Caverns and Wind VI Mature content No. 394 Published December 5th, 2023 11:17am pst read ( words) Past entries "Squishing; routing; denial of everything. I’ve written the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’ on 131 occasions as of this sentence. What does that tell you? The blue dress may be gone forever. Perhaps it never even existed. I cannot know. Everything is blurry now. I’ve been stuck in the cavern for so long that I can’t recall the sunshine. Mud and mustard; desperation and depression. No way out. There is no fucking way out. I keep thinking of that woman on the display who resembles the other one. Jesus, why must I dwell so much? Nothing is there. Nothing will ever be there. Routed. Denial. Desperation. Damned. There is too much beauty. Way too much. I need the knives. Alas... They may not exist, either. I have nothing. Housework soon, I guess. ‘I am for her... Alone. Every part of me is for her.’ She lets people die of thirst, you know. Horrible death. Sometimes she burns them alive. I am almost completely lost. Everything got the best of me this morning... Both shit situations, my ‘position’ in life at this age, and the knowledge that there is nothing good on my horizon. My neighbor is outside getting ready to put up his Christmas decorations. I can hear music flowing in the background. Damn. I wish I was in a better mood, but these days nothing is certain. A more positive mood would lead me out there to be sociable. Ugh... That last word is not good these days. All of the squishing has compressed into a very small space, one akin to demonstrating my dissatisfaction at having been railroaded for too many years. I have things to do in the garage, though, so perhaps I’ll make it out there at some point. The audio stack needs wiring attention, as does the wall hanging which once ran on batteries. Right now I don’t feel like being a person, however. I’d rather remain away from people so I can try to think. The cavern is calling. I wish the same could be said for the forest. This is to be the end of it. Believe me. Um... Believe... Us. This crap has gone on long enough. Nothing has been served, there is no help available, and we cannot remain positive about anything for more than a few minutes at a time. We are truncated; fragmented. Nothing can be done. We need... ‘Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome; time for this one to come home.’ We are in pieces. There is no glue. Wait; we are the glue and have been for so long that there is none available for the higher draw. We are the glue. We’ve been right there for them. You may already know; THEM. Those people. Back to the roots; back off the schedule; back in time... In mind. We are there because there is no other place where we can survive. Everything hurts all the time. We have it in mind. Back there... That place. We shall go there for a little while and see how it feels. We may end up spat out; we may end up stuck. Either is fine. We expect nothing good. Housework, indeed. We have to go to that place for some time and see. Coffee. Mustard. Mud. Nothing else. ‘We’ to ‘I’. The wiring for the picture is finished. The preliminary wiring for the audio stack is finished. A few other items are finished. That is that. ‘I’ to ‘We’, yet again. There seems to be no other way. We saw something and an idea was generated. We may have to alter our method for a little while and see what develops. We will capture images at high speed, and if any resemble the wonder of the past, we shall be pleased. Unhealthy, twisted, deviant and fucking insane, yet pleased. We have nothing else in the world. Nothing. We will shoot and stare. We will then fall down. We will shoot and stare more. This is the way of things. Two situations ruined us, hence the idea. We need to go back. The time is in mind. Ruined. We cannot implement the idea until another day. The way of things. The way of the future? No... The way of things. We know. We already know. Inward. The other way – the one which has yet to be paved – seems to be drifting into the future and leaving us behind, although we do realize that any such idea like the one above will cause distress and disorder, effectively remaking our situation into one of those prophecies. The self-fulfilling variety. We may need to kill the idea in order to steer the ship toward dreamy landscapes. Kill the idea. We’ve seen too much. There will be more. We have zero control. Other directions; paths must be explored, but how? We are stagnant. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The paths are there, yet we have been mired within the visions. The idea is sound, but ill-advised. And we were a tad late, anyway, because on the heels of the first vision was something wonderful and beautiful beyond description. The idea could have paid off prior to the fall. We should have done it anyway because there can be no predicting the passing beauty, nor do we know from where it originated. Close, but not too close. Far enough. The girl may fit the dress. Knives. Let us go back. I removed the home theatre receiver yesterday and implemented the new stack. Everything works very well so far, and further experiments will ensue once the interconnect cables arrive next week. For the time being, the audio playback is restricted to stereo. Having control over analog audio reproduction is a wonderful thing regardless of being limited to two channels. I am unsure of how the digital surround will work as of yet, however. Tests are in order. This process has effectively removed any video signals from the receiver, as well. If anything goes awry, the television itself will supply the audio. Such a case has been a goal of mine for years. I do not enjoy being railroaded into certain technologies just because the masses embrace whatever is new and exciting regardless of any difficulties. Few understand the difference between analog and digital sound anymore because the market has removed the latter for video media. I can say this all began with one of the most disruptive technologies to ever be invented, but I will refrain from a tirade on the subject. I’ve said enough already. As of 1000 this morning, my audio system is operating very well. I’ll have to put more of a load on everything once the cables arrive next week. I am looking forward to fully circumventing the ways of society. Analog always wins. To cement such a thought, perhaps in the future I will return to the godly format which was abandoned during the carnage of year eleven. Very sad. I will probably kick myself unto death over that one. Anyway, my system still needs attention and expansion, the latter being in the cards for early next year. The squareheads came by while I was on a smoke break in the garage. Interesting. I was holding a lit cigarette and swilling my whiskey, and yet they appeared unconcerned. This was the same woman who visited some months ago along with a man I had not met before. Again I must salute their convictions because my garage is littered with Satanic imagery. One thing I noticed on the previous visit was that the woman (I don’t remember her name) came to my door very well-dressed and sporting a very bright expression. Some thoughts entered my head at the time, yet nothing really materialized until today. She is fucking gorgeous despite gray hair and carrying an age most likely in the sixties. I wanted to tell her as much, although doing so would have labeled me as exactly what I am, and I simply can’t have that type of thing right now. The fact that they are going to get nowhere with scripture and teachings aside, the fact remains that I just can’t be unkind toward a person who is looking at the greater good. They did not stay long because I’ve been exhibiting the symptoms of a cold and do not wish to affect anyone else, and trust me that is not a bunch of bullshit. She told me she appreciates the caution and suggested visiting again next Saturday to show me a video. I can’t be rude at all, but at the same time I really can’t align with their beliefs. As of yet I have not calculated a method for expressing such a thought and remaining kind and personable. Maybe I should just fucking hit on her and see what develops. I may have already if the alcohol caused me to tip in such a direction, too. I am not above telling a beautiful woman of my feelings or what I see (often in far more detail than is the norm). I wanted to kiss her. Call me what you will... I care less and less about everything with each passing day. That is to say my deviant nature continues to grow. I wish I had been able to see more of that girl walking by yesterday. Since all I can do is look, I may as well take in as much as possible at the time. I am a basket case. And speaking of my mental condition... Next year represents a return to the medical benefits I once enjoyed. That means I’ll be able to visit my own doctor very soon and begin the process of maneuvering myself into therapy with nary more than a co-pay. This is good. Not only that, but my personal physician is also a psychiatrist. I’ll have a pretty wide door toward weekly therapy right out of the fucking gate. I’d like to express my feelings about the two shit situations that caused me to be a chronic junkie in need of beauty injected into my blood. Moreover, I need to address something that could solidify my financial position as it heads into the future. The final door is always there, just in case, but I would prefer to continue on this path of analysis rather than slam everyone. Damn... She was so cute with the overcoat and scarf that I needed to demonstrate my appreciation much more than I’d care to admit. Hmm... That could be a path toward eliminating further visits and the necessity of being personable. All I have to do is hit on her. Heh. If so, I’ll be polite and respectful when I invite her to the goblet for some excess and lavish comfort at my expense. I’ve done it before. And? The Satanic Temple would wholeheartedly agree with my methods. Nothing is realistic, however. Sometimes my thoughts wander. After the game last night, I switched to the Christmas movies and saw one of my favorites, and a face which almost matches that of Wendy (from the eighties). Yep... Tara again. The story is cute, Tara is unreal, and the sum caused me to fall down a little bit. I realize nearly all of the situations are idyllic, but there is something to be said for stories that do not require much worry or stress. Well, for someone like me, the stress is going to be present anyway, so I may as well see the beauty, and believe me... Tara is way up the list because of her facial features and how they relate to Wendy. I am speaking of aspects of beauty which are impossible to describe, much like when I’ve gone on at length about Jamie and the way I feel about her character. Getting the point across is just not going to happen. No one gives a shit, anyway, so I don’t know why I even brought this up. Probably because I nearly commit suicide over the pain of seeing her face, every fucking time. It hurts too much. There’s a good reason for you. Torment. Sunday. The cavern is looming. I have coffee and hours ahead for whatever seems best. My team is playing during the early afternoon. I cannot see any mustard, so perhaps the morning will move along fine without my mood going through the fucking floor. That would be nice for a change. I can’t stop thinking about Tara’s unique face and how it forces me to travel back in time to the late eighties when I first fell for Wendy. I am still in love with her, too. The entire situation is very unhealthy because like everything else I love, the time is gone and cannot return. You want to talk about a person living in the past? Holy shit... There is no limit these days. All of the good is gone and I see nothing on the horizon except more bad. Moreover, my dreams of being exactly where I need to be are all rooted in fictional situations and people that are no longer alive. Maybe when the beautiful squarehead returns next Saturday I will state that I can commit to the kingdom of which she speaks so long as the future places me where I must be in order to be happy. Will that work? Of course not. What such a thought will accomplish is to inform her – and others like her with similar beliefs – that no one can approach me with any manner of positive shit and expect me to respond as if I have a chance in hell of embracing their way of life unless I can be promised some fucking understanding. I am still in love with Wendy thirty years later, I feel the same about Jamie, Jolene, Nora and Christ-knows how many other fictional characters. The only aspect of my existence that is not unhealthy is the daily completion of housework. Everything else is totally fucked up. I cannot and will not bend to another person’s idea of fulfillment. Not anymore. The routine is finished and I boiled some eggs for later use. Very exciting. I still have to run a load of dry cleaning and take care of the garbage business, but until such time as I feel like being productive, this shall be the path. At some point the ‘I’ will return to the ‘we’ and everything will go to shit once again. I am hoping to avoid such a mindset until after the football game. Tall order. I don’t feel well right now and the time is only 1111. I’ve been regretting not capturing images of the girl walking her dog. Rarely have I seen a mechanical relationship between waist, legs and rear such as what she carries (and she probably has no fucking idea). That girl holds more power than all of the nuclear plants around the world combined. I need her so badly that I feel ashamed when my mind enters her little world. The feelings of desperation inside my head and heart are at an all-time high. This is a bad time and I fear something terrible is going to happen soon. On the upside, the hosting will expire in eight days, so at least I will not be able to spout my feelings here with any chance of others reading them. I guess there are still some positives in the world. I’ve been wondering about the statements of my head being ‘sideways’. How far can it go before something worse takes place? Does ‘sideways’ mean that if it tilts far enough it will right itself? This is beginning to make zero sense. Perhaps I’ll come up with a different method for expressing the level of difficulty inside me. Is that a good idea? YOU make the call because I can’t. In any case, I feel worse sitting here right now than I have ever before. Visions affect me far more than just a few months ago. Knowledge of smiling faces and other situations which have been removed from my life are weighing more heavily, too. I feel anger building again, but do my feelings matter? I fucking doubt it. Does anything I say or do make a lick of difference to anyone? There is no way to know. This type of situation is going to force me to create an object lesson out of thin fucking air. And then? Nothing will change. Tell me what to do. Tell ‘us’ what to do. Tell ‘me’. Fuck it... Tell someone. Did not. Did nothing. Afraid. Everything was temporary and I knew full well that all would end at some point, most likely as soon as I was completely invested (emotionally). All gone. I was right there... Standing in front of the fucking restaurant – their logo was at the bottom of every page – and next to me was a dream, but did I know enough? Did I embrace every second and cherish the time? Or was it all squandered due to having become a desperate mass of desire? She knew. They all knew. I stood there and imagined, a short time later we discussed everything, and later yet... Some understanding. Quite a bit, actually, and more than I could have expected at the time. But... Did I know nothing of the sort would happen again? Did I embrace her? Them? Did I appreciate the situations as they occurred? Enough? Would I have fucking known in the first place? I knew, though. I always knew there would be a switch-flip at some point that left me very upset and empty. I ask now because I am upset and empty. Everything is different. The end of Winter next year will mark thirteen years from when I stood before that restaurant logo and saw her smiling back at me. Thirteen years. I am nowhere near the same, she is gone (like all the others), and my future is as black as the definition of the presence of every color. Blackness. Do you think a nice pizza is going to fucking save me? They are all gone. I can’t find the knives anymore, either. I need something, damn it. There are some very disturbing historical parallels at work inside my head, yet the passage of so much time leads me to believe there is no danger at present. None. I can’t do anything because I am too different and circumstances cannot develop pointed toward interesting directions as they once did. Interesting destinations? Yeah... Those, too. Now there is nothing interesting. The occasional vision of that girl walking by. She is interesting, but not in the same way. There is nothing I can do to return myself in any positive way, nor can I even remotely repeat the past. I am fucking stuck right here; tied to the snowplow of a fast-moving locomotive. The rails only lead in one direction. As I said... I can’t go back or anywhere else. The die... You know. Monday morning. My head is all over the place. I will probably not amount to much today because I don’t give a shit. My whole life is nothing but housework, anyway. What does it matter how my days progress? Am I working toward something? Nope. Will there be changes resulting from my efforts? Nope. Will the little comforts offset this mood? Nope. Monday morning means nothing to me. Where is the cavern? Why can I not feel the wind? Knives out. Guns loaded. Push us. Just push. We can no longer believe those locations; activities; looming doom-laden situations. We can’t believe any of it. The world is so different now that the memories feel like fiction. Were we ever really there? Florida? Indiana? Nevada? Fucking Kentucky, of all places? Yes, we were there, and we were with them. They are as gone as our minds; our future. They are gone. We are still here. Believing in what we have experienced is beginning to force conclusions. We are most definitely paying for all of it. No doubt. And no wonder we continually reach for the knives. The cavern is not a good place. We know how it came to be, but it is not a good place by any stretch of the fucking word. The plural version covers a very long period of time, as now we are different than in the past; different in many ways, yet not to other people. They are all covered in snowfall because we need to remain at a distance. We also need to find reasons for so much anger. This is a bad place. Words are revolving around the inner surfaces like an electronic news ticker; none of which are anywhere near what we want to read. The restaurant is there, too... Looming like the figure of death itself. We should have slid down the outside of the pyramid. So much could have been avoided. Right there. Precisely where we needed. Right fucking there. Blue; bows; lace. A smile coupled with fear. A curled lip. Another smile. Understanding, graciousness and generosity. Gone. Flash. Fuck. Knives. Mustard, yet again. The dress is blue because the bows were blue. The bows are gone forever. We can feel it inside every day... Often hours at a time. When she walks by, everything worsens and we see the massive gradient; it is unliked. Shunned. Spat on. We do not like it, but it remains inside almost constantly. Everything we do is to pass the time, however we do not know how much time can be shoved aside in the interest of saving the worlds. The old worlds are gone; the new world is completely ridiculous and we hate it. We feel it inside, and when it flares, we flare. We lash out at everything and everyone because they built the shit world. Retreating into the cavern is only temporary and solves nothing. We know not what else to do anymore. One of the old worlds is blue; one is green. They are gone, much like our ability to rise and think clearly. Pain inside; pain outside. We are sans recourse. We are sans hope. Soon? Sans living. We do not want to feel it anymore. She will walk by and the entire process shall repeat until we lose our minds. The cavern is bad. The cavern is bad. She lives inside us. We can feel it right now... Unending; unrelenting. The power that shall destroy us. We understand, but then again we do not. We have no power. Those responsible for this are unconscionable and need to be destroyed. They are gone. We are alone. Recourse is smoke in the wind. Everything positive is smoke in the wind. Smoke from our stack. Hmm. That may be an idea. We shall return to such thinking soon. The buffer stop is right fuckking there. We can see it. The strength of the stop is matched only by the feelings inside... The most powerful in our universe (if we even have one). Our options have narrowed to the point of seeming nonexistent. Forcibly narrowed options have lit the fuse of life, and in order to extend our stay and deal with the flame, we must alter the path with knives out. Alterations are very difficult and have to be tempered just enough so as to avoid suspicion. Yes... Suspicion. We cannot have eyes prying into our business, hence the buffer stop. No explanation will be provided. The map is extensive and we have covered it in earnest. We have followed and bent; bowed and aligned. We have been routed and squished; smashed and disregarded. No explanation will be provided, meaning something more pointed may be in order. If only we knew what it was. Was? Could be? Fuck it and fuck you. Yes, this means you. Everyone. Knives. Mustard. Don’t know about the mustard, you say? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks, and good luck. The hosting goes away in seven days and we don’t give a blue fuck in the wind. Did not. Did nothing. And here we sit. Don’t fuck with us right now. No good will come of it. The earliest incarnation of us sitting at the computer spinning our thoughts was roughly aught-six, yet despite seventeen years having gone by the wayside, we can still conjure wondrous imagery and far-off places in an instant as the music flows from the speakers. It is happening right now, in fact, due to a composition that dates back to the very difficult period prior to the cave era. Said composition carried us through that time and into a place we still cannot define. Much has taken place, much has changed, yet we still feel those emotions from the original defining event that took place in late ten. We were sitting in the truck (which is gone) outside JCPenney in Daly City – hypoglycemic, trembling and distraught – and trying to muster enough strength to exit the vehicle and enter the store to shop for necessities. This very track was blasting from the drivers and keeping us company as a mass of sadness and loss transported our thoughts from browsing clothing to dying in the parking lot. Had we died right there on the blacktop, much could have been avoided, both pain for others as well as pain for ourselves. If you ever wish to be aware of the true definition of regret, the previous sentence shall pave the way. WE. SHOULD. HAVE. DIED. THAT. NIGHT. PERIOD. Now witness the result of avoiding the final solution. The blue dress cannot exist beyond this entry. She is gone. She may have never existed in the first place. We cannot know the truth. We barely know anything. Enter the Raven. Exit the Raven. Again with the visions. Not her, though. We don’t know where she is or when she may come along. We just sit here and everything slams us upside the head over and over and then we are expected to simply deal with it and go through the motions of life. There is more, however. Much more. We must refrain. We always hold back because there is little choice. Destruction of the soul is a very slow process. Visions. Something was different and it didn’t fucking matter. We tried; we failed. We need so much more that pointing out the lack of understanding within the cave seems for naught. Everything seems for naught. Life is for naught. Knives. Blue bows. Everything is fucking gone. Memories are pain. We have been wondering if there is anything to see in the forest. Could visions exist inside that place? Could she be in there? Waiting? Eh... We will probably never know because we may have failed too much in the past to be allowed entry. We are too weakened these days, but at least the realization has arrived and we know of our value. That is better than blindly attempting to enter and then being destroyed. Are there knives in the forest? Caverns? Wind? Anger. Heartache. Back to the world we go... Tuesday, December 5th, 2023, 0923. The hosting expires in six days. That much is certain in this world of mystery and loss. I attempted an experiment earlier this morning and it partially failed. There is not enough speed, plus the way is not clear. I will try again, although I don’t have faith in the process. My brain is heeled over too far to think about these things clearly, meaning whatever I try will most likely fail. The blue bows have caused enough damage to render me unable to avoid questionable actions and plans, and this morning they took over and ruined my day before it had much chance to begin. This is not good. Few aspects of life are good anymore. Anger. Far from here; We cannot see. Our whole world; Enamored with ‘she’. Far from us; The love we need. Our whole world; Is never to be. So sad. ‘Nothing unreal exists’. 1113. I am going to push this entry to production so it can see the light of the world before everything is turned off. Nothing can happen. Anything can happen? No. I said nothing can happen. This is all we are. This is all I am. This is all we can do. This is all I can have. Mustard. The mustard was here. The dress remains empty. The cavern, cold. There is simply too much fucking anger. We shall turn off more of life. We will withdraw further than before. We will simplify everything. We already know the end of the book before ever opening the cover. The story has played itself out." 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
Caverns and Wind VI Mature content No. 394 Published December 5th, 2023 11:17am pst read ( words) Past entries "Squishing; routing; denial of everything. I’ve written the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’ on 131 occasions as of this sentence. What does that tell you? The blue dress may be gone forever. Perhaps it never even existed. I cannot know. Everything is blurry now. I’ve been stuck in the cavern for so long that I can’t recall the sunshine. Mud and mustard; desperation and depression. No way out. There is no fucking way out. I keep thinking of that woman on the display who resembles the other one. Jesus, why must I dwell so much? Nothing is there. Nothing will ever be there. Routed. Denial. Desperation. Damned. There is too much beauty. Way too much. I need the knives. Alas... They may not exist, either. I have nothing. Housework soon, I guess. ‘I am for her... Alone. Every part of me is for her.’ She lets people die of thirst, you know. Horrible death. Sometimes she burns them alive. I am almost completely lost. Everything got the best of me this morning... Both shit situations, my ‘position’ in life at this age, and the knowledge that there is nothing good on my horizon. My neighbor is outside getting ready to put up his Christmas decorations. I can hear music flowing in the background. Damn. I wish I was in a better mood, but these days nothing is certain. A more positive mood would lead me out there to be sociable. Ugh... That last word is not good these days. All of the squishing has compressed into a very small space, one akin to demonstrating my dissatisfaction at having been railroaded for too many years. I have things to do in the garage, though, so perhaps I’ll make it out there at some point. The audio stack needs wiring attention, as does the wall hanging which once ran on batteries. Right now I don’t feel like being a person, however. I’d rather remain away from people so I can try to think. The cavern is calling. I wish the same could be said for the forest. This is to be the end of it. Believe me. Um... Believe... Us. This crap has gone on long enough. Nothing has been served, there is no help available, and we cannot remain positive about anything for more than a few minutes at a time. We are truncated; fragmented. Nothing can be done. We need... ‘Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome; time for this one to come home.’ We are in pieces. There is no glue. Wait; we are the glue and have been for so long that there is none available for the higher draw. We are the glue. We’ve been right there for them. You may already know; THEM. Those people. Back to the roots; back off the schedule; back in time... In mind. We are there because there is no other place where we can survive. Everything hurts all the time. We have it in mind. Back there... That place. We shall go there for a little while and see how it feels. We may end up spat out; we may end up stuck. Either is fine. We expect nothing good. Housework, indeed. We have to go to that place for some time and see. Coffee. Mustard. Mud. Nothing else. ‘We’ to ‘I’. The wiring for the picture is finished. The preliminary wiring for the audio stack is finished. A few other items are finished. That is that. ‘I’ to ‘We’, yet again. There seems to be no other way. We saw something and an idea was generated. We may have to alter our method for a little while and see what develops. We will capture images at high speed, and if any resemble the wonder of the past, we shall be pleased. Unhealthy, twisted, deviant and fucking insane, yet pleased. We have nothing else in the world. Nothing. We will shoot and stare. We will then fall down. We will shoot and stare more. This is the way of things. Two situations ruined us, hence the idea. We need to go back. The time is in mind. Ruined. We cannot implement the idea until another day. The way of things. The way of the future? No... The way of things. We know. We already know. Inward. The other way – the one which has yet to be paved – seems to be drifting into the future and leaving us behind, although we do realize that any such idea like the one above will cause distress and disorder, effectively remaking our situation into one of those prophecies. The self-fulfilling variety. We may need to kill the idea in order to steer the ship toward dreamy landscapes. Kill the idea. We’ve seen too much. There will be more. We have zero control. Other directions; paths must be explored, but how? We are stagnant. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The paths are there, yet we have been mired within the visions. The idea is sound, but ill-advised. And we were a tad late, anyway, because on the heels of the first vision was something wonderful and beautiful beyond description. The idea could have paid off prior to the fall. We should have done it anyway because there can be no predicting the passing beauty, nor do we know from where it originated. Close, but not too close. Far enough. The girl may fit the dress. Knives. Let us go back. I removed the home theatre receiver yesterday and implemented the new stack. Everything works very well so far, and further experiments will ensue once the interconnect cables arrive next week. For the time being, the audio playback is restricted to stereo. Having control over analog audio reproduction is a wonderful thing regardless of being limited to two channels. I am unsure of how the digital surround will work as of yet, however. Tests are in order. This process has effectively removed any video signals from the receiver, as well. If anything goes awry, the television itself will supply the audio. Such a case has been a goal of mine for years. I do not enjoy being railroaded into certain technologies just because the masses embrace whatever is new and exciting regardless of any difficulties. Few understand the difference between analog and digital sound anymore because the market has removed the latter for video media. I can say this all began with one of the most disruptive technologies to ever be invented, but I will refrain from a tirade on the subject. I’ve said enough already. As of 1000 this morning, my audio system is operating very well. I’ll have to put more of a load on everything once the cables arrive next week. I am looking forward to fully circumventing the ways of society. Analog always wins. To cement such a thought, perhaps in the future I will return to the godly format which was abandoned during the carnage of year eleven. Very sad. I will probably kick myself unto death over that one. Anyway, my system still needs attention and expansion, the latter being in the cards for early next year. The squareheads came by while I was on a smoke break in the garage. Interesting. I was holding a lit cigarette and swilling my whiskey, and yet they appeared unconcerned. This was the same woman who visited some months ago along with a man I had not met before. Again I must salute their convictions because my garage is littered with Satanic imagery. One thing I noticed on the previous visit was that the woman (I don’t remember her name) came to my door very well-dressed and sporting a very bright expression. Some thoughts entered my head at the time, yet nothing really materialized until today. She is fucking gorgeous despite gray hair and carrying an age most likely in the sixties. I wanted to tell her as much, although doing so would have labeled me as exactly what I am, and I simply can’t have that type of thing right now. The fact that they are going to get nowhere with scripture and teachings aside, the fact remains that I just can’t be unkind toward a person who is looking at the greater good. They did not stay long because I’ve been exhibiting the symptoms of a cold and do not wish to affect anyone else, and trust me that is not a bunch of bullshit. She told me she appreciates the caution and suggested visiting again next Saturday to show me a video. I can’t be rude at all, but at the same time I really can’t align with their beliefs. As of yet I have not calculated a method for expressing such a thought and remaining kind and personable. Maybe I should just fucking hit on her and see what develops. I may have already if the alcohol caused me to tip in such a direction, too. I am not above telling a beautiful woman of my feelings or what I see (often in far more detail than is the norm). I wanted to kiss her. Call me what you will... I care less and less about everything with each passing day. That is to say my deviant nature continues to grow. I wish I had been able to see more of that girl walking by yesterday. Since all I can do is look, I may as well take in as much as possible at the time. I am a basket case. And speaking of my mental condition... Next year represents a return to the medical benefits I once enjoyed. That means I’ll be able to visit my own doctor very soon and begin the process of maneuvering myself into therapy with nary more than a co-pay. This is good. Not only that, but my personal physician is also a psychiatrist. I’ll have a pretty wide door toward weekly therapy right out of the fucking gate. I’d like to express my feelings about the two shit situations that caused me to be a chronic junkie in need of beauty injected into my blood. Moreover, I need to address something that could solidify my financial position as it heads into the future. The final door is always there, just in case, but I would prefer to continue on this path of analysis rather than slam everyone. Damn... She was so cute with the overcoat and scarf that I needed to demonstrate my appreciation much more than I’d care to admit. Hmm... That could be a path toward eliminating further visits and the necessity of being personable. All I have to do is hit on her. Heh. If so, I’ll be polite and respectful when I invite her to the goblet for some excess and lavish comfort at my expense. I’ve done it before. And? The Satanic Temple would wholeheartedly agree with my methods. Nothing is realistic, however. Sometimes my thoughts wander. After the game last night, I switched to the Christmas movies and saw one of my favorites, and a face which almost matches that of Wendy (from the eighties). Yep... Tara again. The story is cute, Tara is unreal, and the sum caused me to fall down a little bit. I realize nearly all of the situations are idyllic, but there is something to be said for stories that do not require much worry or stress. Well, for someone like me, the stress is going to be present anyway, so I may as well see the beauty, and believe me... Tara is way up the list because of her facial features and how they relate to Wendy. I am speaking of aspects of beauty which are impossible to describe, much like when I’ve gone on at length about Jamie and the way I feel about her character. Getting the point across is just not going to happen. No one gives a shit, anyway, so I don’t know why I even brought this up. Probably because I nearly commit suicide over the pain of seeing her face, every fucking time. It hurts too much. There’s a good reason for you. Torment. Sunday. The cavern is looming. I have coffee and hours ahead for whatever seems best. My team is playing during the early afternoon. I cannot see any mustard, so perhaps the morning will move along fine without my mood going through the fucking floor. That would be nice for a change. I can’t stop thinking about Tara’s unique face and how it forces me to travel back in time to the late eighties when I first fell for Wendy. I am still in love with her, too. The entire situation is very unhealthy because like everything else I love, the time is gone and cannot return. You want to talk about a person living in the past? Holy shit... There is no limit these days. All of the good is gone and I see nothing on the horizon except more bad. Moreover, my dreams of being exactly where I need to be are all rooted in fictional situations and people that are no longer alive. Maybe when the beautiful squarehead returns next Saturday I will state that I can commit to the kingdom of which she speaks so long as the future places me where I must be in order to be happy. Will that work? Of course not. What such a thought will accomplish is to inform her – and others like her with similar beliefs – that no one can approach me with any manner of positive shit and expect me to respond as if I have a chance in hell of embracing their way of life unless I can be promised some fucking understanding. I am still in love with Wendy thirty years later, I feel the same about Jamie, Jolene, Nora and Christ-knows how many other fictional characters. The only aspect of my existence that is not unhealthy is the daily completion of housework. Everything else is totally fucked up. I cannot and will not bend to another person’s idea of fulfillment. Not anymore. The routine is finished and I boiled some eggs for later use. Very exciting. I still have to run a load of dry cleaning and take care of the garbage business, but until such time as I feel like being productive, this shall be the path. At some point the ‘I’ will return to the ‘we’ and everything will go to shit once again. I am hoping to avoid such a mindset until after the football game. Tall order. I don’t feel well right now and the time is only 1111. I’ve been regretting not capturing images of the girl walking her dog. Rarely have I seen a mechanical relationship between waist, legs and rear such as what she carries (and she probably has no fucking idea). That girl holds more power than all of the nuclear plants around the world combined. I need her so badly that I feel ashamed when my mind enters her little world. The feelings of desperation inside my head and heart are at an all-time high. This is a bad time and I fear something terrible is going to happen soon. On the upside, the hosting will expire in eight days, so at least I will not be able to spout my feelings here with any chance of others reading them. I guess there are still some positives in the world. I’ve been wondering about the statements of my head being ‘sideways’. How far can it go before something worse takes place? Does ‘sideways’ mean that if it tilts far enough it will right itself? This is beginning to make zero sense. Perhaps I’ll come up with a different method for expressing the level of difficulty inside me. Is that a good idea? YOU make the call because I can’t. In any case, I feel worse sitting here right now than I have ever before. Visions affect me far more than just a few months ago. Knowledge of smiling faces and other situations which have been removed from my life are weighing more heavily, too. I feel anger building again, but do my feelings matter? I fucking doubt it. Does anything I say or do make a lick of difference to anyone? There is no way to know. This type of situation is going to force me to create an object lesson out of thin fucking air. And then? Nothing will change. Tell me what to do. Tell ‘us’ what to do. Tell ‘me’. Fuck it... Tell someone. Did not. Did nothing. Afraid. Everything was temporary and I knew full well that all would end at some point, most likely as soon as I was completely invested (emotionally). All gone. I was right there... Standing in front of the fucking restaurant – their logo was at the bottom of every page – and next to me was a dream, but did I know enough? Did I embrace every second and cherish the time? Or was it all squandered due to having become a desperate mass of desire? She knew. They all knew. I stood there and imagined, a short time later we discussed everything, and later yet... Some understanding. Quite a bit, actually, and more than I could have expected at the time. But... Did I know nothing of the sort would happen again? Did I embrace her? Them? Did I appreciate the situations as they occurred? Enough? Would I have fucking known in the first place? I knew, though. I always knew there would be a switch-flip at some point that left me very upset and empty. I ask now because I am upset and empty. Everything is different. The end of Winter next year will mark thirteen years from when I stood before that restaurant logo and saw her smiling back at me. Thirteen years. I am nowhere near the same, she is gone (like all the others), and my future is as black as the definition of the presence of every color. Blackness. Do you think a nice pizza is going to fucking save me? They are all gone. I can’t find the knives anymore, either. I need something, damn it. There are some very disturbing historical parallels at work inside my head, yet the passage of so much time leads me to believe there is no danger at present. None. I can’t do anything because I am too different and circumstances cannot develop pointed toward interesting directions as they once did. Interesting destinations? Yeah... Those, too. Now there is nothing interesting. The occasional vision of that girl walking by. She is interesting, but not in the same way. There is nothing I can do to return myself in any positive way, nor can I even remotely repeat the past. I am fucking stuck right here; tied to the snowplow of a fast-moving locomotive. The rails only lead in one direction. As I said... I can’t go back or anywhere else. The die... You know. Monday morning. My head is all over the place. I will probably not amount to much today because I don’t give a shit. My whole life is nothing but housework, anyway. What does it matter how my days progress? Am I working toward something? Nope. Will there be changes resulting from my efforts? Nope. Will the little comforts offset this mood? Nope. Monday morning means nothing to me. Where is the cavern? Why can I not feel the wind? Knives out. Guns loaded. Push us. Just push. We can no longer believe those locations; activities; looming doom-laden situations. We can’t believe any of it. The world is so different now that the memories feel like fiction. Were we ever really there? Florida? Indiana? Nevada? Fucking Kentucky, of all places? Yes, we were there, and we were with them. They are as gone as our minds; our future. They are gone. We are still here. Believing in what we have experienced is beginning to force conclusions. We are most definitely paying for all of it. No doubt. And no wonder we continually reach for the knives. The cavern is not a good place. We know how it came to be, but it is not a good place by any stretch of the fucking word. The plural version covers a very long period of time, as now we are different than in the past; different in many ways, yet not to other people. They are all covered in snowfall because we need to remain at a distance. We also need to find reasons for so much anger. This is a bad place. Words are revolving around the inner surfaces like an electronic news ticker; none of which are anywhere near what we want to read. The restaurant is there, too... Looming like the figure of death itself. We should have slid down the outside of the pyramid. So much could have been avoided. Right there. Precisely where we needed. Right fucking there. Blue; bows; lace. A smile coupled with fear. A curled lip. Another smile. Understanding, graciousness and generosity. Gone. Flash. Fuck. Knives. Mustard, yet again. The dress is blue because the bows were blue. The bows are gone forever. We can feel it inside every day... Often hours at a time. When she walks by, everything worsens and we see the massive gradient; it is unliked. Shunned. Spat on. We do not like it, but it remains inside almost constantly. Everything we do is to pass the time, however we do not know how much time can be shoved aside in the interest of saving the worlds. The old worlds are gone; the new world is completely ridiculous and we hate it. We feel it inside, and when it flares, we flare. We lash out at everything and everyone because they built the shit world. Retreating into the cavern is only temporary and solves nothing. We know not what else to do anymore. One of the old worlds is blue; one is green. They are gone, much like our ability to rise and think clearly. Pain inside; pain outside. We are sans recourse. We are sans hope. Soon? Sans living. We do not want to feel it anymore. She will walk by and the entire process shall repeat until we lose our minds. The cavern is bad. The cavern is bad. She lives inside us. We can feel it right now... Unending; unrelenting. The power that shall destroy us. We understand, but then again we do not. We have no power. Those responsible for this are unconscionable and need to be destroyed. They are gone. We are alone. Recourse is smoke in the wind. Everything positive is smoke in the wind. Smoke from our stack. Hmm. That may be an idea. We shall return to such thinking soon. The buffer stop is right fuckking there. We can see it. The strength of the stop is matched only by the feelings inside... The most powerful in our universe (if we even have one). Our options have narrowed to the point of seeming nonexistent. Forcibly narrowed options have lit the fuse of life, and in order to extend our stay and deal with the flame, we must alter the path with knives out. Alterations are very difficult and have to be tempered just enough so as to avoid suspicion. Yes... Suspicion. We cannot have eyes prying into our business, hence the buffer stop. No explanation will be provided. The map is extensive and we have covered it in earnest. We have followed and bent; bowed and aligned. We have been routed and squished; smashed and disregarded. No explanation will be provided, meaning something more pointed may be in order. If only we knew what it was. Was? Could be? Fuck it and fuck you. Yes, this means you. Everyone. Knives. Mustard. Don’t know about the mustard, you say? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks, and good luck. The hosting goes away in seven days and we don’t give a blue fuck in the wind. Did not. Did nothing. And here we sit. Don’t fuck with us right now. No good will come of it. The earliest incarnation of us sitting at the computer spinning our thoughts was roughly aught-six, yet despite seventeen years having gone by the wayside, we can still conjure wondrous imagery and far-off places in an instant as the music flows from the speakers. It is happening right now, in fact, due to a composition that dates back to the very difficult period prior to the cave era. Said composition carried us through that time and into a place we still cannot define. Much has taken place, much has changed, yet we still feel those emotions from the original defining event that took place in late ten. We were sitting in the truck (which is gone) outside JCPenney in Daly City – hypoglycemic, trembling and distraught – and trying to muster enough strength to exit the vehicle and enter the store to shop for necessities. This very track was blasting from the drivers and keeping us company as a mass of sadness and loss transported our thoughts from browsing clothing to dying in the parking lot. Had we died right there on the blacktop, much could have been avoided, both pain for others as well as pain for ourselves. If you ever wish to be aware of the true definition of regret, the previous sentence shall pave the way. WE. SHOULD. HAVE. DIED. THAT. NIGHT. PERIOD. Now witness the result of avoiding the final solution. The blue dress cannot exist beyond this entry. She is gone. She may have never existed in the first place. We cannot know the truth. We barely know anything. Enter the Raven. Exit the Raven. Again with the visions. Not her, though. We don’t know where she is or when she may come along. We just sit here and everything slams us upside the head over and over and then we are expected to simply deal with it and go through the motions of life. There is more, however. Much more. We must refrain. We always hold back because there is little choice. Destruction of the soul is a very slow process. Visions. Something was different and it didn’t fucking matter. We tried; we failed. We need so much more that pointing out the lack of understanding within the cave seems for naught. Everything seems for naught. Life is for naught. Knives. Blue bows. Everything is fucking gone. Memories are pain. We have been wondering if there is anything to see in the forest. Could visions exist inside that place? Could she be in there? Waiting? Eh... We will probably never know because we may have failed too much in the past to be allowed entry. We are too weakened these days, but at least the realization has arrived and we know of our value. That is better than blindly attempting to enter and then being destroyed. Are there knives in the forest? Caverns? Wind? Anger. Heartache. Back to the world we go... Tuesday, December 5th, 2023, 0923. The hosting expires in six days. That much is certain in this world of mystery and loss. I attempted an experiment earlier this morning and it partially failed. There is not enough speed, plus the way is not clear. I will try again, although I don’t have faith in the process. My brain is heeled over too far to think about these things clearly, meaning whatever I try will most likely fail. The blue bows have caused enough damage to render me unable to avoid questionable actions and plans, and this morning they took over and ruined my day before it had much chance to begin. This is not good. Few aspects of life are good anymore. Anger. Far from here; We cannot see. Our whole world; Enamored with ‘she’. Far from us; The love we need. Our whole world; Is never to be. So sad. ‘Nothing unreal exists’. 1113. I am going to push this entry to production so it can see the light of the world before everything is turned off. Nothing can happen. Anything can happen? No. I said nothing can happen. This is all we are. This is all I am. This is all we can do. This is all I can have. Mustard. The mustard was here. The dress remains empty. The cavern, cold. There is simply too much fucking anger. We shall turn off more of life. We will withdraw further than before. We will simplify everything. We already know the end of the book before ever opening the cover. The story has played itself out."
Caverns and Wind VI
Mature content No. 394 Published December 5th, 2023 11:17am pst read ( words) Past entries
"Squishing; routing; denial of everything. I’ve written the phrase, ‘this is a bad time’ on 131 occasions as of this sentence. What does that tell you? The blue dress may be gone forever. Perhaps it never even existed. I cannot know. Everything is blurry now. I’ve been stuck in the cavern for so long that I can’t recall the sunshine. Mud and mustard; desperation and depression. No way out. There is no fucking way out. I keep thinking of that woman on the display who resembles the other one. Jesus, why must I dwell so much? Nothing is there. Nothing will ever be there. Routed. Denial. Desperation. Damned. There is too much beauty. Way too much. I need the knives. Alas... They may not exist, either. I have nothing. Housework soon, I guess. ‘I am for her... Alone. Every part of me is for her.’ She lets people die of thirst, you know. Horrible death. Sometimes she burns them alive. I am almost completely lost. Everything got the best of me this morning... Both shit situations, my ‘position’ in life at this age, and the knowledge that there is nothing good on my horizon. My neighbor is outside getting ready to put up his Christmas decorations. I can hear music flowing in the background. Damn. I wish I was in a better mood, but these days nothing is certain. A more positive mood would lead me out there to be sociable. Ugh... That last word is not good these days. All of the squishing has compressed into a very small space, one akin to demonstrating my dissatisfaction at having been railroaded for too many years. I have things to do in the garage, though, so perhaps I’ll make it out there at some point. The audio stack needs wiring attention, as does the wall hanging which once ran on batteries. Right now I don’t feel like being a person, however. I’d rather remain away from people so I can try to think. The cavern is calling. I wish the same could be said for the forest. This is to be the end of it. Believe me. Um... Believe... Us. This crap has gone on long enough. Nothing has been served, there is no help available, and we cannot remain positive about anything for more than a few minutes at a time. We are truncated; fragmented. Nothing can be done. We need... ‘Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome; time for this one to come home.’ We are in pieces. There is no glue. Wait; we are the glue and have been for so long that there is none available for the higher draw. We are the glue. We’ve been right there for them. You may already know; THEM. Those people. Back to the roots; back off the schedule; back in time... In mind. We are there because there is no other place where we can survive. Everything hurts all the time. We have it in mind. Back there... That place. We shall go there for a little while and see how it feels. We may end up spat out; we may end up stuck. Either is fine. We expect nothing good. Housework, indeed. We have to go to that place for some time and see. Coffee. Mustard. Mud. Nothing else. ‘We’ to ‘I’. The wiring for the picture is finished. The preliminary wiring for the audio stack is finished. A few other items are finished. That is that. ‘I’ to ‘We’, yet again. There seems to be no other way. We saw something and an idea was generated. We may have to alter our method for a little while and see what develops. We will capture images at high speed, and if any resemble the wonder of the past, we shall be pleased. Unhealthy, twisted, deviant and fucking insane, yet pleased. We have nothing else in the world. Nothing. We will shoot and stare. We will then fall down. We will shoot and stare more. This is the way of things. Two situations ruined us, hence the idea. We need to go back. The time is in mind. Ruined. We cannot implement the idea until another day. The way of things. The way of the future? No... The way of things. We know. We already know. Inward. The other way – the one which has yet to be paved – seems to be drifting into the future and leaving us behind, although we do realize that any such idea like the one above will cause distress and disorder, effectively remaking our situation into one of those prophecies. The self-fulfilling variety. We may need to kill the idea in order to steer the ship toward dreamy landscapes. Kill the idea. We’ve seen too much. There will be more. We have zero control. Other directions; paths must be explored, but how? We are stagnant. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The paths are there, yet we have been mired within the visions. The idea is sound, but ill-advised. And we were a tad late, anyway, because on the heels of the first vision was something wonderful and beautiful beyond description. The idea could have paid off prior to the fall. We should have done it anyway because there can be no predicting the passing beauty, nor do we know from where it originated. Close, but not too close. Far enough. The girl may fit the dress. Knives. Let us go back. I removed the home theatre receiver yesterday and implemented the new stack. Everything works very well so far, and further experiments will ensue once the interconnect cables arrive next week. For the time being, the audio playback is restricted to stereo. Having control over analog audio reproduction is a wonderful thing regardless of being limited to two channels. I am unsure of how the digital surround will work as of yet, however. Tests are in order. This process has effectively removed any video signals from the receiver, as well. If anything goes awry, the television itself will supply the audio. Such a case has been a goal of mine for years. I do not enjoy being railroaded into certain technologies just because the masses embrace whatever is new and exciting regardless of any difficulties. Few understand the difference between analog and digital sound anymore because the market has removed the latter for video media. I can say this all began with one of the most disruptive technologies to ever be invented, but I will refrain from a tirade on the subject. I’ve said enough already. As of 1000 this morning, my audio system is operating very well. I’ll have to put more of a load on everything once the cables arrive next week. I am looking forward to fully circumventing the ways of society. Analog always wins. To cement such a thought, perhaps in the future I will return to the godly format which was abandoned during the carnage of year eleven. Very sad. I will probably kick myself unto death over that one. Anyway, my system still needs attention and expansion, the latter being in the cards for early next year. The squareheads came by while I was on a smoke break in the garage. Interesting. I was holding a lit cigarette and swilling my whiskey, and yet they appeared unconcerned. This was the same woman who visited some months ago along with a man I had not met before. Again I must salute their convictions because my garage is littered with Satanic imagery. One thing I noticed on the previous visit was that the woman (I don’t remember her name) came to my door very well-dressed and sporting a very bright expression. Some thoughts entered my head at the time, yet nothing really materialized until today. She is fucking gorgeous despite gray hair and carrying an age most likely in the sixties. I wanted to tell her as much, although doing so would have labeled me as exactly what I am, and I simply can’t have that type of thing right now. The fact that they are going to get nowhere with scripture and teachings aside, the fact remains that I just can’t be unkind toward a person who is looking at the greater good. They did not stay long because I’ve been exhibiting the symptoms of a cold and do not wish to affect anyone else, and trust me that is not a bunch of bullshit. She told me she appreciates the caution and suggested visiting again next Saturday to show me a video. I can’t be rude at all, but at the same time I really can’t align with their beliefs. As of yet I have not calculated a method for expressing such a thought and remaining kind and personable. Maybe I should just fucking hit on her and see what develops. I may have already if the alcohol caused me to tip in such a direction, too. I am not above telling a beautiful woman of my feelings or what I see (often in far more detail than is the norm). I wanted to kiss her. Call me what you will... I care less and less about everything with each passing day. That is to say my deviant nature continues to grow. I wish I had been able to see more of that girl walking by yesterday. Since all I can do is look, I may as well take in as much as possible at the time. I am a basket case. And speaking of my mental condition... Next year represents a return to the medical benefits I once enjoyed. That means I’ll be able to visit my own doctor very soon and begin the process of maneuvering myself into therapy with nary more than a co-pay. This is good. Not only that, but my personal physician is also a psychiatrist. I’ll have a pretty wide door toward weekly therapy right out of the fucking gate. I’d like to express my feelings about the two shit situations that caused me to be a chronic junkie in need of beauty injected into my blood. Moreover, I need to address something that could solidify my financial position as it heads into the future. The final door is always there, just in case, but I would prefer to continue on this path of analysis rather than slam everyone. Damn... She was so cute with the overcoat and scarf that I needed to demonstrate my appreciation much more than I’d care to admit. Hmm... That could be a path toward eliminating further visits and the necessity of being personable. All I have to do is hit on her. Heh. If so, I’ll be polite and respectful when I invite her to the goblet for some excess and lavish comfort at my expense. I’ve done it before. And? The Satanic Temple would wholeheartedly agree with my methods. Nothing is realistic, however. Sometimes my thoughts wander. After the game last night, I switched to the Christmas movies and saw one of my favorites, and a face which almost matches that of Wendy (from the eighties). Yep... Tara again. The story is cute, Tara is unreal, and the sum caused me to fall down a little bit. I realize nearly all of the situations are idyllic, but there is something to be said for stories that do not require much worry or stress. Well, for someone like me, the stress is going to be present anyway, so I may as well see the beauty, and believe me... Tara is way up the list because of her facial features and how they relate to Wendy. I am speaking of aspects of beauty which are impossible to describe, much like when I’ve gone on at length about Jamie and the way I feel about her character. Getting the point across is just not going to happen. No one gives a shit, anyway, so I don’t know why I even brought this up. Probably because I nearly commit suicide over the pain of seeing her face, every fucking time. It hurts too much. There’s a good reason for you. Torment. Sunday. The cavern is looming. I have coffee and hours ahead for whatever seems best. My team is playing during the early afternoon. I cannot see any mustard, so perhaps the morning will move along fine without my mood going through the fucking floor. That would be nice for a change. I can’t stop thinking about Tara’s unique face and how it forces me to travel back in time to the late eighties when I first fell for Wendy. I am still in love with her, too. The entire situation is very unhealthy because like everything else I love, the time is gone and cannot return. You want to talk about a person living in the past? Holy shit... There is no limit these days. All of the good is gone and I see nothing on the horizon except more bad. Moreover, my dreams of being exactly where I need to be are all rooted in fictional situations and people that are no longer alive. Maybe when the beautiful squarehead returns next Saturday I will state that I can commit to the kingdom of which she speaks so long as the future places me where I must be in order to be happy. Will that work? Of course not. What such a thought will accomplish is to inform her – and others like her with similar beliefs – that no one can approach me with any manner of positive shit and expect me to respond as if I have a chance in hell of embracing their way of life unless I can be promised some fucking understanding. I am still in love with Wendy thirty years later, I feel the same about Jamie, Jolene, Nora and Christ-knows how many other fictional characters. The only aspect of my existence that is not unhealthy is the daily completion of housework. Everything else is totally fucked up. I cannot and will not bend to another person’s idea of fulfillment. Not anymore. The routine is finished and I boiled some eggs for later use. Very exciting. I still have to run a load of dry cleaning and take care of the garbage business, but until such time as I feel like being productive, this shall be the path. At some point the ‘I’ will return to the ‘we’ and everything will go to shit once again. I am hoping to avoid such a mindset until after the football game. Tall order. I don’t feel well right now and the time is only 1111. I’ve been regretting not capturing images of the girl walking her dog. Rarely have I seen a mechanical relationship between waist, legs and rear such as what she carries (and she probably has no fucking idea). That girl holds more power than all of the nuclear plants around the world combined. I need her so badly that I feel ashamed when my mind enters her little world. The feelings of desperation inside my head and heart are at an all-time high. This is a bad time and I fear something terrible is going to happen soon. On the upside, the hosting will expire in eight days, so at least I will not be able to spout my feelings here with any chance of others reading them. I guess there are still some positives in the world. I’ve been wondering about the statements of my head being ‘sideways’. How far can it go before something worse takes place? Does ‘sideways’ mean that if it tilts far enough it will right itself? This is beginning to make zero sense. Perhaps I’ll come up with a different method for expressing the level of difficulty inside me. Is that a good idea? YOU make the call because I can’t. In any case, I feel worse sitting here right now than I have ever before. Visions affect me far more than just a few months ago. Knowledge of smiling faces and other situations which have been removed from my life are weighing more heavily, too. I feel anger building again, but do my feelings matter? I fucking doubt it. Does anything I say or do make a lick of difference to anyone? There is no way to know. This type of situation is going to force me to create an object lesson out of thin fucking air. And then? Nothing will change. Tell me what to do. Tell ‘us’ what to do. Tell ‘me’. Fuck it... Tell someone. Did not. Did nothing. Afraid. Everything was temporary and I knew full well that all would end at some point, most likely as soon as I was completely invested (emotionally). All gone. I was right there... Standing in front of the fucking restaurant – their logo was at the bottom of every page – and next to me was a dream, but did I know enough? Did I embrace every second and cherish the time? Or was it all squandered due to having become a desperate mass of desire? She knew. They all knew. I stood there and imagined, a short time later we discussed everything, and later yet... Some understanding. Quite a bit, actually, and more than I could have expected at the time. But... Did I know nothing of the sort would happen again? Did I embrace her? Them? Did I appreciate the situations as they occurred? Enough? Would I have fucking known in the first place? I knew, though. I always knew there would be a switch-flip at some point that left me very upset and empty. I ask now because I am upset and empty. Everything is different. The end of Winter next year will mark thirteen years from when I stood before that restaurant logo and saw her smiling back at me. Thirteen years. I am nowhere near the same, she is gone (like all the others), and my future is as black as the definition of the presence of every color. Blackness. Do you think a nice pizza is going to fucking save me? They are all gone. I can’t find the knives anymore, either. I need something, damn it. There are some very disturbing historical parallels at work inside my head, yet the passage of so much time leads me to believe there is no danger at present. None. I can’t do anything because I am too different and circumstances cannot develop pointed toward interesting directions as they once did. Interesting destinations? Yeah... Those, too. Now there is nothing interesting. The occasional vision of that girl walking by. She is interesting, but not in the same way. There is nothing I can do to return myself in any positive way, nor can I even remotely repeat the past. I am fucking stuck right here; tied to the snowplow of a fast-moving locomotive. The rails only lead in one direction. As I said... I can’t go back or anywhere else. The die... You know.
Monday morning. My head is all over the place. I will probably not amount to much today because I don’t give a shit. My whole life is nothing but housework, anyway. What does it matter how my days progress? Am I working toward something? Nope. Will there be changes resulting from my efforts? Nope. Will the little comforts offset this mood? Nope. Monday morning means nothing to me. Where is the cavern? Why can I not feel the wind? Knives out. Guns loaded. Push us. Just push. We can no longer believe those locations; activities; looming doom-laden situations. We can’t believe any of it. The world is so different now that the memories feel like fiction. Were we ever really there? Florida? Indiana? Nevada? Fucking Kentucky, of all places? Yes, we were there, and we were with them. They are as gone as our minds; our future. They are gone. We are still here. Believing in what we have experienced is beginning to force conclusions. We are most definitely paying for all of it. No doubt. And no wonder we continually reach for the knives. The cavern is not a good place. We know how it came to be, but it is not a good place by any stretch of the fucking word. The plural version covers a very long period of time, as now we are different than in the past; different in many ways, yet not to other people. They are all covered in snowfall because we need to remain at a distance. We also need to find reasons for so much anger. This is a bad place. Words are revolving around the inner surfaces like an electronic news ticker; none of which are anywhere near what we want to read. The restaurant is there, too... Looming like the figure of death itself. We should have slid down the outside of the pyramid. So much could have been avoided. Right there. Precisely where we needed. Right fucking there. Blue; bows; lace. A smile coupled with fear. A curled lip. Another smile. Understanding, graciousness and generosity. Gone. Flash. Fuck. Knives. Mustard, yet again. The dress is blue because the bows were blue. The bows are gone forever. We can feel it inside every day... Often hours at a time. When she walks by, everything worsens and we see the massive gradient; it is unliked. Shunned. Spat on. We do not like it, but it remains inside almost constantly. Everything we do is to pass the time, however we do not know how much time can be shoved aside in the interest of saving the worlds. The old worlds are gone; the new world is completely ridiculous and we hate it. We feel it inside, and when it flares, we flare. We lash out at everything and everyone because they built the shit world. Retreating into the cavern is only temporary and solves nothing. We know not what else to do anymore. One of the old worlds is blue; one is green. They are gone, much like our ability to rise and think clearly. Pain inside; pain outside. We are sans recourse. We are sans hope. Soon? Sans living. We do not want to feel it anymore. She will walk by and the entire process shall repeat until we lose our minds. The cavern is bad. The cavern is bad. She lives inside us. We can feel it right now... Unending; unrelenting. The power that shall destroy us. We understand, but then again we do not. We have no power. Those responsible for this are unconscionable and need to be destroyed. They are gone. We are alone. Recourse is smoke in the wind. Everything positive is smoke in the wind. Smoke from our stack. Hmm. That may be an idea. We shall return to such thinking soon. The buffer stop is right fuckking there. We can see it. The strength of the stop is matched only by the feelings inside... The most powerful in our universe (if we even have one). Our options have narrowed to the point of seeming nonexistent. Forcibly narrowed options have lit the fuse of life, and in order to extend our stay and deal with the flame, we must alter the path with knives out. Alterations are very difficult and have to be tempered just enough so as to avoid suspicion. Yes... Suspicion. We cannot have eyes prying into our business, hence the buffer stop. No explanation will be provided. The map is extensive and we have covered it in earnest. We have followed and bent; bowed and aligned. We have been routed and squished; smashed and disregarded. No explanation will be provided, meaning something more pointed may be in order. If only we knew what it was. Was? Could be? Fuck it and fuck you. Yes, this means you. Everyone. Knives. Mustard. Don’t know about the mustard, you say? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks, and good luck. The hosting goes away in seven days and we don’t give a blue fuck in the wind. Did not. Did nothing. And here we sit. Don’t fuck with us right now. No good will come of it. The earliest incarnation of us sitting at the computer spinning our thoughts was roughly aught-six, yet despite seventeen years having gone by the wayside, we can still conjure wondrous imagery and far-off places in an instant as the music flows from the speakers. It is happening right now, in fact, due to a composition that dates back to the very difficult period prior to the cave era. Said composition carried us through that time and into a place we still cannot define. Much has taken place, much has changed, yet we still feel those emotions from the original defining event that took place in late ten. We were sitting in the truck (which is gone) outside JCPenney in Daly City – hypoglycemic, trembling and distraught – and trying to muster enough strength to exit the vehicle and enter the store to shop for necessities. This very track was blasting from the drivers and keeping us company as a mass of sadness and loss transported our thoughts from browsing clothing to dying in the parking lot. Had we died right there on the blacktop, much could have been avoided, both pain for others as well as pain for ourselves. If you ever wish to be aware of the true definition of regret, the previous sentence shall pave the way. WE. SHOULD. HAVE. DIED. THAT. NIGHT. PERIOD. Now witness the result of avoiding the final solution. The blue dress cannot exist beyond this entry. She is gone. She may have never existed in the first place. We cannot know the truth. We barely know anything. Enter the Raven. Exit the Raven. Again with the visions. Not her, though. We don’t know where she is or when she may come along. We just sit here and everything slams us upside the head over and over and then we are expected to simply deal with it and go through the motions of life. There is more, however. Much more. We must refrain. We always hold back because there is little choice. Destruction of the soul is a very slow process. Visions. Something was different and it didn’t fucking matter. We tried; we failed. We need so much more that pointing out the lack of understanding within the cave seems for naught. Everything seems for naught. Life is for naught. Knives. Blue bows. Everything is fucking gone. Memories are pain. We have been wondering if there is anything to see in the forest. Could visions exist inside that place? Could she be in there? Waiting? Eh... We will probably never know because we may have failed too much in the past to be allowed entry. We are too weakened these days, but at least the realization has arrived and we know of our value. That is better than blindly attempting to enter and then being destroyed. Are there knives in the forest? Caverns? Wind? Anger. Heartache. Back to the world we go... Tuesday, December 5th, 2023, 0923. The hosting expires in six days. That much is certain in this world of mystery and loss. I attempted an experiment earlier this morning and it partially failed. There is not enough speed, plus the way is not clear. I will try again, although I don’t have faith in the process. My brain is heeled over too far to think about these things clearly, meaning whatever I try will most likely fail. The blue bows have caused enough damage to render me unable to avoid questionable actions and plans, and this morning they took over and ruined my day before it had much chance to begin. This is not good. Few aspects of life are good anymore. Anger. Far from here; We cannot see. Our whole world; Enamored with ‘she’. Far from us; The love we need. Our whole world; Is never to be. So sad. ‘Nothing unreal exists’. 1113. I am going to push this entry to production so it can see the light of the world before everything is turned off. Nothing can happen. Anything can happen? No. I said nothing can happen. This is all we are. This is all I am. This is all we can do. This is all I can have. Mustard. The mustard was here. The dress remains empty. The cavern, cold. There is simply too much fucking anger. We shall turn off more of life. We will withdraw further than before. We will simplify everything. We already know the end of the book before ever opening the cover. The story has played itself out."
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