Omne Periculosum Mature content No. 369 Published April 21st, 2023 9:14am pdt read ( words) Past entries "This is a bad time. Three ‘things’. Sometimes I think I’ve been routed. There are moments when different ideas are floated, yet when the possibility of routine comes to mind, all of my strength is required to quash the anger. Even the realm can be considered a result or offshoot of that essay from nearly six years ago, and the essay was born of this feeling. Part of it is me, but not all. I will have to avoid mirrors for a while. The suggestion of being routed came from elsewhere and some time ago, but I began to see things as they seemed prior to that shit. As I sit here at this very moment, I don’t know what the fuck to think. The die has been cast, yet it is far from set. The metal is still warm. God forbid I find the means to do anything other than the path I’ve been on for many years. I don’t believe anyone would understand. This topic has more power to anger me than almost any other, and the effort involved in holding myself back from an explosion is tremendous at times. This feeling will fade soon, as it has for a very long time, yet there is no way to completely eliminate the nagging suspicion that I have been nothing more than a ‘target’ for certain parts of life. There were two aspects of the show last night which bothered me. As of yet I’ve mentioned only one, and it was pretty fucking unclear. I’d like to avoid the other. This is all very ill-advised. I have to write without saying anything. This life has been a really nice clambake. I will never see. I’ll just sit here and dream. And then I’ll feel full of pain and loneliness. And then I’ll become angry. And then I’ll move around the house and do something in search of distraction. And then everything will calm again. And then I’ll sit here and dream... ‘When a person can’t find a deep sense of meaning, they distract themselves with pleasure.’ – Viktor Frankl 0924 on the same fucking Sunday as the end of the previous shit... Er... Entry. I have yet to rise and care for some business because I still have a bit of coffee and wish to keep the house quiet. Once I am up and about, the routine will come first, like always. In and around everything else, I’ll gather the garbage and see what else can be tossed in the interest of creating space. Up to this point in time, there has always been a fear holding me back from dramatic changes, but I will say that one of these days I am going to alter this fucking house and its contents more than ever before. I am becoming pretty fucking sick of everything. And now I am rankled for the umpteenth time. Perhaps I need to move away from the control center and begin some housework before I begin to say things that are unkind. I see 1137 on the clock and am now back at the control center with my delicious cocktail and the dragons on the right-hand display. The routine is nearly finished and I have the house to myself for the next few hours. My Sunday garbage business is partially complete, as well. I’m going to cram everything I can into that vessel for reasons of good form, and to attempt to clear out some crap that does not need to reside in this little house. As for the garage work, I have very little that can be accomplished without more parts, so if the mood strikes and I feel the need to thrash out there for a little while, I shall do some light cleaning and install small components for the time being. The larger assemblies must wait. The garage has become unkempt, meaning I am dying to straighten and create space out there. Unfortunately, there is far too much clutter out there for me to truly gain elbow room. I’ll have to chip away at the project. Bigger concerns must await either the bike being completed to my satisfaction or the gain of space within the house in order to relocate items. I will do whatever I can. In and around my work today, I plan to enjoy the solitude and damn it at the same time. My needs have grown out of fucking control lately. Yes, those three ‘things’, none of which are presently within reach. And speaking of reach, I may need to do just that. The prospect is nowhere near enticing, however. It is a weakness, nothing more. I am not very happy about much these days. This is a dangerous time. On top of everything in my fucking tired head, there is Roxanne on the display looking like liquid desire. I need her to tell me everything will be ok, and then I need her to be my Jaime. If you thought all that shit from twenty had faded, think again. Nothing leaves me, everything is related, and not one fucking person is listening. I need Roxanne to listen. I need to trace her lines. I need to plant my lips and tongue to her delicate, beautiful labia. I need all of her. I need far too much these days. I need ears. I need everything, damn it. One day soon I will flip the fuck out for the last time. Years ago I said the end was a slow process. Believe it. I see nothing on the horizon with the power to stop this train. There is not one aspect of life with the power to switch off this track. There is no way to avoid the buffer stop. Monday morning arrives sans fanfare, joy, hope... Everything seems very small right now. Between the issues that have been illuminated by a certain television series and the already plunging feelings inside regarding the value of my existence, I believe today is going to be nothing more than reinforcement of the same combined with a touch of planning. I often state that there is no recourse to this condition. Apparently, there is none of the same for life itself. I am partially responsible, yet still I cannot believe I ruined everything. I just can’t see it. This morning on the news was an additional jab related to memories being removed from the world. One more is now gone. I am seeing less value in everything today than I did one month ago. I mean to say that the little changes are adding up, and every now and then a big one comes along and forces me to see two things: First, I am disappointed in the manner society so easily dumps pieces of history, and two, the truth is that there is not much chance that I will be able to visit any place further from this house than the big wine store over the hill. I just don’t fucking see it anymore, and the fact that my head is slowly resigning itself is very dangerous. Resigned. Not good. My entire universe has become a rectangle comprising just over six thousand square feet. In a little while I have to visit the big wine store and then the market. I’ll go when my coffee is gone. Upon returning, I will probably be overjoyed to have the rest of the day to myself. Half the routine will be completed prior to leaving my little world. I do not feel very well today, either. Being home is very important when my head is sideways, and right now I can’t see a worse position. I’d be staying here if I wasn’t completely out of booze. Heh. Not funny. 1103 is the time on the clock right now. I am back at the control center with my icy glass of depressing liquid and the streaming media just above. The trip over the hill was quick and smooth, but I did not go to the market as of yet because I couldn’t recall anything we needed besides potatoes. No big deal. The daily routine is finished with dishes drip-drying for posterity. I am pleased to have the shopping trip out of the way so early. Well, my motivation was to enjoy the morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen, meaning I had to go prior to taking care of my routine. Whatever that makes me, I don’t fucking care. The downside right now is my head is no better off than last night or early this morning. I cannot extricate those three items from my head, nor can I cease daydreaming about everything that has disappeared in this life. The problem which reared its head last year continues to weigh heavily on my mind, as well, and it is depressing enough to force me into wishing for a pair of understanding ears. Unfortunately, such a situation would require trust, and my paranoia and self-conscious nature disallows embracing that word, ever. I’ve had ears in the past, yet they were different. Somehow, I just knew. The present is completely different and the only matching trait to the past is desperation. The little enjoyments are no longer isolated, meaning no matter what form they may take, the issues do not leave during the comfort. Moreover, I cannot avoid thinking in advance that whatever enjoyment comes along, it will not last. That is a fucking sad state of affairs. Right now I am considering lunch options, yet I know that once it is consumed (with streaming media keeping me company), I will fall down once again. The periods of moving through depression and enjoyment are diminishing. No wonder I lean on alcohol so much. The alteration to my methods of thinking are very important these days. Sad. State. Of. Affairs. I don’t know how long this process can continue before the danger manifests itself in some errant, hideous manner. My life feels as reduced as an au jus that has been simmering for thirty years. Sometimes when a reduction cooks too long the resulting material is referred to as resin. I am looking through the window and see people going about their business. Cars moving up and down the street. Delivery trucks. The world is rotating despite the wrecked human being watching from a little table in a little house located in a little town next to the ocean. I feel like I no longer matter. This is a very dangerous time. This may be the only entry in recent weeks with an appropriate title. I have been forced to succumb to the past and present alike. Everything is dangerous. A slight touch from any unwanted direction and my entire life will unload at breakneck speed toward the source. Everything is dangerous. Believe it. Dangerous enough for me to switch from video entertainment to music. See the Frankl quote above for a decent reference to my present mindset. I seem to have misplaced the trackball pointing device for the laptop. Maybe it is in the travel case resting within my bulletproof travel case. I need to find it at some point so I can rework the navbar image. The software on the laptop is better for pixel-by-pixel image manipulation. GIMP works extremely well for being open-source software, but sometimes I need a finer point. I will look for the trackball later today. The time is 1141. The music of life is playing quietly in the background because sometimes I need to recall the period when this artist was first introduced to me. Good and bad. The alcohol has successfully squashed some of my feelings. This is good, but everything fades. The typical post-cocktail pre-lunch consideration is pouring a second drink. I think about such an idea every fucking day of the week, believe it or not. Right now I am holding back because I know just a few sips of the second glass of bliss can easily result in thoughts of putting an end to all this shit via the iron. I love and hate the idea. The music sounds as if it is being routed through a noise gate. This is the only album which has that effect. I don’t understand it. My hearing is messed up, but if only one digitized set of tracks sounds this way, I don’t know what to think. Ugh. Perhaps this is the ‘way of things’. Do you know what that means? The sentence is related to a possible second drink this morning. Her song is playing now. Her birthday was a week ago, give or take. I want to kill myself. She did. She fell away from me. She left life bleeding. Look it up. The way of things. Indeed. No one knows the extent of what I have been feeling or thinking for a very long time. Part of such a lack of knowing is me, of course. I barely communicate with anyone. Does that make me the bad guy? I don’t know. There is too much fear of the apple cart being upset. All I have left in the world – in my fucking life – is the occasional comfortable distraction from reality via an agreeable meal combined with some nice media. Tuesday morning. Coffee. The other stuff. This is the way of things as my buddies on the third show might state. They are the people whom I sought... A lifestyle, and one completely alien to me these days. Despite the feeling of being already finished in this life, I did my best to maintain some elevation yesterday. Little things. Some relaxation. I don’t remember everything. The evening was fine, too. By the day’s end, I felt pretty weakened. This morning? There were dreams related to issues inside me and I have to attempt to recall some details. I was very distraught upon waking today. Now I must remain at the control center for hours. This is the only place in my universe which can feel truly rewarding. It can also help to cease my daydreaming at times. Today is one of those capable of sending me straight into the ground without some sort of device. I will have to be careful this morning. Some imagery from one of the dreams is fuzzy and the rest is gone. I awakened very early and recalled many details, yet after dozing again for an hour or so, everything faded away quickly. I am disappointed to have lost the pictures. There are still feelings inside me, however. I am reminded of last year again... The dreams which had me by the throat. This was important and now I can’t remember enough to put a story together. Shit. I have feelings, though. Just feelings. This entire situation is both sad and unacceptable, and it will remain behind my eyes all day. I already know that much, at least. There are times when I want to recall each detail, face, feature; other times I do not want to have anything to do with that crap. I try to push it away and nothing changes. I still end up sad and lost. Once the imagery takes hold and begins to interrupt my productive time, the anger takes over and then everything quickly goes sideways. I don’t want it today, either. My time needs to be put to good use and anything capable of upending my thinking is going to have to be shoved away. The dreams did not yield enough for me to grab, hence they must go away. Far away. I am already in a horrible frame of mind at only 0754. I remember a face. I also remember realizing that someone was there to save me. The latter is the main catalyst for my disdain and sadness this morning. I am still looking forward to some alone time today and the space to think, believe it or not. This is a very dangerous situation, for sure, but I am beginning to think that the way I feel about everything does not matter in the least. The ‘grand scheme’, remember? I am but a tiny person sitting in an office, nothing more. Smaller every day, too. So, how can anything related to me actually be dangerous? Where is the power? Is this entry mistitled? Are they all? Too many questions that lead in circles. Still, and regardless of the implications or complications, the inside of my head is planning bad things on and off every fucking day. I am miserable and may put an end to it if and when I feel it is necessary to do so. That is why I call this period dangerous. Mostly for others, of course. They would be left to do the thinking and questioning without the possibility of answers. Sound familiar? Enough of this. I am not going anywhere, anytime soon. I have not seen anything from my window for many days. This is very good. I need no more of that shit in my tired head. There was nothing in the big wine store, although I had to ask one of the managers about picking up my order due to the call button being on the fritz. She had dark features and beautiful eye makeup, yet underneath the pretty face and jet-black hair was some sort of frightening stance, as if Medusa was inside just waiting for the right moment for a strike. There were no pants; no nothing. Good God does Oona have dark eyes; the pupils look to be almost one solid color. Wow. Anyway, I really don’t want to see anything after that fucking dream this morning. My brain will run with the information and then I’ll end up nothing more than a pain in the ass to other people (if I am in contact with anyone, that is). When I see something special, the process I have laid out here takes place – leading me from fascination, all the way through the gamut of emotions, and then on to blistering anger – and nothing ever comes of it. I end up exactly the same, if not more depressed. A lack of recourse is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. I have very little direction these days. I keep the blinds open during the day when I am sitting here because the room feels a little bit more open and connected to the outside. I’m sure at some point (as the weather warms through this season) there will be more pants and whatever else viewable from either where I now sit or from the garage. Something will eventually come by. I have to attempt to steel myself against going through the cycle and I must remember that nothing can come of my feelings. I need help but no one is listening. No one is there. Maybe I am the one in danger. The pants don’t matter, really. They are a symptom. 0914. My head is sideways again. I hate this shit. This is one of those days in which I can already tell that everything could go straight into the toilet if I am not careful. My routine will not take long, so I’ll have to look around and care for some small items in order to avoid becoming completely heeled over. Right now I have no clue how to proceed, though. Housework can only keep me out of the black for so long. The same goes for the motorcycle project, although yesterday afternoon I did rework a metal plate (threading and such) so that the cover plate from the old engine can be adapted to the new one. I’ll have to pick up a few pieces of hardware from the store to mount it. I also did some cleaning so other small parts can be mounted to the frame. Baby steps, I suppose. I have to wait for some necessary components before the larger assemblies can be dealt with. I am looking forward to seeing the bike back on its rear wheel. The work may have to supplement my housework so I can get through to the close of business hours feeling decent. At this point in time, and after a life of good work and feeling as if I had been important, I should not need to fucking push so hard just to get to the other end of a typical day. This is ridiculous. My sideways head can lead to disaster if I let go of the reins even for a second. As I said, this should not be so difficult. I’ve done a lot in the past. I was important. Now I am sideways. Well... Maybe I only felt important. The whole shitaree could have been an illusion; a condition born of my wish to be as such. I don’t know anymore. What I do know is this daily battle can kill me. Stay the course. I’ve been driven like hell to worship. Routed? Perhaps. I cannot be certain because the way my head operates often disallows anything truly clear. If routed, there may be nothing I can do about it other than lashing and dreaming. Those two are exhausting and in the end I am exactly the same, if not worse. Holding back my true feelings from this endeavor is also tiring. I am fucking sick of it, but the alternative is much worse. The right kind of ears could help, yet they may no longer exist. Isn’t that just wonderful? A nice clambake. Nothing more. And yes, there are those things in life that I sit here and worship, and no one knows. Everything is veiled, hidden, or otherwise absent from this content, and the level of worship – along with the damaging dreams and everything born of them – is not clear to one soul on this fucking planet. I honestly believe that I was routed long ago, leaving me to slowly decline and cover myself with anything powerful enough to protect the ‘true’ me from the mass of society. Am I suffering in silence? Eh... Something similar is going on, I suppose, but the one plus from all of this is that I do not pity myself. I know who I am and what I have done. The worship pales in comparison. Maybe I need not be overly concerned about such a feeling. Many years ago I wrote about a woman who worked at a small alehouse we visited from time to time. I loved that place, especially the layout of the room with a square bar area overlooking the rest of the lounge. I sat there and desperately watched one of the servers and the way her lines appeared and disappeared as she moved about the room. When I began to craft a short, descriptive essay about what I saw (and needed to see), the conclusion was that I had put her on a figurative pedestal upon which to bang my head over and over out of frustration that she was right there, yet a billion miles away for all intents and purposes. I can’t see her anymore, though, because the period when we were able to walk to that bar was roughly twenty years ago. She has faded into the past like so many others. The pedestal I mentioned was very appropriate, too, because I felt worship for her appearance. The woman was amazing to see. The feeling of worship grew from nothing in the space of an hour. I was desperate to see more, and the dire nature of my thoughts drove me to write. I still have that essay and it may be somewhere here on the site. Ah... It is here. I published her story three years ago, meaning I sat on that information for a very long time. Anyway, the point is that I felt worship for her beauty that far back in time and did not realize to what level such a feeling would eventually push me. Now? I am traumatized and tormented beyond belief when I see the like, such as the last time I went to the market. I never learned of why such feelings take place, either. Never. In the last three years, I’ve gone over this shit repeatedly to find meaning, and the only possible conclusion quickly became the word ‘desire’. There are many types, of course, and when I first wrote about the server, I felt a deep need to see much more of her. Lines... You know. Well, years later, desire took over and I wanted much more than to merely ‘see’. The most recent incarnation of worship is a dire combination of both, and possibly more. The server was a few years before the girl at the car wash and by that point my mind operated differently. At present, the level of worship is off the fucking scale, believe it or not. The subject of the damaging dreams is near the top. I worship every vision; every thought of her to the point of driving myself to subconsciously dream and then sit here and tread water within a vat of desire and sadness. I can’t even go into all of the others. Pause for the cause. 1120. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a few hours to myself. The requisite glass of icy, alcoholic medicine is next to me, as always. I’ll have to care for some laundry in a little while, perhaps once my drink is consumed. There are little spots here and there on the floor that could benefit from some attention, too. I do not yet know if I will head to the hardware store to further the motorcycle project. Maybe after a shower. One certainty is spending a lot of time in front of the IDE right here in my office. I have much to say, and the effort of deciding how far to push the informational envelope takes time. There is a positive right now, and that is the fact that I am still in control of the atmosphere in the house and nearly all of my time. The idea of a job has become completely alien to me. I have considered seeking some low-paying position crunching numbers or other data so I can earn a bit of money with this computer. I don’t believe such positions are easily had, though. I’m sure the idea of working remotely for money is in demand these days, and that means even the simplest work could be difficult to locate. Research is free, however, so I’ll take a look. Perhaps I can sit here and transcribe audio or video for some company. Interesting prospect, at the very least. A bit of mellow music with a very disturbing undertone is now playing through my magnificent speakers. I switched off the show because sometimes applying my thoughts to the editor with others speaking in the background can be difficult. I need clarity right now. God damn do I ever love the morning cocktail. There is a related feeling which dates all the way back to the early nineties, yet I did not truly embrace it until roughly a decade later. I began to see the relationship between youth and true, legal adulthood very differently for some reason. My upbringing in the lavish atmospheres of Reno, Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas likely had a hand in my desire to ‘feel’ like an actual adult, when in reality the only difference between my early years and said feeling was time. Many years later, perhaps into the late aughts, I felt a strong desire to keep myself separate from the atmosphere and lifestyle of families and children (annoyances). The most striking example of being tossed into the mix was when Andrea and I were invited to dinner by the fucking squareheads. She really caught me off-guard with her response, after which I was committed to an evening with what seemed to be a married couple from an alien planet. Andrea found the entire affair funny, especially considering my penchant for adult atmospheres. Anyway, the booze still conjures visions of the past when I was carried to those exotic places that were typically off-limits to the world’s youth. I wanted so badly to remain with the adults that I believe the desire formed a good portion of who I am today. Everything is difficult. Wow. So, I ventured to the hardware store for four screws, a drill bit and one fucking tap. The cobalt bits are not sold in every size, nor do they carry letter bits. And the tap? Nope. There is not even a space for the size I sought. NOT EVEN A FUCKING SPACE ON THE PEGBOARD. The tap I require is the SECOND most common thread size in this country. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. As for the fasteners, I had to opt for the wrong drive style, the wrong length, and the wrong material. Yep, all three. What a galactic waste of my time and gas. The only saving grace to the trip was one hell of a rear end waddling through the door on my way out. Damn, the girl was so lovely to see that I almost considered the entire outing worthwhile. Nope. She was pushing a cart full of building materials which means likely married and everything that goes with it. I am a basket case, but still... I desperately wanted to see inside her pants because I could see what was there, and, more importantly, what was absent. So, since everything went to shit, I thought I’d drink my lunch. The trouble in my head that is supporting this mood is more than I care to reveal right now. I’m in a bad spot here. The music of life (or something else) is playing while I sit at the control center. I don’t know what else to do. And? I don’t fucking care. Wednesday has arrived on the heels of a nice evening and a simple dinner. And despite the lack of stock at the store yesterday, I was still able to finish at least one aspect of the bike for which I took the trip in the first place. That was the decorative timing cover. Not bad. My head blew wide open not long after, though. Another difficult day. And then another. This morning is already nearly shit, too. I have coffee and my show, the next several hours to myself, and the peace I need to think. One would believe that everything is fine. Nope. I am all fucked up inside. I daydreamed yesterday and led myself astray for the thousandth time, much of that crap following me to sleep. And then a dream I still don’t understand, and then this morning feeling as if everything good is either gone or impossible. The second show dredged up memories of the radio summer from ninety-three and I went on a tirade for a while. Sleep time took over, thankfully. All those memories were within a few months of moving across the country and one of the most rewarding periods I can recall. The glow ended shortly thereafter, however, and passed into history without me realizing that nothing that wonderful would ever be possible again. Another strike was the woman at the hardware store yesterday. Impossible. I don’t even know why I try anymore. The glow is gone, the memories feel as if they never really happened, and the longer I sit here typing, the more I realize my life ended three years ago. Watching the show last night was just a hint. There is much more. 0856. I have my last cup of coffee and plan to begin the routine immediately after it is gone. The crap spinning circles in my head is going to need to be forced out, I guess, because otherwise the morning will go all to hell and I really don’t need any more shit right now. Damn, the girl who comes by to care for a child up the street is looking better and better these days. Just another wish that will never come true. Something must change, but what? My neighbor came by for a few minutes yesterday and dropped off parts. That means I can continue with the bike for a while longer. I really don’t feel like working out there this morning. Maybe later, like after lunch. I don’t know. I can predict that it will probably be fully assembled within a month or so, perhaps sooner. Afterward, the machine will travel to the City for electrical work. Hopefully after it is gone I can straighten the garage. There is a ton of ‘stuff’ out there right now due to her parents’ cleaning out their attic. Ugh. I can probably work it out. Whatever. Again, I am finding myself more and more uncaring these days. I do enjoy the bike work, yet it is not enough to keep my head out of the nether regions of this world. Believe it. Everything in my life has been reduced to what I do each day. The computer, the routine, my little chores around the house, etc.; this has become my entire existence. The rest is merely a group of far-off dreams. No one is listening. Help feels as impossible as the visions. I need... ...so fucking much. This is a very dangerous situation, yet I am shackled to the present lifestyle. My head often returns to a time when I ran from something good and full, all the way to something different and dreamy. I don’t feel that way now, however, because I already know the end of the story before the first chapter is penned. Maybe that means I am smarter now, or maybe something else. I don’t know for sure. Eight years ago I upended everything for reasons of dreaming without an aspect of life I needed very badly, and that entire situation went straight to hell. Just prior to the end of everything, I righted the locomotive and took to the switches in order to salvage whatever was possible. That may have been the only good decision of my lifetime. God fucking dam it all, I need quite a bit and feel almost strongly enough about it to spell out the shit right here on this page. Almost, but not all the way. I can’t do it. Someone needs to listen. No one is there. I need to calm myself this morning and embrace whatever brings comfort. The alternative doesn’t look good anymore. No music, no sharp words, none of my cunty mood. I have no good reason to put off anyone who may be nearby. They don’t need or deserve my shit. I just wish I could find something... Anything near to the dreams. I really need it. Need. Need. Need. I am sick of that word. ‘How did it come to this?’ – Theoden, King of Rohan Indeed. There are answers to that question, yet I don’t know how to organize them anymore. 1043. My daily routine is finished and I have the laundry running in both the washer and dryer. Not bad. And yes, for reasons of good form, there is a nice cocktail next to me. I will not be having a second – like I did yesterday as I skipped lunch – because the evening must feel deserved. I don’t feel very well today for some reason. Taking it easy for the rest of the day is in order. Thursday has arrived. I have my coffee and a very long morning. I had to fire up the laptop for some image editing this morning. As you can see, the name of the company has appeared both within the footer and on the title logo. The laptop has better editing software, so sometimes when I am dealing with more complex imagery, I need to use both computers to get the job done to my satisfaction. Eventually, I will change to the new domain and leave all this coma shit behind. The logo on the navbar is temporary, yet I must always have the brand visible as an identifier. To me, this is a business even before I have the license in place. Anyway, the temporary change is complete. I may tool around with the logo some, but for the most part it will appear as you see it. I do not yet know what this day may have in store for me. I didn’t work on the bike yesterday because I wasn’t feeling well. Today may be better for that type of thing, after my morning stuff, of course. Morning is the easy part. Everything else is difficult. Sometimes the range is from ‘where’ to impossible. Such is life now. I went to refill my coffee a few minutes ago and noticed a photo my friend had printed many years back and then added some text referring to the canon which we both loved. It was a big deal, that gesture. I still have the photo and should probably protect it for the future by scanning and then framing. I believe the photo was shot in my parents’ garage not long after I moved across the country in ninety-five. Some of the memories are hazy, though, so I can’t be sure of the period without further research. And Roxanne is competing with Oona right now. Ugh. Anyway, I would like to find my complete work history in order to put together an accurate timeline for the glowing era. Will it help me? Not really, and in fact could actually hurt, but I am compelled to recall the different periods and jobs I held. I need detail. I’m only planning to work on these little items until the coffee is gone. After will be the routine and then whatever seems best for a while. I believe there is enough dry cleaning for my attention today, as well. Anything with the power to... ...distract me from the shit storm that seems to be taking over my entire life. This day will either help to alleviate the desperation or inflame it. Right now I have no idea of which will take over. I have stated that something bad is eventually going to happen. I’ve felt more of the idea in the last three days than the previous three years. Believe me when I say that I fucking wish to heaven that I could lay out all of the shit right here because the catharsis could actually help my mental and emotional condition. Unfortunately, I am afraid for my life, meaning one second of suspecting that someone out there may take the information and label me, and such an event would shut me down completely, and for all time. That may have already happened, too. I don’t know for sure. I need someone, for fuck’s sake. I have never needed ears more than I do at this very moment. The small ‘plus’ is that the more I try to squash this mass of anger, the less damage I am causing. All that concentration just to keep my keel centered (or close, anyway) means the energy is not being expended during the more reckless moments. I have never felt worse in my life. Out of nowhere, I am reminded of a short exchange from some years ago: ‘But I need you.’ ‘We all need something, honey.’ Wow, that was fucking helpful, assface. I just fucking love it when someone takes my words and expands them to include the whole of the populace. Such a turn helps nobody, least of all me. I hated her for that. Was I being selfish? I don’t believe so, because I had bent over backwards in the opposite direction and merely needed to be close for a little while. Nope. Nothing. I just had to sit there and wallow, hence my behavior soon after when I began to use my computer to chat with random people and feel as if I was being heard. One of the worst realizations from the glow (believe it or not) was a series of periods in which I seemed to be disregarded and/or not taken seriously. That was dangerous and led to disaster some months later after the move across the country. The conversation above took place many years later during a similar mindset. It was bad, and soon became the catalyst for very reckless, unfeeling behavior on my part. Yep, I altered the way I interacted with a few key individuals and crammed a lesson down their sorry throats. I really don’t want to have to repeat it. Time and circumstance molded me into what I am at this very moment, and though the people directly responsible are all gone, the condition remains. This analysis is yet another effort for reasons of avoiding angry behavior. I do not wish to be unfair toward people, but there is a limit. I may be pedantic, but I am most definitely not stupid. The last cup of coffee is next to me, just below this program which is beginning to irritate me again. I don’t know why that happens so often, but perhaps it is due to knowing the story and no longer needing to follow each detail. Maybe I’ll switch to something else before rising from this comfortable chair. The house is nice and quiet this morning, too. Such a state cannot be overstated these days. I need to think. My short, daily routine awaits, as does the dry cleaning. The inside of my head is a blackened wasteland of good memories and bad thoughts. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again... I never could have imagined being in such a condition at my age. The instinct is to provide a very harsh object lesson to others. That type of behavior will probably not accomplish anything, to be honest, yet the need is real. If I truly had answers, I probably would not be sitting here day after miserable day typing incessantly. No one is listening. 0913. I’m in a bad spot here. Very bad. Will I come out the other side of this day any better than I am right now? I doubt it. The visions, dreams and memories are swirling and causing very negative feelings. I’ll need to begin my housework very soon or the morning will head into the fucking toilet. What else can I do? Nothing. There is that word again. 1042 and I am half liquored up. My daily routine is finished, as well. My head? Awash with imagery that is very detrimental to my condition right now. To say I am unhappy would be a gross understatement, and considering there are zero options and no one listening, I see nothing more than decay on the horizon; decay of spirit, soul, and outlook. I am dying inside. This is a very dangerous state of affairs, yet still I have no recourse. What does that mean? It is representative of my diminished position in the world. The current period is only truly dangerous if there is some kind of threat looming. I have not the power to do a fucking thing right now – which has contributed to the level of danger in and of itself – so there is no apparent threat in any direction. All I have are words. Once everything comes to a head and the pressure on my tired brain becomes too much to bear, the danger will manifest itself in some way. That truth means my connections to the outside world will cease to exist. I will never threaten people. I will only threaten my lifestyle as it has been shaped by others. The information inside me is quite privileged. There has been but one individual who has entered my vault since the kitten, and that person barely had a fucking toe across the threshold. I have been driven to this; routed into nothing more than a root. The next time I lash, there may be consequences. The only useful emotion I have anymore is anger, and despite the fact that after a tirade I come out the other side unchanged, while it is actually happening, I feel a slight bit empowered. I cannot be controlled, but I am being controlled. Make of that what you will, and then tell me what other options I have these days. This is one of those times when I like myself more than usual. My ‘nonconforming’ nature flares and not a soul on earth understands me. RF power is the end-all be-all of human existence, and I will use it as necessary. There can be no saving throw versus the power. 1522 is the time on the clock and I am tired. I successfully installed the swingarm and new bushings, afterward checking everything for proper alignment. I then pulled the inner chaincase (again) and replaced both the stator and rotor on the crankshaft. Now everything is together until I receive the clutch, at which time the primary drive can be finished off. The power did not follow me into the garage because I calculated the best path was to don the wireless MDRs for a little while and keep the place quiet. I still need to torque the swingarm shaft but will probably wait until I can pick up a few washers for spacing the rear axle. Maybe I can grab a new cotter pin, as well. All in all, it looks like the bike will be ready for electrical work within a week or so. All of my housework is finished, I have dinner in the slow cooker, and the dry cleaning is running as I type these words. This is a bad fuckin’ time and nothing ever changes, nor can I see a way through this shit without losing everything. There you go. Dire? Yep. The second and final load of dry cleaning is running and should be finished shortly. I sort of ran out of gas today, although considering what I’ve already accomplished, time is on my side. I am looking forward to an easy dinner and relaxing evening. Spinning my wheels for a little while should not cause any harm. Margaery is on the screen. Ooh-fa, what a striking beauty. She doesn’t matter. Nothing does, really. And no one is listening. No one is there. No one is... Anywhere. Let the wheels spin this afternoon. I shall heretofore refer to seeing a vision as ‘something’. Well, I saw something. Yes, that one. I saw what I’ve seen before. I will see it again, too. The inside of my head has become four-dimensional in order to find space for all this shit. I saw something and it didn’t floor me this time. Maybe I’m just fucking sick of everything. She is not at fault, nor are her pants. Friday morning. There was much production yesterday so I will probably take it easier this morning and remain here longer than usual. The show last night was testing my patience and I nearly blew wide open before regaining my composure. Sometimes I have a difficult time dealing with what others believe is trivial. By the end of the episode, I felt a little better on the outside but was still bleeding on the inside. The effort required in calming myself is tremendous at times. Last night I successfully retreated from the edge of the world and soon after went to bed. Had I gone over the edge, well... The result would have been quite negative and I don’t need that shit right now. I already have enough going through me. Remember when I spoke of the four issues? Last night I was forced to endure number three for no better reason than manipulation of the scripting to keep people believing the program is at the forefront of entertainment. I do not appreciate such behavior. I honestly believe that with the proper story, direction and acting work, the ability to entertain can be achieved without using devices better left in the past. You can figure out what that means. Anyway, other than the shit spewing forth from my audio system, the evening was very nice. I was working on the bike until just after six, and then we had to switch the current project to another bike for a little while. The problem was solved and the machines switched back, so by the time I made it into the house, the hour was nearly eight. No big deal. My schedule is most often my own. At roughly dinner time (earlier than usual), the most difficult episode of the second show ran its course. It is a great story with even better acting, I must say. There are a few short conversations regarding a topic that has haunted me for decades, and even watching it play out for the thousandth time in more than thirty years, I still become all fucked up inside thinking of how life has played out for me due to a few dramatic moments and their endless repercussions. The program is not at fault, of course, yet it always seems to dredge up difficult moments from the late nineties and then carries me to the present, a time when many aspects of life which had always been visible were destroyed forever. Once again, the glow becomes injected into me and then everything goes all to hell. Splendid. I still watch that episode because it is brilliant on every front. I will continue to let it play in the future, as well. The importance of the period it now represents cannot be overstated and continues to grow in importance. There can be nothing like it again, ever. So sad. This morning is already a pile of shit. The remainder of the daytime hours may not matter anymore. Everything is difficult; much of it impossible. I brought up that episode of the show because, like many other stories which have played out on my television, the topic of children became one of the most dramatic and beautiful moments of the hour. The subject is one of the largest points of contention in existence. Well, in this nation, at least. I cannot speak for others. I have been told of what I am and what I cannot ever be, and I have gleaned even more than that in recent years. I was told other things, too, but this is already enough. The episode last night reminds me of who I am as well as who I am not, plus there are moments of the pos-glow which return to me and cause tremendous sadness. I suppose I should be thankful that the anger related to this subject does not rise in me too much as it did in the past. When I say everything is difficult, I am speaking of every step of every day, with that other very difficult subject hanging behind my eyes and gnawing at my brain. Little things, you know? None of this is traumatic. Just a long-winded, long-lived act of scratching and chafing my brain regardless of comfort or joy. Difficult. Everything is piled upon everything else." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Omne Periculosum Mature content No. 369 Published April 21st, 2023 9:14am pdt read ( words) Past entries "This is a bad time. Three ‘things’. Sometimes I think I’ve been routed. There are moments when different ideas are floated, yet when the possibility of routine comes to mind, all of my strength is required to quash the anger. Even the realm can be considered a result or offshoot of that essay from nearly six years ago, and the essay was born of this feeling. Part of it is me, but not all. I will have to avoid mirrors for a while. The suggestion of being routed came from elsewhere and some time ago, but I began to see things as they seemed prior to that shit. As I sit here at this very moment, I don’t know what the fuck to think. The die has been cast, yet it is far from set. The metal is still warm. God forbid I find the means to do anything other than the path I’ve been on for many years. I don’t believe anyone would understand. This topic has more power to anger me than almost any other, and the effort involved in holding myself back from an explosion is tremendous at times. This feeling will fade soon, as it has for a very long time, yet there is no way to completely eliminate the nagging suspicion that I have been nothing more than a ‘target’ for certain parts of life. There were two aspects of the show last night which bothered me. As of yet I’ve mentioned only one, and it was pretty fucking unclear. I’d like to avoid the other. This is all very ill-advised. I have to write without saying anything. This life has been a really nice clambake. I will never see. I’ll just sit here and dream. And then I’ll feel full of pain and loneliness. And then I’ll become angry. And then I’ll move around the house and do something in search of distraction. And then everything will calm again. And then I’ll sit here and dream... ‘When a person can’t find a deep sense of meaning, they distract themselves with pleasure.’ – Viktor Frankl 0924 on the same fucking Sunday as the end of the previous shit... Er... Entry. I have yet to rise and care for some business because I still have a bit of coffee and wish to keep the house quiet. Once I am up and about, the routine will come first, like always. In and around everything else, I’ll gather the garbage and see what else can be tossed in the interest of creating space. Up to this point in time, there has always been a fear holding me back from dramatic changes, but I will say that one of these days I am going to alter this fucking house and its contents more than ever before. I am becoming pretty fucking sick of everything. And now I am rankled for the umpteenth time. Perhaps I need to move away from the control center and begin some housework before I begin to say things that are unkind. I see 1137 on the clock and am now back at the control center with my delicious cocktail and the dragons on the right-hand display. The routine is nearly finished and I have the house to myself for the next few hours. My Sunday garbage business is partially complete, as well. I’m going to cram everything I can into that vessel for reasons of good form, and to attempt to clear out some crap that does not need to reside in this little house. As for the garage work, I have very little that can be accomplished without more parts, so if the mood strikes and I feel the need to thrash out there for a little while, I shall do some light cleaning and install small components for the time being. The larger assemblies must wait. The garage has become unkempt, meaning I am dying to straighten and create space out there. Unfortunately, there is far too much clutter out there for me to truly gain elbow room. I’ll have to chip away at the project. Bigger concerns must await either the bike being completed to my satisfaction or the gain of space within the house in order to relocate items. I will do whatever I can. In and around my work today, I plan to enjoy the solitude and damn it at the same time. My needs have grown out of fucking control lately. Yes, those three ‘things’, none of which are presently within reach. And speaking of reach, I may need to do just that. The prospect is nowhere near enticing, however. It is a weakness, nothing more. I am not very happy about much these days. This is a dangerous time. On top of everything in my fucking tired head, there is Roxanne on the display looking like liquid desire. I need her to tell me everything will be ok, and then I need her to be my Jaime. If you thought all that shit from twenty had faded, think again. Nothing leaves me, everything is related, and not one fucking person is listening. I need Roxanne to listen. I need to trace her lines. I need to plant my lips and tongue to her delicate, beautiful labia. I need all of her. I need far too much these days. I need ears. I need everything, damn it. One day soon I will flip the fuck out for the last time. Years ago I said the end was a slow process. Believe it. I see nothing on the horizon with the power to stop this train. There is not one aspect of life with the power to switch off this track. There is no way to avoid the buffer stop. Monday morning arrives sans fanfare, joy, hope... Everything seems very small right now. Between the issues that have been illuminated by a certain television series and the already plunging feelings inside regarding the value of my existence, I believe today is going to be nothing more than reinforcement of the same combined with a touch of planning. I often state that there is no recourse to this condition. Apparently, there is none of the same for life itself. I am partially responsible, yet still I cannot believe I ruined everything. I just can’t see it. This morning on the news was an additional jab related to memories being removed from the world. One more is now gone. I am seeing less value in everything today than I did one month ago. I mean to say that the little changes are adding up, and every now and then a big one comes along and forces me to see two things: First, I am disappointed in the manner society so easily dumps pieces of history, and two, the truth is that there is not much chance that I will be able to visit any place further from this house than the big wine store over the hill. I just don’t fucking see it anymore, and the fact that my head is slowly resigning itself is very dangerous. Resigned. Not good. My entire universe has become a rectangle comprising just over six thousand square feet. In a little while I have to visit the big wine store and then the market. I’ll go when my coffee is gone. Upon returning, I will probably be overjoyed to have the rest of the day to myself. Half the routine will be completed prior to leaving my little world. I do not feel very well today, either. Being home is very important when my head is sideways, and right now I can’t see a worse position. I’d be staying here if I wasn’t completely out of booze. Heh. Not funny. 1103 is the time on the clock right now. I am back at the control center with my icy glass of depressing liquid and the streaming media just above. The trip over the hill was quick and smooth, but I did not go to the market as of yet because I couldn’t recall anything we needed besides potatoes. No big deal. The daily routine is finished with dishes drip-drying for posterity. I am pleased to have the shopping trip out of the way so early. Well, my motivation was to enjoy the morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen, meaning I had to go prior to taking care of my routine. Whatever that makes me, I don’t fucking care. The downside right now is my head is no better off than last night or early this morning. I cannot extricate those three items from my head, nor can I cease daydreaming about everything that has disappeared in this life. The problem which reared its head last year continues to weigh heavily on my mind, as well, and it is depressing enough to force me into wishing for a pair of understanding ears. Unfortunately, such a situation would require trust, and my paranoia and self-conscious nature disallows embracing that word, ever. I’ve had ears in the past, yet they were different. Somehow, I just knew. The present is completely different and the only matching trait to the past is desperation. The little enjoyments are no longer isolated, meaning no matter what form they may take, the issues do not leave during the comfort. Moreover, I cannot avoid thinking in advance that whatever enjoyment comes along, it will not last. That is a fucking sad state of affairs. Right now I am considering lunch options, yet I know that once it is consumed (with streaming media keeping me company), I will fall down once again. The periods of moving through depression and enjoyment are diminishing. No wonder I lean on alcohol so much. The alteration to my methods of thinking are very important these days. Sad. State. Of. Affairs. I don’t know how long this process can continue before the danger manifests itself in some errant, hideous manner. My life feels as reduced as an au jus that has been simmering for thirty years. Sometimes when a reduction cooks too long the resulting material is referred to as resin. I am looking through the window and see people going about their business. Cars moving up and down the street. Delivery trucks. The world is rotating despite the wrecked human being watching from a little table in a little house located in a little town next to the ocean. I feel like I no longer matter. This is a very dangerous time. This may be the only entry in recent weeks with an appropriate title. I have been forced to succumb to the past and present alike. Everything is dangerous. A slight touch from any unwanted direction and my entire life will unload at breakneck speed toward the source. Everything is dangerous. Believe it. Dangerous enough for me to switch from video entertainment to music. See the Frankl quote above for a decent reference to my present mindset. I seem to have misplaced the trackball pointing device for the laptop. Maybe it is in the travel case resting within my bulletproof travel case. I need to find it at some point so I can rework the navbar image. The software on the laptop is better for pixel-by-pixel image manipulation. GIMP works extremely well for being open-source software, but sometimes I need a finer point. I will look for the trackball later today. The time is 1141. The music of life is playing quietly in the background because sometimes I need to recall the period when this artist was first introduced to me. Good and bad. The alcohol has successfully squashed some of my feelings. This is good, but everything fades. The typical post-cocktail pre-lunch consideration is pouring a second drink. I think about such an idea every fucking day of the week, believe it or not. Right now I am holding back because I know just a few sips of the second glass of bliss can easily result in thoughts of putting an end to all this shit via the iron. I love and hate the idea. The music sounds as if it is being routed through a noise gate. This is the only album which has that effect. I don’t understand it. My hearing is messed up, but if only one digitized set of tracks sounds this way, I don’t know what to think. Ugh. Perhaps this is the ‘way of things’. Do you know what that means? The sentence is related to a possible second drink this morning. Her song is playing now. Her birthday was a week ago, give or take. I want to kill myself. She did. She fell away from me. She left life bleeding. Look it up. The way of things. Indeed. No one knows the extent of what I have been feeling or thinking for a very long time. Part of such a lack of knowing is me, of course. I barely communicate with anyone. Does that make me the bad guy? I don’t know. There is too much fear of the apple cart being upset. All I have left in the world – in my fucking life – is the occasional comfortable distraction from reality via an agreeable meal combined with some nice media. Tuesday morning. Coffee. The other stuff. This is the way of things as my buddies on the third show might state. They are the people whom I sought... A lifestyle, and one completely alien to me these days. Despite the feeling of being already finished in this life, I did my best to maintain some elevation yesterday. Little things. Some relaxation. I don’t remember everything. The evening was fine, too. By the day’s end, I felt pretty weakened. This morning? There were dreams related to issues inside me and I have to attempt to recall some details. I was very distraught upon waking today. Now I must remain at the control center for hours. This is the only place in my universe which can feel truly rewarding. It can also help to cease my daydreaming at times. Today is one of those capable of sending me straight into the ground without some sort of device. I will have to be careful this morning. Some imagery from one of the dreams is fuzzy and the rest is gone. I awakened very early and recalled many details, yet after dozing again for an hour or so, everything faded away quickly. I am disappointed to have lost the pictures. There are still feelings inside me, however. I am reminded of last year again... The dreams which had me by the throat. This was important and now I can’t remember enough to put a story together. Shit. I have feelings, though. Just feelings. This entire situation is both sad and unacceptable, and it will remain behind my eyes all day. I already know that much, at least. There are times when I want to recall each detail, face, feature; other times I do not want to have anything to do with that crap. I try to push it away and nothing changes. I still end up sad and lost. Once the imagery takes hold and begins to interrupt my productive time, the anger takes over and then everything quickly goes sideways. I don’t want it today, either. My time needs to be put to good use and anything capable of upending my thinking is going to have to be shoved away. The dreams did not yield enough for me to grab, hence they must go away. Far away. I am already in a horrible frame of mind at only 0754. I remember a face. I also remember realizing that someone was there to save me. The latter is the main catalyst for my disdain and sadness this morning. I am still looking forward to some alone time today and the space to think, believe it or not. This is a very dangerous situation, for sure, but I am beginning to think that the way I feel about everything does not matter in the least. The ‘grand scheme’, remember? I am but a tiny person sitting in an office, nothing more. Smaller every day, too. So, how can anything related to me actually be dangerous? Where is the power? Is this entry mistitled? Are they all? Too many questions that lead in circles. Still, and regardless of the implications or complications, the inside of my head is planning bad things on and off every fucking day. I am miserable and may put an end to it if and when I feel it is necessary to do so. That is why I call this period dangerous. Mostly for others, of course. They would be left to do the thinking and questioning without the possibility of answers. Sound familiar? Enough of this. I am not going anywhere, anytime soon. I have not seen anything from my window for many days. This is very good. I need no more of that shit in my tired head. There was nothing in the big wine store, although I had to ask one of the managers about picking up my order due to the call button being on the fritz. She had dark features and beautiful eye makeup, yet underneath the pretty face and jet-black hair was some sort of frightening stance, as if Medusa was inside just waiting for the right moment for a strike. There were no pants; no nothing. Good God does Oona have dark eyes; the pupils look to be almost one solid color. Wow. Anyway, I really don’t want to see anything after that fucking dream this morning. My brain will run with the information and then I’ll end up nothing more than a pain in the ass to other people (if I am in contact with anyone, that is). When I see something special, the process I have laid out here takes place – leading me from fascination, all the way through the gamut of emotions, and then on to blistering anger – and nothing ever comes of it. I end up exactly the same, if not more depressed. A lack of recourse is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. I have very little direction these days. I keep the blinds open during the day when I am sitting here because the room feels a little bit more open and connected to the outside. I’m sure at some point (as the weather warms through this season) there will be more pants and whatever else viewable from either where I now sit or from the garage. Something will eventually come by. I have to attempt to steel myself against going through the cycle and I must remember that nothing can come of my feelings. I need help but no one is listening. No one is there. Maybe I am the one in danger. The pants don’t matter, really. They are a symptom. 0914. My head is sideways again. I hate this shit. This is one of those days in which I can already tell that everything could go straight into the toilet if I am not careful. My routine will not take long, so I’ll have to look around and care for some small items in order to avoid becoming completely heeled over. Right now I have no clue how to proceed, though. Housework can only keep me out of the black for so long. The same goes for the motorcycle project, although yesterday afternoon I did rework a metal plate (threading and such) so that the cover plate from the old engine can be adapted to the new one. I’ll have to pick up a few pieces of hardware from the store to mount it. I also did some cleaning so other small parts can be mounted to the frame. Baby steps, I suppose. I have to wait for some necessary components before the larger assemblies can be dealt with. I am looking forward to seeing the bike back on its rear wheel. The work may have to supplement my housework so I can get through to the close of business hours feeling decent. At this point in time, and after a life of good work and feeling as if I had been important, I should not need to fucking push so hard just to get to the other end of a typical day. This is ridiculous. My sideways head can lead to disaster if I let go of the reins even for a second. As I said, this should not be so difficult. I’ve done a lot in the past. I was important. Now I am sideways. Well... Maybe I only felt important. The whole shitaree could have been an illusion; a condition born of my wish to be as such. I don’t know anymore. What I do know is this daily battle can kill me. Stay the course. I’ve been driven like hell to worship. Routed? Perhaps. I cannot be certain because the way my head operates often disallows anything truly clear. If routed, there may be nothing I can do about it other than lashing and dreaming. Those two are exhausting and in the end I am exactly the same, if not worse. Holding back my true feelings from this endeavor is also tiring. I am fucking sick of it, but the alternative is much worse. The right kind of ears could help, yet they may no longer exist. Isn’t that just wonderful? A nice clambake. Nothing more. And yes, there are those things in life that I sit here and worship, and no one knows. Everything is veiled, hidden, or otherwise absent from this content, and the level of worship – along with the damaging dreams and everything born of them – is not clear to one soul on this fucking planet. I honestly believe that I was routed long ago, leaving me to slowly decline and cover myself with anything powerful enough to protect the ‘true’ me from the mass of society. Am I suffering in silence? Eh... Something similar is going on, I suppose, but the one plus from all of this is that I do not pity myself. I know who I am and what I have done. The worship pales in comparison. Maybe I need not be overly concerned about such a feeling. Many years ago I wrote about a woman who worked at a small alehouse we visited from time to time. I loved that place, especially the layout of the room with a square bar area overlooking the rest of the lounge. I sat there and desperately watched one of the servers and the way her lines appeared and disappeared as she moved about the room. When I began to craft a short, descriptive essay about what I saw (and needed to see), the conclusion was that I had put her on a figurative pedestal upon which to bang my head over and over out of frustration that she was right there, yet a billion miles away for all intents and purposes. I can’t see her anymore, though, because the period when we were able to walk to that bar was roughly twenty years ago. She has faded into the past like so many others. The pedestal I mentioned was very appropriate, too, because I felt worship for her appearance. The woman was amazing to see. The feeling of worship grew from nothing in the space of an hour. I was desperate to see more, and the dire nature of my thoughts drove me to write. I still have that essay and it may be somewhere here on the site. Ah... It is here. I published her story three years ago, meaning I sat on that information for a very long time. Anyway, the point is that I felt worship for her beauty that far back in time and did not realize to what level such a feeling would eventually push me. Now? I am traumatized and tormented beyond belief when I see the like, such as the last time I went to the market. I never learned of why such feelings take place, either. Never. In the last three years, I’ve gone over this shit repeatedly to find meaning, and the only possible conclusion quickly became the word ‘desire’. There are many types, of course, and when I first wrote about the server, I felt a deep need to see much more of her. Lines... You know. Well, years later, desire took over and I wanted much more than to merely ‘see’. The most recent incarnation of worship is a dire combination of both, and possibly more. The server was a few years before the girl at the car wash and by that point my mind operated differently. At present, the level of worship is off the fucking scale, believe it or not. The subject of the damaging dreams is near the top. I worship every vision; every thought of her to the point of driving myself to subconsciously dream and then sit here and tread water within a vat of desire and sadness. I can’t even go into all of the others. Pause for the cause. 1120. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a few hours to myself. The requisite glass of icy, alcoholic medicine is next to me, as always. I’ll have to care for some laundry in a little while, perhaps once my drink is consumed. There are little spots here and there on the floor that could benefit from some attention, too. I do not yet know if I will head to the hardware store to further the motorcycle project. Maybe after a shower. One certainty is spending a lot of time in front of the IDE right here in my office. I have much to say, and the effort of deciding how far to push the informational envelope takes time. There is a positive right now, and that is the fact that I am still in control of the atmosphere in the house and nearly all of my time. The idea of a job has become completely alien to me. I have considered seeking some low-paying position crunching numbers or other data so I can earn a bit of money with this computer. I don’t believe such positions are easily had, though. I’m sure the idea of working remotely for money is in demand these days, and that means even the simplest work could be difficult to locate. Research is free, however, so I’ll take a look. Perhaps I can sit here and transcribe audio or video for some company. Interesting prospect, at the very least. A bit of mellow music with a very disturbing undertone is now playing through my magnificent speakers. I switched off the show because sometimes applying my thoughts to the editor with others speaking in the background can be difficult. I need clarity right now. God damn do I ever love the morning cocktail. There is a related feeling which dates all the way back to the early nineties, yet I did not truly embrace it until roughly a decade later. I began to see the relationship between youth and true, legal adulthood very differently for some reason. My upbringing in the lavish atmospheres of Reno, Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas likely had a hand in my desire to ‘feel’ like an actual adult, when in reality the only difference between my early years and said feeling was time. Many years later, perhaps into the late aughts, I felt a strong desire to keep myself separate from the atmosphere and lifestyle of families and children (annoyances). The most striking example of being tossed into the mix was when Andrea and I were invited to dinner by the fucking squareheads. She really caught me off-guard with her response, after which I was committed to an evening with what seemed to be a married couple from an alien planet. Andrea found the entire affair funny, especially considering my penchant for adult atmospheres. Anyway, the booze still conjures visions of the past when I was carried to those exotic places that were typically off-limits to the world’s youth. I wanted so badly to remain with the adults that I believe the desire formed a good portion of who I am today. Everything is difficult. Wow. So, I ventured to the hardware store for four screws, a drill bit and one fucking tap. The cobalt bits are not sold in every size, nor do they carry letter bits. And the tap? Nope. There is not even a space for the size I sought. NOT EVEN A FUCKING SPACE ON THE PEGBOARD. The tap I require is the SECOND most common thread size in this country. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. As for the fasteners, I had to opt for the wrong drive style, the wrong length, and the wrong material. Yep, all three. What a galactic waste of my time and gas. The only saving grace to the trip was one hell of a rear end waddling through the door on my way out. Damn, the girl was so lovely to see that I almost considered the entire outing worthwhile. Nope. She was pushing a cart full of building materials which means likely married and everything that goes with it. I am a basket case, but still... I desperately wanted to see inside her pants because I could see what was there, and, more importantly, what was absent. So, since everything went to shit, I thought I’d drink my lunch. The trouble in my head that is supporting this mood is more than I care to reveal right now. I’m in a bad spot here. The music of life (or something else) is playing while I sit at the control center. I don’t know what else to do. And? I don’t fucking care. Wednesday has arrived on the heels of a nice evening and a simple dinner. And despite the lack of stock at the store yesterday, I was still able to finish at least one aspect of the bike for which I took the trip in the first place. That was the decorative timing cover. Not bad. My head blew wide open not long after, though. Another difficult day. And then another. This morning is already nearly shit, too. I have coffee and my show, the next several hours to myself, and the peace I need to think. One would believe that everything is fine. Nope. I am all fucked up inside. I daydreamed yesterday and led myself astray for the thousandth time, much of that crap following me to sleep. And then a dream I still don’t understand, and then this morning feeling as if everything good is either gone or impossible. The second show dredged up memories of the radio summer from ninety-three and I went on a tirade for a while. Sleep time took over, thankfully. All those memories were within a few months of moving across the country and one of the most rewarding periods I can recall. The glow ended shortly thereafter, however, and passed into history without me realizing that nothing that wonderful would ever be possible again. Another strike was the woman at the hardware store yesterday. Impossible. I don’t even know why I try anymore. The glow is gone, the memories feel as if they never really happened, and the longer I sit here typing, the more I realize my life ended three years ago. Watching the show last night was just a hint. There is much more. 0856. I have my last cup of coffee and plan to begin the routine immediately after it is gone. The crap spinning circles in my head is going to need to be forced out, I guess, because otherwise the morning will go all to hell and I really don’t need any more shit right now. Damn, the girl who comes by to care for a child up the street is looking better and better these days. Just another wish that will never come true. Something must change, but what? My neighbor came by for a few minutes yesterday and dropped off parts. That means I can continue with the bike for a while longer. I really don’t feel like working out there this morning. Maybe later, like after lunch. I don’t know. I can predict that it will probably be fully assembled within a month or so, perhaps sooner. Afterward, the machine will travel to the City for electrical work. Hopefully after it is gone I can straighten the garage. There is a ton of ‘stuff’ out there right now due to her parents’ cleaning out their attic. Ugh. I can probably work it out. Whatever. Again, I am finding myself more and more uncaring these days. I do enjoy the bike work, yet it is not enough to keep my head out of the nether regions of this world. Believe it. Everything in my life has been reduced to what I do each day. The computer, the routine, my little chores around the house, etc.; this has become my entire existence. The rest is merely a group of far-off dreams. No one is listening. Help feels as impossible as the visions. I need... ...so fucking much. This is a very dangerous situation, yet I am shackled to the present lifestyle. My head often returns to a time when I ran from something good and full, all the way to something different and dreamy. I don’t feel that way now, however, because I already know the end of the story before the first chapter is penned. Maybe that means I am smarter now, or maybe something else. I don’t know for sure. Eight years ago I upended everything for reasons of dreaming without an aspect of life I needed very badly, and that entire situation went straight to hell. Just prior to the end of everything, I righted the locomotive and took to the switches in order to salvage whatever was possible. That may have been the only good decision of my lifetime. God fucking dam it all, I need quite a bit and feel almost strongly enough about it to spell out the shit right here on this page. Almost, but not all the way. I can’t do it. Someone needs to listen. No one is there. I need to calm myself this morning and embrace whatever brings comfort. The alternative doesn’t look good anymore. No music, no sharp words, none of my cunty mood. I have no good reason to put off anyone who may be nearby. They don’t need or deserve my shit. I just wish I could find something... Anything near to the dreams. I really need it. Need. Need. Need. I am sick of that word. ‘How did it come to this?’ – Theoden, King of Rohan Indeed. There are answers to that question, yet I don’t know how to organize them anymore. 1043. My daily routine is finished and I have the laundry running in both the washer and dryer. Not bad. And yes, for reasons of good form, there is a nice cocktail next to me. I will not be having a second – like I did yesterday as I skipped lunch – because the evening must feel deserved. I don’t feel very well today for some reason. Taking it easy for the rest of the day is in order. Thursday has arrived. I have my coffee and a very long morning. I had to fire up the laptop for some image editing this morning. As you can see, the name of the company has appeared both within the footer and on the title logo. The laptop has better editing software, so sometimes when I am dealing with more complex imagery, I need to use both computers to get the job done to my satisfaction. Eventually, I will change to the new domain and leave all this coma shit behind. The logo on the navbar is temporary, yet I must always have the brand visible as an identifier. To me, this is a business even before I have the license in place. Anyway, the temporary change is complete. I may tool around with the logo some, but for the most part it will appear as you see it. I do not yet know what this day may have in store for me. I didn’t work on the bike yesterday because I wasn’t feeling well. Today may be better for that type of thing, after my morning stuff, of course. Morning is the easy part. Everything else is difficult. Sometimes the range is from ‘where’ to impossible. Such is life now. I went to refill my coffee a few minutes ago and noticed a photo my friend had printed many years back and then added some text referring to the canon which we both loved. It was a big deal, that gesture. I still have the photo and should probably protect it for the future by scanning and then framing. I believe the photo was shot in my parents’ garage not long after I moved across the country in ninety-five. Some of the memories are hazy, though, so I can’t be sure of the period without further research. And Roxanne is competing with Oona right now. Ugh. Anyway, I would like to find my complete work history in order to put together an accurate timeline for the glowing era. Will it help me? Not really, and in fact could actually hurt, but I am compelled to recall the different periods and jobs I held. I need detail. I’m only planning to work on these little items until the coffee is gone. After will be the routine and then whatever seems best for a while. I believe there is enough dry cleaning for my attention today, as well. Anything with the power to... ...distract me from the shit storm that seems to be taking over my entire life. This day will either help to alleviate the desperation or inflame it. Right now I have no idea of which will take over. I have stated that something bad is eventually going to happen. I’ve felt more of the idea in the last three days than the previous three years. Believe me when I say that I fucking wish to heaven that I could lay out all of the shit right here because the catharsis could actually help my mental and emotional condition. Unfortunately, I am afraid for my life, meaning one second of suspecting that someone out there may take the information and label me, and such an event would shut me down completely, and for all time. That may have already happened, too. I don’t know for sure. I need someone, for fuck’s sake. I have never needed ears more than I do at this very moment. The small ‘plus’ is that the more I try to squash this mass of anger, the less damage I am causing. All that concentration just to keep my keel centered (or close, anyway) means the energy is not being expended during the more reckless moments. I have never felt worse in my life. Out of nowhere, I am reminded of a short exchange from some years ago: ‘But I need you.’ ‘We all need something, honey.’ Wow, that was fucking helpful, assface. I just fucking love it when someone takes my words and expands them to include the whole of the populace. Such a turn helps nobody, least of all me. I hated her for that. Was I being selfish? I don’t believe so, because I had bent over backwards in the opposite direction and merely needed to be close for a little while. Nope. Nothing. I just had to sit there and wallow, hence my behavior soon after when I began to use my computer to chat with random people and feel as if I was being heard. One of the worst realizations from the glow (believe it or not) was a series of periods in which I seemed to be disregarded and/or not taken seriously. That was dangerous and led to disaster some months later after the move across the country. The conversation above took place many years later during a similar mindset. It was bad, and soon became the catalyst for very reckless, unfeeling behavior on my part. Yep, I altered the way I interacted with a few key individuals and crammed a lesson down their sorry throats. I really don’t want to have to repeat it. Time and circumstance molded me into what I am at this very moment, and though the people directly responsible are all gone, the condition remains. This analysis is yet another effort for reasons of avoiding angry behavior. I do not wish to be unfair toward people, but there is a limit. I may be pedantic, but I am most definitely not stupid. The last cup of coffee is next to me, just below this program which is beginning to irritate me again. I don’t know why that happens so often, but perhaps it is due to knowing the story and no longer needing to follow each detail. Maybe I’ll switch to something else before rising from this comfortable chair. The house is nice and quiet this morning, too. Such a state cannot be overstated these days. I need to think. My short, daily routine awaits, as does the dry cleaning. The inside of my head is a blackened wasteland of good memories and bad thoughts. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again... I never could have imagined being in such a condition at my age. The instinct is to provide a very harsh object lesson to others. That type of behavior will probably not accomplish anything, to be honest, yet the need is real. If I truly had answers, I probably would not be sitting here day after miserable day typing incessantly. No one is listening. 0913. I’m in a bad spot here. Very bad. Will I come out the other side of this day any better than I am right now? I doubt it. The visions, dreams and memories are swirling and causing very negative feelings. I’ll need to begin my housework very soon or the morning will head into the fucking toilet. What else can I do? Nothing. There is that word again. 1042 and I am half liquored up. My daily routine is finished, as well. My head? Awash with imagery that is very detrimental to my condition right now. To say I am unhappy would be a gross understatement, and considering there are zero options and no one listening, I see nothing more than decay on the horizon; decay of spirit, soul, and outlook. I am dying inside. This is a very dangerous state of affairs, yet still I have no recourse. What does that mean? It is representative of my diminished position in the world. The current period is only truly dangerous if there is some kind of threat looming. I have not the power to do a fucking thing right now – which has contributed to the level of danger in and of itself – so there is no apparent threat in any direction. All I have are words. Once everything comes to a head and the pressure on my tired brain becomes too much to bear, the danger will manifest itself in some way. That truth means my connections to the outside world will cease to exist. I will never threaten people. I will only threaten my lifestyle as it has been shaped by others. The information inside me is quite privileged. There has been but one individual who has entered my vault since the kitten, and that person barely had a fucking toe across the threshold. I have been driven to this; routed into nothing more than a root. The next time I lash, there may be consequences. The only useful emotion I have anymore is anger, and despite the fact that after a tirade I come out the other side unchanged, while it is actually happening, I feel a slight bit empowered. I cannot be controlled, but I am being controlled. Make of that what you will, and then tell me what other options I have these days. This is one of those times when I like myself more than usual. My ‘nonconforming’ nature flares and not a soul on earth understands me. RF power is the end-all be-all of human existence, and I will use it as necessary. There can be no saving throw versus the power. 1522 is the time on the clock and I am tired. I successfully installed the swingarm and new bushings, afterward checking everything for proper alignment. I then pulled the inner chaincase (again) and replaced both the stator and rotor on the crankshaft. Now everything is together until I receive the clutch, at which time the primary drive can be finished off. The power did not follow me into the garage because I calculated the best path was to don the wireless MDRs for a little while and keep the place quiet. I still need to torque the swingarm shaft but will probably wait until I can pick up a few washers for spacing the rear axle. Maybe I can grab a new cotter pin, as well. All in all, it looks like the bike will be ready for electrical work within a week or so. All of my housework is finished, I have dinner in the slow cooker, and the dry cleaning is running as I type these words. This is a bad fuckin’ time and nothing ever changes, nor can I see a way through this shit without losing everything. There you go. Dire? Yep. The second and final load of dry cleaning is running and should be finished shortly. I sort of ran out of gas today, although considering what I’ve already accomplished, time is on my side. I am looking forward to an easy dinner and relaxing evening. Spinning my wheels for a little while should not cause any harm. Margaery is on the screen. Ooh-fa, what a striking beauty. She doesn’t matter. Nothing does, really. And no one is listening. No one is there. No one is... Anywhere. Let the wheels spin this afternoon. I shall heretofore refer to seeing a vision as ‘something’. Well, I saw something. Yes, that one. I saw what I’ve seen before. I will see it again, too. The inside of my head has become four-dimensional in order to find space for all this shit. I saw something and it didn’t floor me this time. Maybe I’m just fucking sick of everything. She is not at fault, nor are her pants. Friday morning. There was much production yesterday so I will probably take it easier this morning and remain here longer than usual. The show last night was testing my patience and I nearly blew wide open before regaining my composure. Sometimes I have a difficult time dealing with what others believe is trivial. By the end of the episode, I felt a little better on the outside but was still bleeding on the inside. The effort required in calming myself is tremendous at times. Last night I successfully retreated from the edge of the world and soon after went to bed. Had I gone over the edge, well... The result would have been quite negative and I don’t need that shit right now. I already have enough going through me. Remember when I spoke of the four issues? Last night I was forced to endure number three for no better reason than manipulation of the scripting to keep people believing the program is at the forefront of entertainment. I do not appreciate such behavior. I honestly believe that with the proper story, direction and acting work, the ability to entertain can be achieved without using devices better left in the past. You can figure out what that means. Anyway, other than the shit spewing forth from my audio system, the evening was very nice. I was working on the bike until just after six, and then we had to switch the current project to another bike for a little while. The problem was solved and the machines switched back, so by the time I made it into the house, the hour was nearly eight. No big deal. My schedule is most often my own. At roughly dinner time (earlier than usual), the most difficult episode of the second show ran its course. It is a great story with even better acting, I must say. There are a few short conversations regarding a topic that has haunted me for decades, and even watching it play out for the thousandth time in more than thirty years, I still become all fucked up inside thinking of how life has played out for me due to a few dramatic moments and their endless repercussions. The program is not at fault, of course, yet it always seems to dredge up difficult moments from the late nineties and then carries me to the present, a time when many aspects of life which had always been visible were destroyed forever. Once again, the glow becomes injected into me and then everything goes all to hell. Splendid. I still watch that episode because it is brilliant on every front. I will continue to let it play in the future, as well. The importance of the period it now represents cannot be overstated and continues to grow in importance. There can be nothing like it again, ever. So sad. This morning is already a pile of shit. The remainder of the daytime hours may not matter anymore. Everything is difficult; much of it impossible. I brought up that episode of the show because, like many other stories which have played out on my television, the topic of children became one of the most dramatic and beautiful moments of the hour. The subject is one of the largest points of contention in existence. Well, in this nation, at least. I cannot speak for others. I have been told of what I am and what I cannot ever be, and I have gleaned even more than that in recent years. I was told other things, too, but this is already enough. The episode last night reminds me of who I am as well as who I am not, plus there are moments of the pos-glow which return to me and cause tremendous sadness. I suppose I should be thankful that the anger related to this subject does not rise in me too much as it did in the past. When I say everything is difficult, I am speaking of every step of every day, with that other very difficult subject hanging behind my eyes and gnawing at my brain. Little things, you know? None of this is traumatic. Just a long-winded, long-lived act of scratching and chafing my brain regardless of comfort or joy. Difficult. Everything is piled upon everything else."
Omne Periculosum
Mature content No. 369 Published April 21st, 2023 9:14am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"This is a bad time. Three ‘things’. Sometimes I think I’ve been routed. There are moments when different ideas are floated, yet when the possibility of routine comes to mind, all of my strength is required to quash the anger. Even the realm can be considered a result or offshoot of that essay from nearly six years ago, and the essay was born of this feeling. Part of it is me, but not all. I will have to avoid mirrors for a while. The suggestion of being routed came from elsewhere and some time ago, but I began to see things as they seemed prior to that shit. As I sit here at this very moment, I don’t know what the fuck to think. The die has been cast, yet it is far from set. The metal is still warm. God forbid I find the means to do anything other than the path I’ve been on for many years. I don’t believe anyone would understand. This topic has more power to anger me than almost any other, and the effort involved in holding myself back from an explosion is tremendous at times. This feeling will fade soon, as it has for a very long time, yet there is no way to completely eliminate the nagging suspicion that I have been nothing more than a ‘target’ for certain parts of life. There were two aspects of the show last night which bothered me. As of yet I’ve mentioned only one, and it was pretty fucking unclear. I’d like to avoid the other. This is all very ill-advised. I have to write without saying anything. This life has been a really nice clambake. I will never see. I’ll just sit here and dream. And then I’ll feel full of pain and loneliness. And then I’ll become angry. And then I’ll move around the house and do something in search of distraction. And then everything will calm again. And then I’ll sit here and dream... ‘When a person can’t find a deep sense of meaning, they distract themselves with pleasure.’ – Viktor Frankl 0924 on the same fucking Sunday as the end of the previous shit... Er... Entry. I have yet to rise and care for some business because I still have a bit of coffee and wish to keep the house quiet. Once I am up and about, the routine will come first, like always. In and around everything else, I’ll gather the garbage and see what else can be tossed in the interest of creating space. Up to this point in time, there has always been a fear holding me back from dramatic changes, but I will say that one of these days I am going to alter this fucking house and its contents more than ever before. I am becoming pretty fucking sick of everything. And now I am rankled for the umpteenth time. Perhaps I need to move away from the control center and begin some housework before I begin to say things that are unkind. I see 1137 on the clock and am now back at the control center with my delicious cocktail and the dragons on the right-hand display. The routine is nearly finished and I have the house to myself for the next few hours. My Sunday garbage business is partially complete, as well. I’m going to cram everything I can into that vessel for reasons of good form, and to attempt to clear out some crap that does not need to reside in this little house. As for the garage work, I have very little that can be accomplished without more parts, so if the mood strikes and I feel the need to thrash out there for a little while, I shall do some light cleaning and install small components for the time being. The larger assemblies must wait. The garage has become unkempt, meaning I am dying to straighten and create space out there. Unfortunately, there is far too much clutter out there for me to truly gain elbow room. I’ll have to chip away at the project. Bigger concerns must await either the bike being completed to my satisfaction or the gain of space within the house in order to relocate items. I will do whatever I can. In and around my work today, I plan to enjoy the solitude and damn it at the same time. My needs have grown out of fucking control lately. Yes, those three ‘things’, none of which are presently within reach. And speaking of reach, I may need to do just that. The prospect is nowhere near enticing, however. It is a weakness, nothing more. I am not very happy about much these days. This is a dangerous time. On top of everything in my fucking tired head, there is Roxanne on the display looking like liquid desire. I need her to tell me everything will be ok, and then I need her to be my Jaime. If you thought all that shit from twenty had faded, think again. Nothing leaves me, everything is related, and not one fucking person is listening. I need Roxanne to listen. I need to trace her lines. I need to plant my lips and tongue to her delicate, beautiful labia. I need all of her. I need far too much these days. I need ears. I need everything, damn it. One day soon I will flip the fuck out for the last time. Years ago I said the end was a slow process. Believe it. I see nothing on the horizon with the power to stop this train. There is not one aspect of life with the power to switch off this track. There is no way to avoid the buffer stop. Monday morning arrives sans fanfare, joy, hope... Everything seems very small right now. Between the issues that have been illuminated by a certain television series and the already plunging feelings inside regarding the value of my existence, I believe today is going to be nothing more than reinforcement of the same combined with a touch of planning. I often state that there is no recourse to this condition. Apparently, there is none of the same for life itself. I am partially responsible, yet still I cannot believe I ruined everything. I just can’t see it. This morning on the news was an additional jab related to memories being removed from the world. One more is now gone. I am seeing less value in everything today than I did one month ago. I mean to say that the little changes are adding up, and every now and then a big one comes along and forces me to see two things: First, I am disappointed in the manner society so easily dumps pieces of history, and two, the truth is that there is not much chance that I will be able to visit any place further from this house than the big wine store over the hill. I just don’t fucking see it anymore, and the fact that my head is slowly resigning itself is very dangerous. Resigned. Not good. My entire universe has become a rectangle comprising just over six thousand square feet. In a little while I have to visit the big wine store and then the market. I’ll go when my coffee is gone. Upon returning, I will probably be overjoyed to have the rest of the day to myself. Half the routine will be completed prior to leaving my little world. I do not feel very well today, either. Being home is very important when my head is sideways, and right now I can’t see a worse position. I’d be staying here if I wasn’t completely out of booze. Heh. Not funny. 1103 is the time on the clock right now. I am back at the control center with my icy glass of depressing liquid and the streaming media just above. The trip over the hill was quick and smooth, but I did not go to the market as of yet because I couldn’t recall anything we needed besides potatoes. No big deal. The daily routine is finished with dishes drip-drying for posterity. I am pleased to have the shopping trip out of the way so early. Well, my motivation was to enjoy the morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen, meaning I had to go prior to taking care of my routine. Whatever that makes me, I don’t fucking care. The downside right now is my head is no better off than last night or early this morning. I cannot extricate those three items from my head, nor can I cease daydreaming about everything that has disappeared in this life. The problem which reared its head last year continues to weigh heavily on my mind, as well, and it is depressing enough to force me into wishing for a pair of understanding ears. Unfortunately, such a situation would require trust, and my paranoia and self-conscious nature disallows embracing that word, ever. I’ve had ears in the past, yet they were different. Somehow, I just knew. The present is completely different and the only matching trait to the past is desperation. The little enjoyments are no longer isolated, meaning no matter what form they may take, the issues do not leave during the comfort. Moreover, I cannot avoid thinking in advance that whatever enjoyment comes along, it will not last. That is a fucking sad state of affairs. Right now I am considering lunch options, yet I know that once it is consumed (with streaming media keeping me company), I will fall down once again. The periods of moving through depression and enjoyment are diminishing. No wonder I lean on alcohol so much. The alteration to my methods of thinking are very important these days. Sad. State. Of. Affairs. I don’t know how long this process can continue before the danger manifests itself in some errant, hideous manner. My life feels as reduced as an au jus that has been simmering for thirty years. Sometimes when a reduction cooks too long the resulting material is referred to as resin. I am looking through the window and see people going about their business. Cars moving up and down the street. Delivery trucks. The world is rotating despite the wrecked human being watching from a little table in a little house located in a little town next to the ocean. I feel like I no longer matter. This is a very dangerous time.
This may be the only entry in recent weeks with an appropriate title. I have been forced to succumb to the past and present alike. Everything is dangerous. A slight touch from any unwanted direction and my entire life will unload at breakneck speed toward the source. Everything is dangerous. Believe it. Dangerous enough for me to switch from video entertainment to music. See the Frankl quote above for a decent reference to my present mindset. I seem to have misplaced the trackball pointing device for the laptop. Maybe it is in the travel case resting within my bulletproof travel case. I need to find it at some point so I can rework the navbar image. The software on the laptop is better for pixel-by-pixel image manipulation. GIMP works extremely well for being open-source software, but sometimes I need a finer point. I will look for the trackball later today. The time is 1141. The music of life is playing quietly in the background because sometimes I need to recall the period when this artist was first introduced to me. Good and bad. The alcohol has successfully squashed some of my feelings. This is good, but everything fades. The typical post-cocktail pre-lunch consideration is pouring a second drink. I think about such an idea every fucking day of the week, believe it or not. Right now I am holding back because I know just a few sips of the second glass of bliss can easily result in thoughts of putting an end to all this shit via the iron. I love and hate the idea. The music sounds as if it is being routed through a noise gate. This is the only album which has that effect. I don’t understand it. My hearing is messed up, but if only one digitized set of tracks sounds this way, I don’t know what to think. Ugh. Perhaps this is the ‘way of things’. Do you know what that means? The sentence is related to a possible second drink this morning. Her song is playing now. Her birthday was a week ago, give or take. I want to kill myself. She did. She fell away from me. She left life bleeding. Look it up. The way of things. Indeed. No one knows the extent of what I have been feeling or thinking for a very long time. Part of such a lack of knowing is me, of course. I barely communicate with anyone. Does that make me the bad guy? I don’t know. There is too much fear of the apple cart being upset. All I have left in the world – in my fucking life – is the occasional comfortable distraction from reality via an agreeable meal combined with some nice media. Tuesday morning. Coffee. The other stuff. This is the way of things as my buddies on the third show might state. They are the people whom I sought... A lifestyle, and one completely alien to me these days. Despite the feeling of being already finished in this life, I did my best to maintain some elevation yesterday. Little things. Some relaxation. I don’t remember everything. The evening was fine, too. By the day’s end, I felt pretty weakened. This morning? There were dreams related to issues inside me and I have to attempt to recall some details. I was very distraught upon waking today. Now I must remain at the control center for hours. This is the only place in my universe which can feel truly rewarding. It can also help to cease my daydreaming at times. Today is one of those capable of sending me straight into the ground without some sort of device. I will have to be careful this morning. Some imagery from one of the dreams is fuzzy and the rest is gone. I awakened very early and recalled many details, yet after dozing again for an hour or so, everything faded away quickly. I am disappointed to have lost the pictures. There are still feelings inside me, however. I am reminded of last year again... The dreams which had me by the throat. This was important and now I can’t remember enough to put a story together. Shit. I have feelings, though. Just feelings. This entire situation is both sad and unacceptable, and it will remain behind my eyes all day. I already know that much, at least. There are times when I want to recall each detail, face, feature; other times I do not want to have anything to do with that crap. I try to push it away and nothing changes. I still end up sad and lost. Once the imagery takes hold and begins to interrupt my productive time, the anger takes over and then everything quickly goes sideways. I don’t want it today, either. My time needs to be put to good use and anything capable of upending my thinking is going to have to be shoved away. The dreams did not yield enough for me to grab, hence they must go away. Far away. I am already in a horrible frame of mind at only 0754. I remember a face. I also remember realizing that someone was there to save me. The latter is the main catalyst for my disdain and sadness this morning. I am still looking forward to some alone time today and the space to think, believe it or not. This is a very dangerous situation, for sure, but I am beginning to think that the way I feel about everything does not matter in the least. The ‘grand scheme’, remember? I am but a tiny person sitting in an office, nothing more. Smaller every day, too. So, how can anything related to me actually be dangerous? Where is the power? Is this entry mistitled? Are they all? Too many questions that lead in circles. Still, and regardless of the implications or complications, the inside of my head is planning bad things on and off every fucking day. I am miserable and may put an end to it if and when I feel it is necessary to do so. That is why I call this period dangerous. Mostly for others, of course. They would be left to do the thinking and questioning without the possibility of answers. Sound familiar? Enough of this. I am not going anywhere, anytime soon. I have not seen anything from my window for many days. This is very good. I need no more of that shit in my tired head. There was nothing in the big wine store, although I had to ask one of the managers about picking up my order due to the call button being on the fritz. She had dark features and beautiful eye makeup, yet underneath the pretty face and jet-black hair was some sort of frightening stance, as if Medusa was inside just waiting for the right moment for a strike. There were no pants; no nothing. Good God does Oona have dark eyes; the pupils look to be almost one solid color. Wow. Anyway, I really don’t want to see anything after that fucking dream this morning. My brain will run with the information and then I’ll end up nothing more than a pain in the ass to other people (if I am in contact with anyone, that is). When I see something special, the process I have laid out here takes place – leading me from fascination, all the way through the gamut of emotions, and then on to blistering anger – and nothing ever comes of it. I end up exactly the same, if not more depressed. A lack of recourse is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. I have very little direction these days. I keep the blinds open during the day when I am sitting here because the room feels a little bit more open and connected to the outside. I’m sure at some point (as the weather warms through this season) there will be more pants and whatever else viewable from either where I now sit or from the garage. Something will eventually come by. I have to attempt to steel myself against going through the cycle and I must remember that nothing can come of my feelings. I need help but no one is listening. No one is there. Maybe I am the one in danger. The pants don’t matter, really. They are a symptom. 0914. My head is sideways again. I hate this shit. This is one of those days in which I can already tell that everything could go straight into the toilet if I am not careful. My routine will not take long, so I’ll have to look around and care for some small items in order to avoid becoming completely heeled over. Right now I have no clue how to proceed, though. Housework can only keep me out of the black for so long. The same goes for the motorcycle project, although yesterday afternoon I did rework a metal plate (threading and such) so that the cover plate from the old engine can be adapted to the new one. I’ll have to pick up a few pieces of hardware from the store to mount it. I also did some cleaning so other small parts can be mounted to the frame. Baby steps, I suppose. I have to wait for some necessary components before the larger assemblies can be dealt with. I am looking forward to seeing the bike back on its rear wheel. The work may have to supplement my housework so I can get through to the close of business hours feeling decent. At this point in time, and after a life of good work and feeling as if I had been important, I should not need to fucking push so hard just to get to the other end of a typical day. This is ridiculous. My sideways head can lead to disaster if I let go of the reins even for a second. As I said, this should not be so difficult. I’ve done a lot in the past. I was important. Now I am sideways. Well... Maybe I only felt important. The whole shitaree could have been an illusion; a condition born of my wish to be as such. I don’t know anymore. What I do know is this daily battle can kill me. Stay the course.
I’ve been driven like hell to worship. Routed? Perhaps. I cannot be certain because the way my head operates often disallows anything truly clear. If routed, there may be nothing I can do about it other than lashing and dreaming. Those two are exhausting and in the end I am exactly the same, if not worse. Holding back my true feelings from this endeavor is also tiring. I am fucking sick of it, but the alternative is much worse. The right kind of ears could help, yet they may no longer exist. Isn’t that just wonderful? A nice clambake. Nothing more. And yes, there are those things in life that I sit here and worship, and no one knows. Everything is veiled, hidden, or otherwise absent from this content, and the level of worship – along with the damaging dreams and everything born of them – is not clear to one soul on this fucking planet. I honestly believe that I was routed long ago, leaving me to slowly decline and cover myself with anything powerful enough to protect the ‘true’ me from the mass of society. Am I suffering in silence? Eh... Something similar is going on, I suppose, but the one plus from all of this is that I do not pity myself. I know who I am and what I have done. The worship pales in comparison. Maybe I need not be overly concerned about such a feeling. Many years ago I wrote about a woman who worked at a small alehouse we visited from time to time. I loved that place, especially the layout of the room with a square bar area overlooking the rest of the lounge. I sat there and desperately watched one of the servers and the way her lines appeared and disappeared as she moved about the room. When I began to craft a short, descriptive essay about what I saw (and needed to see), the conclusion was that I had put her on a figurative pedestal upon which to bang my head over and over out of frustration that she was right there, yet a billion miles away for all intents and purposes. I can’t see her anymore, though, because the period when we were able to walk to that bar was roughly twenty years ago. She has faded into the past like so many others. The pedestal I mentioned was very appropriate, too, because I felt worship for her appearance. The woman was amazing to see. The feeling of worship grew from nothing in the space of an hour. I was desperate to see more, and the dire nature of my thoughts drove me to write. I still have that essay and it may be somewhere here on the site. Ah... It is here. I published her story three years ago, meaning I sat on that information for a very long time. Anyway, the point is that I felt worship for her beauty that far back in time and did not realize to what level such a feeling would eventually push me. Now? I am traumatized and tormented beyond belief when I see the like, such as the last time I went to the market. I never learned of why such feelings take place, either. Never. In the last three years, I’ve gone over this shit repeatedly to find meaning, and the only possible conclusion quickly became the word ‘desire’. There are many types, of course, and when I first wrote about the server, I felt a deep need to see much more of her. Lines... You know. Well, years later, desire took over and I wanted much more than to merely ‘see’. The most recent incarnation of worship is a dire combination of both, and possibly more. The server was a few years before the girl at the car wash and by that point my mind operated differently. At present, the level of worship is off the fucking scale, believe it or not. The subject of the damaging dreams is near the top. I worship every vision; every thought of her to the point of driving myself to subconsciously dream and then sit here and tread water within a vat of desire and sadness. I can’t even go into all of the others. Pause for the cause. 1120. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a few hours to myself. The requisite glass of icy, alcoholic medicine is next to me, as always. I’ll have to care for some laundry in a little while, perhaps once my drink is consumed. There are little spots here and there on the floor that could benefit from some attention, too. I do not yet know if I will head to the hardware store to further the motorcycle project. Maybe after a shower. One certainty is spending a lot of time in front of the IDE right here in my office. I have much to say, and the effort of deciding how far to push the informational envelope takes time. There is a positive right now, and that is the fact that I am still in control of the atmosphere in the house and nearly all of my time. The idea of a job has become completely alien to me. I have considered seeking some low-paying position crunching numbers or other data so I can earn a bit of money with this computer. I don’t believe such positions are easily had, though. I’m sure the idea of working remotely for money is in demand these days, and that means even the simplest work could be difficult to locate. Research is free, however, so I’ll take a look. Perhaps I can sit here and transcribe audio or video for some company. Interesting prospect, at the very least. A bit of mellow music with a very disturbing undertone is now playing through my magnificent speakers. I switched off the show because sometimes applying my thoughts to the editor with others speaking in the background can be difficult. I need clarity right now. God damn do I ever love the morning cocktail. There is a related feeling which dates all the way back to the early nineties, yet I did not truly embrace it until roughly a decade later. I began to see the relationship between youth and true, legal adulthood very differently for some reason. My upbringing in the lavish atmospheres of Reno, Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas likely had a hand in my desire to ‘feel’ like an actual adult, when in reality the only difference between my early years and said feeling was time. Many years later, perhaps into the late aughts, I felt a strong desire to keep myself separate from the atmosphere and lifestyle of families and children (annoyances). The most striking example of being tossed into the mix was when Andrea and I were invited to dinner by the fucking squareheads. She really caught me off-guard with her response, after which I was committed to an evening with what seemed to be a married couple from an alien planet. Andrea found the entire affair funny, especially considering my penchant for adult atmospheres. Anyway, the booze still conjures visions of the past when I was carried to those exotic places that were typically off-limits to the world’s youth. I wanted so badly to remain with the adults that I believe the desire formed a good portion of who I am today. Everything is difficult. Wow. So, I ventured to the hardware store for four screws, a drill bit and one fucking tap. The cobalt bits are not sold in every size, nor do they carry letter bits. And the tap? Nope. There is not even a space for the size I sought. NOT EVEN A FUCKING SPACE ON THE PEGBOARD. The tap I require is the SECOND most common thread size in this country. Jesus fucking hell, anyway. As for the fasteners, I had to opt for the wrong drive style, the wrong length, and the wrong material. Yep, all three. What a galactic waste of my time and gas. The only saving grace to the trip was one hell of a rear end waddling through the door on my way out. Damn, the girl was so lovely to see that I almost considered the entire outing worthwhile. Nope. She was pushing a cart full of building materials which means likely married and everything that goes with it. I am a basket case, but still... I desperately wanted to see inside her pants because I could see what was there, and, more importantly, what was absent. So, since everything went to shit, I thought I’d drink my lunch. The trouble in my head that is supporting this mood is more than I care to reveal right now. I’m in a bad spot here. The music of life (or something else) is playing while I sit at the control center. I don’t know what else to do. And? I don’t fucking care. Wednesday has arrived on the heels of a nice evening and a simple dinner. And despite the lack of stock at the store yesterday, I was still able to finish at least one aspect of the bike for which I took the trip in the first place. That was the decorative timing cover. Not bad. My head blew wide open not long after, though. Another difficult day. And then another. This morning is already nearly shit, too. I have coffee and my show, the next several hours to myself, and the peace I need to think. One would believe that everything is fine. Nope. I am all fucked up inside. I daydreamed yesterday and led myself astray for the thousandth time, much of that crap following me to sleep. And then a dream I still don’t understand, and then this morning feeling as if everything good is either gone or impossible.
The second show dredged up memories of the radio summer from ninety-three and I went on a tirade for a while. Sleep time took over, thankfully. All those memories were within a few months of moving across the country and one of the most rewarding periods I can recall. The glow ended shortly thereafter, however, and passed into history without me realizing that nothing that wonderful would ever be possible again. Another strike was the woman at the hardware store yesterday. Impossible. I don’t even know why I try anymore. The glow is gone, the memories feel as if they never really happened, and the longer I sit here typing, the more I realize my life ended three years ago. Watching the show last night was just a hint. There is much more. 0856. I have my last cup of coffee and plan to begin the routine immediately after it is gone. The crap spinning circles in my head is going to need to be forced out, I guess, because otherwise the morning will go all to hell and I really don’t need any more shit right now. Damn, the girl who comes by to care for a child up the street is looking better and better these days. Just another wish that will never come true. Something must change, but what? My neighbor came by for a few minutes yesterday and dropped off parts. That means I can continue with the bike for a while longer. I really don’t feel like working out there this morning. Maybe later, like after lunch. I don’t know. I can predict that it will probably be fully assembled within a month or so, perhaps sooner. Afterward, the machine will travel to the City for electrical work. Hopefully after it is gone I can straighten the garage. There is a ton of ‘stuff’ out there right now due to her parents’ cleaning out their attic. Ugh. I can probably work it out. Whatever. Again, I am finding myself more and more uncaring these days. I do enjoy the bike work, yet it is not enough to keep my head out of the nether regions of this world. Believe it. Everything in my life has been reduced to what I do each day. The computer, the routine, my little chores around the house, etc.; this has become my entire existence. The rest is merely a group of far-off dreams. No one is listening. Help feels as impossible as the visions. I need... ...so fucking much. This is a very dangerous situation, yet I am shackled to the present lifestyle. My head often returns to a time when I ran from something good and full, all the way to something different and dreamy. I don’t feel that way now, however, because I already know the end of the story before the first chapter is penned. Maybe that means I am smarter now, or maybe something else. I don’t know for sure. Eight years ago I upended everything for reasons of dreaming without an aspect of life I needed very badly, and that entire situation went straight to hell. Just prior to the end of everything, I righted the locomotive and took to the switches in order to salvage whatever was possible. That may have been the only good decision of my lifetime. God fucking dam it all, I need quite a bit and feel almost strongly enough about it to spell out the shit right here on this page. Almost, but not all the way. I can’t do it. Someone needs to listen. No one is there. I need to calm myself this morning and embrace whatever brings comfort. The alternative doesn’t look good anymore. No music, no sharp words, none of my cunty mood. I have no good reason to put off anyone who may be nearby. They don’t need or deserve my shit. I just wish I could find something... Anything near to the dreams. I really need it. Need. Need. Need. I am sick of that word. ‘How did it come to this?’ – Theoden, King of Rohan Indeed. There are answers to that question, yet I don’t know how to organize them anymore. 1043. My daily routine is finished and I have the laundry running in both the washer and dryer. Not bad. And yes, for reasons of good form, there is a nice cocktail next to me. I will not be having a second – like I did yesterday as I skipped lunch – because the evening must feel deserved. I don’t feel very well today for some reason. Taking it easy for the rest of the day is in order. Thursday has arrived. I have my coffee and a very long morning. I had to fire up the laptop for some image editing this morning. As you can see, the name of the company has appeared both within the footer and on the title logo. The laptop has better editing software, so sometimes when I am dealing with more complex imagery, I need to use both computers to get the job done to my satisfaction. Eventually, I will change to the new domain and leave all this coma shit behind. The logo on the navbar is temporary, yet I must always have the brand visible as an identifier. To me, this is a business even before I have the license in place. Anyway, the temporary change is complete. I may tool around with the logo some, but for the most part it will appear as you see it. I do not yet know what this day may have in store for me. I didn’t work on the bike yesterday because I wasn’t feeling well. Today may be better for that type of thing, after my morning stuff, of course. Morning is the easy part. Everything else is difficult. Sometimes the range is from ‘where’ to impossible. Such is life now. I went to refill my coffee a few minutes ago and noticed a photo my friend had printed many years back and then added some text referring to the canon which we both loved. It was a big deal, that gesture. I still have the photo and should probably protect it for the future by scanning and then framing. I believe the photo was shot in my parents’ garage not long after I moved across the country in ninety-five. Some of the memories are hazy, though, so I can’t be sure of the period without further research. And Roxanne is competing with Oona right now. Ugh. Anyway, I would like to find my complete work history in order to put together an accurate timeline for the glowing era. Will it help me? Not really, and in fact could actually hurt, but I am compelled to recall the different periods and jobs I held. I need detail. I’m only planning to work on these little items until the coffee is gone. After will be the routine and then whatever seems best for a while. I believe there is enough dry cleaning for my attention today, as well. Anything with the power to... ...distract me from the shit storm that seems to be taking over my entire life. This day will either help to alleviate the desperation or inflame it. Right now I have no idea of which will take over. I have stated that something bad is eventually going to happen. I’ve felt more of the idea in the last three days than the previous three years. Believe me when I say that I fucking wish to heaven that I could lay out all of the shit right here because the catharsis could actually help my mental and emotional condition. Unfortunately, I am afraid for my life, meaning one second of suspecting that someone out there may take the information and label me, and such an event would shut me down completely, and for all time. That may have already happened, too. I don’t know for sure. I need someone, for fuck’s sake. I have never needed ears more than I do at this very moment. The small ‘plus’ is that the more I try to squash this mass of anger, the less damage I am causing. All that concentration just to keep my keel centered (or close, anyway) means the energy is not being expended during the more reckless moments. I have never felt worse in my life. Out of nowhere, I am reminded of a short exchange from some years ago: ‘But I need you.’ ‘We all need something, honey.’ Wow, that was fucking helpful, assface. I just fucking love it when someone takes my words and expands them to include the whole of the populace. Such a turn helps nobody, least of all me. I hated her for that. Was I being selfish? I don’t believe so, because I had bent over backwards in the opposite direction and merely needed to be close for a little while. Nope. Nothing. I just had to sit there and wallow, hence my behavior soon after when I began to use my computer to chat with random people and feel as if I was being heard. One of the worst realizations from the glow (believe it or not) was a series of periods in which I seemed to be disregarded and/or not taken seriously. That was dangerous and led to disaster some months later after the move across the country. The conversation above took place many years later during a similar mindset. It was bad, and soon became the catalyst for very reckless, unfeeling behavior on my part. Yep, I altered the way I interacted with a few key individuals and crammed a lesson down their sorry throats. I really don’t want to have to repeat it. Time and circumstance molded me into what I am at this very moment, and though the people directly responsible are all gone, the condition remains. This analysis is yet another effort for reasons of avoiding angry behavior. I do not wish to be unfair toward people, but there is a limit. I may be pedantic, but I am most definitely not stupid.
The last cup of coffee is next to me, just below this program which is beginning to irritate me again. I don’t know why that happens so often, but perhaps it is due to knowing the story and no longer needing to follow each detail. Maybe I’ll switch to something else before rising from this comfortable chair. The house is nice and quiet this morning, too. Such a state cannot be overstated these days. I need to think. My short, daily routine awaits, as does the dry cleaning. The inside of my head is a blackened wasteland of good memories and bad thoughts. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again... I never could have imagined being in such a condition at my age. The instinct is to provide a very harsh object lesson to others. That type of behavior will probably not accomplish anything, to be honest, yet the need is real. If I truly had answers, I probably would not be sitting here day after miserable day typing incessantly. No one is listening. 0913. I’m in a bad spot here. Very bad. Will I come out the other side of this day any better than I am right now? I doubt it. The visions, dreams and memories are swirling and causing very negative feelings. I’ll need to begin my housework very soon or the morning will head into the fucking toilet. What else can I do? Nothing. There is that word again. 1042 and I am half liquored up. My daily routine is finished, as well. My head? Awash with imagery that is very detrimental to my condition right now. To say I am unhappy would be a gross understatement, and considering there are zero options and no one listening, I see nothing more than decay on the horizon; decay of spirit, soul, and outlook. I am dying inside. This is a very dangerous state of affairs, yet still I have no recourse. What does that mean? It is representative of my diminished position in the world. The current period is only truly dangerous if there is some kind of threat looming. I have not the power to do a fucking thing right now – which has contributed to the level of danger in and of itself – so there is no apparent threat in any direction. All I have are words. Once everything comes to a head and the pressure on my tired brain becomes too much to bear, the danger will manifest itself in some way. That truth means my connections to the outside world will cease to exist. I will never threaten people. I will only threaten my lifestyle as it has been shaped by others. The information inside me is quite privileged. There has been but one individual who has entered my vault since the kitten, and that person barely had a fucking toe across the threshold. I have been driven to this; routed into nothing more than a root. The next time I lash, there may be consequences. The only useful emotion I have anymore is anger, and despite the fact that after a tirade I come out the other side unchanged, while it is actually happening, I feel a slight bit empowered. I cannot be controlled, but I am being controlled. Make of that what you will, and then tell me what other options I have these days. This is one of those times when I like myself more than usual. My ‘nonconforming’ nature flares and not a soul on earth understands me. RF power is the end-all be-all of human existence, and I will use it as necessary. There can be no saving throw versus the power. 1522 is the time on the clock and I am tired. I successfully installed the swingarm and new bushings, afterward checking everything for proper alignment. I then pulled the inner chaincase (again) and replaced both the stator and rotor on the crankshaft. Now everything is together until I receive the clutch, at which time the primary drive can be finished off. The power did not follow me into the garage because I calculated the best path was to don the wireless MDRs for a little while and keep the place quiet. I still need to torque the swingarm shaft but will probably wait until I can pick up a few washers for spacing the rear axle. Maybe I can grab a new cotter pin, as well. All in all, it looks like the bike will be ready for electrical work within a week or so. All of my housework is finished, I have dinner in the slow cooker, and the dry cleaning is running as I type these words. This is a bad fuckin’ time and nothing ever changes, nor can I see a way through this shit without losing everything. There you go. Dire? Yep. The second and final load of dry cleaning is running and should be finished shortly. I sort of ran out of gas today, although considering what I’ve already accomplished, time is on my side. I am looking forward to an easy dinner and relaxing evening. Spinning my wheels for a little while should not cause any harm. Margaery is on the screen. Ooh-fa, what a striking beauty. She doesn’t matter. Nothing does, really. And no one is listening. No one is there. No one is... Anywhere. Let the wheels spin this afternoon. I shall heretofore refer to seeing a vision as ‘something’. Well, I saw something. Yes, that one. I saw what I’ve seen before. I will see it again, too. The inside of my head has become four-dimensional in order to find space for all this shit. I saw something and it didn’t floor me this time. Maybe I’m just fucking sick of everything. She is not at fault, nor are her pants. Friday morning. There was much production yesterday so I will probably take it easier this morning and remain here longer than usual. The show last night was testing my patience and I nearly blew wide open before regaining my composure. Sometimes I have a difficult time dealing with what others believe is trivial. By the end of the episode, I felt a little better on the outside but was still bleeding on the inside. The effort required in calming myself is tremendous at times. Last night I successfully retreated from the edge of the world and soon after went to bed. Had I gone over the edge, well... The result would have been quite negative and I don’t need that shit right now. I already have enough going through me. Remember when I spoke of the four issues? Last night I was forced to endure number three for no better reason than manipulation of the scripting to keep people believing the program is at the forefront of entertainment. I do not appreciate such behavior. I honestly believe that with the proper story, direction and acting work, the ability to entertain can be achieved without using devices better left in the past. You can figure out what that means. Anyway, other than the shit spewing forth from my audio system, the evening was very nice. I was working on the bike until just after six, and then we had to switch the current project to another bike for a little while. The problem was solved and the machines switched back, so by the time I made it into the house, the hour was nearly eight. No big deal. My schedule is most often my own. At roughly dinner time (earlier than usual), the most difficult episode of the second show ran its course. It is a great story with even better acting, I must say. There are a few short conversations regarding a topic that has haunted me for decades, and even watching it play out for the thousandth time in more than thirty years, I still become all fucked up inside thinking of how life has played out for me due to a few dramatic moments and their endless repercussions. The program is not at fault, of course, yet it always seems to dredge up difficult moments from the late nineties and then carries me to the present, a time when many aspects of life which had always been visible were destroyed forever. Once again, the glow becomes injected into me and then everything goes all to hell. Splendid. I still watch that episode because it is brilliant on every front. I will continue to let it play in the future, as well. The importance of the period it now represents cannot be overstated and continues to grow in importance. There can be nothing like it again, ever. So sad. This morning is already a pile of shit. The remainder of the daytime hours may not matter anymore. Everything is difficult; much of it impossible. I brought up that episode of the show because, like many other stories which have played out on my television, the topic of children became one of the most dramatic and beautiful moments of the hour. The subject is one of the largest points of contention in existence. Well, in this nation, at least. I cannot speak for others. I have been told of what I am and what I cannot ever be, and I have gleaned even more than that in recent years. I was told other things, too, but this is already enough. The episode last night reminds me of who I am as well as who I am not, plus there are moments of the pos-glow which return to me and cause tremendous sadness. I suppose I should be thankful that the anger related to this subject does not rise in me too much as it did in the past. When I say everything is difficult, I am speaking of every step of every day, with that other very difficult subject hanging behind my eyes and gnawing at my brain. Little things, you know? None of this is traumatic. Just a long-winded, long-lived act of scratching and chafing my brain regardless of comfort or joy. Difficult. Everything is piled upon everything else."
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