Detriment Mature content No. 375 Published May 25th, 2023 7:25am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The time is now 1019 on the same day as the last entry was published. Splendid. I don’t know what else to do right now because I’ve been trying to analyze everything, yet without really saying much. I have to leave out details or the whole shitaree will be shot to hell. I can’t have that. Believe me when I say that the information is not good by any stretch of the word. I would be condemned to hell if I laid out too much here. Just trust me... The right type of understanding may not exist, hence my veiled content. Yesterday’s incident is resonating inside like the devil’s own church bells and I can’t do anything about it. I keep seeing that maneuver over and over and dreaming of impossible situations. I still can’t fucking believe what I saw. Every now and then, something transpires to expand and increase the power of my obsession, and yesterday was another line; another level. My life is ruined. Maybe I need a pizza. I have half of my daily routine finished and a nice drink next to me. In a little while I’ll be cooking for tomorrow’s birthday party. In and around the preparations, I’ll probably take care of cleaning the kitchen so that the afternoon and evening are left wide open for whatever kind of wallowing seems appropriate. I’d throw beer cans all over the back lawn like in the past, but that practice never seems to accomplish anything. I simply calm down some hours later and gather them into the recycle bin. There is a beer can hanging above my workbench that is nearly eight years old. That was a bad day, this is true, yet the present is beginning to feel worse. I need to find other avenues for alleviating my frustration without causing damage or appearing childlike. I’m sure the kitchen work will progress comfortably with my extended family in the background, but otherwise I don’t know how I am going to feel as the clock spins through this day. I am absolutely DYING to splay everything here in great detail, too. Dying. I wish I could. Unfortunately, the likely repercussions could generate a situation with no escape. I have to remember that once the information leaves my lips or fingers, I can never get it back. Ugh. Shit. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of those fucking ears. Arms, too. I need the arms almost as badly. Anyway, the kitchen will be my destination very soon. I need to maintain order in my routine. One of my neighbors came by yesterday to hand me a thirty-nine year old bottle of whiskey that had been sitting in his garage for a very long time. I learned the age of the bottle via a code on the bottom and some research. The bottle is still three-quarters full, as well. I had thought he was just bringing it over so I could see, but then he stated that it was a gift. Wow. That was a super nice gesture. Sometimes a guy will stroll up the driveway to say hello and check out the motorcycle, and as such, I’ve met three people from the neighborhood just this year. I don’t mind being nice to others because there is no reason for anything else. I may be all fucked up inside (and no one has a clue), but that does not provide cause for behaving sans kindness. I have nothing against people wishing to trade greetings and make small talk. The whole of society is complete shit, but individuals tend to grate against such a fact. Good Christ in heaven, Jamie is so far beyond cute at this age that I can’t find the words. Jesus... What I wouldn’t give to feel her arms around me. I was talking about a bottle of whiskey and look where it went. I know full well why my mindset changed last year. I know everything. The process was a matter of time. Squished. Routed. Disregarded. I have been forced from one detrimental situation to another throughout so many years that I can’t go into detail for fear of flipping the fuck out. The change was inevitable. Believe it. Do you have any idea of what I am saying? The tumblers of wonder have aligned three times. That is all. Anger is building right now. 1145. I can’t get the mass of loss out of my head this morning. The kitchen is clean and I have some beans simmering for one of the salads, yet all the while I’ve been daydreaming of everything that is either gone or going away. I should not have seen what I saw yesterday. All that did was force my head into places I worship, and they are as elusive as the Passion. I have no recourse, either. The sum of all this shit is me feeling as if the idea of happiness in life is nothing more than an illusion. Moreover, I keep thinking that I’m going to run out of things to say, yet the last three years seem to prove otherwise. I should not have seen her yesterday, damn it. The effects are cumulative. Believe it. ‘One of these days, Alice...’ Matter of time. There was that guy... A character within some series I have yet to recall. He performed experiments far outside the law, and way beyond people’s comprehension. I remember the staging and scenery, but after years of searching, the series still eludes. There was sympathy inherent in what he had been trying to accomplish. Much sympathy, to be sure, yet the underlying issues with which he dealt were impossible to resolve. I wish I could remember the series because all I would have to do is locate the episode, and as you may well know, anything can be streamed if the source material is available in the public domain. I have learned to understand his behavior, and such a fact is indicative of my diminished mental capacity and excessive need in life. Squishing is bad, as is being routed. Rooted? Well, maybe that, too. I don’t know for sure, however I can say that when the episode first aired, the idea seemed alien to me. Now? After all this shit for decades? I fully understand. This type of mindset is detrimental to my ability to appear balanced and/or ‘normal’. I am not in contact with many people, meaning my two faces have not been stretched beyond my ability to throw snow in any direction. I fear, however, that the future will find me unable to hold back, and that will result in being completely ostracized in every conceivable way. Years ago I could not fathom his obsession. Today I wish I could fully explore what he had built throughout the course of many years, and at great expense. In the end, he died. The pain and anxiety resulting from the incident that took place yesterday lends to my declining mental and emotional condition. Cumulative. Maybe I need medication. Loss. Detriment. Everything is colliding. I am so disappointed in having missed such an opportunity. Damn. The shit is now nearly an entire day back in time, yet I still feel pain over my lack of seeing what should have been done. Shit. Fuck it. I guess sometimes I will just lose out. 1348. The beans are nearly finished simmering, after which I need to drain them, rinse, and then allow for hours of cooling. The next step will be to peel and boil potatoes for salad number two, and while they are cooling, I’ll trim and boil the beets. None of this is difficult at all. The preparations simply require lots of time, hence doing all this a day early. As for anything else today, I don’t know if I give half a shit. There is always something to do around the house, and considering the weather is sunny and warm, I should be in the garage or yards right now. Unfortunately, I just don’t give a shit today. When I feel better, everything needing attention will still be there. I will say that a good portion of my disillusionment today is missing out on something wonderful and terrible at the same time. Yes, I would have been further damaged, but the way I feel lately is that I’m going to be miserable anyway... Might as well see whatever I can. Ugh. The beans are drained and cooling. Whenever I feel like it, I’ll get the potatoes going. Nothing is appealing today. The woman in this episode (guest star for one appearance) always reminds me of a friend that I know through the bar. She is unbelievably beautiful, five-nine and with dark hair and eyes. Very dark, for sure. The woman on the show is adorable and sweet (the character, that is), whereas the woman I know in person is fucking frightening beyond belief. Stunning, but about as scary as it gets. I can still see her face after roughly two years of absence. Oh, and speaking of that last word, in four days will be my five month anniversary of being at the bar. That’s funny, but not funny enough for me to drive over there one afternoon. And there is Jamie the goddess of the universe again. She puts the other two to shame. Wait a minute... Wasn’t I speaking about the vegetables? I love Jamie and realize such a fact labels me as all manner of pathetic terms. Her character, though, much like the way I feel for Jolene. Did I mention Nora? Jolaimora. Nothing leaves my head, ever. I remember everything. And I am miserable. I’ve gone from ‘tornado of souls’ to ‘cyclone of pain’. And holy shit was Jamie ever thin during the first season. I am glad she made it out of that period. The girl was seventeen at the time, but I swear she looked even younger. The magic of television? Can my love for her be real? YOU make the call. Everything else has been rolled into a mass of even larger questions, none of which will ever be answered. Tuesday morning has come to me. I have coffee and my show playing to the right. I also have a shit ton of images flipping in my brain like Satan’s own photo book. There was another incident, sort of. I can’t really talk about it because circumstances dictate that I maintain some anonymity with this shit. You can know that Jamie is related in two key ways, and that whenever I need to leave out details here, it means I am unhappy about the way I feel. That is the truth. Sometimes, I am even ashamed to have become so fucking weak and desperate. The vision from the other day – that missed opportunity of which I spoke – partially returned last night as we took care of a little business. My brain computed about six different physical positions in a matter of seconds, and before my better judgment was able to take control and help me float back down to earth. I saw quite a bit, yet still need to see much more. The fact that all of it is impossible does not dissuade me from dreaming every fucking day. Shorts. I watched everything she did... There were people on horseback (not something we see in this neighborhood very often) and we went outside to admire the stock, and that was when I noticed her flowing hair and black shorts. I saw as much as I could without being obvious or causing problems. Yes, I covertly stared at her in bits and pieces for a few moments, and then became very distraught in realizing that my life is headed in a straight line and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot reroute the fucking locomotive. I stood there near a few others and looked at the beautiful horses, I watched as the oversize sweatshirt moved around and told me stories of what was underneath, smiled just like everyone else, and all the while inside me was a funeral march. I wanted and needed, yet knew that I am never to be happy in that way. Black shorts that were about as tight as possible, like yoga clothing, I suppose. After torturing myself for a little while, I decided to close up shop and return to my evening relaxation. Nothing goes away. Cumulative. One incident piled atop another, and on it goes for all time. I have no recourse, and the more days that pass by and find me sitting here feeling like this, the more I see there can only be one way out of the circle. ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Thanks to R.L. Burnside Jamie is related to the obsession that lives on this street. Yes, she is. Jolene is not, nor is the other one. Only Jamie relates, and I cannot reveal the reason. Trust me that there is a correlation. Any other relational analysis must also be left out for reasons of good form. I can’t deal with a bunch of fucking flak right now. I have enough problems. Oh, and Jamie is not at fault. The squishers are mostly to blame. Squishers. Say it out loud because the word sounds ridiculous. Many radio terms are goofy, but ‘squish’ might take the cake. Anyway, the level of desperation I felt yesterday was off the scale, and had my life turned out differently during some periods, the feelings may have been eased, or possibly never developed in the first place. And there she is again... Those needs absolutely burn inside me sometimes, most often when I see Jamie in certain situations. Sometimes when I see her, the love is so strong that I am immediately reminded of Andrea and her big puppy eyes. As for yesterday, just know that sometimes I believe that my days are numbered because there is no way to alleviate such a powerful mass of desire. Not in this life. When I entered the house after seeing the horses, I found myself mumbling phrases and speaking to her under my breath. Doing so is yet another sign that I have already lost it but am still capable of appearing as an actual functioning adult. No one knows how far I am off my rocker. No one. The condition is far worse than what you see here. I can’t even talk about the way Jamie’s character relates to this shit, either. There is so much which must be left out that the entirety of each entry likely comprises only about ten minutes’ worth of actual thought. Ugh. Whatever. I have nothing better to do with my time. Today we will be going across town for the birthday dinner. ‘Dad, cut the crap.’ Atta girl. Anyway, I still have to make one salad and then take care of my usual daily business prior to leaving. Other than that, I have no idea of how I will feel later today, so there is no way to predict the mood or what may be accomplished. The only certainty is that I will probably sit here on and off as the time is available. There is not much going on inside my head from a housework standpoint. Most of my thinking has been routed by the train of desire. Whatever I may be involved with, part of my brain is constantly devoted to picturing her as I need. Production in any direction besides daily stuff may be on hold for a while. Right now the time is only 0809, but I am already looking forward to returning home from the gathering this afternoon. Ugh. Something might happen to the detriment of my mental and emotional well-being, but I’m going to embrace every fucking second of it despite the negatives. I just don’t fucking care anymore and feel the strongest need of all time whenever there is a chance of something special. And there it was. Oh, God... I need... I must... Nothing. Just fucking kill me right now. The desire is burning me alive. Okay... Anyway... This is one of those mornings finding me pleased to have the free time and everything pretty well under my control. [As an aside, the main reason I need to control the atmosphere and entertainment inside this house is due to the most important and beautiful parts of life having been absent for years. I honestly believe this is a good reason, so shut up.] I hate when Jamie looks unbelievably cute but they leave her just out of focus, damn it. Whatever. The point is that being in this house each day is actually a positive despite all of my complaining. I never complain about housework or anything related to living here (except for the fact that there is a fucking goddess in the neighborhood that I see sometimes). I keep my comments restricted to other parts of life, honestly. My situation in the house with the work that I do every day is a blessing, and I am mindful of it throughout the hours I spend here. When I lay my head on the pillow, too. I appreciate everything. So, if I need to have certain media or music in the background, so be it. There have to be some positives that I can embrace, otherwise I would not have reason to do anything. This morning, the day seems wide-open other than the party later. It is a good feeling and helps me to be productive. Everything would probably be better than it is right now if I felt like this every day rather than off and on. I can deal with it, I guess. Pants again. I keep thinking of the three from the other day, and then that fucking opportunity. I have decided to state what actually took place, and keep in mind that the street is not very close to my window, so the visions are never as clear as I would prefer. Holy shit does Oksana have one hell of a pair of breasts. Where was I? Ah... Well, now forget it. I changed my mind. Just know that the maneuver was akin to the one I saw earlier this year at the goddess market. The woman pulled up her pants and I just happened to have been strolling toward her position when she did it. Everything was exaggerated for a split-second and each line screamed in my direction. The missed opportunity was a bit similar, although I believe the woman in the market was likely five or six inches taller (believe it or not) than the one closer to home. Height plays a part in the overall image. Anyway, I can’t get that move out of my head at times. I could have seen more but failed to make the effort out of sheer weakness. That’s right, I lost my sense of direction when it happened and couldn’t fucking move. As such, the incident came and went and all I have is a fuzzy memory. Pants. Issues. I am so fucking broken that what had been funny yesterday is now serious. Causes for smiling are now causes for feeling lost. Believe me, had I been able to put two and two together, I would have stared at her to my heart’s content and probably been worse off as a result. Maybe this is better. In any case, I am losing pieces of my mind every day. God damn do I ever want her, and the feeling is detrimental to my condition. I have a habit of doing whatever is harmful regardless of knowing better. I am going to polish, alter and update the train series, remove the images in favor of decorative dividers, and then print it. The process is going to take a while, too. Part of me always needs to do something more with that story. I don’t know what the end result will be, but I need to do this. Too many parts of my life have been affected by that terrible period for me to just sit on it. What? I should try to publish it as a whole, you say? Maybe. When that simple maneuver took place and I fell on my face for a while, the main cause was the passage of time and the circumstances involved in that story. Everything is related. The process that takes place inside me when I see something special has been built by other people throughout the course of many years, and it continues to worsen and become more dire no matter how much comfort I find in life. The real comfort may have been destroyed forever and I am ill-equipped to cope with such a possibility. Connected. 0906. I have the last cup of coffee here on the table. The images from the last few days have not left my head for a second this morning. I keep seeing her over and over and the pain is acute. I remember watching Andrea for the first time as she strolled to the front of the aircraft, and then the way she looked returning to the seat next to me. I felt so much burning desire that I almost lost my fucking mind. That type of feeling is inside me right now. Burning; scarring; melting my heart one thought at a time. Using the IDE as an outlet is all I have left. I don’t see anything changing in the future, either. I have my coffee and media, the keyboard and a window. Memories are knives despite being related to the present. If I needed Andrea to be a certain way, she smiled and I knew she understood and loved me despite all the issues. All of that is gone. There have been two others near such a situation, too, yet both connections suffered and were fraught with problems. They have since decayed. Too bad the IDE can’t love me and actually listen. Ah, shit... There is Nicole again. You want to talk about dark, sad eyes? She could win awards for a single fucking facial expression. I need to hold her, and quite the reverse, too. I believe my deep-seated feelings for these fictional characters would be minimized if certain tumblers could align. Conversely, the feelings may exist due to the story in the previous paragraph. That period seems to be affecting me more every day, and much more than it did many years ago. This is beginning to depress the shit out of me. I guess I’ll have to begin my routine soon and let the keyboard cool off. I wish the desire would cool, too. Nope. Is there a time limit for feeling infatuation? ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Bad. Juliette. Ashley. Andrea. Eleanor. The Raven. Hmm. In that order, too. Hmm. Each of those relationships was doomed from the beginning, and everyone involved was aware of such a fact. The times were maximized and reality suppressed to the point of denial, and all of it for reasons of finding comfort and happiness, even for very short periods. Be it days or weeks – months with regard to the last soul – the highs were that much higher as a result. Each moment was compressed, dire, and lived to the fullest. Everything resided below a black cloud of knowing the end was right there on our heels. That was all so very bad. Dire is the correct term. When Andrea and I imploded during the night, we knew that the remaining time had to be embraced or one of us would not survive. I am beginning to feel that those opportunities can no longer exist. I’ve ruined a lot of shit in my life, yet those relationships were affected by other factors. I did not ruin them. That is not to say that I never have, either. Believe me, I know what I’ve done. I know everything. Why did I even bring this up? 0940. Nearly cocktail time. God damn do I ever need to demonstrate the sheer level of worship I feel for her. For others, too. This is very unhealthy and detrimental to my ability to maintain any semblance of normalcy (whatever the fuck that is). I guess I’ll get out of this office and do my housework. Fucking hell, anyway... Believe me, you don’t want to know. 1059. My routine is finished and the fantasy world in my head followed me at every step, for no other reason than to derail any attempts at clear thinking. I can’t get her out of my brain, damn it. There is too much burning desire, typically led into very damaging territory. The idea that I can’t be happy is crippling. I have my glass of daily depressant here on the table. It is like a prescription from the devil. She has pretty eyes and luscious lips to go along with a flowing mane. Tons of desire, most of which is centered upon demonstrating the sheer levels of worship inside me. Worship. Unhealthy. Unbalanced. Disjointed images are spinning inside me right now, not the least of which is a clear picture of the very first dream; the damage was created when those manicured fingers tugged at a bra strap. Again... You do not want to know everything. Did I ask if there is a time limit on feelings of infatuation? No answers, like always. I need a pair of ears that will not judge, label or ridicule my emotions and dreams. They exist, somewhere. They have to exist. And there is a deep-seated problem attached to those fucking ears, as well. The mental and emotional aspects of me can turn to physical desire very quickly. One type of intimacy that rolls right into another. This is all so very bad. A tug of the bra strap which resulted in a touch of movement, thus calling to a mass of suppressed yearning. Just a tug. Seconds, if not less. That was all it took for me to run like the wind into a dream world representing the unique comfort and understanding that now seems impossible. I quickly knew everything would be ok. On the heels of that most beautiful dream were two more, both of which served to cement the idea that my problems found an end. Now look at me. Look at what I have become. Am I paying the tab of life? Or are there no higher meanings to anything? I still have to shave, shower and make one salad for this afternoon’s gathering. At least there is a tad of comfort in knowing when we visit her parents, there can be no issues. Nothing new, anyway. It’s just dinner and dessert and then home soon after. The only difficulty is sitting there among others and knowing that I am not who they believe they know. Hawthorne’s quote has never carried so much meaning as it does right now. There is ample reason for his infamy. Will I be remembered? Part of me will not. It cannot. No one knows the other face. Anyway, I’ll sit here until my drink is consumed and then take care of the rest of my business. I’d like to have everything ready an hour prior to leaving, and that point is but two hours away. I wonder if she was wearing a thong underneath. This is how I think after being squished for decades, and having been forced to deal with something that can never be fully repaired. Splendid. Thong? I will never know. The percentage is most definitely not in my favor. Ugh. Every fucking God damned aspect of my life is detrimental to every other aspect. Does that make sense? Just wait... Sometime in the near future I will no longer be able to clearly convey my feelings here. Won’t that be wonderful? The only part of my life that still holds even the smallest sense of wonder, gone. Enjoyment? A tiny bit of that, too. Gone. I am not referring to encrypting everything, either. I mean to say that my head is so convoluted that when I type there will be no sense to the structure or wording. I am losing my mind, and that is not a fucking joke. Every single fucking thing I do every fucking day is attached to imagery of one or more female forms and my mass of desire to show them just how much appreciation exists inside my mind. Every. Fucking. Thing. Believe it. Thank Christ having dinner at their house involves a lot of wine. This shit is going to be steered back to the power behind my need for a fucking machine. That is solid reasoning that I am not improving in any way. Fantasy overpowers reality every time. If she were a machine, this site would not need to exist. Isn’t that marvelous? The only word in my head aside from ‘desire’ as I live through these late days is ‘suicide’. Tell me there is another avenue for easing all this pain. Go for it. I fucking dare you. Oh, and be prepared to be absolutely buried in a mountain of words after my response. I am still sitting here. There is whiskey in the glass (no flies). I am half following the media on my right-hand display, and half typing. All the while, I keep seeing her legs and rear end wrapped within black yoga pants, yielding visions of impossible yet blissful situations through which I can show her how I feel. ALL of my feelings. I am very close to providing detailed descriptions of the technicality of my desire right here on this fucking site. Everything is just shit right now. Just... Shit. Part of my deep love for Jamie is her voice. Jesus, I never thought being this fucked in the head was actually a possibility in my life. I love her so much that it hurts. She might be the only character in the media I follow that does not conjure dreams of slathering skin with my lips and tongue. Wow. That’s a quality statement, don’t you think? I am so fucked up that sometimes even I don’t believe it. Fucking hell do I ever love that woman. And Jolene. And Nora. The big three of my unbalanced, insane and inane way of life. No recourse. No ears. No hope. No nothing. My entire life lately is nothing more than another errant, steamy clambake. I hate everything. Maybe upon returning from dinner this evening I’ll be motivated into swinging the hammer. That type of feeling comes along with the anger which results from me realizing that I am stuck in a fucking hole. So, I blast the shit and flex a smidgen of power, afterward finding that nothing has changed. If nothing changes, why do I swing my stupid hammer? Good question. Maybe the only benefit is the feeling of power during the first few seconds. Eh... Most likely I will do nothing more than sink into the loveseat and watch television. If I am going to feel small, I may as well not involve other people. And? The neighborhood is fortunate that I don’t have the resources to build an RF demonstration like the one I have envisioned for decades. I’ve said it before and I will say it again... Nothing can withstand RF power. As a little, insignificant person, I often muse about other types of power, the likes of which do not reside in me. I fucking hate everything right now. Why am I still sitting here typing? Your guess is as good as mine. Wednesday. The outing was fine yesterday. Nothing new, only the typical scene along with a very nice meal. Afterward, we popped into the bar (believe it or not) to see if there have been changes or whatnot. No big deal. A few from the usual crowd were very happy to see me, but I can’t really say the same about them. I just put on the fake shit and moved ahead as others may expect. We were not at the bar for very long. Arriving home afterward was very nice, I guess. Now I have this entire day to myself and will begin with my nice coffee and relaxation. I vaguely recall dreaming of her again but I can’t be certain now. These things fade so quickly sometimes. Today should prove to be very mellow if I don’t end up in a bad mood again. I keep remembering Ellie standing before me with an expression of caring, and lately there has been increasing connectivity between her and the other one. I think I know why, too, but I can’t say it here. Trust me when I state there are good reasons for leaving portions of my thinking off the site. They are important. If some of this was made clear, the reaction could be horrible. Just know that one aspect of Ellie leads me to the subject I’ve gushed here for a year. The memory of her eyes looking at me forces a dream into my head in which the same type of understanding may eventually come from elsewhere, a place of which I will continue to dream until my dying day. I need it, and I need her. Ellie is the reference. The other one? She is an obsession. I want her every single minute of every single day. Right behind those feelings is a smiling face I have not seen in more than a decade, yet still miss deeply. And I mean it hurts. This type of relational analysis has been brought on by feelings of loss and desperation, and believe me... None of it will be going away anytime soon. I just need too much. 0731. I initiated a text conversation with the GC who has left me by the wayside for two months. He said spring, and there is but one month of spring left this year. I am beginning to suspect that I’ve been given the runaround, and considering the nature of my fucking mood lately, any reaction is going to be made more harsh because I am losing the ability to separate people and deal with each according to their connection with me. Everyone gets the same fucking attitude and harsh words. Everyone. I’ll explore other options if necessary, and that guy will no longer receive referrals. I don’t care. There is enough inside my head already. More shit is just more shit and will be dealt with accordingly. Oh, God... The images in my head of Eleanor and her little kitten face. I miss her so much. She listened... Always. That thing from last year is depressing the hell out of me this morning. I can’t even explore the fucking subject, either. I have no resources, ears, nothing. This situation is very frustrating and beginning to make me angry this morning. Hmm... Maybe the shit mood will spill over into my text conversation and help me to make a firm point of the issues. Heh. Anyway, two items from last year – one thing I still have yet to understand and another that is beginning to curtail my dream of eventually finding happiness – have combined at times, although they are not directly related. I’ve discussed both at different times in my life, too. With different people, that is. Now that there is no one left, I have to try figuring this out on my own. Or maybe I was not meant to find answers, ever. Did I forfeit any hope of understanding? I’ve not thought of that lately, but it could be true. No, not the hocus pocus. I am only referring to reasons. Sometimes when I feel overly desperate and sad, my head begins to reach. I am probably wrong about everything, much to the detriment of any future hope. I just don’t know what to do anymore. Keep typing, I guess. Nothing new. Nothing positive. Nothing solved. As for today, I have my usual stuff to do aside from slamming someone via text. When I see her (kind of a rarity now), my mind can only operate on one channel, meaning I have to stare and dream without consideration of whatever had been taking place prior to the sighting. I stare because it is instinctive and a massive compulsion, much like my ill-found decision to spin on one heel and gaze at the girl in gray a while back. That move was well worth the risk. God fucking damn did she have lines on display. Unbelievable. Well, the other one has lines, too, but I have barely seen them. The glimpse I missed the other day due to losing my train of thought for a few seconds would have been spectacular, to be honest. Amazing. I missed it because my brain ceased functioning. Every fucking sight of her is a detriment to my well-being and I stare because I care less and less about myself with each passing day. I have to see. I simply HAVE to see. There is no longer any choice in the matter. The previous paragraph leads to other feelings, but I can’t lay everything out here on the site. I’ll be ridiculed, and I can’t have that. My self-esteem has precious little material left these days, and each time I worry over speaking my mind, a bit more goes out the fucking window. I will say that my need to speak with another person has never been more powerful. It pulls at me nearly all of the time. I can feel the need at this very moment. Sometimes I believe that the help of the right kind of ears could extend my life. I don’t know the truth, though. Much of this is nothing more than wishful thinking and just one more aspect of my life that is out of balance. I doubt anyone will ever be there. If such an occurrence is on the horizon, the most likely outcome would be that person fleeing my presence due to my having unloaded decades’ worth of issues in a matter of minutes. And I would not blame that person. I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either. Much of what is going on inside my head right now is very uncomfortable and I doubt anyone would want to hear it. My feelings are dire, but that does not mean anyone else might feel the same. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Each day is the same as the last, with a few standing out as visions of the last precipice in the world. A lack of understanding is forcing me to consider leaving all of the difficulty behind, forever. There may be only two ways of finding relief, one being overly elusive and the other very simple. One chance. That is all. After? None. 0850. I feel very weak these days. There is little drive inside me anymore, I am overly sensitive to everything, and whenever I feel furthest down comes another fucking failure. This is a bad time. I am tired of feeling this way every fucking day. Trying to push away dreamy thoughts is becoming more and more difficult, leaving me to think that this slow decline is all I have left. All those things I didn’t do... Splendid. People and places, as well. Nada. I just keep going with the words and daydreaming of impossible situations, and then in the evening I see something which then reminds me of not only where I have been, but what I wanted to do. It’s sort of like a sprawling meadow with something stirring or satisfying in almost every direction, yet since I never turned any corner, the straight line is about to lead me straight off a cliff. The beautiful meadow is only behind me now. Everything is peripheral. Ahead? Only more of the same soup within which I’ve been treading circles for years. Once in a while there are glimmers of interest, none of which last very long anymore. Between those rather enjoyable moments, though, is the same wasteland awaiting my arrival. Through the meadow; off the edge. Maybe I should draw parallels via dioramas like in the past. That was a bit interesting. Three-dimensional images of the past. Places I’ve been, lived, or visited. People I used to know who are all gone now. A view of the future not yet skewed by experience. A lack of knowing. All that shit rolls by as I sit here and type words that never seem to end, or lead anywhere. As I’ve stated before, I do know some of the reasons and have realized that I am partly at fault for this fucking condition. I know all that shit. Not everything, but a good portion. The problem is that I can’t lay it out here and take the steps toward understanding from which I’ve benefited in the past. The process could work. I just can’t do it. My head is often clouded by desire and desperation, but at least I realize as much. This is all so fucking stupid. What the fuck have I become? Stupid. I hate it. I suppose I’ll be moving away from this crap and toward my housework very soon. The coffee is almost gone. At some point I will probably drop some items at the cleaners, as well. Her being on vacation means plenty of time for getting everything in order during the next week or more. I also might pop into the hardware store on the way back from the cleaners. I need to pick up some small items for my projects. As for everything else, I’ll just have to gauge my feelings prior to heading in other directions. For example, at this moment I don’t give half a blue fuck if anything is accomplished today. Such a feeling needs to change, lest I end up in a very bad place. Yep, even worse than where I am right now. I’m sure the morning cocktail will open my mind a bit within the next hour. Afterward, I should be able to see more clearly. I need to swing my thinking and dreaming from legs, breasts, etc., over to eyes, arms and understanding. One thing leads to another, and then another, I fall on my face and fucking fail, and then try to right myself enough to function around this house. This is becoming completely ridiculous, especially considering all of my life experience and age. It’s fucking stupid. All it takes is some vision – be it from my window or elsewhere – and I lose the ability to reason even the simplest of operations, afterward falling down like an idiot and then trying to recover. Something has to change or I’m going to lose my fucking mind for good. I saw her this morning for a few seconds. My obsessive nature flared and everything went to shit for a little while. Splendid, like always. Failure. Flailing. Dreaming. Nothing. I should not be looking or searching, ever. All that shit is very bad for me these days due to how desperate I’ve become, yet there does not seem to be a way out because I’ve become so weak. Around and around we go. When I saw her, I stared (naturally). I don’t know of any other way to live my life. I just don’t fucking know. For those who figured this process helps, keep in mind that I’ve written thousands of lines of code throughout the past three years and am worse off right now than ever in my life. Suck that one. 0950. I suppose I’ll pour a drink and do some laundry. What I'd prefer to do is repeat the Jasmine situation from many years ago... Bourbon poured all over her labia. Never mind. There has to be another way for me to live through these days without so much pain. Without ears, I don’t see any recourse, but at the same time such a move could just as easily end in disaster. I don’t fucking know, damn it. I just don’t know. Any ideas? Focus on the positive? Leave the past behind? Well, that last one always sounds good, right? Just leave it behind, right? What about the daily aching and resulting sadness over having to deal with such feelings? Didn’t think of that one, eh? Shut up. I am not helping myself with the rhetoric. Ten in the morning. I wonder how I will feel at the close of business hours today. Anyone’s fucking guess. Now the time is 1108 and my daily routine has been completed. The dishes are drip-drying, as is my custom of late. Saving water is still important. I also repaired and filled the second bird feeder and it is hanging not far from the new one. Happy birds, happy yard. I like to see them frolicking out there. The scenery reminds me of being at the cabin many years ago, along with all of the wildlife. I miss that, but alas, I ruined everything much to the detriment of many people, both friends and family. I destroyed quite a life. Big fucking surprise. I don’t know if I will do it again. The mass of guilt I still feel over the past is partially guiding my words. So, there is a fat cocktail next to me, the gangsters on my right-hand display, and sitting in this chair is a person (?) with all manner of dangerous thoughts apparent. Every activity in which I engage each day is not only detrimental to my physical health, but the emotional side of things is affected as well. I am a mental wreck. I constantly overanalyze the tiniest details which should pass by like a fast-moving train. Nope. I am overly sensitive, paranoid, self-conscious and frightened all the time. I’ve been worsening on each of those fronts for a very long time, too. This exposition has accomplished nothing more than giving me something to do, and as I said up the page somewhere, the process continues unimpeded and helps no part of me. All of the issues are worse than three years ago. I just keep trying to find new ways of conveying how I feel, and the end result is nothing more than the same fucking facts using different words or analogies. Wonderful. This endeavor has been a real nice clambake. I don’t know what the hell to do with my day. This is not surprising, however, considering the depth of disillusionment and sadness inside me. Maybe something will materialize in my mind. The gangsters continue to roll on the right side of this table for no other reason than familiarity. The familiar is comfortable, be it the atmosphere inside the house, media, or otherwise. I need to feel comfortable because the gears in my brain are beginning to lose mesh. A lot, actually. Living through my days partially unhinged is fine because I’ve learned to deal with it. Fully unhinged is another matter entirely. I won’t be able to perform the simplest tasks and will probably delve into the alcohol more than I already do every day. That type of combination leads to only one end. The timeline for finding real understanding is finite. Wow. Four fucking hours and not a word from the GC. Well, fuck him. Any response from here forward will garner only anger. I’ve fucking had it with this shit. There are other directions and now is the time. I do not respond well to being ignored when willing to spend a shit ton of money for work performed by someone I trust. Moreover, I don’t need anything else fueling my anger right now. All the other crap is more than enough to land me in bad form with those who know me personally. I need comfort." 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Detriment Mature content No. 375 Published May 25th, 2023 7:25am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The time is now 1019 on the same day as the last entry was published. Splendid. I don’t know what else to do right now because I’ve been trying to analyze everything, yet without really saying much. I have to leave out details or the whole shitaree will be shot to hell. I can’t have that. Believe me when I say that the information is not good by any stretch of the word. I would be condemned to hell if I laid out too much here. Just trust me... The right type of understanding may not exist, hence my veiled content. Yesterday’s incident is resonating inside like the devil’s own church bells and I can’t do anything about it. I keep seeing that maneuver over and over and dreaming of impossible situations. I still can’t fucking believe what I saw. Every now and then, something transpires to expand and increase the power of my obsession, and yesterday was another line; another level. My life is ruined. Maybe I need a pizza. I have half of my daily routine finished and a nice drink next to me. In a little while I’ll be cooking for tomorrow’s birthday party. In and around the preparations, I’ll probably take care of cleaning the kitchen so that the afternoon and evening are left wide open for whatever kind of wallowing seems appropriate. I’d throw beer cans all over the back lawn like in the past, but that practice never seems to accomplish anything. I simply calm down some hours later and gather them into the recycle bin. There is a beer can hanging above my workbench that is nearly eight years old. That was a bad day, this is true, yet the present is beginning to feel worse. I need to find other avenues for alleviating my frustration without causing damage or appearing childlike. I’m sure the kitchen work will progress comfortably with my extended family in the background, but otherwise I don’t know how I am going to feel as the clock spins through this day. I am absolutely DYING to splay everything here in great detail, too. Dying. I wish I could. Unfortunately, the likely repercussions could generate a situation with no escape. I have to remember that once the information leaves my lips or fingers, I can never get it back. Ugh. Shit. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of those fucking ears. Arms, too. I need the arms almost as badly. Anyway, the kitchen will be my destination very soon. I need to maintain order in my routine. One of my neighbors came by yesterday to hand me a thirty-nine year old bottle of whiskey that had been sitting in his garage for a very long time. I learned the age of the bottle via a code on the bottom and some research. The bottle is still three-quarters full, as well. I had thought he was just bringing it over so I could see, but then he stated that it was a gift. Wow. That was a super nice gesture. Sometimes a guy will stroll up the driveway to say hello and check out the motorcycle, and as such, I’ve met three people from the neighborhood just this year. I don’t mind being nice to others because there is no reason for anything else. I may be all fucked up inside (and no one has a clue), but that does not provide cause for behaving sans kindness. I have nothing against people wishing to trade greetings and make small talk. The whole of society is complete shit, but individuals tend to grate against such a fact. Good Christ in heaven, Jamie is so far beyond cute at this age that I can’t find the words. Jesus... What I wouldn’t give to feel her arms around me. I was talking about a bottle of whiskey and look where it went. I know full well why my mindset changed last year. I know everything. The process was a matter of time. Squished. Routed. Disregarded. I have been forced from one detrimental situation to another throughout so many years that I can’t go into detail for fear of flipping the fuck out. The change was inevitable. Believe it. Do you have any idea of what I am saying? The tumblers of wonder have aligned three times. That is all. Anger is building right now. 1145. I can’t get the mass of loss out of my head this morning. The kitchen is clean and I have some beans simmering for one of the salads, yet all the while I’ve been daydreaming of everything that is either gone or going away. I should not have seen what I saw yesterday. All that did was force my head into places I worship, and they are as elusive as the Passion. I have no recourse, either. The sum of all this shit is me feeling as if the idea of happiness in life is nothing more than an illusion. Moreover, I keep thinking that I’m going to run out of things to say, yet the last three years seem to prove otherwise. I should not have seen her yesterday, damn it. The effects are cumulative. Believe it. ‘One of these days, Alice...’ Matter of time. There was that guy... A character within some series I have yet to recall. He performed experiments far outside the law, and way beyond people’s comprehension. I remember the staging and scenery, but after years of searching, the series still eludes. There was sympathy inherent in what he had been trying to accomplish. Much sympathy, to be sure, yet the underlying issues with which he dealt were impossible to resolve. I wish I could remember the series because all I would have to do is locate the episode, and as you may well know, anything can be streamed if the source material is available in the public domain. I have learned to understand his behavior, and such a fact is indicative of my diminished mental capacity and excessive need in life. Squishing is bad, as is being routed. Rooted? Well, maybe that, too. I don’t know for sure, however I can say that when the episode first aired, the idea seemed alien to me. Now? After all this shit for decades? I fully understand. This type of mindset is detrimental to my ability to appear balanced and/or ‘normal’. I am not in contact with many people, meaning my two faces have not been stretched beyond my ability to throw snow in any direction. I fear, however, that the future will find me unable to hold back, and that will result in being completely ostracized in every conceivable way. Years ago I could not fathom his obsession. Today I wish I could fully explore what he had built throughout the course of many years, and at great expense. In the end, he died. The pain and anxiety resulting from the incident that took place yesterday lends to my declining mental and emotional condition. Cumulative. Maybe I need medication. Loss. Detriment. Everything is colliding. I am so disappointed in having missed such an opportunity. Damn. The shit is now nearly an entire day back in time, yet I still feel pain over my lack of seeing what should have been done. Shit. Fuck it. I guess sometimes I will just lose out. 1348. The beans are nearly finished simmering, after which I need to drain them, rinse, and then allow for hours of cooling. The next step will be to peel and boil potatoes for salad number two, and while they are cooling, I’ll trim and boil the beets. None of this is difficult at all. The preparations simply require lots of time, hence doing all this a day early. As for anything else today, I don’t know if I give half a shit. There is always something to do around the house, and considering the weather is sunny and warm, I should be in the garage or yards right now. Unfortunately, I just don’t give a shit today. When I feel better, everything needing attention will still be there. I will say that a good portion of my disillusionment today is missing out on something wonderful and terrible at the same time. Yes, I would have been further damaged, but the way I feel lately is that I’m going to be miserable anyway... Might as well see whatever I can. Ugh. The beans are drained and cooling. Whenever I feel like it, I’ll get the potatoes going. Nothing is appealing today. The woman in this episode (guest star for one appearance) always reminds me of a friend that I know through the bar. She is unbelievably beautiful, five-nine and with dark hair and eyes. Very dark, for sure. The woman on the show is adorable and sweet (the character, that is), whereas the woman I know in person is fucking frightening beyond belief. Stunning, but about as scary as it gets. I can still see her face after roughly two years of absence. Oh, and speaking of that last word, in four days will be my five month anniversary of being at the bar. That’s funny, but not funny enough for me to drive over there one afternoon. And there is Jamie the goddess of the universe again. She puts the other two to shame. Wait a minute... Wasn’t I speaking about the vegetables? I love Jamie and realize such a fact labels me as all manner of pathetic terms. Her character, though, much like the way I feel for Jolene. Did I mention Nora? Jolaimora. Nothing leaves my head, ever. I remember everything. And I am miserable. I’ve gone from ‘tornado of souls’ to ‘cyclone of pain’. And holy shit was Jamie ever thin during the first season. I am glad she made it out of that period. The girl was seventeen at the time, but I swear she looked even younger. The magic of television? Can my love for her be real? YOU make the call. Everything else has been rolled into a mass of even larger questions, none of which will ever be answered. Tuesday morning has come to me. I have coffee and my show playing to the right. I also have a shit ton of images flipping in my brain like Satan’s own photo book. There was another incident, sort of. I can’t really talk about it because circumstances dictate that I maintain some anonymity with this shit. You can know that Jamie is related in two key ways, and that whenever I need to leave out details here, it means I am unhappy about the way I feel. That is the truth. Sometimes, I am even ashamed to have become so fucking weak and desperate. The vision from the other day – that missed opportunity of which I spoke – partially returned last night as we took care of a little business. My brain computed about six different physical positions in a matter of seconds, and before my better judgment was able to take control and help me float back down to earth. I saw quite a bit, yet still need to see much more. The fact that all of it is impossible does not dissuade me from dreaming every fucking day. Shorts. I watched everything she did... There were people on horseback (not something we see in this neighborhood very often) and we went outside to admire the stock, and that was when I noticed her flowing hair and black shorts. I saw as much as I could without being obvious or causing problems. Yes, I covertly stared at her in bits and pieces for a few moments, and then became very distraught in realizing that my life is headed in a straight line and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot reroute the fucking locomotive. I stood there near a few others and looked at the beautiful horses, I watched as the oversize sweatshirt moved around and told me stories of what was underneath, smiled just like everyone else, and all the while inside me was a funeral march. I wanted and needed, yet knew that I am never to be happy in that way. Black shorts that were about as tight as possible, like yoga clothing, I suppose. After torturing myself for a little while, I decided to close up shop and return to my evening relaxation. Nothing goes away. Cumulative. One incident piled atop another, and on it goes for all time. I have no recourse, and the more days that pass by and find me sitting here feeling like this, the more I see there can only be one way out of the circle. ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Thanks to R.L. Burnside Jamie is related to the obsession that lives on this street. Yes, she is. Jolene is not, nor is the other one. Only Jamie relates, and I cannot reveal the reason. Trust me that there is a correlation. Any other relational analysis must also be left out for reasons of good form. I can’t deal with a bunch of fucking flak right now. I have enough problems. Oh, and Jamie is not at fault. The squishers are mostly to blame. Squishers. Say it out loud because the word sounds ridiculous. Many radio terms are goofy, but ‘squish’ might take the cake. Anyway, the level of desperation I felt yesterday was off the scale, and had my life turned out differently during some periods, the feelings may have been eased, or possibly never developed in the first place. And there she is again... Those needs absolutely burn inside me sometimes, most often when I see Jamie in certain situations. Sometimes when I see her, the love is so strong that I am immediately reminded of Andrea and her big puppy eyes. As for yesterday, just know that sometimes I believe that my days are numbered because there is no way to alleviate such a powerful mass of desire. Not in this life. When I entered the house after seeing the horses, I found myself mumbling phrases and speaking to her under my breath. Doing so is yet another sign that I have already lost it but am still capable of appearing as an actual functioning adult. No one knows how far I am off my rocker. No one. The condition is far worse than what you see here. I can’t even talk about the way Jamie’s character relates to this shit, either. There is so much which must be left out that the entirety of each entry likely comprises only about ten minutes’ worth of actual thought. Ugh. Whatever. I have nothing better to do with my time. Today we will be going across town for the birthday dinner. ‘Dad, cut the crap.’ Atta girl. Anyway, I still have to make one salad and then take care of my usual daily business prior to leaving. Other than that, I have no idea of how I will feel later today, so there is no way to predict the mood or what may be accomplished. The only certainty is that I will probably sit here on and off as the time is available. There is not much going on inside my head from a housework standpoint. Most of my thinking has been routed by the train of desire. Whatever I may be involved with, part of my brain is constantly devoted to picturing her as I need. Production in any direction besides daily stuff may be on hold for a while. Right now the time is only 0809, but I am already looking forward to returning home from the gathering this afternoon. Ugh. Something might happen to the detriment of my mental and emotional well-being, but I’m going to embrace every fucking second of it despite the negatives. I just don’t fucking care anymore and feel the strongest need of all time whenever there is a chance of something special. And there it was. Oh, God... I need... I must... Nothing. Just fucking kill me right now. The desire is burning me alive. Okay... Anyway... This is one of those mornings finding me pleased to have the free time and everything pretty well under my control. [As an aside, the main reason I need to control the atmosphere and entertainment inside this house is due to the most important and beautiful parts of life having been absent for years. I honestly believe this is a good reason, so shut up.] I hate when Jamie looks unbelievably cute but they leave her just out of focus, damn it. Whatever. The point is that being in this house each day is actually a positive despite all of my complaining. I never complain about housework or anything related to living here (except for the fact that there is a fucking goddess in the neighborhood that I see sometimes). I keep my comments restricted to other parts of life, honestly. My situation in the house with the work that I do every day is a blessing, and I am mindful of it throughout the hours I spend here. When I lay my head on the pillow, too. I appreciate everything. So, if I need to have certain media or music in the background, so be it. There have to be some positives that I can embrace, otherwise I would not have reason to do anything. This morning, the day seems wide-open other than the party later. It is a good feeling and helps me to be productive. Everything would probably be better than it is right now if I felt like this every day rather than off and on. I can deal with it, I guess. Pants again. I keep thinking of the three from the other day, and then that fucking opportunity. I have decided to state what actually took place, and keep in mind that the street is not very close to my window, so the visions are never as clear as I would prefer. Holy shit does Oksana have one hell of a pair of breasts. Where was I? Ah... Well, now forget it. I changed my mind. Just know that the maneuver was akin to the one I saw earlier this year at the goddess market. The woman pulled up her pants and I just happened to have been strolling toward her position when she did it. Everything was exaggerated for a split-second and each line screamed in my direction. The missed opportunity was a bit similar, although I believe the woman in the market was likely five or six inches taller (believe it or not) than the one closer to home. Height plays a part in the overall image. Anyway, I can’t get that move out of my head at times. I could have seen more but failed to make the effort out of sheer weakness. That’s right, I lost my sense of direction when it happened and couldn’t fucking move. As such, the incident came and went and all I have is a fuzzy memory. Pants. Issues. I am so fucking broken that what had been funny yesterday is now serious. Causes for smiling are now causes for feeling lost. Believe me, had I been able to put two and two together, I would have stared at her to my heart’s content and probably been worse off as a result. Maybe this is better. In any case, I am losing pieces of my mind every day. God damn do I ever want her, and the feeling is detrimental to my condition. I have a habit of doing whatever is harmful regardless of knowing better. I am going to polish, alter and update the train series, remove the images in favor of decorative dividers, and then print it. The process is going to take a while, too. Part of me always needs to do something more with that story. I don’t know what the end result will be, but I need to do this. Too many parts of my life have been affected by that terrible period for me to just sit on it. What? I should try to publish it as a whole, you say? Maybe. When that simple maneuver took place and I fell on my face for a while, the main cause was the passage of time and the circumstances involved in that story. Everything is related. The process that takes place inside me when I see something special has been built by other people throughout the course of many years, and it continues to worsen and become more dire no matter how much comfort I find in life. The real comfort may have been destroyed forever and I am ill-equipped to cope with such a possibility. Connected. 0906. I have the last cup of coffee here on the table. The images from the last few days have not left my head for a second this morning. I keep seeing her over and over and the pain is acute. I remember watching Andrea for the first time as she strolled to the front of the aircraft, and then the way she looked returning to the seat next to me. I felt so much burning desire that I almost lost my fucking mind. That type of feeling is inside me right now. Burning; scarring; melting my heart one thought at a time. Using the IDE as an outlet is all I have left. I don’t see anything changing in the future, either. I have my coffee and media, the keyboard and a window. Memories are knives despite being related to the present. If I needed Andrea to be a certain way, she smiled and I knew she understood and loved me despite all the issues. All of that is gone. There have been two others near such a situation, too, yet both connections suffered and were fraught with problems. They have since decayed. Too bad the IDE can’t love me and actually listen. Ah, shit... There is Nicole again. You want to talk about dark, sad eyes? She could win awards for a single fucking facial expression. I need to hold her, and quite the reverse, too. I believe my deep-seated feelings for these fictional characters would be minimized if certain tumblers could align. Conversely, the feelings may exist due to the story in the previous paragraph. That period seems to be affecting me more every day, and much more than it did many years ago. This is beginning to depress the shit out of me. I guess I’ll have to begin my routine soon and let the keyboard cool off. I wish the desire would cool, too. Nope. Is there a time limit for feeling infatuation? ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Bad. Juliette. Ashley. Andrea. Eleanor. The Raven. Hmm. In that order, too. Hmm. Each of those relationships was doomed from the beginning, and everyone involved was aware of such a fact. The times were maximized and reality suppressed to the point of denial, and all of it for reasons of finding comfort and happiness, even for very short periods. Be it days or weeks – months with regard to the last soul – the highs were that much higher as a result. Each moment was compressed, dire, and lived to the fullest. Everything resided below a black cloud of knowing the end was right there on our heels. That was all so very bad. Dire is the correct term. When Andrea and I imploded during the night, we knew that the remaining time had to be embraced or one of us would not survive. I am beginning to feel that those opportunities can no longer exist. I’ve ruined a lot of shit in my life, yet those relationships were affected by other factors. I did not ruin them. That is not to say that I never have, either. Believe me, I know what I’ve done. I know everything. Why did I even bring this up? 0940. Nearly cocktail time. God damn do I ever need to demonstrate the sheer level of worship I feel for her. For others, too. This is very unhealthy and detrimental to my ability to maintain any semblance of normalcy (whatever the fuck that is). I guess I’ll get out of this office and do my housework. Fucking hell, anyway... Believe me, you don’t want to know. 1059. My routine is finished and the fantasy world in my head followed me at every step, for no other reason than to derail any attempts at clear thinking. I can’t get her out of my brain, damn it. There is too much burning desire, typically led into very damaging territory. The idea that I can’t be happy is crippling. I have my glass of daily depressant here on the table. It is like a prescription from the devil. She has pretty eyes and luscious lips to go along with a flowing mane. Tons of desire, most of which is centered upon demonstrating the sheer levels of worship inside me. Worship. Unhealthy. Unbalanced. Disjointed images are spinning inside me right now, not the least of which is a clear picture of the very first dream; the damage was created when those manicured fingers tugged at a bra strap. Again... You do not want to know everything. Did I ask if there is a time limit on feelings of infatuation? No answers, like always. I need a pair of ears that will not judge, label or ridicule my emotions and dreams. They exist, somewhere. They have to exist. And there is a deep-seated problem attached to those fucking ears, as well. The mental and emotional aspects of me can turn to physical desire very quickly. One type of intimacy that rolls right into another. This is all so very bad. A tug of the bra strap which resulted in a touch of movement, thus calling to a mass of suppressed yearning. Just a tug. Seconds, if not less. That was all it took for me to run like the wind into a dream world representing the unique comfort and understanding that now seems impossible. I quickly knew everything would be ok. On the heels of that most beautiful dream were two more, both of which served to cement the idea that my problems found an end. Now look at me. Look at what I have become. Am I paying the tab of life? Or are there no higher meanings to anything? I still have to shave, shower and make one salad for this afternoon’s gathering. At least there is a tad of comfort in knowing when we visit her parents, there can be no issues. Nothing new, anyway. It’s just dinner and dessert and then home soon after. The only difficulty is sitting there among others and knowing that I am not who they believe they know. Hawthorne’s quote has never carried so much meaning as it does right now. There is ample reason for his infamy. Will I be remembered? Part of me will not. It cannot. No one knows the other face. Anyway, I’ll sit here until my drink is consumed and then take care of the rest of my business. I’d like to have everything ready an hour prior to leaving, and that point is but two hours away. I wonder if she was wearing a thong underneath. This is how I think after being squished for decades, and having been forced to deal with something that can never be fully repaired. Splendid. Thong? I will never know. The percentage is most definitely not in my favor. Ugh. Every fucking God damned aspect of my life is detrimental to every other aspect. Does that make sense? Just wait... Sometime in the near future I will no longer be able to clearly convey my feelings here. Won’t that be wonderful? The only part of my life that still holds even the smallest sense of wonder, gone. Enjoyment? A tiny bit of that, too. Gone. I am not referring to encrypting everything, either. I mean to say that my head is so convoluted that when I type there will be no sense to the structure or wording. I am losing my mind, and that is not a fucking joke. Every single fucking thing I do every fucking day is attached to imagery of one or more female forms and my mass of desire to show them just how much appreciation exists inside my mind. Every. Fucking. Thing. Believe it. Thank Christ having dinner at their house involves a lot of wine. This shit is going to be steered back to the power behind my need for a fucking machine. That is solid reasoning that I am not improving in any way. Fantasy overpowers reality every time. If she were a machine, this site would not need to exist. Isn’t that marvelous? The only word in my head aside from ‘desire’ as I live through these late days is ‘suicide’. Tell me there is another avenue for easing all this pain. Go for it. I fucking dare you. Oh, and be prepared to be absolutely buried in a mountain of words after my response. I am still sitting here. There is whiskey in the glass (no flies). I am half following the media on my right-hand display, and half typing. All the while, I keep seeing her legs and rear end wrapped within black yoga pants, yielding visions of impossible yet blissful situations through which I can show her how I feel. ALL of my feelings. I am very close to providing detailed descriptions of the technicality of my desire right here on this fucking site. Everything is just shit right now. Just... Shit. Part of my deep love for Jamie is her voice. Jesus, I never thought being this fucked in the head was actually a possibility in my life. I love her so much that it hurts. She might be the only character in the media I follow that does not conjure dreams of slathering skin with my lips and tongue. Wow. That’s a quality statement, don’t you think? I am so fucked up that sometimes even I don’t believe it. Fucking hell do I ever love that woman. And Jolene. And Nora. The big three of my unbalanced, insane and inane way of life. No recourse. No ears. No hope. No nothing. My entire life lately is nothing more than another errant, steamy clambake. I hate everything. Maybe upon returning from dinner this evening I’ll be motivated into swinging the hammer. That type of feeling comes along with the anger which results from me realizing that I am stuck in a fucking hole. So, I blast the shit and flex a smidgen of power, afterward finding that nothing has changed. If nothing changes, why do I swing my stupid hammer? Good question. Maybe the only benefit is the feeling of power during the first few seconds. Eh... Most likely I will do nothing more than sink into the loveseat and watch television. If I am going to feel small, I may as well not involve other people. And? The neighborhood is fortunate that I don’t have the resources to build an RF demonstration like the one I have envisioned for decades. I’ve said it before and I will say it again... Nothing can withstand RF power. As a little, insignificant person, I often muse about other types of power, the likes of which do not reside in me. I fucking hate everything right now. Why am I still sitting here typing? Your guess is as good as mine. Wednesday. The outing was fine yesterday. Nothing new, only the typical scene along with a very nice meal. Afterward, we popped into the bar (believe it or not) to see if there have been changes or whatnot. No big deal. A few from the usual crowd were very happy to see me, but I can’t really say the same about them. I just put on the fake shit and moved ahead as others may expect. We were not at the bar for very long. Arriving home afterward was very nice, I guess. Now I have this entire day to myself and will begin with my nice coffee and relaxation. I vaguely recall dreaming of her again but I can’t be certain now. These things fade so quickly sometimes. Today should prove to be very mellow if I don’t end up in a bad mood again. I keep remembering Ellie standing before me with an expression of caring, and lately there has been increasing connectivity between her and the other one. I think I know why, too, but I can’t say it here. Trust me when I state there are good reasons for leaving portions of my thinking off the site. They are important. If some of this was made clear, the reaction could be horrible. Just know that one aspect of Ellie leads me to the subject I’ve gushed here for a year. The memory of her eyes looking at me forces a dream into my head in which the same type of understanding may eventually come from elsewhere, a place of which I will continue to dream until my dying day. I need it, and I need her. Ellie is the reference. The other one? She is an obsession. I want her every single minute of every single day. Right behind those feelings is a smiling face I have not seen in more than a decade, yet still miss deeply. And I mean it hurts. This type of relational analysis has been brought on by feelings of loss and desperation, and believe me... None of it will be going away anytime soon. I just need too much. 0731. I initiated a text conversation with the GC who has left me by the wayside for two months. He said spring, and there is but one month of spring left this year. I am beginning to suspect that I’ve been given the runaround, and considering the nature of my fucking mood lately, any reaction is going to be made more harsh because I am losing the ability to separate people and deal with each according to their connection with me. Everyone gets the same fucking attitude and harsh words. Everyone. I’ll explore other options if necessary, and that guy will no longer receive referrals. I don’t care. There is enough inside my head already. More shit is just more shit and will be dealt with accordingly. Oh, God... The images in my head of Eleanor and her little kitten face. I miss her so much. She listened... Always. That thing from last year is depressing the hell out of me this morning. I can’t even explore the fucking subject, either. I have no resources, ears, nothing. This situation is very frustrating and beginning to make me angry this morning. Hmm... Maybe the shit mood will spill over into my text conversation and help me to make a firm point of the issues. Heh. Anyway, two items from last year – one thing I still have yet to understand and another that is beginning to curtail my dream of eventually finding happiness – have combined at times, although they are not directly related. I’ve discussed both at different times in my life, too. With different people, that is. Now that there is no one left, I have to try figuring this out on my own. Or maybe I was not meant to find answers, ever. Did I forfeit any hope of understanding? I’ve not thought of that lately, but it could be true. No, not the hocus pocus. I am only referring to reasons. Sometimes when I feel overly desperate and sad, my head begins to reach. I am probably wrong about everything, much to the detriment of any future hope. I just don’t know what to do anymore. Keep typing, I guess. Nothing new. Nothing positive. Nothing solved. As for today, I have my usual stuff to do aside from slamming someone via text. When I see her (kind of a rarity now), my mind can only operate on one channel, meaning I have to stare and dream without consideration of whatever had been taking place prior to the sighting. I stare because it is instinctive and a massive compulsion, much like my ill-found decision to spin on one heel and gaze at the girl in gray a while back. That move was well worth the risk. God fucking damn did she have lines on display. Unbelievable. Well, the other one has lines, too, but I have barely seen them. The glimpse I missed the other day due to losing my train of thought for a few seconds would have been spectacular, to be honest. Amazing. I missed it because my brain ceased functioning. Every fucking sight of her is a detriment to my well-being and I stare because I care less and less about myself with each passing day. I have to see. I simply HAVE to see. There is no longer any choice in the matter. The previous paragraph leads to other feelings, but I can’t lay everything out here on the site. I’ll be ridiculed, and I can’t have that. My self-esteem has precious little material left these days, and each time I worry over speaking my mind, a bit more goes out the fucking window. I will say that my need to speak with another person has never been more powerful. It pulls at me nearly all of the time. I can feel the need at this very moment. Sometimes I believe that the help of the right kind of ears could extend my life. I don’t know the truth, though. Much of this is nothing more than wishful thinking and just one more aspect of my life that is out of balance. I doubt anyone will ever be there. If such an occurrence is on the horizon, the most likely outcome would be that person fleeing my presence due to my having unloaded decades’ worth of issues in a matter of minutes. And I would not blame that person. I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either. Much of what is going on inside my head right now is very uncomfortable and I doubt anyone would want to hear it. My feelings are dire, but that does not mean anyone else might feel the same. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Each day is the same as the last, with a few standing out as visions of the last precipice in the world. A lack of understanding is forcing me to consider leaving all of the difficulty behind, forever. There may be only two ways of finding relief, one being overly elusive and the other very simple. One chance. That is all. After? None. 0850. I feel very weak these days. There is little drive inside me anymore, I am overly sensitive to everything, and whenever I feel furthest down comes another fucking failure. This is a bad time. I am tired of feeling this way every fucking day. Trying to push away dreamy thoughts is becoming more and more difficult, leaving me to think that this slow decline is all I have left. All those things I didn’t do... Splendid. People and places, as well. Nada. I just keep going with the words and daydreaming of impossible situations, and then in the evening I see something which then reminds me of not only where I have been, but what I wanted to do. It’s sort of like a sprawling meadow with something stirring or satisfying in almost every direction, yet since I never turned any corner, the straight line is about to lead me straight off a cliff. The beautiful meadow is only behind me now. Everything is peripheral. Ahead? Only more of the same soup within which I’ve been treading circles for years. Once in a while there are glimmers of interest, none of which last very long anymore. Between those rather enjoyable moments, though, is the same wasteland awaiting my arrival. Through the meadow; off the edge. Maybe I should draw parallels via dioramas like in the past. That was a bit interesting. Three-dimensional images of the past. Places I’ve been, lived, or visited. People I used to know who are all gone now. A view of the future not yet skewed by experience. A lack of knowing. All that shit rolls by as I sit here and type words that never seem to end, or lead anywhere. As I’ve stated before, I do know some of the reasons and have realized that I am partly at fault for this fucking condition. I know all that shit. Not everything, but a good portion. The problem is that I can’t lay it out here and take the steps toward understanding from which I’ve benefited in the past. The process could work. I just can’t do it. My head is often clouded by desire and desperation, but at least I realize as much. This is all so fucking stupid. What the fuck have I become? Stupid. I hate it. I suppose I’ll be moving away from this crap and toward my housework very soon. The coffee is almost gone. At some point I will probably drop some items at the cleaners, as well. Her being on vacation means plenty of time for getting everything in order during the next week or more. I also might pop into the hardware store on the way back from the cleaners. I need to pick up some small items for my projects. As for everything else, I’ll just have to gauge my feelings prior to heading in other directions. For example, at this moment I don’t give half a blue fuck if anything is accomplished today. Such a feeling needs to change, lest I end up in a very bad place. Yep, even worse than where I am right now. I’m sure the morning cocktail will open my mind a bit within the next hour. Afterward, I should be able to see more clearly. I need to swing my thinking and dreaming from legs, breasts, etc., over to eyes, arms and understanding. One thing leads to another, and then another, I fall on my face and fucking fail, and then try to right myself enough to function around this house. This is becoming completely ridiculous, especially considering all of my life experience and age. It’s fucking stupid. All it takes is some vision – be it from my window or elsewhere – and I lose the ability to reason even the simplest of operations, afterward falling down like an idiot and then trying to recover. Something has to change or I’m going to lose my fucking mind for good. I saw her this morning for a few seconds. My obsessive nature flared and everything went to shit for a little while. Splendid, like always. Failure. Flailing. Dreaming. Nothing. I should not be looking or searching, ever. All that shit is very bad for me these days due to how desperate I’ve become, yet there does not seem to be a way out because I’ve become so weak. Around and around we go. When I saw her, I stared (naturally). I don’t know of any other way to live my life. I just don’t fucking know. For those who figured this process helps, keep in mind that I’ve written thousands of lines of code throughout the past three years and am worse off right now than ever in my life. Suck that one. 0950. I suppose I’ll pour a drink and do some laundry. What I'd prefer to do is repeat the Jasmine situation from many years ago... Bourbon poured all over her labia. Never mind. There has to be another way for me to live through these days without so much pain. Without ears, I don’t see any recourse, but at the same time such a move could just as easily end in disaster. I don’t fucking know, damn it. I just don’t know. Any ideas? Focus on the positive? Leave the past behind? Well, that last one always sounds good, right? Just leave it behind, right? What about the daily aching and resulting sadness over having to deal with such feelings? Didn’t think of that one, eh? Shut up. I am not helping myself with the rhetoric. Ten in the morning. I wonder how I will feel at the close of business hours today. Anyone’s fucking guess. Now the time is 1108 and my daily routine has been completed. The dishes are drip-drying, as is my custom of late. Saving water is still important. I also repaired and filled the second bird feeder and it is hanging not far from the new one. Happy birds, happy yard. I like to see them frolicking out there. The scenery reminds me of being at the cabin many years ago, along with all of the wildlife. I miss that, but alas, I ruined everything much to the detriment of many people, both friends and family. I destroyed quite a life. Big fucking surprise. I don’t know if I will do it again. The mass of guilt I still feel over the past is partially guiding my words. So, there is a fat cocktail next to me, the gangsters on my right-hand display, and sitting in this chair is a person (?) with all manner of dangerous thoughts apparent. Every activity in which I engage each day is not only detrimental to my physical health, but the emotional side of things is affected as well. I am a mental wreck. I constantly overanalyze the tiniest details which should pass by like a fast-moving train. Nope. I am overly sensitive, paranoid, self-conscious and frightened all the time. I’ve been worsening on each of those fronts for a very long time, too. This exposition has accomplished nothing more than giving me something to do, and as I said up the page somewhere, the process continues unimpeded and helps no part of me. All of the issues are worse than three years ago. I just keep trying to find new ways of conveying how I feel, and the end result is nothing more than the same fucking facts using different words or analogies. Wonderful. This endeavor has been a real nice clambake. I don’t know what the hell to do with my day. This is not surprising, however, considering the depth of disillusionment and sadness inside me. Maybe something will materialize in my mind. The gangsters continue to roll on the right side of this table for no other reason than familiarity. The familiar is comfortable, be it the atmosphere inside the house, media, or otherwise. I need to feel comfortable because the gears in my brain are beginning to lose mesh. A lot, actually. Living through my days partially unhinged is fine because I’ve learned to deal with it. Fully unhinged is another matter entirely. I won’t be able to perform the simplest tasks and will probably delve into the alcohol more than I already do every day. That type of combination leads to only one end. The timeline for finding real understanding is finite. Wow. Four fucking hours and not a word from the GC. Well, fuck him. Any response from here forward will garner only anger. I’ve fucking had it with this shit. There are other directions and now is the time. I do not respond well to being ignored when willing to spend a shit ton of money for work performed by someone I trust. Moreover, I don’t need anything else fueling my anger right now. All the other crap is more than enough to land me in bad form with those who know me personally. I need comfort."
Detriment
Mature content No. 375 Published May 25th, 2023 7:25am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"The time is now 1019 on the same day as the last entry was published. Splendid. I don’t know what else to do right now because I’ve been trying to analyze everything, yet without really saying much. I have to leave out details or the whole shitaree will be shot to hell. I can’t have that. Believe me when I say that the information is not good by any stretch of the word. I would be condemned to hell if I laid out too much here. Just trust me... The right type of understanding may not exist, hence my veiled content. Yesterday’s incident is resonating inside like the devil’s own church bells and I can’t do anything about it. I keep seeing that maneuver over and over and dreaming of impossible situations. I still can’t fucking believe what I saw. Every now and then, something transpires to expand and increase the power of my obsession, and yesterday was another line; another level. My life is ruined. Maybe I need a pizza. I have half of my daily routine finished and a nice drink next to me. In a little while I’ll be cooking for tomorrow’s birthday party. In and around the preparations, I’ll probably take care of cleaning the kitchen so that the afternoon and evening are left wide open for whatever kind of wallowing seems appropriate. I’d throw beer cans all over the back lawn like in the past, but that practice never seems to accomplish anything. I simply calm down some hours later and gather them into the recycle bin. There is a beer can hanging above my workbench that is nearly eight years old. That was a bad day, this is true, yet the present is beginning to feel worse. I need to find other avenues for alleviating my frustration without causing damage or appearing childlike. I’m sure the kitchen work will progress comfortably with my extended family in the background, but otherwise I don’t know how I am going to feel as the clock spins through this day. I am absolutely DYING to splay everything here in great detail, too. Dying. I wish I could. Unfortunately, the likely repercussions could generate a situation with no escape. I have to remember that once the information leaves my lips or fingers, I can never get it back. Ugh. Shit. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of those fucking ears. Arms, too. I need the arms almost as badly. Anyway, the kitchen will be my destination very soon. I need to maintain order in my routine. One of my neighbors came by yesterday to hand me a thirty-nine year old bottle of whiskey that had been sitting in his garage for a very long time. I learned the age of the bottle via a code on the bottom and some research. The bottle is still three-quarters full, as well. I had thought he was just bringing it over so I could see, but then he stated that it was a gift. Wow. That was a super nice gesture. Sometimes a guy will stroll up the driveway to say hello and check out the motorcycle, and as such, I’ve met three people from the neighborhood just this year. I don’t mind being nice to others because there is no reason for anything else. I may be all fucked up inside (and no one has a clue), but that does not provide cause for behaving sans kindness. I have nothing against people wishing to trade greetings and make small talk. The whole of society is complete shit, but individuals tend to grate against such a fact. Good Christ in heaven, Jamie is so far beyond cute at this age that I can’t find the words. Jesus... What I wouldn’t give to feel her arms around me. I was talking about a bottle of whiskey and look where it went. I know full well why my mindset changed last year. I know everything. The process was a matter of time. Squished. Routed. Disregarded. I have been forced from one detrimental situation to another throughout so many years that I can’t go into detail for fear of flipping the fuck out. The change was inevitable. Believe it. Do you have any idea of what I am saying? The tumblers of wonder have aligned three times. That is all. Anger is building right now. 1145. I can’t get the mass of loss out of my head this morning. The kitchen is clean and I have some beans simmering for one of the salads, yet all the while I’ve been daydreaming of everything that is either gone or going away. I should not have seen what I saw yesterday. All that did was force my head into places I worship, and they are as elusive as the Passion. I have no recourse, either. The sum of all this shit is me feeling as if the idea of happiness in life is nothing more than an illusion. Moreover, I keep thinking that I’m going to run out of things to say, yet the last three years seem to prove otherwise. I should not have seen her yesterday, damn it. The effects are cumulative. Believe it. ‘One of these days, Alice...’ Matter of time. There was that guy... A character within some series I have yet to recall. He performed experiments far outside the law, and way beyond people’s comprehension. I remember the staging and scenery, but after years of searching, the series still eludes. There was sympathy inherent in what he had been trying to accomplish. Much sympathy, to be sure, yet the underlying issues with which he dealt were impossible to resolve. I wish I could remember the series because all I would have to do is locate the episode, and as you may well know, anything can be streamed if the source material is available in the public domain. I have learned to understand his behavior, and such a fact is indicative of my diminished mental capacity and excessive need in life. Squishing is bad, as is being routed. Rooted? Well, maybe that, too. I don’t know for sure, however I can say that when the episode first aired, the idea seemed alien to me. Now? After all this shit for decades? I fully understand. This type of mindset is detrimental to my ability to appear balanced and/or ‘normal’. I am not in contact with many people, meaning my two faces have not been stretched beyond my ability to throw snow in any direction. I fear, however, that the future will find me unable to hold back, and that will result in being completely ostracized in every conceivable way. Years ago I could not fathom his obsession. Today I wish I could fully explore what he had built throughout the course of many years, and at great expense. In the end, he died. The pain and anxiety resulting from the incident that took place yesterday lends to my declining mental and emotional condition. Cumulative. Maybe I need medication. Loss. Detriment. Everything is colliding. I am so disappointed in having missed such an opportunity. Damn. The shit is now nearly an entire day back in time, yet I still feel pain over my lack of seeing what should have been done. Shit. Fuck it. I guess sometimes I will just lose out. 1348. The beans are nearly finished simmering, after which I need to drain them, rinse, and then allow for hours of cooling. The next step will be to peel and boil potatoes for salad number two, and while they are cooling, I’ll trim and boil the beets. None of this is difficult at all. The preparations simply require lots of time, hence doing all this a day early. As for anything else today, I don’t know if I give half a shit. There is always something to do around the house, and considering the weather is sunny and warm, I should be in the garage or yards right now. Unfortunately, I just don’t give a shit today. When I feel better, everything needing attention will still be there. I will say that a good portion of my disillusionment today is missing out on something wonderful and terrible at the same time. Yes, I would have been further damaged, but the way I feel lately is that I’m going to be miserable anyway... Might as well see whatever I can. Ugh. The beans are drained and cooling. Whenever I feel like it, I’ll get the potatoes going. Nothing is appealing today. The woman in this episode (guest star for one appearance) always reminds me of a friend that I know through the bar. She is unbelievably beautiful, five-nine and with dark hair and eyes. Very dark, for sure. The woman on the show is adorable and sweet (the character, that is), whereas the woman I know in person is fucking frightening beyond belief. Stunning, but about as scary as it gets. I can still see her face after roughly two years of absence. Oh, and speaking of that last word, in four days will be my five month anniversary of being at the bar. That’s funny, but not funny enough for me to drive over there one afternoon. And there is Jamie the goddess of the universe again. She puts the other two to shame. Wait a minute... Wasn’t I speaking about the vegetables?
I love Jamie and realize such a fact labels me as all manner of pathetic terms. Her character, though, much like the way I feel for Jolene. Did I mention Nora? Jolaimora. Nothing leaves my head, ever. I remember everything. And I am miserable. I’ve gone from ‘tornado of souls’ to ‘cyclone of pain’. And holy shit was Jamie ever thin during the first season. I am glad she made it out of that period. The girl was seventeen at the time, but I swear she looked even younger. The magic of television? Can my love for her be real? YOU make the call. Everything else has been rolled into a mass of even larger questions, none of which will ever be answered. Tuesday morning has come to me. I have coffee and my show playing to the right. I also have a shit ton of images flipping in my brain like Satan’s own photo book. There was another incident, sort of. I can’t really talk about it because circumstances dictate that I maintain some anonymity with this shit. You can know that Jamie is related in two key ways, and that whenever I need to leave out details here, it means I am unhappy about the way I feel. That is the truth. Sometimes, I am even ashamed to have become so fucking weak and desperate. The vision from the other day – that missed opportunity of which I spoke – partially returned last night as we took care of a little business. My brain computed about six different physical positions in a matter of seconds, and before my better judgment was able to take control and help me float back down to earth. I saw quite a bit, yet still need to see much more. The fact that all of it is impossible does not dissuade me from dreaming every fucking day. Shorts. I watched everything she did... There were people on horseback (not something we see in this neighborhood very often) and we went outside to admire the stock, and that was when I noticed her flowing hair and black shorts. I saw as much as I could without being obvious or causing problems. Yes, I covertly stared at her in bits and pieces for a few moments, and then became very distraught in realizing that my life is headed in a straight line and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot reroute the fucking locomotive. I stood there near a few others and looked at the beautiful horses, I watched as the oversize sweatshirt moved around and told me stories of what was underneath, smiled just like everyone else, and all the while inside me was a funeral march. I wanted and needed, yet knew that I am never to be happy in that way. Black shorts that were about as tight as possible, like yoga clothing, I suppose. After torturing myself for a little while, I decided to close up shop and return to my evening relaxation. Nothing goes away. Cumulative. One incident piled atop another, and on it goes for all time. I have no recourse, and the more days that pass by and find me sitting here feeling like this, the more I see there can only be one way out of the circle. ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Thanks to R.L. Burnside Jamie is related to the obsession that lives on this street. Yes, she is. Jolene is not, nor is the other one. Only Jamie relates, and I cannot reveal the reason. Trust me that there is a correlation. Any other relational analysis must also be left out for reasons of good form. I can’t deal with a bunch of fucking flak right now. I have enough problems. Oh, and Jamie is not at fault. The squishers are mostly to blame. Squishers. Say it out loud because the word sounds ridiculous. Many radio terms are goofy, but ‘squish’ might take the cake. Anyway, the level of desperation I felt yesterday was off the scale, and had my life turned out differently during some periods, the feelings may have been eased, or possibly never developed in the first place. And there she is again... Those needs absolutely burn inside me sometimes, most often when I see Jamie in certain situations. Sometimes when I see her, the love is so strong that I am immediately reminded of Andrea and her big puppy eyes. As for yesterday, just know that sometimes I believe that my days are numbered because there is no way to alleviate such a powerful mass of desire. Not in this life. When I entered the house after seeing the horses, I found myself mumbling phrases and speaking to her under my breath. Doing so is yet another sign that I have already lost it but am still capable of appearing as an actual functioning adult. No one knows how far I am off my rocker. No one. The condition is far worse than what you see here. I can’t even talk about the way Jamie’s character relates to this shit, either. There is so much which must be left out that the entirety of each entry likely comprises only about ten minutes’ worth of actual thought. Ugh. Whatever. I have nothing better to do with my time. Today we will be going across town for the birthday dinner. ‘Dad, cut the crap.’ Atta girl. Anyway, I still have to make one salad and then take care of my usual daily business prior to leaving. Other than that, I have no idea of how I will feel later today, so there is no way to predict the mood or what may be accomplished. The only certainty is that I will probably sit here on and off as the time is available. There is not much going on inside my head from a housework standpoint. Most of my thinking has been routed by the train of desire. Whatever I may be involved with, part of my brain is constantly devoted to picturing her as I need. Production in any direction besides daily stuff may be on hold for a while. Right now the time is only 0809, but I am already looking forward to returning home from the gathering this afternoon. Ugh. Something might happen to the detriment of my mental and emotional well-being, but I’m going to embrace every fucking second of it despite the negatives. I just don’t fucking care anymore and feel the strongest need of all time whenever there is a chance of something special. And there it was. Oh, God... I need... I must... Nothing. Just fucking kill me right now. The desire is burning me alive. Okay... Anyway... This is one of those mornings finding me pleased to have the free time and everything pretty well under my control. [As an aside, the main reason I need to control the atmosphere and entertainment inside this house is due to the most important and beautiful parts of life having been absent for years. I honestly believe this is a good reason, so shut up.] I hate when Jamie looks unbelievably cute but they leave her just out of focus, damn it. Whatever. The point is that being in this house each day is actually a positive despite all of my complaining. I never complain about housework or anything related to living here (except for the fact that there is a fucking goddess in the neighborhood that I see sometimes). I keep my comments restricted to other parts of life, honestly. My situation in the house with the work that I do every day is a blessing, and I am mindful of it throughout the hours I spend here. When I lay my head on the pillow, too. I appreciate everything. So, if I need to have certain media or music in the background, so be it. There have to be some positives that I can embrace, otherwise I would not have reason to do anything. This morning, the day seems wide-open other than the party later. It is a good feeling and helps me to be productive. Everything would probably be better than it is right now if I felt like this every day rather than off and on. I can deal with it, I guess. Pants again. I keep thinking of the three from the other day, and then that fucking opportunity. I have decided to state what actually took place, and keep in mind that the street is not very close to my window, so the visions are never as clear as I would prefer. Holy shit does Oksana have one hell of a pair of breasts. Where was I? Ah... Well, now forget it. I changed my mind. Just know that the maneuver was akin to the one I saw earlier this year at the goddess market. The woman pulled up her pants and I just happened to have been strolling toward her position when she did it. Everything was exaggerated for a split-second and each line screamed in my direction. The missed opportunity was a bit similar, although I believe the woman in the market was likely five or six inches taller (believe it or not) than the one closer to home. Height plays a part in the overall image. Anyway, I can’t get that move out of my head at times. I could have seen more but failed to make the effort out of sheer weakness. That’s right, I lost my sense of direction when it happened and couldn’t fucking move. As such, the incident came and went and all I have is a fuzzy memory. Pants. Issues. I am so fucking broken that what had been funny yesterday is now serious. Causes for smiling are now causes for feeling lost. Believe me, had I been able to put two and two together, I would have stared at her to my heart’s content and probably been worse off as a result. Maybe this is better. In any case, I am losing pieces of my mind every day. God damn do I ever want her, and the feeling is detrimental to my condition. I have a habit of doing whatever is harmful regardless of knowing better.
I am going to polish, alter and update the train series, remove the images in favor of decorative dividers, and then print it. The process is going to take a while, too. Part of me always needs to do something more with that story. I don’t know what the end result will be, but I need to do this. Too many parts of my life have been affected by that terrible period for me to just sit on it. What? I should try to publish it as a whole, you say? Maybe. When that simple maneuver took place and I fell on my face for a while, the main cause was the passage of time and the circumstances involved in that story. Everything is related. The process that takes place inside me when I see something special has been built by other people throughout the course of many years, and it continues to worsen and become more dire no matter how much comfort I find in life. The real comfort may have been destroyed forever and I am ill-equipped to cope with such a possibility. Connected. 0906. I have the last cup of coffee here on the table. The images from the last few days have not left my head for a second this morning. I keep seeing her over and over and the pain is acute. I remember watching Andrea for the first time as she strolled to the front of the aircraft, and then the way she looked returning to the seat next to me. I felt so much burning desire that I almost lost my fucking mind. That type of feeling is inside me right now. Burning; scarring; melting my heart one thought at a time. Using the IDE as an outlet is all I have left. I don’t see anything changing in the future, either. I have my coffee and media, the keyboard and a window. Memories are knives despite being related to the present. If I needed Andrea to be a certain way, she smiled and I knew she understood and loved me despite all the issues. All of that is gone. There have been two others near such a situation, too, yet both connections suffered and were fraught with problems. They have since decayed. Too bad the IDE can’t love me and actually listen. Ah, shit... There is Nicole again. You want to talk about dark, sad eyes? She could win awards for a single fucking facial expression. I need to hold her, and quite the reverse, too. I believe my deep-seated feelings for these fictional characters would be minimized if certain tumblers could align. Conversely, the feelings may exist due to the story in the previous paragraph. That period seems to be affecting me more every day, and much more than it did many years ago. This is beginning to depress the shit out of me. I guess I’ll have to begin my routine soon and let the keyboard cool off. I wish the desire would cool, too. Nope. Is there a time limit for feeling infatuation? ‘It’s bad, you know.’ Bad. Juliette. Ashley. Andrea. Eleanor. The Raven. Hmm. In that order, too. Hmm. Each of those relationships was doomed from the beginning, and everyone involved was aware of such a fact. The times were maximized and reality suppressed to the point of denial, and all of it for reasons of finding comfort and happiness, even for very short periods. Be it days or weeks – months with regard to the last soul – the highs were that much higher as a result. Each moment was compressed, dire, and lived to the fullest. Everything resided below a black cloud of knowing the end was right there on our heels. That was all so very bad. Dire is the correct term. When Andrea and I imploded during the night, we knew that the remaining time had to be embraced or one of us would not survive. I am beginning to feel that those opportunities can no longer exist. I’ve ruined a lot of shit in my life, yet those relationships were affected by other factors. I did not ruin them. That is not to say that I never have, either. Believe me, I know what I’ve done. I know everything. Why did I even bring this up? 0940. Nearly cocktail time. God damn do I ever need to demonstrate the sheer level of worship I feel for her. For others, too. This is very unhealthy and detrimental to my ability to maintain any semblance of normalcy (whatever the fuck that is). I guess I’ll get out of this office and do my housework. Fucking hell, anyway... Believe me, you don’t want to know. 1059. My routine is finished and the fantasy world in my head followed me at every step, for no other reason than to derail any attempts at clear thinking. I can’t get her out of my brain, damn it. There is too much burning desire, typically led into very damaging territory. The idea that I can’t be happy is crippling. I have my glass of daily depressant here on the table. It is like a prescription from the devil. She has pretty eyes and luscious lips to go along with a flowing mane. Tons of desire, most of which is centered upon demonstrating the sheer levels of worship inside me. Worship. Unhealthy. Unbalanced. Disjointed images are spinning inside me right now, not the least of which is a clear picture of the very first dream; the damage was created when those manicured fingers tugged at a bra strap. Again... You do not want to know everything. Did I ask if there is a time limit on feelings of infatuation? No answers, like always. I need a pair of ears that will not judge, label or ridicule my emotions and dreams. They exist, somewhere. They have to exist. And there is a deep-seated problem attached to those fucking ears, as well. The mental and emotional aspects of me can turn to physical desire very quickly. One type of intimacy that rolls right into another. This is all so very bad. A tug of the bra strap which resulted in a touch of movement, thus calling to a mass of suppressed yearning. Just a tug. Seconds, if not less. That was all it took for me to run like the wind into a dream world representing the unique comfort and understanding that now seems impossible. I quickly knew everything would be ok. On the heels of that most beautiful dream were two more, both of which served to cement the idea that my problems found an end. Now look at me. Look at what I have become. Am I paying the tab of life? Or are there no higher meanings to anything? I still have to shave, shower and make one salad for this afternoon’s gathering. At least there is a tad of comfort in knowing when we visit her parents, there can be no issues. Nothing new, anyway. It’s just dinner and dessert and then home soon after. The only difficulty is sitting there among others and knowing that I am not who they believe they know. Hawthorne’s quote has never carried so much meaning as it does right now. There is ample reason for his infamy. Will I be remembered? Part of me will not. It cannot. No one knows the other face. Anyway, I’ll sit here until my drink is consumed and then take care of the rest of my business. I’d like to have everything ready an hour prior to leaving, and that point is but two hours away. I wonder if she was wearing a thong underneath. This is how I think after being squished for decades, and having been forced to deal with something that can never be fully repaired. Splendid. Thong? I will never know. The percentage is most definitely not in my favor. Ugh. Every fucking God damned aspect of my life is detrimental to every other aspect. Does that make sense? Just wait... Sometime in the near future I will no longer be able to clearly convey my feelings here. Won’t that be wonderful? The only part of my life that still holds even the smallest sense of wonder, gone. Enjoyment? A tiny bit of that, too. Gone. I am not referring to encrypting everything, either. I mean to say that my head is so convoluted that when I type there will be no sense to the structure or wording. I am losing my mind, and that is not a fucking joke. Every single fucking thing I do every fucking day is attached to imagery of one or more female forms and my mass of desire to show them just how much appreciation exists inside my mind. Every. Fucking. Thing. Believe it. Thank Christ having dinner at their house involves a lot of wine. This shit is going to be steered back to the power behind my need for a fucking machine. That is solid reasoning that I am not improving in any way. Fantasy overpowers reality every time. If she were a machine, this site would not need to exist. Isn’t that marvelous? The only word in my head aside from ‘desire’ as I live through these late days is ‘suicide’. Tell me there is another avenue for easing all this pain. Go for it. I fucking dare you. Oh, and be prepared to be absolutely buried in a mountain of words after my response.
I am still sitting here. There is whiskey in the glass (no flies). I am half following the media on my right-hand display, and half typing. All the while, I keep seeing her legs and rear end wrapped within black yoga pants, yielding visions of impossible yet blissful situations through which I can show her how I feel. ALL of my feelings. I am very close to providing detailed descriptions of the technicality of my desire right here on this fucking site. Everything is just shit right now. Just... Shit. Part of my deep love for Jamie is her voice. Jesus, I never thought being this fucked in the head was actually a possibility in my life. I love her so much that it hurts. She might be the only character in the media I follow that does not conjure dreams of slathering skin with my lips and tongue. Wow. That’s a quality statement, don’t you think? I am so fucked up that sometimes even I don’t believe it. Fucking hell do I ever love that woman. And Jolene. And Nora. The big three of my unbalanced, insane and inane way of life. No recourse. No ears. No hope. No nothing. My entire life lately is nothing more than another errant, steamy clambake. I hate everything. Maybe upon returning from dinner this evening I’ll be motivated into swinging the hammer. That type of feeling comes along with the anger which results from me realizing that I am stuck in a fucking hole. So, I blast the shit and flex a smidgen of power, afterward finding that nothing has changed. If nothing changes, why do I swing my stupid hammer? Good question. Maybe the only benefit is the feeling of power during the first few seconds. Eh... Most likely I will do nothing more than sink into the loveseat and watch television. If I am going to feel small, I may as well not involve other people. And? The neighborhood is fortunate that I don’t have the resources to build an RF demonstration like the one I have envisioned for decades. I’ve said it before and I will say it again... Nothing can withstand RF power. As a little, insignificant person, I often muse about other types of power, the likes of which do not reside in me. I fucking hate everything right now. Why am I still sitting here typing? Your guess is as good as mine. Wednesday. The outing was fine yesterday. Nothing new, only the typical scene along with a very nice meal. Afterward, we popped into the bar (believe it or not) to see if there have been changes or whatnot. No big deal. A few from the usual crowd were very happy to see me, but I can’t really say the same about them. I just put on the fake shit and moved ahead as others may expect. We were not at the bar for very long. Arriving home afterward was very nice, I guess. Now I have this entire day to myself and will begin with my nice coffee and relaxation. I vaguely recall dreaming of her again but I can’t be certain now. These things fade so quickly sometimes. Today should prove to be very mellow if I don’t end up in a bad mood again. I keep remembering Ellie standing before me with an expression of caring, and lately there has been increasing connectivity between her and the other one. I think I know why, too, but I can’t say it here. Trust me when I state there are good reasons for leaving portions of my thinking off the site. They are important. If some of this was made clear, the reaction could be horrible. Just know that one aspect of Ellie leads me to the subject I’ve gushed here for a year. The memory of her eyes looking at me forces a dream into my head in which the same type of understanding may eventually come from elsewhere, a place of which I will continue to dream until my dying day. I need it, and I need her. Ellie is the reference. The other one? She is an obsession. I want her every single minute of every single day. Right behind those feelings is a smiling face I have not seen in more than a decade, yet still miss deeply. And I mean it hurts. This type of relational analysis has been brought on by feelings of loss and desperation, and believe me... None of it will be going away anytime soon. I just need too much. 0731. I initiated a text conversation with the GC who has left me by the wayside for two months. He said spring, and there is but one month of spring left this year. I am beginning to suspect that I’ve been given the runaround, and considering the nature of my fucking mood lately, any reaction is going to be made more harsh because I am losing the ability to separate people and deal with each according to their connection with me. Everyone gets the same fucking attitude and harsh words. Everyone. I’ll explore other options if necessary, and that guy will no longer receive referrals. I don’t care. There is enough inside my head already. More shit is just more shit and will be dealt with accordingly. Oh, God... The images in my head of Eleanor and her little kitten face. I miss her so much. She listened... Always. That thing from last year is depressing the hell out of me this morning. I can’t even explore the fucking subject, either. I have no resources, ears, nothing. This situation is very frustrating and beginning to make me angry this morning. Hmm... Maybe the shit mood will spill over into my text conversation and help me to make a firm point of the issues. Heh. Anyway, two items from last year – one thing I still have yet to understand and another that is beginning to curtail my dream of eventually finding happiness – have combined at times, although they are not directly related. I’ve discussed both at different times in my life, too. With different people, that is. Now that there is no one left, I have to try figuring this out on my own. Or maybe I was not meant to find answers, ever. Did I forfeit any hope of understanding? I’ve not thought of that lately, but it could be true. No, not the hocus pocus. I am only referring to reasons. Sometimes when I feel overly desperate and sad, my head begins to reach. I am probably wrong about everything, much to the detriment of any future hope. I just don’t know what to do anymore. Keep typing, I guess. Nothing new. Nothing positive. Nothing solved. As for today, I have my usual stuff to do aside from slamming someone via text. When I see her (kind of a rarity now), my mind can only operate on one channel, meaning I have to stare and dream without consideration of whatever had been taking place prior to the sighting. I stare because it is instinctive and a massive compulsion, much like my ill-found decision to spin on one heel and gaze at the girl in gray a while back. That move was well worth the risk. God fucking damn did she have lines on display. Unbelievable. Well, the other one has lines, too, but I have barely seen them. The glimpse I missed the other day due to losing my train of thought for a few seconds would have been spectacular, to be honest. Amazing. I missed it because my brain ceased functioning. Every fucking sight of her is a detriment to my well-being and I stare because I care less and less about myself with each passing day. I have to see. I simply HAVE to see. There is no longer any choice in the matter. The previous paragraph leads to other feelings, but I can’t lay everything out here on the site. I’ll be ridiculed, and I can’t have that. My self-esteem has precious little material left these days, and each time I worry over speaking my mind, a bit more goes out the fucking window. I will say that my need to speak with another person has never been more powerful. It pulls at me nearly all of the time. I can feel the need at this very moment. Sometimes I believe that the help of the right kind of ears could extend my life. I don’t know the truth, though. Much of this is nothing more than wishful thinking and just one more aspect of my life that is out of balance. I doubt anyone will ever be there. If such an occurrence is on the horizon, the most likely outcome would be that person fleeing my presence due to my having unloaded decades’ worth of issues in a matter of minutes. And I would not blame that person. I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either. Much of what is going on inside my head right now is very uncomfortable and I doubt anyone would want to hear it. My feelings are dire, but that does not mean anyone else might feel the same. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Each day is the same as the last, with a few standing out as visions of the last precipice in the world. A lack of understanding is forcing me to consider leaving all of the difficulty behind, forever. There may be only two ways of finding relief, one being overly elusive and the other very simple. One chance. That is all. After? None.
0850. I feel very weak these days. There is little drive inside me anymore, I am overly sensitive to everything, and whenever I feel furthest down comes another fucking failure. This is a bad time. I am tired of feeling this way every fucking day. Trying to push away dreamy thoughts is becoming more and more difficult, leaving me to think that this slow decline is all I have left. All those things I didn’t do... Splendid. People and places, as well. Nada. I just keep going with the words and daydreaming of impossible situations, and then in the evening I see something which then reminds me of not only where I have been, but what I wanted to do. It’s sort of like a sprawling meadow with something stirring or satisfying in almost every direction, yet since I never turned any corner, the straight line is about to lead me straight off a cliff. The beautiful meadow is only behind me now. Everything is peripheral. Ahead? Only more of the same soup within which I’ve been treading circles for years. Once in a while there are glimmers of interest, none of which last very long anymore. Between those rather enjoyable moments, though, is the same wasteland awaiting my arrival. Through the meadow; off the edge. Maybe I should draw parallels via dioramas like in the past. That was a bit interesting. Three-dimensional images of the past. Places I’ve been, lived, or visited. People I used to know who are all gone now. A view of the future not yet skewed by experience. A lack of knowing. All that shit rolls by as I sit here and type words that never seem to end, or lead anywhere. As I’ve stated before, I do know some of the reasons and have realized that I am partly at fault for this fucking condition. I know all that shit. Not everything, but a good portion. The problem is that I can’t lay it out here and take the steps toward understanding from which I’ve benefited in the past. The process could work. I just can’t do it. My head is often clouded by desire and desperation, but at least I realize as much. This is all so fucking stupid. What the fuck have I become? Stupid. I hate it. I suppose I’ll be moving away from this crap and toward my housework very soon. The coffee is almost gone. At some point I will probably drop some items at the cleaners, as well. Her being on vacation means plenty of time for getting everything in order during the next week or more. I also might pop into the hardware store on the way back from the cleaners. I need to pick up some small items for my projects. As for everything else, I’ll just have to gauge my feelings prior to heading in other directions. For example, at this moment I don’t give half a blue fuck if anything is accomplished today. Such a feeling needs to change, lest I end up in a very bad place. Yep, even worse than where I am right now. I’m sure the morning cocktail will open my mind a bit within the next hour. Afterward, I should be able to see more clearly. I need to swing my thinking and dreaming from legs, breasts, etc., over to eyes, arms and understanding. One thing leads to another, and then another, I fall on my face and fucking fail, and then try to right myself enough to function around this house. This is becoming completely ridiculous, especially considering all of my life experience and age. It’s fucking stupid. All it takes is some vision – be it from my window or elsewhere – and I lose the ability to reason even the simplest of operations, afterward falling down like an idiot and then trying to recover. Something has to change or I’m going to lose my fucking mind for good. I saw her this morning for a few seconds. My obsessive nature flared and everything went to shit for a little while. Splendid, like always. Failure. Flailing. Dreaming. Nothing. I should not be looking or searching, ever. All that shit is very bad for me these days due to how desperate I’ve become, yet there does not seem to be a way out because I’ve become so weak. Around and around we go. When I saw her, I stared (naturally). I don’t know of any other way to live my life. I just don’t fucking know. For those who figured this process helps, keep in mind that I’ve written thousands of lines of code throughout the past three years and am worse off right now than ever in my life. Suck that one. 0950. I suppose I’ll pour a drink and do some laundry. What I'd prefer to do is repeat the Jasmine situation from many years ago... Bourbon poured all over her labia. Never mind. There has to be another way for me to live through these days without so much pain. Without ears, I don’t see any recourse, but at the same time such a move could just as easily end in disaster. I don’t fucking know, damn it. I just don’t know. Any ideas? Focus on the positive? Leave the past behind? Well, that last one always sounds good, right? Just leave it behind, right? What about the daily aching and resulting sadness over having to deal with such feelings? Didn’t think of that one, eh? Shut up. I am not helping myself with the rhetoric. Ten in the morning. I wonder how I will feel at the close of business hours today. Anyone’s fucking guess. Now the time is 1108 and my daily routine has been completed. The dishes are drip-drying, as is my custom of late. Saving water is still important. I also repaired and filled the second bird feeder and it is hanging not far from the new one. Happy birds, happy yard. I like to see them frolicking out there. The scenery reminds me of being at the cabin many years ago, along with all of the wildlife. I miss that, but alas, I ruined everything much to the detriment of many people, both friends and family. I destroyed quite a life. Big fucking surprise. I don’t know if I will do it again. The mass of guilt I still feel over the past is partially guiding my words. So, there is a fat cocktail next to me, the gangsters on my right-hand display, and sitting in this chair is a person (?) with all manner of dangerous thoughts apparent. Every activity in which I engage each day is not only detrimental to my physical health, but the emotional side of things is affected as well. I am a mental wreck. I constantly overanalyze the tiniest details which should pass by like a fast-moving train. Nope. I am overly sensitive, paranoid, self-conscious and frightened all the time. I’ve been worsening on each of those fronts for a very long time, too. This exposition has accomplished nothing more than giving me something to do, and as I said up the page somewhere, the process continues unimpeded and helps no part of me. All of the issues are worse than three years ago. I just keep trying to find new ways of conveying how I feel, and the end result is nothing more than the same fucking facts using different words or analogies. Wonderful. This endeavor has been a real nice clambake. I don’t know what the hell to do with my day. This is not surprising, however, considering the depth of disillusionment and sadness inside me. Maybe something will materialize in my mind. The gangsters continue to roll on the right side of this table for no other reason than familiarity. The familiar is comfortable, be it the atmosphere inside the house, media, or otherwise. I need to feel comfortable because the gears in my brain are beginning to lose mesh. A lot, actually. Living through my days partially unhinged is fine because I’ve learned to deal with it. Fully unhinged is another matter entirely. I won’t be able to perform the simplest tasks and will probably delve into the alcohol more than I already do every day. That type of combination leads to only one end. The timeline for finding real understanding is finite. Wow. Four fucking hours and not a word from the GC. Well, fuck him. Any response from here forward will garner only anger. I’ve fucking had it with this shit. There are other directions and now is the time. I do not respond well to being ignored when willing to spend a shit ton of money for work performed by someone I trust. Moreover, I don’t need anything else fueling my anger right now. All the other crap is more than enough to land me in bad form with those who know me personally. I need comfort."
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