r_spurn Mature content No. 332 Published September 1st, 2022 10:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries "...blah, blah, blah lungecakes. I have no control over dreams, really. I don’t believe anyone does, although some claim to have more insight into the process of dreaming. ‘Lucid dreaming’, to name just one. For me, none of that seems to apply. Or maybe I am just a fucking idiot. I don’t know. The point is that my desperation in life probably had a hand in such visions being developed inside, and then my head just ran with it. Twice. The fact that there has been a relational analysis correlated with real life is the main issue here. I did not think in such a manner prior to the original strike, and it was entirely developed during sleep. I do not understand why this had to happen. The only results are more confusion and pain. Sometimes the way of the world pushes me down. Other times, it pushes me down even further. The original dream from a while back is the most likely cause of my recent endeavors with the truck. Anything to stop thinking about that scene playing out over and over. The thoughts in my head cannot be discussed here. 0755. More coffee. I don’t know where this day will lead. The sun is already shining – much like yesterday, with the temperature ramping up quickly – so I can probably work on whatever seems best for the day. I never did the laundry yesterday. That’s going to have to be addressed later this morning so I can make tomorrow’s focus on organization and garbage. Yesterday the temperature rose very quickly in the early afternoon, so I opened up the house in anticipation. Well, the fog derailed my plan by nearly freezing us out by evening. Sometimes the fog and breeze are in charge. Anyway, my work on the bench yesterday is going to be it for a while. Even if the distraction helps, I’m tired of trying to work with that damned project. The metal makes my fingers hurt. I’ll get to the beginning of the routine in an hour or so. Maybe after the coffee is gone for the morning. Damn do I ever wish I could speak more clearly about what has developed into the most stirring and troubling problem in years. I cannot. Some lines are never to be crossed no matter the circumstances or damage to myself. I don’t believe anything can be done about this current bullshit. I can’t even glean the subject, for crying out loud. Everything is inside me, all churning and chewing, and such a state is not good by any means. Believe me, I’ve done it before, yet this is vastly different. My head rotates through visions both near and far, and then memories of Juliette pop up to further drive me insane. That first glimpse of her and the way I waited in line. As each customer moved up in line, I stood there calculating to which teller window I could be called. And then it happened... Right there in front of me was this goddess with a smile. Something about her eyes told me that my question would not be unwelcome. I can see her, and then I see the dream and that manicured finger tugging at the strap and causing just enough movement below to send me flying into a cloud of desire. The damaging dream came many years after seeing Juliette and her bulging chest, yet it also occurred weeks before the actual incident, and that is much of the current problem. Nothing can push that information out of my head, nor can I spell it out. There are other factors as well, but naturally I can’t mention them, either. Marvelous. This is just fucking peachy. I need some fucking serious help right now. I have never felt more depressed and alone. 0838 and my last cup of coffee. Randy Oglesby is in this episode. I believe it’s his first appearance within the franchise. Awesome, and what a future he had. Holy shit, he was in the second show some years prior to this role. I totally forgot and had to look up his filmography. I don’t understand the fucking timeline. How can I dream of something so specific and then see it right before my eyes weeks later? This is worse than yearning to be held by the race girl and her big cat eyes. That was a bad one, but it faded because there was nothing otherworldly actually taking place. The only strangeness was my own mind manufacturing a situation which felt important, even necessary. I needed her to hear me and look into my eyes. That entire affair was nothing more than my weakness manifesting itself due to a split-second facial expression that likely meant absolutely nothing. This is very different. I have a long history of troubleshooting and solving problems with few clues, and therein lies much of the rub. I can’t figure this out. Not even close. I mean, of course there was desire, but that is natural for many people, myself included. I don’t understand and have no belief in all that psycho hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit because I have not had reason enough to reach in such directions. Hmm. Maybe I should have. The subject could have been easier to digest if I believed in the supernatural. Shit, I don’t know. One certainty is that this crap is going to drive the site for a long time. Nothing can come of it, though. Just the words. Life is rarely so rewarding. And just to point out something interesting, I believe I can still see the face of the race girl because she resembled an actor I've seen for years. Nothing related to voodoo. My quiet morning just began. Cats fed, coffee poured, the third show again because I am an out of balance whack job, and the time is 0701. Sunday morning business is a couple of hours away. I have a motion picture in my head from yesterday evening which will not fade away. It is related to the damaging dream. The same, yet the reverse. This will not make any sense. Rest assured, my life is going down the incinerator shaft because of the thoughts that developed in my head last night and remain this morning. I cannot say too much here. I’ll be damned to hell. Believe me, I have rarely felt so much desire combined with bad things. Very bad. The motion picture keeps rolling through the reels of my brain, over and over, and is proceeding to make me insane. I can’t stop watching it. There was also a sweet smile. Every fucking time, there is a sweet smile. I can take very little more of this, yet there is not one thing I can do about any of it. Splendid. The dream keeps coming back and back and fucking back. I have not felt this strongly about anything similar since the red dress at the car dealership many moons ago. I need to find a way to rationalize the thinking processes in my brain. The alternative is to completely shut down, and I don’t want that because there will be questions for centuries. I really wish the dream had never come about. There are two reasons, the first being obvious in that I am having a lot of trouble dealing with it. The second should not be mentioned in detail. There is guilt, though. And more. This is all so very bad. Yesterday I disassembled one of the axles from the truck and found that the steering knuckles were not concentric from the beginning nearly twenty years ago. This is not a good situation at all. I have no machine tools, nor am I willing to spend money to have parts remade that I machined way back many years ago. Things may be a little goofed up, but I am still proud of the design and manufacturing. The only thing I can do is employ what tools I do own to smooth the operation of each steering knuckle as much as possible. I will not have the half-shafts or anything else remade. I’ll work a little today, I suppose. If I can free up the knuckles, the motor may have an easier time swinging the steering from lock to lock. Hopefully, anyway. The other aspect of the truck in process is the suspension. I noticed the other day that the body is wide enough so as to render the top of the truck susceptible to leaning toward one side or the other. It is heavy, and the chassis beneath is narrow. The combination is unstable. I ordered some hardware from McMaster (for the millionth time) which should space the cantilevers an inch off the frame rails, meaning the upper suspension components will be two inches wider overall. This is something I’ve been considering for years but did not wish to begin. Now that the truck is in pieces, improving the stability will be easier. This situation is becoming debilitating because I can’t speak to anyone about it nor can I gush here. Keeping all of the feelings locked inside is unhealthy, and actually even worse than other issues I’ve dealt with recently. I need help but am unwilling to take the risk. I could be crucified for what is taking place in my head. I’ve spent my fair share of time daydreaming about certain aspects of life – some close by and other situations much less likely – and I know of the repercussions if details are shared with the wrong type of personality. The specific feelings have not taken place for roughly three years, to be honest, and even that situation was eased for reasons I cannot reveal. This is fucking stupid. I feel what I feel, and as such nothing will come of it. As a result, I can’t be held accountable for actions that never take place. That is fine. The other side, however, is the idea that I am not comfortable feeling this way and wish it to fade into the background for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I have precisely zero control over such a state. My head is so fucked up because of both the past four-plus decades and the resulting difficulty since moving to the coast that I can’t simply pick and choose what I think anymore. Feelings are thrust upon me like ocean waves, and as you should well know, nothing can withstand water. Last night I felt a new facet of the damaging dream. It happened. It cannot be undone. Take into consideration all of the turmoil throughout the last seven-plus years since the site changed direction. And then jump ahead to the beginning of the pandemic when I created a mechanical woman in my head because I was so fucked up that a real person could not cut the mustard. None of that shit was ever solved, right? I am the same, if not worse. This latest crap from a few months ago that I continue to railroad is another facet of my personality as it has grown through issues and become illuminated. I did not ask for this. Weakness and desperation can be very dangerous inside the correct brain. Very dangerous. Just last night I was thinking of the space program which reminded me of Florida and our tour of the cape many years ago. That led to the idea of visiting again in the future. Well, everything in my head turned a corner within seconds of mentioning the destination. I went back in time to Andrea and the mass of resources I burned in order for us to live in the lap of luxury sans concern. I redirected that trip with her out of sheer desperation, plain and simple. I just happened to meet the right type of personality at a time when my desperation hit an all-time high and coincided with having tremendous amounts of cash, and all that money appeared due to the same reason. I was desperate to break the fuck out of life and buy my way into an illusion dripping with enjoyment. I was in a very bad state of mind... Very dangerous to myself. I threw everything away for a bit of time aligned with my dreams. Nothing else seemed to matter. The damaging dream is yet another cherry on top of the most uncomfortable dish of ice cream in existence. Today is garbage day. I’ll try to maximize whatever I can, meaning I need to go through the refrigerator, too. There may be some science experiments in there which have been overlooked. I also need to toss some crap out of the garage. I’ve been keeping the area pretty neat for the last few weeks aside from working on the truck. I’d like that to continue. During my time alone today I’ll probably sit out there and calculate ways of easing the steering and drive components in order to eventually run them off a motor. Ah... That brings a thought. The other day when I realized that the steering system requires tons of current to drive it, the idea of a different gear-motor combination may help tremendously. The motor has a built-in reduction gearbox, and I believe the current setup has a ratio of 19:1. The company makes several incarnations of the same motor, all the way up to 200:1. I may order one in the range of 50:1 just to see if the torque amplification helps to swing everything from lock to lock. The motion will be slow, but I don’t really care. The other option for easing the process of using wire ropes to swing the steering is a linear actuator. That would solve a lot of problems, yet at a high cost. I’m not referring to dollars, either. I mean I would have to remove some of the parts I designed and machined in order to make my dream of linear steering feasible. They would all be replaced by one actuator. Removing pieces I created in favor of store-bought components does not blow my skirt up at all. The truck is something I made from raw materials, save for a few parts I literally did not have the skill or experience to deal with, and looking at it brings pride even after all this time. The fact that it does not run on its own has never been a problem. I’d like to see it move along the ground, but sacrificing my vision and effort for such an end may not be worthwhile. I need that machine to be all me, if that makes any sense. As I said, a few parts I’ve purchased or had manufactured by others are not the end of the world. They were necessary. The prospect of a linear servo to drive the steering is right in the middle of these ideas, as only half the system would need to be replaced. The other half would remain as I created it. I’ll have to consider the effects upon me as a technician and decide which is best. And now to the other direction... Rather than the dream and the strap floating about inside my head, I now have another fucking problem, and that is the motion picture. I cannot give out a description, however. Too damning. It is there, though, and I think about it more often than is comfortable. All my issues, both past and present, are beginning to combine and create a living situation that has become a battle. Every single daily activity, from housework to hobbies to whatever, is accompanied by feelings which constantly try to derail my thinking. They push their way in and I push back as hard as I can. As of yet, I have not flipped out. I cannot speak to the future, unfortunately. Right now I just don’t know how this will affect me as time passes. One certainty is that there will be more. I know it. I am going to continue to see things better left out of my mind, and there will be dreams over which I have no control. If I remain inside the house and never leave, while simultaneously staying awake for the rest of my life, nothing will increase. That is the only way to be certain that more issues won’t come along. Nice, huh? This is a fucking curse unlike anything else in existence. The film industry, the space program, my truck... Everything takes a back seat to this latest and worst frame of mind. One was enough. I really didn’t need another. 0911. Bad number. I have to rise and take care of the routine very soon, along with my requisite morning cocktail to numb the feelings. Once the inside work is finished, I’ll probably move around and try to maximize the trash, like usual. I have the Food Network on for a while just to do something different. It never lasts, though, because the commercials can drive me out of my mind. 1330 on Monday. I’ve been working with the truck, hence not much here. My routine is finished and I went shopping all over the place for some staples. Thankfully, there was nothing to worry about while I was in the wine store or elsewhere. I have enough inside already... Visions of the past, images of more recent problems, and the wicked strike taking place over and over. Adding some fucking pair of pants to the pile would not be good. Anyway, This morning I took care of everything in order to allow plenty of time should I feel like working with the truck. A sidebar from hell... I know the lines are there. I can’t see them, yet they are definitely there, and likely so beautiful that upon sight I would be rendered completely insane. I know they are there. And more, too... The others. I cannot state it straight out, though. There is much more present during those moments than I could possibly handle. Moreover, the redefinition of ‘cute’ continues to expand right before my very eyes. Needy eyes. Desperate eyes. Weakness, above all. I will refrain from going into the sheer amount of control present in my words and actions while everything is in view. The effort is debilitating, to say the least. This will continue until my end. I truly wish that I could have known years ago that I would eventually degrade into this type of person. Perhaps I could have made some preparations to ease the days. I keep seeing everything regardless of the day’s activities. Sometimes I see too much. Somewhere... Those lines are waiting to be properly greeted. This cannot happen. Wickedness, defined. Strike? All. Tuesday morning. Dreams of random things, smiling people, and travel. I have a few minutes before the morning business, after which I plan to relax more than yesterday. I do have to take a trip to the market up north, though. That means a clear possibility of being hit upside the head with things I am better off avoiding. I’ll return, good or bad as it may be, and then probably work with the truck again. I have some wiring harnesses to fabricate. Hopefully today will not carry some of yesterday’s trials. The cat has set up shop on the sofa right where I typically sit during the morning, so I think today is the day to transition into the new office. We go. 0848 and here I am at the workbench. The third show is above my head on the garage television, coffee to my right, and all my shit spread out which supports the truck project. I had to move all of the paperwork from one binder to another in order to separate everything and keep the truck crap out here. Holy shit, this ‘Dabo girl’ in the episode is absolutely unreal. I could... Never mind. Anyway, moving everything out here was only a matter of time. The truck electronics are difficult to work with, meaning I need loads of paperwork and the laptop for reference, all of the test equipment, and the space to spread everything out so I can solve problems. The current issue is jitter in some of the servos, most notably the closed-loop system that moves the steering. That means I have to connect the auxiliary computer to the steering controller and work with the software. Not easy. There is also an annoying tendency for the drive motor to spin at maximum speed whenever I shut down the transmitter. I may have to connect the drive controller to the software, as well. At least I have loads of time. I don’t need to go to the market until closer to lunch time. Half the routine is finished already. The other half shall wait until I break from this crap. Shit, I just remembered that I need to raise the drive controller board in order to access the data port. Fuck. And I already ordered hardware. Oh, well. I'm certain there will be more shit to purchase very soon. Years ago just after I had the boards made, I kept a tally of hours and dollars spent on this project. At last count, I believe between what is on the truck, the equipment I purchased for designing the electronics and all of the hardware, the total was north of $8500. I've already spent in excess of $200 within the last two weeks. Jesus. To put the cost in perspective, keep in mind there are 164 parts on the truck that I personally designed and machined, but also another hundred or so that were 'trials', fixtures made in order to machine other parts, or some otherwise not used due to appearance or flaky functioning. Lots of trial and error over the years, most notably in the beginning. Sitting at the bench with the editor reminds me of two years ago when the gentleman had his motorcycle stored here and I’d work on the site as he worked on his stuff. The comfort of being out here with all my devices also reminds me to appreciate the time and quiet. I don’t think about those benefits enough these days because I’ve been spending far too much time worrying about so many things missing from life. Today could be a banner, or a line between the way I had been thinking of my days alone and a method for coping. This is very comfortable right now. Yesterday I pulled the trigger on some hardware to further enhance the axles. Disassembling everything the other day showed me that my design and engineering work should be appreciated more than it has for the last few years. Even though the machine has not moved on its own, the entirety of the assembly is beautiful, and the parts I ordered will support such a feeling. I need it to look really good, or at least to my satisfaction. The truck may soon return to its display case, but I’ll be pleased with the appearance. That is important. In the past I spent a shit ton of money on specialized hardware so that everything aligns with my vision, and that also meant changes. On the drive front, I pulled out the old CAD illustrations of the spur and motor mounts to try and refresh my memory. Basically, those are the only two parts necessary for the entire drive system to operate from the radio. Unfortunately, and as I have pointed out on many occasions, having those parts manufactured is very expensive and wholly dependent upon my measurements and design work. One number out of place and they will be garbage. I can’t have that. Along the lines of the truck appearing the way I wish, I noticed that the rod ends for the suspension and steering links have degraded. They are plated with cadmium -- I was forced to use cadmium due to the lack of availability of more corrosion resistant materials on such small units -- which means the finish has been affected by time and moisture. There are 32 of them at a cost of over $9 per, meaning to replace them all for the sake of a pretty machine would cost tons of money. I'd love to have stainless rod ends, but unfortunately they do not exist according to my research. Ugh. One of them is actually covered with rust because years ago I tried to buff the fucking thing. Mistake. I shouldn't complain too much, though. They were purchased somewhere around eighteen years ago. In working with the axles, I also noticed that the adapters I made to connect both driveshafts to all three differentials are not concentric. That is to say that the center hole is not precise. All I had was a crappy vise on a very old drill press. On a lathe, all four adapters would have been turned and cut within half an hour or less, and holding a tolerance of a thousandth of an inch. I no longer have such capabilities. Some years ago, I designed the parts in the CAD software but never had them manufactured. That was most likely due to money. If I eventually have them machine the drive mounts, I may opt to include the driveshaft adapters at the same time. The drawings are already finished. Ah... I forgot to mention that my mock-up of the body last week means I can now design front and rear mounts cut from aluminum. More money. The driveshaft adapters are pretty important, though, even more than mounting the body. As of now, when the shafts turn, there is visible ‘wobble’ at the differentials. I simply cannot have that if I am to feel pride for the project. 0927. Sitting here all day long would not be a stretch. Heh. The fucking lines are still just behind everything I’ve been typing. They will not go away. Being outside in the new office helps, though. There exist no solutions to these issues, so the only coping method available to me is finding distraction. The truck is assisting my need to drown within something other than beauty or the other five million fucking problems I feel every day. 1103 and the kitchen is polished. I am back in the new office with my devices. The market shall wait a while. I’m always afraid of what I might see over there. Speaking of issues, sitting out here rather than in the house is helping to quash the morning shit to which I have been a slave for far too many years. I suppose the situation is a good thing, yet part of me knows the feelings are only being suppressed, much like when I drink alcohol during the mid-morning (such as right fucking now). Desire is like a boomerang in that I can fling it away sometimes but it will always come around the corner and hit me upside the head with great force. In the long run, there is nothing I can do. The more I push, the more the beauty pushes back. At least I have the never-ending truck project. I’ve already seen too much. The occasions are branded on my brain cells. The wicked strike is beginning to overtake other visions, even those I’ve mentioned continuously. Part of the problem is that I KNOW the lines are there, though I have not seen them. I just fucking KNOW. No imagination is necessary when it comes to wickedness. There is not one Goddamned thing I can do about it, either. Nothing. Of all the saving throws, this one could actually save me, yet it is as elusive as true understanding. The first sight matched the damaging dream, and soon everything went to hell in a very large handbasket. I intend to shower and then head to the market, afterward moving out here to fabricate a wiring harness. The distraction has never been more necessary. Believe it. The manicured fingers tugging on that bra strap have crippled me, possibly for all time. This feeling is analogous to someone placing the Passion into my hands and then ripping it away. I am perpetually broken over the effects of having dreamed of something so beautiful and stirring and then seeing it right in front of me. Again... There is nothing I can do. This is literally the worst situation I could have imagined in life. Frankly, I am surprised to be alive right now. I guess the enjoyments are still effective. I just noticed a tag on the side of my HP laboratory power supply. It tells me that this piece of equipment originated from a company where my dad was employed more than thirty years ago. Wow. I had thought it came from the lab in Sunnyvale when my parents owned the business. That was the ‘phase lock’ period, which was when I met the girl from the adjacent firm. Damn. She was special. Lots of years back, all that stuff. I miss the work. I miss her more, though. What the fuck happened to me? Did I need the understanding that many years ago? Maybe I did, but did not have the drive to sit and write an analysis. I think I loved her. And I think I just formulated a plan for the next few hours. 1305. I returned from the market with zero issues. They always have the best produce. Now I am back in the new office trying to work out the wiring harness components. I have the third show on for posterity and comfort. Oh, and a cold beer. I learned that my hardware order from McMaster will be delivered tomorrow. That is very good. It also means some work on both axles. I can’t wait to see the results. And yes, the fasteners and spacers are purely for appearance. If I don’t like the way the truck looks, nothing is good. As for the rest of this day, all I have to do is make some preparations for dinner a few hours from now. Until then, the plan is truck work and this shit. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words. The aforementioned idea is to work on the wiring out here whilst blaring some music. Right now the show is on, however that may be shut down very soon, mood dependent, of course. 0652. Wednesday morning with coffee and my friends. I am a touch on edge this morning due to a late night message from my neighbor regarding an issue on the street. I’ll have to speak to him later and get the full story. This area is normally very quiet, too. Later, I guess. This morning I have to take care of the business and then I can relax a while and clear my head. I dreamed of something which has since left, yet there is a latent feeling that something is very wrong here. I don’t know if I had some sort of premonition or if this is merely a coincidence, but whichever it is, I’ll need some time to sort things out. That means the big garage door will be closed and the front door locked when they would normally be the opposite. If and when I feel better, my little world will open. The morning stuff is finished and I have a quiet day ahead. The truck work may or may not continue, although once my hardware arrives I may be more motivated. I’d like to remain indoors for the most part today. I’ve been thinking about a particular subject since yesterday afternoon. A jogger went by in one direction (I think I’ve seen her out there before) and then walked the other way, presumably returning home. The sight of her running by had me considering my ideals, wants and needs, and how they have affected my relationships with people throughout the last two-plus years. Not long after my eyes swung around to see her, the memory of a dream popped into my head. On the heels of the incident which matched the damaging dream, there was another glimpse of someone sitting atop a bicycle not far from my garage, her eyes meeting mine within seconds. I have no idea of who she may have been, though. The fact is when the jogger went by yesterday, I could have sworn that the face matched that of the dream. As a result of these odd occurrences lately, my feelings toward people are changing for the worse. The very idea that the dreams and other situations which have arisen in the last few months could affect my view of society probably does not seem feasible. I cannot disagree, yet the mindset has come to me regardless of what may appear realistic. There is a condition which becomes inflamed during some moments, afterward finding me unable to move or think clearly for some minutes until I can regain composure. The sight of the jogger brought up two disparate situations, one being something in mind almost constantly. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words, and the reasons are many. In fact, the title follows suit. 1013 and I already have the routine finished and everything set up for dinner. I know not from where the motivation came this morning, but it could be my head having more difficulty than in past months. The situation is worsening and my mood is on the decline. I spoke of the dreams, including that which damaged me to a great degree, and I believe the trouble in dealing with such visions has now attached itself to what I deal with each day. I probably should have seen this coming, however not everything can be predicted. My brain is saturated with imagery and a deep-seated need for the right type of understanding, yet still I draw breath and carry out the daily activities. I do not know what is keeping me moving forward. I really don’t. My life has become a quandary. The most likely cause for me completing the morning routine is the desire to sit here and try to work out issues. Any belief that I am able to rise may be premature, though. As of yet, all I have is an increasing pile of questions despite the awareness of several causes. They are most decidedly not answers, only reasons. This is not good and may soon drive me to very dangerous ideas. Actually, it already has. I just don’t have the resources to do anything. Nice, huh? The title is reflective of the fact that aside from a few individuals throughout the last twenty years, I have been only spurned by those who were allowed in. That is that. I said it. And when I say ‘few’, I mean five. The remaining individuals are on a list. The show and the idea of working on the truck today are being pushed back by everything else in my head. I am referring to unresolvable problems that hit me in the face every fucking day and I am completely sick of it. This position is very bad. I have no outlet other than the IDE, nor is there a pair of ears nearby for me to employ. Tons of anger, sadness and frustration cannot be pointed in any other fucking direction right now. I am completely alone and do not like it one bit. The fasteners I ordered will arrive in a little while, as will the new acrylic plate for replacing the one that I messed up last year. Those parts combined may not have the ability to distract me from everything in the background. The problems can take over my psyche completely. I feel like a cornered camel about to attack, yet there is no target. I have been cornered by forces and feelings, but not people. Don’t get me wrong, though. There is blame. I just can’t do a fucking thing about it, nor can I find an avenue to alleviate my emotions. I am again sitting in the garage with my devices all around. I am in pain and nothing helps. Time for a beer. And music. I have this machine connected to the audio system. I can run it all fucking day long without a problem. The morning whiskey is already gone. Sitting out here means the street is in view. The sun is shining, as well. The sum of those two? Something will come along to draw my vision and cause that high-speed, violent focus-pull that I know all too well. It is just a matter of time. It happened yesterday. The jogger and her rear end screaming to me as it painted patterns from hell. As much as I don’t need anything else in my eyes, the atmosphere in the garage is important. It brings me back to times of automotive work, friends from high school, and an insane level of control over everything. Control has become issue number fucking five. Believe it. At some point I will tire of this shit and do some soldering, following the work on the harness I finished yesterday. I keep seeing, remembering, dreaming and falling down at some point every fucking day. Why am I doing this? Is there a solution which will come up the driveway and present itself as the official saving throw to my life? A gigantic pair of dice rolling along until the number is revealed? I don’t fucking think so. If you can tell me why I am still sitting here doing this shit, by all means... TELL ME. The garage empire is in full swing right now, and the time is only 1132. Imagine that... I am reaching in all directions for something that is impossible. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. I am becoming aggravated. I hope no one approaches this house. Maybe the jogger would be ok. Or UPS. Or the mail carrier. Or my neighbor. Everyone else? Go burn to death. The repeatability of my caliper is going bad. Might need to replace it. Just saying. Weakness and desperation are ever-expanding and detrimental to my longevity. The jogger is a prime example of my ability to see something and then run with it, nearly out of control. I have been driven to this. Fucking DRIVEN. Don’t argue. The idea is bad for your health, believe me. Contradictions shall be punished. Am I paying for past happiness? The tab? Keep in mind those are not the important questions. The answers to critical questions are in another universe. Far away. How far? Thousands of light years, and further with each breath drawn by yours truly. I am more aggravated than half an hour ago. And what exactly can I do to calm myself? Nothing. I am on a road with no turns. There are billboards aplenty, though. You don’t want to know. Nothing I’ve spouted here in the last seven years has been a good idea. Revealing information is one thing, but I have honestly done my best to keep the details buried. If you’ve gleaned, you are a genius. Some parts may seem clear, however keep in mind that I am the world champion at disguising ideas and lying my fucking ass off until the cows come home. There are no cows in the yard, so figure it out. I will continue in this vein, as well. Given the choice of being fully exposed versus appearing as a horrible person, I’ll take the latter every time. I no longer have faith in any genuine help (especially from an actual person), meaning this venture is all I have left in the world. Without this, I’d probably be in the corner of the backyard. In order to avoid the horrid reality of ridicule and embarrassment, the lengths to which I will go are infinite, much like the Internet where my words live. Bottom line? If you believe you have an idea of what the main issue is, you are way off the mark. Trust me, rose petal. You don’t know shit, nor does ANYONE of which I’ve let in. Not a fucking soul, living or otherwise. The point of this paragraph is the fact that I’ve been writing here on and off for a very long time, yet still I am in the worst shape of my entire life. There you go. Suck the words off the screen, motherfucks. The audio system in this garage needs a fucking boost. The ‘B’ speakers on the west side are my very old Realistic cabinets from the sixties. They should not be out here at all, but I do not have another pair of drivers for that side. Had I gained the speakers I wanted some years ago, they would be too large for mounting out here. Huge. Those cabinets were to flank the original home theatre system in the house, but I couldn’t afford them at the time. Three hundred pounds of audio? I believe my partner would have scoffed at the idea, so the idea went away. I did have the 701s in there for a while, too, but eventually they went away for space considerations. The speakers above me (on the ‘A’ side of the amplifier) are excellent, yet to acquire another pair would also be cost prohibitive. I have to think about this for a while. On days like today when my pissy fucking mood dictates irritating passers by, the plan is to expand. Honestly, though, I don’t know how to proceed without breaking the bank and making massive changes to the current system. Hopefully, something will come to mind. The garage is my sanctuary, and must follow suit in order to reflect my shit mood. My alcohol intake has successfully squashed those feelings which had been on the cusp of taking over my consciousness this morning. This will not always work, however. There is power involved of which human beings are not aware. Well, they may be, but they also know nothing can be done other than altering the mind with chemicals. The more I think about the subject, the more angry I become. Increased anger begins to tip the scale of life away from the norm. Further tipping will cause me to lash. Hence, the booze. All I do is move around this fucking cracker box and think. I think all the fucking time. That is all I have anymore... My mind. Anything under the influence of such vast power is at the mercy of becoming overly unstable – much like my current condition – and the results come in two flavors: Either moving forward and attempting to make sense of everything, or taking the less-treaded path of self-annihilation. I am at this very moment leaning toward the latter, although the former continues to push its way in due to people around me. There are not many at this late date, of course, yet they still hold a bit of control over the rudder. Had I not realized the deeply cutting effects of being spurned so often and then placated just enough to remain alive and involved, those very same people would at this moment know the sheer depth of the problems. The only throw I have left after all this time which can hold things together is the numbing effect of my ill-begotten lover, the alcohol. Call me what you will. The other night I spoke of opportunities and paths of the past not taken for one reason or another. The most significant path which has been brought up here recently was the film industry. I passed on that out of fear. Years before that massive mistake, there was another. While in Michigan, I completed high school at night and graduated with flying colors in a ceremony with day school students. I’ve brought this shit up before, too. Afterward, my hope was to attend Michigan Tech way up in the upper peninsula and study biochemistry. I applied to the first stepping stone, which was city college, and then tested for placement. Well, I soon received two letters asking if I wished to be in the honors program for both the English and Mathematics programs. Honors. That indicated my testing had been passed in the upper echelon. The next step was to apply for financial aid, and therein lies one of the biggest fucking blunders of my life. I was not only approved for aid, but granted a Pell funding letter. Do you know what a Pell Grant is? That is tuition that does not need to be paid back because they WANT you to further your education. It means the applicant is deemed worthy of the type of assistance that few receive. Yep. I did well during night school and tested high for the college entry. Where is the blunder? I moved back to this state without going through the admission process and before my college career could begin. And why did I move and not attend the school? One word: Beauty. The power took me and did not let go. If there is another fucking definition for ‘idiot’, it escapes me. The discussion went on for a short time before I realized I had to cease talking or I’d go on a depressive rampage. I stopped dead, right there. A little while ago I walked out to the street to move my car into the driveway. Along the way, I noticed that the music was clear almost sixty feet from the garage. Guess what, people? It gets much louder. Just a thought. The previous paragraph is part of the reason for the volume right now. I feel fucking stupid after being led by the nose, not to mention the second time it happened. Don’t fucking ask. Yes, I know I’ve spoken of that college shit before. Probably more than once. The key is of paramount importance, however. I cannot overstate my long list of mistakes. They are mine and cannot be dropped on the heads of other people, yet I will not sit here and take all the fucking blame. There were looks and lies, words and willingness. I can be a real piece of work, no doubt, but I’ll tell you one thing... I am not the only one, nor do I have the fucking power. My parts have still not arrived. Maybe I’ll go inside and give the neighborhood a break for a while. 1426. I had something to eat. I ceased the truck work until parts arrive, or possibly tomorrow. Right now I am so deep into the difficulty that most of my concentration has flown away. I keep seeing things... Images of the past, dreams, and little papers swirling in a cyclone overhead. Each paper holds a thought which I cannot understand. Some have indications of the best parts of life having been removed, now serving only as reminders and forcing me to understand that I have been left alone. I forget nothing. One fact that continues to slap me across the face is that I leveraged my life and living conditions forcibly in order to seek the type of comfort I continue to need, and not a moment passes without berating myself and then pushing my way up to feel better. The past rears its head daily. 0741 on Thursday morning. My foot is fucked up due to something I did last night. I was hoping it would improve overnight, yet no such luck thus far this morning. I took care of the early business and half the routine in order to secure some time and remain off my feet. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve been limping since last night. Perhaps taking it easy for a while this morning will help. I don’t have big plans today, anyway. My hardware showed up yesterday afternoon and I installed everything, plus the new board plate arrived. I drilled everything and mounted the PC board as it should have been several years ago. The appearance has improved markedly and I think I am actually happy with the change. Something like that is very rare for the truck. Further, I believe I am close to connecting the steering block to each axle for some tests. Naturally, I’ll have to order material again because every time I disassemble the system, the parts are wasted. Well, some of them, anyway. It’s not a big deal to drop ten dollars five times over a period of years, especially considering the sheer value of the entire project. I am hoping the issue plaguing me since early this year does not return anytime soon. I’ve been ok for the most part, but I also know that being floored again is a matter of time. There is no way around it, as I’ve been reminded thrice by the medical community. During the hours spent in the garage yesterday, I sat a bit more comfortably than I would have had I remained in the house instead. Today? I don't know if I’m willing to drag this machine to the workbench again. That means if I stay inside, I’ll have to fight my way through the fucking morning as I have on too many occasions to recall. There is always a demon directly behind me waiting to influence my day. Sometimes I am powerless. I don’t know to get through this. No matter what I may be involved in during the day, something always reminds me of exactly where and when I am living, eventually leading to the feelings which govern my mood. Yesterday, for example, I was diligently working on replacing hardware and drilling the acrylic for the board plate. Each moment of concentration passed with visions attached. Sporadic pictures of different situations throughout two decades, most of them more recent than those old trips to the goblet. And then the wickedness creeped in. My work slowed periodically so I could attempt to right myself and move forward with the project. The work began with my show in the background and ended with loud music. That is typical, and driven by the fact that no matter what I may be doing, there will inevitably be a drop – sometimes just a few inches and other times more like that fall off the balcony (along with the petite, bloody and naked Julie) I wrote into the fiction some years ago. I don’t believe there is anything I can do to avoid the bad things entering my head. I am fighting at this very moment. The news has been traded for the third show. 0905 and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind what happens during the remainder of this day. I am going to sit here for a long while and consider my options in life, all the while trying to push that fucking demon away. I don’t know of another way to live anymore. Everything hurts me. I am alone. No one is listening. I don’t understand. Maybe that’s all I should write anymore. There have been certain individuals in life that crossed my path and affected me enough to alter my beliefs. Maybe those occasions are parts of the problem, but then again they may not. The root idea of what I have become as a result of a very difficult set of circumstances cannot be denied, nor can it be altered at my age. I am severely jaded. And I mean fucking twisted. Today would have been my mom’s 79th birthday. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch do I ever need a change in life. This is so very bad. My stomach is becoming upset. Some of this shit can be attributed to being spurned, whereas other aspects of what I have become may be my own fault. When it comes to the wickedness and that fucking strike that I still do not understand, I believe the key to the whole shitaree was desperation. Weakness is not related because I still have the strength to keep everything shrouded. That is driven by raw fear and nothing more. I keep a lot of thoughts and feelings out of this content, but let me tell you in no uncertain terms that the most important omission is the wicked strike. No one can ever know. And sometimes I want to grab Mary’s character and run away. Good fucking God is she ever beautiful. She could kill me with a bat’leth and I would bleed to death smiling. Make of that what you will. Anyway, the spurned nature of my psyche and ego are beginning to cause a further slide from which there is no recovery. Every superlative I’ve used on this fucking site has been enhanced to the point of becoming doctrine. Not good. You may have noticed that the last several entries here have mentioned my emotional state more than in the past. There is good reason for such a fact. 0955 and boy do I ever need a fucking drink. 1013, and... Worse than earlier. I poured a nice, big glass of whiskey so my feelings can be somewhat suppressed, a necessary evil born of the situation two years ago when I realized just how weak and desperate I had become. Now I am far worse. The wicked strike is just one segment of a much larger construct. It is overwhelming. This morning may go down in history as a representation of just how fucked up my head has been set off. I can honestly say that this feeling inside is beginning to drive much more dire ideas, none of which can be acted upon due to where I am in the grand scheme of life. All of the damage I caused back in eleven and twelve has rendered me unable to move (figuratively, of course). Again, I am cornered. This is a very dangerous situation, especially considering my past maneuvers in search of all that was missing. I can see such damage taking place in the future. Just a matter of time. Wait a fucking minute... Do my feelings matter? Is there anything which can be done? I can’t even begin to calculate the odds of the current period improving. If I can’t do anything or move in some helpful direction, why continue this? Why ask questions? Does all this shit mean I am holding on to some semblance of hope? Forget the spurn. Nothing I say or type matters anymore. Oh, this day. I knew because of my foot that not much was going to happen during my alone time. My truck is going to sit there, but I may create a few parts for hinging the board. The hinged standoffs that are mounted toward the front of the chassis cannot be trusted with all that weight hanging on them. I have to create some parts in order to utilize a piano hinge instead. I’ve been thinking about such an idea for years, but now that the board spends more time mounted to the frame rails, there must be better support. This means I have to draw the mount in the CAD software and pay them to manufacture it. No big deal, and probably less than a hundred dollars. The drive components and driveshaft adapters will have to wait. Everything ‘hinges’ on the board being properly supported. Otherwise? Nothing moves due to a lack of connected power. And speaking of power, I have some really nice silicone wire arriving tomorrow to finally and permanently create connections for the main voltage supply and motor inputs. The downside to all this work is the fact that the truck is barely capable of pushing away the conditions of the rest of my life. I have control over the truck’s design, the media playing in the background, and the environment inside both the house and garage, yet everything which is in my heart and TRULY important maintains a position far from the same. I’ve lived fifty-five years to end up dealing with THIS SHIT? What a fucking idiot. At least there is one certainty. Sometimes I hate myself and other times I hate other people. I will fucking state this straight out and without any ambiguity... When the pain becomes too much to bear and the enjoyments no longer keep my head out of the ground, the revolver will speak to those who know me. No note, no clues, no nothing. Just a mess. I don't fucking care anymore. 'Thy will be done.' Wait for it. I am 10-10 on the side. 10-7 is coming soon. I am hearing something, though there is no indication of movement. Could it be..." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
r_spurn Mature content No. 332 Published September 1st, 2022 10:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries "...blah, blah, blah lungecakes. I have no control over dreams, really. I don’t believe anyone does, although some claim to have more insight into the process of dreaming. ‘Lucid dreaming’, to name just one. For me, none of that seems to apply. Or maybe I am just a fucking idiot. I don’t know. The point is that my desperation in life probably had a hand in such visions being developed inside, and then my head just ran with it. Twice. The fact that there has been a relational analysis correlated with real life is the main issue here. I did not think in such a manner prior to the original strike, and it was entirely developed during sleep. I do not understand why this had to happen. The only results are more confusion and pain. Sometimes the way of the world pushes me down. Other times, it pushes me down even further. The original dream from a while back is the most likely cause of my recent endeavors with the truck. Anything to stop thinking about that scene playing out over and over. The thoughts in my head cannot be discussed here. 0755. More coffee. I don’t know where this day will lead. The sun is already shining – much like yesterday, with the temperature ramping up quickly – so I can probably work on whatever seems best for the day. I never did the laundry yesterday. That’s going to have to be addressed later this morning so I can make tomorrow’s focus on organization and garbage. Yesterday the temperature rose very quickly in the early afternoon, so I opened up the house in anticipation. Well, the fog derailed my plan by nearly freezing us out by evening. Sometimes the fog and breeze are in charge. Anyway, my work on the bench yesterday is going to be it for a while. Even if the distraction helps, I’m tired of trying to work with that damned project. The metal makes my fingers hurt. I’ll get to the beginning of the routine in an hour or so. Maybe after the coffee is gone for the morning. Damn do I ever wish I could speak more clearly about what has developed into the most stirring and troubling problem in years. I cannot. Some lines are never to be crossed no matter the circumstances or damage to myself. I don’t believe anything can be done about this current bullshit. I can’t even glean the subject, for crying out loud. Everything is inside me, all churning and chewing, and such a state is not good by any means. Believe me, I’ve done it before, yet this is vastly different. My head rotates through visions both near and far, and then memories of Juliette pop up to further drive me insane. That first glimpse of her and the way I waited in line. As each customer moved up in line, I stood there calculating to which teller window I could be called. And then it happened... Right there in front of me was this goddess with a smile. Something about her eyes told me that my question would not be unwelcome. I can see her, and then I see the dream and that manicured finger tugging at the strap and causing just enough movement below to send me flying into a cloud of desire. The damaging dream came many years after seeing Juliette and her bulging chest, yet it also occurred weeks before the actual incident, and that is much of the current problem. Nothing can push that information out of my head, nor can I spell it out. There are other factors as well, but naturally I can’t mention them, either. Marvelous. This is just fucking peachy. I need some fucking serious help right now. I have never felt more depressed and alone. 0838 and my last cup of coffee. Randy Oglesby is in this episode. I believe it’s his first appearance within the franchise. Awesome, and what a future he had. Holy shit, he was in the second show some years prior to this role. I totally forgot and had to look up his filmography. I don’t understand the fucking timeline. How can I dream of something so specific and then see it right before my eyes weeks later? This is worse than yearning to be held by the race girl and her big cat eyes. That was a bad one, but it faded because there was nothing otherworldly actually taking place. The only strangeness was my own mind manufacturing a situation which felt important, even necessary. I needed her to hear me and look into my eyes. That entire affair was nothing more than my weakness manifesting itself due to a split-second facial expression that likely meant absolutely nothing. This is very different. I have a long history of troubleshooting and solving problems with few clues, and therein lies much of the rub. I can’t figure this out. Not even close. I mean, of course there was desire, but that is natural for many people, myself included. I don’t understand and have no belief in all that psycho hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit because I have not had reason enough to reach in such directions. Hmm. Maybe I should have. The subject could have been easier to digest if I believed in the supernatural. Shit, I don’t know. One certainty is that this crap is going to drive the site for a long time. Nothing can come of it, though. Just the words. Life is rarely so rewarding. And just to point out something interesting, I believe I can still see the face of the race girl because she resembled an actor I've seen for years. Nothing related to voodoo. My quiet morning just began. Cats fed, coffee poured, the third show again because I am an out of balance whack job, and the time is 0701. Sunday morning business is a couple of hours away. I have a motion picture in my head from yesterday evening which will not fade away. It is related to the damaging dream. The same, yet the reverse. This will not make any sense. Rest assured, my life is going down the incinerator shaft because of the thoughts that developed in my head last night and remain this morning. I cannot say too much here. I’ll be damned to hell. Believe me, I have rarely felt so much desire combined with bad things. Very bad. The motion picture keeps rolling through the reels of my brain, over and over, and is proceeding to make me insane. I can’t stop watching it. There was also a sweet smile. Every fucking time, there is a sweet smile. I can take very little more of this, yet there is not one thing I can do about any of it. Splendid. The dream keeps coming back and back and fucking back. I have not felt this strongly about anything similar since the red dress at the car dealership many moons ago. I need to find a way to rationalize the thinking processes in my brain. The alternative is to completely shut down, and I don’t want that because there will be questions for centuries. I really wish the dream had never come about. There are two reasons, the first being obvious in that I am having a lot of trouble dealing with it. The second should not be mentioned in detail. There is guilt, though. And more. This is all so very bad. Yesterday I disassembled one of the axles from the truck and found that the steering knuckles were not concentric from the beginning nearly twenty years ago. This is not a good situation at all. I have no machine tools, nor am I willing to spend money to have parts remade that I machined way back many years ago. Things may be a little goofed up, but I am still proud of the design and manufacturing. The only thing I can do is employ what tools I do own to smooth the operation of each steering knuckle as much as possible. I will not have the half-shafts or anything else remade. I’ll work a little today, I suppose. If I can free up the knuckles, the motor may have an easier time swinging the steering from lock to lock. Hopefully, anyway. The other aspect of the truck in process is the suspension. I noticed the other day that the body is wide enough so as to render the top of the truck susceptible to leaning toward one side or the other. It is heavy, and the chassis beneath is narrow. The combination is unstable. I ordered some hardware from McMaster (for the millionth time) which should space the cantilevers an inch off the frame rails, meaning the upper suspension components will be two inches wider overall. This is something I’ve been considering for years but did not wish to begin. Now that the truck is in pieces, improving the stability will be easier. This situation is becoming debilitating because I can’t speak to anyone about it nor can I gush here. Keeping all of the feelings locked inside is unhealthy, and actually even worse than other issues I’ve dealt with recently. I need help but am unwilling to take the risk. I could be crucified for what is taking place in my head. I’ve spent my fair share of time daydreaming about certain aspects of life – some close by and other situations much less likely – and I know of the repercussions if details are shared with the wrong type of personality. The specific feelings have not taken place for roughly three years, to be honest, and even that situation was eased for reasons I cannot reveal. This is fucking stupid. I feel what I feel, and as such nothing will come of it. As a result, I can’t be held accountable for actions that never take place. That is fine. The other side, however, is the idea that I am not comfortable feeling this way and wish it to fade into the background for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I have precisely zero control over such a state. My head is so fucked up because of both the past four-plus decades and the resulting difficulty since moving to the coast that I can’t simply pick and choose what I think anymore. Feelings are thrust upon me like ocean waves, and as you should well know, nothing can withstand water. Last night I felt a new facet of the damaging dream. It happened. It cannot be undone. Take into consideration all of the turmoil throughout the last seven-plus years since the site changed direction. And then jump ahead to the beginning of the pandemic when I created a mechanical woman in my head because I was so fucked up that a real person could not cut the mustard. None of that shit was ever solved, right? I am the same, if not worse. This latest crap from a few months ago that I continue to railroad is another facet of my personality as it has grown through issues and become illuminated. I did not ask for this. Weakness and desperation can be very dangerous inside the correct brain. Very dangerous. Just last night I was thinking of the space program which reminded me of Florida and our tour of the cape many years ago. That led to the idea of visiting again in the future. Well, everything in my head turned a corner within seconds of mentioning the destination. I went back in time to Andrea and the mass of resources I burned in order for us to live in the lap of luxury sans concern. I redirected that trip with her out of sheer desperation, plain and simple. I just happened to meet the right type of personality at a time when my desperation hit an all-time high and coincided with having tremendous amounts of cash, and all that money appeared due to the same reason. I was desperate to break the fuck out of life and buy my way into an illusion dripping with enjoyment. I was in a very bad state of mind... Very dangerous to myself. I threw everything away for a bit of time aligned with my dreams. Nothing else seemed to matter. The damaging dream is yet another cherry on top of the most uncomfortable dish of ice cream in existence. Today is garbage day. I’ll try to maximize whatever I can, meaning I need to go through the refrigerator, too. There may be some science experiments in there which have been overlooked. I also need to toss some crap out of the garage. I’ve been keeping the area pretty neat for the last few weeks aside from working on the truck. I’d like that to continue. During my time alone today I’ll probably sit out there and calculate ways of easing the steering and drive components in order to eventually run them off a motor. Ah... That brings a thought. The other day when I realized that the steering system requires tons of current to drive it, the idea of a different gear-motor combination may help tremendously. The motor has a built-in reduction gearbox, and I believe the current setup has a ratio of 19:1. The company makes several incarnations of the same motor, all the way up to 200:1. I may order one in the range of 50:1 just to see if the torque amplification helps to swing everything from lock to lock. The motion will be slow, but I don’t really care. The other option for easing the process of using wire ropes to swing the steering is a linear actuator. That would solve a lot of problems, yet at a high cost. I’m not referring to dollars, either. I mean I would have to remove some of the parts I designed and machined in order to make my dream of linear steering feasible. They would all be replaced by one actuator. Removing pieces I created in favor of store-bought components does not blow my skirt up at all. The truck is something I made from raw materials, save for a few parts I literally did not have the skill or experience to deal with, and looking at it brings pride even after all this time. The fact that it does not run on its own has never been a problem. I’d like to see it move along the ground, but sacrificing my vision and effort for such an end may not be worthwhile. I need that machine to be all me, if that makes any sense. As I said, a few parts I’ve purchased or had manufactured by others are not the end of the world. They were necessary. The prospect of a linear servo to drive the steering is right in the middle of these ideas, as only half the system would need to be replaced. The other half would remain as I created it. I’ll have to consider the effects upon me as a technician and decide which is best. And now to the other direction... Rather than the dream and the strap floating about inside my head, I now have another fucking problem, and that is the motion picture. I cannot give out a description, however. Too damning. It is there, though, and I think about it more often than is comfortable. All my issues, both past and present, are beginning to combine and create a living situation that has become a battle. Every single daily activity, from housework to hobbies to whatever, is accompanied by feelings which constantly try to derail my thinking. They push their way in and I push back as hard as I can. As of yet, I have not flipped out. I cannot speak to the future, unfortunately. Right now I just don’t know how this will affect me as time passes. One certainty is that there will be more. I know it. I am going to continue to see things better left out of my mind, and there will be dreams over which I have no control. If I remain inside the house and never leave, while simultaneously staying awake for the rest of my life, nothing will increase. That is the only way to be certain that more issues won’t come along. Nice, huh? This is a fucking curse unlike anything else in existence. The film industry, the space program, my truck... Everything takes a back seat to this latest and worst frame of mind. One was enough. I really didn’t need another. 0911. Bad number. I have to rise and take care of the routine very soon, along with my requisite morning cocktail to numb the feelings. Once the inside work is finished, I’ll probably move around and try to maximize the trash, like usual. I have the Food Network on for a while just to do something different. It never lasts, though, because the commercials can drive me out of my mind. 1330 on Monday. I’ve been working with the truck, hence not much here. My routine is finished and I went shopping all over the place for some staples. Thankfully, there was nothing to worry about while I was in the wine store or elsewhere. I have enough inside already... Visions of the past, images of more recent problems, and the wicked strike taking place over and over. Adding some fucking pair of pants to the pile would not be good. Anyway, This morning I took care of everything in order to allow plenty of time should I feel like working with the truck. A sidebar from hell... I know the lines are there. I can’t see them, yet they are definitely there, and likely so beautiful that upon sight I would be rendered completely insane. I know they are there. And more, too... The others. I cannot state it straight out, though. There is much more present during those moments than I could possibly handle. Moreover, the redefinition of ‘cute’ continues to expand right before my very eyes. Needy eyes. Desperate eyes. Weakness, above all. I will refrain from going into the sheer amount of control present in my words and actions while everything is in view. The effort is debilitating, to say the least. This will continue until my end. I truly wish that I could have known years ago that I would eventually degrade into this type of person. Perhaps I could have made some preparations to ease the days. I keep seeing everything regardless of the day’s activities. Sometimes I see too much. Somewhere... Those lines are waiting to be properly greeted. This cannot happen. Wickedness, defined. Strike? All. Tuesday morning. Dreams of random things, smiling people, and travel. I have a few minutes before the morning business, after which I plan to relax more than yesterday. I do have to take a trip to the market up north, though. That means a clear possibility of being hit upside the head with things I am better off avoiding. I’ll return, good or bad as it may be, and then probably work with the truck again. I have some wiring harnesses to fabricate. Hopefully today will not carry some of yesterday’s trials. The cat has set up shop on the sofa right where I typically sit during the morning, so I think today is the day to transition into the new office. We go. 0848 and here I am at the workbench. The third show is above my head on the garage television, coffee to my right, and all my shit spread out which supports the truck project. I had to move all of the paperwork from one binder to another in order to separate everything and keep the truck crap out here. Holy shit, this ‘Dabo girl’ in the episode is absolutely unreal. I could... Never mind. Anyway, moving everything out here was only a matter of time. The truck electronics are difficult to work with, meaning I need loads of paperwork and the laptop for reference, all of the test equipment, and the space to spread everything out so I can solve problems. The current issue is jitter in some of the servos, most notably the closed-loop system that moves the steering. That means I have to connect the auxiliary computer to the steering controller and work with the software. Not easy. There is also an annoying tendency for the drive motor to spin at maximum speed whenever I shut down the transmitter. I may have to connect the drive controller to the software, as well. At least I have loads of time. I don’t need to go to the market until closer to lunch time. Half the routine is finished already. The other half shall wait until I break from this crap. Shit, I just remembered that I need to raise the drive controller board in order to access the data port. Fuck. And I already ordered hardware. Oh, well. I'm certain there will be more shit to purchase very soon. Years ago just after I had the boards made, I kept a tally of hours and dollars spent on this project. At last count, I believe between what is on the truck, the equipment I purchased for designing the electronics and all of the hardware, the total was north of $8500. I've already spent in excess of $200 within the last two weeks. Jesus. To put the cost in perspective, keep in mind there are 164 parts on the truck that I personally designed and machined, but also another hundred or so that were 'trials', fixtures made in order to machine other parts, or some otherwise not used due to appearance or flaky functioning. Lots of trial and error over the years, most notably in the beginning. Sitting at the bench with the editor reminds me of two years ago when the gentleman had his motorcycle stored here and I’d work on the site as he worked on his stuff. The comfort of being out here with all my devices also reminds me to appreciate the time and quiet. I don’t think about those benefits enough these days because I’ve been spending far too much time worrying about so many things missing from life. Today could be a banner, or a line between the way I had been thinking of my days alone and a method for coping. This is very comfortable right now. Yesterday I pulled the trigger on some hardware to further enhance the axles. Disassembling everything the other day showed me that my design and engineering work should be appreciated more than it has for the last few years. Even though the machine has not moved on its own, the entirety of the assembly is beautiful, and the parts I ordered will support such a feeling. I need it to look really good, or at least to my satisfaction. The truck may soon return to its display case, but I’ll be pleased with the appearance. That is important. In the past I spent a shit ton of money on specialized hardware so that everything aligns with my vision, and that also meant changes. On the drive front, I pulled out the old CAD illustrations of the spur and motor mounts to try and refresh my memory. Basically, those are the only two parts necessary for the entire drive system to operate from the radio. Unfortunately, and as I have pointed out on many occasions, having those parts manufactured is very expensive and wholly dependent upon my measurements and design work. One number out of place and they will be garbage. I can’t have that. Along the lines of the truck appearing the way I wish, I noticed that the rod ends for the suspension and steering links have degraded. They are plated with cadmium -- I was forced to use cadmium due to the lack of availability of more corrosion resistant materials on such small units -- which means the finish has been affected by time and moisture. There are 32 of them at a cost of over $9 per, meaning to replace them all for the sake of a pretty machine would cost tons of money. I'd love to have stainless rod ends, but unfortunately they do not exist according to my research. Ugh. One of them is actually covered with rust because years ago I tried to buff the fucking thing. Mistake. I shouldn't complain too much, though. They were purchased somewhere around eighteen years ago. In working with the axles, I also noticed that the adapters I made to connect both driveshafts to all three differentials are not concentric. That is to say that the center hole is not precise. All I had was a crappy vise on a very old drill press. On a lathe, all four adapters would have been turned and cut within half an hour or less, and holding a tolerance of a thousandth of an inch. I no longer have such capabilities. Some years ago, I designed the parts in the CAD software but never had them manufactured. That was most likely due to money. If I eventually have them machine the drive mounts, I may opt to include the driveshaft adapters at the same time. The drawings are already finished. Ah... I forgot to mention that my mock-up of the body last week means I can now design front and rear mounts cut from aluminum. More money. The driveshaft adapters are pretty important, though, even more than mounting the body. As of now, when the shafts turn, there is visible ‘wobble’ at the differentials. I simply cannot have that if I am to feel pride for the project. 0927. Sitting here all day long would not be a stretch. Heh. The fucking lines are still just behind everything I’ve been typing. They will not go away. Being outside in the new office helps, though. There exist no solutions to these issues, so the only coping method available to me is finding distraction. The truck is assisting my need to drown within something other than beauty or the other five million fucking problems I feel every day. 1103 and the kitchen is polished. I am back in the new office with my devices. The market shall wait a while. I’m always afraid of what I might see over there. Speaking of issues, sitting out here rather than in the house is helping to quash the morning shit to which I have been a slave for far too many years. I suppose the situation is a good thing, yet part of me knows the feelings are only being suppressed, much like when I drink alcohol during the mid-morning (such as right fucking now). Desire is like a boomerang in that I can fling it away sometimes but it will always come around the corner and hit me upside the head with great force. In the long run, there is nothing I can do. The more I push, the more the beauty pushes back. At least I have the never-ending truck project. I’ve already seen too much. The occasions are branded on my brain cells. The wicked strike is beginning to overtake other visions, even those I’ve mentioned continuously. Part of the problem is that I KNOW the lines are there, though I have not seen them. I just fucking KNOW. No imagination is necessary when it comes to wickedness. There is not one Goddamned thing I can do about it, either. Nothing. Of all the saving throws, this one could actually save me, yet it is as elusive as true understanding. The first sight matched the damaging dream, and soon everything went to hell in a very large handbasket. I intend to shower and then head to the market, afterward moving out here to fabricate a wiring harness. The distraction has never been more necessary. Believe it. The manicured fingers tugging on that bra strap have crippled me, possibly for all time. This feeling is analogous to someone placing the Passion into my hands and then ripping it away. I am perpetually broken over the effects of having dreamed of something so beautiful and stirring and then seeing it right in front of me. Again... There is nothing I can do. This is literally the worst situation I could have imagined in life. Frankly, I am surprised to be alive right now. I guess the enjoyments are still effective. I just noticed a tag on the side of my HP laboratory power supply. It tells me that this piece of equipment originated from a company where my dad was employed more than thirty years ago. Wow. I had thought it came from the lab in Sunnyvale when my parents owned the business. That was the ‘phase lock’ period, which was when I met the girl from the adjacent firm. Damn. She was special. Lots of years back, all that stuff. I miss the work. I miss her more, though. What the fuck happened to me? Did I need the understanding that many years ago? Maybe I did, but did not have the drive to sit and write an analysis. I think I loved her. And I think I just formulated a plan for the next few hours. 1305. I returned from the market with zero issues. They always have the best produce. Now I am back in the new office trying to work out the wiring harness components. I have the third show on for posterity and comfort. Oh, and a cold beer. I learned that my hardware order from McMaster will be delivered tomorrow. That is very good. It also means some work on both axles. I can’t wait to see the results. And yes, the fasteners and spacers are purely for appearance. If I don’t like the way the truck looks, nothing is good. As for the rest of this day, all I have to do is make some preparations for dinner a few hours from now. Until then, the plan is truck work and this shit. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words. The aforementioned idea is to work on the wiring out here whilst blaring some music. Right now the show is on, however that may be shut down very soon, mood dependent, of course. 0652. Wednesday morning with coffee and my friends. I am a touch on edge this morning due to a late night message from my neighbor regarding an issue on the street. I’ll have to speak to him later and get the full story. This area is normally very quiet, too. Later, I guess. This morning I have to take care of the business and then I can relax a while and clear my head. I dreamed of something which has since left, yet there is a latent feeling that something is very wrong here. I don’t know if I had some sort of premonition or if this is merely a coincidence, but whichever it is, I’ll need some time to sort things out. That means the big garage door will be closed and the front door locked when they would normally be the opposite. If and when I feel better, my little world will open. The morning stuff is finished and I have a quiet day ahead. The truck work may or may not continue, although once my hardware arrives I may be more motivated. I’d like to remain indoors for the most part today. I’ve been thinking about a particular subject since yesterday afternoon. A jogger went by in one direction (I think I’ve seen her out there before) and then walked the other way, presumably returning home. The sight of her running by had me considering my ideals, wants and needs, and how they have affected my relationships with people throughout the last two-plus years. Not long after my eyes swung around to see her, the memory of a dream popped into my head. On the heels of the incident which matched the damaging dream, there was another glimpse of someone sitting atop a bicycle not far from my garage, her eyes meeting mine within seconds. I have no idea of who she may have been, though. The fact is when the jogger went by yesterday, I could have sworn that the face matched that of the dream. As a result of these odd occurrences lately, my feelings toward people are changing for the worse. The very idea that the dreams and other situations which have arisen in the last few months could affect my view of society probably does not seem feasible. I cannot disagree, yet the mindset has come to me regardless of what may appear realistic. There is a condition which becomes inflamed during some moments, afterward finding me unable to move or think clearly for some minutes until I can regain composure. The sight of the jogger brought up two disparate situations, one being something in mind almost constantly. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words, and the reasons are many. In fact, the title follows suit. 1013 and I already have the routine finished and everything set up for dinner. I know not from where the motivation came this morning, but it could be my head having more difficulty than in past months. The situation is worsening and my mood is on the decline. I spoke of the dreams, including that which damaged me to a great degree, and I believe the trouble in dealing with such visions has now attached itself to what I deal with each day. I probably should have seen this coming, however not everything can be predicted. My brain is saturated with imagery and a deep-seated need for the right type of understanding, yet still I draw breath and carry out the daily activities. I do not know what is keeping me moving forward. I really don’t. My life has become a quandary. The most likely cause for me completing the morning routine is the desire to sit here and try to work out issues. Any belief that I am able to rise may be premature, though. As of yet, all I have is an increasing pile of questions despite the awareness of several causes. They are most decidedly not answers, only reasons. This is not good and may soon drive me to very dangerous ideas. Actually, it already has. I just don’t have the resources to do anything. Nice, huh? The title is reflective of the fact that aside from a few individuals throughout the last twenty years, I have been only spurned by those who were allowed in. That is that. I said it. And when I say ‘few’, I mean five. The remaining individuals are on a list. The show and the idea of working on the truck today are being pushed back by everything else in my head. I am referring to unresolvable problems that hit me in the face every fucking day and I am completely sick of it. This position is very bad. I have no outlet other than the IDE, nor is there a pair of ears nearby for me to employ. Tons of anger, sadness and frustration cannot be pointed in any other fucking direction right now. I am completely alone and do not like it one bit. The fasteners I ordered will arrive in a little while, as will the new acrylic plate for replacing the one that I messed up last year. Those parts combined may not have the ability to distract me from everything in the background. The problems can take over my psyche completely. I feel like a cornered camel about to attack, yet there is no target. I have been cornered by forces and feelings, but not people. Don’t get me wrong, though. There is blame. I just can’t do a fucking thing about it, nor can I find an avenue to alleviate my emotions. I am again sitting in the garage with my devices all around. I am in pain and nothing helps. Time for a beer. And music. I have this machine connected to the audio system. I can run it all fucking day long without a problem. The morning whiskey is already gone. Sitting out here means the street is in view. The sun is shining, as well. The sum of those two? Something will come along to draw my vision and cause that high-speed, violent focus-pull that I know all too well. It is just a matter of time. It happened yesterday. The jogger and her rear end screaming to me as it painted patterns from hell. As much as I don’t need anything else in my eyes, the atmosphere in the garage is important. It brings me back to times of automotive work, friends from high school, and an insane level of control over everything. Control has become issue number fucking five. Believe it. At some point I will tire of this shit and do some soldering, following the work on the harness I finished yesterday. I keep seeing, remembering, dreaming and falling down at some point every fucking day. Why am I doing this? Is there a solution which will come up the driveway and present itself as the official saving throw to my life? A gigantic pair of dice rolling along until the number is revealed? I don’t fucking think so. If you can tell me why I am still sitting here doing this shit, by all means... TELL ME. The garage empire is in full swing right now, and the time is only 1132. Imagine that... I am reaching in all directions for something that is impossible. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. I am becoming aggravated. I hope no one approaches this house. Maybe the jogger would be ok. Or UPS. Or the mail carrier. Or my neighbor. Everyone else? Go burn to death. The repeatability of my caliper is going bad. Might need to replace it. Just saying. Weakness and desperation are ever-expanding and detrimental to my longevity. The jogger is a prime example of my ability to see something and then run with it, nearly out of control. I have been driven to this. Fucking DRIVEN. Don’t argue. The idea is bad for your health, believe me. Contradictions shall be punished. Am I paying for past happiness? The tab? Keep in mind those are not the important questions. The answers to critical questions are in another universe. Far away. How far? Thousands of light years, and further with each breath drawn by yours truly. I am more aggravated than half an hour ago. And what exactly can I do to calm myself? Nothing. I am on a road with no turns. There are billboards aplenty, though. You don’t want to know. Nothing I’ve spouted here in the last seven years has been a good idea. Revealing information is one thing, but I have honestly done my best to keep the details buried. If you’ve gleaned, you are a genius. Some parts may seem clear, however keep in mind that I am the world champion at disguising ideas and lying my fucking ass off until the cows come home. There are no cows in the yard, so figure it out. I will continue in this vein, as well. Given the choice of being fully exposed versus appearing as a horrible person, I’ll take the latter every time. I no longer have faith in any genuine help (especially from an actual person), meaning this venture is all I have left in the world. Without this, I’d probably be in the corner of the backyard. In order to avoid the horrid reality of ridicule and embarrassment, the lengths to which I will go are infinite, much like the Internet where my words live. Bottom line? If you believe you have an idea of what the main issue is, you are way off the mark. Trust me, rose petal. You don’t know shit, nor does ANYONE of which I’ve let in. Not a fucking soul, living or otherwise. The point of this paragraph is the fact that I’ve been writing here on and off for a very long time, yet still I am in the worst shape of my entire life. There you go. Suck the words off the screen, motherfucks. The audio system in this garage needs a fucking boost. The ‘B’ speakers on the west side are my very old Realistic cabinets from the sixties. They should not be out here at all, but I do not have another pair of drivers for that side. Had I gained the speakers I wanted some years ago, they would be too large for mounting out here. Huge. Those cabinets were to flank the original home theatre system in the house, but I couldn’t afford them at the time. Three hundred pounds of audio? I believe my partner would have scoffed at the idea, so the idea went away. I did have the 701s in there for a while, too, but eventually they went away for space considerations. The speakers above me (on the ‘A’ side of the amplifier) are excellent, yet to acquire another pair would also be cost prohibitive. I have to think about this for a while. On days like today when my pissy fucking mood dictates irritating passers by, the plan is to expand. Honestly, though, I don’t know how to proceed without breaking the bank and making massive changes to the current system. Hopefully, something will come to mind. The garage is my sanctuary, and must follow suit in order to reflect my shit mood. My alcohol intake has successfully squashed those feelings which had been on the cusp of taking over my consciousness this morning. This will not always work, however. There is power involved of which human beings are not aware. Well, they may be, but they also know nothing can be done other than altering the mind with chemicals. The more I think about the subject, the more angry I become. Increased anger begins to tip the scale of life away from the norm. Further tipping will cause me to lash. Hence, the booze. All I do is move around this fucking cracker box and think. I think all the fucking time. That is all I have anymore... My mind. Anything under the influence of such vast power is at the mercy of becoming overly unstable – much like my current condition – and the results come in two flavors: Either moving forward and attempting to make sense of everything, or taking the less-treaded path of self-annihilation. I am at this very moment leaning toward the latter, although the former continues to push its way in due to people around me. There are not many at this late date, of course, yet they still hold a bit of control over the rudder. Had I not realized the deeply cutting effects of being spurned so often and then placated just enough to remain alive and involved, those very same people would at this moment know the sheer depth of the problems. The only throw I have left after all this time which can hold things together is the numbing effect of my ill-begotten lover, the alcohol. Call me what you will. The other night I spoke of opportunities and paths of the past not taken for one reason or another. The most significant path which has been brought up here recently was the film industry. I passed on that out of fear. Years before that massive mistake, there was another. While in Michigan, I completed high school at night and graduated with flying colors in a ceremony with day school students. I’ve brought this shit up before, too. Afterward, my hope was to attend Michigan Tech way up in the upper peninsula and study biochemistry. I applied to the first stepping stone, which was city college, and then tested for placement. Well, I soon received two letters asking if I wished to be in the honors program for both the English and Mathematics programs. Honors. That indicated my testing had been passed in the upper echelon. The next step was to apply for financial aid, and therein lies one of the biggest fucking blunders of my life. I was not only approved for aid, but granted a Pell funding letter. Do you know what a Pell Grant is? That is tuition that does not need to be paid back because they WANT you to further your education. It means the applicant is deemed worthy of the type of assistance that few receive. Yep. I did well during night school and tested high for the college entry. Where is the blunder? I moved back to this state without going through the admission process and before my college career could begin. And why did I move and not attend the school? One word: Beauty. The power took me and did not let go. If there is another fucking definition for ‘idiot’, it escapes me. The discussion went on for a short time before I realized I had to cease talking or I’d go on a depressive rampage. I stopped dead, right there. A little while ago I walked out to the street to move my car into the driveway. Along the way, I noticed that the music was clear almost sixty feet from the garage. Guess what, people? It gets much louder. Just a thought. The previous paragraph is part of the reason for the volume right now. I feel fucking stupid after being led by the nose, not to mention the second time it happened. Don’t fucking ask. Yes, I know I’ve spoken of that college shit before. Probably more than once. The key is of paramount importance, however. I cannot overstate my long list of mistakes. They are mine and cannot be dropped on the heads of other people, yet I will not sit here and take all the fucking blame. There were looks and lies, words and willingness. I can be a real piece of work, no doubt, but I’ll tell you one thing... I am not the only one, nor do I have the fucking power. My parts have still not arrived. Maybe I’ll go inside and give the neighborhood a break for a while. 1426. I had something to eat. I ceased the truck work until parts arrive, or possibly tomorrow. Right now I am so deep into the difficulty that most of my concentration has flown away. I keep seeing things... Images of the past, dreams, and little papers swirling in a cyclone overhead. Each paper holds a thought which I cannot understand. Some have indications of the best parts of life having been removed, now serving only as reminders and forcing me to understand that I have been left alone. I forget nothing. One fact that continues to slap me across the face is that I leveraged my life and living conditions forcibly in order to seek the type of comfort I continue to need, and not a moment passes without berating myself and then pushing my way up to feel better. The past rears its head daily. 0741 on Thursday morning. My foot is fucked up due to something I did last night. I was hoping it would improve overnight, yet no such luck thus far this morning. I took care of the early business and half the routine in order to secure some time and remain off my feet. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve been limping since last night. Perhaps taking it easy for a while this morning will help. I don’t have big plans today, anyway. My hardware showed up yesterday afternoon and I installed everything, plus the new board plate arrived. I drilled everything and mounted the PC board as it should have been several years ago. The appearance has improved markedly and I think I am actually happy with the change. Something like that is very rare for the truck. Further, I believe I am close to connecting the steering block to each axle for some tests. Naturally, I’ll have to order material again because every time I disassemble the system, the parts are wasted. Well, some of them, anyway. It’s not a big deal to drop ten dollars five times over a period of years, especially considering the sheer value of the entire project. I am hoping the issue plaguing me since early this year does not return anytime soon. I’ve been ok for the most part, but I also know that being floored again is a matter of time. There is no way around it, as I’ve been reminded thrice by the medical community. During the hours spent in the garage yesterday, I sat a bit more comfortably than I would have had I remained in the house instead. Today? I don't know if I’m willing to drag this machine to the workbench again. That means if I stay inside, I’ll have to fight my way through the fucking morning as I have on too many occasions to recall. There is always a demon directly behind me waiting to influence my day. Sometimes I am powerless. I don’t know to get through this. No matter what I may be involved in during the day, something always reminds me of exactly where and when I am living, eventually leading to the feelings which govern my mood. Yesterday, for example, I was diligently working on replacing hardware and drilling the acrylic for the board plate. Each moment of concentration passed with visions attached. Sporadic pictures of different situations throughout two decades, most of them more recent than those old trips to the goblet. And then the wickedness creeped in. My work slowed periodically so I could attempt to right myself and move forward with the project. The work began with my show in the background and ended with loud music. That is typical, and driven by the fact that no matter what I may be doing, there will inevitably be a drop – sometimes just a few inches and other times more like that fall off the balcony (along with the petite, bloody and naked Julie) I wrote into the fiction some years ago. I don’t believe there is anything I can do to avoid the bad things entering my head. I am fighting at this very moment. The news has been traded for the third show. 0905 and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind what happens during the remainder of this day. I am going to sit here for a long while and consider my options in life, all the while trying to push that fucking demon away. I don’t know of another way to live anymore. Everything hurts me. I am alone. No one is listening. I don’t understand. Maybe that’s all I should write anymore. There have been certain individuals in life that crossed my path and affected me enough to alter my beliefs. Maybe those occasions are parts of the problem, but then again they may not. The root idea of what I have become as a result of a very difficult set of circumstances cannot be denied, nor can it be altered at my age. I am severely jaded. And I mean fucking twisted. Today would have been my mom’s 79th birthday. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch do I ever need a change in life. This is so very bad. My stomach is becoming upset. Some of this shit can be attributed to being spurned, whereas other aspects of what I have become may be my own fault. When it comes to the wickedness and that fucking strike that I still do not understand, I believe the key to the whole shitaree was desperation. Weakness is not related because I still have the strength to keep everything shrouded. That is driven by raw fear and nothing more. I keep a lot of thoughts and feelings out of this content, but let me tell you in no uncertain terms that the most important omission is the wicked strike. No one can ever know. And sometimes I want to grab Mary’s character and run away. Good fucking God is she ever beautiful. She could kill me with a bat’leth and I would bleed to death smiling. Make of that what you will. Anyway, the spurned nature of my psyche and ego are beginning to cause a further slide from which there is no recovery. Every superlative I’ve used on this fucking site has been enhanced to the point of becoming doctrine. Not good. You may have noticed that the last several entries here have mentioned my emotional state more than in the past. There is good reason for such a fact. 0955 and boy do I ever need a fucking drink. 1013, and... Worse than earlier. I poured a nice, big glass of whiskey so my feelings can be somewhat suppressed, a necessary evil born of the situation two years ago when I realized just how weak and desperate I had become. Now I am far worse. The wicked strike is just one segment of a much larger construct. It is overwhelming. This morning may go down in history as a representation of just how fucked up my head has been set off. I can honestly say that this feeling inside is beginning to drive much more dire ideas, none of which can be acted upon due to where I am in the grand scheme of life. All of the damage I caused back in eleven and twelve has rendered me unable to move (figuratively, of course). Again, I am cornered. This is a very dangerous situation, especially considering my past maneuvers in search of all that was missing. I can see such damage taking place in the future. Just a matter of time. Wait a fucking minute... Do my feelings matter? Is there anything which can be done? I can’t even begin to calculate the odds of the current period improving. If I can’t do anything or move in some helpful direction, why continue this? Why ask questions? Does all this shit mean I am holding on to some semblance of hope? Forget the spurn. Nothing I say or type matters anymore. Oh, this day. I knew because of my foot that not much was going to happen during my alone time. My truck is going to sit there, but I may create a few parts for hinging the board. The hinged standoffs that are mounted toward the front of the chassis cannot be trusted with all that weight hanging on them. I have to create some parts in order to utilize a piano hinge instead. I’ve been thinking about such an idea for years, but now that the board spends more time mounted to the frame rails, there must be better support. This means I have to draw the mount in the CAD software and pay them to manufacture it. No big deal, and probably less than a hundred dollars. The drive components and driveshaft adapters will have to wait. Everything ‘hinges’ on the board being properly supported. Otherwise? Nothing moves due to a lack of connected power. And speaking of power, I have some really nice silicone wire arriving tomorrow to finally and permanently create connections for the main voltage supply and motor inputs. The downside to all this work is the fact that the truck is barely capable of pushing away the conditions of the rest of my life. I have control over the truck’s design, the media playing in the background, and the environment inside both the house and garage, yet everything which is in my heart and TRULY important maintains a position far from the same. I’ve lived fifty-five years to end up dealing with THIS SHIT? What a fucking idiot. At least there is one certainty. Sometimes I hate myself and other times I hate other people. I will fucking state this straight out and without any ambiguity... When the pain becomes too much to bear and the enjoyments no longer keep my head out of the ground, the revolver will speak to those who know me. No note, no clues, no nothing. Just a mess. I don't fucking care anymore. 'Thy will be done.' Wait for it. I am 10-10 on the side. 10-7 is coming soon. I am hearing something, though there is no indication of movement. Could it be..."
r_spurn
Mature content No. 332 Published September 1st, 2022 10:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"...blah, blah, blah lungecakes. I have no control over dreams, really. I don’t believe anyone does, although some claim to have more insight into the process of dreaming. ‘Lucid dreaming’, to name just one. For me, none of that seems to apply. Or maybe I am just a fucking idiot. I don’t know. The point is that my desperation in life probably had a hand in such visions being developed inside, and then my head just ran with it. Twice. The fact that there has been a relational analysis correlated with real life is the main issue here. I did not think in such a manner prior to the original strike, and it was entirely developed during sleep. I do not understand why this had to happen. The only results are more confusion and pain. Sometimes the way of the world pushes me down. Other times, it pushes me down even further. The original dream from a while back is the most likely cause of my recent endeavors with the truck. Anything to stop thinking about that scene playing out over and over. The thoughts in my head cannot be discussed here. 0755. More coffee. I don’t know where this day will lead. The sun is already shining – much like yesterday, with the temperature ramping up quickly – so I can probably work on whatever seems best for the day. I never did the laundry yesterday. That’s going to have to be addressed later this morning so I can make tomorrow’s focus on organization and garbage. Yesterday the temperature rose very quickly in the early afternoon, so I opened up the house in anticipation. Well, the fog derailed my plan by nearly freezing us out by evening. Sometimes the fog and breeze are in charge. Anyway, my work on the bench yesterday is going to be it for a while. Even if the distraction helps, I’m tired of trying to work with that damned project. The metal makes my fingers hurt. I’ll get to the beginning of the routine in an hour or so. Maybe after the coffee is gone for the morning. Damn do I ever wish I could speak more clearly about what has developed into the most stirring and troubling problem in years. I cannot. Some lines are never to be crossed no matter the circumstances or damage to myself. I don’t believe anything can be done about this current bullshit. I can’t even glean the subject, for crying out loud. Everything is inside me, all churning and chewing, and such a state is not good by any means. Believe me, I’ve done it before, yet this is vastly different. My head rotates through visions both near and far, and then memories of Juliette pop up to further drive me insane. That first glimpse of her and the way I waited in line. As each customer moved up in line, I stood there calculating to which teller window I could be called. And then it happened... Right there in front of me was this goddess with a smile. Something about her eyes told me that my question would not be unwelcome. I can see her, and then I see the dream and that manicured finger tugging at the strap and causing just enough movement below to send me flying into a cloud of desire. The damaging dream came many years after seeing Juliette and her bulging chest, yet it also occurred weeks before the actual incident, and that is much of the current problem. Nothing can push that information out of my head, nor can I spell it out. There are other factors as well, but naturally I can’t mention them, either. Marvelous. This is just fucking peachy. I need some fucking serious help right now. I have never felt more depressed and alone. 0838 and my last cup of coffee. Randy Oglesby is in this episode. I believe it’s his first appearance within the franchise. Awesome, and what a future he had. Holy shit, he was in the second show some years prior to this role. I totally forgot and had to look up his filmography. I don’t understand the fucking timeline. How can I dream of something so specific and then see it right before my eyes weeks later? This is worse than yearning to be held by the race girl and her big cat eyes. That was a bad one, but it faded because there was nothing otherworldly actually taking place. The only strangeness was my own mind manufacturing a situation which felt important, even necessary. I needed her to hear me and look into my eyes. That entire affair was nothing more than my weakness manifesting itself due to a split-second facial expression that likely meant absolutely nothing. This is very different. I have a long history of troubleshooting and solving problems with few clues, and therein lies much of the rub. I can’t figure this out. Not even close. I mean, of course there was desire, but that is natural for many people, myself included. I don’t understand and have no belief in all that psycho hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit because I have not had reason enough to reach in such directions. Hmm. Maybe I should have. The subject could have been easier to digest if I believed in the supernatural. Shit, I don’t know. One certainty is that this crap is going to drive the site for a long time. Nothing can come of it, though. Just the words. Life is rarely so rewarding. And just to point out something interesting, I believe I can still see the face of the race girl because she resembled an actor I've seen for years. Nothing related to voodoo. My quiet morning just began. Cats fed, coffee poured, the third show again because I am an out of balance whack job, and the time is 0701. Sunday morning business is a couple of hours away. I have a motion picture in my head from yesterday evening which will not fade away. It is related to the damaging dream. The same, yet the reverse. This will not make any sense. Rest assured, my life is going down the incinerator shaft because of the thoughts that developed in my head last night and remain this morning. I cannot say too much here. I’ll be damned to hell. Believe me, I have rarely felt so much desire combined with bad things. Very bad. The motion picture keeps rolling through the reels of my brain, over and over, and is proceeding to make me insane. I can’t stop watching it. There was also a sweet smile. Every fucking time, there is a sweet smile. I can take very little more of this, yet there is not one thing I can do about any of it. Splendid. The dream keeps coming back and back and fucking back. I have not felt this strongly about anything similar since the red dress at the car dealership many moons ago. I need to find a way to rationalize the thinking processes in my brain. The alternative is to completely shut down, and I don’t want that because there will be questions for centuries. I really wish the dream had never come about. There are two reasons, the first being obvious in that I am having a lot of trouble dealing with it. The second should not be mentioned in detail. There is guilt, though. And more. This is all so very bad. Yesterday I disassembled one of the axles from the truck and found that the steering knuckles were not concentric from the beginning nearly twenty years ago. This is not a good situation at all. I have no machine tools, nor am I willing to spend money to have parts remade that I machined way back many years ago. Things may be a little goofed up, but I am still proud of the design and manufacturing. The only thing I can do is employ what tools I do own to smooth the operation of each steering knuckle as much as possible. I will not have the half-shafts or anything else remade. I’ll work a little today, I suppose. If I can free up the knuckles, the motor may have an easier time swinging the steering from lock to lock. Hopefully, anyway. The other aspect of the truck in process is the suspension. I noticed the other day that the body is wide enough so as to render the top of the truck susceptible to leaning toward one side or the other. It is heavy, and the chassis beneath is narrow. The combination is unstable. I ordered some hardware from McMaster (for the millionth time) which should space the cantilevers an inch off the frame rails, meaning the upper suspension components will be two inches wider overall. This is something I’ve been considering for years but did not wish to begin. Now that the truck is in pieces, improving the stability will be easier.
This situation is becoming debilitating because I can’t speak to anyone about it nor can I gush here. Keeping all of the feelings locked inside is unhealthy, and actually even worse than other issues I’ve dealt with recently. I need help but am unwilling to take the risk. I could be crucified for what is taking place in my head. I’ve spent my fair share of time daydreaming about certain aspects of life – some close by and other situations much less likely – and I know of the repercussions if details are shared with the wrong type of personality. The specific feelings have not taken place for roughly three years, to be honest, and even that situation was eased for reasons I cannot reveal. This is fucking stupid. I feel what I feel, and as such nothing will come of it. As a result, I can’t be held accountable for actions that never take place. That is fine. The other side, however, is the idea that I am not comfortable feeling this way and wish it to fade into the background for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I have precisely zero control over such a state. My head is so fucked up because of both the past four-plus decades and the resulting difficulty since moving to the coast that I can’t simply pick and choose what I think anymore. Feelings are thrust upon me like ocean waves, and as you should well know, nothing can withstand water. Last night I felt a new facet of the damaging dream. It happened. It cannot be undone. Take into consideration all of the turmoil throughout the last seven-plus years since the site changed direction. And then jump ahead to the beginning of the pandemic when I created a mechanical woman in my head because I was so fucked up that a real person could not cut the mustard. None of that shit was ever solved, right? I am the same, if not worse. This latest crap from a few months ago that I continue to railroad is another facet of my personality as it has grown through issues and become illuminated. I did not ask for this. Weakness and desperation can be very dangerous inside the correct brain. Very dangerous. Just last night I was thinking of the space program which reminded me of Florida and our tour of the cape many years ago. That led to the idea of visiting again in the future. Well, everything in my head turned a corner within seconds of mentioning the destination. I went back in time to Andrea and the mass of resources I burned in order for us to live in the lap of luxury sans concern. I redirected that trip with her out of sheer desperation, plain and simple. I just happened to meet the right type of personality at a time when my desperation hit an all-time high and coincided with having tremendous amounts of cash, and all that money appeared due to the same reason. I was desperate to break the fuck out of life and buy my way into an illusion dripping with enjoyment. I was in a very bad state of mind... Very dangerous to myself. I threw everything away for a bit of time aligned with my dreams. Nothing else seemed to matter. The damaging dream is yet another cherry on top of the most uncomfortable dish of ice cream in existence. Today is garbage day. I’ll try to maximize whatever I can, meaning I need to go through the refrigerator, too. There may be some science experiments in there which have been overlooked. I also need to toss some crap out of the garage. I’ve been keeping the area pretty neat for the last few weeks aside from working on the truck. I’d like that to continue. During my time alone today I’ll probably sit out there and calculate ways of easing the steering and drive components in order to eventually run them off a motor. Ah... That brings a thought. The other day when I realized that the steering system requires tons of current to drive it, the idea of a different gear-motor combination may help tremendously. The motor has a built-in reduction gearbox, and I believe the current setup has a ratio of 19:1. The company makes several incarnations of the same motor, all the way up to 200:1. I may order one in the range of 50:1 just to see if the torque amplification helps to swing everything from lock to lock. The motion will be slow, but I don’t really care. The other option for easing the process of using wire ropes to swing the steering is a linear actuator. That would solve a lot of problems, yet at a high cost. I’m not referring to dollars, either. I mean I would have to remove some of the parts I designed and machined in order to make my dream of linear steering feasible. They would all be replaced by one actuator. Removing pieces I created in favor of store-bought components does not blow my skirt up at all. The truck is something I made from raw materials, save for a few parts I literally did not have the skill or experience to deal with, and looking at it brings pride even after all this time. The fact that it does not run on its own has never been a problem. I’d like to see it move along the ground, but sacrificing my vision and effort for such an end may not be worthwhile. I need that machine to be all me, if that makes any sense. As I said, a few parts I’ve purchased or had manufactured by others are not the end of the world. They were necessary. The prospect of a linear servo to drive the steering is right in the middle of these ideas, as only half the system would need to be replaced. The other half would remain as I created it. I’ll have to consider the effects upon me as a technician and decide which is best. And now to the other direction... Rather than the dream and the strap floating about inside my head, I now have another fucking problem, and that is the motion picture. I cannot give out a description, however. Too damning. It is there, though, and I think about it more often than is comfortable. All my issues, both past and present, are beginning to combine and create a living situation that has become a battle. Every single daily activity, from housework to hobbies to whatever, is accompanied by feelings which constantly try to derail my thinking. They push their way in and I push back as hard as I can. As of yet, I have not flipped out. I cannot speak to the future, unfortunately. Right now I just don’t know how this will affect me as time passes. One certainty is that there will be more. I know it. I am going to continue to see things better left out of my mind, and there will be dreams over which I have no control. If I remain inside the house and never leave, while simultaneously staying awake for the rest of my life, nothing will increase. That is the only way to be certain that more issues won’t come along. Nice, huh? This is a fucking curse unlike anything else in existence. The film industry, the space program, my truck... Everything takes a back seat to this latest and worst frame of mind. One was enough. I really didn’t need another. 0911. Bad number. I have to rise and take care of the routine very soon, along with my requisite morning cocktail to numb the feelings. Once the inside work is finished, I’ll probably move around and try to maximize the trash, like usual. I have the Food Network on for a while just to do something different. It never lasts, though, because the commercials can drive me out of my mind. 1330 on Monday. I’ve been working with the truck, hence not much here. My routine is finished and I went shopping all over the place for some staples. Thankfully, there was nothing to worry about while I was in the wine store or elsewhere. I have enough inside already... Visions of the past, images of more recent problems, and the wicked strike taking place over and over. Adding some fucking pair of pants to the pile would not be good. Anyway, This morning I took care of everything in order to allow plenty of time should I feel like working with the truck. A sidebar from hell... I know the lines are there. I can’t see them, yet they are definitely there, and likely so beautiful that upon sight I would be rendered completely insane. I know they are there. And more, too... The others. I cannot state it straight out, though. There is much more present during those moments than I could possibly handle. Moreover, the redefinition of ‘cute’ continues to expand right before my very eyes. Needy eyes. Desperate eyes. Weakness, above all. I will refrain from going into the sheer amount of control present in my words and actions while everything is in view. The effort is debilitating, to say the least. This will continue until my end. I truly wish that I could have known years ago that I would eventually degrade into this type of person. Perhaps I could have made some preparations to ease the days. I keep seeing everything regardless of the day’s activities. Sometimes I see too much. Somewhere... Those lines are waiting to be properly greeted. This cannot happen. Wickedness, defined. Strike? All.
Tuesday morning. Dreams of random things, smiling people, and travel. I have a few minutes before the morning business, after which I plan to relax more than yesterday. I do have to take a trip to the market up north, though. That means a clear possibility of being hit upside the head with things I am better off avoiding. I’ll return, good or bad as it may be, and then probably work with the truck again. I have some wiring harnesses to fabricate. Hopefully today will not carry some of yesterday’s trials. The cat has set up shop on the sofa right where I typically sit during the morning, so I think today is the day to transition into the new office. We go. 0848 and here I am at the workbench. The third show is above my head on the garage television, coffee to my right, and all my shit spread out which supports the truck project. I had to move all of the paperwork from one binder to another in order to separate everything and keep the truck crap out here. Holy shit, this ‘Dabo girl’ in the episode is absolutely unreal. I could... Never mind. Anyway, moving everything out here was only a matter of time. The truck electronics are difficult to work with, meaning I need loads of paperwork and the laptop for reference, all of the test equipment, and the space to spread everything out so I can solve problems. The current issue is jitter in some of the servos, most notably the closed-loop system that moves the steering. That means I have to connect the auxiliary computer to the steering controller and work with the software. Not easy. There is also an annoying tendency for the drive motor to spin at maximum speed whenever I shut down the transmitter. I may have to connect the drive controller to the software, as well. At least I have loads of time. I don’t need to go to the market until closer to lunch time. Half the routine is finished already. The other half shall wait until I break from this crap. Shit, I just remembered that I need to raise the drive controller board in order to access the data port. Fuck. And I already ordered hardware. Oh, well. I'm certain there will be more shit to purchase very soon. Years ago just after I had the boards made, I kept a tally of hours and dollars spent on this project. At last count, I believe between what is on the truck, the equipment I purchased for designing the electronics and all of the hardware, the total was north of $8500. I've already spent in excess of $200 within the last two weeks. Jesus. To put the cost in perspective, keep in mind there are 164 parts on the truck that I personally designed and machined, but also another hundred or so that were 'trials', fixtures made in order to machine other parts, or some otherwise not used due to appearance or flaky functioning. Lots of trial and error over the years, most notably in the beginning. Sitting at the bench with the editor reminds me of two years ago when the gentleman had his motorcycle stored here and I’d work on the site as he worked on his stuff. The comfort of being out here with all my devices also reminds me to appreciate the time and quiet. I don’t think about those benefits enough these days because I’ve been spending far too much time worrying about so many things missing from life. Today could be a banner, or a line between the way I had been thinking of my days alone and a method for coping. This is very comfortable right now. Yesterday I pulled the trigger on some hardware to further enhance the axles. Disassembling everything the other day showed me that my design and engineering work should be appreciated more than it has for the last few years. Even though the machine has not moved on its own, the entirety of the assembly is beautiful, and the parts I ordered will support such a feeling. I need it to look really good, or at least to my satisfaction. The truck may soon return to its display case, but I’ll be pleased with the appearance. That is important. In the past I spent a shit ton of money on specialized hardware so that everything aligns with my vision, and that also meant changes. On the drive front, I pulled out the old CAD illustrations of the spur and motor mounts to try and refresh my memory. Basically, those are the only two parts necessary for the entire drive system to operate from the radio. Unfortunately, and as I have pointed out on many occasions, having those parts manufactured is very expensive and wholly dependent upon my measurements and design work. One number out of place and they will be garbage. I can’t have that. Along the lines of the truck appearing the way I wish, I noticed that the rod ends for the suspension and steering links have degraded. They are plated with cadmium -- I was forced to use cadmium due to the lack of availability of more corrosion resistant materials on such small units -- which means the finish has been affected by time and moisture. There are 32 of them at a cost of over $9 per, meaning to replace them all for the sake of a pretty machine would cost tons of money. I'd love to have stainless rod ends, but unfortunately they do not exist according to my research. Ugh. One of them is actually covered with rust because years ago I tried to buff the fucking thing. Mistake. I shouldn't complain too much, though. They were purchased somewhere around eighteen years ago. In working with the axles, I also noticed that the adapters I made to connect both driveshafts to all three differentials are not concentric. That is to say that the center hole is not precise. All I had was a crappy vise on a very old drill press. On a lathe, all four adapters would have been turned and cut within half an hour or less, and holding a tolerance of a thousandth of an inch. I no longer have such capabilities. Some years ago, I designed the parts in the CAD software but never had them manufactured. That was most likely due to money. If I eventually have them machine the drive mounts, I may opt to include the driveshaft adapters at the same time. The drawings are already finished. Ah... I forgot to mention that my mock-up of the body last week means I can now design front and rear mounts cut from aluminum. More money. The driveshaft adapters are pretty important, though, even more than mounting the body. As of now, when the shafts turn, there is visible ‘wobble’ at the differentials. I simply cannot have that if I am to feel pride for the project. 0927. Sitting here all day long would not be a stretch. Heh. The fucking lines are still just behind everything I’ve been typing. They will not go away. Being outside in the new office helps, though. There exist no solutions to these issues, so the only coping method available to me is finding distraction. The truck is assisting my need to drown within something other than beauty or the other five million fucking problems I feel every day. 1103 and the kitchen is polished. I am back in the new office with my devices. The market shall wait a while. I’m always afraid of what I might see over there. Speaking of issues, sitting out here rather than in the house is helping to quash the morning shit to which I have been a slave for far too many years. I suppose the situation is a good thing, yet part of me knows the feelings are only being suppressed, much like when I drink alcohol during the mid-morning (such as right fucking now). Desire is like a boomerang in that I can fling it away sometimes but it will always come around the corner and hit me upside the head with great force. In the long run, there is nothing I can do. The more I push, the more the beauty pushes back. At least I have the never-ending truck project. I’ve already seen too much. The occasions are branded on my brain cells. The wicked strike is beginning to overtake other visions, even those I’ve mentioned continuously. Part of the problem is that I KNOW the lines are there, though I have not seen them. I just fucking KNOW. No imagination is necessary when it comes to wickedness. There is not one Goddamned thing I can do about it, either. Nothing. Of all the saving throws, this one could actually save me, yet it is as elusive as true understanding. The first sight matched the damaging dream, and soon everything went to hell in a very large handbasket. I intend to shower and then head to the market, afterward moving out here to fabricate a wiring harness. The distraction has never been more necessary. Believe it. The manicured fingers tugging on that bra strap have crippled me, possibly for all time. This feeling is analogous to someone placing the Passion into my hands and then ripping it away. I am perpetually broken over the effects of having dreamed of something so beautiful and stirring and then seeing it right in front of me. Again... There is nothing I can do. This is literally the worst situation I could have imagined in life. Frankly, I am surprised to be alive right now. I guess the enjoyments are still effective.
I just noticed a tag on the side of my HP laboratory power supply. It tells me that this piece of equipment originated from a company where my dad was employed more than thirty years ago. Wow. I had thought it came from the lab in Sunnyvale when my parents owned the business. That was the ‘phase lock’ period, which was when I met the girl from the adjacent firm. Damn. She was special. Lots of years back, all that stuff. I miss the work. I miss her more, though. What the fuck happened to me? Did I need the understanding that many years ago? Maybe I did, but did not have the drive to sit and write an analysis. I think I loved her. And I think I just formulated a plan for the next few hours. 1305. I returned from the market with zero issues. They always have the best produce. Now I am back in the new office trying to work out the wiring harness components. I have the third show on for posterity and comfort. Oh, and a cold beer. I learned that my hardware order from McMaster will be delivered tomorrow. That is very good. It also means some work on both axles. I can’t wait to see the results. And yes, the fasteners and spacers are purely for appearance. If I don’t like the way the truck looks, nothing is good. As for the rest of this day, all I have to do is make some preparations for dinner a few hours from now. Until then, the plan is truck work and this shit. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words. The aforementioned idea is to work on the wiring out here whilst blaring some music. Right now the show is on, however that may be shut down very soon, mood dependent, of course. 0652. Wednesday morning with coffee and my friends. I am a touch on edge this morning due to a late night message from my neighbor regarding an issue on the street. I’ll have to speak to him later and get the full story. This area is normally very quiet, too. Later, I guess. This morning I have to take care of the business and then I can relax a while and clear my head. I dreamed of something which has since left, yet there is a latent feeling that something is very wrong here. I don’t know if I had some sort of premonition or if this is merely a coincidence, but whichever it is, I’ll need some time to sort things out. That means the big garage door will be closed and the front door locked when they would normally be the opposite. If and when I feel better, my little world will open. The morning stuff is finished and I have a quiet day ahead. The truck work may or may not continue, although once my hardware arrives I may be more motivated. I’d like to remain indoors for the most part today. I’ve been thinking about a particular subject since yesterday afternoon. A jogger went by in one direction (I think I’ve seen her out there before) and then walked the other way, presumably returning home. The sight of her running by had me considering my ideals, wants and needs, and how they have affected my relationships with people throughout the last two-plus years. Not long after my eyes swung around to see her, the memory of a dream popped into my head. On the heels of the incident which matched the damaging dream, there was another glimpse of someone sitting atop a bicycle not far from my garage, her eyes meeting mine within seconds. I have no idea of who she may have been, though. The fact is when the jogger went by yesterday, I could have sworn that the face matched that of the dream. As a result of these odd occurrences lately, my feelings toward people are changing for the worse. The very idea that the dreams and other situations which have arisen in the last few months could affect my view of society probably does not seem feasible. I cannot disagree, yet the mindset has come to me regardless of what may appear realistic. There is a condition which becomes inflamed during some moments, afterward finding me unable to move or think clearly for some minutes until I can regain composure. The sight of the jogger brought up two disparate situations, one being something in mind almost constantly. The other story I’ve been writing is on hold for the foreseeable future. The content is too difficult to put into words, and the reasons are many. In fact, the title follows suit. 1013 and I already have the routine finished and everything set up for dinner. I know not from where the motivation came this morning, but it could be my head having more difficulty than in past months. The situation is worsening and my mood is on the decline. I spoke of the dreams, including that which damaged me to a great degree, and I believe the trouble in dealing with such visions has now attached itself to what I deal with each day. I probably should have seen this coming, however not everything can be predicted. My brain is saturated with imagery and a deep-seated need for the right type of understanding, yet still I draw breath and carry out the daily activities. I do not know what is keeping me moving forward. I really don’t. My life has become a quandary. The most likely cause for me completing the morning routine is the desire to sit here and try to work out issues. Any belief that I am able to rise may be premature, though. As of yet, all I have is an increasing pile of questions despite the awareness of several causes. They are most decidedly not answers, only reasons. This is not good and may soon drive me to very dangerous ideas. Actually, it already has. I just don’t have the resources to do anything. Nice, huh? The title is reflective of the fact that aside from a few individuals throughout the last twenty years, I have been only spurned by those who were allowed in. That is that. I said it. And when I say ‘few’, I mean five. The remaining individuals are on a list. The show and the idea of working on the truck today are being pushed back by everything else in my head. I am referring to unresolvable problems that hit me in the face every fucking day and I am completely sick of it. This position is very bad. I have no outlet other than the IDE, nor is there a pair of ears nearby for me to employ. Tons of anger, sadness and frustration cannot be pointed in any other fucking direction right now. I am completely alone and do not like it one bit. The fasteners I ordered will arrive in a little while, as will the new acrylic plate for replacing the one that I messed up last year. Those parts combined may not have the ability to distract me from everything in the background. The problems can take over my psyche completely. I feel like a cornered camel about to attack, yet there is no target. I have been cornered by forces and feelings, but not people. Don’t get me wrong, though. There is blame. I just can’t do a fucking thing about it, nor can I find an avenue to alleviate my emotions. I am again sitting in the garage with my devices all around. I am in pain and nothing helps. Time for a beer. And music. I have this machine connected to the audio system. I can run it all fucking day long without a problem. The morning whiskey is already gone. Sitting out here means the street is in view. The sun is shining, as well. The sum of those two? Something will come along to draw my vision and cause that high-speed, violent focus-pull that I know all too well. It is just a matter of time. It happened yesterday. The jogger and her rear end screaming to me as it painted patterns from hell. As much as I don’t need anything else in my eyes, the atmosphere in the garage is important. It brings me back to times of automotive work, friends from high school, and an insane level of control over everything. Control has become issue number fucking five. Believe it. At some point I will tire of this shit and do some soldering, following the work on the harness I finished yesterday. I keep seeing, remembering, dreaming and falling down at some point every fucking day. Why am I doing this? Is there a solution which will come up the driveway and present itself as the official saving throw to my life? A gigantic pair of dice rolling along until the number is revealed? I don’t fucking think so. If you can tell me why I am still sitting here doing this shit, by all means... TELL ME.
The garage empire is in full swing right now, and the time is only 1132. Imagine that... I am reaching in all directions for something that is impossible. This is all so fucking stupid anymore. I am becoming aggravated. I hope no one approaches this house. Maybe the jogger would be ok. Or UPS. Or the mail carrier. Or my neighbor. Everyone else? Go burn to death. The repeatability of my caliper is going bad. Might need to replace it. Just saying. Weakness and desperation are ever-expanding and detrimental to my longevity. The jogger is a prime example of my ability to see something and then run with it, nearly out of control. I have been driven to this. Fucking DRIVEN. Don’t argue. The idea is bad for your health, believe me. Contradictions shall be punished. Am I paying for past happiness? The tab? Keep in mind those are not the important questions. The answers to critical questions are in another universe. Far away. How far? Thousands of light years, and further with each breath drawn by yours truly. I am more aggravated than half an hour ago. And what exactly can I do to calm myself? Nothing. I am on a road with no turns. There are billboards aplenty, though. You don’t want to know. Nothing I’ve spouted here in the last seven years has been a good idea. Revealing information is one thing, but I have honestly done my best to keep the details buried. If you’ve gleaned, you are a genius. Some parts may seem clear, however keep in mind that I am the world champion at disguising ideas and lying my fucking ass off until the cows come home. There are no cows in the yard, so figure it out. I will continue in this vein, as well. Given the choice of being fully exposed versus appearing as a horrible person, I’ll take the latter every time. I no longer have faith in any genuine help (especially from an actual person), meaning this venture is all I have left in the world. Without this, I’d probably be in the corner of the backyard. In order to avoid the horrid reality of ridicule and embarrassment, the lengths to which I will go are infinite, much like the Internet where my words live. Bottom line? If you believe you have an idea of what the main issue is, you are way off the mark. Trust me, rose petal. You don’t know shit, nor does ANYONE of which I’ve let in. Not a fucking soul, living or otherwise. The point of this paragraph is the fact that I’ve been writing here on and off for a very long time, yet still I am in the worst shape of my entire life. There you go. Suck the words off the screen, motherfucks. The audio system in this garage needs a fucking boost. The ‘B’ speakers on the west side are my very old Realistic cabinets from the sixties. They should not be out here at all, but I do not have another pair of drivers for that side. Had I gained the speakers I wanted some years ago, they would be too large for mounting out here. Huge. Those cabinets were to flank the original home theatre system in the house, but I couldn’t afford them at the time. Three hundred pounds of audio? I believe my partner would have scoffed at the idea, so the idea went away. I did have the 701s in there for a while, too, but eventually they went away for space considerations. The speakers above me (on the ‘A’ side of the amplifier) are excellent, yet to acquire another pair would also be cost prohibitive. I have to think about this for a while. On days like today when my pissy fucking mood dictates irritating passers by, the plan is to expand. Honestly, though, I don’t know how to proceed without breaking the bank and making massive changes to the current system. Hopefully, something will come to mind. The garage is my sanctuary, and must follow suit in order to reflect my shit mood. My alcohol intake has successfully squashed those feelings which had been on the cusp of taking over my consciousness this morning. This will not always work, however. There is power involved of which human beings are not aware. Well, they may be, but they also know nothing can be done other than altering the mind with chemicals. The more I think about the subject, the more angry I become. Increased anger begins to tip the scale of life away from the norm. Further tipping will cause me to lash. Hence, the booze. All I do is move around this fucking cracker box and think. I think all the fucking time. That is all I have anymore... My mind. Anything under the influence of such vast power is at the mercy of becoming overly unstable – much like my current condition – and the results come in two flavors: Either moving forward and attempting to make sense of everything, or taking the less-treaded path of self-annihilation. I am at this very moment leaning toward the latter, although the former continues to push its way in due to people around me. There are not many at this late date, of course, yet they still hold a bit of control over the rudder. Had I not realized the deeply cutting effects of being spurned so often and then placated just enough to remain alive and involved, those very same people would at this moment know the sheer depth of the problems. The only throw I have left after all this time which can hold things together is the numbing effect of my ill-begotten lover, the alcohol. Call me what you will. The other night I spoke of opportunities and paths of the past not taken for one reason or another. The most significant path which has been brought up here recently was the film industry. I passed on that out of fear. Years before that massive mistake, there was another. While in Michigan, I completed high school at night and graduated with flying colors in a ceremony with day school students. I’ve brought this shit up before, too. Afterward, my hope was to attend Michigan Tech way up in the upper peninsula and study biochemistry. I applied to the first stepping stone, which was city college, and then tested for placement. Well, I soon received two letters asking if I wished to be in the honors program for both the English and Mathematics programs. Honors. That indicated my testing had been passed in the upper echelon. The next step was to apply for financial aid, and therein lies one of the biggest fucking blunders of my life. I was not only approved for aid, but granted a Pell funding letter. Do you know what a Pell Grant is? That is tuition that does not need to be paid back because they WANT you to further your education. It means the applicant is deemed worthy of the type of assistance that few receive. Yep. I did well during night school and tested high for the college entry. Where is the blunder? I moved back to this state without going through the admission process and before my college career could begin. And why did I move and not attend the school? One word: Beauty. The power took me and did not let go. If there is another fucking definition for ‘idiot’, it escapes me. The discussion went on for a short time before I realized I had to cease talking or I’d go on a depressive rampage. I stopped dead, right there. A little while ago I walked out to the street to move my car into the driveway. Along the way, I noticed that the music was clear almost sixty feet from the garage. Guess what, people? It gets much louder. Just a thought. The previous paragraph is part of the reason for the volume right now. I feel fucking stupid after being led by the nose, not to mention the second time it happened. Don’t fucking ask. Yes, I know I’ve spoken of that college shit before. Probably more than once. The key is of paramount importance, however. I cannot overstate my long list of mistakes. They are mine and cannot be dropped on the heads of other people, yet I will not sit here and take all the fucking blame. There were looks and lies, words and willingness. I can be a real piece of work, no doubt, but I’ll tell you one thing... I am not the only one, nor do I have the fucking power. My parts have still not arrived. Maybe I’ll go inside and give the neighborhood a break for a while. 1426. I had something to eat. I ceased the truck work until parts arrive, or possibly tomorrow. Right now I am so deep into the difficulty that most of my concentration has flown away. I keep seeing things... Images of the past, dreams, and little papers swirling in a cyclone overhead. Each paper holds a thought which I cannot understand. Some have indications of the best parts of life having been removed, now serving only as reminders and forcing me to understand that I have been left alone. I forget nothing. One fact that continues to slap me across the face is that I leveraged my life and living conditions forcibly in order to seek the type of comfort I continue to need, and not a moment passes without berating myself and then pushing my way up to feel better. The past rears its head daily.
0741 on Thursday morning. My foot is fucked up due to something I did last night. I was hoping it would improve overnight, yet no such luck thus far this morning. I took care of the early business and half the routine in order to secure some time and remain off my feet. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve been limping since last night. Perhaps taking it easy for a while this morning will help. I don’t have big plans today, anyway. My hardware showed up yesterday afternoon and I installed everything, plus the new board plate arrived. I drilled everything and mounted the PC board as it should have been several years ago. The appearance has improved markedly and I think I am actually happy with the change. Something like that is very rare for the truck. Further, I believe I am close to connecting the steering block to each axle for some tests. Naturally, I’ll have to order material again because every time I disassemble the system, the parts are wasted. Well, some of them, anyway. It’s not a big deal to drop ten dollars five times over a period of years, especially considering the sheer value of the entire project. I am hoping the issue plaguing me since early this year does not return anytime soon. I’ve been ok for the most part, but I also know that being floored again is a matter of time. There is no way around it, as I’ve been reminded thrice by the medical community. During the hours spent in the garage yesterday, I sat a bit more comfortably than I would have had I remained in the house instead. Today? I don't know if I’m willing to drag this machine to the workbench again. That means if I stay inside, I’ll have to fight my way through the fucking morning as I have on too many occasions to recall. There is always a demon directly behind me waiting to influence my day. Sometimes I am powerless. I don’t know to get through this. No matter what I may be involved in during the day, something always reminds me of exactly where and when I am living, eventually leading to the feelings which govern my mood. Yesterday, for example, I was diligently working on replacing hardware and drilling the acrylic for the board plate. Each moment of concentration passed with visions attached. Sporadic pictures of different situations throughout two decades, most of them more recent than those old trips to the goblet. And then the wickedness creeped in. My work slowed periodically so I could attempt to right myself and move forward with the project. The work began with my show in the background and ended with loud music. That is typical, and driven by the fact that no matter what I may be doing, there will inevitably be a drop – sometimes just a few inches and other times more like that fall off the balcony (along with the petite, bloody and naked Julie) I wrote into the fiction some years ago. I don’t believe there is anything I can do to avoid the bad things entering my head. I am fighting at this very moment. The news has been traded for the third show. 0905 and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind what happens during the remainder of this day. I am going to sit here for a long while and consider my options in life, all the while trying to push that fucking demon away. I don’t know of another way to live anymore. Everything hurts me. I am alone. No one is listening. I don’t understand. Maybe that’s all I should write anymore. There have been certain individuals in life that crossed my path and affected me enough to alter my beliefs. Maybe those occasions are parts of the problem, but then again they may not. The root idea of what I have become as a result of a very difficult set of circumstances cannot be denied, nor can it be altered at my age. I am severely jaded. And I mean fucking twisted. Today would have been my mom’s 79th birthday. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch do I ever need a change in life. This is so very bad. My stomach is becoming upset. Some of this shit can be attributed to being spurned, whereas other aspects of what I have become may be my own fault. When it comes to the wickedness and that fucking strike that I still do not understand, I believe the key to the whole shitaree was desperation. Weakness is not related because I still have the strength to keep everything shrouded. That is driven by raw fear and nothing more. I keep a lot of thoughts and feelings out of this content, but let me tell you in no uncertain terms that the most important omission is the wicked strike. No one can ever know. And sometimes I want to grab Mary’s character and run away. Good fucking God is she ever beautiful. She could kill me with a bat’leth and I would bleed to death smiling. Make of that what you will. Anyway, the spurned nature of my psyche and ego are beginning to cause a further slide from which there is no recovery. Every superlative I’ve used on this fucking site has been enhanced to the point of becoming doctrine. Not good. You may have noticed that the last several entries here have mentioned my emotional state more than in the past. There is good reason for such a fact. 0955 and boy do I ever need a fucking drink. 1013, and... Worse than earlier. I poured a nice, big glass of whiskey so my feelings can be somewhat suppressed, a necessary evil born of the situation two years ago when I realized just how weak and desperate I had become. Now I am far worse. The wicked strike is just one segment of a much larger construct. It is overwhelming. This morning may go down in history as a representation of just how fucked up my head has been set off. I can honestly say that this feeling inside is beginning to drive much more dire ideas, none of which can be acted upon due to where I am in the grand scheme of life. All of the damage I caused back in eleven and twelve has rendered me unable to move (figuratively, of course). Again, I am cornered. This is a very dangerous situation, especially considering my past maneuvers in search of all that was missing. I can see such damage taking place in the future. Just a matter of time. Wait a fucking minute... Do my feelings matter? Is there anything which can be done? I can’t even begin to calculate the odds of the current period improving. If I can’t do anything or move in some helpful direction, why continue this? Why ask questions? Does all this shit mean I am holding on to some semblance of hope? Forget the spurn. Nothing I say or type matters anymore. Oh, this day. I knew because of my foot that not much was going to happen during my alone time. My truck is going to sit there, but I may create a few parts for hinging the board. The hinged standoffs that are mounted toward the front of the chassis cannot be trusted with all that weight hanging on them. I have to create some parts in order to utilize a piano hinge instead. I’ve been thinking about such an idea for years, but now that the board spends more time mounted to the frame rails, there must be better support. This means I have to draw the mount in the CAD software and pay them to manufacture it. No big deal, and probably less than a hundred dollars. The drive components and driveshaft adapters will have to wait. Everything ‘hinges’ on the board being properly supported. Otherwise? Nothing moves due to a lack of connected power. And speaking of power, I have some really nice silicone wire arriving tomorrow to finally and permanently create connections for the main voltage supply and motor inputs. The downside to all this work is the fact that the truck is barely capable of pushing away the conditions of the rest of my life. I have control over the truck’s design, the media playing in the background, and the environment inside both the house and garage, yet everything which is in my heart and TRULY important maintains a position far from the same. I’ve lived fifty-five years to end up dealing with THIS SHIT? What a fucking idiot. At least there is one certainty. Sometimes I hate myself and other times I hate other people. I will fucking state this straight out and without any ambiguity... When the pain becomes too much to bear and the enjoyments no longer keep my head out of the ground, the revolver will speak to those who know me. No note, no clues, no nothing. Just a mess. I don't fucking care anymore. 'Thy will be done.' Wait for it. I am 10-10 on the side. 10-7 is coming soon. I am hearing something, though there is no indication of movement. Could it be..."
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