of weakness which has driven me to craft these paragraphs and state the obvious.

0705 on Tuesday morning after the holiday. I nearly ran out of candy last night. The empire was lit and received compliments, I sat out there for a few hours and relaxed, and there were only a few problems in my brain. Not bad. After working yesterday until almost three, I had to play catch-up with the housework and then head to the garage for organization. I ran around for a good part of the afternoon before finally calling it quits. This morning is a bit more calm than yesterday because though we are returning to the job for a few hours today, my start time is ten. That gives me a little while for thinking and part of the routine prior to leaving. I also need some time to consider the swing which resulted in those three dreams. It came to mind last night on a few occasions and left me in pretty bad shape for quite a while. Today is some work and then a bit of stuff around the house, and then the goddess is stopping by to pick up some food late in the afternoon. So far this week, tomorrow will be the first ‘normal’ day. I visited the bar Sunday for the game, worked yesterday and then had to take care of all the stuff in the garage. I'll be working a bit today, so I am greatly looking forward to having a regular, quiet day tomorrow, not to mention the rest of the week. Make no mistake, I experienced issues last night. I must have the time and space to properly consider what took place in my head and how to defend against it in the future (if that’s even possible).

The third dream returned to the forefront after being out there for a while. More than once, that crap took place. And then later... Something up close that nearly halted my evening entirely. I cannot describe it, though. This shit is very sensitive and I still do not understand the motivation, even considering the dreams have been beyond my control. I just don’t get it. The concern continues, unimpeded, and often leaves me at the mercy of my own tragic imagination. Last night was a prime example of such a situation. Not the bra strap... Something else. A mental state far worse than what took place at the festival a month earlier. I need to reconcile all this shit and perhaps try to explore the subjects in the cloud. Most of the information cannot be placed here because I’m in no mood for all the flak. I have time to consider everything and am thankful for it.

0827 and I feel rather lousy. I am glad the work down the coast today is very mellow. The house is basically finished. We are ironing out some details, that’s all. It’s quiet there, too. There is a possible rub which could morph into disaster, yet the chances are slim. There is a person who worked in concert with us before and I have brought her to this site a few times. Well, she did some of the work on the house, meaning she could return for trim work. We were alone yesterday and expect to be the same today. I will state in no uncertain terms that if I see her big eyes again and she resembles the Raven like last time, my day will be completely fucked. The main issue will be maintaining my composure and remaining at a distance. I don’t believe there is much likelihood of anyone else being at the job, though. Just a few hours and we will be the hell out of there, leaving the rest of the week to me, thank the maker. My mind has traveled back in time to when I was working every week and had very little space to relax and fucking think. After today, I’ll feel much better.

1322 and here I am already home, thank Christ. The work was more mental than physical, meaning we were there only to solve a few issues. Everything went very well, and now I have the rest of the week to myself. This is very good. My big glass of whiskey and the third show are keeping me company. The weather is very changeable today, from drizzle to outright rain, and then wind and rain, soon over to partial sunshine. Yikes. The rest of my day will be devoted to a bit of laundry and organization inside the house.

1639. Cocktail number two (not THAT kind) and still the third show along with my loving family graces the big screen. There is a gorgeous Vorta up there right now. The end of this episode really highlights her eyes and cheekbones as her character becomes very emotional, soon after turning quite sad. I’ve said before that a woman’s eyes can look lovely sometimes if she’s been crying, and I believe the reason is all of the emotion coming forth. Good God, she looks stunning just before the scene changes back to the station. I am a sucker for the eyes, no shit. Anyway, I finished the routine and a bunch of organization along with a well-deserved lunch. Now it is time to relax and plan tomorrow, which has become the first day this week that I will have all to myself.

0642 on a very cold Wednesday morning. This is the first day in five that I will have to myself. That prospect alone will likely help me through the hours without falling too far down. Right now I have my show, some coffee, and enough comfort to avoid the blackness. Hopefully, the remainder of the day will follow suit.

And... 0732. The time ahead is all mine. Second cup of coffee. Third show. Cats asleep. Well, they were in the midst of the ‘pre-sleep grooming’ period. And sometimes the coffee tastes odd after having a bite of bread. I know not why. Today I have to do all of the laundry that has been awaiting my attention since Sunday. I went out to watch the game and then worked a day and a half, meaning not much was accomplished at home. When you combine all that crap with my holiday preparations Monday afternoon and evening, the idea of playing catch-up is no longer humorous. It’s important. After so much time being home every day, if my typical routine or schedule is interrupted or preempted, I feel quite uncomfortable. I need to have things in good order today. My truck is on hold for a while until I can get down the peninsula to that machine shop and ask about them turning a piece of tubing down a few thousandths. I also have the gardener’s drone in the garage and wish to begin troubleshooting for him. My experience tells me that I may have the best chance of finding the issue without sending him to the manufacturer, but at the same time I do not have a lot of SMD ability. I suppose I’ll dive in and find an error code and then go from there.

The morning is not great, yet I feel good about having the day to myself. I’ll have to begin the laundry very soon. 0854 and the last of the coffee. I rolled out to the garage and began washing clothes. The weather is still quite cool, so I’ll have to remain inside for a while. There has been a pause of the main topic here because I don’t know what to say most of the time. Moreover, the pain inside me which has resulted from all this shit going nowhere has become debilitating and I can’t fucking stand thinking about it. Anything with the ability to distract me from reality is a godsend. I may have to pour the morning drink a bit earlier today. The morning has been a failure. The lines rarely leave my fucking head.

1242. I took care of the routine and most of the laundry is finished. The trip to the cigarette store was uneventful, thankfully. I still have a few things to do, but nothing will take long. Lunch is in the oven. I don’t know how far I’ll get with the drone, either. As I said earlier, my SMD prowess leaves a bit to be desired. The issue may be identified, but I might not have the expertise or equipment to actually perform a repair. If not, perhaps I can at least learn of what needs to be done and help him save some money on a diagnosis. The third show is still running.

0701 on Thursday. Dark outside, dark inside. Something had better come along and save me. I don’t enjoy feeling this way every day.

The drone research went ok, I guess. Powering and pairing everything led to a pre-flight check, and then an error. I believe I have the troubleshooting pared down to a single board. I’ll contact the owner today to ask if he wants me to do the work. Between the drone and the laundry yesterday, most of my day was full until mid-afternoon, at which time I decided to continue with the model disassembly. I may do something similar today. I also need some time to flesh out a couple of very strange dreams from a few hours ago. One more thing? I’m wondering what happened to the lines. They rarely leave my head, yet when I do not see anything for a day or two, the whole mess seems to ease up a little. The second damaging dream was slapping me in the face on Halloween, but even that one went away after a short time. All this adds up to me finally knowing when to expect the bad shit. I am pretty certain the worst aspects of this situation come to mind with force whenever I am alone and not busy. Some sort of reminder pops into my head like a sliver of ice, and then it catches a gust of wind and begins to roll, eventually becoming larger than my ability to throw the dice against such power. Shortly thereafter? The issue rolls right over me and I’m fucked. Flattened. This is one such occasion. I do not feel well.

Ah... I am not working tomorrow. We are going to make the change in about two hours that had been scheduled for later. Nice. That means my Friday morning should be more comfortable. Hopefully, heading out for an hour or two will help alleviate the sadness which has begun to cut its way into my day.

As I have said many times, the value of this continues to diminish. I have not written much this week because I don’t know what to type. Each day runs into the next. There is not much difference anymore. I have my little devices. Morning coffee. I still enjoy pouring the first cup and sitting here each day, sometimes going further into the morning via writing, other times moving away from the exposition earlier rather than later. I can’t seem to find the cohesion the site enjoyed during summer and early fall. The dreams drove me insane, yet at the same time they did provide much motivation for looking into the past and discovering those little moments which helped to shape me over time. The whole thing felt romantic at times, whereas now all I feel is horribly sad, angry and very desperate. The slightest reference can drive me insane. Those two on the street recently did just that, one heading toward burying myself in the ground over feeling so much loss, and the other clearly illustrating just how dire my circumstances have become. Today is destined to become a line. I shall make sure of that. Dire is a word I do not enjoy using when trying to describe myself. It is necessary at times, though.

This is the seventh entry bearing the same subtitle (topic?). Why? I don’t know. There were three terms, ‘her’ being key due to my dreams of finding that wondrous soul who can make all the negative feelings go away. I have to take care of the morning stuff but will return directly. I need this today, good or bad.

0913. I am still sitting here with a head full of words and nary a clue as to how to unscramble them. My feelings are all over the map today. I keep thinking of the way those lines affected me and forced images of understanding of a type which seems to be otherwise impossible. Dreams are all that I have. Visions, too. I see and fall down over everything that has been missing for a very long time. Oh, there have been moments and little situations here and there, but the truth is nothing was actually solved. Beauty... Right there before my eyes. Was it real? Or was I attempting to construct something that cannot exist? The beauty continues to move back in time as the clock rolls along unimpeded. The smiling faces are gone, possibly forever. Well, gone from my life, anyway. The understanding was close, too. Very close at times. Now it is so far away that I don’t know which way to turn. My routine awaits. I need help, but from where? Whom? That’s right... Help is unavailable. ‘Her’ lines pay no mind to my plight.

The ‘image’ is just behind my tired vision this morning. I know how that one developed, however. The rest is shrouded in mystery. Dreams, perhaps. I don’t fucking know. I’ll tell you one thing, too. The recent sightings as combined with the damaging dreams have really taken their toll. Make no mistake. I feel so small and insignificant right now. Not good. I mentioned that today is to be a line. At some point, such a fact will come to pass. There is no getting around it right now.

Have you been able to read the subtext?

Is it surprising that I use alcohol as a crutch? Such a fact is indicative of weakness. I am a little, frightened person sitting at a keyboard. I am not the formidable presence (hope) I once was. Technical, helpful, fairly strong, and always ready to take on some problem. Now? I’ve lost all but the tiniest slivers of ambition. The booze depresses the shit out of me sometimes, yet at the same time I can work through the day both during and after a single morning cocktail. The sound of the ice rattling inside the glass is calming and helps me to feel as if I am in at least some control. This little house and the people on the television are my whole world. If I need the drink in the morning to get through the day, so be it. Judge me.

Half the routine is finished and one of my favorite episodes is playing. This one carries a ‘moment’ that ranks in my top ten of the franchise and always brings forth tears. I can’t help it. These people mean more to me than most of the world. That is not an overstatement, nor is it a joke. I need them in my life more than the real people. This is how fucked up I have become. Marvelous. At least they will always be there for me.

Today is still going to be a line. The other lines are ruling my existence, meaning I can’t rise in some ways, only those which are nearly meaningless. The site content is not long for this world because I’ve already said all there is to fucking say. Whatever has come about here in the last few months adds up to nothing more than desperate attempts to state how empty and negative my life is of late, and my own fruitless reaching and searching for anything with the power to add meaning to the same. In short, I am done here. I am finished trying. At some point I will clean the kitchen and have a snack, and then move to the garage and swing the only force I have left: The hammer. The days will pass, I’ll embrace my ever-diminishing comforts, and watch the clock spin until the end. The final solution shall be applied. Julian is sitting in front of the largest baked potato I’ve ever seen. Oh, and I believe I hear a motorcycle arriving at my neighbor’s house. That could enhance the hammer’s swing. One more time for posterity and clarity: I fucking love the people on the television; I love little else.

'The woeful silence; wind's reflection
Of your body's pale, icy fortress
...Of blood and ages

Sky fire above, ice below the hearth
Sky fire above, ice below the hearth

Fall away from me
To that citadel at the end of time
Where death sleeps
And dreams of your buried pain

There has never been a silence like this before
There will never be an ode like this again'

What an apt indication of my severed nature.

‘And let flow the tears’.

Saturday is off to a slow start. I was up fairly late due to a birthday celebration encompassing a whopping three people. Whatever. Today had been left wide open like most weekends, so I can relax and do some thinking. There was a vision, too. A taste of closeness; a scent for a second. I could have gone out of my mind but maintained composure due to the circumstances and situation. Oh, but it was there regardless of whatever may have been taking place in the rest of the universe. A scent. For a second. I could have flown directly into the fucking sun and torched the remainder of my life, yet felt nothing had been missed. Holy shit. My head went sideways, and then the music followed suit. I again dreamed of seeing the lines, something too wondrous to actually happen to a person such as myself. At least, not after all this time and agonization. Nothing good is on my horizon.

That is a point which actually came out last night. I had been very frustrated – even prior to the vision – and felt that my opinions were being disregarded. Well, I’ve felt that way quite often in the past and realized some years ago that the situation is actually different in my head than in reality some of the time. Last night may have swung toward me but I did not see it at the time. Anyway, the music did follow deep into the evening as we approached midnight. I looked over at the latest artwork on the cabinet door and such a sight led me to see the place I inhabit right now. The feeling from the mid-zeros returned just long enough to battle the lines for control of my psyche. The fucking lines always win, though. There is simply too much power inherent in the lines, especially considering the very precious nature of my deep feelings toward them. For a few minutes, I did return to the past and saw myself living the best I could within the concrete jungle and very far from where I wished to be. Not the lines... The forest. Yes, I realize I’ve not brought that word here for a while. Forgive me. The artwork pushed the idea and it traveled straight through me and toward the music selection. Not long after, I gave up and went to sleep. Other people not listening to what I have to say or placating me is not going to end well, but it must be real, not imagined. Sometimes I lose that fight inside my head. This morning I know there is nothing wrong in reality, only within my brain. I can’t have that type of evening playing out again.

‘Her’ lines. All of them. Inside me; ruling me; destroying me. Right there, yet again. I dreamed... Nothing is going to happen. Nothing. This is all there is to be. Just... This. There shall be none of that. Nothing for me. I with for it every waking second of every fucking day, too. I keep wishing and dreaming and falling on my stupid face thinking that there may be the slim possibility of... Something. What a galactic fucking waste of my time. Precious time? Nope. Just time. ‘Precious’ describes aspects of this life which are either unreal, unavailable or otherwise deemed too good for the likes of me by those with the power. I needed to see the lines without restriction. Her lines. I have become so fucking skewed that to look back even two years means I will not recognize myself at all. Nothing is as nice. Nothing is as enjoyable. The lines are mysterious and elusive beyond belief. They are also killing me. I had better keep the big garage door closed all day. If I see one of those girls walking by, the result could be disastrous.

I’ve been wondering... Voodoo aside, do we dream after death?

I haven’t lifted a finger yet today. All I’ve done is begun mixing the peanut butter so I can make a sandwich or maybe some toast later. The natural peanut butter combined with sourdough bread is fantastic and one of those snacks that dates back to the nineties. For me, anyway. As for the rest of today’s routine? I’ll get around to some of it soon, I suppose. Being up late at night is the type of situation I would rather avoid, but it was a birthday. I played the nice host part. Eventually – and something which coincided with my staring at the symbol on the cabinet door – my mood suffered and I began to behave more dramatically. Nothing bad, of course, because I will not ruin the evening with my repressed bullshit, yet I did change as the hour grew late. Now I feel like a fucking idiot for being so weak after years of grooming myself to cover everything while near people. One of the worst feelings in the world is regret, especially when it is my own behavior. My partner clearly informed me that I was fine and the only clue of something changing inside my head was the musical choice. My outward appearance and interactions with others did not mirror the shit inside, thank the maker. I suppose that is fine, but I would prefer avoiding the entire feeling in the future. I wish I could predict how many failures I must live through before actually learning and changing. I don’t want another human being to know what is going on inside me. That is too much exposure. And? Too much pressure.

Sunday morning. I need to reset five clocks this morning. The change should be prior to Halloween, honestly. That facilitates trick-or-treating a bit earlier in the day. Well, whatever. I’ll turn everything back an hour sometime after I finish with this crap.

I believe today is one of those in which I need to avoid everything possible, mostly people. The plan was to visit the bar for a little while and then pick up a few things for dinner tonight. That means the goddess market. Well, everything has been truncated as of last night. I don't feel like seeing anyone, least of all some fucking female form in that store. So, here I shall remain all day. Just me and my routine, garbage and whatever has the ability to entertain my sordid head for a while. I keep thinking of how much I wanted to slather my lips all over her scented neck. This shit needs to be pushed out in favor of more productive items from my Sunday list. Getting her out of my thoughts is very difficult.

And here we are at the end, yet again. Another entry. The last of the last? I don't know. None of this is going anywhere or helping me. I am much worse off right now than a year ago. In addition, the time has come for me to keep myself to myself, including what has been splayed here. This is one of those mornings. Confusion and pain; loss and sadness. Everything is swirling. I keep seeing the Rolodex of life spinning and flashing pictures of situations gone forever and imagery of those people that have disappeared. I am angry, yet there is not one damned thing I can do about any of it. My power has been forcefully and violently removed. I know of the catalyst. I can still hear the condescension. I can feel the false nature. I remember everything.

False. I heard the bullshit placation and the stories; more than enough to convince me that this place is no longer for me. It is for others. I do not fit anymore. Maybe I never did.

Too close.
Right fucking there.
The scent of everything.
The desire of a lifetime.
’I think I no longer matter.’
Frozen.
I could not move.
Everything was close.
And now everything is worse.
Better to have...?
Right there.
I saw the future.
I saw the future.
The wine was close.
Rain, rain go away.
Bring 'her' to me one day.
Allay.
Help me to not see.
Help me to not feel.
Help me to not know.

Pleading is finished. Now comes anger.

Take it all away.”