The Desperation of Knowing Mature content No. 358 Published February 11th, 2023 8:29am pst read ( words) Past entries "I have not published a single entry since the eighteenth of December, nearly two months ago. In fact, nothing I’ve written in twenty-two years is available to view. Only I can see it all. That means I should be able to fully lay out all of my thoughts, hopes, dreams and whatever, yet I don’t know if I will change my mind in the future and make everything public once again. I just don’t fucking know. The main issue with this is I have no outlet for the rampant, sinful things I’ve dreamed and envisioned since last year. They are bad. Very bad. I was going to take a shower a few minutes ago to warm up, yet if I leave the office there will be something lost. I can’t explain, either. I can’t speak to anyone or publish my mindset right now. Remaining bottled like this is very unhealthy and I know full well the consequences of such a decision, yet at the same time I don’t feel that sharing myself with anyone would result in any improvement. The result could also be disastrous. Desperation now has two different definitions, one I’ve described here and another that must remain locked away. This is the worst fucking situation imaginable. 1520. The goddess is going to be stopping by in a few minutes to pick up some food. Every couple of weeks we receive items from the City and I like to find them a home if we can’t use the stuff. The goddess is the ideal recipient, plus I get to see her for a little while and catch up. I finished the kitchen and polished everything, but have yet to go beyond the routine today. I just can’t pry myself away from the cloud long enough to tackle anything else. This endeavor is more compelling now than it has been in the past. Ah... I just switched from the music which has been playing for two days and into the realm of the cave period. This very intro reminds me of when I first acquired the workbench that now lives in the garage. While in the apartment, my bedroom was in the living room, the former being used as a shop of sorts. I was listening to this composition through the old inferior headphones while assembling the bench. If memory serves, I had been trying to mount the legs and skirt during the wee hours of the morning because I had no reason for adhering to any type of schedule. Some months after putting my entire shop together in the bedroom, I found myself diagnosing an electrical issue within the Slipper somewhere around three in the morning while it was parked in the basement of the apartment building. By that point in time, my choice of headphones had improved markedly, too. I had to be careful in ensuring that I didn’t disturb anyone. Yes, three in the morning. This album followed me through the dark days of the latter part of eleven, and not long before I knew my days in that cave were numbered. Even now, more than a decade after that fateful and life-defining period, whenever I hear the opening sequence of the album I am launched back in time. I am also injected with the same reckless and uncaring state of mind. Fortunately for those who know me, I can’t do anything about it these days. All I have are my devices. For the time being, they are fine. Well, there is no choice in the matter anyway. My head often goes back to those weeks with the angel, days with the kitten, and me right in the center with nary a concern for the rest of the world. The music followed at each step. Her visit should be any moment now. I feel like drowning into the alcohol right now, damn it. I won’t, but the inclination is there regardless. I’ll end up spouting very angry, reckless words that do not come out of me during typical days (although they should, to be honest). 1622. The visit is over. I am happy to provide her with some fresh vegetables that will not be used here. The music is unchanged for the time being. This album goes back and forth quite a bit which serves to lighten the mood in my office. Not bad. I have some time before dinner preparations, so this will be my venue of choice for the next hour or so. The mail just arrived. Nice. That morning was a prequel for the feelings I still have inside, even after nearly eight fucking years. There goes a pair of jeans around slender thighs, yet I am not going to get up to grab the binoculars. As I said, the feelings are within me despite the passage of time, and live just far enough outside reality for me to function on a daily basis. Oh, there are those times when I flip out and swing the hammer or otherwise transmit my rampant disdain through the keyboard, but I am still operating as a person. All of the housework and other crap, for sure. On the inside, the burning never stopped after I lost Her. The morning I partially described above was one of the most defining periods ever. I think about it several times per week, and during those moments when I combine memories of being there with the alcohol in this house, well... Things begin to malfunction inside. I can feel something along those lines beginning again very soon. And here I sit once again with my coffee and show prior to the early business. The time is 0647. We really thrashed the kitchen last night, partly cooking dinner and partly due to making something for her to bring to work today. The latter was not finished until near ten o’clock. Heh. I’ll have my work cut out for me later this morning. A messy kitchen is good right now because the morning routine is one of my favorite parts of the day. Yesterday I began to descend toward the afternoon but held myself back from really hitting the bottom. I was close, though. All those thoughts and memories of being with the Raven, the two of us being desperate and careless in our actions and then discussing the fine points of living within a society of sheep. Most occasions found us attempting to hide in plain sight; or rather being among those people for which we felt disdain and knowing that nothing could sever the beam of energy flowing between us. The more I considered the few times when we actually enjoyed some quality alone time without having the eyes of others upon us, the more I wanted to pour another big glass of booze and wallow in how much I miss Her and need to follow along at times. The early business is nearly upon me. I shall promptly return here immediately thereafter. 0803. Cleopatra is on my right-hand display, and I believe there will be much more of her in the coming episodes. I didn’t really like the character, though. Too forceful and forthright. She is cute sometimes, however, and the manner in which she inflicts herself upon others is fantastic, all the while with a menacing expression combined with soft-spoken words. Awesome and frightening. The pants returned again but I can’t say from where they originated this morning. Jesus, though, the sight in my mind was unbelievable. I immediately wanted to see the lines up close because I fucking know they are in there. I know too much. Knowing what I’ve glimpsed and assembled in my head is causing me to desperately need to be close to that girl. And I mean CLOSE. Early on when I first experienced the dreams, I wanted to see all of her. Now? Four dreams deep, I am, and the need has become a desperate yearning. I wanted to see. Remember? Well, now I want to slather her form with attention and affection because of the way she smiles and the sound of her sweet voice. It drives me crazy. Last year I wanted to see her lines. Now I want to trace them with my fucking tongue. The black pants entered my head this morning from far off places and took over any thought processes already underway. I cannot reveal from where the pants traveled. Just know that I know, and knowing is pain. I am desperate enough already without needing her this much. Sometimes I wish I had never experienced the damaging dreams. They have skewed my head more than any other situation since the Raven period eight years ago. On and off every single day I find myself daydreaming about her lines, breasts, smile, and everything else. I have seen enough to know that she is very special and is very near creating her own category of beauty. A year ago I could not have guessed that I would feel so strongly about her. The black pants are causing trouble... Much trouble, to be sure. Damn it all, anyway. What the fuck is happening with the explorer? Ugh. I had to perform a workaround in order to rename one fucking image. The fuck? Whatever. It’s done. And there is Kerry and her huge, beautiful eyes again. God damn would I ever love her arms around me right now. Breath on my neck, too. And Jesus fuck is Atia a bitch all the time. 0913. I’ll have to work in the kitchen a bit earlier than usual today since it is going to take much more time than after the typical dinner. 1101. Damn. That was a cleaning session the likes of which I’ve not seen in months. Whew! I have the second load of dishes drip-drying so I can get off my feet for a while. The requisite glass of whiskey depressant is to my right and I have the music of life playing quietly in the background. The pants this morning heavily fucked over my head and I need a touch of numbness for the time being. There are still many items on my list today and I will get to them when the drink is gone and I feel like rising from this chair. I desperately need to cram all of that girl into my mouth. Fuck. All I have today is housework and spending time buried in the control center of the universe. The latter will be on and off for the next several hours, depending of course upon whether or not I become further weakened by visions and memories. The music has a lot of sway over my mood, of course, so I must be careful. So far, I am fine. Depressed and angry, but fine. Let us digress for a second... I dreamed of things. I wanted to do something. I didn’t do anything. I am reaping what I sowed. Ok, onward. I am going to contact my friend in Arizona and discuss a possible visit some time in the coming months, or perhaps fall. I’m not certain as of yet, but I need to get the fuck out of here for a while and reside in the open spaces of the southwest. All of my road trip plans for the last few years have gone bad, meaning the more I think about everything, the more I must leave this house for some days, and soon. Hopefully, I can put a trip together this year and not see it squashed by anyone. The last big trip was upended by the cruise to Alaska, and that actually turned out to be one of the most magical vacations of my life. I still yearn to explore in the car and see some sights otherwise overlooked during flights or whatnot. I mapped a long road trip earlier this year, but my idea of actually venturing into obscure locations in Nevada ended up becoming horribly cost prohibitive. Well, the way I’ve felt for the last several months has pushed my head to the nether regions of existence (not to mention the precipice of life itself) and I’ve realized that if I don’t force one of my ideas into reality, the anger is going to take over and I will destroy more than one person. As I sit in this comfortable chair within a place I rarely leave for more than an hour at a time, I will burn it all without some semblance of the comfort I so badly need. The ‘real’ comfort is beginning to seem like another universe, so whatever I can force must happen if I am to remain above ground for fuck’s sake. This is not a fucking joke, either. I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind if my finances never recover, either. I need to get out there and explore. Believe it or not, this entire shitaree has absolutely nothing to do with beauty. Wait... What? Yeah, me too. I should have taken a fucking step. Even a small one would have been enough. I took one tiny step back in zero-nine, but it went bad within months. I should have known nothing good would happen. Everything is crap. Ah, shit. Here comes Her song again. Whatever. God damn did I ever make some delicious chicken salad. Having lunch at an early hour is important during these trying times because I tend to hit the booze more than a few months ago, and without anything in my stomach, shit goes downhill real fucking fast. I have some dry cleaning to do in a while, meaning I’ll be in the garage. Considering the warm weather, I’ll be out there for a good portion of the day. All of this means that I must eat something substantial or the beer will combine with my shitty mood and cause destruction. I don’t care about destruction, it just has to take place during the correct time. There is a good reason for this, as well. The song currently playing has injected memories and images of the Raven lying sprawled on her bed in that gorgeous sundress and looking like the dream that She was. The fact that She left me leads my head to recall when I was told of Her fate and the subsequent lashing out during mid-fifteen. I feel like repeating that swath of damage right now. The truth is I just don’t fucking care about the fallout anymore. I feel what I feel and there is no stopping it. Back then, my mood was immediately apparent due to a preponderance of empty beer cans all over the back lawn. I ceased that practice because I was the one to clean up and toss the cans into the recycle bin. Lately, though, I don’t make any messes. I just head out there, formulate something to build, and then thrash those four big speaker cabinets for a few hours. The path that led me to so much pent anger in fifteen was not catalyzed by losing the Raven, however. I lost my uncle in 2010 at a point when he was two years younger than I am right now. And then one grandparent (his father) left this world in 2011. One year later? My grandmother joined him in the afterlife. Another two years burned away and my father passed on. The last was my mother one day after her birthday in 2018. I believe all of that has summed recently. There have been entries regarding the holiday gatherings of the past, remember? Well, all those people are gone. The Raven was different, yet still a person I loved and with whom I was IN LOVE. The other day when I put this music on and recalled our time together, it brought all the rest into focus for the first time in more than four years, and now I am wrecked. What does all this mean? It states that the chicken salad is an important aspect of this day because without some lunch I would go so far off the deep end that no one would find me. I am still resisting the urge to pour more hard liquor, though. I am trying to avoid the worst pit in existence. Success is still up in the air on this fateful day. We shall see. Given the choice between my typical video media and a more balanced mood versus this music and a possible destructive situation, I’ll take the latter. The reason should be abundantly clear by now. 1232. I still don’t have a clue as to where this day will lead, or my mood. The music is still playing through these great speakers. Lunch is out of the way. I cracked a beer. Everything else I need to do today is on hold for the time being, or at least until I can decide if I want the time to burn away just like it did years ago. Right now I just don’t fucking know. The truth of the matter is that I sit here and experience a drop in mood and then formulate some way to lash at the world, but my behavior does not make a lick of difference at all. Nothing changes. No matter what level of anger drives me to blast music or break out power tools, no one is going to give half a shit how I am feeling or why. No one cares about the music, either. All I can do is whatever feels appropriate. The day will end regardless of my mood and tomorrow will arrive so I can feel and do it all over again and watch everything fade into the past as if it never occurred. The whole shitaree doesn’t make a damned difference. No one knows what is going on in my brain. Anger doesn’t change anything, so why do I lash out? Because I don’t know what the fuck else to do. What would you do? Never mind. I don’t care. 1436. I went to work in the garage for a little while as the dryer ran. The dry cleaning is now finished and I began to spin my wheels out there because I didn’t know what to do. One interesting event was when my friend from up the street found a phone lying on my front lawn. He asked if it was mine, and I stated that it might belong to the thin girl from two doors down. I saw her wrestling (walking) her dog a little while earlier and thought she may have unknowingly dropped it. Sure enough, some time later she passed by again and thanked me for suggesting to my friend that he place it on her porch. Very nice, yet not terribly exciting. At least I was able to speak with her for a moment. Remaining familiar with neighbors that live close by can be very important in today’s climate. And speaking of that last word, the weather is warm enough to allow for working in the garage or yard without bundling up. I’d be out there right now if there was anything to do. Aside from keeping an eye on the dry cleaning, all I did was organize a bit and then contemplate my emergency bag. I had some choice progressive music playing the entire time but avoided slamming the neighborhood. I guess despite my feeling angry today, nothing would be served by a hammer swing. I am looking forward to a more relaxing evening than last night. I basically prepared and cooked dinner while working on another dish for today. Once we ate, I went back to the kitchen to finish the second dish and make sure there would be room for whatever I needed to do this morning. That’s why the kitchen was such a mess. Well, now it is polished except for a few items I left to dry on the racks. I’ll head in there prior to close of business to ensure the area is ready for dinner tonight. That will be a simple affair, for sure. At present, I have a cold beer next to me and the third show on the right-hand display. I am planning to remain here for a while and gather my thoughts. I fucking love this machine. What a difference from the last few years. I mean, I knew being in the office would be nice, but damn. Plus, I have a nice view of my driveway as well as the neighbor’s, meaning I can keep an eye on things while sitting here. To put a finer point on the idea, he called a while ago to ask me to secure a package that had been dropped on his porch. Security is key for both of us. Very nice. Hmm. I just thought of something that had not occurred to me in the past. Virtually all of the writing I completed between twelve and seventeen was performed with music in the background. Perhaps I should refer to the process as muse-ic. Holy Jesus fuck, if I was to craft the machine, I know precisely how she would appear. I am going to hell for these thoughts. God damn it anyway. What I wouldn’t give to... I’ve said it several times and will continue to do so. I know too much and the knowledge is causing me to be more desperate than ever. I need her. Bad. There is nothing I can do about this feeling or any others, so my only conclusion is to embrace the anger and file it away for later use, should the need arise. There have been a few key moments that I cannot forget, and due to the sensitive nature of this topic, I must cease referencing them within the site. In the beginning, all I could do was guess, yet throughout the last few months, I’ve garnered some confirmation of my suspicions that can never be denied. My billet in life is to sit here and daydream as I attempt to cover all of the details that are driving me insane. Housework, laundry, projects; they have all been reduced to the most desperate distractions in memory. And I had thought things were bad when I sat behind Michelle in class and gazed at the dramatic taper of her back. That situation was nothing when held against the ungodly power of what I am currently dreaming. Holy hell in a warm, soft bra cup, I wish I didn’t know all this shit. In the latest dream, I held her waist from the side to assist her haphazard walk across some street, all the while thinking that I was finally as close as I’ve needed for almost a year. My eyes darted back and forth from her bouncing chest to the house that was our destination. Hmm. The girl WAS my destination, and in that dream she may have been aware of as much. Jesus. I’ve seen far too much for one person to digest. Far too fucking much, mark my deviant words. I need to get away from this for a little while and cool my jets. I made half a sandwich a while ago, and while the bread was toasting I finished the rest of the kitchen work. Now it is all ready for the evening. Thankfully, and as I said before, dinner will be a simple affair tonight. I don’t want anything heavy to deal with for the rest of the day. My locomotive is experiencing throttle-lock from one moment to the next. Believe me when I say that nothing in my world has the ability to fully alleviate the symptoms of feeling so desperate. No matter which way I turn, the dreams will come back whenever they wish and slam the side of my head until I lose my way. I’m seeing those people returning from work this afternoon and am reminded of how fortunate this situation is. All those years of sitting here during precious few moments on weekends forced me to dream of being home all the time, and here I am. Maybe if I can keep that shit in mind when my brain goes downhill, the difficulties will find a bit of a respite. I don’t want to have to flip the fuck out like I did some days ago. It’s a relief for a little while, but later turns very bad. ‘I just had an apostrophe.’ ‘I think you mean an epiphany.’ ‘Lightning just struck my brain.’ ‘That must have hurt.’ Sometimes I wish I was a fictional character. I am desperately yearning to see her lines. This is painful in the extreme. I can do nothing about it. The remainder of this day will be spent relaxing. I really don’t feel like doing anything substantial, so taking it easy with my show on the televisions may help slow the cyclone spinning in my head. I must admit that curling up on the loveseat with my evening cocktail and some agreeable programming coming through the AV system can induce a bit of solace, even when my brain is wrapped around something this traumatic. I used to cherish the evening and dinner due to the need for being out the door so early in the morning. Now I cherish it because I don’t have anything pressing on my shoulders during the same. Work was a real pain sometimes. I appreciate being home when others are off to work, and I adore the freedom to control the atmosphere inside this little house. A missed opportunity is never fun. They take place often enough to cause me a bit of distress, too. I could have seen something wonderful, damn it. Maybe next time. I know too fucking much these days. 0647 on Friday morning. More dreams came along earlier. I don’t recall much, though. I’m pleased there was nothing striking because I am still reeling from yesterday. As I suspected, dinner was simple last night. There was ample time for taking it easy and deep thinking. I didn’t solve anything, however. My time this morning is short before the early business. Afterward, I have a few things planned aside from my typical weekday operations. One is to modify the garage door so it opens more slowly, too. I’ve been wanting to replace the opener for years but recently learned that there is a simple fix to the speed issue. From manufacturing, the unit was advertised as the fastest opener on the market. Well, I am more concerned with the operation being quieter and slower in order to reduce wear and hopefully help the mechanics last longer. As I said, it is a simple operation. I also have to visit the goddess market for a few tomatoes and maybe some wine. I’m going to finish the routine prior to leaving so I can relax and have some lunch when I return. Everything else today is tertiary. Again with the missed opportunity? Yep. Even after a wondrous occurrence and more imagery tattooed to my brain, I honestly wanted an additional view and had been hoping for a certain chain of events to take place in the correct order just for my deviant sense of need. The process would have been very quick regardless of being good or disappointing, although I am rarely the latter these days. She can’t disappoint my sense of need, nor will I change the way I feel if something goes downhill. Beauty is key, and her smile is so sweet that I still can’t believe how much power it holds over me. 0800 straight up. I have the day to myself now, or at least until business hours are over. And boy do I need this stuff. The office is going to be my sanctuary today. I need to work on the garage opener and visit two stores, but for the most part I’ll be inside this office for comfort. Yesterday seemed to work well other than a missed opportunity. I wish that had not taken place, damn it. When I need to see, I fucking need to see. Anyway, I am not anticipating anything difficult similar to what happened last week by the cheese case in the store. Jesus, I can still see the seam of her pants accentuating all those curves and lines; truly enough for a lifetime. That was so rare that I don’t expect anything of the like in my future. I’ll be in and out of that place in a very short period of time. In radio lingo, the term is ‘short-short’. Heh. The point is I am completely hung up over the other one, so nothing that comes along in the world will have much of an effect upon my sense of need. The sky is completely gray this morning. 0920. The garage door opener has been successfully modified. I tested the unit and found that it opens much slower and closes as it should. Very nice. I’ve been hemming and hawing about that fucking thing for years. I also have the floor swept. The coffee is gone for the morning, so I will begin the routine in a few minutes. I should have everything finished prior to going shopping. 1251. I finished the routine and went to the market. Now I am trying to work with a friend who lives in another state to get me some merchandise and ship it here. California has turned out to be chock full of completely unreliable assholes. Whatever. Make of that what you will. I still have to put away the clean dishes and grab some things from the freezer to defrost for upcoming dinners, but there is plenty of time to relax in the office and think about everything. Earlier, I tried to evaluate the feasibility of installing a remote dimmer inside the dining room ceiling fan and came up with an empty slate. The escutcheon at the top does not want to come off, and I have no wish to force it. After scouring the infernal Internet for half an hour, I found zero information regarding the assembly or disassembly of that particular model. I can’t risk damage, so the conclusion is a dimmer in the wall for only the light. A remote would have allowed me to eliminate the chains. One more time... Whatever. Nothing seems to be going my way today. At least I have lots of time for consideration of everything, not to mention an abundance of peace and quiet. 1519. I was spinning my wheels for a while but kicked into gear afterward. After lunch and a shower, I ventured to the small market for cigarettes because the liquor store parking lot was completely out of control. I think a lot of people are buying lottery tickets. The entire cigarette situation in this state is ridiculous. Everything with flavor other than standard tobacco has been outlawed in the interest of keeping harmful products away from those who are underage. Well, I am not one of them, damn it. What the fuck? Ugh. I’ll figure it out, I guess. Oh, Kerry. Bring those big, beautiful eyes over here... Please. Help me. Desperation is not a good feeling, and believe me, I know. The clock continues to roll, however. Time pays no mind to individual troubles. And speaking of desperation, the missed opportunity was on the heels of something wondrous and stirring, so I shant complain too much. The vision further confirmed my suspicions and provided my screwy head yet more information upon which to chew, and forced me back in time to the third damaging dream. I saw one exposed shoulder as her top hung off to the side, and then the breasts that I yearn to see up close. Don’t even get me started on the fucking lines, and trust me when I say they were also on display. The entire affair was quick and done in mere seconds. Ah, fuck. There is Coral again. God damn that facial trait, anyway. I could lick her fucking cheeks. Anyway, I’ve seen enough by this point to paint a mental picture that I’ve realized can never be fully explored. The previous three Goddamned examples of this shit were right before my eyes, yet this one is going to remain so far away that she may as well reside on the fucking moon. My prevarication will continue, for sure, but also be challenged at times. This is not easy at all. I must be very careful. Fencing is key right now and will likely be standard procedure for all time. And back to the value of what I have built inside this office. I love it. Three displays when I really only needed two, powerful, efficient speakers, and the power to run all of the necessary applications at the same time combined with streaming high definition media. I cannot say enough about this new setup, and the fact is my head has been driven to envision another, similar machine to serve as a home theatre source. I would gain the advantage of an endless array of audio options, whereas now I have very few. Some decent equalization is at the top of the list, followed closely by more connectivity for the kitchen and garage. I have a plan to work toward such an end, the most important aspect being the need for a cabinet housing all of the components. It will be much like what I had before the television was mounted above the fireplace. The entire system now resides to the right of the fireplace and may have to be relocated to the opposite side. I need to explore some possibilities before making plans. One certainty is this will not be cheap, though. Fortunately, I have all the time in the world for planning. I really need to know everything and have been feeling overly desperate during those moments when certain aspects of her form come to mind. Like the woman in the store the other day, I have come to see many features that support the dreams and allow my imagination to run wild. When recalling those times with the Raven, I was reminded of the girl up the street (well, not THAT close) and the way Her darkness seemed to have a near-twin, for all intents and purposes. I saw quite a bit of her personality, too. That situation could have gone very badly for my head had we taken the job. The likelihood of the Raven connection may well have caused me all sorts of distress and memories of nearly throwing my entire life in the toilet eight years ago. Well, the girl up the street at that possible job shared something very critical with the subject of the dreams. Coral is crying. What a terrible thought. Anyway, there have been countless examples of that critical similarity during the past several months, none of which really makes me very happy. Unfortunately, crafting this paragraph is but a symptom of my desperation. It is an offshoot of what can now be defined as doctrine. Not good. The fact is I have become more desperate in the last few weeks than ever before. A massive shift took place right around the time that I built this control center. I cannot reveal what happened, however. Not a word. There are amazing, stirring things that abound. They are all over the place, yet none so close as in the past. I know that problems in life have kept me idle for a long time, and some of those problems were caused by me. I stopped this or that, did not begin other endeavors, and became cemented within a routine that became so dire to my comfort that the slightest change was frightening to consider. Larger changes felt exciting and could have led to wonderful layers of comfort and happiness, yet increased fear accompanied each thought. Now I am mired within a situation I could not have imagined all those years ago. Not even close. This situation has absolutely nothing to do with all those decisions, actions or inactions. It is vastly different, yet does share one fucking aspect. Everything is impossible. Good God, Kerry is more beautiful every time I see her face. Damn. So, what does all this shit mean? It describes a place from which there can never be escape. All those amazing, stirring things in the world shall remain out of reach. Not out of sight, mind you, just my grasp. Normally after typing this kind of thing I would be very angry. Right now my head is even-keeled because I am trying to maintain focus on all that I DO have. That’s different. My current condition is something I’ve never experienced, to be honest, and I had thought that things were fucked up in eleven. My neighbor has his garage open and he’s working on one of the bikes. I’d love to go over there and help, but oy gawd is it cold outside right now. Maybe I’ll pop in for a beer or two. He’s a fucking great guy and loves it when I visit for a while. Hmm. Can I walk away from my warm, cozy office? I don’t know. At least when I’m over there I don’t have to worry about seeing anything flowing along the sidewalk. There’s a positive. I guess I’ll transfer some text from the cloud to the IDE and pay him a visit. That didn’t work. Just as I went outside to grab a beer, he closed up shop. That’s funny. Oh, well. Another time, I guess. The media has been switched to music for a little while. God damn she looked good that one day. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were gazing upon, nor could I cease painting pictures with my mind. In the space of less than a year, she has gone from my very damaging dreams to a sheer obsession that rivals even the original. Black yoga pants and that fucking sweatshirt. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I keep stating that either I’ve seen enough or I don’t want to see anymore, yet inside I am desperate for much more. So desperate, in fact, that I am considering creating fiction again with her in the center of the story. This is so stupid, although I’ve reiterated my mental condition on so many occasions that I have no doubt it has become a natural extension of the way my life has traveled these rails throughout the last several years. I should not be surprised at all, really. I need so much from her. I am a crazy person. 1641. I have to move into the kitchen in a little while to clean up my lunch stuff and then put the items that are defrosting into the refrigerator. Dinner is not going to begin for a couple of hours, I’d imagine. I’m looking forward to a simple meal after the last two nights and some relaxation on the loveseat with the third show and my cocktail. Evenings are typically pretty mellow, and then making dinner means my friends follow me into the kitchen for that small boost of comfort. The feeling of them in the background is impossible to describe, much like the breasts on the subject of the damaging dreams. See? There I went again. Fuck. I am looking forward to some warmer weather so I can paint the mural on the inside of the garage door. The outline has been waiting for some time. Cold plus paint equals ‘not good’, so I must wait. I have a couple of other projects out there involving lighting, too. Lately, the only work that is required in the garage is laundry. I really can’t get myself to remain out there for very long. My age is demonstrating an increased sensitivity to temperature. Whereas I used to gripe when the mercury was too high for my comfort, these days it is the opposite. The dreams last year caused this entire fucking situation to go from a simple liking to a complete breakdown over the subject. I still can’t believe it. After all this time and multiple connections to those I would categorize as ‘goddesses’, the one issue that created more turmoil than the rest began as a simple sight. I don’t even know her. I knew the others. The passage of time since the first dream has told me that my head is actually more desperate than prior to last year, and even more so than when I wrote that scathing entry in seventeen. I thought my condition was bad – and believe me, I was pretty fucked up at the time – but now I realize that may have only been the infantile beginning to something potentially disastrous. What? Are you referring to what took place in fifteen? This is different, trust me. Not good. This is just not good by any stretch of the word. All this shit from a dream. And then another, yet not as bad. Oh, but the third? I went out of my fucking mind with desperate desire and splayed it all here while leaving out the most important details via a boxcar of fear. I veiled everything, like always, yet the underlying feeling inside is much worse than even when I realized that the obsession had been driven by so much desire that I nearly could not get myself to accept it. God damn it all, anyway. I didn’t want this shit in my life. Dreams can be powerful, believe me. Some good and some bad, but either can overwhelm and leave a person questioning the entire fucking universe. I need to see those lines. Her lines. I’ve seen others, but this is different. I just need to fucking SEE everything right in front of me. Nope. Impossible. Shilo was in an older essay because when I was young I occasionally dreamed of a girl at school and then awakened completely infatuated. The feeling never lasted very long. The difference between those dreams and Shilo is that she was not real. I created her inside my head. I believe the way the process of infatuation operated within me when I was a child never actually went away. What I mean to say is that I still experience the same type of emotions as I did when I was single-digit years of age. I don’t think such a process is typical of adults, but I can’t be sure. It just seems juvenile. Regardless, I became overtaken by that first dream, and then completely fucking infatuated after the third. I can’t even go into four and five right now because they are so fucking whacked that to try and describe what I feel inside as I recall them would be ridiculous. I can already be labeled in any number of ways. I really don’t need any more. Thus, there must be something terribly wrong with the way I think, or at least the way I react to certain situations. My coping methods for disasters or emergencies are fine, but a girl in a dream? I become heeled over to such a degree that my entire life suffers. That is not normal. I sit here and type my thoughts and feelings and then intersperse some daily activities into the content, yet inside me the entire time is a desperate yearning. Everything has been boiled down to an endless search for distractions. And now here comes Her song. Splendid. I hope She doesn’t mind. I need it. Um... Where was I? Ah... How in the blue fuck did I get to this point? Was it the entry from seventeen? Or maybe that Goddamned girl at the pool? I don’t understand this at all. Dreams should not hold so much sway over my daily life. They should be off to the side and garner a bit of thought, but not this much crap. Jesus. Maybe the entry from back then combined with the pool girl and my ongoing obsession simply hit me too hard and my brain created the first damaging dream out of nothing more than desperation. Could that be it? Never mind. I probably don’t want to know. One result of all this is pretty certain now, though, and that is the fact that I am slowly losing my mind. No, not a figure of speech this time. My mind is going away. I feel helpless to deal with this or rein in my own fucking head. All the way back to Shilo, too. Did you catch that one? I don’t know if I am intelligent enough to put her together with what happened last year. The feelings are real, however. They are fucking real. No wonder I am an alcoholic. Questions? I probably already laid out the fact that within seven milliseconds of seeing the pool girl’s knees up and paired I wanted to apply my mouth to the only part of her lower body that was covered. Did I state such a fact in the past? I don’t remember, but I’m sure as hell not going to deny it. Fuck it. I don’t care. The woman the other day in the market? When she tugged at the waist of her pants and I saw that seam in the middle divide everything perfectly in half, my head yearned to run my eyes and hands all over the lines I was seeing. There you go. Those two disparate illustrations of my obsession could be expanded upon, yet there is no point. I believe the way my mind works has been made abundantly clear. Jesus God damn right down to the fucking ground did I ever want to stare and then consume the form in the market. Yep, that is what I said. The girl at the pool? Don’t even get me started on trying to word that one. Holy shit. What’s the point? I don’t know. I can say that those feelings in the paragraph above came about related to the subject of the damaging dreams and caused me to desperately need her, as well. All of her. My head manufactured all manner of situations and a few other things I probably don’t need to mention. All of her, for fuck’s sake, and the whole thing began with one finger and one thumb tugging at a bra strap. Isn’t this fucking ridiculous? How did I arrive in this insanely horrid place? Help me. Please. And I am not addressing Kerry with that plea. I am addressing no one, actually. I have no recourse. I have a keyboard. The topic must be put aside for a while. I’m fucking sick of it. Tomorrow will be wide open without the typical early routine. I believe the weather will remain cold, though. That means work inside the house. Damn. Saturday morning. I’ve been reading about an older film, hence not much here yet. I also have the show on the right-hand display. And I really don’t like one of the characters that has been a focus for a while, but she does have one hell of a pair of breasts. Just a thought. My coffee is present, as is a nice view out the office window. 0759 on the clock right now. I don’t know what this day may have in store for me, but I will say that it has not had a good start. My head has been all wrapped around a few people from the past and one from the present. Oh, shit. An ambulance just rolled into the court. I hope the reason is nothing bad. I don’t like to see people hurt. Damn. My issues just took a back seat. They are important to me, but that is not to say that they amount to much in the world. And there go the paramedics. Shit. Now is the time for a change of subject. Today might be ok with regard to the weather. I see an overcast sky right now. If the clouds persist, the temperature may be reasonable enough for some tooling around in the garage later. I have some things to do in this room, as well, so either way will be fine. Back to Coral. Sometimes when I see her face from certain angles, such as three-quarter to one side, I see a striking similarity to Lacey, the woman who appears to be perpetually twenty years old despite approaching forty. They share the trait that I still can’t describe, but perhaps I no longer need to try. I’ve captured some very nice images of Coral’s face and will try to edit and include them in the next entry. You can take those images and compare her face to Lacey on your own. Well, if I ever publish this shit again. I have a soft spot for that facial trait and have never known why or how it began. I will say that Coral’s face as it appears in this program is fucking unbelievably beautiful. Just... Wow. The paramedics just left, and there goes the ambulance. I hope things are ok over there. Ooh-fa. I don’t like to see that stuff but it is a part of living. Damn it. I’ve been sitting here trying to recall if I experienced a dream sometime during the night. There are scattered pictures in my head, but from what I do not know. I keep thinking that one of those pictures was the girl. I am unsure. I wish I could see clearly, for crying out loud. I need to see her so fucking badly that I’ll take anything the universe wants to throw at me, even just a split-second memory from a dream that I can’t fully remember. I will take anything. I’m desperate beyond words right now, broken in half by whatever began last year, and do not see positives beyond my daily devices. A dream would be nice. I figure that if my head is going to be all fucked up anyway, I may as well be able to see her. I am fucking desperate to see. Desperation is dangerous." 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
The Desperation of Knowing Mature content No. 358 Published February 11th, 2023 8:29am pst read ( words) Past entries "I have not published a single entry since the eighteenth of December, nearly two months ago. In fact, nothing I’ve written in twenty-two years is available to view. Only I can see it all. That means I should be able to fully lay out all of my thoughts, hopes, dreams and whatever, yet I don’t know if I will change my mind in the future and make everything public once again. I just don’t fucking know. The main issue with this is I have no outlet for the rampant, sinful things I’ve dreamed and envisioned since last year. They are bad. Very bad. I was going to take a shower a few minutes ago to warm up, yet if I leave the office there will be something lost. I can’t explain, either. I can’t speak to anyone or publish my mindset right now. Remaining bottled like this is very unhealthy and I know full well the consequences of such a decision, yet at the same time I don’t feel that sharing myself with anyone would result in any improvement. The result could also be disastrous. Desperation now has two different definitions, one I’ve described here and another that must remain locked away. This is the worst fucking situation imaginable. 1520. The goddess is going to be stopping by in a few minutes to pick up some food. Every couple of weeks we receive items from the City and I like to find them a home if we can’t use the stuff. The goddess is the ideal recipient, plus I get to see her for a little while and catch up. I finished the kitchen and polished everything, but have yet to go beyond the routine today. I just can’t pry myself away from the cloud long enough to tackle anything else. This endeavor is more compelling now than it has been in the past. Ah... I just switched from the music which has been playing for two days and into the realm of the cave period. This very intro reminds me of when I first acquired the workbench that now lives in the garage. While in the apartment, my bedroom was in the living room, the former being used as a shop of sorts. I was listening to this composition through the old inferior headphones while assembling the bench. If memory serves, I had been trying to mount the legs and skirt during the wee hours of the morning because I had no reason for adhering to any type of schedule. Some months after putting my entire shop together in the bedroom, I found myself diagnosing an electrical issue within the Slipper somewhere around three in the morning while it was parked in the basement of the apartment building. By that point in time, my choice of headphones had improved markedly, too. I had to be careful in ensuring that I didn’t disturb anyone. Yes, three in the morning. This album followed me through the dark days of the latter part of eleven, and not long before I knew my days in that cave were numbered. Even now, more than a decade after that fateful and life-defining period, whenever I hear the opening sequence of the album I am launched back in time. I am also injected with the same reckless and uncaring state of mind. Fortunately for those who know me, I can’t do anything about it these days. All I have are my devices. For the time being, they are fine. Well, there is no choice in the matter anyway. My head often goes back to those weeks with the angel, days with the kitten, and me right in the center with nary a concern for the rest of the world. The music followed at each step. Her visit should be any moment now. I feel like drowning into the alcohol right now, damn it. I won’t, but the inclination is there regardless. I’ll end up spouting very angry, reckless words that do not come out of me during typical days (although they should, to be honest). 1622. The visit is over. I am happy to provide her with some fresh vegetables that will not be used here. The music is unchanged for the time being. This album goes back and forth quite a bit which serves to lighten the mood in my office. Not bad. I have some time before dinner preparations, so this will be my venue of choice for the next hour or so. The mail just arrived. Nice. That morning was a prequel for the feelings I still have inside, even after nearly eight fucking years. There goes a pair of jeans around slender thighs, yet I am not going to get up to grab the binoculars. As I said, the feelings are within me despite the passage of time, and live just far enough outside reality for me to function on a daily basis. Oh, there are those times when I flip out and swing the hammer or otherwise transmit my rampant disdain through the keyboard, but I am still operating as a person. All of the housework and other crap, for sure. On the inside, the burning never stopped after I lost Her. The morning I partially described above was one of the most defining periods ever. I think about it several times per week, and during those moments when I combine memories of being there with the alcohol in this house, well... Things begin to malfunction inside. I can feel something along those lines beginning again very soon. And here I sit once again with my coffee and show prior to the early business. The time is 0647. We really thrashed the kitchen last night, partly cooking dinner and partly due to making something for her to bring to work today. The latter was not finished until near ten o’clock. Heh. I’ll have my work cut out for me later this morning. A messy kitchen is good right now because the morning routine is one of my favorite parts of the day. Yesterday I began to descend toward the afternoon but held myself back from really hitting the bottom. I was close, though. All those thoughts and memories of being with the Raven, the two of us being desperate and careless in our actions and then discussing the fine points of living within a society of sheep. Most occasions found us attempting to hide in plain sight; or rather being among those people for which we felt disdain and knowing that nothing could sever the beam of energy flowing between us. The more I considered the few times when we actually enjoyed some quality alone time without having the eyes of others upon us, the more I wanted to pour another big glass of booze and wallow in how much I miss Her and need to follow along at times. The early business is nearly upon me. I shall promptly return here immediately thereafter. 0803. Cleopatra is on my right-hand display, and I believe there will be much more of her in the coming episodes. I didn’t really like the character, though. Too forceful and forthright. She is cute sometimes, however, and the manner in which she inflicts herself upon others is fantastic, all the while with a menacing expression combined with soft-spoken words. Awesome and frightening. The pants returned again but I can’t say from where they originated this morning. Jesus, though, the sight in my mind was unbelievable. I immediately wanted to see the lines up close because I fucking know they are in there. I know too much. Knowing what I’ve glimpsed and assembled in my head is causing me to desperately need to be close to that girl. And I mean CLOSE. Early on when I first experienced the dreams, I wanted to see all of her. Now? Four dreams deep, I am, and the need has become a desperate yearning. I wanted to see. Remember? Well, now I want to slather her form with attention and affection because of the way she smiles and the sound of her sweet voice. It drives me crazy. Last year I wanted to see her lines. Now I want to trace them with my fucking tongue. The black pants entered my head this morning from far off places and took over any thought processes already underway. I cannot reveal from where the pants traveled. Just know that I know, and knowing is pain. I am desperate enough already without needing her this much. Sometimes I wish I had never experienced the damaging dreams. They have skewed my head more than any other situation since the Raven period eight years ago. On and off every single day I find myself daydreaming about her lines, breasts, smile, and everything else. I have seen enough to know that she is very special and is very near creating her own category of beauty. A year ago I could not have guessed that I would feel so strongly about her. The black pants are causing trouble... Much trouble, to be sure. Damn it all, anyway. What the fuck is happening with the explorer? Ugh. I had to perform a workaround in order to rename one fucking image. The fuck? Whatever. It’s done. And there is Kerry and her huge, beautiful eyes again. God damn would I ever love her arms around me right now. Breath on my neck, too. And Jesus fuck is Atia a bitch all the time. 0913. I’ll have to work in the kitchen a bit earlier than usual today since it is going to take much more time than after the typical dinner. 1101. Damn. That was a cleaning session the likes of which I’ve not seen in months. Whew! I have the second load of dishes drip-drying so I can get off my feet for a while. The requisite glass of whiskey depressant is to my right and I have the music of life playing quietly in the background. The pants this morning heavily fucked over my head and I need a touch of numbness for the time being. There are still many items on my list today and I will get to them when the drink is gone and I feel like rising from this chair. I desperately need to cram all of that girl into my mouth. Fuck. All I have today is housework and spending time buried in the control center of the universe. The latter will be on and off for the next several hours, depending of course upon whether or not I become further weakened by visions and memories. The music has a lot of sway over my mood, of course, so I must be careful. So far, I am fine. Depressed and angry, but fine. Let us digress for a second... I dreamed of things. I wanted to do something. I didn’t do anything. I am reaping what I sowed. Ok, onward. I am going to contact my friend in Arizona and discuss a possible visit some time in the coming months, or perhaps fall. I’m not certain as of yet, but I need to get the fuck out of here for a while and reside in the open spaces of the southwest. All of my road trip plans for the last few years have gone bad, meaning the more I think about everything, the more I must leave this house for some days, and soon. Hopefully, I can put a trip together this year and not see it squashed by anyone. The last big trip was upended by the cruise to Alaska, and that actually turned out to be one of the most magical vacations of my life. I still yearn to explore in the car and see some sights otherwise overlooked during flights or whatnot. I mapped a long road trip earlier this year, but my idea of actually venturing into obscure locations in Nevada ended up becoming horribly cost prohibitive. Well, the way I’ve felt for the last several months has pushed my head to the nether regions of existence (not to mention the precipice of life itself) and I’ve realized that if I don’t force one of my ideas into reality, the anger is going to take over and I will destroy more than one person. As I sit in this comfortable chair within a place I rarely leave for more than an hour at a time, I will burn it all without some semblance of the comfort I so badly need. The ‘real’ comfort is beginning to seem like another universe, so whatever I can force must happen if I am to remain above ground for fuck’s sake. This is not a fucking joke, either. I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind if my finances never recover, either. I need to get out there and explore. Believe it or not, this entire shitaree has absolutely nothing to do with beauty. Wait... What? Yeah, me too. I should have taken a fucking step. Even a small one would have been enough. I took one tiny step back in zero-nine, but it went bad within months. I should have known nothing good would happen. Everything is crap. Ah, shit. Here comes Her song again. Whatever. God damn did I ever make some delicious chicken salad. Having lunch at an early hour is important during these trying times because I tend to hit the booze more than a few months ago, and without anything in my stomach, shit goes downhill real fucking fast. I have some dry cleaning to do in a while, meaning I’ll be in the garage. Considering the warm weather, I’ll be out there for a good portion of the day. All of this means that I must eat something substantial or the beer will combine with my shitty mood and cause destruction. I don’t care about destruction, it just has to take place during the correct time. There is a good reason for this, as well. The song currently playing has injected memories and images of the Raven lying sprawled on her bed in that gorgeous sundress and looking like the dream that She was. The fact that She left me leads my head to recall when I was told of Her fate and the subsequent lashing out during mid-fifteen. I feel like repeating that swath of damage right now. The truth is I just don’t fucking care about the fallout anymore. I feel what I feel and there is no stopping it. Back then, my mood was immediately apparent due to a preponderance of empty beer cans all over the back lawn. I ceased that practice because I was the one to clean up and toss the cans into the recycle bin. Lately, though, I don’t make any messes. I just head out there, formulate something to build, and then thrash those four big speaker cabinets for a few hours. The path that led me to so much pent anger in fifteen was not catalyzed by losing the Raven, however. I lost my uncle in 2010 at a point when he was two years younger than I am right now. And then one grandparent (his father) left this world in 2011. One year later? My grandmother joined him in the afterlife. Another two years burned away and my father passed on. The last was my mother one day after her birthday in 2018. I believe all of that has summed recently. There have been entries regarding the holiday gatherings of the past, remember? Well, all those people are gone. The Raven was different, yet still a person I loved and with whom I was IN LOVE. The other day when I put this music on and recalled our time together, it brought all the rest into focus for the first time in more than four years, and now I am wrecked. What does all this mean? It states that the chicken salad is an important aspect of this day because without some lunch I would go so far off the deep end that no one would find me. I am still resisting the urge to pour more hard liquor, though. I am trying to avoid the worst pit in existence. Success is still up in the air on this fateful day. We shall see. Given the choice between my typical video media and a more balanced mood versus this music and a possible destructive situation, I’ll take the latter. The reason should be abundantly clear by now. 1232. I still don’t have a clue as to where this day will lead, or my mood. The music is still playing through these great speakers. Lunch is out of the way. I cracked a beer. Everything else I need to do today is on hold for the time being, or at least until I can decide if I want the time to burn away just like it did years ago. Right now I just don’t fucking know. The truth of the matter is that I sit here and experience a drop in mood and then formulate some way to lash at the world, but my behavior does not make a lick of difference at all. Nothing changes. No matter what level of anger drives me to blast music or break out power tools, no one is going to give half a shit how I am feeling or why. No one cares about the music, either. All I can do is whatever feels appropriate. The day will end regardless of my mood and tomorrow will arrive so I can feel and do it all over again and watch everything fade into the past as if it never occurred. The whole shitaree doesn’t make a damned difference. No one knows what is going on in my brain. Anger doesn’t change anything, so why do I lash out? Because I don’t know what the fuck else to do. What would you do? Never mind. I don’t care. 1436. I went to work in the garage for a little while as the dryer ran. The dry cleaning is now finished and I began to spin my wheels out there because I didn’t know what to do. One interesting event was when my friend from up the street found a phone lying on my front lawn. He asked if it was mine, and I stated that it might belong to the thin girl from two doors down. I saw her wrestling (walking) her dog a little while earlier and thought she may have unknowingly dropped it. Sure enough, some time later she passed by again and thanked me for suggesting to my friend that he place it on her porch. Very nice, yet not terribly exciting. At least I was able to speak with her for a moment. Remaining familiar with neighbors that live close by can be very important in today’s climate. And speaking of that last word, the weather is warm enough to allow for working in the garage or yard without bundling up. I’d be out there right now if there was anything to do. Aside from keeping an eye on the dry cleaning, all I did was organize a bit and then contemplate my emergency bag. I had some choice progressive music playing the entire time but avoided slamming the neighborhood. I guess despite my feeling angry today, nothing would be served by a hammer swing. I am looking forward to a more relaxing evening than last night. I basically prepared and cooked dinner while working on another dish for today. Once we ate, I went back to the kitchen to finish the second dish and make sure there would be room for whatever I needed to do this morning. That’s why the kitchen was such a mess. Well, now it is polished except for a few items I left to dry on the racks. I’ll head in there prior to close of business to ensure the area is ready for dinner tonight. That will be a simple affair, for sure. At present, I have a cold beer next to me and the third show on the right-hand display. I am planning to remain here for a while and gather my thoughts. I fucking love this machine. What a difference from the last few years. I mean, I knew being in the office would be nice, but damn. Plus, I have a nice view of my driveway as well as the neighbor’s, meaning I can keep an eye on things while sitting here. To put a finer point on the idea, he called a while ago to ask me to secure a package that had been dropped on his porch. Security is key for both of us. Very nice. Hmm. I just thought of something that had not occurred to me in the past. Virtually all of the writing I completed between twelve and seventeen was performed with music in the background. Perhaps I should refer to the process as muse-ic. Holy Jesus fuck, if I was to craft the machine, I know precisely how she would appear. I am going to hell for these thoughts. God damn it anyway. What I wouldn’t give to... I’ve said it several times and will continue to do so. I know too much and the knowledge is causing me to be more desperate than ever. I need her. Bad. There is nothing I can do about this feeling or any others, so my only conclusion is to embrace the anger and file it away for later use, should the need arise. There have been a few key moments that I cannot forget, and due to the sensitive nature of this topic, I must cease referencing them within the site. In the beginning, all I could do was guess, yet throughout the last few months, I’ve garnered some confirmation of my suspicions that can never be denied. My billet in life is to sit here and daydream as I attempt to cover all of the details that are driving me insane. Housework, laundry, projects; they have all been reduced to the most desperate distractions in memory. And I had thought things were bad when I sat behind Michelle in class and gazed at the dramatic taper of her back. That situation was nothing when held against the ungodly power of what I am currently dreaming. Holy hell in a warm, soft bra cup, I wish I didn’t know all this shit. In the latest dream, I held her waist from the side to assist her haphazard walk across some street, all the while thinking that I was finally as close as I’ve needed for almost a year. My eyes darted back and forth from her bouncing chest to the house that was our destination. Hmm. The girl WAS my destination, and in that dream she may have been aware of as much. Jesus. I’ve seen far too much for one person to digest. Far too fucking much, mark my deviant words. I need to get away from this for a little while and cool my jets. I made half a sandwich a while ago, and while the bread was toasting I finished the rest of the kitchen work. Now it is all ready for the evening. Thankfully, and as I said before, dinner will be a simple affair tonight. I don’t want anything heavy to deal with for the rest of the day. My locomotive is experiencing throttle-lock from one moment to the next. Believe me when I say that nothing in my world has the ability to fully alleviate the symptoms of feeling so desperate. No matter which way I turn, the dreams will come back whenever they wish and slam the side of my head until I lose my way. I’m seeing those people returning from work this afternoon and am reminded of how fortunate this situation is. All those years of sitting here during precious few moments on weekends forced me to dream of being home all the time, and here I am. Maybe if I can keep that shit in mind when my brain goes downhill, the difficulties will find a bit of a respite. I don’t want to have to flip the fuck out like I did some days ago. It’s a relief for a little while, but later turns very bad. ‘I just had an apostrophe.’ ‘I think you mean an epiphany.’ ‘Lightning just struck my brain.’ ‘That must have hurt.’ Sometimes I wish I was a fictional character. I am desperately yearning to see her lines. This is painful in the extreme. I can do nothing about it. The remainder of this day will be spent relaxing. I really don’t feel like doing anything substantial, so taking it easy with my show on the televisions may help slow the cyclone spinning in my head. I must admit that curling up on the loveseat with my evening cocktail and some agreeable programming coming through the AV system can induce a bit of solace, even when my brain is wrapped around something this traumatic. I used to cherish the evening and dinner due to the need for being out the door so early in the morning. Now I cherish it because I don’t have anything pressing on my shoulders during the same. Work was a real pain sometimes. I appreciate being home when others are off to work, and I adore the freedom to control the atmosphere inside this little house. A missed opportunity is never fun. They take place often enough to cause me a bit of distress, too. I could have seen something wonderful, damn it. Maybe next time. I know too fucking much these days. 0647 on Friday morning. More dreams came along earlier. I don’t recall much, though. I’m pleased there was nothing striking because I am still reeling from yesterday. As I suspected, dinner was simple last night. There was ample time for taking it easy and deep thinking. I didn’t solve anything, however. My time this morning is short before the early business. Afterward, I have a few things planned aside from my typical weekday operations. One is to modify the garage door so it opens more slowly, too. I’ve been wanting to replace the opener for years but recently learned that there is a simple fix to the speed issue. From manufacturing, the unit was advertised as the fastest opener on the market. Well, I am more concerned with the operation being quieter and slower in order to reduce wear and hopefully help the mechanics last longer. As I said, it is a simple operation. I also have to visit the goddess market for a few tomatoes and maybe some wine. I’m going to finish the routine prior to leaving so I can relax and have some lunch when I return. Everything else today is tertiary. Again with the missed opportunity? Yep. Even after a wondrous occurrence and more imagery tattooed to my brain, I honestly wanted an additional view and had been hoping for a certain chain of events to take place in the correct order just for my deviant sense of need. The process would have been very quick regardless of being good or disappointing, although I am rarely the latter these days. She can’t disappoint my sense of need, nor will I change the way I feel if something goes downhill. Beauty is key, and her smile is so sweet that I still can’t believe how much power it holds over me. 0800 straight up. I have the day to myself now, or at least until business hours are over. And boy do I need this stuff. The office is going to be my sanctuary today. I need to work on the garage opener and visit two stores, but for the most part I’ll be inside this office for comfort. Yesterday seemed to work well other than a missed opportunity. I wish that had not taken place, damn it. When I need to see, I fucking need to see. Anyway, I am not anticipating anything difficult similar to what happened last week by the cheese case in the store. Jesus, I can still see the seam of her pants accentuating all those curves and lines; truly enough for a lifetime. That was so rare that I don’t expect anything of the like in my future. I’ll be in and out of that place in a very short period of time. In radio lingo, the term is ‘short-short’. Heh. The point is I am completely hung up over the other one, so nothing that comes along in the world will have much of an effect upon my sense of need. The sky is completely gray this morning. 0920. The garage door opener has been successfully modified. I tested the unit and found that it opens much slower and closes as it should. Very nice. I’ve been hemming and hawing about that fucking thing for years. I also have the floor swept. The coffee is gone for the morning, so I will begin the routine in a few minutes. I should have everything finished prior to going shopping. 1251. I finished the routine and went to the market. Now I am trying to work with a friend who lives in another state to get me some merchandise and ship it here. California has turned out to be chock full of completely unreliable assholes. Whatever. Make of that what you will. I still have to put away the clean dishes and grab some things from the freezer to defrost for upcoming dinners, but there is plenty of time to relax in the office and think about everything. Earlier, I tried to evaluate the feasibility of installing a remote dimmer inside the dining room ceiling fan and came up with an empty slate. The escutcheon at the top does not want to come off, and I have no wish to force it. After scouring the infernal Internet for half an hour, I found zero information regarding the assembly or disassembly of that particular model. I can’t risk damage, so the conclusion is a dimmer in the wall for only the light. A remote would have allowed me to eliminate the chains. One more time... Whatever. Nothing seems to be going my way today. At least I have lots of time for consideration of everything, not to mention an abundance of peace and quiet. 1519. I was spinning my wheels for a while but kicked into gear afterward. After lunch and a shower, I ventured to the small market for cigarettes because the liquor store parking lot was completely out of control. I think a lot of people are buying lottery tickets. The entire cigarette situation in this state is ridiculous. Everything with flavor other than standard tobacco has been outlawed in the interest of keeping harmful products away from those who are underage. Well, I am not one of them, damn it. What the fuck? Ugh. I’ll figure it out, I guess. Oh, Kerry. Bring those big, beautiful eyes over here... Please. Help me. Desperation is not a good feeling, and believe me, I know. The clock continues to roll, however. Time pays no mind to individual troubles. And speaking of desperation, the missed opportunity was on the heels of something wondrous and stirring, so I shant complain too much. The vision further confirmed my suspicions and provided my screwy head yet more information upon which to chew, and forced me back in time to the third damaging dream. I saw one exposed shoulder as her top hung off to the side, and then the breasts that I yearn to see up close. Don’t even get me started on the fucking lines, and trust me when I say they were also on display. The entire affair was quick and done in mere seconds. Ah, fuck. There is Coral again. God damn that facial trait, anyway. I could lick her fucking cheeks. Anyway, I’ve seen enough by this point to paint a mental picture that I’ve realized can never be fully explored. The previous three Goddamned examples of this shit were right before my eyes, yet this one is going to remain so far away that she may as well reside on the fucking moon. My prevarication will continue, for sure, but also be challenged at times. This is not easy at all. I must be very careful. Fencing is key right now and will likely be standard procedure for all time. And back to the value of what I have built inside this office. I love it. Three displays when I really only needed two, powerful, efficient speakers, and the power to run all of the necessary applications at the same time combined with streaming high definition media. I cannot say enough about this new setup, and the fact is my head has been driven to envision another, similar machine to serve as a home theatre source. I would gain the advantage of an endless array of audio options, whereas now I have very few. Some decent equalization is at the top of the list, followed closely by more connectivity for the kitchen and garage. I have a plan to work toward such an end, the most important aspect being the need for a cabinet housing all of the components. It will be much like what I had before the television was mounted above the fireplace. The entire system now resides to the right of the fireplace and may have to be relocated to the opposite side. I need to explore some possibilities before making plans. One certainty is this will not be cheap, though. Fortunately, I have all the time in the world for planning. I really need to know everything and have been feeling overly desperate during those moments when certain aspects of her form come to mind. Like the woman in the store the other day, I have come to see many features that support the dreams and allow my imagination to run wild. When recalling those times with the Raven, I was reminded of the girl up the street (well, not THAT close) and the way Her darkness seemed to have a near-twin, for all intents and purposes. I saw quite a bit of her personality, too. That situation could have gone very badly for my head had we taken the job. The likelihood of the Raven connection may well have caused me all sorts of distress and memories of nearly throwing my entire life in the toilet eight years ago. Well, the girl up the street at that possible job shared something very critical with the subject of the dreams. Coral is crying. What a terrible thought. Anyway, there have been countless examples of that critical similarity during the past several months, none of which really makes me very happy. Unfortunately, crafting this paragraph is but a symptom of my desperation. It is an offshoot of what can now be defined as doctrine. Not good. The fact is I have become more desperate in the last few weeks than ever before. A massive shift took place right around the time that I built this control center. I cannot reveal what happened, however. Not a word. There are amazing, stirring things that abound. They are all over the place, yet none so close as in the past. I know that problems in life have kept me idle for a long time, and some of those problems were caused by me. I stopped this or that, did not begin other endeavors, and became cemented within a routine that became so dire to my comfort that the slightest change was frightening to consider. Larger changes felt exciting and could have led to wonderful layers of comfort and happiness, yet increased fear accompanied each thought. Now I am mired within a situation I could not have imagined all those years ago. Not even close. This situation has absolutely nothing to do with all those decisions, actions or inactions. It is vastly different, yet does share one fucking aspect. Everything is impossible. Good God, Kerry is more beautiful every time I see her face. Damn. So, what does all this shit mean? It describes a place from which there can never be escape. All those amazing, stirring things in the world shall remain out of reach. Not out of sight, mind you, just my grasp. Normally after typing this kind of thing I would be very angry. Right now my head is even-keeled because I am trying to maintain focus on all that I DO have. That’s different. My current condition is something I’ve never experienced, to be honest, and I had thought that things were fucked up in eleven. My neighbor has his garage open and he’s working on one of the bikes. I’d love to go over there and help, but oy gawd is it cold outside right now. Maybe I’ll pop in for a beer or two. He’s a fucking great guy and loves it when I visit for a while. Hmm. Can I walk away from my warm, cozy office? I don’t know. At least when I’m over there I don’t have to worry about seeing anything flowing along the sidewalk. There’s a positive. I guess I’ll transfer some text from the cloud to the IDE and pay him a visit. That didn’t work. Just as I went outside to grab a beer, he closed up shop. That’s funny. Oh, well. Another time, I guess. The media has been switched to music for a little while. God damn she looked good that one day. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were gazing upon, nor could I cease painting pictures with my mind. In the space of less than a year, she has gone from my very damaging dreams to a sheer obsession that rivals even the original. Black yoga pants and that fucking sweatshirt. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I keep stating that either I’ve seen enough or I don’t want to see anymore, yet inside I am desperate for much more. So desperate, in fact, that I am considering creating fiction again with her in the center of the story. This is so stupid, although I’ve reiterated my mental condition on so many occasions that I have no doubt it has become a natural extension of the way my life has traveled these rails throughout the last several years. I should not be surprised at all, really. I need so much from her. I am a crazy person. 1641. I have to move into the kitchen in a little while to clean up my lunch stuff and then put the items that are defrosting into the refrigerator. Dinner is not going to begin for a couple of hours, I’d imagine. I’m looking forward to a simple meal after the last two nights and some relaxation on the loveseat with the third show and my cocktail. Evenings are typically pretty mellow, and then making dinner means my friends follow me into the kitchen for that small boost of comfort. The feeling of them in the background is impossible to describe, much like the breasts on the subject of the damaging dreams. See? There I went again. Fuck. I am looking forward to some warmer weather so I can paint the mural on the inside of the garage door. The outline has been waiting for some time. Cold plus paint equals ‘not good’, so I must wait. I have a couple of other projects out there involving lighting, too. Lately, the only work that is required in the garage is laundry. I really can’t get myself to remain out there for very long. My age is demonstrating an increased sensitivity to temperature. Whereas I used to gripe when the mercury was too high for my comfort, these days it is the opposite. The dreams last year caused this entire fucking situation to go from a simple liking to a complete breakdown over the subject. I still can’t believe it. After all this time and multiple connections to those I would categorize as ‘goddesses’, the one issue that created more turmoil than the rest began as a simple sight. I don’t even know her. I knew the others. The passage of time since the first dream has told me that my head is actually more desperate than prior to last year, and even more so than when I wrote that scathing entry in seventeen. I thought my condition was bad – and believe me, I was pretty fucked up at the time – but now I realize that may have only been the infantile beginning to something potentially disastrous. What? Are you referring to what took place in fifteen? This is different, trust me. Not good. This is just not good by any stretch of the word. All this shit from a dream. And then another, yet not as bad. Oh, but the third? I went out of my fucking mind with desperate desire and splayed it all here while leaving out the most important details via a boxcar of fear. I veiled everything, like always, yet the underlying feeling inside is much worse than even when I realized that the obsession had been driven by so much desire that I nearly could not get myself to accept it. God damn it all, anyway. I didn’t want this shit in my life. Dreams can be powerful, believe me. Some good and some bad, but either can overwhelm and leave a person questioning the entire fucking universe. I need to see those lines. Her lines. I’ve seen others, but this is different. I just need to fucking SEE everything right in front of me. Nope. Impossible. Shilo was in an older essay because when I was young I occasionally dreamed of a girl at school and then awakened completely infatuated. The feeling never lasted very long. The difference between those dreams and Shilo is that she was not real. I created her inside my head. I believe the way the process of infatuation operated within me when I was a child never actually went away. What I mean to say is that I still experience the same type of emotions as I did when I was single-digit years of age. I don’t think such a process is typical of adults, but I can’t be sure. It just seems juvenile. Regardless, I became overtaken by that first dream, and then completely fucking infatuated after the third. I can’t even go into four and five right now because they are so fucking whacked that to try and describe what I feel inside as I recall them would be ridiculous. I can already be labeled in any number of ways. I really don’t need any more. Thus, there must be something terribly wrong with the way I think, or at least the way I react to certain situations. My coping methods for disasters or emergencies are fine, but a girl in a dream? I become heeled over to such a degree that my entire life suffers. That is not normal. I sit here and type my thoughts and feelings and then intersperse some daily activities into the content, yet inside me the entire time is a desperate yearning. Everything has been boiled down to an endless search for distractions. And now here comes Her song. Splendid. I hope She doesn’t mind. I need it. Um... Where was I? Ah... How in the blue fuck did I get to this point? Was it the entry from seventeen? Or maybe that Goddamned girl at the pool? I don’t understand this at all. Dreams should not hold so much sway over my daily life. They should be off to the side and garner a bit of thought, but not this much crap. Jesus. Maybe the entry from back then combined with the pool girl and my ongoing obsession simply hit me too hard and my brain created the first damaging dream out of nothing more than desperation. Could that be it? Never mind. I probably don’t want to know. One result of all this is pretty certain now, though, and that is the fact that I am slowly losing my mind. No, not a figure of speech this time. My mind is going away. I feel helpless to deal with this or rein in my own fucking head. All the way back to Shilo, too. Did you catch that one? I don’t know if I am intelligent enough to put her together with what happened last year. The feelings are real, however. They are fucking real. No wonder I am an alcoholic. Questions? I probably already laid out the fact that within seven milliseconds of seeing the pool girl’s knees up and paired I wanted to apply my mouth to the only part of her lower body that was covered. Did I state such a fact in the past? I don’t remember, but I’m sure as hell not going to deny it. Fuck it. I don’t care. The woman the other day in the market? When she tugged at the waist of her pants and I saw that seam in the middle divide everything perfectly in half, my head yearned to run my eyes and hands all over the lines I was seeing. There you go. Those two disparate illustrations of my obsession could be expanded upon, yet there is no point. I believe the way my mind works has been made abundantly clear. Jesus God damn right down to the fucking ground did I ever want to stare and then consume the form in the market. Yep, that is what I said. The girl at the pool? Don’t even get me started on trying to word that one. Holy shit. What’s the point? I don’t know. I can say that those feelings in the paragraph above came about related to the subject of the damaging dreams and caused me to desperately need her, as well. All of her. My head manufactured all manner of situations and a few other things I probably don’t need to mention. All of her, for fuck’s sake, and the whole thing began with one finger and one thumb tugging at a bra strap. Isn’t this fucking ridiculous? How did I arrive in this insanely horrid place? Help me. Please. And I am not addressing Kerry with that plea. I am addressing no one, actually. I have no recourse. I have a keyboard. The topic must be put aside for a while. I’m fucking sick of it. Tomorrow will be wide open without the typical early routine. I believe the weather will remain cold, though. That means work inside the house. Damn. Saturday morning. I’ve been reading about an older film, hence not much here yet. I also have the show on the right-hand display. And I really don’t like one of the characters that has been a focus for a while, but she does have one hell of a pair of breasts. Just a thought. My coffee is present, as is a nice view out the office window. 0759 on the clock right now. I don’t know what this day may have in store for me, but I will say that it has not had a good start. My head has been all wrapped around a few people from the past and one from the present. Oh, shit. An ambulance just rolled into the court. I hope the reason is nothing bad. I don’t like to see people hurt. Damn. My issues just took a back seat. They are important to me, but that is not to say that they amount to much in the world. And there go the paramedics. Shit. Now is the time for a change of subject. Today might be ok with regard to the weather. I see an overcast sky right now. If the clouds persist, the temperature may be reasonable enough for some tooling around in the garage later. I have some things to do in this room, as well, so either way will be fine. Back to Coral. Sometimes when I see her face from certain angles, such as three-quarter to one side, I see a striking similarity to Lacey, the woman who appears to be perpetually twenty years old despite approaching forty. They share the trait that I still can’t describe, but perhaps I no longer need to try. I’ve captured some very nice images of Coral’s face and will try to edit and include them in the next entry. You can take those images and compare her face to Lacey on your own. Well, if I ever publish this shit again. I have a soft spot for that facial trait and have never known why or how it began. I will say that Coral’s face as it appears in this program is fucking unbelievably beautiful. Just... Wow. The paramedics just left, and there goes the ambulance. I hope things are ok over there. Ooh-fa. I don’t like to see that stuff but it is a part of living. Damn it. I’ve been sitting here trying to recall if I experienced a dream sometime during the night. There are scattered pictures in my head, but from what I do not know. I keep thinking that one of those pictures was the girl. I am unsure. I wish I could see clearly, for crying out loud. I need to see her so fucking badly that I’ll take anything the universe wants to throw at me, even just a split-second memory from a dream that I can’t fully remember. I will take anything. I’m desperate beyond words right now, broken in half by whatever began last year, and do not see positives beyond my daily devices. A dream would be nice. I figure that if my head is going to be all fucked up anyway, I may as well be able to see her. I am fucking desperate to see. Desperation is dangerous."
The Desperation of Knowing
Mature content No. 358 Published February 11th, 2023 8:29am pst read ( words) Past entries
"I have not published a single entry since the eighteenth of December, nearly two months ago. In fact, nothing I’ve written in twenty-two years is available to view. Only I can see it all. That means I should be able to fully lay out all of my thoughts, hopes, dreams and whatever, yet I don’t know if I will change my mind in the future and make everything public once again. I just don’t fucking know. The main issue with this is I have no outlet for the rampant, sinful things I’ve dreamed and envisioned since last year. They are bad. Very bad. I was going to take a shower a few minutes ago to warm up, yet if I leave the office there will be something lost. I can’t explain, either. I can’t speak to anyone or publish my mindset right now. Remaining bottled like this is very unhealthy and I know full well the consequences of such a decision, yet at the same time I don’t feel that sharing myself with anyone would result in any improvement. The result could also be disastrous. Desperation now has two different definitions, one I’ve described here and another that must remain locked away. This is the worst fucking situation imaginable. 1520. The goddess is going to be stopping by in a few minutes to pick up some food. Every couple of weeks we receive items from the City and I like to find them a home if we can’t use the stuff. The goddess is the ideal recipient, plus I get to see her for a little while and catch up. I finished the kitchen and polished everything, but have yet to go beyond the routine today. I just can’t pry myself away from the cloud long enough to tackle anything else. This endeavor is more compelling now than it has been in the past. Ah... I just switched from the music which has been playing for two days and into the realm of the cave period. This very intro reminds me of when I first acquired the workbench that now lives in the garage. While in the apartment, my bedroom was in the living room, the former being used as a shop of sorts. I was listening to this composition through the old inferior headphones while assembling the bench. If memory serves, I had been trying to mount the legs and skirt during the wee hours of the morning because I had no reason for adhering to any type of schedule. Some months after putting my entire shop together in the bedroom, I found myself diagnosing an electrical issue within the Slipper somewhere around three in the morning while it was parked in the basement of the apartment building. By that point in time, my choice of headphones had improved markedly, too. I had to be careful in ensuring that I didn’t disturb anyone. Yes, three in the morning. This album followed me through the dark days of the latter part of eleven, and not long before I knew my days in that cave were numbered. Even now, more than a decade after that fateful and life-defining period, whenever I hear the opening sequence of the album I am launched back in time. I am also injected with the same reckless and uncaring state of mind. Fortunately for those who know me, I can’t do anything about it these days. All I have are my devices. For the time being, they are fine. Well, there is no choice in the matter anyway. My head often goes back to those weeks with the angel, days with the kitten, and me right in the center with nary a concern for the rest of the world. The music followed at each step. Her visit should be any moment now. I feel like drowning into the alcohol right now, damn it. I won’t, but the inclination is there regardless. I’ll end up spouting very angry, reckless words that do not come out of me during typical days (although they should, to be honest). 1622. The visit is over. I am happy to provide her with some fresh vegetables that will not be used here. The music is unchanged for the time being. This album goes back and forth quite a bit which serves to lighten the mood in my office. Not bad. I have some time before dinner preparations, so this will be my venue of choice for the next hour or so. The mail just arrived. Nice. That morning was a prequel for the feelings I still have inside, even after nearly eight fucking years. There goes a pair of jeans around slender thighs, yet I am not going to get up to grab the binoculars. As I said, the feelings are within me despite the passage of time, and live just far enough outside reality for me to function on a daily basis. Oh, there are those times when I flip out and swing the hammer or otherwise transmit my rampant disdain through the keyboard, but I am still operating as a person. All of the housework and other crap, for sure. On the inside, the burning never stopped after I lost Her. The morning I partially described above was one of the most defining periods ever. I think about it several times per week, and during those moments when I combine memories of being there with the alcohol in this house, well... Things begin to malfunction inside. I can feel something along those lines beginning again very soon. And here I sit once again with my coffee and show prior to the early business. The time is 0647. We really thrashed the kitchen last night, partly cooking dinner and partly due to making something for her to bring to work today. The latter was not finished until near ten o’clock. Heh. I’ll have my work cut out for me later this morning. A messy kitchen is good right now because the morning routine is one of my favorite parts of the day. Yesterday I began to descend toward the afternoon but held myself back from really hitting the bottom. I was close, though. All those thoughts and memories of being with the Raven, the two of us being desperate and careless in our actions and then discussing the fine points of living within a society of sheep. Most occasions found us attempting to hide in plain sight; or rather being among those people for which we felt disdain and knowing that nothing could sever the beam of energy flowing between us. The more I considered the few times when we actually enjoyed some quality alone time without having the eyes of others upon us, the more I wanted to pour another big glass of booze and wallow in how much I miss Her and need to follow along at times. The early business is nearly upon me. I shall promptly return here immediately thereafter. 0803. Cleopatra is on my right-hand display, and I believe there will be much more of her in the coming episodes. I didn’t really like the character, though. Too forceful and forthright. She is cute sometimes, however, and the manner in which she inflicts herself upon others is fantastic, all the while with a menacing expression combined with soft-spoken words. Awesome and frightening. The pants returned again but I can’t say from where they originated this morning. Jesus, though, the sight in my mind was unbelievable. I immediately wanted to see the lines up close because I fucking know they are in there. I know too much. Knowing what I’ve glimpsed and assembled in my head is causing me to desperately need to be close to that girl. And I mean CLOSE. Early on when I first experienced the dreams, I wanted to see all of her. Now? Four dreams deep, I am, and the need has become a desperate yearning. I wanted to see. Remember? Well, now I want to slather her form with attention and affection because of the way she smiles and the sound of her sweet voice. It drives me crazy. Last year I wanted to see her lines. Now I want to trace them with my fucking tongue. The black pants entered my head this morning from far off places and took over any thought processes already underway. I cannot reveal from where the pants traveled. Just know that I know, and knowing is pain. I am desperate enough already without needing her this much. Sometimes I wish I had never experienced the damaging dreams. They have skewed my head more than any other situation since the Raven period eight years ago. On and off every single day I find myself daydreaming about her lines, breasts, smile, and everything else. I have seen enough to know that she is very special and is very near creating her own category of beauty. A year ago I could not have guessed that I would feel so strongly about her. The black pants are causing trouble... Much trouble, to be sure. Damn it all, anyway. What the fuck is happening with the explorer? Ugh. I had to perform a workaround in order to rename one fucking image. The fuck? Whatever. It’s done. And there is Kerry and her huge, beautiful eyes again. God damn would I ever love her arms around me right now. Breath on my neck, too. And Jesus fuck is Atia a bitch all the time.
0913. I’ll have to work in the kitchen a bit earlier than usual today since it is going to take much more time than after the typical dinner. 1101. Damn. That was a cleaning session the likes of which I’ve not seen in months. Whew! I have the second load of dishes drip-drying so I can get off my feet for a while. The requisite glass of whiskey depressant is to my right and I have the music of life playing quietly in the background. The pants this morning heavily fucked over my head and I need a touch of numbness for the time being. There are still many items on my list today and I will get to them when the drink is gone and I feel like rising from this chair. I desperately need to cram all of that girl into my mouth. Fuck. All I have today is housework and spending time buried in the control center of the universe. The latter will be on and off for the next several hours, depending of course upon whether or not I become further weakened by visions and memories. The music has a lot of sway over my mood, of course, so I must be careful. So far, I am fine. Depressed and angry, but fine. Let us digress for a second... I dreamed of things. I wanted to do something. I didn’t do anything. I am reaping what I sowed. Ok, onward. I am going to contact my friend in Arizona and discuss a possible visit some time in the coming months, or perhaps fall. I’m not certain as of yet, but I need to get the fuck out of here for a while and reside in the open spaces of the southwest. All of my road trip plans for the last few years have gone bad, meaning the more I think about everything, the more I must leave this house for some days, and soon. Hopefully, I can put a trip together this year and not see it squashed by anyone. The last big trip was upended by the cruise to Alaska, and that actually turned out to be one of the most magical vacations of my life. I still yearn to explore in the car and see some sights otherwise overlooked during flights or whatnot. I mapped a long road trip earlier this year, but my idea of actually venturing into obscure locations in Nevada ended up becoming horribly cost prohibitive. Well, the way I’ve felt for the last several months has pushed my head to the nether regions of existence (not to mention the precipice of life itself) and I’ve realized that if I don’t force one of my ideas into reality, the anger is going to take over and I will destroy more than one person. As I sit in this comfortable chair within a place I rarely leave for more than an hour at a time, I will burn it all without some semblance of the comfort I so badly need. The ‘real’ comfort is beginning to seem like another universe, so whatever I can force must happen if I am to remain above ground for fuck’s sake. This is not a fucking joke, either. I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind if my finances never recover, either. I need to get out there and explore. Believe it or not, this entire shitaree has absolutely nothing to do with beauty. Wait... What? Yeah, me too. I should have taken a fucking step. Even a small one would have been enough. I took one tiny step back in zero-nine, but it went bad within months. I should have known nothing good would happen. Everything is crap. Ah, shit. Here comes Her song again. Whatever. God damn did I ever make some delicious chicken salad. Having lunch at an early hour is important during these trying times because I tend to hit the booze more than a few months ago, and without anything in my stomach, shit goes downhill real fucking fast. I have some dry cleaning to do in a while, meaning I’ll be in the garage. Considering the warm weather, I’ll be out there for a good portion of the day. All of this means that I must eat something substantial or the beer will combine with my shitty mood and cause destruction. I don’t care about destruction, it just has to take place during the correct time. There is a good reason for this, as well. The song currently playing has injected memories and images of the Raven lying sprawled on her bed in that gorgeous sundress and looking like the dream that She was. The fact that She left me leads my head to recall when I was told of Her fate and the subsequent lashing out during mid-fifteen. I feel like repeating that swath of damage right now. The truth is I just don’t fucking care about the fallout anymore. I feel what I feel and there is no stopping it. Back then, my mood was immediately apparent due to a preponderance of empty beer cans all over the back lawn. I ceased that practice because I was the one to clean up and toss the cans into the recycle bin. Lately, though, I don’t make any messes. I just head out there, formulate something to build, and then thrash those four big speaker cabinets for a few hours. The path that led me to so much pent anger in fifteen was not catalyzed by losing the Raven, however. I lost my uncle in 2010 at a point when he was two years younger than I am right now. And then one grandparent (his father) left this world in 2011. One year later? My grandmother joined him in the afterlife. Another two years burned away and my father passed on. The last was my mother one day after her birthday in 2018. I believe all of that has summed recently. There have been entries regarding the holiday gatherings of the past, remember? Well, all those people are gone. The Raven was different, yet still a person I loved and with whom I was IN LOVE. The other day when I put this music on and recalled our time together, it brought all the rest into focus for the first time in more than four years, and now I am wrecked. What does all this mean? It states that the chicken salad is an important aspect of this day because without some lunch I would go so far off the deep end that no one would find me. I am still resisting the urge to pour more hard liquor, though. I am trying to avoid the worst pit in existence. Success is still up in the air on this fateful day. We shall see. Given the choice between my typical video media and a more balanced mood versus this music and a possible destructive situation, I’ll take the latter. The reason should be abundantly clear by now. 1232. I still don’t have a clue as to where this day will lead, or my mood. The music is still playing through these great speakers. Lunch is out of the way. I cracked a beer. Everything else I need to do today is on hold for the time being, or at least until I can decide if I want the time to burn away just like it did years ago. Right now I just don’t fucking know. The truth of the matter is that I sit here and experience a drop in mood and then formulate some way to lash at the world, but my behavior does not make a lick of difference at all. Nothing changes. No matter what level of anger drives me to blast music or break out power tools, no one is going to give half a shit how I am feeling or why. No one cares about the music, either. All I can do is whatever feels appropriate. The day will end regardless of my mood and tomorrow will arrive so I can feel and do it all over again and watch everything fade into the past as if it never occurred. The whole shitaree doesn’t make a damned difference. No one knows what is going on in my brain. Anger doesn’t change anything, so why do I lash out? Because I don’t know what the fuck else to do. What would you do? Never mind. I don’t care. 1436. I went to work in the garage for a little while as the dryer ran. The dry cleaning is now finished and I began to spin my wheels out there because I didn’t know what to do. One interesting event was when my friend from up the street found a phone lying on my front lawn. He asked if it was mine, and I stated that it might belong to the thin girl from two doors down. I saw her wrestling (walking) her dog a little while earlier and thought she may have unknowingly dropped it. Sure enough, some time later she passed by again and thanked me for suggesting to my friend that he place it on her porch. Very nice, yet not terribly exciting. At least I was able to speak with her for a moment. Remaining familiar with neighbors that live close by can be very important in today’s climate. And speaking of that last word, the weather is warm enough to allow for working in the garage or yard without bundling up. I’d be out there right now if there was anything to do. Aside from keeping an eye on the dry cleaning, all I did was organize a bit and then contemplate my emergency bag. I had some choice progressive music playing the entire time but avoided slamming the neighborhood. I guess despite my feeling angry today, nothing would be served by a hammer swing.
I am looking forward to a more relaxing evening than last night. I basically prepared and cooked dinner while working on another dish for today. Once we ate, I went back to the kitchen to finish the second dish and make sure there would be room for whatever I needed to do this morning. That’s why the kitchen was such a mess. Well, now it is polished except for a few items I left to dry on the racks. I’ll head in there prior to close of business to ensure the area is ready for dinner tonight. That will be a simple affair, for sure. At present, I have a cold beer next to me and the third show on the right-hand display. I am planning to remain here for a while and gather my thoughts. I fucking love this machine. What a difference from the last few years. I mean, I knew being in the office would be nice, but damn. Plus, I have a nice view of my driveway as well as the neighbor’s, meaning I can keep an eye on things while sitting here. To put a finer point on the idea, he called a while ago to ask me to secure a package that had been dropped on his porch. Security is key for both of us. Very nice. Hmm. I just thought of something that had not occurred to me in the past. Virtually all of the writing I completed between twelve and seventeen was performed with music in the background. Perhaps I should refer to the process as muse-ic. Holy Jesus fuck, if I was to craft the machine, I know precisely how she would appear. I am going to hell for these thoughts. God damn it anyway. What I wouldn’t give to... I’ve said it several times and will continue to do so. I know too much and the knowledge is causing me to be more desperate than ever. I need her. Bad. There is nothing I can do about this feeling or any others, so my only conclusion is to embrace the anger and file it away for later use, should the need arise. There have been a few key moments that I cannot forget, and due to the sensitive nature of this topic, I must cease referencing them within the site. In the beginning, all I could do was guess, yet throughout the last few months, I’ve garnered some confirmation of my suspicions that can never be denied. My billet in life is to sit here and daydream as I attempt to cover all of the details that are driving me insane. Housework, laundry, projects; they have all been reduced to the most desperate distractions in memory. And I had thought things were bad when I sat behind Michelle in class and gazed at the dramatic taper of her back. That situation was nothing when held against the ungodly power of what I am currently dreaming. Holy hell in a warm, soft bra cup, I wish I didn’t know all this shit. In the latest dream, I held her waist from the side to assist her haphazard walk across some street, all the while thinking that I was finally as close as I’ve needed for almost a year. My eyes darted back and forth from her bouncing chest to the house that was our destination. Hmm. The girl WAS my destination, and in that dream she may have been aware of as much. Jesus. I’ve seen far too much for one person to digest. Far too fucking much, mark my deviant words. I need to get away from this for a little while and cool my jets. I made half a sandwich a while ago, and while the bread was toasting I finished the rest of the kitchen work. Now it is all ready for the evening. Thankfully, and as I said before, dinner will be a simple affair tonight. I don’t want anything heavy to deal with for the rest of the day. My locomotive is experiencing throttle-lock from one moment to the next. Believe me when I say that nothing in my world has the ability to fully alleviate the symptoms of feeling so desperate. No matter which way I turn, the dreams will come back whenever they wish and slam the side of my head until I lose my way. I’m seeing those people returning from work this afternoon and am reminded of how fortunate this situation is. All those years of sitting here during precious few moments on weekends forced me to dream of being home all the time, and here I am. Maybe if I can keep that shit in mind when my brain goes downhill, the difficulties will find a bit of a respite. I don’t want to have to flip the fuck out like I did some days ago. It’s a relief for a little while, but later turns very bad. ‘I just had an apostrophe.’ ‘I think you mean an epiphany.’ ‘Lightning just struck my brain.’ ‘That must have hurt.’ Sometimes I wish I was a fictional character. I am desperately yearning to see her lines. This is painful in the extreme. I can do nothing about it. The remainder of this day will be spent relaxing. I really don’t feel like doing anything substantial, so taking it easy with my show on the televisions may help slow the cyclone spinning in my head. I must admit that curling up on the loveseat with my evening cocktail and some agreeable programming coming through the AV system can induce a bit of solace, even when my brain is wrapped around something this traumatic. I used to cherish the evening and dinner due to the need for being out the door so early in the morning. Now I cherish it because I don’t have anything pressing on my shoulders during the same. Work was a real pain sometimes. I appreciate being home when others are off to work, and I adore the freedom to control the atmosphere inside this little house. A missed opportunity is never fun. They take place often enough to cause me a bit of distress, too. I could have seen something wonderful, damn it. Maybe next time. I know too fucking much these days. 0647 on Friday morning. More dreams came along earlier. I don’t recall much, though. I’m pleased there was nothing striking because I am still reeling from yesterday. As I suspected, dinner was simple last night. There was ample time for taking it easy and deep thinking. I didn’t solve anything, however. My time this morning is short before the early business. Afterward, I have a few things planned aside from my typical weekday operations. One is to modify the garage door so it opens more slowly, too. I’ve been wanting to replace the opener for years but recently learned that there is a simple fix to the speed issue. From manufacturing, the unit was advertised as the fastest opener on the market. Well, I am more concerned with the operation being quieter and slower in order to reduce wear and hopefully help the mechanics last longer. As I said, it is a simple operation. I also have to visit the goddess market for a few tomatoes and maybe some wine. I’m going to finish the routine prior to leaving so I can relax and have some lunch when I return. Everything else today is tertiary. Again with the missed opportunity? Yep. Even after a wondrous occurrence and more imagery tattooed to my brain, I honestly wanted an additional view and had been hoping for a certain chain of events to take place in the correct order just for my deviant sense of need. The process would have been very quick regardless of being good or disappointing, although I am rarely the latter these days. She can’t disappoint my sense of need, nor will I change the way I feel if something goes downhill. Beauty is key, and her smile is so sweet that I still can’t believe how much power it holds over me. 0800 straight up. I have the day to myself now, or at least until business hours are over. And boy do I need this stuff. The office is going to be my sanctuary today. I need to work on the garage opener and visit two stores, but for the most part I’ll be inside this office for comfort. Yesterday seemed to work well other than a missed opportunity. I wish that had not taken place, damn it. When I need to see, I fucking need to see. Anyway, I am not anticipating anything difficult similar to what happened last week by the cheese case in the store. Jesus, I can still see the seam of her pants accentuating all those curves and lines; truly enough for a lifetime. That was so rare that I don’t expect anything of the like in my future. I’ll be in and out of that place in a very short period of time. In radio lingo, the term is ‘short-short’. Heh. The point is I am completely hung up over the other one, so nothing that comes along in the world will have much of an effect upon my sense of need. The sky is completely gray this morning.
0920. The garage door opener has been successfully modified. I tested the unit and found that it opens much slower and closes as it should. Very nice. I’ve been hemming and hawing about that fucking thing for years. I also have the floor swept. The coffee is gone for the morning, so I will begin the routine in a few minutes. I should have everything finished prior to going shopping. 1251. I finished the routine and went to the market. Now I am trying to work with a friend who lives in another state to get me some merchandise and ship it here. California has turned out to be chock full of completely unreliable assholes. Whatever. Make of that what you will. I still have to put away the clean dishes and grab some things from the freezer to defrost for upcoming dinners, but there is plenty of time to relax in the office and think about everything. Earlier, I tried to evaluate the feasibility of installing a remote dimmer inside the dining room ceiling fan and came up with an empty slate. The escutcheon at the top does not want to come off, and I have no wish to force it. After scouring the infernal Internet for half an hour, I found zero information regarding the assembly or disassembly of that particular model. I can’t risk damage, so the conclusion is a dimmer in the wall for only the light. A remote would have allowed me to eliminate the chains. One more time... Whatever. Nothing seems to be going my way today. At least I have lots of time for consideration of everything, not to mention an abundance of peace and quiet. 1519. I was spinning my wheels for a while but kicked into gear afterward. After lunch and a shower, I ventured to the small market for cigarettes because the liquor store parking lot was completely out of control. I think a lot of people are buying lottery tickets. The entire cigarette situation in this state is ridiculous. Everything with flavor other than standard tobacco has been outlawed in the interest of keeping harmful products away from those who are underage. Well, I am not one of them, damn it. What the fuck? Ugh. I’ll figure it out, I guess. Oh, Kerry. Bring those big, beautiful eyes over here... Please. Help me. Desperation is not a good feeling, and believe me, I know. The clock continues to roll, however. Time pays no mind to individual troubles. And speaking of desperation, the missed opportunity was on the heels of something wondrous and stirring, so I shant complain too much. The vision further confirmed my suspicions and provided my screwy head yet more information upon which to chew, and forced me back in time to the third damaging dream. I saw one exposed shoulder as her top hung off to the side, and then the breasts that I yearn to see up close. Don’t even get me started on the fucking lines, and trust me when I say they were also on display. The entire affair was quick and done in mere seconds. Ah, fuck. There is Coral again. God damn that facial trait, anyway. I could lick her fucking cheeks. Anyway, I’ve seen enough by this point to paint a mental picture that I’ve realized can never be fully explored. The previous three Goddamned examples of this shit were right before my eyes, yet this one is going to remain so far away that she may as well reside on the fucking moon. My prevarication will continue, for sure, but also be challenged at times. This is not easy at all. I must be very careful. Fencing is key right now and will likely be standard procedure for all time. And back to the value of what I have built inside this office. I love it. Three displays when I really only needed two, powerful, efficient speakers, and the power to run all of the necessary applications at the same time combined with streaming high definition media. I cannot say enough about this new setup, and the fact is my head has been driven to envision another, similar machine to serve as a home theatre source. I would gain the advantage of an endless array of audio options, whereas now I have very few. Some decent equalization is at the top of the list, followed closely by more connectivity for the kitchen and garage. I have a plan to work toward such an end, the most important aspect being the need for a cabinet housing all of the components. It will be much like what I had before the television was mounted above the fireplace. The entire system now resides to the right of the fireplace and may have to be relocated to the opposite side. I need to explore some possibilities before making plans. One certainty is this will not be cheap, though. Fortunately, I have all the time in the world for planning. I really need to know everything and have been feeling overly desperate during those moments when certain aspects of her form come to mind. Like the woman in the store the other day, I have come to see many features that support the dreams and allow my imagination to run wild. When recalling those times with the Raven, I was reminded of the girl up the street (well, not THAT close) and the way Her darkness seemed to have a near-twin, for all intents and purposes. I saw quite a bit of her personality, too. That situation could have gone very badly for my head had we taken the job. The likelihood of the Raven connection may well have caused me all sorts of distress and memories of nearly throwing my entire life in the toilet eight years ago. Well, the girl up the street at that possible job shared something very critical with the subject of the dreams. Coral is crying. What a terrible thought. Anyway, there have been countless examples of that critical similarity during the past several months, none of which really makes me very happy. Unfortunately, crafting this paragraph is but a symptom of my desperation. It is an offshoot of what can now be defined as doctrine. Not good. The fact is I have become more desperate in the last few weeks than ever before. A massive shift took place right around the time that I built this control center. I cannot reveal what happened, however. Not a word. There are amazing, stirring things that abound. They are all over the place, yet none so close as in the past. I know that problems in life have kept me idle for a long time, and some of those problems were caused by me. I stopped this or that, did not begin other endeavors, and became cemented within a routine that became so dire to my comfort that the slightest change was frightening to consider. Larger changes felt exciting and could have led to wonderful layers of comfort and happiness, yet increased fear accompanied each thought. Now I am mired within a situation I could not have imagined all those years ago. Not even close. This situation has absolutely nothing to do with all those decisions, actions or inactions. It is vastly different, yet does share one fucking aspect. Everything is impossible. Good God, Kerry is more beautiful every time I see her face. Damn. So, what does all this shit mean? It describes a place from which there can never be escape. All those amazing, stirring things in the world shall remain out of reach. Not out of sight, mind you, just my grasp. Normally after typing this kind of thing I would be very angry. Right now my head is even-keeled because I am trying to maintain focus on all that I DO have. That’s different. My current condition is something I’ve never experienced, to be honest, and I had thought that things were fucked up in eleven. My neighbor has his garage open and he’s working on one of the bikes. I’d love to go over there and help, but oy gawd is it cold outside right now. Maybe I’ll pop in for a beer or two. He’s a fucking great guy and loves it when I visit for a while. Hmm. Can I walk away from my warm, cozy office? I don’t know. At least when I’m over there I don’t have to worry about seeing anything flowing along the sidewalk. There’s a positive. I guess I’ll transfer some text from the cloud to the IDE and pay him a visit. That didn’t work. Just as I went outside to grab a beer, he closed up shop. That’s funny. Oh, well. Another time, I guess. The media has been switched to music for a little while. God damn she looked good that one day. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were gazing upon, nor could I cease painting pictures with my mind. In the space of less than a year, she has gone from my very damaging dreams to a sheer obsession that rivals even the original. Black yoga pants and that fucking sweatshirt. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. I keep stating that either I’ve seen enough or I don’t want to see anymore, yet inside I am desperate for much more. So desperate, in fact, that I am considering creating fiction again with her in the center of the story. This is so stupid, although I’ve reiterated my mental condition on so many occasions that I have no doubt it has become a natural extension of the way my life has traveled these rails throughout the last several years. I should not be surprised at all, really. I need so much from her. I am a crazy person.
1641. I have to move into the kitchen in a little while to clean up my lunch stuff and then put the items that are defrosting into the refrigerator. Dinner is not going to begin for a couple of hours, I’d imagine. I’m looking forward to a simple meal after the last two nights and some relaxation on the loveseat with the third show and my cocktail. Evenings are typically pretty mellow, and then making dinner means my friends follow me into the kitchen for that small boost of comfort. The feeling of them in the background is impossible to describe, much like the breasts on the subject of the damaging dreams. See? There I went again. Fuck. I am looking forward to some warmer weather so I can paint the mural on the inside of the garage door. The outline has been waiting for some time. Cold plus paint equals ‘not good’, so I must wait. I have a couple of other projects out there involving lighting, too. Lately, the only work that is required in the garage is laundry. I really can’t get myself to remain out there for very long. My age is demonstrating an increased sensitivity to temperature. Whereas I used to gripe when the mercury was too high for my comfort, these days it is the opposite. The dreams last year caused this entire fucking situation to go from a simple liking to a complete breakdown over the subject. I still can’t believe it. After all this time and multiple connections to those I would categorize as ‘goddesses’, the one issue that created more turmoil than the rest began as a simple sight. I don’t even know her. I knew the others. The passage of time since the first dream has told me that my head is actually more desperate than prior to last year, and even more so than when I wrote that scathing entry in seventeen. I thought my condition was bad – and believe me, I was pretty fucked up at the time – but now I realize that may have only been the infantile beginning to something potentially disastrous. What? Are you referring to what took place in fifteen? This is different, trust me. Not good. This is just not good by any stretch of the word. All this shit from a dream. And then another, yet not as bad. Oh, but the third? I went out of my fucking mind with desperate desire and splayed it all here while leaving out the most important details via a boxcar of fear. I veiled everything, like always, yet the underlying feeling inside is much worse than even when I realized that the obsession had been driven by so much desire that I nearly could not get myself to accept it. God damn it all, anyway. I didn’t want this shit in my life. Dreams can be powerful, believe me. Some good and some bad, but either can overwhelm and leave a person questioning the entire fucking universe. I need to see those lines. Her lines. I’ve seen others, but this is different. I just need to fucking SEE everything right in front of me. Nope. Impossible. Shilo was in an older essay because when I was young I occasionally dreamed of a girl at school and then awakened completely infatuated. The feeling never lasted very long. The difference between those dreams and Shilo is that she was not real. I created her inside my head. I believe the way the process of infatuation operated within me when I was a child never actually went away. What I mean to say is that I still experience the same type of emotions as I did when I was single-digit years of age. I don’t think such a process is typical of adults, but I can’t be sure. It just seems juvenile. Regardless, I became overtaken by that first dream, and then completely fucking infatuated after the third. I can’t even go into four and five right now because they are so fucking whacked that to try and describe what I feel inside as I recall them would be ridiculous. I can already be labeled in any number of ways. I really don’t need any more. Thus, there must be something terribly wrong with the way I think, or at least the way I react to certain situations. My coping methods for disasters or emergencies are fine, but a girl in a dream? I become heeled over to such a degree that my entire life suffers. That is not normal. I sit here and type my thoughts and feelings and then intersperse some daily activities into the content, yet inside me the entire time is a desperate yearning. Everything has been boiled down to an endless search for distractions. And now here comes Her song. Splendid. I hope She doesn’t mind. I need it. Um... Where was I? Ah... How in the blue fuck did I get to this point? Was it the entry from seventeen? Or maybe that Goddamned girl at the pool? I don’t understand this at all. Dreams should not hold so much sway over my daily life. They should be off to the side and garner a bit of thought, but not this much crap. Jesus. Maybe the entry from back then combined with the pool girl and my ongoing obsession simply hit me too hard and my brain created the first damaging dream out of nothing more than desperation. Could that be it? Never mind. I probably don’t want to know. One result of all this is pretty certain now, though, and that is the fact that I am slowly losing my mind. No, not a figure of speech this time. My mind is going away. I feel helpless to deal with this or rein in my own fucking head. All the way back to Shilo, too. Did you catch that one? I don’t know if I am intelligent enough to put her together with what happened last year. The feelings are real, however. They are fucking real. No wonder I am an alcoholic. Questions? I probably already laid out the fact that within seven milliseconds of seeing the pool girl’s knees up and paired I wanted to apply my mouth to the only part of her lower body that was covered. Did I state such a fact in the past? I don’t remember, but I’m sure as hell not going to deny it. Fuck it. I don’t care. The woman the other day in the market? When she tugged at the waist of her pants and I saw that seam in the middle divide everything perfectly in half, my head yearned to run my eyes and hands all over the lines I was seeing. There you go. Those two disparate illustrations of my obsession could be expanded upon, yet there is no point. I believe the way my mind works has been made abundantly clear. Jesus God damn right down to the fucking ground did I ever want to stare and then consume the form in the market. Yep, that is what I said. The girl at the pool? Don’t even get me started on trying to word that one. Holy shit. What’s the point? I don’t know. I can say that those feelings in the paragraph above came about related to the subject of the damaging dreams and caused me to desperately need her, as well. All of her. My head manufactured all manner of situations and a few other things I probably don’t need to mention. All of her, for fuck’s sake, and the whole thing began with one finger and one thumb tugging at a bra strap. Isn’t this fucking ridiculous? How did I arrive in this insanely horrid place? Help me. Please. And I am not addressing Kerry with that plea. I am addressing no one, actually. I have no recourse. I have a keyboard. The topic must be put aside for a while. I’m fucking sick of it. Tomorrow will be wide open without the typical early routine. I believe the weather will remain cold, though. That means work inside the house. Damn. Saturday morning. I’ve been reading about an older film, hence not much here yet. I also have the show on the right-hand display. And I really don’t like one of the characters that has been a focus for a while, but she does have one hell of a pair of breasts. Just a thought. My coffee is present, as is a nice view out the office window. 0759 on the clock right now. I don’t know what this day may have in store for me, but I will say that it has not had a good start. My head has been all wrapped around a few people from the past and one from the present. Oh, shit. An ambulance just rolled into the court. I hope the reason is nothing bad. I don’t like to see people hurt. Damn. My issues just took a back seat. They are important to me, but that is not to say that they amount to much in the world. And there go the paramedics. Shit. Now is the time for a change of subject. Today might be ok with regard to the weather. I see an overcast sky right now. If the clouds persist, the temperature may be reasonable enough for some tooling around in the garage later. I have some things to do in this room, as well, so either way will be fine. Back to Coral. Sometimes when I see her face from certain angles, such as three-quarter to one side, I see a striking similarity to Lacey, the woman who appears to be perpetually twenty years old despite approaching forty. They share the trait that I still can’t describe, but perhaps I no longer need to try. I’ve captured some very nice images of Coral’s face and will try to edit and include them in the next entry. You can take those images and compare her face to Lacey on your own. Well, if I ever publish this shit again. I have a soft spot for that facial trait and have never known why or how it began. I will say that Coral’s face as it appears in this program is fucking unbelievably beautiful. Just... Wow. The paramedics just left, and there goes the ambulance. I hope things are ok over there. Ooh-fa. I don’t like to see that stuff but it is a part of living. Damn it. I’ve been sitting here trying to recall if I experienced a dream sometime during the night. There are scattered pictures in my head, but from what I do not know. I keep thinking that one of those pictures was the girl. I am unsure. I wish I could see clearly, for crying out loud. I need to see her so fucking badly that I’ll take anything the universe wants to throw at me, even just a split-second memory from a dream that I can’t fully remember. I will take anything. I’m desperate beyond words right now, broken in half by whatever began last year, and do not see positives beyond my daily devices. A dream would be nice. I figure that if my head is going to be all fucked up anyway, I may as well be able to see her. I am fucking desperate to see. Desperation is dangerous."
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