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April 29th, 2023 9:05am pdt

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The Exigent Derealization

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"The worst of the worst. A helmet will not help you. And be prepared to say goodbye, if you even care.

I completed my usual stuff today and more work on the bike, yet the day is a disaster and I am less than happy to say the least.

Saturday morning has arrived on the heels of an ‘ok’ Friday evening. I spent a bit of time outside after dinner. Not much, but enough to help my neighbor with his car. I became more and more disillusioned as the evening went on, although the time was not late, nor was I outside for more than two hours. Something happened inside me and I felt as if my life had already come to an end some years ago and I never realized it. The past is looking better and better these days, not to mention the idea of living pre-everything. All the shit which has hit the fan since the early aughts combined with the very premise of mobile Internet and social media has ruined this world. The glow was ‘simple’ in comparison. I hate everything. Maybe remaining in this house for the rest of my life can help me return to the past more often without issue. My television programs have become a link to where I lived when I was happy. They can help me, too. I do not see another way to move along in this life whilst remaining culturally isolated. The derealization has become permanent. Whatever switched last night has already taken a set. I will need time to consider methods for coping with such a fucked up mindset.

'Hope leads to quiet desperation
When reality obscures the dream
Makes the mind a grave of memories
That wander like the lonely breeze
Whose whispers echo through ruins' rust
Of towers torn and dreams turned to dust.'

Routine? Finished. What else? I have no idea right now. My cocktail has become doctrine. My head is partially sideways this morning, and that means I’ll need some comfort very soon. What kind of comfort? No idea. Maybe some sort of agreeable lunch? No idea. Right now I am going to sit here and be my typical morning self... Shut up. The problems are amassing outside the gates of my abilities to continue in this vein (or this life) and this is likely about as good as things will get. The rest has gone the way of the privy. Marvelous. From here on in, I don’t know which way the pendulum of my attitude will swing. Best I remain alone for the duration.

I don’t understand anything, although considering the amount of grating against progress which long ago became my namesake, I am not surprised to be sitting here comparing the past to the present. I still cannot BEGIN to understand why everything operates as it does these days. Perhaps progress just rolled over those of us who were paying attention. I can’t be certain. The number of ‘sheep’ within society is enormous and there is no way to get through to those fucking people. Sitting here at this machine accomplishes nothing, either. I just don’t see another method for what too many individuals refer to as ‘change’. Nothing changes, yet everything worsens. If you don’t see it, take a guess at the category within which you permanently reside. I don’t believe I will ever understand enough to find the ability to fit what many people call the norm. I just don’t fucking see it, hence the separation and derealization coming to a head. At some point those who know me will be witnesses to something terrible. Black poison. Decay. Such thoughts are the result of feeling dire powerlessness for many years.

I need to find some direction on this day. My housework is finished and there are many hours left before the sun melts into the ocean, just a half mile down the street. I do not know which way to direct my attention. Dinner will once again be a simple affair, meaning I need not lift a finger until roughly half an hour prior to eating.

Sunday is here. Splendid. The previous day went on as expected; not much there beyond what I normally do during the mid morning. I did nothing in the garage, although some staring at the clutch yielded consideration of the next steps. I’ve been unhappy with the progress and last night my mood combined with irritation due to the media and I flipped out a little bit. Nothing terrible, though. At one point I realized that talking about whatever may be bothering me is completely fucking useless. I can’t change anything unless the only problem is me. Even so, the likelihood is for naught. My only conclusion last night was to clam up for all time and only speak of superficial and unimportant topics. I’ve been in that very same position so many times that I am ashamed to still be causing uncomfortable conversations. Perhaps I am too weak for an actual change, much like the way I am weak about everything else in the world. Isn’t that nice? Today will be better than yesterday.

Last night was yet another demonstration of the vast distance between me and the rest of the world. Oh, yes, I am within society because I do not have the resources to go anywhere else on this fucking planet, but as for my participation in the same aspects of life as other people, they’ve been boiled down pretty damned far. Reduced by much more than half. I don’t know the real numbers and I don’t need to know. I remain here and communicate with damned few individuals outside this property, visit stores and other businesses as necessary for keeping the house going, and then embrace whatever I can in order to find some semblance of comfort. That is it. I am detached about as much as is feasible these days, yet not nearly where I’d like to be. Anyway, speaking my mind in an audible manner must come to an end. The process is going to be very difficult after five decades of standard communication, for sure. All I can do is take small steps and remain mindful of what must be done here. I will do my talking through the keyboard and nowhere else, much like the last three-plus years, but there shall be an increase in clarity. I think that might be important after all this other shit.

I took issue with the media again and am not proud of allowing myself to spew opinion (read: fact) once again after chiding myself on the previous occasion. I can’t go back in time and fix it, either, so moving forward will be difficult knowing that I’ve disappointed myself (the worst feeling, believe it or not). All I can do at this point is to allow the passage of time to make everything fade. The media most definitely IS at fault, however. I am responsible for my own reaction to things, but being provoked by manipulation is very irritating and sometimes I feel completely alone during those events, hence becoming upset. And then I wonder why. Maybe I am allowing the media to upset me when I should not hand over power so easily. This is going nowhere. The bottom line, I would guess, is that I need to shut the fuck up when I become upset whether or not my anger is justified. That is the truth. No one wants to hear me speak and I don’t want to let fly a bunch of words that I cannot rein in at a later time. Once something happens, it immediately falls into history and nothing can be done to reverse the process. The only way I can proceed without causing myself further distress is to remain quiet at all times. Hopefully, the procedure will become second nature after some practice. This entire topic is a portion of my derealization and desperate need to separate myself from as much as possible in life. It is also an indication of how weak I can become at times. As I said, I have to rein myself in during those difficult moments. This is not going to be easy. None of it. But the process must be embraced.



05


Today being Sunday means I have my usual stuff to accomplish and then work on the clutch if I wish it. Last night’s tirade glanced the subject of me being ‘too nice’ at times, thus causing myself trouble through trying to help others. I stated that the motorcycle in the garage was a mistake, period, because I’ve spent much time and a bit of money trying to rebuild all of it when I should have been turning my attention toward this house instead. I don’t know whether my feelings on the subject are right or wrong, but inside me is turmoil anyway. Once my work on that project is complete, I’ll be overjoyed to see it rolled the hell out of here. I offer too much help sometimes. That is the truth of it. Even the little refrigerator out there is void of beer because my other neighbor stopped by off and on, and when he arrived I offered him a refreshment. After living more than fifty years as a ‘nice’ person, I find it nearly impossible to be unkind, or at least not quite as forward with my ‘niceness’. This is just another failing that I must alleviate. I am tired of sitting at this keyboard laying out all of the reasons why I need to change myself. I suppose it’s not all bad, though, because at the very minimum I know of my faults. Some people will deny them and then in the end simply die without recognizing anything. Does that mean I am a better person than some? I don’t know. And perhaps such things are not for me to say. Getting back to the bike, I feel that had it remained next door, my time there would have been but a tenth of what I’ve put into it here. Moving it here was my idea because I wanted to do the mechanical work, something I’ve always loved. And now I don’t know what to think. Ugh. My routine and other shit will kick off in an hour or so.

Sometimes the resemblance between Oona’s character and the Raven sends me back in time to when she and I were close. What a fucked up situation that was. I had been an idiot and barely made it out of that period alive. The beauty can’t be denied, though. Amazing.

I fail to understand the way much of the public world has progressed. Just the last three decades have seen an unprecedented rise in apathy, both within society and media. I don’t know why it is important to ‘push’ so much. Maybe I just take issue with shit others are not seeing. Maybe not. I don’t fucking know anymore. That old story of the corner shortcut always comes to mind; the herd mentality and everything that goes with it. Once that step is taken, there can be no going back. Few will avoid it. Between the herd and the media, I don’t know what to think anymore. Considering the sheer number of hours spent holed up here each week, one can imagine that much of such a massive amount of time has been in a deep analysis of all facets of these topics. I think about everything, speak to myself and the cats (they offer zero opinion as of yet), and then think some more. Last night may have been a turning point, one forcing me to take action one way or another for the greater good as well as my own peace of mind. You can be certain I’ll be vacillating over this shit for days. In the meantime, or until such time as I can affect change within myself, I will hopefully find the resolve to remain quiet. I may never understand people, anyway, so working alone may at the very least improve me. I don’t know. Either way, I don’t expect much.

0902. I will probably have one more cup of coffee before rising and working in another direction this morning. The routine will be the lead, and then some garbage prep, and then perhaps I can get my garage in some semblance of order before working on the motorcycle. Oh boy, here comes Charlotte again. This scene is terrible, but her face nearly saves the idea of watching it. Not quite, but almost. Anyway, I am going to try to get some of the smaller parts cleaned and mounted to the frame for reasons of lessening the clutter out there. I also need to continue gathering everything that will not return to the bike (due to replacement parts and the like). I can clean my tools and put them away, too. As for the other clutter out there, I’ll just have to do my best to store everything that is to remain in the garage. Along with everything else today, my thoughts shall return to last night and hopefully find a method for altering the way I interact with those few souls with whom I remain in contact. If they notice a difference, so be it. I simply cannot have a repeat of the tirade in the future. I can’t fucking have it. This is the first time I’ve been so determined to change myself so dramatically. Oh, I’ve considered doing something on many occasions in the past, yet last night was the last tumbler. Now? I must put forth the effort. Some good, some bad. Whatever. Doctrine, as it were.

Most of the time I talk too much. Whether here in the house or outside, my friendly, helpful nature comes forth before I can even think about what I am doing or the effect it may have on others’ view of my personality. My boss at NASA used to believe that whatever type of person one is when they are young only becomes more and more cemented into the later years. If so, I need to concentrate on altering the way other people see me. I will not be unkind, though. That is unacceptable because people are nice to me and kindness must always be returned. The difference here is I do not wish to speak so much during whatever occasions find me near people, and for whatever reasons. My wish is to do most of the talking here on the site rather than interacting with anyone. At some point in the past, I began to become frustrated over aspects of life and media that I cannot change, and that level of difficulty amplified ten-fold in recent years, leaving me to spout my dissatisfaction with the sheer amount of unfeeling behavior demonstrated by the average sheep. Speaking my mind was the only outlet. Now? I am seeing the uselessness in expressing my feelings at all, and the realization is that doing so only increases my frustration and will typically lead to anger. That type of thing will not help anyone, least of all someone like me who is constantly concerned with how I appear to others. I have to cease going on about any subject at any time. People are not so cold as to judge me, however, and I know that my life spent being kind all of the time has birthed the way they will let things go whenever I act out regarding difficult topics. Everyone has an opinion. I just need to keep mine locked away. There is simply no other way to live anymore. And once again, the process will lead me further from people and social situations. It is another step in the derealization. Tell me to shut up and I will oblige. And? Thank you.

The time is now 0950 and my last cup of coffee is half gone. I believe I’ll take care of the first half of my daily routine and the cat stuff before moving further. The plan afterward is to knock some little items off the shelf of necessities, meaning I need to take care of those tasks which have been nagging at me for months. Rather than walking by something for the thousandth time, I will fix it. In and around everything will be garbage work. I need to enjoy the Sunday business and my hours alone. I will return to this at each break.

And here I sit at 1130. My daily stuff is finished and I have some hours to myself. Alone, the best way to be these days. Cocktail. Dragons. Ugh. Most of the time I am only able to finish half the routine prior to being alone, but today I took the initiative and pushed forth in order to secure a more comfortable afternoon and a nice increase in my free time. I still have some laundry needing attention, as well as some garbage work, but the clock is my friend this morning. I will doubtless have everything in order prior to close of business hours. I’ve been pleasant all morning long, too. The analysis above is dictating my mood. I must remain mindful of the change and carry myself accordingly. This is the most important concern in my head right now.

I cannot concern myself with all the other shit right now. You know... The sinful desire, lack of fulfillment, the dire need for the correct type of understanding. More, even. Much more, to be sure. This is a bad time, but the incident last night which has me trying to think more clearly than in the past must take priority. The sinful realm will not leave my head, anyway, so if I can concentrate upon the current situation of my ‘nature’ and ‘personality’, putting aside a mass of desire may also help me as I move into the future. Too often has the desire left me waning early in the day. A change is more necessary right now than ever before, even that shitty decaying void through which I lived during the year of eleven. That was bad. The current period is worse. Believe it. I’ve been holding back, and that exact line of text is one I vocalized last night while trying to understand the fucking sheep that have crafted our dying society. This entry is somewhat of a crossover between the dire, deathly nature of my needs, and the anger caused by the world which has burned me through so many years that I fail to recall. All the way back to the parts house period when I was planning to head north in my truck and scratch out a life devoid of modern society, the desire to separate myself has increased. And? My dissatisfaction way back more than thirty years ago was right smack dab in the middle of the glow. Yep... The period which now stands alone as the most joyous of my life. The sinful realm and desire; the obsession which continues to destroy me... Both must wait until such time as I can complete this change and further isolate and drown myself into the black, hellish cauldron of derealization. I wear such a fact like a badge.



06


‘We have drifted into the gray of reality...’

Remember that? I typed those words during aught-six, I believe, during a time when I felt like nothing more than a number. I lived within the ‘concrete jungle’ and felt completely separated from the dreams of being free in the North. After years of planning to escape the mass of sheep and much of society itself, I found myself in quite the opposite position. That was the actual beginning of my need to locate and embrace the music of life, and it worked. Between my research and the effect I had upon my nephew, we both found direction and often discussed the fruits and pitfalls of life. Well, that period was the better part of twenty years ago and I am sitting here – a product of my own inaction due to fear – wallowing within the cold soup of comfort and disdain, a dangerous combination (but is it?). The incident last night may have come along at the appropriate time, however. I needed a push and a stark reminder of where I have been and how I felt at the time.

Monday morning. I can’t wait until I have the day to myself. My coffee is next to me and I have a bit of time prior to the morning business. The inside of my head is half present, at best.

I really need to get hold of my employment records from the eighties. More and more often lately I’ve been trying to put together a timeline of where I was during those four very important years, and as of yet all I can come up with is a handful of ideas. Nothing is concrete except the beautiful vision of how the world appeared back then. I’m not even talking about many years, either. Thirty. In the big picture, that is but a drop in the bucket. There are pictures in my head of different moments, too, such as standing next to the center rail at Eastridge while waiting for her and perusing the audio industry’s ‘bible’ to kill the time. The images are many, too. I will keep trying to put everything together, I guess. That time was interesting and I did not appreciate it enough. But then again, I can’t recall any wondrous time that appeared as such during the actual moments as opposed to months or even years later. I know there had been issues here and there during those years, too. I suppose at this point in time, the main concern is how much better that era feels due to all of the rampant damaging and suicidal thinking I’ve experienced since moving to the coast. Ten years later, I am both better and worse, meaning there are pluses sometimes to help offset the minuses, and this period is vastly different. Both, however, still pale to the glow in terms of joy and hope, problems included. There is simply no comparison. And I am not the entire fucking issue, either. Definitely not. See above paragraphs and when you reach the corner, don’t forget to bypass the point and tread a shortcut like everyone else. My memories are pretty damned accurate these days because I spend a good quarter of my life rebuilding the past.

Down; down; down we go. The mind? A grave of memories.

0830. The last cup of coffee is next to me. Between one news story on the television and something outside my garage earlier this morning, my head is beginning to tilt. I really don’t fucking want that right now. I did fine yesterday and successfully kept myself busy for hours without issue. Why do I have to see the most elusive shit in the world today? I did not ask for this. This will probably turn into one of those days in which all my effort is required to keep myself out of the black. Splendid. I have to go to the goddess market later, too. Will that go bad like everything else? Damn it all, anyway. I need to maintain some distance between myself and those fucking visions. They cause nothing more than pain and I can’t do anything about anything these days. The power has gone away. I have none. Well, I have the RF power, but in order to flex it I would need a mass of cash. That is about as likely as those three people coming up my driveway with a briefcase. Don’t ask. I may need to get the hell away from this very soon. Nothing helps. I keep remembering everything which seems gone forever and the thought makes me angry and sad at the same time. No more wonder, no more joy, no more of those things I once had in my hands. At least the house is quiet so I can think. Better than the alternative.

I have no wish to become stuck today. That kind of thing happens too often and I don’t like it at all. I will try to find some direction after taking care of the usual housework. Sometimes I think about the past too much and then any concentration begins to diminish, effectively leaving me to ponder how I’ve continued to live sans everything that is important. Yes, I said it was important. Too many aspects of life, actually. Too many to count now, but a few stand out. No one is listening. Will anyone be there to listen in the future? I have to shove all this fucking information to the rear if I am to rise and accomplish anything today. I am already half sideways.

1028 is what I see on the three little clocks. I finished the daily routine and have the reset of the day to do whatever seems best (or possible, considering my head being all fucked up). I still have to go to the market at some point, so getting into anything greasy may not happen until after the trip. The feelings inside me today are a combination of missing parts of life that have disappeared and yearning for some change that can save me. She can save me, but she may not exist. My composites, names and all that other shit are not helping right now. I keep daydreaming about past situations in which I was exactly where I needed, yet every aspect of each seems so fucking far away that my head and heart both hurt. I don’t understand why I must feel this way every fucking day. Is it fair? Yes, because that is the only way I can see this period. Fair is not a word I employ here often, if at all. I do not believe I am worse off than any other random person on earth. I just don’t get it, that’s all. If I felt my life has become unfair, I don’t believe I would have the ability to separate myself from the herd. I do not ‘deserve’ anything more than anyone else, to be honest. I cannot say this is unfair. I can say that I don’t understand. There exists a multitude of factors contributing to the current period and the way my brain operates, some having come about from my own doing and others having been beyond my control. I will not sit here and complain that I’ve been a victim of circumstance and leave it at that. Doing so only identifies me as a person seeking blame. In reality, there have been just a few situations which shaped my life in a negative manner, and those responsible are gone. I really don’t know what else to say about the past except for the idea that the shit situations from decades ago were not due to anything I said or did. Those were unfair, whereas the rest is still questionable. I tend to lean toward the simple explanation that while I have been wronged, I have also been wrong. There can be no arguing the point of me taking responsibility for a portion of my mental and emotional decay. I will not point my fingers in a ny direction any longer. Hence? I have zero desire to be a part of this backward society. I’ll try to avoid specifics.

I can already feel myself losing drive today. I can fucking feel it. I’m smart enough to realize that the morning alcohol has a hand in such a process, too, so don’t give me a blast of shit. I already know that a portion of my ambition is removed each day by drinking alcohol in the morning. The fact is that there exists a ‘window’ of sorts related to my physiological condition which generally opens early every day and is forced closed some hours later. The closure affects me in that my depression tends to flare because I am alone. And yes, I am alone by choice, so shut the fuck up. The window to which I refer is something that can’t be detailed here, but suffice to say once it closes, I am very unhappy. And whatever happened last year contributes to the sadness. And so does the obsession. Oh, and so do the other five million fucking issues in my head. Let’s just say that this time of day – every fucking day for many years – is the most difficult and tends to leave me thinking in reckless and dangerous terms. One minute I wish to take care of some housework and make the place comfortable, thus providing a nice, well-deserved evening, and the next minute I want to kill myself and rid my head of all the difficulties. Mark my words (despite the many occasions finding me thinking that there is nothing with adequate power to keep me here) when I say that the little slider dictating which of those moments wins on a given day tends to stop nearer to death than life. The line is heeled over and cannot right itself anymore. This may be a slow process, but it is also one that nobody can halt. Slow and steady to the soil. It will happen. The word ‘truth’ does not appear here very often, but the previous sentence is a fucking truism.

Two days from now will mark precisely four months since I have been to the bar. Just a thought. I know the number clearly because my last visit was the day after Christmas. Interesting. I don't want to see any of those people anymore. I have a dinner invitation for next month which will probably be declined for the same reason. Not only that, but I have no money these days.

Sometimes the little location arrow appears on the right end of the taskbar for a few seconds. When I notice, my eyes instinctively dart to the left end to see the weather widget update. I really like this computer. Just saying.



07


Tuesday. Morning business soon. Coffee. Depression. Oona is once again on my right-hand display looking like a dead-ringer for the Raven. I don’t need that right now. Well, I have few positives remaining in life anyway, so perhaps mentioning her doesn’t matter anymore. Damned few, honestly.

The early crap is out of the way and I have a head start on the routine for a little while later. The remaining coffee will keep me in this chair for the time being. I don’t know what to think about this current situation inside my head, so whenever I can embrace the peace and quiet to think clearly, the process becomes a priority. This morning is one of those times. I have foggy, fragmented memories of something during the night; a dream, perhaps, and one involving an object of my vast desire. There is another memory, too. A second dream seems to have been related to the program from last night. Some situation in a mansion (for the thousandth time) with other people, possibly related to me. I can’t remember the details, nor can I see faces now. I know that when I awakened some time later, falling asleep once again took much time and I was concerned for my well-being. The dark hours can be very uncomfortable at times. I wish I could see a face like last year. She was there several times, often right up against me. Today I have nothing more than disjointed images without sense. Regardless, I am pleased to have the house to myself and intend to make the most of my time today. Jesus fucking holy hell in a peasant’s cloak, Oona is so far beyond gorgeous that sometimes I can’t understand what creates such vast and overpowering beauty. And the other one... She forced the machine idea into my head almost immediately, and for reasons I can’t spell out here. Trust me, none of them are good, and the dream of such a creation goes back to the damaging dreams, as well. All of that shit combined has dropped me several notches this morning due to pieces missing from inside me. The world shall never bend to my wishes. It will continue to steamroll me, nothing more. This is a bad time. Anyway, if I am to rise above all the shit in my head, the process will take much effort. The deep-seated anger and disdain are growing right now. I have no desire to allow them to take over and ruin my day.

0901. The last of today’s coffee is next to me and just below the lovely Oona, who is soon going to be in a very bad situation. Ugh. This episode is not good, but it is most definitely great. I lose myself in Oona’s face so often that my train of thought is disrupted and derailed several times in the space of one paragraph. She is a constant, frozen-in-time reminder of the Raven being so close to my eyes that She was out of focus. Fuck. Where was I? Ah... Housework and whatnot. I have a load of laundry running and the aforementioned routine partially finished. I also have nowhere to go today unless I decide to visit the hardware store for a few small items. I’d like to work on the bike, too, because the more that can be installed, the less there is cluttering up my garage. Since I feel anger this morning, not to mention a shit-ton of frustration, I am leaning toward thinning the herd of stuff in this house. I’ve found that as time passes, those possessions which were once very important to me are fading and can go out the door with nary a concern for the future. Some will be sold (nothing terribly valuable) and others given away, while still more will find a way into the trash each week. I feel very ‘spread out’ right now and I don’t like it. The idea of running generally drives the need to simplify, however I cannot go anywhere, likely for a very long time, if at all. The need to reduce is still strong, though. The fewer possessions residing in the house means less to clean, as well.

My brain is a wasteland this morning. By afternoon, I’ll be going through the motions as if I am the machine.

I was there, but not entirely. I was partly there; mostly here. I thought of the Raven quite often during those times that I was not here. She did not carry me, however. She helped, yet the absence and silence eventually became excruciating. I could not handle both, so here I sit. Now I have zero options, little breathing room, and an internal void which grows ever larger with the passage of time. Shit will come to a head at some point, too. I don’t know when, and thank the maker the process is very slow to develop. I have no wish to hurt others through an emotionally cold and crippling blow. The current period must continue unimpeded. Sometimes I wish I could be over there, all warm and comfortable, but alas it is not to be. I have placed myself between real life and final death, and I must toe the line in order to survive as long as possible. Oona’s character is gone, meaning the Raven images will diminish as the series progresses. If I become disillusioned, I’ll switch to something else that does not contain such reminders. Lately, I have felt a deep desire to increase both the clarity and severity of my words here, however I do not know if the time is right. Perhaps the last entry to be published to the production environment will be stark and decisive. Right now I just don’t know what may come my way further along the rails. Did I ever mention that I love trains?

1041. My daily routine is finished and I have a large, modified White Russian sitting here on the table. The laundry is finished and awaiting my attention for folding. I will probably run one more load when I transition to the garage. Curious; whenever the morning cocktail begins to relax me physically and mentally, there is a strong, resulting desire to play music rather than to follow the video media. I believe such a feeling has been born of many years of embracing the most damaging, savage audio whenever the mood struck. Those times were typically coupled with alcohol and began during the apartment period (aught-four through most of aught-seven). Those years are cemented as second to the glow. I just switched off the streaming dragons in favor of the music of life. Between my cocktail and the compositions, I have successfully swung the mood halfway around the globe of my consciousness. Good? Maybe. Bad? Probably. As I sit here looking out the window, I am reminded of those three years. Back then I would sit at the computer while gazing at the Altamont Pass and typing my feelings into a much simpler version of the IDE which is open on the left-hand display. I felt like a whole ‘person’ – though very damaged – and a productive, successful member of society. Now I am nothing more than a figment of that past person, wallowing and typing in a little house near the ocean. I have worked, yet accomplished almost nothing for a very long time. And there you go... The main contrast between the glow and this very moment is the fact that as I once saw possibility and promise, I now see the world as it really exists: A gigantic machine bent upon the destruction of the tiny individual. There is nothing more disheartening than this type of realization. It jades everything and burns away wonder as quickly as liquid hydrogen is vaporized under pressure and an ignition source. Look it up, and then shut up. I am in a bad place right now.

Be happy that I haven’t included the more risque images within these last several entries. Just... Be happy. You do not want visual representations of my current mindset.

1115. I will probably have lunch soon and then move to the garage for the aforementioned installation of parts. The idea of a second morning cocktail has to be avoided due to the knowledge that I may not survive such a move. Trust me, I can already feel the desire to leave everything behind. I think the operative term for today is ‘combative’. Not good. I’ll have to continue washing clothes and then work on the bike, lest the negativity get the best of me and leave those I know with unanswered questions. I have no wish to hurt anyone. This feeling has become an everyday battle, whereas two or more years ago the drive was more easily squashed. As time passes, my resolve is further diminished. I don’t want to employ the phrase from one of my favorite programs. I really don’t.

Credenzo Curtis was his name, bless his brain.

Wednesday morning sans fanfare for anything. Just coffee and media. Not much will be accomplished today because I don’t care and something else may take place to help improve my mood a bit. It could actually improve my mood greatly, although the odds are astronomical. I am thinking more and more that my feelings are the least important aspects of life, so even the most remote chance of ‘good’ quickly becomes very enticing and pulls my focus away from other matters. Time will tell, I suppose. I expect nothing. Hope? I am uncertain of the definition anymore. Aside from any errant and unlikely circumstances born of ‘hope’ today, I have my usual housework and perhaps some laundry to ensure I remain in front of the train. I will also go to the hardware store and market later this morning for a few items. I am beginning this day already very far below where I was at this time yesterday. I am very sad and no one is listening.

I believe I may have had another dream about someone from the past. My head was pushed and pulled in two directions at the same time somewhere near three this morning. I could not stop thinking about a woman from thirty years ago and a few situations which came about while we were together, and then I laid there trying to learn how my train of thought brought me from one place to another, the effort then increasing my heart rate to the point that I had much difficulty falling back asleep. I can’t recall the dream, yet the subject matter remains inside me at this very moment as a feeling; emotions, too. This morning is going to be troubling as a result. I am currently waging a war with myself. I can’t spell it out, but I guess it really doesn’t matter what I can or cannot do these days. The dreams really stir me lately. There is no controlling the subconscious. The most likely cause of so many dreams in recent days is my desire for something special, be it understanding or otherwise. The RIGHT type of understanding, to be sure. I do not wish to dream anymore.



08


I assembled more of the bike yesterday afternoon before calling it quits. There is a locking tool for the primary drive that I must order before I can go further, though. Wait a second... There we go. The tool is ordered. Maybe after my morning crap I’ll go out there and continue straightening. I successfully organized the parts that are to be mounted on the bike and then boxed up all the stuff that is not going to be installed, thus allowing me to empty a few boxes and get them out the door. The garage has been looking a bit better since Sunday and it makes me more comfortable in my head. I know that everything will be back to normal before long, though, so the difficulty is not too severe. I don’t have any other projects going on right now.

Last cup of coffee. At least I have that going for me. As for the rest? I had a hell of a time living through the year of eleven, but the current period is actually worse. Back then, I had more options and chose not to exercise them. Now, I have none. The fact is that visions create so much turmoil in my heart that I have a deep need to avoid people altogether. The problem is that I still need to leave the house for shopping and such, and that means I will eventually see something which dredges memories and causes me to fall all over myself. Some of the memories are from the long past, while others are more recent. The Ashley mindset will not let go of me, ever. I think of those conversations every single fucking day and there is nothing I can do to extract them. This is about as close to believing my situation is ‘unfair’ as I can venture, and it is still not enough. The way I think about society and its people has changed so much that I can’t sit here and feel that I’ve been treated unfairly. I know what I am regardless of how I arrived in this dark and barren place. I also know that I am intelligent enough to realize that if I find the strength to force the issue, I can improve. That is not to say everything can be ‘ok’. Farm from it, in fact. The mindset existed; it does exist. The problem with Ashley’s beautiful beliefs is that they have jaded me and I may never find her like again. There have been moments showing me that the distance is often not so great. There have also been others pushing me to believe that such a way of life may be gone forever. Not good. I don’t want to go out there and see anything, hence the depth of my current derealization. The time is all of 0854 and I am already very sad. When the coffee is gone, I’ll have to take care of business.

This is a bad time. Have I mentioned such a thought? No one is listening. I don’t believe there will ever be someone listening. That is the depth of my turmoil; the definition of daily living.

I still have a bit of coffee so I remain at the control center with blinds closed and the media irritating me somewhat. I have been wishing for things all morning. My wishes change nothing. They irritate me almost as much as the media. Perhaps the time has come for me to transition to the housework before I lose my shit in some random direction. I’ve made choices and later realized that my resulting existence had been truncated, but there has to be more. The torment, for example. How did that come about? Was there something lacking in my life for which I had been searching and did not see it? Did those two shit situations have lasting effects which I failed to realize? I will say that at this moment – 1024 on the clock today, the 26th of April anno 2023 – my head is so fucking sideways that all of my strength is required (and more, perhaps) to go through the typical weekday motions with housework and whatnot. Just little things, like cleaning spots on the floor or other chores that require mere moments, have become overwhelmingly difficult. They weigh on my head more than they should right now. I know that the cultural derealization has grown during the last few years, but for fuck’s sake... Something must change. Every conceivable alteration feels alien, however. Alien to me, for sure. Add to that the idea that I must code everything I try to convey here due to the sensitive nature of my feelings, and the result is a pretty bad fucking situation. I am not concerned about some damned ‘purpose’ or whatever, only the idea of my rampant desire and being completely obsessed with the nature of the female form. Those two conditions have found me bereft of hope in any fucking direction. There is more, yet right now I have to separate everything or I’ll be finished with this sordid life and I can’t have that. I need so fucking much these days. I need too fucking much.

I guess my needs don't matter.

The morning cocktail is going to rob me of a measure of ambition and I know full well of the possible consequences. I don’t fucking care. The buffer stop is clearer at this very moment than it has been for a long time. Fear that. No one gets an explanation and what will be left behind shall be harsh and unwelcomed. Trust that. Trust my words. Shit is becoming bad enough for force my weak hand.

I feel bad for Sansa until she becomes a raving cunt. Some of it is justified, though. Quite a bit, actually, but she often rivals Shay. Whatever. This story matters not because it is not real. Hmm... Maybe that is best because reality is far worse than any fucking fictional storyline. And speaking of streaming video media, I have been missing the third show and yearning for a repeat of the entire series. I have to keep it special, however, and that means long periods between viewings. More than any of the five, that one stirs my dreams in a way I cannot explain. I still wish with all my heart to be in such a universe. Everything of which I write would melt away in seconds, and that is but one positive. The other is I would no longer have need to sit here and fucking spew words on the infernal Internet. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of actually being there. Everything... Every fucking issue... Gone forever. I could actually be a person again.

I will drive to the market at some point. Right now I don’t give a shit about much.

She knew everything. She knew how I felt. She knew what was necessary. She knew that I would respond. She knew what few others have known. She knew it meant something. She knew...

She is gone. The moments are gone. The feelings are gone. The possibilities are gone.

She is gone. Everything is gone.

Questions?

1056. Even if I give up the gun, there is still the knife.

Thursday, early (kind of). Coffee. Dragons, for as long as they last. My thoughts have traveled all over the place since yesterday. There have been several different issues, beginning with something I can’t discuss and ending with an unexpected turn, which will help my days. One is a secret, unfortunately.

I very nearly made a small mistake that had every chance of becoming a much larger one. As the morning changed to afternoon, my head calmed a measure and allowed me to mellow out for a while. The analysis continued through the evening and after I went to sleep. This morning I found myself quite upset about the whole thing. I will say that there was something which is now gone. Afterward, there was something else and it similarly disappeared. Third chance? It was very slim and went away before anything could develop. Now I am hopelessly dreaming about every single situation that has played out since first taking that fucking left turn and driving out the gate nearly twenty years ago. Everything. They are all gone, yet at this very moment there is more desire inside me than when I first ran to those places. Well, perhaps not the second. Whatever. The resulting instinct is to search, but after all this fucking time, for what? I am beginning to believe that such things were not meant for me. That type of thinking should ring true for those with a strong belief in the voodoo. This morning is going to have to offset that shit from yesterday, and so far I think the change will be effective because the process inside me right now is far more powerful than anything else in my existence. I am happy that disaster was avoided, although should my head move in such directions in the future, there will be no guarantees.

0807. The morning chores are out of the way. I have coffee and my program here in the office. Today’s plan is to do some cooking just after the routine is finished, some for a potluck tomorrow and the rest for dinners. I have no inclination to work in the garage today other than the time I usually spend out there when I take a break. The housework and other activities had better save my ass today because I feel more misery right now than in a very long time. I don’t see a way out of this shit, either. I really don’t see any avenues other than going through typical motions. Whatever changed last year (not the damaging dreams, although they do relate) still grips me almost every fucking day and there does not seem to be anything I can do about it. I’ve been backed into a dark corner by circumstances. This is very bad.



09


The clocks indicate 1221. What does that mean? I don’t know. I had a little meeting with my neighbor regarding his motorcycle. Nothing pressing is happening until the locking tool arrives. My routine is finished along with some floor cleaning in two rooms. I still have to do some cooking for tomorrow and will begin shortly. Right now I wish to be off my feet for a little while. My condition as related to the past and where I am in life has been worsening since yesterday. In response, I applied for a position with an online firm for transcription work. They will hopefully contact me soon. I am planning to apply elsewhere for more options. I believe generating pay in exchange for working at my computer will be enough to keep my head out of the ground for the time being. On the other hand, ‘hope leads to quiet desperation.’ We shall see what develops. I have a lot of kitchen work this afternoon, meaning everything else is on hold for the time being. The chicken is in the oven and will only need to cool and be packaged. The sauce will follow once I get everything prepared. As of yet, this day has been productive, but I must say that the underlying feelings are dank and dire. Cold. Not only do I feel disdain toward society, but also facing my own situation. This is not good. And now the music of my life. I am tired of video media. This helps me return to the past when I felt I was in a similar situation and forces the words to flow like a two-bit whore.

And? Down we go.

The morning was a disaster and I know precisely the reason. I know it by rote. Forty years of this shit and nothing has changed. Long ago I did not realize that my future would be fraught with problems. I did not see the horizon for the trees. I also calculated that the carnage of aught-three was the end of it and my subsequent efforts to build would bear enough fruit for me to maintain an upward trajectory for all time. Well, fuck no... That did not happen. Along came the carnage of ten, fifteen, etc. and just after the latter I knew nothing was going to save me. Fifteen was eight years ago, too. Eight. This morning’s disaster came on the heels of my realization that this is about as good as things will get, for lack of a better phrase. To employ an aphorism, my left brain did not realize that the other side would gain a foothold and destroy me over time. Ok, so that was not much of an aphorism, yet the truth still lies within.

The disaster is weighing upon my head unlike anything else. It has more power than the girl in the market parking lot yesterday, and believe me, there is a good reason for my not bringing her up sooner. Just trust me... After seeing what is likely the finest and most exacting example of beauty I’ve seen since that black-haired, damaging soul some years ago, the best path is to avoid attempting any sort of description here. Words would immediately fail because I have not the prowess to do her justice, nor would anyone on earth understand the depth of my feelings. Just know that the power of seeing that girl yesterday has been put to shame by the worst aspect of life. I am so angry that I could destroy everything right now. I see everyone going about their business. I have none. The best release at present is to keep the music inside this office rather than bringing my anger to the garage. The neighborhood does not need to hear it. And yes, the disaster is THAT fucking heavy. I do not like myself right now.

The such derailleurs. I do not see. I once saw. Right over there, and then right here. The such, the ones, the one? The what? The construct of the mass. The construct through which I’ve been destroyed. The construct be damned, but it cannot. Impossible. Brooding. Angry. Well-with. Be it. Know it. Live it? There is no life. I was there and now I am here. Where is here? Did I build this? Did they build this? No voodoo. Hocus-pocus mumbo jumbo fucking bullshit from those who reach. I cannot reach because I have reached. The result was worse than prior to the reach. I am here. They are there. Is she there? Eh... No she. The machine does not exist. The comfort does not exist. The such derailleurs. Steps up but never down. Where? I walked them. I walked them over and over for six years. The end was the dream. The dream was not achieved. The steps went on and on and on and on and on and on and I don’t understand why I knew there was an end and she was there, yet there was no end. The such derailleurs. Derailed? That is not for me to say.... For... ‘Us’ to say. From ‘me’ to ‘us’ yet again. Why not? Is anyone listening? I am dead already.

I am dead already. Give me an option. Give me a reason. Give me... Something. The end of all things, the very end of consciousness is coming because there is no other way.

We are untouched. We are vacant; have been vacant. The derealization is dire. We will die either way. Realize? Derealize? Take your fucking pick and then explode your neck like the man who was that boy. Can't remember? I do. Look it up. The story never ended.

Make a mess.

Friday hath arriveth on the heels of something better than I expected, yet far less than I needed. Iron that shit out. Switching sprockets can be very tiring. I am tired this morning and plan to take it easy all fucking day. I saw her yesterday afternoon, all lovely and smiling. I rarely see her anymore. This occasion altered my desire to be close, as well. Everything became amplified because I noticed from a certain, roughly three-quarter angle that she shares the lower facial trait that I have come to appreciate above most things in this world. I knew some time last year that her smile was special and there were features over which I’ve gushed before, but to see the trait on the dream girl was amazing. I am hoping to see her again. The visions are very few and far between. Any occasions finding me fortunate enough to actually see such beauty are beginning to further the title of this entry. Eventually, everything drives me in the same fucking direction.

She drives the vehicle within which I reside. I sit in the back and am led around by the hands on the wheel of life. This is different from the rails because her brain is making the decisions and commanding the vehicle to head in whatever direction she may dictate. The rails pay no mind. She has a mind. I have half a mind. Or less. I can’t be certain anymore. Oh, and I am blindfolded, weakened and cannot speak. Marvelous.

0836. I don’t really care what happens today. I will be going to the market later this morning and taking care of my typical housework, yet aside from the necessities, I have no desire to accomplish anything. Maybe I can work in this office more and free up some space. The fact that I recently realized the depth of my weakness is not helping my ability to rise above the depressive state and move in a productive direction. On and off every day is the feeling that I do not deserve to be comfortable. Some days move one way and others move in the opposite, leaving me clueless as to what tomorrow may bring. Everything sums to leave me without clear thinking. The evening feels convoluted, not deserved. I don’t know whether any of this shit is correct, either. Just feelings. She could help me. Eh... ‘Quae non est.’ You know. She is one more fucking problem on the pile. I just need five minutes. Five minutes to sort out the fucking derailleurs. Everything is tangled, mangled, something. I don’t fucking know. The such derailleurs. Such?

Such.

Three-quarter from the front-left, roughly 270 degrees or so, perhaps a higher number. Gray. And then hair and a face, and a face among the mass which stood out like a blue sun in the sky. And then just a bit of motion as my insides caught fire and melted. And then? I did the other thing... I passed and then turned slightly to realize there was another person back there who may have noticed my gesture. The entire effort was worthwhile and not, at the same time. I destroyed myself by seeing more than I expected, and much more than I have in years. I traveled all the way back to the Hispanic girl at the electronics store during the RF period (phase-lock girl, as it were), and then forward in time to that Goddamned server at the Mexican restaurant. You know... The one I may have seen less clearly in reality and more in my mind. Well, the other day, such an occurrence did not take place. When I saw her from the rear – nearly square – I knew that the level of my derealization should have kept me home. The market was bad timing, nothing more, yet inside me is the reasoning that no matter what circumstances bring me to that shopping center in the future, I will be placing myself in danger of further damage, and possibly enough to ruin everything. She has impacted my head more than any other single incident in eight years. The combination of lines of the Raven and the midsection of the sales girl at the electronics store is too much for me to handle. Now? I feel weaker, less willing to live on into the future, and more angry about this condition. My trip to the store was necessary and I only saw her by sheer, fleeting chance. There can be no ‘knowing’ of what may be out there. The such derailleurs. Such. I haven’t equated the electronics girl to anyone else for a very long time, and she was way back in ninety-seven or ninety-eight. Jesus. Am I derailed? Unguided? Slipping off the sprocket? I still see her wavy, flowing hair. The such derailleurs. I need to do something. I need to see more and none of that shit is up to me, but that does not mean the need can be lessened or disregarded. I need more. I have to fucking do something. I keep seeing her from kneecaps to lower chest and I need to fucking do something. What can I do? Type words? Will I slip off the sprocket? Gray pants and shirt. Brown hair. Lines. All of the lines. The Raven’s lines. The other girl’s midsection. Combined? The sum? Slipping off the sprocket. The next one is larger. I am slowing. Where is the fucking train of life when I need it most? I still see her and I want to see more. I need the video looping over and over until the end of everything. I will probably never see her again. The such derailleurs.



10


Derailed? Always. The locomotive is heavy. Perhaps I need more ignition right now. That last word rhymes with ‘how’.

How?

The such derailleurs. Think about it.

0932. I have to go to the market again. Each time I leave the house, my head drops a little bit further. The last occasion was the worst in recent memory. She was a reminder, nothing more. She was a symbol of everything which has been said here for more than five years... The culmination of dreams and damage, sadness and loss. Emptiness. Nothing is on the horizon except the furtherance of derealization. I don’t know if I can ever be where I need to be, and that is not the same as the previous wish. Everything has changed. I watched it happen. The market trip will come and go like every other occasion. I will return here – a touch lower and sadder – and then continue the day however I see fit. Inside, though, I’ll know. The visions are cumulative and I don’t want any more of them. The latest was too much and I am finding that I can’t handle it.

And I had thought the Passion was impossible. The more appropriate term is ‘improbable’. The dream is impossible, not the watch.

1000 straight up. I believe the time has come for me to do some housework.

1113. Despite the mass of shit in my head and sprockets digging into my heart, I finished the routine and went shopping. Now I can relax with my glass of delicious depressant for a while before moving in some other direction. I still don’t know what to do, though. Nothing seems appealing in the least, and I hardly feel like pushing today. I am losing ground. I did not see the girl in the gray. I didn’t see much of anything, really. And I need to find the allergy pills that lived on the coffee table a year ago. I lost track of them sometimes last fall, but the season is upon me. I must find them or get more. I also need to avoid listening to music. That stuff drives me to drink more than I should during the daylight hours.

Thorne is fucking awesome. He’s a hardass and an asshole, but there is no one I would want next to me in a battle. Fucking awesome. And? The diametric opposite of me. To be clear, the dream of which I’ve spoken for years is not the ONLY dream. Trust me. There is always more buried within this expansive content than you can possibly imagine. I can only be so much anymore. I can only be so much. I am scarred by the sprockets.

The more Cersei speaks through her teeth, the more I need to make her neck explode into a bloody mess. God damn, that would be so refreshing. As for Lena? Oh, quite the reverse. She was amazing. And the other young one is about to be visited by Margaery. Fucking hell, what I wouldn’t give to apply gentle kisses to her delicate labia. Shut up.

The facial trait is there. I saw it yesterday. And I just saw another example on the display to my right. I moved the coffee cup over to the left side and into the gap below my window. Sometimes I relocate the coffee or other items in order to more fully see the subtitles. Yes, when I have the volume low, the text helps me to follow along. Anyway, the facial trait was close yesterday, but not for very long. I admired her face for a few minutes and then it disappeared like always. I admired other things, too, like the way her hair sometimes blows around her face, or the mannerisms that demonstrate moods. Anyway, I had been unsure about whether or not she shared the trait I’ve grown to appreciate so much. Now I am certain. The derealization keeps me away from people for the most part, yet every now and then I must leave the house for whatever reason, and sometimes there is a problem. Her face is a problem. The girl the other day still walking circles inside my brain is a huge problem. The biggest problem? I can’t say. The face is close, though, because unlike other physical features on a person, the face will garner much emotion. Knowing the trait is there? Another problem. She is far away. I am thinking of including a composite image I made of two faces – one being the beautiful Roxanne McKee – in order to display the trait that I have yet to fully describe. I don’t know if it will help, though. The two faces carry the same smile, believe it or not, and the shape of each is exaggerated and enhanced because of said trait. The smiles are made more unique. I just don’t know. Maybe later when I have a better grip upon my desire to be close to such faces.

Perhaps I’ve been studying faces for too long. This has become a problem. I remember one person I used to see at the bar several years ago (friend of the owners) and the way her face made me question structure in the first place. That was the beginning of the whole affair with facial traits. I can still see her smiling when she spoke to me. Well, the way I tried to study kicked off an enormous time period of scrutinizing anyone with a similar appearance. I became exhausted. Anyway...

I don’t know when this current, disturbing process will be complete. Each day seems to push me further away from everything ‘normal’ and toward complete isolation, though I don’t believe the latter is truly possible due to the nature of living here. At some point, though, shit will become very different and I’ll take steps that some could not have predicted years ago. Little steps, for sure. I will need to keep an eye on everything as time passes and do whatever I can to keep others at arm’s length. I do not want people knowing what is going on inside me. That could be horrible. I’ve already run a number of scenarios through my tired brain and cannot find a way to discuss these topics with anyone else. Well, no one is there, so I don’t even know why I’ve tried to put things together in such a fashion. Wasted effort; wasted time. Leaving this property would also be required, but to be honest, I place more importance on picking up a few staples at the market than I do speaking with someone who could actually help me to put everything into perspective. Eh... This is going nowhere, like always.

Saturday morning means lots of quiet time for thinking. Hopefully, I won’t lose my mind before getting some thoughts into the IDE today. I am already feeling sideways and sad. Yesterday I turned my bad mood into productive time by working in the garage. I don’t know yet if I’ll have to embrace a similar method later today. I don’t know much of anything, to be honest.

The such derailleurs... Again. I need to be somewhere else but nothing exists. I need to see other things but they are not available. I need to be close. Right there. Right... OVER there. Not here. I need to see the trait. I need to trace the trait. Face to face; trace the trait. That’s nearly a Pete Townshend lyric. I saw black and gray, one close and one far. Further. Farther? Whatever. They were there. Smelling distance, really. Flowing and floating, much like the very first. The girl at the car wash who caused me all manner of pain inside. And the other one at the bar. Michelle... Right down the stairs with her goofy smile and overly kind ways. More, even. Many more. And along came the face but I am unsure of when. Where? I don’t know. My brain has become derailed. The rails? No... The sprockets. Maybe the trait was close to home. Maybe somewhere further away. I don’t remember, but I wanted to see. There was a feeling inside me that I cannot describe here; not even a little. The feeling was driven by the faces. And now the such derailleurs are in the way of everything. Derailed. Derailleurs, for sure. Don’t worry about my words. I am covering everything so completely that nothing can ever be seen... Part of my pain and part of my satisfaction. Typing without meaning? No. There is meaning here. And the trait. And there are faces, and much more. Thousands of examples of my desire and decrepit position in life.

This is the only place I can be. Detached. Divided. Doomed.

Time for a bit of quiet."



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