November 16th, 2022 6:16am pst

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Her Eyes (IX)

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"0846, same fucking morning. I am pleased that the Sunday chores await because I need to feel productive today. Yesterday must be erased. I have plenty of work between the routine and the garbage, plus later when things are in order I can finish the last of the disassembly. There are three parts of the big car left, and it is the final model. I’m sure later in the fall I will break one of them out of the box and build again. The process is quite calming. Right now all I can do is make plans. The house must remain quiet for the next hour or so. I still have a bit of coffee and my friends on the television, beginning with the seventh and final season. I love and need them.

Sometimes I wish those three dreams had never occurred. They’ve done nothing aside from causing me further heartache and confusion. Prior to the first, I had not thought in such terms. Now that months have passed since the first vision of her, not a fucking day goes by without the imagery entering my head and derailing any thinking. She is stunningly beautiful and moves me like few others. I wish I could go back in time and change something, damn it. Everything feels impossible. The damaging dreams are aptly-named. That is all.

Ah... I just overheard something: ‘Remember, too much imagination can be... Dangerous.’ Indeed.

The hammer swing must be avoided in the future. My empire notwithstanding, I have to rein in the feelings whenever my brain begins to become overwhelmed. Lashing is weak and dangerous, and can skew others’ consideration of my mental and emotional health. I can’t have that, God damn it. I just can’t. I will admit that the alcohol often has a hand in my reckless behavior, meaning the entire shitaree is under my control. If I can avoid one, I can prevent the other. Today, for example, I am in a very negative frame of mind but can resist the temptation to blast the empire and throw that fucking hammer all over the garage (figuratively, of course). I can be productive without slipping off the edge of the world. I just need to focus and concentrate. If people believe I am out of my mind or a loose cannon, that is fine. I only wish to avoid coming across as juvenile. This brings forth a memory...

My buddy who lived a couple of miles away from me during high school and shortly thereafter had a neighbor, a fucking gorgeous girl close to our age that I spied every now and again. At that age, well... You know. I wanted to be physically attached to her but my friend informed me that she was ‘nuts’. I asked what he meant because we often jokingly labeled others who were not like us. He stated she had been confined to an institution more than once due to reckless, dangerous behavior toward herself and those close to her. Yikes. I just couldn’t believe how fucking beautiful she was only to think that there were issues I did not understand. Holy shit was that girl stunning from any angle. Mental problems? That did not compute, and such a fact despite the harsh presence of mental illness in my own family during the same time period. Her outward appearance seemed to push against my belief that the girl was not well. Sometimes when I think back to that time, I wonder what may have come of such a person. I never knew her personally and never will. My own hospitalization in the past forced me to see her in a very different light. I felt sympathy rather than desire, and that is a fucking stretch, believe me.

I don’t know why I brought her up here. Maybe I am feeling so far out of whack that I’m beginning to better understand some situations from the past that I could not comprehend at the time. I don’t know. I will say that I do not feel well, either physically or mentally, yet I also have little control over anything beyond these walls. My world is fucking tiny of late.

Hmm... Juliette was the first, and she was going through something in her life that made her feel reckless and somewhat despondent at times. I was the same way back then, which could have been the catalyst for our connection. Andrea was similar. Her life was ‘all fucked up’ as she told me, and she desperately needed to escape everything for a while. I provided the means. Eleanor was balanced as far as I could read her. Ashley, too. Those two had very good heads on their shoulders. Kind, caring and considerate to a fault. I believe Natalie was similar, yet we were only close to each other for a very short time. Maybe all those insane trips around the country truly were nothing more than searches for escaping reality. Well, I escaped. I exercised my ability to disappear and force those who knew me to wonder. This coffee is not very tasty. I’m glad the grounds are nearly exhausted. I need to do something else right now. The time for thinking deeply is at hand, and my routine will facilitate such.

1538, as if the time makes any difference whatsoever. Most everything is finished, including an ill-fated trip to the market full of yoga-wrapped wonder. Damn it. Right out of the fucking gate, too. I wasn’t even able to grab a hand basket before being slammed by twin visions, one at each of the closest checkout lanes. Such an occurrence figures, I guess. Always looking, always searching for ‘her’, always falling on my stupid face. I shopped and returned to the peace and quiet of home, thankfully. I desperately needed to...

Doesn’t matter.

This has been one of those days when the missing pieces continue to float directly behind my eyes no matter what I’m doing. Um... Like every day, really. Sometimes I find distractions, other times I do not. And then my head returns to all those visions and I barely hang on. Reality? I don’t want it anymore. My brain will not cease its motion. The market was a reminder that the more I leave the house, the more I will eventually see. My intentions do not matter. The brain responds and operates automatically, darting about just in case there is something to see. Well, I saw. One with her feet together and too much on display. And then a second. I walked to the produce aisle and felt actual pain inside, as if I could not go on living through those situations without going crazy or committing suicide. Pain and torment as I have stated too often. I really don’t want to feel that crap anymore. I’ve plowed enough shit after all these years. Remember the ‘whelp’? I can’t be like that now. I just can’t. I need a change but none are available. Others have such options, not me. I can’t do anything because my mental and emotional damage has been cemented so deeply inside that no one can affect them. Not anymore. This is who I am to be for all time, or whatever time may be left. Broken heart, broken body.

0644, Monday. I am supposed to work in an hour or so but I may cancel the entire shitaree due to feeling like shit inside and out. I worked twelve hours out of forty last week and it feels as if my entire world has been turned upside down. I feel this way due to being home for so many months and without the need to answer to anyone.

1034. The routine is finished. I did not go to work. Maybe tomorrow if I feel better (not fucking likely). I thought of driving over to Macy’s to return an overcoat and then having lunch around the corner at one of my favorite places, but I think eating at home is a better idea. Perhaps after my morning medicine (read: whiskey) is gone I’ll clean up and head over there for the return. Most likely I’ll see some shit like yesterday. I have not been to that shopping center in quite some time. Each visit was wrought with trouble. The morning has been unpleasant, yet I have no wish to pile more atop how I already feel. I might return the coat on another day.


God damn it anyway.

1255. I went to Macy’s to return the coat, switched the lottery tickets – one of those near-impossibilities that could solve a few of my problems – and returned home with a vision in my brain. This is the billionth occurrence of something I should not have seen. I won’t go on about it, but suffice to say the cosmetics counter was in view on my way out of the store, and right there with a lovely smile was yet another fucking Asian goddess looking like a million bucks. Shit on it, anyway. I knew there would be something. All manner of scenery went flying through my head in one fucking second, I turned to the door and walked out even further damaged than when I entered the store. You’d think I would be used to it by now. Nope. Each strike is often worse than the last. All my other ideas for places to go or a possible cozy lunch disappeared and I made a beeline back down the highway. I didn’t need that. The good news is my credit for the purchase is incoming and the two women who helped me with an unruly QR code were very kind. Their manager? Tall, black hair, slender... And I am completely flattened. I nearly mucked up the return process by sending my brain into her pants. All I wanted to do was...

Broken heart; broken body.

I don’t know what the hell to do for the rest of the afternoon. The feelings will not leave for a fucking second. This is one of the many occasions with me realizing just how weakened I have become, along with my penchant for losing my way so easily on a given day.

1403. I prepared a few things for dinner later. The third show is about to enter its final chapter, too. I’ll be following because I am a basket case. The weather outside has turned quite cold and rainy. I must maintain the indoor temperature. I’ve reconciled the idea of working tomorrow because of Monday being to my advantage. Tuesday will be improved through my efforts this evening, thus the work should be fine. I just need to be mentally prepared, something which has become a pretty tall order lately. My Sunday business went along fine, but inside was a need for the quiet of the following morning without interruption. Now I can move along into Tuesday feeling a bit more comfortable about leaving the house. I need to head to the garage and gather some food. I have a visitor coming soon.

0632. Coffee. Third show. Cats are fed. I’ll be heading to work in less than an hour. I am not too concerned about leaving. We will be working at an empty house not far from home. The only rub is that the home is owned by the same family as the previous job, meaning there is a slim possibility that they are employing the same electrician as in the past. If she appears there for work today, the situation could be very bad for yours truly. The woman is probably the sharpest reminder of the Raven’s big eyes and a person with whom I’ve been infatuated for several years. I don’t want to see her at all. Whatever takes place today, I’ll be overjoyed to return home later.

I don’t know if I’ll be doing much more work after this week because the last time I began to roll from one day to the next (that was in February), the schedule began to tighten and left me without much breathing room. I had grown accustomed to having control over my schedule only to slowly ease back into consecutive days until I hit a roadblock and withdrew. Not only that, but there was that fateful day when I saw the girl trying on different running shoes and heading out the door of the shop several times to jog a short distance and then return. Not only did I see her less than ten feet from my position, but I could also see into the shop where she sat to switch footwear. That shit drove my head into the past when we were in the City every fucking day for weeks at a time and I nearly lost my fucking mind. I have to stay out of the mainstream workforce these days. The runner with her black pants, yellow French-cut top and dark, flowing hair is still inside my brain, and keep in mind that incident took place nine months ago. Just imagine how bad things could be if I had to travel through that fucking town every day of the week. Nope. Fuck that. I had a hard enough time just getting out of Macy’s yesterday.

0629. Wednesday. I agreed to work one more day to make things easier. That will be today. Yesterday went fine for the most part. I am tired, but not all the way out. Early to bed last night means I feel fine this morning despite being on my feet so much while at the job. I am glad today will be the last, though. My normal routine must take precedence over everything else. And the girl was not there yesterday. Very, very good. I just have to get through today without seeing her and I’ll be ok. Two days of work is plenty for someone so broken.

0702 on Thursday morning. Very cool outside so far today. Alice is on the television, all psycho-woman and huge forehead, but still very cute somehow. I can’t explain. The character is a menace, though. Very scary.

I am in a bad spot here. A bad fucking spot. The day has been fine other than helping at the bar earlier. I went over there before ten after hearing that the main sink behind the bar itself had a stoppage. My boss called me because I have the drain machine and he could not be there until after the business was open. I was happy to help, but oy fuck was it a pain in the arms. I cleared it and ran a few tests by flooding the sinks. Very good. Other than that, I finished the usual daily routine and had lunch. Like many other days, I am now rather stuck with my brain overloaded with all those visions, lines and everything missing from inside me. For a change of pace, I put the dragons on the television but do not believe they will last because I will need comfort very soon. I’m tired of feeling so empty, and sometimes the only tiny lift is seeing my friends up there. At least the work has been fine. No worries about the fucking goddess showing up at the job. We were alone yesterday. I may help for two days next week, as well. The cash is nice for a change.

0707. Veteran’s Day. I put the flags out and was reminded of the spring when I did it every day, albeit one flag was different. I don’t know why I ceased that practice. Anyway, this morning I am pleased that much of the day will be mine. The only important project is to make a detailed inventory of the goods we are donating tomorrow morning. I may return to the drone and see if I can clear the hardware error by repositioning a couple of connections rather than replacing the ESC. Apparently, the type of attachment points used on those models can be susceptible to dislodging upon crash. I’ll take a look later if the sun is somewhat warm. Otherwise, I may move the drone into the dining room and investigate there instead. Right now, I am trying to plan out a few items to get the imagery out of my head again. There is trouble brewing.

0916. The morning business is out of the way and I have part of the usual routine finished.

Wow. Wow. Just... Wow. I made a grave error a little while ago; which will continue to ring inside my head for a very long time. While the error was in progress, I saw one example of a fucking stunning goddess and another with eyes that go on forever. I spoke with the latter because of some business I need to perform at the bar. The former disappeared within minutes of gracing my vision, thank Christ. I don’t need any fucking problems piled atop my already towering construct of shit. The bad spot continues. I believe the goddess was party to a wedding or some other affair (most likely a wedding) and had she stayed long enough to remove her beautiful camel-hair overcoat I may have fainted. I only remained at the table for a very short time and then headed out the back to return home. I never should have left the house in the first place, honestly. Nothing good came of the trip.

Saturday morning. I have to put out the food donations by nine. The rest of the day will be tough, much like yesterday. I did some work, yet everything felt trivial and pathetic somehow. The time simply burned away from me. It fell off the edge of the clock and didn’t matter. That was the worst example in memory of having completely lost my way. I have no wish to feel it again.


The board is ordered for my gardener’s drone. I am about ninety percent certain it is the problem, and part of that is reinforced by the number of references I’ve run across with the same error. The board should be here the week of Thanksgiving. He is not in a hurry, either. Very patient, that guy. Anyway, the procedure is pretty straightforward, meaning once I have the ESC in hand I can install it in roughly half an hour and run a test.

One of the many Michelles has been in my head this morning. I believe the reason is a ceiling fan of all things. While pouring the coffee, I thought of way back in zero five when we lived in Dublin. I decided to replace the bland, white fan in our living room with something more exotic. We shopped and picked a big, beautiful fan based upon a banana tree (wood) and I installed it a few days later. Well, after perusing some of the regulations in the rental agreement for that apartment, I learned that I was not supposed to work on anything mounted to the ceiling for two reasons. One, the height was ten feet and could be dangerous, and two, anything beyond hanging pictures had to be supervised by management. So, I called the office to speak with a leasing agent. There were three... Jennifer and Cara in the beginning with Michelle coming along shortly thereafter. I was familiar with all of them.

Cara was the agent who leased the apartment to us. She was not too far over five feet tall, gorgeous, and I recall when we were first led to the unit in question. Cara gave us the tour, meaning I basically followed her up the stairs (there were no elevators despite the complex being quite new). My eyes were glued to her gyrating rear end the entire way. It was then that I realized the beauty involved in living there was going to be a problem. Little did I know, that problem was about to increase ten-fold once Michelle joined the leasing team about a year later. Holy shit.

My buddy downstairs – he was later joined by a friend so they could split the rent – had the hots for Michelle and ended up seeing her for a while. There were several occasions at the pool and spa when Michelle was a part of the group, meaning my head came apart over and over at seeing her tall and slender (yet very curvy) frame. The woman had a disproportionate chest as opposed to her narrow waist and slight hips. Sitting in the spa across from her became an exercise in restraint. I will say her bikini was diminutive and leave it at that. I just ran a detailed search and found 229 occurrences of the name Michelle. One with whom I was in a relationship right around thirty years ago, perhaps one or two on the television, the other Michelle with whom I ran away for days, but little mention of the leasing agent. Hmm. Believe me when I say she was one of the most uniquely-shaped women I had ever seen, not to mention a bit goofy like the girl I was with way back in time. My buddy basically gave up on her after less than two months. The reason? He could not deal with the fact that her hobby was to collect purses (very nice ones, too) and display them on shelves in her apartment. Michelle was rather like the other Michelle with whom I was in a relationship years earlier in that her brain power was minimal. I am not trying to be unkind, either. The simple truth was that she was clingy and dependent. I could see that right out of the fucking gate. I guess her personality was incompatible with his desires, or something. I didn’t get it. For me? I would have snatched her into my arms and not let go. Partly due to her level of beauty and partly because I had the feeling she was needy and could help to reduce my fears. She was out of balance and so was I. And? While we lived in that apartment and surrounded ourselves with the same people all the time, I wanted Michelle all over me more than anything in the world.

Yes, the ceiling fan issue led me to all that shit.

The point was Michelle (I suppose we can refer to her as number two). The thoughts in my brain when she was nearby became desperate, overpowering and beyond my ability to rationalize. Given the chance, I would have lunged at her with everything I was. I need to pause this line of thinking for a little while and do some business.

And I think it is time to alter the title structure. I have been wavering for more than two years.

1133. Half the routine is finished and the other half will require no more than three minutes of my time. I am waiting for the college football game in an hour. Last week I was concerned about my team (the only fucking team that matters), whereas this week I am more confident. Pizza will help, too. This is the type of Saturday in which I can do whatever the hell I want with the hours ahead. Unfortunately, such a fact may not matter. The last two days turned out to be only slightly productive and very disappointing. Today’s big positive is the scouting contingent picked up our food donations. That cleared a large section of my precious garage space. The big negative is I keep seeing Michelle’s huge, hopeful eyes when they looked to me for approval whenever she spoke. Damn. She is but one grain of sand lost in a beach of issues. I wish I had not recalled that fucking fan.

1716. My team won. Two weeks from now will be the test, though. Ugh. We shall see if this year matches the last. I have not done much today other than the routine and a trip to the store. The garage is awaiting attention but I figured tomorrow would be better for such a project because I will need to take care of the garbage, too. Laundry will also be addressed. Maybe I’ll see the dog walker again. She went by earlier while I was taking a break in the garage. Black pants again. Walking with purpose while keeping an eye on the dog. My eyes came out of my skull for the second time. Looking is harmful to me, yet there is honestly not one damned thing I can do to alter my behavior for the better. I can’t seem to save myself. The lines have become the most important part of my life. The reason is still a mystery and all rolled up with the other shit... The arms I always need (not there), the understanding (not there), and all those things missing inside. Everything comes together at some point every fucking day and leaves me unable to move in any direction.

The Midwest feeling returned just before kickoff and gripped me, much like my recollections of that period. Well, the glow, too. I have never been able to fully describe the feeling to anyone. There were mysteries remaining in the world; wondrous things about which I knew very little. Discoveries. The idea of a home later in life. An image of that home. Places to see. All that shit was tied up in some television programming from the late eighties and into the early nineties. The feeling led me straight to the first trip we took to the Midwest. And then I was overwhelmed, but some of it was not real. The wonder resided in my head and heart, and there was little of the same in reality. The first trip made all the difference and helped to paint a picture that I still see each time pro football season begins. College football only exacerbates the feelings of loss. There are still very warm aspects, though.

0705 on Sunday. My head is a blender.

I have not been thinking about the idea of driving up the mountain. Not much, anyway. Being right here with no need to work full-time is nice, and the situation allows me to enjoy the beautiful aspects of fall without feeling as if the season is rushing by while I’m not paying attention. The big drive was to head up and into the very cold weather and embrace such a gradient, and a large portion of my desire to experience the high country and drop in temperature was motivated by living through long summers of very hot weather and my discomfort within it. Now? The weather is rarely hot, meaning I do not yearn to drive away from this place except for exploration or some other type of vacation. We did just that nearly five years ago and ended up all over the place for seven days, but no high country. Things have changed. My focus is head and shoulders above the rest.


Even though my head hurts this morning (figuratively), the appearance of Sunday business is helping. Nothing is going to come along and help me to understand or alleviate all of the issues which continue to push me down, so I have to turn my head the other way and work around the house, all the while holding fast to music or one of my shows.

I may have thought of Michelle partly due to the fan, but I also believe some of it was writing about Laura and that period of my life in the apartment. Those three years were full of dire thinking and the idea that I was ‘stuck’ somehow. In reality, I was not stuck in any way. There were good things around me, wonderful people, and all of the different parts of the year crammed with the type of gatherings and activities I really enjoyed. Unfortunately, nothing could be held against the dreams and alleviation of what I thought was the only path to comfort. Part of the issue here is something I will not describe, however. Despite all of the shit splayed on the site for years, there are still details and tidbits of information likely able to bridge much of my thinking which must be left the hell out. Furthering my thoughts of Michelle or Laura – much like the desire to head into the ‘forest’ – is not going to do any good here. Michelle came to mind and that is that. Yes, I still miss seeing her because she was unique and stirred me as a striking reminder of the first Michelle with whom I was in a relationship years earlier; the likeliest candidate for ‘machine’ thinking in my history. The second Michelle was not far off and I wanted her to be mine quite often. This entire line of thinking came out of left field and was better off undiscovered. Shit. Whatever. I will say that both of those women had enormous eyes and when I spoke to each of them I saw those big eyes telling me that what I had been saying was important. Oh, the feeling from the early nineties when I felt others were not paying attention to me or, conversely, not taking me seriously is trying to push out the visions of beauty and the trouble inherent in recalling them, mostly Michelle and her prying eyes. Um... Prying me away from paying attention to ANYTHING else in the world, that is. The more I sit here and recall that period and my slight connection to those two beautiful souls, the more I believe there was a turning point within that complex which began to eat me alive once the era came to an end. That could have been the very beginning of this fruitless, desperate and very sad search.

I really believe I’ve hit on something here... A key to some of the questions, that key being their eyes. Both of them. Laura and I were very close for a short time and could have been much closer had I not wanted to run my tongue all over her body. My desire was probably natural, yet despite the commonplace need to be with her physically, the truth is such a dire wish likely convoluted my thinking. I helped her, too. I really did. The problem was that inside me the desire would have come to a head given the proper set of circumstances, and the situation would have been destroyed. I am glad that did not happen. As for Michelle, we were not as close, but the desire was similar. Their eyes... Huge and kind. I could have repressed that information until much later when I began to see Jamie in her twenties and noticed similarities to the expressions I’d experienced right in front of me. There is something about the eyes on those two women that drove me to believe I could unload problems and find a level of caring that seemed necessary for my comfort in life. All these years later, the problems have amplified and the need for understanding has increased beyond my ability to cope. Does that make sense? Today could be a huge step in whatever the fuck this has become. The search? No, that’s impossible and too much of an unrealistic dream for any type of real expectations. But the rest – 'understanding' of a very specific nature – may have grown out of control due to my deeply emotional feelings regarding those two pairs of eyes. Think about how much I've spouted about Jamie and Jolene because of their eyes. This is beginning to make a bit of sense. The shit component to this possible realization is the fact that my overwhelming desire to be with those two women physically blinded me to the importance of what their eyes meant to the bigger picture. Maybe I was not ready to consider such things at the time. Ugh... I don’t fucking know.

The third show is on and reminding me of discussing Jeri with my coworker at NASA. He had the hots for her because of her body, whereas I always felt her best feature was that pair of huge eyes. That is the fucking truth. Her eyes. Around that same time was Jolene on the fifth show. Again... Eyes of an enormous nature. Lots of emotion comes through those windows and brings Laura’s sweetness to mind. She was right there across the table and nearly in tears while we discussed life and relationships. Had I not wanted so badly to taste every inch of her skin, the conversation may have found even more improvement from the already stirring topics. Damn it. The point is I believe my fondness for those eyes was indeed shoved to the back burner and flared very badly many years later. It was the beginning of something which is now crippling my ability to get through a given day on an even keel.

Today may go down in history because of the memory of a fucking ceiling fan. Heh. And... WOW. Did I learn something? God forbid...

0903 and I need to take care of part of my routine very soon. The coffee in my mug is waning, meaning the time for a bit of work is coming soon. Oh, fuck... Here we go again. Susanna is one of the featured guest stars in this two-part epic. She also has eyes over which I have gushed for years. Damn it! Big, beautiful eyes that go on forever. Ugh. Anyway, the aforementioned garbage organization and garage chores await my efforts. The game this week is at night, and I want to have everything in order by sundown. That will not be a problem. The sun is shining, so hopefully the temperature out there rises enough to work comfortably. I have much thinking on tap, as well. The topic of eyes has become very important to my well-being and possible understanding of why I am the way I am. Believe it. I can still see Laura across the table and her entire heart pouring information through those windows. Good God, I wish I hadn’t wanted to devour her body at the time. We could have had one hell of a friendship. At least I never gave an outward sign of my desire. Eh... She probably knew. I want to hug her right now.

Nope... Gone.

Everything feels gone.

This is not a very good Sunday. Here I sit at 1135 with the football on the televisions and my drink, part of the business finished and anticipating heading to the bar for the most important game tonight, yet inside me is a massive void driven by visions of lines and a lack of far too much. Writing about Laura and Michell may have birthed a realization of the beginning of my need for understanding, but the accompanying imagery and dreams have struck me upside the head and caused one of the largest falls in recent memory. I am fallen yet again. I can already see how the game time will go this evening... Too much drinking and a shit attitude. I will be reckless, vocal and on fire. My routine is finished, the garbage is in process, and I took care of a bit of organization in the garage. Behind every step for the last hour? Lines and loss, loss and lines. I am so broken at this very moment that I feel like pouring that damaging second cocktail and grabbing the device which can end everything. This is a very bad day. On the heels of finding some critical points regarding how the past has shaped me, I had hoped my mood would improve. Nope. Not one fucking bit. Quite the reverse, actually. I am fortunate that one of those two fucking stunning examples of endless beauty is not nearby. My head would push and ruin everything.

As if that is not enough, when I went to the front bedroom to grab my broom and get everything started today, I spied the dog walker across the street – wrapped tightly in black yoga pants and looking ever the beauty – and fell off an early cliff. The abyss has enveloped my consciousness. A pivotal and important win tonight will not have the power to pull me out of this dark place. I have little doubt that my arrival at the bar will be positive. Fuck it. I am going anyway. The girl walking the dog? Yep... I wanted to lick her fucking pants until they fell apart.

I have never felt so weakened and desperate as right fucking now at this very moment.

A ‘Marshalls’ commercial just reinforced my obsession. HOW IN THE HOLY BLUE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME? I hate everything in the world right now. The images within this entry are about to be swapped with four others that are very risque. Live with it. I have to.


I changed my mind about the images. 1334 in the afternoon and I have most everything finished. The game from ten this morning is still playing because it went into overtime. The play has been completely insane on both sides. Usually, I don’t have many options for games at home because there are only two networks. I guess I got lucky. I still don’t know what time to head to the bar, though. Maybe four. Hopefully, there won’t be anything over there causing further heartache. THe day has been difficult enough already. Moreover? Every now and again I see a fan in the crowd aligned with the imagery of eyes in my head. I don’t fucking need that shit right now. What I wouldn’t give to...

I am so fucking far from happy that the distance is beyond measure. Thirty years of precision measurements, both electronic and mechanical, yet this one is too much. Well, fuck it. Who am I, anyway? Do I matter?


I feel kind of strange sitting here this early on a Sunday afternoon with most everything finished. Too much free time can be a curse when I can’t get those fucking eyes out of my brain. And not just the eyes, either. I still dream of caressing Laura’s smooth skin. God damn was that woman ever gorgeous. She carried everything I love. Maybe I should have thrown myself at her (gently, of course) since I fucked up the rest of my life shortly thereafter. Eh... No. Knowing I had a negative effect upon her life would have chewed me like all the rest. Things are better since I remained at a distance. I still dream, though. I dream of her...

Never mind. I am all fucked up and even further out of balance than when I gushed about a machine two years ago. Believe it.

I’m sure there are people who would see me as deviant or some other type of weirdo because I go on and on about certain memories, eyes or faces, and then equate those feelings to levels of desire. I have become pretty strange, no doubt, but still... Just a little person sitting at a keyboard and operating an individual site. Nothing important here, nor reason for concern. There will be no affecting the world no matter what I say. I used to worry that I would receive a knock at the door resulting from some published tirade. Nope. I am unimportant. Nobody. A chasm in society. I don’t even know why I went into this crap after the more poignant points above. At least I finally realized a connection between my current state of mind and the past. Nothing will come of that, either. Just an unfortunate happenstance, nothing more.

1301, Monday. I worked for a little while this morning and then returned to the routine. Half of it is finished. The other half shall wait until after lunch. The fourth show is gracing my big television at this moment and the sun is shining. The day would seem to be pretty positive, yet inside me is difficulty. I can’t get the thoughts of those two pairs of eyes out of the way for clear thinking, nor can I forget the fucking jeans I spied on the way to watch the football game yesterday. Damn this shit. Just damn it all. I can’t even talk about half of what has been swirling inside my brain today. This is just fucking peachy yet again.

The rest of this day will be for naught. I keep seeing the images flipping along like a high-speed slide show and can’t fucking do anything about it. This is going to come to a head soon. I know it. Each day is a little tougher than the last. There is nothing I can do about this situation, either. Nothing. I am tired of feeling this way. Actually, I was tired of feeling this way a long time ago. How I made it through all that time is beyond my comprehension. I know not what drives the locomotive. I will say that working a little here and there is helping me finance a new desktop machine. That is better than nothing. I rather miss the days of sitting and working on two monitors with some acceptable music playing and a nice cocktail next to the keyboard. The idea is something about which I am actually excited. Hopefully, the desktop machine will remain a positive aspect of my existence for a long time.

0610. Tuesday. I will be working most of the day. That means I will probably opt to skip tomorrow and if I do work again this week it will be only Thursday. Mondays and Fridays are out unless the work is something simple, such as yesterday. At least I have the option. In the past, nothing was up to me and I rarely enjoyed the freedom to control my time. That really began to come to a head when I first spent time with the Raven. My head went sideways and I forced the issue for a few days before finally calming. At present, I need not go to such lengths in order to find some comfort for a little while.

There were a few moments early yesterday when I felt nostalgia for a certain situation with one of the closet doors. Er... It could have been a bathroom door. I can’t recall clearly. A few minutes passed as I remembered that evening (I think it was evening) and experienced pain afterwards. That was the time when my business was supposed to begin, so I had to cut short the memory and get to work. Moments later, force overtook my need to think and I went on with the morning preparations. Today I am close to feeling the same, too. I don’t like this at all and have to leave for work in less than an hour. I hope my head doesn’t go sideways like seven years ago. I really don’t need to be mired within society and miles from home while experiencing a relapse of such a horrible loss. While I still have time here this morning, the other reminder continues to slap me in the face and I do not know which is worse. There is a possibility that I know what changed this year, too. The recollections of the past come back and illuminate a terrible gradient, I sit here and wonder why things must be this way, and then eventually move away from everything by effectively shoving it back far enough to ignore the problem. That does not fix it, though. Another day goes by and I feel worse.

1650. I worked all day in the interest of earning some holiday money. The day was ok for the most part. Work always carries its fair share of difficulties due to the trade being so physical. I can deal with it because I pretty much only work when I feel like it and when my weekdays do not have anything else pressing. Well, the afternoon turned everything upside fucking down, unfortunately. I have mentioned on several occasions one woman’s face which always seemed to resemble that of the Raven. Something else took place this afternoon as I stood and spoke with that very same woman, quite unexpectedly I must add. Every time I see her she remembers me due to years of running into each other in several places and working together a few times. Today was different... VERY fucking different. An image popped into my head as I traced the lines of her face, one which I have never been able to fully describe. The connection was immediate and unreal. I still can’t fucking believe I never made it before. I had the rare opportunity to stand there and study her face for several minutes. What followed was the most striking, stirring realization that smashes even the one up the page regarding the eyes of Laura and Michelle number two. And just to get the thought out right now rather than languishing all the way to the end, I am fucking ruined. No good will come of this. I stood and spoke with the end-all be-all of human existence (mine, that is) and now can barely navigate the fucking keyboard. The last bastion of my endeavor in life has been illuminated and nothing can come of it.

Maybe I should avoid revealing the reason this has become so overpowering and what the vision has done to me. I’ve been labeled and fucking slighted so many times that to bring up such a connection may only serve to increase my isolation. On the other hand, I’ve run out of topics, so perhaps this could stir others into seeing the true depth of my cultural derealization. Perhaps.

Try to recall my mention of ‘the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen’ having been included in one of these entries. Go for it. And keep in mind that the scale does not slide, nor are there many in existence that can reach even the bottom of the fucking thing.

I have to stop typing now. This is too much for my damaged soul."