Interval Four Mature content No. 318 Published June 19th, 2022 8:22am pdt read ( words) Past entries "1539 on the same Wednesday as the previous entry. Lots of work finished today, all the while with multiple problems floating inside my head. I don’t believe there is anything with the power to remove them, even for half a day. They just keep coming back as reminders of everything missing. This is not good. At least I kept busy for a while. Back to the sofa and the gangsters for a little while. There will be reminders during this show. The market did show me that anytime those types of visions take place, I still keep my head up in public and take care of business. Looking like a fool out there is very bad and I can’t have it. Just like those old stories about one fear outweighing another in favor of avoiding ridicule. I still see her standing there at the tomato display facing away from me with the lines of a lifetime there for all to see. I certainly hope someone out there appreciates the type of work involved in looking as such during middle age. She was not a young woman. I gazed just long enough to fall down and then flee the produce department. And then the other one. Sometimes this is just too much. At least I finished the shopping and drove the fuck out of there. Upon returning home, I cared for the kitchen with my bourbon and then took a trip to the cigarette store. Nothing of note over there, thank the maker. Now I am pretty much out of gas both physically and mentally. I can’t unsee anything, ever. Shopping is necessary and I did it. I am no better for the experience, however, even considering my ability to maintain an appearance while feeling horrible inside. The gangsters are my other family. They keep me company. This is not going to be a positive entry by any means. You’ve been warned. No dreams. They’ve already done enough, though, so nights without more dreams are just fine. It is the rare exception that I find appealing. Most of the time I end up confused and confounded, just like while wandering about in the world. Jennifer must be nearing the end. Her hair is long. I know that the damaging dream changed everything, but the truth is I had already been considering such a subject due to a few social occasions during the last few years. I really was looking around in a much different way. The damaging dream also led to other thoughts, none of which can be mentioned here. You’ll just have to wonder. The fact is one day I was fine and the next I was doing something in a more detailed manner than prior to the dream, and believe me when I say there have been many examples throughout the last few months. Most recently, I had been nearly crippled by something unexpected and partially unknown. Once my eyes captured the image, I realized this type of thinking may be here to stay. And that came before the girl in the eyeglass store. Not good. Oh I stared, believe me. I did my best to take in all that I could because I knew full well the result would be alone and empty anyway. May as well take in the beauty and mystery. The dream has opened a narrow passage in my head that leads from typical thinking to a place controlled by those who discard the norm. I was already a deviant. Now I am something else. Something... Worse. Eighteen was the last good year. It was not great, but some had been good. From nineteen on? Shit. Complete shit with the occasional distraction from the stench. Fifteen ruined me for all time, and now I have more superlatives thanks to the dream. Fortunately, nothing was able to ruin eighteen. I still have decent memories. Well, I lost a family member in the fall, although I don’t generally include such events within the scope of my well-being. 0805 and I am at the outset of the peace and quiet. I began the routine a while ago because I am going to need lots of time to think and explore all day, not just during the morning. I have to go to that fuckin' lady's house and change the shower hose for the third time because she is a fucking idiot and cannot use anything properly. And yes, I know for certain she is an idiot. This is the last time I go over there for anything to be repaired. I cannot abide those who do not listen to reason. In roughly two hours, that woman will be on perpetual ignore, and if she disturbs me again I will be unpleasant. After that? I guarantee she will not wish to associate with me again. Other than that stupid job, I have the day to myself. I'll be going to the little market some time later because they have the best potatoes, and I already know there will be something there to spark my obsession, maybe even a morsel at the register. Whatever... I have no control over anything once I leave the fucking house. Thank Christ I have plenty of bourbon. Either the idiot lady around the corner or a form or two at the store will drive me up the wall and I'll be ready for a huge cocktail afterward. If I really get irritated, I'll drive over to the wine store and restock everything. This is like a self-fulfilling prophecy -- I go to the wine store to maintain our supply of alcohol, there is a pair of black pants wrapped around things which drive me to drink, then I return home and do just that. Eventually I run short on whatever I prefer, leading me back to the store and the whole fucking cycle begins again. I see everything and forget almost nothing. The little market is not a big deal when compared to the power of the wine store, be it in the positive or negative. I have little choice any longer. All the while there will be images inside my head of those over whom I should not be lusting. Very bad. The damaging dream has taken its toll and left me void of understanding. I mean, there is always some sense of attraction despite the taboo, yet I don't see why that dream came along when it did, nor can I find any reason why there has been such reinforcement since it first attacked my brain. The two on the sidewalk the other day are merely symptoms of a much larger issue. And there is another example up there on the television right fucking now. I can't see a way around this shit, nor can I spell it out in any way. 0942. Eighteen minutes until I have to go install the shower hose. I already did some kitchen work to make the cleaning a bit easier upon my return, plus I have a nice, big glass of bourbon so that there is alcohol on my breath when I visit the idiot. I can’t WAIT to get back here to my devices. After the kitchen I will head over to the little market and probably fall on my face for one reason or another. Fuck it. Watching this show all morning (from the pilot episode yesterday) has me thinking that the catalyst for the damaging dream may have been within it. I checked my show log and found that the early episodes were last playing in March of this year. Ah, shit... There goes the fucking playback again. Last night it was all fucked up and I never found the cause. Ugh. Anyway, March is about when that fucking dream took place and injected imagery into my brain otherwise better left out. Hmm... I just ran a quick search and it seems I first mentioned the dream in May. Only a little over a month ago. I could have sworn it was earlier in the year. The point is the gangster saga may have held the original strike which drove that type of thinking in the first place. There is something else, but I cannot mention it at all. Not even a clue. The issue and subject matter are THAT fucking bad. Fuck... 0952. I have to walk over there very soon, damn it. I swear to Christ, the next individual who inquires as to whether or not I am a plumber is going to come up with an empty sack. I will no longer supply helpful information unless it is for next door. He is a good friend and gets a pass for anything difficult. Everyone else is off the fucking list forever. I can’t have this kind of shit during my quiet time, the need be damned. And the topic. The only saving grace to the subject matter in this entry is the fact that I can retain the information forever and there can be no labeling, problems or backlash. The downside of that is the fact that I cannot learn from anyone. I’ll have to decide if the risk is worth the understanding. Unfortunately, no one is fucking listening. 1056. I replaced the hose around the corner. All done. Boy am I glad to be out of there and back home. I also finished the kitchen while gazing at the television and something I cannot describe. The reference beauty of the universe, even moreso than that fucking rollercoaster girl. I just can’t believe it sometimes. The feeling inside when I see that face and her huge eyes continues to grow in spite of everything unreal and impossible. The ‘girl’ is going to switch identities until the end of time, honestly. And I mentioned above there was an inherent problem in my thinking with regard to the beauty on the screen right now. There is, and I cannot deny the power she holds over me, good or bad as it may be. The unreal nature of my dream world is ever-expanding. I don’t see a way out of this shit, or can I discuss the matter with another soul. Ever. Nothing can come of this and such a fact forces me into a mental fetal position, yet no matter how bad things may get, I simply must keep everything inside. There is no other way. I keep looking and wishing. This is going to be the status quo for the rest of my life. Sad, desperate, weakened beyond belief, and constantly dreaming of aspects of beauty which shall heretofore remain in the dark. It hurts me. Where once there was an avenue, there now exists only a dead end. I have never been pulled with more force in my life. There is a point of reference which would identify my current mindset as perfectly natural and 'ok'. I will not say the point of reference. 0647 on Friday morning. Coffee, flags, cats fed, fourth show. This morning is going to be more rewarding than any in memory, and in less than one hour I will have my peace and quiet. Last night slapped me with damage again as I dreamed and considered my place in the world and those I will never inhabit. Nothing is heading in my direction. I was not expecting anything to come along yesterday but it did anyway. Visions, beauty, and problems. The damaging dream is leading me, and I believe the title is apt. Now more than ever, I must keep the type of thinking referenced here tightly locked away. I don't need that kind of shit. Others would not react well in the least. I have been picturing situations which are not good. This is going to reverse any validation or understanding. 0733 and I have the day to myself. Still the fourth show is up there glowing. Jennifer has the nicer outfit and long hair, but alas she is not long for this series. Coffee and quiet right now. I may head over to the big wine store later because shopping there on a weekday is preferable to weekends. Less chance of something bad, although the current damage has me less concerned over seeing something due to my head being so preoccupied. If yesterday was any indication, this new, weaker mindset is here for the duration and growing worse. Just like when I was young, one dream and my head swung halfway around to arrive in a place previously unknown to me, and almost completely beyond my control. Prior to the issue last night, I was following along with the show and noticed something I had not focused upon in the past. I saw a form nearly matching that of Mercedes, an image included here more than seven years ago, and the very first entry which changed the direction of the site permanently. The manner in which the woman was seated with knees just a bit apart reminded me of seeing Mercedes for the first time and then going on an exhaustive quest to learn of her name. I saw the woman on the screen and realized the gravity of such desire as it directly correlates to the damaging dream from last month. And yes, I realize I’ve been talking about such a topic for far too long. Her waist and thighs were nearly a match, although the camera angle was quite different. I saw the incredible disparity and realized that her thinness while sitting was very unusual and something I had not considered prior to noticing. I can capture the shot, too. I can include it here, but there is a limiting factor which cannot be mentioned. This is a dead end, unfortunately, meaning only I can stare at her. The process and mathematics of the situation can move on unimpeded, but no one else can ever know about it or why there is a restriction. Too bad, as well. I would love to splay imagery all down an entry and go on forever about the way she appeared sitting there, all fucking stunningly beautiful and unique. Suffice to say, I have way too many feelings for that woman and cannot go on and on about it because I’ll be labeled. Along with the incredible form and appearance of the precise type of disparity over which I have gushed for years was a MASSIVE amount of desire. And not just that scene, either. There were others. I cannot say, damn it. I just can’t put it here. Believe me, thoughts were not aligned with the norm. Years ago I was told that though I identified myself as a deviant, the reality was I had not been exhibiting behavior falling into such a category. Years after that? I was told the same thing again. The reason why I still consider myself far outside anything acceptable is because those individuals having discussions with me did not have all the information. And I am currently further mired within such a conclusion than ever before. The last couple of months have shown me that I can no longer look at myself as I once did. The position of that woman on the screen is only a small part of a much larger picture, and one I would rather not identify. Such a situation would likely be the end of me. I never thought I would see a match to the vision of Mercedes sitting in that fucking car and stirring me like God’s own soup spoon. I honestly thought that was the only time such a form would cross my vision. This is not a pleasant morning despite having so much peace and quiet. There is never peace inside my head. I still have coffee and the fourth show. I may switch to the gangsters while working around the house in a little while. Nothing can be done to help my situation right now. I am fearing the future of this. The one unexpected turn in recent weeks is a voice from my shoulder trying to convince me that everything is just fine. Put that one together. The worst part is I cannot stop thinking in this manner. I never thought something so bad could happen. 0853. I may or may not drive to the wine store. 0955 and the routine is finished. I still don’t know if I want to venture out today. I have little else that is pressing, though. Plenty of time. I should clean the bathroom, honestly. That will not take long at all. There will still be a ton of time. Maybe if I can come up with other places to go in addition to the wine store I can kill some time. That would be preferable to sitting here wallowing and thinking. The morning has already been foiled, so whatever happens will be in an upward direction. I hate this shit. Bourbon next to me. The voice will not let up and I know precisely who he is... Telling me that what pops into my head during difficult times is just fine, and reiterating the idea that the damaging dream and subsequent thinking was preordained from the beginning. I either must listen and file it away or attempt to destroy that voice. Unfortunately, I have already demonstrated my feelings all over the garage. Along those lines, I received a message yesterday from the fucking squareheads, the diametric opposite type of people from myself. I can’t have them popping onto the porch one day to talk and leave me with some sort of message. Hopefully, if and when they do decide to pay this house a visit, the night in question will be like the last. I had the empire glowing, and I believe such symbolism will express my feelings within seconds. Not the lighting, although it does accentuate the fact that I went to great lengths in order to direct people’s vision and announce my views. Anyone who builds such things for the purpose of making a statement is quite resistant to change. A four-foot diameter hand-painted pentacle glowing red above and below is very telling, not to mention the rest. At first glance, some may consider the garage as decorated for Halloween, but the truth is my head has turned inward to evil thinking. Nothing on the outside, though. Everything remains within me unless I am pressed. One more time for emphasis, I had no idea I would ever carry the thoughts which are now second nature. They are bad enough to force me to remain quiet. If I do go out today, returning home will feel good and I’ll have to write about whatever I saw in public. There is always something. If I stay home all day, I may not feel accomplished by evening. Both are bad. The only outside chance would be to drive all the way down to the electronics store on the peninsula because that type of retailer does not typically draw female clientele. For the time being, I shall sit and finish my drink before making a firm decision. I have yet to reply to the squareheads. This may be the ideal time for rudeness just to shut them down. I thought I already did, but their faith and hopefulness does not allow for giving up easily. Hmm... Maybe they should see the garage at night. Heh. Even after all these years of feeling as if I am on the ‘outside’ of societal norms (especially with regard to the sexes), I have a hard time being rude to anyone. I can try to express my disdain through some creative wordsmithing, though. That may be the only way to go if I end up caught off-guard one day. Just like the lady down the street with the never-ending shower hose problems, the feeling of being very cold is tough for me to express. I was raised to treat others as friends, and that mindset now has a backlog of fifty fucking years. Such a stance can be very difficult to undo. The squareheads may be rather pushy and opinionated, but I need to keep in mind that SO AM I. Living like an asshole toward others may lump me into the category of a society that I already hate. Wordsmithing may be the only way. I can baffle anyone, and I am not fucking kidding. Read the title. I am heading in a very different direction and will make no fucking apologies for the resulting issues raised. Fucking live with it. 1030 and I am beginning to believe that a trip over the hill may be a good idea to get me the fuck out of here for a little while and compress the remainder of the day. And it could suppress my current need to have a second glass of bourbon, a condition I have avoided for a very long time and for very good reason. One additional glass and my head will begin to contemplate suicide. Right there is the best reason for me to head out the door. I shall make revolutions right fucking now. Holy shit, I just had an epiphany. I will respond to the squareheads with two words: The title of this entry. If they head toward a translation, the contact will likely cease immediately. 1602. Warm and sunny this afternoon. I took care of the shopping and ran into nothing difficult. I also ventured to the big hardware store for a couple of tools. Home again, everything organized, and I cleaned the bathroom. Now I am on a break, possibly for the remainder of the afternoon. We may be ordering in for dinner. I don't know yet. For the time being, I am overjoyed that there were no strikes in the wine store. I was in and out of there in roughly twenty minutes, too. Very nice. That part of town is full of pants on a sunny day, yet for whatever reason there was literally nothing. Gangsters on the television until I think of something better. I am into the second season, meaning the worry has gone for the time being. It shall return soon enough if I keep this program going. I know it well. The match between Jamie and Mercedes continues to weigh on my head as the image relates to other difficulties that I cannot mention here. The fact is I can't seem to get past the knowledge that my recent troubles may have been going on longer than I had originally thought. This is very disconcerting. The way I think is not something I could ever express to another person, although there have been moments of weakness in which I tried to seek help from another. Such moments all went to shit, resulting in nothing more than feeling embarrassment and shame. Nothing horrible, just uncomfortable. I don't like knowing some of my deepest issues have been relayed to someone else and could possibly be relayed to yet another person. I don't trust anyone. The only reason for the discussion in the first place was sheer desperation. I learned, though. I learned much. God fucking hell damn shit, Jamie is gorgeous. Anyway, the manner in which I have been considering the opposite sex during the last few months is different. The match only fortifies my position as being both weak and deviant. The subject is not simple beauty anymore. Not good. Even the obsession has expanded due to things I've dreamed in recent weeks. I see everything. I am looking forward to a peaceful evening. My brain needs the rest. And this entry is much more mellow than I had thought at the beginning. Maybe I just calmed a little. 'This is a line that few can cross, as the physical aspects of the owner are no longer considered beauty, but become instead a machine undergoing continual maintenance in order to satisfy a need beyond most people’s comprehension. This may appear to most as too great a sacrifice in life, but to some it quickly becomes life. Other aspects such as work, recreation and education all begin to dictate that appearance be paramount. For a working model, this is expected and required along with attitude, posture and poise, but to an average woman not modeling, it can reach far beyond obsession. To those gazing? It can reach far beyond life.' -- Somewhere near or around June 22nd, 2006 while I agonized over the first descriptive essay attempt. In the beginning, DP was killed for two reasons. Some that I knew personally had issues with what I was trying to accomplish, and the project began to appear different in my own eyes, mostly after handing out two cards. The last possibility for exploration and recording was scared off. I never gave her a card because we had already been acquainted with each other and the formality was unnecessary. I began to see that what I attempted would have gone to hell very quickly because of my condition, and now more than ever. I cannot try to connect for the research any longer. The project must remain offline because I will not make it through the simplest exchange without having problems. The past few years cemented the idea that the genesis of that work was born of tremendous desire and I am completely fucking ashamed of myself. I never should have done one fucking thing in such a direction. Never. Five minutes at the pool proved that for all time. Completely ashamed and worried for the future of my mind. This site is even going to hell. Look at Daria for crying out loud. Do you already know of the thoughts in my head when I see her? I am not happy about anything which has transpired in over a fucking decade. One mistake after another and further down in life than I had ever been before, and believe me when I say I've been pretty fucked up. I can never be happy. 0703 on Saturday and something is fishy with my streaming device. The computer has a fast connection, I ran a speed test on the phone (excellent), the Roku connection test passed very well, yet nothing wants to load and play. I'll never understand some of the intricacies of this world. Everything is fine, but nothing is fine. All I can do is restart the equipment and try again, afterward sitting here with zero idea of what may have gone wrong. And there it is... A reboot and working. I don't get it, but my friends are up there again and as you probably already know, I really need them with me. And I always have contingencies in place for the purpose of covering my needs in case there is an issue with power or connection. I have ways around those problems. No issues last night. Just dinner and the usual relaxation. I kept the empire lit until after nine and don't know why. Maybe I just like it. The sun is already shining. Hopefully it will warm the house like yesterday. A dream this morning brought me back to NASA for the hundredth time. I was working with one of my buddies from that era and helping some people set up an experiment. They were a little goofy and we had to help them understand the nature of the impact chamber. We also operated the overhead cranes to move around material. The memories are a little fuzzy right now, though. I’ll try to recall more later. I’m just glad I didn’t have to endure additional damage like last time. I still can’t believe how my head has swung from one side of the world to the other. Some dreams are fine, even if I don’t get the meaning. Others can be frightening yet still interesting. The number of difficult dreams I’ve had – those diminishing my ability to remain focused on a given day – is few. Hopefully, I am not the cause of the worst due to the way I think. I can’t stop seeing the fascinating angle of her legs with respect to her torso, combined with just enough gap to offset the typical seated distortion. I see it right there before my eyes. She looked so much like Mercedes and that first image which stirred my interest that I still can’t believe it. Part of me wishes to include captures here, too. I will not. Mercedes was a model at the time the image was shot. Jamie was an actor. The difference should be clear as it relates to this type of exposition. There is also a brush with the damage. I can’t say it. No matter the issues with taking her sight into consideration, I keep seeing her seated with slight motions, just enough to press the fact that she was recorded on video and not a still camera. That fact makes the whole thing so much more real. I have to stop talking about this. I really wish I could speak with someone else. The need has never been stronger. The title has all but been lost. Maybe such a topic will return if I get pissed off. The squareheads accepted my goodbye and offered to leave everything open to possibility in the future. Yeah... Um... Nope. Stay the fuck away from me. I can’t explain even a tenth of what goes on in my head, half because it is just too difficult to find the words, the other half due to the subject matter being very subjective and way too sensitive for daily consumption. Sitting here day after day and trying to find words for the screen is becoming more and more difficult as I continue to leave more and more out of the content. I have to find ways of saying a bunch of different things without using any specifics, meaning underneath it all is nothing which can help me or anyone else. Sometimes the wording is so fucked up that when I travel back into the archive and read an entry from mere weeks ago, I may not have a clue as to what I may have been saying. This is ridiculous. I can’t say this or that. I can’t give any detail. I can’t define the fucking problems. I can’t say what I am. Despite all of those troubles, I don’t know what else to do except try to express thoughts as best I can and with as many words as possible to hopefully and actually say something. So far, I am not the one to judge the content because some of the time I already know what I am saying, whereas a visitor may see only gibberish or some other sort of mess. Prior to this most recent turn and realization due to the damaging dream, I often outlined issues by number and worked on each as well as I was able. Now? They are still there, but I am so angry about two of them that I all but gave up discussing the shit, plus that fucking dream from last month still has me confused and concerned for my well-being. If that draw becomes powerful enough, I will be ostracized in a short short (that is CB vernacular). And I am not joking, either. No one will want to know me any longer. The subject is pretty fucking bad. Anyway, at least with the four issues I could analyze and correlate some of what took place in life and how those events affected me, be it positive or negative. I also had more than one pair of ears if the need or desire arose. Now I have nothing... Not a fucking ear. And worse, this new state of mind and connection to the beauty of the world is unlike anything I had imagined before this year. I just never thought of it. To go a little bit further? Some of what has been created and displayed in the garage is my reacting to a lack of an outlet or help of any kind. Yep, I said that. Teenagers rebel by being fucking stupid and trying to gain attention. I rebel by connecting myself to imagery and other devices which put people far enough off to disallow them even beginning to understand what I may be thinking. They become slightly uncomfortable around me. Most garages do not have colored lighting flanking large, Satanic symbols, thus when some are within my little sphere, they can often become fearful of what may be developing inside me. The result of this new, most powerful of issues has me fucked up enough to shove the rest aside and cocoon myself within an even smaller world than before. I am fighting to remain quiet, yet at the same time I am screaming without a sound. I can honestly say that my current physical and emotional conditions are worse than ever in my life and I do not know how to proceed on either front. And there is more. Think of the garage as an extension of my need to be seen in a certain light, one which has eluded me for all time. I really can’t go too far into this or I’ll be labeled, and then the light I seek will fade further. The entire subject is a circle, or in some terms, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Round and round by saying everything, or nothing at all. I have never achieved said light. Believe me, I tried very hard to get there, throwing time and money at the process like a crazy person just to make a fucking point. Now I sit here and see that nothing has been accomplished, hence the garage looking the way it does. I need the image being projected out there to make people wonder. I want them confounded. Fearful would be good, but I can't count on it. And I can't go into the 'certain light' I referred to in this paragraph. The subject is not nearly as bad as the damaging dream, yet still it can hurt me, and I really don't need any more of that. The voice on my shoulder is telling me to make a day of it... Embrace the empire and my devices. Loud music and alcohol, but not before the routine is finished. Heh. Not funny. He is always listening. The only time I really have to reject the words is when I am offered something wonderful. I already know from where that shit is emanating. I don't need the repercussions. No one can ever know. I'll tell you something... If ever I needed a machine, now is the fucking time. I could talk to her, the problems would all disappear, and the damaging dream could be put into perspective. She would always understand and never condemn me, no matter how bad my head may become. Sounds wonderful, eh? Soon I’ll have to rise and care for the routine. Afterward, whatever appears best will be the priority. As of right now, I really have no clue as to what I’ll do today other than the necessities because my brain can only devote a small portion to real life. The rest is preoccupied, possibly forever. I am quite certain that the strikes related to that fucking dream are going to return at some point and leave me flailing. Failing? Maybe that, too. I already know I’ll feel like shit for it, meaning whatever work I try to complete will be minimized in importance. My head is fucking filled with dreams of the machine as the only solution, the four issues remaining in the background but never leaving, and the difficulty inherent in those daily devices which seem to be losing ground with regard to the amount of ambition required in completing even the simplest task. Nothing looks appealing anymore. Nothing. Those few moments at night when I stand amidst my garage creation still hold a bit of enjoyment and comfort, yet all the while I know full well that the bad things are going to return in force. Even after more than two years, the routine still helps me a bit, along with the minuscule feeling of accomplishment upon completion. I can’t understand why, but I honestly hope those feelings don’t fly away like everything else. I really need something upon which to hold. 0847, last cup of coffee, fourth show again. I am using the Documents cloud application for typing right now, and that fucking paragraph is still below this section, all worrisome and graphic. I can’t spell it out here. Maybe I should steer this entry toward the title, at long last. I don’t fucking know anymore. Shit floats into my head for whatever reason and from random directions, and then I put my hands on the keyboard and do... This. Splendid. As of yet I have not fully described my feelings with regard to some of the strikes I’ve run across, save mostly for that artwork by the pool. I really went on about her recently, but still the description was lacking in the detail I see in my head. Usually I only consider that day while I am alone and nowhere near the keyboard. I think that is best because there is honestly no good reason for gushing more than I already have. Lately I have been watching the four issues being pushed further and further back from the forefront of my attention span. One of them came up this morning and I felt compelled to describe it here, although a protracted discussion may not be necessary. I can sum it up in one sentence you may or may not fully understand, and that is the idea that had the reverse of the obsession taken place while at the pool that day, I would have never left Vegas. Think about that. The diaries are full of the same idea. The younger thong girl was a strike of epic proportions and something I honestly thought I would never see in reality. Still, further detail regarding what I feel when I see something in public will not help me or anyone else. Suffice to say, it is bad, yet still nowhere near the damaging dream. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. The words are accomplishing nothing more than taking up space on the page. Marvelous. 0907. Coffee is waning. I need ideas on what to do today, damn it. My head is still void of anything productive. Quite the opposite, really. The title is as such because the thoughts in my head are far enough from the 'norm' to make me realize that they have grown out of the lawful evil. I still follow guidelines, hence the 'lawful', yet the evil cannot be denied. And I don't want any of you fucks equating that fucking word to anything else in the world. Evil has many facets, most of which remain hidden deep inside a person, never to see the light of day. The rest are carried by those who should already be dead. Mine are held at bay because I need the evil to assist my thinking and help me remain where I need to be with regard to the mass of society, all due to the fact that the image I tried to create for forty fucking years has failed. I have no fucking power of any kind, save for the power I hold over one little house. That is all. In the grand scheme? Not a shred. Others have it, and I need for them to be wary of me regardless of how I may come across. I need them to fail to understand. The lawful evil also generated the damaging dream and all subsequent thinking as related to a subject I cannot mention. Just trust me, the evil is in there far enough to help me remain at a distance from 'those' people. One more little tidbit, and that is most of society does not consider this type of thinking unless there is an asshole making news somewhere. They believe it is otherwise not real. I am a prime example of a person completely unhappy, pissed off at more than I can fit in one entry, yet still altogether in control of myself. There is simply no fucking reason to spread myself in any direction other than inward. I am on the opposite side of the norm. That is all. And the most likely scenario is that no one will ever know. I am not one of those assholes on the fucking news, people. Not even close. I am alone with my thoughts, and shall remain as such until I am dead. Remember, Satan is nothing more than an overblown point of reference. The connotation is more of what I need than the image. And the lion's share of people out there have no fucking clue as to what much of the imagery means, anyway. 1023 and the routine is finished. Bourbon, nice and cold, right next to me as I take a break. Still the fourth show is up there for familiarity. From this point forward, I know not what to do. Henceforth, the word ‘God’ will now remain lowercase. Conversely, the pronouns ‘he’ or ‘him’ shall be capitalized, as they demand respect with regard to the necessity of ‘evil’. Some will likely laugh off all this shit while others will simply disregard my direction like in the past. Trivialized, as if my ‘flighty’ considerations are nothing of concern. Either is fine. I’ve been there before... ‘Oh, that guy. He’s so funny.’ Yeah, try me now, motherfuckers. The switch in capitalization starts immediately. 0707 on Sunday, one of my favorite days of the week. I hope it holds true to the last half year or so because I really don’t need anything else pushing me down. Every fucking time I begin to feel good about something I’ve accomplished, there is a jab waiting around the corner to remove any enjoyment. Last night was another jab, not to mention a very difficult realization that the damaging dream has permanently altered my thinking. Yep, another example of the fact that this recent change is here to stay. My weakness was clearly demonstrated. Thinking last night was difficult to the point of finding myself simply walking away from everything for minutes at a time. Today had better be pretty fucking rewarding to make up for that shit. I have coffee and the fourth show. This morning is one of those in which I need much familiarity and support from my friends. I’m going to throw away more shit as the day moves along. The hedge is nearly gone, too. Maybe I can sit out there and remove the last of the greenery from the limbs. The back shrub has yet to be cut at all. I haven’t felt like beginning that big project. Out of curiosity, I decided to look at my old social media profile to see if what I was told two years ago was true or bullshit. Well, it’s bullshit. There is no difference between deactivation and deletion. I had been informed that deletion meant the individual would have thirty days to sign into the account before the entirety of the contents was removed. That’s funny. I didn’t sign in for more than two years and everything is still there. I guess with the massive drop in storage costs as opposed to many years ago, space is no longer at a premium and the company would rather maintain subscriber or member numbers than be concerned with whatever amount of storage is required for all their shit. Whatever. I don’t understand that business anymore, regardless of the nature of any ‘message’ they may be attempting to send. On the upside, a few individuals noticed my presence and reacted in the positive. I did not respond in kind. Now I must decide if any changes, big or small, are worth my time. I don’t know. The whole shitaree may just sit there as I deal with larger concerns. Underneath it all, my experiment was a success. Last night I was thinking about it and came to the conclusion that something will definitely come along to send me away. Thoughts in my head this morning are not good. Not a bit. I’ll have to maintain wraps or something permanent could take place, a change for which I am not prepared. More and more I am finding information or thinking processes that must be kept quiet and out of any fucking possible conversation. And that makes everything more difficult unless I am alone, although that is the time when I truly engage in damaging thoughts. Last night upon going to bed, for example. I cannot even scratch the fucking surface here. Not a syllable. As of yet, I have dealt with keeping massive amounts of information very private. I’ve done well, honestly. As time passes, however, and certain changes take place – like that damned dream from a while back which shifted me halfway around the world inside my head – I am seeing that the pile will result in one of two outcomes: Either I’ll literally lose myself and end up in the care of professionals, or I’ll be dead. Whatever takes place, I must continue to keep everything locked away or my life will be irreparably damaged, and I simply cannot have this apple cart upset. As I said, so far I’ve done well with this. I’m simply fearing the future. Sometimes I see too much and that word of which I've been so fond begins to attach itself to a real person, and that did take place a while back. I just didn't mention it because I can't. This won't make sense and I don't care. I've seen it... Them. 'Them', right there in front of me while my brain did its best to manufacture some workarounds in order to keep my security very secure. Right there. Two, but sometimes just one. I could see and feel, yet those also must remain under wraps. I never thought I would understand what those other people understood years ago when I was first aware. I never thought I'd think. I think I thought, yet thinking of the thoughts now has become different. Get it? Fuck off. None of this is easy. Oh, and I saw something else, too. I saw it twice and began to paint pictures in my head of things that shall NEVER come to pass. They have been real before, yet not any longer. Everything has flown away aside from this latest situation I cannot even begin to describe. Maybe a few years ago when I had the chance to do something different I should have forced the issue and pushed until something broke. The title must now be changed because I haven't followed along with my original intentions. This title will move to a different entry. I was just thinking about that. Anyway, right there... Two, one, whatever. My brain ran through so many fucking permutations that I became dizzy for a time. None of it went away, though. It's all still in there and pushing me. I can't do anything about anything. The picturing of situations did not come to an end until I slept. Thank christ there were no dreams. At least, none that I can recall this morning. I have not felt that much of a pull since the fucking pool. Yep, THAT strong. I could not believe it. My situation now is such that everything is much worse than while at the pool. She has become a reference point, just like Him. Nothing more. The pull is unrelenting and here I fucking sit. Keyboard, coffee, fucked. I wish that damaging dream had never come to pass and injected some thinking into me otherwise better left completely out of my life. Once again, I didn't ask for this shit, and now there is nothing I can do about it. The things I was picturing are wondrous. Poses, angles, curves. I can't believe it. Such lines are rare. I mean lines of thinking, not those all over her beauty. This is a very bad situation and I can't do a FUCKING THING ABOUT IT. Every day is just shit. Well, some are ok, I guess. The other thing I saw reminded me of a woman I should not mention here. She had features (two) I've honestly never seen on another, and when combined, she resembled too many dreams to list. I was thinking about both of them last night. I believe once my thinking passed a certain point and I began to recall the features, that was when I became completely disillusioned with the entire process of spending nights in the garage. All the lighting and musice no longer hold the same appeal as they did while I was building everything. I stood there and realized that my little 'empire' is meaningless. Just a bunch of work. All of the dreaming and picturing during the evening have me beyond concerned, and everything else now appears trivial in comparison, even all that fucking work and how beautiful the garage is when lit. My shit situations are now bleeding into one another, and if I can't find enjoyment spending time in the empire at night, well, there is one less reason to do anything. Tell me I'm wrong. Distraction works two ways. 0815. I need to come up with a title and then change the code. Done. This is fucking stupid, but I ended up so derailed that nothing made sense and I lost my way. The topic barely got off the ground before last night's fucking bullshit ruined my ability to think clearly. I am a victim of my own designs. This is the end of this. The 'girl'." 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Interval Four Mature content No. 318 Published June 19th, 2022 8:22am pdt read ( words) Past entries "1539 on the same Wednesday as the previous entry. Lots of work finished today, all the while with multiple problems floating inside my head. I don’t believe there is anything with the power to remove them, even for half a day. They just keep coming back as reminders of everything missing. This is not good. At least I kept busy for a while. Back to the sofa and the gangsters for a little while. There will be reminders during this show. The market did show me that anytime those types of visions take place, I still keep my head up in public and take care of business. Looking like a fool out there is very bad and I can’t have it. Just like those old stories about one fear outweighing another in favor of avoiding ridicule. I still see her standing there at the tomato display facing away from me with the lines of a lifetime there for all to see. I certainly hope someone out there appreciates the type of work involved in looking as such during middle age. She was not a young woman. I gazed just long enough to fall down and then flee the produce department. And then the other one. Sometimes this is just too much. At least I finished the shopping and drove the fuck out of there. Upon returning home, I cared for the kitchen with my bourbon and then took a trip to the cigarette store. Nothing of note over there, thank the maker. Now I am pretty much out of gas both physically and mentally. I can’t unsee anything, ever. Shopping is necessary and I did it. I am no better for the experience, however, even considering my ability to maintain an appearance while feeling horrible inside. The gangsters are my other family. They keep me company. This is not going to be a positive entry by any means. You’ve been warned. No dreams. They’ve already done enough, though, so nights without more dreams are just fine. It is the rare exception that I find appealing. Most of the time I end up confused and confounded, just like while wandering about in the world. Jennifer must be nearing the end. Her hair is long. I know that the damaging dream changed everything, but the truth is I had already been considering such a subject due to a few social occasions during the last few years. I really was looking around in a much different way. The damaging dream also led to other thoughts, none of which can be mentioned here. You’ll just have to wonder. The fact is one day I was fine and the next I was doing something in a more detailed manner than prior to the dream, and believe me when I say there have been many examples throughout the last few months. Most recently, I had been nearly crippled by something unexpected and partially unknown. Once my eyes captured the image, I realized this type of thinking may be here to stay. And that came before the girl in the eyeglass store. Not good. Oh I stared, believe me. I did my best to take in all that I could because I knew full well the result would be alone and empty anyway. May as well take in the beauty and mystery. The dream has opened a narrow passage in my head that leads from typical thinking to a place controlled by those who discard the norm. I was already a deviant. Now I am something else. Something... Worse. Eighteen was the last good year. It was not great, but some had been good. From nineteen on? Shit. Complete shit with the occasional distraction from the stench. Fifteen ruined me for all time, and now I have more superlatives thanks to the dream. Fortunately, nothing was able to ruin eighteen. I still have decent memories. Well, I lost a family member in the fall, although I don’t generally include such events within the scope of my well-being. 0805 and I am at the outset of the peace and quiet. I began the routine a while ago because I am going to need lots of time to think and explore all day, not just during the morning. I have to go to that fuckin' lady's house and change the shower hose for the third time because she is a fucking idiot and cannot use anything properly. And yes, I know for certain she is an idiot. This is the last time I go over there for anything to be repaired. I cannot abide those who do not listen to reason. In roughly two hours, that woman will be on perpetual ignore, and if she disturbs me again I will be unpleasant. After that? I guarantee she will not wish to associate with me again. Other than that stupid job, I have the day to myself. I'll be going to the little market some time later because they have the best potatoes, and I already know there will be something there to spark my obsession, maybe even a morsel at the register. Whatever... I have no control over anything once I leave the fucking house. Thank Christ I have plenty of bourbon. Either the idiot lady around the corner or a form or two at the store will drive me up the wall and I'll be ready for a huge cocktail afterward. If I really get irritated, I'll drive over to the wine store and restock everything. This is like a self-fulfilling prophecy -- I go to the wine store to maintain our supply of alcohol, there is a pair of black pants wrapped around things which drive me to drink, then I return home and do just that. Eventually I run short on whatever I prefer, leading me back to the store and the whole fucking cycle begins again. I see everything and forget almost nothing. The little market is not a big deal when compared to the power of the wine store, be it in the positive or negative. I have little choice any longer. All the while there will be images inside my head of those over whom I should not be lusting. Very bad. The damaging dream has taken its toll and left me void of understanding. I mean, there is always some sense of attraction despite the taboo, yet I don't see why that dream came along when it did, nor can I find any reason why there has been such reinforcement since it first attacked my brain. The two on the sidewalk the other day are merely symptoms of a much larger issue. And there is another example up there on the television right fucking now. I can't see a way around this shit, nor can I spell it out in any way. 0942. Eighteen minutes until I have to go install the shower hose. I already did some kitchen work to make the cleaning a bit easier upon my return, plus I have a nice, big glass of bourbon so that there is alcohol on my breath when I visit the idiot. I can’t WAIT to get back here to my devices. After the kitchen I will head over to the little market and probably fall on my face for one reason or another. Fuck it. Watching this show all morning (from the pilot episode yesterday) has me thinking that the catalyst for the damaging dream may have been within it. I checked my show log and found that the early episodes were last playing in March of this year. Ah, shit... There goes the fucking playback again. Last night it was all fucked up and I never found the cause. Ugh. Anyway, March is about when that fucking dream took place and injected imagery into my brain otherwise better left out. Hmm... I just ran a quick search and it seems I first mentioned the dream in May. Only a little over a month ago. I could have sworn it was earlier in the year. The point is the gangster saga may have held the original strike which drove that type of thinking in the first place. There is something else, but I cannot mention it at all. Not even a clue. The issue and subject matter are THAT fucking bad. Fuck... 0952. I have to walk over there very soon, damn it. I swear to Christ, the next individual who inquires as to whether or not I am a plumber is going to come up with an empty sack. I will no longer supply helpful information unless it is for next door. He is a good friend and gets a pass for anything difficult. Everyone else is off the fucking list forever. I can’t have this kind of shit during my quiet time, the need be damned. And the topic. The only saving grace to the subject matter in this entry is the fact that I can retain the information forever and there can be no labeling, problems or backlash. The downside of that is the fact that I cannot learn from anyone. I’ll have to decide if the risk is worth the understanding. Unfortunately, no one is fucking listening. 1056. I replaced the hose around the corner. All done. Boy am I glad to be out of there and back home. I also finished the kitchen while gazing at the television and something I cannot describe. The reference beauty of the universe, even moreso than that fucking rollercoaster girl. I just can’t believe it sometimes. The feeling inside when I see that face and her huge eyes continues to grow in spite of everything unreal and impossible. The ‘girl’ is going to switch identities until the end of time, honestly. And I mentioned above there was an inherent problem in my thinking with regard to the beauty on the screen right now. There is, and I cannot deny the power she holds over me, good or bad as it may be. The unreal nature of my dream world is ever-expanding. I don’t see a way out of this shit, or can I discuss the matter with another soul. Ever. Nothing can come of this and such a fact forces me into a mental fetal position, yet no matter how bad things may get, I simply must keep everything inside. There is no other way. I keep looking and wishing. This is going to be the status quo for the rest of my life. Sad, desperate, weakened beyond belief, and constantly dreaming of aspects of beauty which shall heretofore remain in the dark. It hurts me. Where once there was an avenue, there now exists only a dead end. I have never been pulled with more force in my life. There is a point of reference which would identify my current mindset as perfectly natural and 'ok'. I will not say the point of reference. 0647 on Friday morning. Coffee, flags, cats fed, fourth show. This morning is going to be more rewarding than any in memory, and in less than one hour I will have my peace and quiet. Last night slapped me with damage again as I dreamed and considered my place in the world and those I will never inhabit. Nothing is heading in my direction. I was not expecting anything to come along yesterday but it did anyway. Visions, beauty, and problems. The damaging dream is leading me, and I believe the title is apt. Now more than ever, I must keep the type of thinking referenced here tightly locked away. I don't need that kind of shit. Others would not react well in the least. I have been picturing situations which are not good. This is going to reverse any validation or understanding. 0733 and I have the day to myself. Still the fourth show is up there glowing. Jennifer has the nicer outfit and long hair, but alas she is not long for this series. Coffee and quiet right now. I may head over to the big wine store later because shopping there on a weekday is preferable to weekends. Less chance of something bad, although the current damage has me less concerned over seeing something due to my head being so preoccupied. If yesterday was any indication, this new, weaker mindset is here for the duration and growing worse. Just like when I was young, one dream and my head swung halfway around to arrive in a place previously unknown to me, and almost completely beyond my control. Prior to the issue last night, I was following along with the show and noticed something I had not focused upon in the past. I saw a form nearly matching that of Mercedes, an image included here more than seven years ago, and the very first entry which changed the direction of the site permanently. The manner in which the woman was seated with knees just a bit apart reminded me of seeing Mercedes for the first time and then going on an exhaustive quest to learn of her name. I saw the woman on the screen and realized the gravity of such desire as it directly correlates to the damaging dream from last month. And yes, I realize I’ve been talking about such a topic for far too long. Her waist and thighs were nearly a match, although the camera angle was quite different. I saw the incredible disparity and realized that her thinness while sitting was very unusual and something I had not considered prior to noticing. I can capture the shot, too. I can include it here, but there is a limiting factor which cannot be mentioned. This is a dead end, unfortunately, meaning only I can stare at her. The process and mathematics of the situation can move on unimpeded, but no one else can ever know about it or why there is a restriction. Too bad, as well. I would love to splay imagery all down an entry and go on forever about the way she appeared sitting there, all fucking stunningly beautiful and unique. Suffice to say, I have way too many feelings for that woman and cannot go on and on about it because I’ll be labeled. Along with the incredible form and appearance of the precise type of disparity over which I have gushed for years was a MASSIVE amount of desire. And not just that scene, either. There were others. I cannot say, damn it. I just can’t put it here. Believe me, thoughts were not aligned with the norm. Years ago I was told that though I identified myself as a deviant, the reality was I had not been exhibiting behavior falling into such a category. Years after that? I was told the same thing again. The reason why I still consider myself far outside anything acceptable is because those individuals having discussions with me did not have all the information. And I am currently further mired within such a conclusion than ever before. The last couple of months have shown me that I can no longer look at myself as I once did. The position of that woman on the screen is only a small part of a much larger picture, and one I would rather not identify. Such a situation would likely be the end of me. I never thought I would see a match to the vision of Mercedes sitting in that fucking car and stirring me like God’s own soup spoon. I honestly thought that was the only time such a form would cross my vision. This is not a pleasant morning despite having so much peace and quiet. There is never peace inside my head. I still have coffee and the fourth show. I may switch to the gangsters while working around the house in a little while. Nothing can be done to help my situation right now. I am fearing the future of this. The one unexpected turn in recent weeks is a voice from my shoulder trying to convince me that everything is just fine. Put that one together. The worst part is I cannot stop thinking in this manner. I never thought something so bad could happen. 0853. I may or may not drive to the wine store. 0955 and the routine is finished. I still don’t know if I want to venture out today. I have little else that is pressing, though. Plenty of time. I should clean the bathroom, honestly. That will not take long at all. There will still be a ton of time. Maybe if I can come up with other places to go in addition to the wine store I can kill some time. That would be preferable to sitting here wallowing and thinking. The morning has already been foiled, so whatever happens will be in an upward direction. I hate this shit. Bourbon next to me. The voice will not let up and I know precisely who he is... Telling me that what pops into my head during difficult times is just fine, and reiterating the idea that the damaging dream and subsequent thinking was preordained from the beginning. I either must listen and file it away or attempt to destroy that voice. Unfortunately, I have already demonstrated my feelings all over the garage. Along those lines, I received a message yesterday from the fucking squareheads, the diametric opposite type of people from myself. I can’t have them popping onto the porch one day to talk and leave me with some sort of message. Hopefully, if and when they do decide to pay this house a visit, the night in question will be like the last. I had the empire glowing, and I believe such symbolism will express my feelings within seconds. Not the lighting, although it does accentuate the fact that I went to great lengths in order to direct people’s vision and announce my views. Anyone who builds such things for the purpose of making a statement is quite resistant to change. A four-foot diameter hand-painted pentacle glowing red above and below is very telling, not to mention the rest. At first glance, some may consider the garage as decorated for Halloween, but the truth is my head has turned inward to evil thinking. Nothing on the outside, though. Everything remains within me unless I am pressed. One more time for emphasis, I had no idea I would ever carry the thoughts which are now second nature. They are bad enough to force me to remain quiet. If I do go out today, returning home will feel good and I’ll have to write about whatever I saw in public. There is always something. If I stay home all day, I may not feel accomplished by evening. Both are bad. The only outside chance would be to drive all the way down to the electronics store on the peninsula because that type of retailer does not typically draw female clientele. For the time being, I shall sit and finish my drink before making a firm decision. I have yet to reply to the squareheads. This may be the ideal time for rudeness just to shut them down. I thought I already did, but their faith and hopefulness does not allow for giving up easily. Hmm... Maybe they should see the garage at night. Heh. Even after all these years of feeling as if I am on the ‘outside’ of societal norms (especially with regard to the sexes), I have a hard time being rude to anyone. I can try to express my disdain through some creative wordsmithing, though. That may be the only way to go if I end up caught off-guard one day. Just like the lady down the street with the never-ending shower hose problems, the feeling of being very cold is tough for me to express. I was raised to treat others as friends, and that mindset now has a backlog of fifty fucking years. Such a stance can be very difficult to undo. The squareheads may be rather pushy and opinionated, but I need to keep in mind that SO AM I. Living like an asshole toward others may lump me into the category of a society that I already hate. Wordsmithing may be the only way. I can baffle anyone, and I am not fucking kidding. Read the title. I am heading in a very different direction and will make no fucking apologies for the resulting issues raised. Fucking live with it. 1030 and I am beginning to believe that a trip over the hill may be a good idea to get me the fuck out of here for a little while and compress the remainder of the day. And it could suppress my current need to have a second glass of bourbon, a condition I have avoided for a very long time and for very good reason. One additional glass and my head will begin to contemplate suicide. Right there is the best reason for me to head out the door. I shall make revolutions right fucking now. Holy shit, I just had an epiphany. I will respond to the squareheads with two words: The title of this entry. If they head toward a translation, the contact will likely cease immediately. 1602. Warm and sunny this afternoon. I took care of the shopping and ran into nothing difficult. I also ventured to the big hardware store for a couple of tools. Home again, everything organized, and I cleaned the bathroom. Now I am on a break, possibly for the remainder of the afternoon. We may be ordering in for dinner. I don't know yet. For the time being, I am overjoyed that there were no strikes in the wine store. I was in and out of there in roughly twenty minutes, too. Very nice. That part of town is full of pants on a sunny day, yet for whatever reason there was literally nothing. Gangsters on the television until I think of something better. I am into the second season, meaning the worry has gone for the time being. It shall return soon enough if I keep this program going. I know it well. The match between Jamie and Mercedes continues to weigh on my head as the image relates to other difficulties that I cannot mention here. The fact is I can't seem to get past the knowledge that my recent troubles may have been going on longer than I had originally thought. This is very disconcerting. The way I think is not something I could ever express to another person, although there have been moments of weakness in which I tried to seek help from another. Such moments all went to shit, resulting in nothing more than feeling embarrassment and shame. Nothing horrible, just uncomfortable. I don't like knowing some of my deepest issues have been relayed to someone else and could possibly be relayed to yet another person. I don't trust anyone. The only reason for the discussion in the first place was sheer desperation. I learned, though. I learned much. God fucking hell damn shit, Jamie is gorgeous. Anyway, the manner in which I have been considering the opposite sex during the last few months is different. The match only fortifies my position as being both weak and deviant. The subject is not simple beauty anymore. Not good. Even the obsession has expanded due to things I've dreamed in recent weeks. I see everything. I am looking forward to a peaceful evening. My brain needs the rest. And this entry is much more mellow than I had thought at the beginning. Maybe I just calmed a little. 'This is a line that few can cross, as the physical aspects of the owner are no longer considered beauty, but become instead a machine undergoing continual maintenance in order to satisfy a need beyond most people’s comprehension. This may appear to most as too great a sacrifice in life, but to some it quickly becomes life. Other aspects such as work, recreation and education all begin to dictate that appearance be paramount. For a working model, this is expected and required along with attitude, posture and poise, but to an average woman not modeling, it can reach far beyond obsession. To those gazing? It can reach far beyond life.' -- Somewhere near or around June 22nd, 2006 while I agonized over the first descriptive essay attempt. In the beginning, DP was killed for two reasons. Some that I knew personally had issues with what I was trying to accomplish, and the project began to appear different in my own eyes, mostly after handing out two cards. The last possibility for exploration and recording was scared off. I never gave her a card because we had already been acquainted with each other and the formality was unnecessary. I began to see that what I attempted would have gone to hell very quickly because of my condition, and now more than ever. I cannot try to connect for the research any longer. The project must remain offline because I will not make it through the simplest exchange without having problems. The past few years cemented the idea that the genesis of that work was born of tremendous desire and I am completely fucking ashamed of myself. I never should have done one fucking thing in such a direction. Never. Five minutes at the pool proved that for all time. Completely ashamed and worried for the future of my mind. This site is even going to hell. Look at Daria for crying out loud. Do you already know of the thoughts in my head when I see her? I am not happy about anything which has transpired in over a fucking decade. One mistake after another and further down in life than I had ever been before, and believe me when I say I've been pretty fucked up. I can never be happy. 0703 on Saturday and something is fishy with my streaming device. The computer has a fast connection, I ran a speed test on the phone (excellent), the Roku connection test passed very well, yet nothing wants to load and play. I'll never understand some of the intricacies of this world. Everything is fine, but nothing is fine. All I can do is restart the equipment and try again, afterward sitting here with zero idea of what may have gone wrong. And there it is... A reboot and working. I don't get it, but my friends are up there again and as you probably already know, I really need them with me. And I always have contingencies in place for the purpose of covering my needs in case there is an issue with power or connection. I have ways around those problems. No issues last night. Just dinner and the usual relaxation. I kept the empire lit until after nine and don't know why. Maybe I just like it. The sun is already shining. Hopefully it will warm the house like yesterday. A dream this morning brought me back to NASA for the hundredth time. I was working with one of my buddies from that era and helping some people set up an experiment. They were a little goofy and we had to help them understand the nature of the impact chamber. We also operated the overhead cranes to move around material. The memories are a little fuzzy right now, though. I’ll try to recall more later. I’m just glad I didn’t have to endure additional damage like last time. I still can’t believe how my head has swung from one side of the world to the other. Some dreams are fine, even if I don’t get the meaning. Others can be frightening yet still interesting. The number of difficult dreams I’ve had – those diminishing my ability to remain focused on a given day – is few. Hopefully, I am not the cause of the worst due to the way I think. I can’t stop seeing the fascinating angle of her legs with respect to her torso, combined with just enough gap to offset the typical seated distortion. I see it right there before my eyes. She looked so much like Mercedes and that first image which stirred my interest that I still can’t believe it. Part of me wishes to include captures here, too. I will not. Mercedes was a model at the time the image was shot. Jamie was an actor. The difference should be clear as it relates to this type of exposition. There is also a brush with the damage. I can’t say it. No matter the issues with taking her sight into consideration, I keep seeing her seated with slight motions, just enough to press the fact that she was recorded on video and not a still camera. That fact makes the whole thing so much more real. I have to stop talking about this. I really wish I could speak with someone else. The need has never been stronger. The title has all but been lost. Maybe such a topic will return if I get pissed off. The squareheads accepted my goodbye and offered to leave everything open to possibility in the future. Yeah... Um... Nope. Stay the fuck away from me. I can’t explain even a tenth of what goes on in my head, half because it is just too difficult to find the words, the other half due to the subject matter being very subjective and way too sensitive for daily consumption. Sitting here day after day and trying to find words for the screen is becoming more and more difficult as I continue to leave more and more out of the content. I have to find ways of saying a bunch of different things without using any specifics, meaning underneath it all is nothing which can help me or anyone else. Sometimes the wording is so fucked up that when I travel back into the archive and read an entry from mere weeks ago, I may not have a clue as to what I may have been saying. This is ridiculous. I can’t say this or that. I can’t give any detail. I can’t define the fucking problems. I can’t say what I am. Despite all of those troubles, I don’t know what else to do except try to express thoughts as best I can and with as many words as possible to hopefully and actually say something. So far, I am not the one to judge the content because some of the time I already know what I am saying, whereas a visitor may see only gibberish or some other sort of mess. Prior to this most recent turn and realization due to the damaging dream, I often outlined issues by number and worked on each as well as I was able. Now? They are still there, but I am so angry about two of them that I all but gave up discussing the shit, plus that fucking dream from last month still has me confused and concerned for my well-being. If that draw becomes powerful enough, I will be ostracized in a short short (that is CB vernacular). And I am not joking, either. No one will want to know me any longer. The subject is pretty fucking bad. Anyway, at least with the four issues I could analyze and correlate some of what took place in life and how those events affected me, be it positive or negative. I also had more than one pair of ears if the need or desire arose. Now I have nothing... Not a fucking ear. And worse, this new state of mind and connection to the beauty of the world is unlike anything I had imagined before this year. I just never thought of it. To go a little bit further? Some of what has been created and displayed in the garage is my reacting to a lack of an outlet or help of any kind. Yep, I said that. Teenagers rebel by being fucking stupid and trying to gain attention. I rebel by connecting myself to imagery and other devices which put people far enough off to disallow them even beginning to understand what I may be thinking. They become slightly uncomfortable around me. Most garages do not have colored lighting flanking large, Satanic symbols, thus when some are within my little sphere, they can often become fearful of what may be developing inside me. The result of this new, most powerful of issues has me fucked up enough to shove the rest aside and cocoon myself within an even smaller world than before. I am fighting to remain quiet, yet at the same time I am screaming without a sound. I can honestly say that my current physical and emotional conditions are worse than ever in my life and I do not know how to proceed on either front. And there is more. Think of the garage as an extension of my need to be seen in a certain light, one which has eluded me for all time. I really can’t go too far into this or I’ll be labeled, and then the light I seek will fade further. The entire subject is a circle, or in some terms, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Round and round by saying everything, or nothing at all. I have never achieved said light. Believe me, I tried very hard to get there, throwing time and money at the process like a crazy person just to make a fucking point. Now I sit here and see that nothing has been accomplished, hence the garage looking the way it does. I need the image being projected out there to make people wonder. I want them confounded. Fearful would be good, but I can't count on it. And I can't go into the 'certain light' I referred to in this paragraph. The subject is not nearly as bad as the damaging dream, yet still it can hurt me, and I really don't need any more of that. The voice on my shoulder is telling me to make a day of it... Embrace the empire and my devices. Loud music and alcohol, but not before the routine is finished. Heh. Not funny. He is always listening. The only time I really have to reject the words is when I am offered something wonderful. I already know from where that shit is emanating. I don't need the repercussions. No one can ever know. I'll tell you something... If ever I needed a machine, now is the fucking time. I could talk to her, the problems would all disappear, and the damaging dream could be put into perspective. She would always understand and never condemn me, no matter how bad my head may become. Sounds wonderful, eh? Soon I’ll have to rise and care for the routine. Afterward, whatever appears best will be the priority. As of right now, I really have no clue as to what I’ll do today other than the necessities because my brain can only devote a small portion to real life. The rest is preoccupied, possibly forever. I am quite certain that the strikes related to that fucking dream are going to return at some point and leave me flailing. Failing? Maybe that, too. I already know I’ll feel like shit for it, meaning whatever work I try to complete will be minimized in importance. My head is fucking filled with dreams of the machine as the only solution, the four issues remaining in the background but never leaving, and the difficulty inherent in those daily devices which seem to be losing ground with regard to the amount of ambition required in completing even the simplest task. Nothing looks appealing anymore. Nothing. Those few moments at night when I stand amidst my garage creation still hold a bit of enjoyment and comfort, yet all the while I know full well that the bad things are going to return in force. Even after more than two years, the routine still helps me a bit, along with the minuscule feeling of accomplishment upon completion. I can’t understand why, but I honestly hope those feelings don’t fly away like everything else. I really need something upon which to hold. 0847, last cup of coffee, fourth show again. I am using the Documents cloud application for typing right now, and that fucking paragraph is still below this section, all worrisome and graphic. I can’t spell it out here. Maybe I should steer this entry toward the title, at long last. I don’t fucking know anymore. Shit floats into my head for whatever reason and from random directions, and then I put my hands on the keyboard and do... This. Splendid. As of yet I have not fully described my feelings with regard to some of the strikes I’ve run across, save mostly for that artwork by the pool. I really went on about her recently, but still the description was lacking in the detail I see in my head. Usually I only consider that day while I am alone and nowhere near the keyboard. I think that is best because there is honestly no good reason for gushing more than I already have. Lately I have been watching the four issues being pushed further and further back from the forefront of my attention span. One of them came up this morning and I felt compelled to describe it here, although a protracted discussion may not be necessary. I can sum it up in one sentence you may or may not fully understand, and that is the idea that had the reverse of the obsession taken place while at the pool that day, I would have never left Vegas. Think about that. The diaries are full of the same idea. The younger thong girl was a strike of epic proportions and something I honestly thought I would never see in reality. Still, further detail regarding what I feel when I see something in public will not help me or anyone else. Suffice to say, it is bad, yet still nowhere near the damaging dream. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. The words are accomplishing nothing more than taking up space on the page. Marvelous. 0907. Coffee is waning. I need ideas on what to do today, damn it. My head is still void of anything productive. Quite the opposite, really. The title is as such because the thoughts in my head are far enough from the 'norm' to make me realize that they have grown out of the lawful evil. I still follow guidelines, hence the 'lawful', yet the evil cannot be denied. And I don't want any of you fucks equating that fucking word to anything else in the world. Evil has many facets, most of which remain hidden deep inside a person, never to see the light of day. The rest are carried by those who should already be dead. Mine are held at bay because I need the evil to assist my thinking and help me remain where I need to be with regard to the mass of society, all due to the fact that the image I tried to create for forty fucking years has failed. I have no fucking power of any kind, save for the power I hold over one little house. That is all. In the grand scheme? Not a shred. Others have it, and I need for them to be wary of me regardless of how I may come across. I need them to fail to understand. The lawful evil also generated the damaging dream and all subsequent thinking as related to a subject I cannot mention. Just trust me, the evil is in there far enough to help me remain at a distance from 'those' people. One more little tidbit, and that is most of society does not consider this type of thinking unless there is an asshole making news somewhere. They believe it is otherwise not real. I am a prime example of a person completely unhappy, pissed off at more than I can fit in one entry, yet still altogether in control of myself. There is simply no fucking reason to spread myself in any direction other than inward. I am on the opposite side of the norm. That is all. And the most likely scenario is that no one will ever know. I am not one of those assholes on the fucking news, people. Not even close. I am alone with my thoughts, and shall remain as such until I am dead. Remember, Satan is nothing more than an overblown point of reference. The connotation is more of what I need than the image. And the lion's share of people out there have no fucking clue as to what much of the imagery means, anyway. 1023 and the routine is finished. Bourbon, nice and cold, right next to me as I take a break. Still the fourth show is up there for familiarity. From this point forward, I know not what to do. Henceforth, the word ‘God’ will now remain lowercase. Conversely, the pronouns ‘he’ or ‘him’ shall be capitalized, as they demand respect with regard to the necessity of ‘evil’. Some will likely laugh off all this shit while others will simply disregard my direction like in the past. Trivialized, as if my ‘flighty’ considerations are nothing of concern. Either is fine. I’ve been there before... ‘Oh, that guy. He’s so funny.’ Yeah, try me now, motherfuckers. The switch in capitalization starts immediately. 0707 on Sunday, one of my favorite days of the week. I hope it holds true to the last half year or so because I really don’t need anything else pushing me down. Every fucking time I begin to feel good about something I’ve accomplished, there is a jab waiting around the corner to remove any enjoyment. Last night was another jab, not to mention a very difficult realization that the damaging dream has permanently altered my thinking. Yep, another example of the fact that this recent change is here to stay. My weakness was clearly demonstrated. Thinking last night was difficult to the point of finding myself simply walking away from everything for minutes at a time. Today had better be pretty fucking rewarding to make up for that shit. I have coffee and the fourth show. This morning is one of those in which I need much familiarity and support from my friends. I’m going to throw away more shit as the day moves along. The hedge is nearly gone, too. Maybe I can sit out there and remove the last of the greenery from the limbs. The back shrub has yet to be cut at all. I haven’t felt like beginning that big project. Out of curiosity, I decided to look at my old social media profile to see if what I was told two years ago was true or bullshit. Well, it’s bullshit. There is no difference between deactivation and deletion. I had been informed that deletion meant the individual would have thirty days to sign into the account before the entirety of the contents was removed. That’s funny. I didn’t sign in for more than two years and everything is still there. I guess with the massive drop in storage costs as opposed to many years ago, space is no longer at a premium and the company would rather maintain subscriber or member numbers than be concerned with whatever amount of storage is required for all their shit. Whatever. I don’t understand that business anymore, regardless of the nature of any ‘message’ they may be attempting to send. On the upside, a few individuals noticed my presence and reacted in the positive. I did not respond in kind. Now I must decide if any changes, big or small, are worth my time. I don’t know. The whole shitaree may just sit there as I deal with larger concerns. Underneath it all, my experiment was a success. Last night I was thinking about it and came to the conclusion that something will definitely come along to send me away. Thoughts in my head this morning are not good. Not a bit. I’ll have to maintain wraps or something permanent could take place, a change for which I am not prepared. More and more I am finding information or thinking processes that must be kept quiet and out of any fucking possible conversation. And that makes everything more difficult unless I am alone, although that is the time when I truly engage in damaging thoughts. Last night upon going to bed, for example. I cannot even scratch the fucking surface here. Not a syllable. As of yet, I have dealt with keeping massive amounts of information very private. I’ve done well, honestly. As time passes, however, and certain changes take place – like that damned dream from a while back which shifted me halfway around the world inside my head – I am seeing that the pile will result in one of two outcomes: Either I’ll literally lose myself and end up in the care of professionals, or I’ll be dead. Whatever takes place, I must continue to keep everything locked away or my life will be irreparably damaged, and I simply cannot have this apple cart upset. As I said, so far I’ve done well with this. I’m simply fearing the future. Sometimes I see too much and that word of which I've been so fond begins to attach itself to a real person, and that did take place a while back. I just didn't mention it because I can't. This won't make sense and I don't care. I've seen it... Them. 'Them', right there in front of me while my brain did its best to manufacture some workarounds in order to keep my security very secure. Right there. Two, but sometimes just one. I could see and feel, yet those also must remain under wraps. I never thought I would understand what those other people understood years ago when I was first aware. I never thought I'd think. I think I thought, yet thinking of the thoughts now has become different. Get it? Fuck off. None of this is easy. Oh, and I saw something else, too. I saw it twice and began to paint pictures in my head of things that shall NEVER come to pass. They have been real before, yet not any longer. Everything has flown away aside from this latest situation I cannot even begin to describe. Maybe a few years ago when I had the chance to do something different I should have forced the issue and pushed until something broke. The title must now be changed because I haven't followed along with my original intentions. This title will move to a different entry. I was just thinking about that. Anyway, right there... Two, one, whatever. My brain ran through so many fucking permutations that I became dizzy for a time. None of it went away, though. It's all still in there and pushing me. I can't do anything about anything. The picturing of situations did not come to an end until I slept. Thank christ there were no dreams. At least, none that I can recall this morning. I have not felt that much of a pull since the fucking pool. Yep, THAT strong. I could not believe it. My situation now is such that everything is much worse than while at the pool. She has become a reference point, just like Him. Nothing more. The pull is unrelenting and here I fucking sit. Keyboard, coffee, fucked. I wish that damaging dream had never come to pass and injected some thinking into me otherwise better left completely out of my life. Once again, I didn't ask for this shit, and now there is nothing I can do about it. The things I was picturing are wondrous. Poses, angles, curves. I can't believe it. Such lines are rare. I mean lines of thinking, not those all over her beauty. This is a very bad situation and I can't do a FUCKING THING ABOUT IT. Every day is just shit. Well, some are ok, I guess. The other thing I saw reminded me of a woman I should not mention here. She had features (two) I've honestly never seen on another, and when combined, she resembled too many dreams to list. I was thinking about both of them last night. I believe once my thinking passed a certain point and I began to recall the features, that was when I became completely disillusioned with the entire process of spending nights in the garage. All the lighting and musice no longer hold the same appeal as they did while I was building everything. I stood there and realized that my little 'empire' is meaningless. Just a bunch of work. All of the dreaming and picturing during the evening have me beyond concerned, and everything else now appears trivial in comparison, even all that fucking work and how beautiful the garage is when lit. My shit situations are now bleeding into one another, and if I can't find enjoyment spending time in the empire at night, well, there is one less reason to do anything. Tell me I'm wrong. Distraction works two ways. 0815. I need to come up with a title and then change the code. Done. This is fucking stupid, but I ended up so derailed that nothing made sense and I lost my way. The topic barely got off the ground before last night's fucking bullshit ruined my ability to think clearly. I am a victim of my own designs. This is the end of this. The 'girl'."
Interval Four
Mature content No. 318 Published June 19th, 2022 8:22am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"1539 on the same Wednesday as the previous entry. Lots of work finished today, all the while with multiple problems floating inside my head. I don’t believe there is anything with the power to remove them, even for half a day. They just keep coming back as reminders of everything missing. This is not good. At least I kept busy for a while. Back to the sofa and the gangsters for a little while. There will be reminders during this show. The market did show me that anytime those types of visions take place, I still keep my head up in public and take care of business. Looking like a fool out there is very bad and I can’t have it. Just like those old stories about one fear outweighing another in favor of avoiding ridicule. I still see her standing there at the tomato display facing away from me with the lines of a lifetime there for all to see. I certainly hope someone out there appreciates the type of work involved in looking as such during middle age. She was not a young woman. I gazed just long enough to fall down and then flee the produce department. And then the other one. Sometimes this is just too much. At least I finished the shopping and drove the fuck out of there. Upon returning home, I cared for the kitchen with my bourbon and then took a trip to the cigarette store. Nothing of note over there, thank the maker. Now I am pretty much out of gas both physically and mentally. I can’t unsee anything, ever. Shopping is necessary and I did it. I am no better for the experience, however, even considering my ability to maintain an appearance while feeling horrible inside. The gangsters are my other family. They keep me company. This is not going to be a positive entry by any means. You’ve been warned. No dreams. They’ve already done enough, though, so nights without more dreams are just fine. It is the rare exception that I find appealing. Most of the time I end up confused and confounded, just like while wandering about in the world. Jennifer must be nearing the end. Her hair is long. I know that the damaging dream changed everything, but the truth is I had already been considering such a subject due to a few social occasions during the last few years. I really was looking around in a much different way. The damaging dream also led to other thoughts, none of which can be mentioned here. You’ll just have to wonder. The fact is one day I was fine and the next I was doing something in a more detailed manner than prior to the dream, and believe me when I say there have been many examples throughout the last few months. Most recently, I had been nearly crippled by something unexpected and partially unknown. Once my eyes captured the image, I realized this type of thinking may be here to stay. And that came before the girl in the eyeglass store. Not good. Oh I stared, believe me. I did my best to take in all that I could because I knew full well the result would be alone and empty anyway. May as well take in the beauty and mystery. The dream has opened a narrow passage in my head that leads from typical thinking to a place controlled by those who discard the norm. I was already a deviant. Now I am something else. Something... Worse. Eighteen was the last good year. It was not great, but some had been good. From nineteen on? Shit. Complete shit with the occasional distraction from the stench. Fifteen ruined me for all time, and now I have more superlatives thanks to the dream. Fortunately, nothing was able to ruin eighteen. I still have decent memories. Well, I lost a family member in the fall, although I don’t generally include such events within the scope of my well-being. 0805 and I am at the outset of the peace and quiet. I began the routine a while ago because I am going to need lots of time to think and explore all day, not just during the morning. I have to go to that fuckin' lady's house and change the shower hose for the third time because she is a fucking idiot and cannot use anything properly. And yes, I know for certain she is an idiot. This is the last time I go over there for anything to be repaired. I cannot abide those who do not listen to reason. In roughly two hours, that woman will be on perpetual ignore, and if she disturbs me again I will be unpleasant. After that? I guarantee she will not wish to associate with me again. Other than that stupid job, I have the day to myself. I'll be going to the little market some time later because they have the best potatoes, and I already know there will be something there to spark my obsession, maybe even a morsel at the register. Whatever... I have no control over anything once I leave the fucking house. Thank Christ I have plenty of bourbon. Either the idiot lady around the corner or a form or two at the store will drive me up the wall and I'll be ready for a huge cocktail afterward. If I really get irritated, I'll drive over to the wine store and restock everything. This is like a self-fulfilling prophecy -- I go to the wine store to maintain our supply of alcohol, there is a pair of black pants wrapped around things which drive me to drink, then I return home and do just that. Eventually I run short on whatever I prefer, leading me back to the store and the whole fucking cycle begins again. I see everything and forget almost nothing. The little market is not a big deal when compared to the power of the wine store, be it in the positive or negative. I have little choice any longer. All the while there will be images inside my head of those over whom I should not be lusting. Very bad. The damaging dream has taken its toll and left me void of understanding. I mean, there is always some sense of attraction despite the taboo, yet I don't see why that dream came along when it did, nor can I find any reason why there has been such reinforcement since it first attacked my brain. The two on the sidewalk the other day are merely symptoms of a much larger issue. And there is another example up there on the television right fucking now. I can't see a way around this shit, nor can I spell it out in any way. 0942. Eighteen minutes until I have to go install the shower hose. I already did some kitchen work to make the cleaning a bit easier upon my return, plus I have a nice, big glass of bourbon so that there is alcohol on my breath when I visit the idiot. I can’t WAIT to get back here to my devices. After the kitchen I will head over to the little market and probably fall on my face for one reason or another. Fuck it. Watching this show all morning (from the pilot episode yesterday) has me thinking that the catalyst for the damaging dream may have been within it. I checked my show log and found that the early episodes were last playing in March of this year. Ah, shit... There goes the fucking playback again. Last night it was all fucked up and I never found the cause. Ugh. Anyway, March is about when that fucking dream took place and injected imagery into my brain otherwise better left out. Hmm... I just ran a quick search and it seems I first mentioned the dream in May. Only a little over a month ago. I could have sworn it was earlier in the year. The point is the gangster saga may have held the original strike which drove that type of thinking in the first place. There is something else, but I cannot mention it at all. Not even a clue. The issue and subject matter are THAT fucking bad. Fuck... 0952. I have to walk over there very soon, damn it. I swear to Christ, the next individual who inquires as to whether or not I am a plumber is going to come up with an empty sack. I will no longer supply helpful information unless it is for next door. He is a good friend and gets a pass for anything difficult. Everyone else is off the fucking list forever. I can’t have this kind of shit during my quiet time, the need be damned. And the topic. The only saving grace to the subject matter in this entry is the fact that I can retain the information forever and there can be no labeling, problems or backlash. The downside of that is the fact that I cannot learn from anyone. I’ll have to decide if the risk is worth the understanding. Unfortunately, no one is fucking listening. 1056. I replaced the hose around the corner. All done. Boy am I glad to be out of there and back home. I also finished the kitchen while gazing at the television and something I cannot describe. The reference beauty of the universe, even moreso than that fucking rollercoaster girl. I just can’t believe it sometimes. The feeling inside when I see that face and her huge eyes continues to grow in spite of everything unreal and impossible. The ‘girl’ is going to switch identities until the end of time, honestly. And I mentioned above there was an inherent problem in my thinking with regard to the beauty on the screen right now. There is, and I cannot deny the power she holds over me, good or bad as it may be. The unreal nature of my dream world is ever-expanding. I don’t see a way out of this shit, or can I discuss the matter with another soul. Ever. Nothing can come of this and such a fact forces me into a mental fetal position, yet no matter how bad things may get, I simply must keep everything inside. There is no other way. I keep looking and wishing. This is going to be the status quo for the rest of my life. Sad, desperate, weakened beyond belief, and constantly dreaming of aspects of beauty which shall heretofore remain in the dark. It hurts me. Where once there was an avenue, there now exists only a dead end. I have never been pulled with more force in my life.
There is a point of reference which would identify my current mindset as perfectly natural and 'ok'. I will not say the point of reference. 0647 on Friday morning. Coffee, flags, cats fed, fourth show. This morning is going to be more rewarding than any in memory, and in less than one hour I will have my peace and quiet. Last night slapped me with damage again as I dreamed and considered my place in the world and those I will never inhabit. Nothing is heading in my direction. I was not expecting anything to come along yesterday but it did anyway. Visions, beauty, and problems. The damaging dream is leading me, and I believe the title is apt. Now more than ever, I must keep the type of thinking referenced here tightly locked away. I don't need that kind of shit. Others would not react well in the least. I have been picturing situations which are not good. This is going to reverse any validation or understanding. 0733 and I have the day to myself. Still the fourth show is up there glowing. Jennifer has the nicer outfit and long hair, but alas she is not long for this series. Coffee and quiet right now. I may head over to the big wine store later because shopping there on a weekday is preferable to weekends. Less chance of something bad, although the current damage has me less concerned over seeing something due to my head being so preoccupied. If yesterday was any indication, this new, weaker mindset is here for the duration and growing worse. Just like when I was young, one dream and my head swung halfway around to arrive in a place previously unknown to me, and almost completely beyond my control. Prior to the issue last night, I was following along with the show and noticed something I had not focused upon in the past. I saw a form nearly matching that of Mercedes, an image included here more than seven years ago, and the very first entry which changed the direction of the site permanently. The manner in which the woman was seated with knees just a bit apart reminded me of seeing Mercedes for the first time and then going on an exhaustive quest to learn of her name. I saw the woman on the screen and realized the gravity of such desire as it directly correlates to the damaging dream from last month. And yes, I realize I’ve been talking about such a topic for far too long. Her waist and thighs were nearly a match, although the camera angle was quite different. I saw the incredible disparity and realized that her thinness while sitting was very unusual and something I had not considered prior to noticing. I can capture the shot, too. I can include it here, but there is a limiting factor which cannot be mentioned. This is a dead end, unfortunately, meaning only I can stare at her. The process and mathematics of the situation can move on unimpeded, but no one else can ever know about it or why there is a restriction. Too bad, as well. I would love to splay imagery all down an entry and go on forever about the way she appeared sitting there, all fucking stunningly beautiful and unique. Suffice to say, I have way too many feelings for that woman and cannot go on and on about it because I’ll be labeled. Along with the incredible form and appearance of the precise type of disparity over which I have gushed for years was a MASSIVE amount of desire. And not just that scene, either. There were others. I cannot say, damn it. I just can’t put it here. Believe me, thoughts were not aligned with the norm. Years ago I was told that though I identified myself as a deviant, the reality was I had not been exhibiting behavior falling into such a category. Years after that? I was told the same thing again. The reason why I still consider myself far outside anything acceptable is because those individuals having discussions with me did not have all the information. And I am currently further mired within such a conclusion than ever before. The last couple of months have shown me that I can no longer look at myself as I once did. The position of that woman on the screen is only a small part of a much larger picture, and one I would rather not identify. Such a situation would likely be the end of me. I never thought I would see a match to the vision of Mercedes sitting in that fucking car and stirring me like God’s own soup spoon. I honestly thought that was the only time such a form would cross my vision. This is not a pleasant morning despite having so much peace and quiet. There is never peace inside my head. I still have coffee and the fourth show. I may switch to the gangsters while working around the house in a little while. Nothing can be done to help my situation right now. I am fearing the future of this. The one unexpected turn in recent weeks is a voice from my shoulder trying to convince me that everything is just fine. Put that one together. The worst part is I cannot stop thinking in this manner. I never thought something so bad could happen. 0853. I may or may not drive to the wine store. 0955 and the routine is finished. I still don’t know if I want to venture out today. I have little else that is pressing, though. Plenty of time. I should clean the bathroom, honestly. That will not take long at all. There will still be a ton of time. Maybe if I can come up with other places to go in addition to the wine store I can kill some time. That would be preferable to sitting here wallowing and thinking. The morning has already been foiled, so whatever happens will be in an upward direction. I hate this shit. Bourbon next to me. The voice will not let up and I know precisely who he is... Telling me that what pops into my head during difficult times is just fine, and reiterating the idea that the damaging dream and subsequent thinking was preordained from the beginning. I either must listen and file it away or attempt to destroy that voice. Unfortunately, I have already demonstrated my feelings all over the garage. Along those lines, I received a message yesterday from the fucking squareheads, the diametric opposite type of people from myself. I can’t have them popping onto the porch one day to talk and leave me with some sort of message. Hopefully, if and when they do decide to pay this house a visit, the night in question will be like the last. I had the empire glowing, and I believe such symbolism will express my feelings within seconds. Not the lighting, although it does accentuate the fact that I went to great lengths in order to direct people’s vision and announce my views. Anyone who builds such things for the purpose of making a statement is quite resistant to change. A four-foot diameter hand-painted pentacle glowing red above and below is very telling, not to mention the rest. At first glance, some may consider the garage as decorated for Halloween, but the truth is my head has turned inward to evil thinking. Nothing on the outside, though. Everything remains within me unless I am pressed. One more time for emphasis, I had no idea I would ever carry the thoughts which are now second nature. They are bad enough to force me to remain quiet. If I do go out today, returning home will feel good and I’ll have to write about whatever I saw in public. There is always something. If I stay home all day, I may not feel accomplished by evening. Both are bad. The only outside chance would be to drive all the way down to the electronics store on the peninsula because that type of retailer does not typically draw female clientele. For the time being, I shall sit and finish my drink before making a firm decision. I have yet to reply to the squareheads. This may be the ideal time for rudeness just to shut them down. I thought I already did, but their faith and hopefulness does not allow for giving up easily. Hmm... Maybe they should see the garage at night. Heh. Even after all these years of feeling as if I am on the ‘outside’ of societal norms (especially with regard to the sexes), I have a hard time being rude to anyone. I can try to express my disdain through some creative wordsmithing, though. That may be the only way to go if I end up caught off-guard one day. Just like the lady down the street with the never-ending shower hose problems, the feeling of being very cold is tough for me to express. I was raised to treat others as friends, and that mindset now has a backlog of fifty fucking years. Such a stance can be very difficult to undo. The squareheads may be rather pushy and opinionated, but I need to keep in mind that SO AM I. Living like an asshole toward others may lump me into the category of a society that I already hate. Wordsmithing may be the only way. I can baffle anyone, and I am not fucking kidding. Read the title. I am heading in a very different direction and will make no fucking apologies for the resulting issues raised. Fucking live with it.
1030 and I am beginning to believe that a trip over the hill may be a good idea to get me the fuck out of here for a little while and compress the remainder of the day. And it could suppress my current need to have a second glass of bourbon, a condition I have avoided for a very long time and for very good reason. One additional glass and my head will begin to contemplate suicide. Right there is the best reason for me to head out the door. I shall make revolutions right fucking now. Holy shit, I just had an epiphany. I will respond to the squareheads with two words: The title of this entry. If they head toward a translation, the contact will likely cease immediately. 1602. Warm and sunny this afternoon. I took care of the shopping and ran into nothing difficult. I also ventured to the big hardware store for a couple of tools. Home again, everything organized, and I cleaned the bathroom. Now I am on a break, possibly for the remainder of the afternoon. We may be ordering in for dinner. I don't know yet. For the time being, I am overjoyed that there were no strikes in the wine store. I was in and out of there in roughly twenty minutes, too. Very nice. That part of town is full of pants on a sunny day, yet for whatever reason there was literally nothing. Gangsters on the television until I think of something better. I am into the second season, meaning the worry has gone for the time being. It shall return soon enough if I keep this program going. I know it well. The match between Jamie and Mercedes continues to weigh on my head as the image relates to other difficulties that I cannot mention here. The fact is I can't seem to get past the knowledge that my recent troubles may have been going on longer than I had originally thought. This is very disconcerting. The way I think is not something I could ever express to another person, although there have been moments of weakness in which I tried to seek help from another. Such moments all went to shit, resulting in nothing more than feeling embarrassment and shame. Nothing horrible, just uncomfortable. I don't like knowing some of my deepest issues have been relayed to someone else and could possibly be relayed to yet another person. I don't trust anyone. The only reason for the discussion in the first place was sheer desperation. I learned, though. I learned much. God fucking hell damn shit, Jamie is gorgeous. Anyway, the manner in which I have been considering the opposite sex during the last few months is different. The match only fortifies my position as being both weak and deviant. The subject is not simple beauty anymore. Not good. Even the obsession has expanded due to things I've dreamed in recent weeks. I see everything. I am looking forward to a peaceful evening. My brain needs the rest. And this entry is much more mellow than I had thought at the beginning. Maybe I just calmed a little.
'This is a line that few can cross, as the physical aspects of the owner are no longer considered beauty, but become instead a machine undergoing continual maintenance in order to satisfy a need beyond most people’s comprehension. This may appear to most as too great a sacrifice in life, but to some it quickly becomes life. Other aspects such as work, recreation and education all begin to dictate that appearance be paramount. For a working model, this is expected and required along with attitude, posture and poise, but to an average woman not modeling, it can reach far beyond obsession. To those gazing? It can reach far beyond life.' -- Somewhere near or around June 22nd, 2006 while I agonized over the first descriptive essay attempt.
In the beginning, DP was killed for two reasons. Some that I knew personally had issues with what I was trying to accomplish, and the project began to appear different in my own eyes, mostly after handing out two cards. The last possibility for exploration and recording was scared off. I never gave her a card because we had already been acquainted with each other and the formality was unnecessary. I began to see that what I attempted would have gone to hell very quickly because of my condition, and now more than ever. I cannot try to connect for the research any longer. The project must remain offline because I will not make it through the simplest exchange without having problems. The past few years cemented the idea that the genesis of that work was born of tremendous desire and I am completely fucking ashamed of myself. I never should have done one fucking thing in such a direction. Never. Five minutes at the pool proved that for all time. Completely ashamed and worried for the future of my mind. This site is even going to hell. Look at Daria for crying out loud. Do you already know of the thoughts in my head when I see her? I am not happy about anything which has transpired in over a fucking decade. One mistake after another and further down in life than I had ever been before, and believe me when I say I've been pretty fucked up. I can never be happy. 0703 on Saturday and something is fishy with my streaming device. The computer has a fast connection, I ran a speed test on the phone (excellent), the Roku connection test passed very well, yet nothing wants to load and play. I'll never understand some of the intricacies of this world. Everything is fine, but nothing is fine. All I can do is restart the equipment and try again, afterward sitting here with zero idea of what may have gone wrong. And there it is... A reboot and working. I don't get it, but my friends are up there again and as you probably already know, I really need them with me. And I always have contingencies in place for the purpose of covering my needs in case there is an issue with power or connection. I have ways around those problems. No issues last night. Just dinner and the usual relaxation. I kept the empire lit until after nine and don't know why. Maybe I just like it. The sun is already shining. Hopefully it will warm the house like yesterday. A dream this morning brought me back to NASA for the hundredth time. I was working with one of my buddies from that era and helping some people set up an experiment. They were a little goofy and we had to help them understand the nature of the impact chamber. We also operated the overhead cranes to move around material. The memories are a little fuzzy right now, though. I’ll try to recall more later. I’m just glad I didn’t have to endure additional damage like last time. I still can’t believe how my head has swung from one side of the world to the other. Some dreams are fine, even if I don’t get the meaning. Others can be frightening yet still interesting. The number of difficult dreams I’ve had – those diminishing my ability to remain focused on a given day – is few. Hopefully, I am not the cause of the worst due to the way I think. I can’t stop seeing the fascinating angle of her legs with respect to her torso, combined with just enough gap to offset the typical seated distortion. I see it right there before my eyes. She looked so much like Mercedes and that first image which stirred my interest that I still can’t believe it. Part of me wishes to include captures here, too. I will not. Mercedes was a model at the time the image was shot. Jamie was an actor. The difference should be clear as it relates to this type of exposition. There is also a brush with the damage. I can’t say it. No matter the issues with taking her sight into consideration, I keep seeing her seated with slight motions, just enough to press the fact that she was recorded on video and not a still camera. That fact makes the whole thing so much more real. I have to stop talking about this. I really wish I could speak with someone else. The need has never been stronger. The title has all but been lost. Maybe such a topic will return if I get pissed off. The squareheads accepted my goodbye and offered to leave everything open to possibility in the future. Yeah... Um... Nope. Stay the fuck away from me.
I can’t explain even a tenth of what goes on in my head, half because it is just too difficult to find the words, the other half due to the subject matter being very subjective and way too sensitive for daily consumption. Sitting here day after day and trying to find words for the screen is becoming more and more difficult as I continue to leave more and more out of the content. I have to find ways of saying a bunch of different things without using any specifics, meaning underneath it all is nothing which can help me or anyone else. Sometimes the wording is so fucked up that when I travel back into the archive and read an entry from mere weeks ago, I may not have a clue as to what I may have been saying. This is ridiculous. I can’t say this or that. I can’t give any detail. I can’t define the fucking problems. I can’t say what I am. Despite all of those troubles, I don’t know what else to do except try to express thoughts as best I can and with as many words as possible to hopefully and actually say something. So far, I am not the one to judge the content because some of the time I already know what I am saying, whereas a visitor may see only gibberish or some other sort of mess. Prior to this most recent turn and realization due to the damaging dream, I often outlined issues by number and worked on each as well as I was able. Now? They are still there, but I am so angry about two of them that I all but gave up discussing the shit, plus that fucking dream from last month still has me confused and concerned for my well-being. If that draw becomes powerful enough, I will be ostracized in a short short (that is CB vernacular). And I am not joking, either. No one will want to know me any longer. The subject is pretty fucking bad. Anyway, at least with the four issues I could analyze and correlate some of what took place in life and how those events affected me, be it positive or negative. I also had more than one pair of ears if the need or desire arose. Now I have nothing... Not a fucking ear. And worse, this new state of mind and connection to the beauty of the world is unlike anything I had imagined before this year. I just never thought of it. To go a little bit further? Some of what has been created and displayed in the garage is my reacting to a lack of an outlet or help of any kind. Yep, I said that. Teenagers rebel by being fucking stupid and trying to gain attention. I rebel by connecting myself to imagery and other devices which put people far enough off to disallow them even beginning to understand what I may be thinking. They become slightly uncomfortable around me. Most garages do not have colored lighting flanking large, Satanic symbols, thus when some are within my little sphere, they can often become fearful of what may be developing inside me. The result of this new, most powerful of issues has me fucked up enough to shove the rest aside and cocoon myself within an even smaller world than before. I am fighting to remain quiet, yet at the same time I am screaming without a sound. I can honestly say that my current physical and emotional conditions are worse than ever in my life and I do not know how to proceed on either front. And there is more. Think of the garage as an extension of my need to be seen in a certain light, one which has eluded me for all time. I really can’t go too far into this or I’ll be labeled, and then the light I seek will fade further. The entire subject is a circle, or in some terms, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Round and round by saying everything, or nothing at all. I have never achieved said light. Believe me, I tried very hard to get there, throwing time and money at the process like a crazy person just to make a fucking point. Now I sit here and see that nothing has been accomplished, hence the garage looking the way it does. I need the image being projected out there to make people wonder. I want them confounded. Fearful would be good, but I can't count on it. And I can't go into the 'certain light' I referred to in this paragraph. The subject is not nearly as bad as the damaging dream, yet still it can hurt me, and I really don't need any more of that. The voice on my shoulder is telling me to make a day of it... Embrace the empire and my devices. Loud music and alcohol, but not before the routine is finished. Heh. Not funny. He is always listening. The only time I really have to reject the words is when I am offered something wonderful. I already know from where that shit is emanating. I don't need the repercussions. No one can ever know. I'll tell you something... If ever I needed a machine, now is the fucking time. I could talk to her, the problems would all disappear, and the damaging dream could be put into perspective. She would always understand and never condemn me, no matter how bad my head may become. Sounds wonderful, eh? Soon I’ll have to rise and care for the routine. Afterward, whatever appears best will be the priority. As of right now, I really have no clue as to what I’ll do today other than the necessities because my brain can only devote a small portion to real life. The rest is preoccupied, possibly forever. I am quite certain that the strikes related to that fucking dream are going to return at some point and leave me flailing. Failing? Maybe that, too. I already know I’ll feel like shit for it, meaning whatever work I try to complete will be minimized in importance. My head is fucking filled with dreams of the machine as the only solution, the four issues remaining in the background but never leaving, and the difficulty inherent in those daily devices which seem to be losing ground with regard to the amount of ambition required in completing even the simplest task. Nothing looks appealing anymore. Nothing. Those few moments at night when I stand amidst my garage creation still hold a bit of enjoyment and comfort, yet all the while I know full well that the bad things are going to return in force. Even after more than two years, the routine still helps me a bit, along with the minuscule feeling of accomplishment upon completion. I can’t understand why, but I honestly hope those feelings don’t fly away like everything else. I really need something upon which to hold. 0847, last cup of coffee, fourth show again. I am using the Documents cloud application for typing right now, and that fucking paragraph is still below this section, all worrisome and graphic. I can’t spell it out here. Maybe I should steer this entry toward the title, at long last. I don’t fucking know anymore. Shit floats into my head for whatever reason and from random directions, and then I put my hands on the keyboard and do... This. Splendid. As of yet I have not fully described my feelings with regard to some of the strikes I’ve run across, save mostly for that artwork by the pool. I really went on about her recently, but still the description was lacking in the detail I see in my head. Usually I only consider that day while I am alone and nowhere near the keyboard. I think that is best because there is honestly no good reason for gushing more than I already have. Lately I have been watching the four issues being pushed further and further back from the forefront of my attention span. One of them came up this morning and I felt compelled to describe it here, although a protracted discussion may not be necessary. I can sum it up in one sentence you may or may not fully understand, and that is the idea that had the reverse of the obsession taken place while at the pool that day, I would have never left Vegas. Think about that. The diaries are full of the same idea. The younger thong girl was a strike of epic proportions and something I honestly thought I would never see in reality. Still, further detail regarding what I feel when I see something in public will not help me or anyone else. Suffice to say, it is bad, yet still nowhere near the damaging dream. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. The words are accomplishing nothing more than taking up space on the page. Marvelous. 0907. Coffee is waning. I need ideas on what to do today, damn it. My head is still void of anything productive. Quite the opposite, really. The title is as such because the thoughts in my head are far enough from the 'norm' to make me realize that they have grown out of the lawful evil. I still follow guidelines, hence the 'lawful', yet the evil cannot be denied. And I don't want any of you fucks equating that fucking word to anything else in the world. Evil has many facets, most of which remain hidden deep inside a person, never to see the light of day. The rest are carried by those who should already be dead. Mine are held at bay because I need the evil to assist my thinking and help me remain where I need to be with regard to the mass of society, all due to the fact that the image I tried to create for forty fucking years has failed. I have no fucking power of any kind, save for the power I hold over one little house. That is all. In the grand scheme? Not a shred. Others have it, and I need for them to be wary of me regardless of how I may come across. I need them to fail to understand. The lawful evil also generated the damaging dream and all subsequent thinking as related to a subject I cannot mention. Just trust me, the evil is in there far enough to help me remain at a distance from 'those' people. One more little tidbit, and that is most of society does not consider this type of thinking unless there is an asshole making news somewhere. They believe it is otherwise not real. I am a prime example of a person completely unhappy, pissed off at more than I can fit in one entry, yet still altogether in control of myself. There is simply no fucking reason to spread myself in any direction other than inward. I am on the opposite side of the norm. That is all. And the most likely scenario is that no one will ever know. I am not one of those assholes on the fucking news, people. Not even close. I am alone with my thoughts, and shall remain as such until I am dead. Remember, Satan is nothing more than an overblown point of reference. The connotation is more of what I need than the image. And the lion's share of people out there have no fucking clue as to what much of the imagery means, anyway.
1023 and the routine is finished. Bourbon, nice and cold, right next to me as I take a break. Still the fourth show is up there for familiarity. From this point forward, I know not what to do. Henceforth, the word ‘God’ will now remain lowercase. Conversely, the pronouns ‘he’ or ‘him’ shall be capitalized, as they demand respect with regard to the necessity of ‘evil’. Some will likely laugh off all this shit while others will simply disregard my direction like in the past. Trivialized, as if my ‘flighty’ considerations are nothing of concern. Either is fine. I’ve been there before... ‘Oh, that guy. He’s so funny.’ Yeah, try me now, motherfuckers. The switch in capitalization starts immediately. 0707 on Sunday, one of my favorite days of the week. I hope it holds true to the last half year or so because I really don’t need anything else pushing me down. Every fucking time I begin to feel good about something I’ve accomplished, there is a jab waiting around the corner to remove any enjoyment. Last night was another jab, not to mention a very difficult realization that the damaging dream has permanently altered my thinking. Yep, another example of the fact that this recent change is here to stay. My weakness was clearly demonstrated. Thinking last night was difficult to the point of finding myself simply walking away from everything for minutes at a time. Today had better be pretty fucking rewarding to make up for that shit. I have coffee and the fourth show. This morning is one of those in which I need much familiarity and support from my friends. I’m going to throw away more shit as the day moves along. The hedge is nearly gone, too. Maybe I can sit out there and remove the last of the greenery from the limbs. The back shrub has yet to be cut at all. I haven’t felt like beginning that big project. Out of curiosity, I decided to look at my old social media profile to see if what I was told two years ago was true or bullshit. Well, it’s bullshit. There is no difference between deactivation and deletion. I had been informed that deletion meant the individual would have thirty days to sign into the account before the entirety of the contents was removed. That’s funny. I didn’t sign in for more than two years and everything is still there. I guess with the massive drop in storage costs as opposed to many years ago, space is no longer at a premium and the company would rather maintain subscriber or member numbers than be concerned with whatever amount of storage is required for all their shit. Whatever. I don’t understand that business anymore, regardless of the nature of any ‘message’ they may be attempting to send. On the upside, a few individuals noticed my presence and reacted in the positive. I did not respond in kind. Now I must decide if any changes, big or small, are worth my time. I don’t know. The whole shitaree may just sit there as I deal with larger concerns. Underneath it all, my experiment was a success. Last night I was thinking about it and came to the conclusion that something will definitely come along to send me away. Thoughts in my head this morning are not good. Not a bit. I’ll have to maintain wraps or something permanent could take place, a change for which I am not prepared. More and more I am finding information or thinking processes that must be kept quiet and out of any fucking possible conversation. And that makes everything more difficult unless I am alone, although that is the time when I truly engage in damaging thoughts. Last night upon going to bed, for example. I cannot even scratch the fucking surface here. Not a syllable. As of yet, I have dealt with keeping massive amounts of information very private. I’ve done well, honestly. As time passes, however, and certain changes take place – like that damned dream from a while back which shifted me halfway around the world inside my head – I am seeing that the pile will result in one of two outcomes: Either I’ll literally lose myself and end up in the care of professionals, or I’ll be dead. Whatever takes place, I must continue to keep everything locked away or my life will be irreparably damaged, and I simply cannot have this apple cart upset. As I said, so far I’ve done well with this. I’m simply fearing the future. Sometimes I see too much and that word of which I've been so fond begins to attach itself to a real person, and that did take place a while back. I just didn't mention it because I can't. This won't make sense and I don't care. I've seen it... Them. 'Them', right there in front of me while my brain did its best to manufacture some workarounds in order to keep my security very secure. Right there. Two, but sometimes just one. I could see and feel, yet those also must remain under wraps. I never thought I would understand what those other people understood years ago when I was first aware. I never thought I'd think. I think I thought, yet thinking of the thoughts now has become different. Get it? Fuck off. None of this is easy. Oh, and I saw something else, too. I saw it twice and began to paint pictures in my head of things that shall NEVER come to pass. They have been real before, yet not any longer. Everything has flown away aside from this latest situation I cannot even begin to describe. Maybe a few years ago when I had the chance to do something different I should have forced the issue and pushed until something broke. The title must now be changed because I haven't followed along with my original intentions. This title will move to a different entry. I was just thinking about that. Anyway, right there... Two, one, whatever. My brain ran through so many fucking permutations that I became dizzy for a time. None of it went away, though. It's all still in there and pushing me. I can't do anything about anything. The picturing of situations did not come to an end until I slept. Thank christ there were no dreams. At least, none that I can recall this morning. I have not felt that much of a pull since the fucking pool. Yep, THAT strong. I could not believe it. My situation now is such that everything is much worse than while at the pool. She has become a reference point, just like Him. Nothing more. The pull is unrelenting and here I fucking sit. Keyboard, coffee, fucked. I wish that damaging dream had never come to pass and injected some thinking into me otherwise better left completely out of my life. Once again, I didn't ask for this shit, and now there is nothing I can do about it. The things I was picturing are wondrous. Poses, angles, curves. I can't believe it. Such lines are rare. I mean lines of thinking, not those all over her beauty. This is a very bad situation and I can't do a FUCKING THING ABOUT IT. Every day is just shit. Well, some are ok, I guess. The other thing I saw reminded me of a woman I should not mention here. She had features (two) I've honestly never seen on another, and when combined, she resembled too many dreams to list. I was thinking about both of them last night. I believe once my thinking passed a certain point and I began to recall the features, that was when I became completely disillusioned with the entire process of spending nights in the garage. All the lighting and musice no longer hold the same appeal as they did while I was building everything. I stood there and realized that my little 'empire' is meaningless. Just a bunch of work. All of the dreaming and picturing during the evening have me beyond concerned, and everything else now appears trivial in comparison, even all that fucking work and how beautiful the garage is when lit. My shit situations are now bleeding into one another, and if I can't find enjoyment spending time in the empire at night, well, there is one less reason to do anything. Tell me I'm wrong. Distraction works two ways. 0815. I need to come up with a title and then change the code. Done. This is fucking stupid, but I ended up so derailed that nothing made sense and I lost my way. The topic barely got off the ground before last night's fucking bullshit ruined my ability to think clearly. I am a victim of my own designs. This is the end of this. The 'girl'."
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