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Feathers and Tigers' Teeth

alert   Mature content     No. 424    Published September 19th, 2024 11:44am pdt      read ( words)     Past entries

"Monday means a giant reset to everything I consider each week. Four years of this adds up to quite the routine, both in my head and around the house. The flag is out due to today being a federal holiday. I seem to be the only individual on the fucking street who remembers the way we used to do things many years ago. Marvelous.

The other essay is creeping into my head again. Sometimes I think about those times and often the memories will get the best of me regardless of any effort on my part. There were wonderful periods, difficulties and other more serious trials, yet my head always goes back to the good parts. I am a basket case in that way, no doubt. The passage of time has caused both my weakened stance and desperate nature to expand beyond reason. Believe me, you don’t want to know the way my head operates these days. Sixes and sevens; all feathers and tigers' teeth apparent. Sometimes tickling, sometimes scratching, but one hundred percent of the time I don’t know which way my feelings will turn. Clueless. I need to stay away from that fucking essay for a long while. The alternative is to lose my shit for the last time. No one wants that. Or maybe they do. Shit... I don’t fucking know.

I wish I could remember. Never mind.

Feathers? Yes.

Some time has passed and I once again donned the mighty MDRs for reasons of isolation and good form. I had a visitor a short time ago and, thankfully, it did not last long. The daily routine is out of the way and I have the rest of this day to do whatever seems best, fall into a pit of despair, allow my anger to fully flare up, or nothing at all. The film scores are helping my mood remain stable for the time being, so perhaps after a while the anger will subside a bit. I do not wish to flare right now. Sometimes the decision is much more difficult, however, and I know that eventually I will explode regardless of any lingering positives or supportive words from others. There is just no getting around it some days. Today might find me a tad more controlled. And don’t get me wrong... I do not remain bottled for the sake of myself, only that of those within earshot. I will admit that the 4355 construction plan is partially driven by the deepest anger; that which never leaves me. I don’t know if that is a project I can actually complete, and the idea that I may begin, invest resources and then be stopped by errant, unknown factors is very unpleasant. The pair of monitors would require a near-complete reconfiguration of my garage, as well. There are several hurdles that would have to be overcome in order to even begin construction. Lots of negatives with such an idea, but perhaps the compelling nature of seeing and hearing them in operation will be enough to boost my motivation at some point.

Tuesday? Meaningless. I have to bring the car over the hill tomorrow for service. That is much more notable than what will take place around the house today. Not much will be accomplished beyond the typical scope because last night I was fucking slammed by one of the most beautiful and important films I’ve ever had the privilege to watch. Slammed, but how? Well, there are too many significant points involved between the story, setting and era for me to adequately describe here. I can try, however. The wonder which may have grown inside me during the summer just prior to moving across the country flared for a very long time – likely a decade or so – and then was inflamed after watching several film crews shoot documentaries in and around the facilities in which I worked daily. Yes, the industry again. I couldn’t avoid falling down last night because the film in question is often defined as a ‘love letter’ to the end of the Hollywood ‘studio’ era. The year in question was 1969, and a four-block section of Hollywood Boulevard was transformed from 2019 into the period of the story. Fifty fucking years, people. So much was recreated that seeing certain parts of the film can be mind-boggling. One particular location within the film is still there and dates back to 1919. In the beginning, the exhibition in Culver City that I am to visit next month provided the opportunity to make a dinner reservation at that beautiful, historic restaurant. I can’t do it because of all the pain inside over a few key decisions many years ago. I watched the film knowing full well it was going to cause problems. Moreover, I even went so far as to watch a half-hour documentary that outlined some of the broader strokes, such as production design and the process of capturing motion pictures – yes, it was FILMED rather than shot digitally because the director feels as I do about the medium. Well, I’ve seen the movie play in its entirety a half dozen times throughout the past few years, but last night the idea hit me in the face that the fear which kept me from taking a leap of faith all those years ago has quite literally destroyed the outlook of the rest of my life. That is not bullshit, either, nor is it an overstatement. After a brief discussion of my feelings on the subject, I made the decision to cancel the dinner reservation because sitting in that restaurant would most likely cause a breakdown inside me. I could already feel the beginnings of being folded in half over the loss of all those years as driven by fear. The sheer authenticity that was created for the film mimics several other features that I’ve watched for nearly twenty years. I’ve always felt the same about production, and my stance was for the most part dictated by none other than Walt Disney’s vision that dates back almost seventy years. Yes, that’s right. The immersive theming that was created for the attractions at the theme parks extended to the actual queue areas that slowly guided those waiting into the world of the ride, be it something fast and exhilarating or slow and dark. The film addressed so many individual details of the era that my head spins at each viewing. During the nineties, I felt that the director’s intentions matched the way I viewed the world. After watching the film last night and realizing I see more and more detail with each subsequent occasion, my feelings have remained not only largely unchanged, but some have actually deepened over the years. That statement is related to almost every aspect of the way I live these days, from the atmosphere inside a dining room to the way I decorated the garage. Hence? I can’t sit in that steakhouse while visiting the area. The scenery, service and history will destroy what is left of my ability to remain upright in the face of knowing that the removal of the industry possibility was entirely my fucking fault. In addition, the director did not recreate the location, he actually shot inside the restaurant as it now stands. That fact just makes everything worse. And speaking of ‘worse’, the topic of this fucking paragraph quite honestly puts my decades-long obsession to shame. I was afraid of change, and now I am suffering because of it. Reminders abound; chance is gone. Opportunities have turned to dust. The feathers are little daily comforts. The teeth represent everything else. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing left for me anywhere. I’ve often mused that others were at fault for a good portion of my mental and emotional states. Well, I am at fault for a lack of courage to change where I was, and by extension, where I am right now. Watching the film again exacerbated these feelings more than in the past for some reason. It is a movie within a movie, for the most part (difficult to explain and I will not reveal the fucking title), meaning the exposure is fiction over nonfiction; both sides of the camera. I love it to no end. The horrible part is when I go back in time and recall the earlier days of such a career and where I was at that time. Everything hits me harder these days.

Tuesday has disappeared forever, part of which is good, the rest being bad. I will only miss one aspect of yesterday. This morning is going to be shorter than usual because I have to bring the car in for service and then wait at the dealership until it is completed. I hope everything is completed in less time than the previous occasion, and the earlier appointment will probably help. I’ll be more than pleased to arrive home after going out. I caught a glimpse of her again. Talk about adding insult to injury... Fuck. I have to expect that sort of thing from time to time. The ‘purity’ reared its head again, and combining that with the vision is very bad for my health. I need to leave soon. Hopefully, the trip and time will help ease everything that seems to be pressing on my head right now.

And here I sit at the dealership. Splendid. This is one of those occasions when recording my thoughts directly into the cloud can be advantageous. I strolled up the hill to the craft store and picked up some very fine brushes in order to do some detailed work on the mural. I also grabbed a hobby knife because mine has been abused over the years. Cheap stuff. I avoided Target because I don't need anything from them. Too bad there is no hardware store within walking distance. Across the room from this lounge sits a receptionist who appears to be of the dark beauty variety. Not good. At least she is perched quite a distance from my desperate eyes. Should that girl leave her desk for any reason, my morning will head downhill. The service time estimate is two hours, possibly less, leaving me waiting until roughly eleven o’clock; just over an hour from now. I'm already anxious to get back home. Time will pass soon enough, I guess. Servicing the car means feathers. The girl across the room? Teeth.



01


I am home. No sooner did I begin to read my electronic book, when the representative called me fifty minutes before the estimated end of my wait. Fantastic. I rolled the hell out of there, stopped at the cigarette store, filled the tank with fuel, and flew home. Now I have the daily business finished and my reward (a fatass cocktail) here on the table. All in all, the entire affair worked out much better than I had anticipated. Sometimes plans seem worse in my head than when carried out. The schedule now consists of sipping my feathers and relaxing for a little while. After lunch, I’ll see what else I can do around the house. I received a reply from the after-sales company regarding the wiring harness for the bike. They are eager to solve the problem for me. Nice. More feathers.

The vision early this morning represents some of the sharpest teeth in existence. Shit. Well, there are plenty of others. The main reason is because she is still very fresh in my mind. The rest have faded somewhat, save for the girl in the restaurant. That was bad. All of this adds up to the ‘purity’ entering my life once again, and at a point when I had a hell of a time dealing with it. Unfortunately, there is just no way to know when I will be hit in the fucking face with such wonder. And speaking of wonder, I indeed canceled the dinner reservation at that historic restaurant. I’ll have to pick another, likely closer to where I will be staying for those two nights. I don’t need to be slammed by loss again. The ‘purity’ may well prove the worst aspect of this era. Part of me has been wishing it away, while another part is constantly, desperately wishing the feeling will remain with me – good or bad – for years to come. To be honest, I don’t know which would be better for my mental health. The 4355s may end up the last bastion of my endeavor. If so, and once completed and operational, they may represent the final feathers, and the end of the transformation of yours truly from a human being to a machine, feelings be damned to hell.

Thursday is apparent and I am fucking angry all over again, much of it driven by the fact that I’ve been realigning and editing an essay from nine years ago which has languished in the development environment for too much of that time. There are other essays that share such a circumstance because I often feel much differently than I did all those years ago. This morning I realized that my mental and emotional conditions have been fucking glossed over (squished) for a very long time and I somehow turned into the person who does nothing but help other people. That has to be tapered off – slowly over the next few weeks or months – in order for me to return to the days of old; anger, clarity, standoffishness, and self-involvement. Isolation and work toward two very specific goals must take priority over helping those fucking people with their stupid Goddamned problems. As for this morning, I did the usual housework, finished some light cleaning, and now don’t give a flying fuck in the wind what else is accomplished. Anger is a set of teeth, and as such is fucking sharp. Razor-edged, to be sure. The drink next to me is a feather. Just one. A soft, light and airy feather. There exist no illusions where I live. The rest of what is going through my head is worse than I can possibly describe. I was there. Now? ‘There’ is fucking gone. The rest of the day is going to be very quiet thanks to my MDRs. Others would thank me. No one wants to hear my flaring mood. Just me. This day has become a turning point of sorts. Believe it.

The ‘purity’ appeared once again. I have no control over it regardless of my feelings or actions. There is no way to know when that shit will strike me upside the head, nor can I do anything about it. The occurrence has become one more straw that causes anger to build within my mind. The only result can be disaster and today is no different than so many others. Enough, in fact, that I have lost count. I need to draw a line and remain behind it no matter what comes down the fucking pike. Unfortunately, I’ve failed too many times to fully recover anymore. The failures have been piling for decades. I am left with only the most desperate stance. Thursday is the ill-advised, dangerous beginning of said stance. No one is going to enjoy my responses to their inquiries any longer. NO ONE.

The days are disappearing under my trucks more quickly than months ago. Another is gone now, good or bad as it may have been. The rails are not curving at all. Straight into oblivion? Maybe. I could use some quiet time for gathering my thoughts, damn it. Soon. I must be patient.

The quiet time is here. I do need to visit the market in a little while, but that’s no big deal when held against the flood of shit inside my fucking head. A dream early this morning has me at sixes and sevens despite being completely unrelated to beauty or my obsession. The scene was an organizational nightmare – no pun intended – involving me trying desperately to leave my grandparents’ house while my dad (for some odd reason) was telling me I had to remain just because he ‘said so’. His demeanor was slightly menacing and very overbearing and I fucking hated it. I wanted to grab something and swing at him as if trying to achieve a homerun. His image was horrible and I have no idea why. The entire affair was very frustrating and I never found my way out by the time the dream ended. I don’t get it, although I’ve heard one suggestion that such a dream can represent feelings of being trapped somehow, be it physically or related to life in some fashion. That doesn’t really help because I’ve felt the need to escape for many years and can’t recall anything similar entering my sleep time prior to this morning. Going to the market will not be a problem at all. Upon returning, I’ll take care of the usual housework and then take it easy for a little while. As the coffee traveled down my gullet yesterday and during the same process today, I’ve been reformatting the older entries, starting with adding the oldest and working from there forward in time. This is in hopes of better organization and identification. I’ve also been matching image tag parameters according to the actual dimensions so they are properly displayed within each entry. This is all shit I should have begun some years ago because since I waited so long, the process means reformatting more than 400 individual entries. Moreover, the spreadsheet with detailed information for all of the content must be updated to reflect proper numbers. It’s a slow process. There is plenty of time, though, and the work is rather relaxing. Time to head out the door since I really don’t feel like going anywhere. The hour is early enough that I can shop and return without issue.

The hour is later and all my morning crap is out of the way, including the market. I was in and out of there in seventeen minutes, believe it or not. The self-checkout can be a real timesaver, though I was opposed to those types of machines being installed in the first place. I may as well take advantage of anything that can get me back home soon. Cocktail time is here, thank the maker. I took a break and reassembled the speed controller on the bike thanks to the after-sales people informing me that they are going to send a replacement wiring harness next week. The communication has been quite slow – one message in each direction per business day – but overall they’ve been very helpful and in the end only needed images of the harness and connections to ascertain the part of which I am in need. They did not mention anything about cost even when I asked, however. This is not a warranty issue, either. I fucked up the harness all by myself, and most companies don’t react well to people who dive into the inner workings of their product. I just happen to be the type to troubleshoot electronics because I know how, and have for decades. In any case, the part acquisition process has gone well. Once the bike is operational again, it will represent a pile of feathers, whereas the dream from early this morning was a shit ton of teeth, all of them very sharp. Crap and shiny stuff; shit and gold; feathers and tigers' teeth. At least the teeth are not of the milk variety because those early parts of a cat’s mouth are much sharper than the adult versions of the same. Yikes.

High noon. What does this mean? Nothing, really, because my days move along at a very specific pace regardless of whatever is going on in society. Scheduling my time is flexible almost every day. The downside is the same as the upside; doing whatever I wish often leads to doing nothing at all. I really don’t like such a situation, and the evening is typically what will keep me moving. Dinner and relaxation must feel deserved after being here all day long. Little things can make that happen, although they have to be necessities and not frivolous projects. All I can do is my best.

Saturday morning. The drive is behind me and the weather is gray. The view from my table is reminiscent of those Fridays sitting at the desk on the third floor. I waited all fucking year for cool weather and shorter days, and once everything began to change in mid to late September, the mood for exploring forest feelings and the like was reinforced by the dim, low-hanging fog. Thankfully, the drive this morning was very smooth and began about fifteen minutes earlier than usual because I was motivated to return at a decent time. Well, not that my time really matters much, but the sooner I arrive back home, the better and more secure I feel. The weather outside my window is another few feathers for the mood this morning. The ‘purity’ appearing during the night was all sharp teeth, for sure. I needed to be here exploring the feelings, hence the earlier drive. The plan is to continue the site work for a little while that began yesterday, and once my coffee is gone I’ll switch to some light housework. The blue dress is beginning to creep into my thoughts; caverns and mustard, too. Those are fine because at any given time my head is partly occupied by anger. The other essay – that one I can never publish – is the worst possible outcome during the morning and I sincerely hope that it remains in the shadows for the time being. I really don’t need those memories crippling my ability to move through the day without feeling acute losses. The mood needs to stay mellow for as long as possible today. The gray sky outside is helping. Once I leave the office, the mighty MDRs will follow along with my chores. As an aside, I’ve been trying to learn about high-powered BT signals and the possibility of repeating them from the main audio system and throughout the house so that video media can follow me without the need to reproduce the audio in the free air. I don’t know if the idea is feasible, but I plan to keep learning just in case something workable and inexpensive comes along. Worst case, I can use the phone.



02


Later. The usual crap is out of the way, meaning cocktail time is here along with some forty-plus year old music that is very emotional; a concept album that is absolutely fantastic. You’ll have to wonder because I do not share music with anyone these days. Context? What? Correct. Such thinking may bring on a return to the days of old. I am not certain as of this morning, but the possibility cannot be denied considering how downtrodden the present has become. Partially driven by music, returning to the past is often unavoidable. As the day progresses, I will ponder whether or not the ‘days of old’ are a good idea. I just never know for sure.

Later, still. What have I done? Nothing, really. My drink is waning and I have zero prospects for the rest of the day. Well, I will be defrosting some protein for dinner, but that’s not a big deal. The MDRs are beginning to be tiresome because wearing such a heavy headset for more than two hours or so can become more than just physical mass; it tends to lead me to embrace silence around the house. And? They have been turned off in favor of clear thinking (if clarity is possible in these late days, that is). I need to find something to occupy the next few hours. Some organization and planning for tomorrow should be fine for the time being. In addition, the road trip in less than a month should be addressed with regard to those items that need to accompany me in order to have some semblance of control during the drive. My car needs a replacement windshield and a full service from the dealer, both of which will be addressed and scheduled in two days. I need the car to be ready for driving a thousand miles. I’ve been on the fence about the trip since first purchasing tickets to the exhibit, but lately I’m thinking that getting out of here for a few days might be interesting enough to justify the effort. Cocktail? Gone. It’s time to keep myself busy for a little while. Booze is a feather.

‘An open mind is good, but not so open that your brain [sic] falls out.’

Today is Monday. I have written very little during the last few days because of the site realignment. The process has been tedious, time-consuming, yet rewarding. I’d like every single entry to follow the same format, and when I say ‘every one’, I mean all the way back to the very first title in 2015. As of today, I have reformatted 108 individual essays and corrected the image dimensions so that they are displayed without any distortion. I have to admit that this process has been disquieting due to having perused my writing from years ago and seeing the images (some of them) after the content sat for years without attention. I’ve been reminded of several individuals who had an enormous impact on my life, all of them being the type to listen, embrace and understand my point of view with regard to the way my life had developed throughout the decades since the two shit situations. The most difficult aspect of this work is knowing that the future holds none of the same. The thought is very depressing. Fortunately, I’ve been editing with my friend sitting here on the table. That is to say that I am already half in the fucking bag at just five minutes past noon. Football season has begun, and the first game for the home team is tonight. I really don’t like when our game is on a Monday or Thursday because the rhythm of the season is thrown off right out of the fucking gate. In the interest of watching the home opener with a few people who feel the same as me, I sent a message some days ago to learn where they may be viewing the game. Guess what? I’ve received no response in five days. What does that mean? Allow me to educate you... It ‘means’ that I don’t ‘mean’ much to other people. Wait... What did you say? Maybe they forgot? No fucking way... Not after following the team together for the last nine fucking years. Find another option. I already did. I am alone in every fucking sense of the word and can do nothing about it. Close of business hours today may find the back lawn covered in beer cans, a process which dates back to the loss of the Raven. There is a pointer involved in said process, as well, the direction of which is typically toward the soil.

Days have passed since I last typed anything. Reformatting the entries takes quite a bit of time and I somehow found the process to be relaxing. Nearly half are finished and have been sent to the server. I will probably nickel and dime the rest, or take care of them as I see fit. Due to so much reformatting and aligning image dimensions, I’ve not really felt like exploring my feelings here very much throughout the past several days. Nothing has changed, to be honest, because the changes I need are unavailable and those I can actually affect don’t seem to matter anymore. I just keep doing the same things day in and day out and none of it makes any difference on the inside. Maybe I should adjust my expectations. Wait a minute... Do I have any to begin with? Doubtful. Everything is running together and appearing like one long day that has gone on for many years. 400-plus essays can confirm such an idea. This is probably all I have left in life. Today is Friday, as if the name of the day makes a difference anymore.

I started the third series two days ago and memories again flooded my brain, just like every occasion of switching to the beginning of the rotation. Three; four; two; five; one. The duration of rolling through all five shows (this time) was 226 days, give or take a few hours. That is an average of 3.07 episodes per day, again allowing for some slight error. I am a basket case and still need those people to keep me company during certain activities. I rarely watch any of them while here in the office. I have another, larger set of series’ which plays on the right-hand display. I am currently following along with Kerry’s program, meaning I fall down a little bit when I see her sad, beautiful fucking eyes. I need her to hold me. I need to hold her. Eh... I need all sorts of shit these days. Mostly, I just need her to tell me everything will be ok, at long fucking last. The more time that passes, the more fucked up I am, and the less likely such a scenario becomes. Sad.

I need to relocate the damned computer tower because I just went through holy hell trying to connect my phone via cable only to learn that the wiring is no longer functioning. The process would have been much quicker and simpler if the fucking tower was perched on my safe to the right. Ugh. I just have to move it and rewire everything. The idea of the tower being under this table and atop the subwoofer yielded a very clean appearance, but function must come first. At least the phone is updating, meaning I can soon move some things around. This will need to be good enough for the time being. Feathers and teeth, combined. I need more fucking feathers. The title and topics are fucking stupid. Perhaps I need to go back to creating fiction. At least I can be creative while writing.

Mid-morning is here and my usual crap is out of the way. That means it’s cocktail time, thank the maker. While doing housework, I had some choice scores playing through the wireless MDRs, and my head returned to the idea of building the 4355s several times, most notably due to a few of those mighty compositions that seem to wreck everyday drivers regardless of how much the manufacturers tout their power-handling, structure and sensitivity. One of these days I will have to decide between three large projects and complete at least one of them. Time is running out, for crying out loud. If I don’t decide and engage one of the three ideas soon, I’m going to lose my shit. Considering the lateness of life, I need something with the ability to boost me for a long while. One idea is a trike of my own design, another is a small machine shop in the garage, and the third is the monitors. Each idea would be expensive, as well, so I have to choose one, and soon. It may represent my last chance at a true accomplishment as well as a dramatic display of my technical abilities. Something very satisfying could help me get through these dark days. They are disappearing under my trucks at an alarming rate; smashed to bits and never to return. I just fucking need something. I had a hell of a time early this morning, mostly due to some errant dream that I cannot recall. The ‘purity’ appeared and reared its ugly head for the umpteenth time, as well. They are related, I believe. The one certainty about that type of situation is that my brain cannot easily find distraction or any path which lifts me out of the din, often for hours. The fact that both occurrences are completely beyond my control is disturbing and debilitating at the same time. After all these years and the situations within which I’ve placed myself, one might think some learning would have taken place. Nope. Not a fucking thing. I am still at the mercy of the ‘purity’ regardless of how much fucking analysis I perform. There are aspects of those feelings which I understand. That is to say I realize there is a correlation between the ‘purity’ and past situations over which I actually had control. Lately, the only control I have is split between sitting at this machine and performing housework. That is fucking pathetic, to be honest. I used to be a fairly formidable presence in life. Now I am but a fraction of that. Hence? One of the projects must be completed in order for me to feel at least a little bit effective in life. As I sit in this chair, I have no idea of whether or not I can actually arrive at such a destination. The sad truth is that any of those three may be nothing more than a pipe dream. During the early morning I often feel the possibilities; they permeate me more often than not. Unfortunately, the pitfalls and past shit situations have the power to quickly squash any ambition. I need feathers, but feel the teeth too often.

I’ve reformatted and streamlined 208 entries as of this moment. Ugh. I need a break. Ah, shit. The demoness came to mind while I took a smoke break in the garage. She was wonderful, stirring, fulfilling, and frightening all at the same time. Fucking hell, anyway... Why did that woman have to pop into my head? Splendid. Anyway, I’ll keep chipping away at the reformatting process, but at some point today I need to visit the small market for a few staples. I don’t mind shopping there because there are rarely many other people and there is always a chance of seeing the woman named Jamie. Yes, I know her name, although she is a little scary. I think anyone who has read essays on this site is already aware of what that name means to me.



03


Saturday morning. There is no drive today, thankfully. I do not know as of yet if the house will need to remain quiet like yesterday, either. Everything is very peaceful right now, too. I’d like it to remain this way for a long while. Time will tell. Yesterday at this hour I was all fucked up. I hope today is not a repeat of that crap. I really don’t need any more bullshit whipping my mind into a froth. The froth is not feathered, either. It is shit, for sure, and invades my consciousness all too often. Each evening – one of the most peaceful, relaxing parts of my days – my head descends into the nether regions of both what I see on the screen and the manner in which certain people ‘think’, or consider others’ desires and needs. When I walk into the market or some other place, such as the little grocery store yesterday to see Jamie standing at the register, I often wonder about ‘thinking’. Years ago I posed a few very pointed questions to the Raven, and some years later I again gleaned the topic (I can’t be specific, unfortunately) with someone else. The responses could not have been more different and both caught me off-guard, much like my realization that the very beginning of such ‘thinking’ was none other than the doll in Vegas. Yes, I am referring to Ashley. Had our conversations been different, the questions of which I speak would not have come up in the future. No fucking way. Between aught-three when Ashley and I were together and others throughout later years, there has been a plethora of occasions that found me wondering about the manner in which certain people ‘think’. Now? It is very close to an everyday fucking situation, be it my consideration of a real person or those characters I see on the television. Fiction cannot be an issue, however, because the actors are reciting and responding to direction as per the fucking script. In reality, there is simply no way to learn anything without actually posing very difficult and complex questions. The information is far too personal and subjective to lay out here with any semblance of clarity, meaning when I mustered the courage to ask in person, the resulting turmoil inside me nearly ruined each relationship regardless of how seemingly ‘solid’ they had felt. Holy Jesus fucking hell did Ray ever make me laugh with one of his fantastic comments regarding heat. Unbelievable. Ah, shit... The actor passed away last year. Fuck. God bless him and his never-ending talent, effect, and wondrous thrall upon my heart and senses while on the screen. I am so sorry to learn of this. He made one hell of a mark. And I just lost myself in the fact. Well, not entirely...

I almost always wonder about the way others may ‘think’ because there are a few truths that have come to light during the past couple of years, all of which continue to push me down in life. I mentioned the three possible projects and the fact that I really need to complete at least one of them, but the simple fact is that I will emerge afterward no different than I am right now. I will still be overly concerned with ‘thinking’. Other people... I don’t know what I can do about this shit. One certainty is the way Ashley altered the way I view people. Another must be the manner in which I’ve been considered, viewed and treated for far too long to explain here. I do not know which is worse. I just don’t fucking know anymore, but regardless of a lack of understanding, the catalysts continue to press me into a nonhuman mold. There are no fucking feathers here, only teeth. On many occasions I’ve stated that my life is over and may have been for a very long time. Of that there can be no doubt any longer. I must wile away the time and analyze everything unto death. I am relegated; sanctioned; squished. Routed, for all time. Much of those facts is my own fault for constantly being nice while shoving my needs and desires to the rear. I accept that. What I do not accept is being bereft of ‘chances’ due to the same. I think I am in love with Kerry’s character and there is nothing I can do about it, just like my swollen heart regarding Jamie. The music toward the end of this episode is far more powerful than I can possibly describe. Don’t get me started on seeing Ptolemy dead and submerged beneath the water, ineffective and disregarded. I can only wish there could be some aspect of my life that carried the same force. And one more? Don’t fucking get me started when it comes to John Milius. Wait... What did you say? Dino DeLaurentiis? Edward Pressman? Act like it. Just fucking ACT like it. Tell me John Milius means something to you.

I have no power anymore. The 4355s may win the project competition because they would represent the most dramatic demonstration of power, and a type with which I am intimately familiar. Other people have a very difficult time understanding what can be accomplished with clean RF power. Not me. I have enough experience to know with all certainty just what RF signals can do to people. Just believe it. The technical ability is within me, even now. And one more tidbit regarding the show I’ve been following here in the office... James Purefoy’s character is everything I need to be, and more. If only. If; fucking; only. The RF aspect of my project is beginning to rise head and shoulders above the other two.

I am falling for Kerry. Her character, that is. Marvelous. That’s just what I need... Another love to derail my ability to live like a real grown-up. All the way back to Shilo. All those years ago. Here I sit much older and after having lived here and there and been connected to people; careers and whatnot. Here I sit, and I am no different than when I dreamed of her in the first place. I am still that person. Kerry is just the latest face to strike me upside the head. Well, my feelings for her character have been present for a long time. I think this morning’s episode that featured her with tears in her eyes just sent me over the edge. I can’t help it. My world operates via emotion, nothing more. Oh, there are the lines and other shit, but the truth is every time I see something special or unique, my first need is to be held and learn if the woman attached to those lines is the one to make all the bad go away. Kerry’s eyes succeed more than almost any other and we are not acquainted in any way, nor will we ever. She is a fictional character, yet with power over me that should not exist in the first fucking place. Isn’t that peachy? One of these nights I’ll probably dream of both Kerry and Jamie flanking me and acting like twin therapists. Sounds right up my fucking alley. Two feathers there just for me. Two. I am fucked up.

Sunday. The drive was very smooth, albeit quite foggy. No big deal. I’d rather drive through fog than in the bright sunlight. Even now, two hours later, I am sitting looking out at the very same fog through my office window. To the right is the football game and to my left is a fat cocktail. I blew through the routine very quickly this morning because I’d like to sit for a few hours while the game is on. I’ll probably chip away at a few things during halftime so the afternoon is relaxing. The usual business will be pretty straightforward today. My brain has not traveled far from Kerry’s beautiful eyes at any point this morning, nor have I been able to let go of some very specific past situations. Part of me keeps going back to yesterday morning when I first stepped outside to enter the garage. The air was crisp and much cooler than the last few months, effectively sending me back to the past when fall was welcomed with open arms due to the heat where I had been living. Well, the heat didn’t really taper off until late in October, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming about the holiday season and a possible drive ‘up the mountain’. I thought of the latter every single year for two decades. There are so many wonderful memories wrapped up in fall that I couldn’t easily list them. Moreover, the holiday season was greatly expanded within my life during the glowing years. Between that period and the beginning of my time in the Midwest, there were deeply-held feelings that related the warmth of a home, college and pro football, and the changing of the seasons. I still feel that way from time to time, but the condition of the outside air yesterday morning caused the memories to skyrocket. The downside? All those wonderful aspects of life are fucking gone. At least daydreaming of Kerry’s arms around me faded for a little while as I reminisced. Better than nothing, I suppose. There is not much good left in my life. I see nothing on the horizon, either. Marvelous. The teeth are chewing on feathers. What’s more and often worse, watching live television means there are commercials. Every fucking streaming channel to which I subscribe (there are just five to keep costs down) is free of ads, so watching football or some other live event means I end up exposed to more beauty and more fucking lines. More teeth; more booze. No wonder I am a raging alcoholic. And?

I need ‘her’ to hold me. Years of this shit. The search? Yep... That was what I sought. Arms. Understanding. A very specific type of feeling. I looked and looked and continually fell off the edge of the world knowing that the likelihood of finding ‘her’ was about the same as locating a specific grain of sand on Ocean Beach. Shilo in my dreams; Kerry in my daydreams; Jamie slicing my heart to ribbons every time I see and hear her. What IS that? I need ‘her’ so badly right now that I can barely type without engaging in an intimate, long-term relationship with the fucking backspace key. This is ridiculous. Shilo again, and after all this fucking time. At least I know what I’ve become as a result of so much shit from other people, not the least of which are the two individuals responsible for the second shit situation from more than forty years ago. Some have told me to just ‘let it go’ so I don’t implode. What they failed to mention is HOW IN THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT WHEN IT CONTINUES TO AFFECT ME AT SOME POINT EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. No one seems to have that answer, only the empty fucking platitude. I need more suggestions like I need molten lava up my ass. If I have degraded throughout the course of years to the point of wishing for ‘her’ to come and save me, there is good fucking reason, fucksticks. Be happy I didn’t bring up the briefcase again. That never goes well. Or? The house that we saw on several bike rides. Or? The image of that house in my mind. Or? The designs I created that went inside the same fucking house. Or? The woman out there living in the world who represents the epitome of how I feel about Shilo after five decades. Think about that last one for a while. Just try to imagine how powerful the memory is to have remained inside me for so long. And yes, there is a woman in reality who generates feelings in my heart that match those I had for Shilo. No, it’s not Jamie. Good luck. My dreams of Shilo live to this very moment, and have been combined with the two shit situations and every single occasion of being either squished or routed (or worse, both at the same time) for decades. There are so many emotions and other factors tied up in the idea of ‘her’ that even I don’t understand all of them. My mind is twisted in ways I could not have imagined years ago. The way I view others and the manner in which I perceive beauty in general has become so fucking skewed that I am frankly surprised to be upright and alive each day. You don’t want to know. Well, you may know some of it through the words I’ve expressed here throughout the past several years. I mean, Jesus... How many times have I stated my desire to plant my lips? Thank Christ fall is about to arrive. The positives may keep me going for a while longer.



04


Between the advancements in CGI and AI in recent years, I am surprised that ‘she’ still can’t be created for me. Laugh it up, and don’t be surprised that a machine is still one of the most prominent dreams in my fucking head.

The weather outside is of the inclement variety. I see wind and gray skies, both of which I dreamed about while living in the valley. Here on the coast – less than a half mile from the Pacific Ocean – such conditions are much more common. I will say that the weather and calendar are lifting me a little bit today. We are into football season and the holidays are right around the bend. One additional positive is that I need not be concerned about the new year. This period has always represented shorter days, cooler weather, and all of the holiday festivities, and each turning of the calendar to the new year depressed the shit out of me because work resumed and the days were lengthening as opposed to the opposite taking place during Fall. I will most likely never work full-time again, and I state as much because if my situation changes to the negative, I have the option of disappearing in order to avoid returning to a very uncomfortable way of life. In any case, I am somewhat pleased that football has started and my favorite time of year is on the horizon. I tend to reach toward anything that can lift me from the din of everything else. The Minnesota cheerleaders are wearing pants as opposed to shorts, and bearing the colors of the team. I am not necessarily a fan of the Vikings, but that state is one of just a a few from which some of my very prominent family members hailed many years ago. The pants are simply something I notice, always. You probably already know as much. Hmm... I was talking about the weather and the season. Pants got in the way, as usual. They look lovely out there cheering the team, and I am fucking stunned that in these late days, cheerleading during professional football has not changed very much from decades ago. I did recently learn that my team’s cheerleading squad now includes a male among the thirty-five other female members. Do I have a problem with it? Fuck no. Society alters what it deems necessary, and I am a solid believer that opportunities for such positions should be blind to anything aside from sheer talent. There you go. Do I want to see the females? Of course. Do I care if the squad makes changes and becomes integrated with males and females? Nope. The idea brings me back to some years ago when I was in my favorite casino and perched at a machine for more than an hour. The cocktail staff’s shift changed at some point and I was approached by a male server, something which had never happened in my fifty-plus years of being exposed to the beautiful Nevada gaming culture. Was there a problem? Nope. He was friendly, efficient, and very pleasant all around. My beer did not suffer because it was not delivered by a woman with half of her chest on display. Yes, I love the skimpy outfits wrapping those female servers. But? There will always be something special in Nevada, most notably within a fucking casino. Having grown up in such an atmosphere, my brain has been saturated with the type of image they wished to convey. Believe me, said image has always been less than healthy. I’ve gone off the rails with this paragraph. The weather was the topic for a short time and then I lost my way. Big fucking surprise. ‘She’ derails my thinking process all too often. I am a FUCKING BASKET CASE.

Monday is meaningless. I have to go over the hill again for some shopping and then take care of the usual stuff. My plan is to relax as much as possible today because I am feeling worse than normal about a few aspects of life. The past crept in last night as I watched some very detailed media that left me considering what the future can hold for me. The same thing took place during the morning. That type of shit is causing huge fucking problems right now. Years ago I questioned if each day would be the same as the last. Well, aside from a few very minor alterations on my part, they have all been EXACTLY the same. The problem is that on the inside I am worse than I could have imagined, meaning if there is ever an opportunity to discuss or seek understanding, the process will quickly be ruined by yours truly because of this desperate stance in life. The media will always hold something – the five shows that I watch in specific order notwithstanding – and I am aware that branching out can be dangerous for a person such as myself; weakened to a great degree.

Do the beliefs match?
Are sights the same?
Feelings?
Is that possible for her?
Or the other one?
Where did she go?
Was she even there?
Did she know?
Do the beliefs come close?
We are at a loss.
We are in grave danger.
Where did she go?
How did this happen?

Well, I have a few answers, but what I don’t understand is why my feelings have worsened so much throughout the past couple of years. I just don’t fucking get it. Maybe the sinful realm took over long enough to leave me yearning for aspects of life I had not previously considered. Oh hell... I don’t know and I am sick and tired of guessing. The time has come to continue reformatting entries. This crap must be left on the side of the road for a while.

Wednesday is apparent all over the place. I took the drive this morning, saw a wonderful form waddling along the street, and then returned home to let her fade away. The incident wasn’t so bad, really. I’m accustomed to seeing people walking here and there in the City, especially on weekdays. They are probably going to work like regular people. I, on the other hand, spend nearly all of my time here at home, so when something special comes along, I tend to dwell for a little while before moving on with life. And that is what I did earlier. I poured some coffee and finally completed the modifications to all remaining entries and then adjusted the lines along the archive so it is neater than before. Now that all the shit is out of the way – along with a very quick routine – I can sit here and think for a while. My buddy the alcohol is next to me, like always. I haven’t published anything new since the second of this month, although time doesn’t matter much anymore. Writing takes however long it fucking takes and typically depends upon what is going on inside my brain each day. Sometimes I feel like I never left that little boat that had been floating along the sea. Maybe I am still there wandering and wondering what is ahead for me. The fact is I am sitting here at the control center, yet at the same time I fear my body is still languishing in that boat. Maybe the worlds will converge again. Whatever. As for today, I will have several hours of quiet time very soon. There are a few items that need to be addressed, plus my plan for a new storm door for the back of the house has to be finalized. Kerry and her amazingly beautiful, emotional windows are driving me up the fucking wall right now. I need her to hold me so badly that there is an expectation of guys with large butterfly nets coming up the driveway very soon. Feathers combined with teeth; big surprise. I am so fucked up that I can barely see straight half the time. Right now? Sideways.

Today is day 3342.

The tigers’ teeth have successfully outnumbered the fucking feathers. I had zero doubt. There are scratches all over me. And despite all of this analysis, I don't believe anything has really changed throughout the last few years. The truth is, my needs have come secondary to those of others. I know it; they must know as much. I’ve tried to stand and analyze while observing the behavior of people, as well. I’ve tried for a very long time. The result always seems to be the same because there is a very wide line between where I am (a very nice, helpful person) and where I need to be in order to demonstrate my dissatisfaction with them (quite the reverse). Some may say that the fault is mine for not communicating. Well, they can go fuck themselves in a ditch in Winter. If my feelings truly matter to ‘them’, they should be displaying as much.

I have to switch topics this Thursday morning, and to something I’d rather not describe. Fortunately, I’ve never shied away from berating myself over a mistake.



05


Up the page somewhere I mentioned those documentaries that were created at our facilities many years ago. Well, watching the processes really hit me in the face and caused all manner of desperation toward working in the same industry. I’ve gone over this before, but this time the point is not the same as in the past. Many years ago I lamented being so much older than those trying to ‘break’ into such an industry and even went so far as to claim that by the time my position was along the lines of what I had dreamed, my age would have become prohibitive and possibly a liability, much like trying to find a position that could be filled with someone both younger and better educated. I also pointed toward the idea that the industry had been changing in ways that I did not like, and by the time I reached the possible aforementioned position, the process of creating the narrative would have become too different for me to accept. Splendid. Now I know different because a film shot roughly between the years of 2017 and 2019 – nearly twenty years after I made the points above – carried with it a documentary that outlined the creation process in great detail. The whole fucking program just floored me to no end. I watched in earnest and learned that what I had assumed (not good) to be a ton of computer graphics involvement turned out to be not only live-action, but filled with miniatures, automation and actual film. Yes... FILM. My assumption has been incorrect for a very long time and I feel ridiculous for avoiding certain aspects of the industry because I figured I knew what was happening; the ‘generic’ taking-over of something historically significant and very important to me. That seems to be the exception and not the rule because the process I watched unfolding brought with it nearly every single fucking aspect of filmmaking that I’ve loved for thirty years, almost to the month. Now I have something else to be upset about, and none of this shit is surprising. I guess the fear caused more than simple hesitation. It also kept me from seeking the truth of the matter. That is something I’ve railed against for years and here I sit right in the fucking middle of it. Marvelous. There is no way to know what could have happened. On top of everything else that I feel each day, this is more than just another problem atop the pile. It is debilitating. I have no idea which is worse... The obsession combined with being routed and squished for so long, or learning of an unexplored avenue that could have been very good for my life despite all the rest of the shit which has transpired. One truth is that at least two very bad situations would never have come to pass had I taken the avenue in question. There is no way around it. But... Would other lousy decisions have come along and resulted from such a massive shift in life? I can’t know that one, although given my history of running at breakneck speed toward those very specific situations I needed very badly pretty much points to such a possibility. I know what I am, and I’ve been this way for decades. I very well may have destroyed myself regardless of realizing a dream. I see feathers, yet they are likely to be chewed to bits by the fucking teeth. Big surprise. One up; one down. Wait... Just one down? This topic is enormous, and to think that regardless of how my life may have progressed had I taken that huge risk, the fact is I have never been above consciously ruining everything in order to find what I need. The film industry often pales when viewed against the raw power of desire. I am here, now, and I shall never fucking know what may have happened. Nice.

In any case, and despite whether or not I can EVER answer the question above, Thursday is here and I have to rise above the past several weeks and break out of the din for a while. The hour is early and I have a few ideas of which way to turn once my coffee is gone, one certainty being the daily routine. I also need to visit the big hardware store at some point to advance the fog cooler project and grab a few other items prior to the storm door arriving in a few weeks. There is a strong possibility that the trip to Culver City will be canceled once and for all, mostly in the interest of saving money. The cost of the exhibition tickets – which I have already purchased – will not be a waste because it is a donation, and believe me... The cause supported by them is in greater need of funds than I am, by far. Part of me would rather wait until such time as I can put together a decent road trip to somewhere much less populated. Today is the 19th of September and the trip date is October 1st. The decision needs to be made prior to close of business hours tomorrow. That is that. I will try to seek some positives in either path. That’s pretty much all I can do anyway.

Later. The routine is out of the way for today and I stripped the old helicopter model down to its bare components. There is a bounty of useful electronics all over my bench, some of which may eventually make it to the truck should I suddenly become motivated to work on that damned project. It never seems to go away because whenever I am in the garage, I can see it all shiny and imposing in its display case. The truck is one of the best distractions from everything plaguing my brain these days, although it doesn’t come out of the display very often anymore. I pretty much need one hell of an idea for modifications or improvement in order to drag out all the test equipment and other shit that is necessary for powering it. The truck, my tools and instrumentation, and what all of it represents are a mass of feathers that rarely fall victim to the teeth that seem to chew me to bits every day. I need more feathers, damn it. Many more. All I can do is push the bad away at times, but the process never lasts. Marvelous. Cocktail hour has arrived, thank the maker. It is a feather. A temporary situation, but a feather nonetheless. I need it regardless of what such a statement makes me.

I love Kerry. There you go. Another splendid, weak fact from a person(?) already buried in a dreamy, ethereal construct that cannot exist in reality. I can’t help it because when I see her eyes my heart skips along like a silly teenage girl without a care in the world. I just... Love her. Add one more to the pile of fictional characters who reside in my heart and cannot be matched by real, living people. Maybe I’ll sit here like the basket case I’ve become and try to incorporate her name into the portmanteau I love so much. God damn... Every time I see her face... Help me for crying out loud. Thank God this program only ran for two seasons.

This entry is a pile of shit.

'Argh... Juno's cunt!!'

James Purefoy’s delivery of that line is fucking unreal. He is so awesome, enough that I often dream of being a person with such outward confidence and prowess in dealing with people. His character has moved me for more than twenty years, and rightly so. The performance has been lauded over and over by those who know precisely what the fuck they are saying. Too bad I am nowhere near such a level with regard to the manner in which I appear to other people. Yes... Too bad. I could have benefited enough to avoid all of the fucking squishing and routing. Nice, huh? At least I have the privilege to be witness to his excellent performance.

Where from here? Nowhere? That’s what I thought.

‘Wrap it up, Janice.’ No shit. This is going in circles. What a fucking surprise.

Oh, Kerry... Help me, please. Just tell me everything will be ok. How many times have I pleaded with her or some other woman? How many fucking times have I sat here and sought the feathers of living? They probably don’t exist in reality, but I keep trying regardless of such a depressing fucking thought. The doorstep is bright; the door is quiet; the briefcase does not exist. All I can do is go through the motions like every other day for many years and dream of something better because I never fucking did anything. Yes, I am at fault for being afraid of such a massive shift of lifestyle. I was very comfortable. I had everything I needed for day-to-day living; food, shelter and entertainment; trips all over the place that caused me to alternately appreciate being in the wild and then relaxing in the comfort of air conditioning and luxurious dining establishments. While in the campgrounds, I yearned for a hotel stay and everything that went along with it. While in the hotels, I daydreamed of being in rougher circumstances and the trials of making daily life work within the same. And now? Both are gone. I was very comfortable. I feared anything that could upset the balance. My fear led me to where I am at this very moment. My fear also led me to make decisions that harmed other people and provided me with a glimpse into the lifestyle I needed as a result of those two shit situations. The Nevada gaming culture served to reinforce my dreams and helped make them seem possible. Feathers. Everything was feathers.

Now I am living with the threat of teeth every fucking day.

Juno's cunt."



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