The Foghorn Mature content No. 410 Published April 3rd, 2024 10:05am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still Wednesday. Meaningless. I have to go out this afternoon to carry someone from home to her car at the local shop. Other than that, I will be home all day. Half the routine is out of the way. The other half awaits. My head is awash. There is just too much inside sometimes. Too fucking much. There. Back... We know not which way to turn. Inward, perhaps. Toward the hills, perhaps. Across the state line, perhaps. To the forest? We cannot... Yet. Acceptance is never guaranteed. We must wait, and melt within waiting, as it were. To be sure. ‘She cannot purr.’ Concur. The gray continues. We can remember too much. We remember her; moments. We recall imagery; numbers. We see brain-films; motions. Decisions. Discussions. The office was key. The other place was not, yet a beginning. And then we saw the end. We remember her; moments. We remember feelings. We remember too much. We were there; now we are here, yet here is nowhere. We are lost in the fog, drifting with the tides, and slumped in the boat. The sky is gray and brown. The sea is black with reflections of near-blackness. The other blackness. The wings of the bird... Black and glistening as if wet with some metallic paint. We are adrift and cannot see anything on the horizon. There is nothing, yet we still remember. We were right here. And? ‘Here’ was very different, however. Moments came; moments disappeared. Now? Moments do not come to us, ever. We remember and we fall further into the gray. Soon there will be worms in our eye sockets. The reminders are many; the help is little; the pain is acute. There is nowhere to turn. Retrieval; latching. Firing. Over there... See the targets of life. ‘They’ are many. We are few. We are nothing. Gray... Drifting. 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Nothing will. We will not abide. The mood has changed far too much and time has disappeared, like always. We will not share because the damage has occurred in the past and taught us to remain inward; isolated; a mystery, if that has ever been fucking possible. Disdain abounds. Hatred feeds itself. Anger is a process which begins and ends with absolute truth; there is no one else and the reason is them. ‘Them’, just like during that fateful period when we connected. But we did not really connect. Illusion. Fake. Temporary. Now the blades can spin like the propeller of life and grate their reality into a bowl of dead shit. We will travel and hold the doctrine close, just like the way we clung to her. She is gone. Everything is gone. The reasons wane; we slide ever-downward but do not know of the bottom... Yet. Time is endless; our patience is not. Many occasions have found us sitting and stating that we will demonstrate the conditions of life to the others, yet as of this very moment we’ve only had fleeting seconds. Well, that is now past. Passed. Passed over? Squished? No longer. The line is the encumbrance and we shall cross over to the other place, the one filled with mystery. Let it pass; let them pass; let it all pass into the blackness of a dead history and leave them in a place full of questions. We are already part way there. The discussion was brief. We knew some... We thought we knew everything. No. We did not realize until some time later that the keyway had aligned with the key. And then? Brightness. We remember; we remembered. The beginning was elsewhere and someone different. The beginning was unreal. We wanted to enjoy a few of the fineries and then die on high. No, again. Just... No. We allowed too much. We allowed thoughts; prayers. We allowed her into the fold of the black, dying world from which there could be no escape; no hope. She pushed; we relented. And then she was gone. We should have been gone. None of this would be necessary. The discussion was very brief because there was an idea unlike all other ideas and we soon knew as much. We saw much. We saw ‘touch’. We watched, as well, while everything disappeared, forcefully. Everything disappeared. Force threatens. Force achieves. There was nothing we could do. And now witness the mood alteration for all time... Taste the fruit. Taste the poison. Take it. Lie down. Take it. The medicine works quickly, so do not be concerned with flashes of intense pain; look away when inner parts fail and turn to liquid; make no attempt to stifle the process because there is no saving throw. Take it. Take the pain and remember from where it came. The boat is steady. We are still here. Gray and brown sky; clouds connected to each other; black, shiny water. Not rough, though. Just unsettled. We will die here... Alone, cold, yearning, remembering, and lying on the planks with another sea. One built with tears. We are dead already. Steady. Heady? No, that was in the past when we still had strength. Now we have nothing. Time. Rhyme. Caring as flown awry. We shall demonstrate. Little power; fewer options; the doctrine of evil will not make for an easy path. We have suffered and will continue to do so until such time as we are deemed worthy to be released. We will reject authority. We will embrace the darkness. No one will notice. We do not fucking matter. The audio is both compressed and digitized. We need to put an end to this shit before everything crashes upon our heads. Unacceptable. We have not the means; such is this period. Push. Push back. We seldom achieve the necessary means, but that will change. There are tattoos which have predicted this period; this condition. We will focus upon one particular word and ram it down the throats of the others. The doctrine is attached; the feelings are strong; we will not be denied. The way has been illuminated and we have been allowed inside a tiny portion of the way of the world. No, not that one. The other world. Time must pass. We do not know how much. We have little reason anymore, yet the audio still stands head and shoulders above the remainder of life, and that statement includes people. ‘People’... The lion’s share of reasons. The state of things continues to change, yet it remains the same. There is a line in French which could apply if we were not so inclined to push the envelope. The audio is compressed. Not good. The situation with the audio must be improved. We have not the means. We need the fucking means or everything will turn to black. Hmm... ‘Black’. Very interesting, for the moniker barely applies in these late days. Again... Hmm. The ‘late days’ seemed to apply four years ago but we had no idea of the dire nature of what was the future. Is the future now? Never. Now is now. The future is the future. Time is perpetual. Conversely, the present is black. The future may seem black, but that is only speculation, for we do not know. The present is definite. The state of things continues to change. The colors remain constant. Gray and black; black and gray. We are still in the boat. Traveling to the City in four days is going to represent a harsh alteration from the last six months. Believe it. We are driven like never before, people be damned. We must follow what we have been feeling. They need not understand. A lack of clarity often presses our advantage. Four days from now our mood will be clearer than the stark light of a sunny day. We cannot wait. We shall blast and melt within waiting. We shall melt and blast. The importance has never been clearer. They need to know. We need dynamic headroom. Range is one aspect; headroom is difficult and tenuous. Another matter entirely. Few understand because they embrace whatever is shoved down their pathetic throats. And it will continue as such. Believe it. Relate it to the sin... All of the sin. We do not know of an end to this process. We just do not know. Headroom would be ideal right now. There is always room for the other shit... ‘All the way around’; ‘Take that off... Now take that off... Now put that one back on’. Plenty of room for our deviant, sinful nature to come forth. Plenty of fucking room. Another day has passed. We are here; we should be ‘there’, yet it may not exist anymore. Into the sin. The real world awaits. This is going to be a difficult morning despite already having some of my work out of the way. Very difficult; the imagery will not stop, plus there are some latent feelings from a dream that I cannot recall. Only feelings remain. They are not good. I am going to continue where I left off yesterday with the organization process for this room and the master and spare bedrooms. I need to keep moving or I will fall victim to the latent feelings and memories. I can’t have that shit right now because I have goals in mind which relate to the incoming shed. Everything needs to be in order so when the time comes to create a system out there, I’ll be ready. This project is the single largest improvement to the house since the windows were installed nearly ten years ago. Between then and now, only minor steps have been taken. I have to have a plan for the storage or it will end up a big mess, although I opted for a much larger space from the original idea, and that means an overage of space. This is a good plan. I just have to keep myself as balanced as possible in the meantime so the end result is as positive a change as possible. And the sin continues. Believe me... You do not want to know. In fact, I don’t even want to know about the sin. It has become debilitating. But it continues anyway, nearly to this very moment. The processes in my head will not stop, ever, and when something comes along that requires very questionable behavior, I fucking do it anyway because I am a basket case and have been driven to this by YEARS of the questionable behavior of other fucking people. Yep. I blame them, but not all. There have been a few exceptions – one of which nearly turned into the role of a lifetime – and I will not place blame with those wonderful souls. The others? Fuck them. My mindset and recent behavior are direct reflections of what I have been forced to endure for more years than I would care to admit. The best part? They don’t even know how or why this has happened. The development of my condition over time is known partially by certain people, and fully by no one on earth. I cannot speak about it. And I fucking do it anyway. I know it’s all very damaging and can never result in anything positive, yet the compulsion is already set in stone. This is me, from here until the end. Period. I can’t talk about it. I remember too much and the feelings take over almost every fucking day no matter what I may be doing at a given moment. The slightest gleaning reference can cause me to go around the world in eighty milliseconds and then return here worse off than prior to the event. I am talking about tiny points in space-time that leave me completely fucking crippled. No one knows, nor will they ever. As I said, there have been moments in the past when the information was let loose. Such occurrences shall not heretofore take place. No fucking way. The mindset is far too deviant and deep to be shared with anyone, no matter how pleasant or understanding they may come across, or how badly I find myself in need of help. This is a bad time. I can feel certain very detailed memories trying to pry their way into my thought processes at this very second. They’ve been doing so since I left the bed several hours ago. This is not fucking easy and I can’t stand the way such a process has forced me to become a fucking manic idiot just to push the visions away. Hmm... Maybe if I had never been ‘there’, this period would be a bit more comfortable. I wouldn’t know, right? Is that... ‘Better to have...’? Nope. That idiom refers to love. I never speak of love except when someone comes across one of my displays, such as Jamie, Jolene or Nora. That’s different because it is not real. The idiom does not apply to this fucking situation. Whatever. There is nothing I can do, anyway, so I may as well try to avoid belaboring the point. Good luck. Historically, people have been pushed into horrible behavior and very bad decisions through no actions of their own, and I am no different. Desperation led me all over the fucking place on several occasions when I felt cornered. I feel that way right now, yet there is nothing I can do about it. Not only am I lacking the necessary resources, but have become mired within a routine of helping others. If I were to disappear, two situations would arise almost immediately. One is the fact that people count on me to be exactly as I have been for years – solving problems; answering questions; helping with issues; maintaining this fucking household – and the other is the knowledge that when I disappeared in the past, each occasion was intended to be a one-way trip. If others became aware of my feelings toward life, they would no doubt exhaust every single fucking avenue to help, even though the root causes would remain unknown. That is a problem. I’ve been pushed, yet no one believes I am capable of such decisions anymore. They don’t want to accept that I’m fucked in the head. Such a case leads me to desire a demonstration of my mood through some sort of object lesson. Unfortunately, other than my usual tirades, nothing is available anymore. What does this mean? A ten-fold increase in anger, frustration, and the worst of the bunch... Desperation. This has become a very dangerous situation, but not for me. Only for ‘them’. And don’t hand me that ‘shit or get off the pot’ silliness. I am deadly serious right now. Death is not to be trivialized, ever. Help me. Eh, never mind. You can’t. ‘Who are you three?’ ‘We’re your new personal assistants. We have your briefcase.’ ‘Holy shit. This is excellent... FINALLY.’ Wishing accomplishes nothing, and that one dates back so far that I can’t even begin to recall the genesis. I’ve thought about it for decades. Now there is nothing left but sadness. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of everything else. The sin is apparent. You will never know. From here forward, there are a few things I’d like to complete. One is the cabinet that I inherited from my neighbor. I tried to donate it, but they wanted a hefty fee. I called Recology a little while ago and scheduled a pickup for this coming Monday. I need to roll the cabinet down the driveway Sunday so it is ready to be taken along with the trash cans. This is excellent. That thing will finally disappear. All of the other pieces of furniture in the garage are going to live in the shed. They are much smaller, too. The big cabinet disappearing is going to open a decent amount of space, thus making it easier for me to get some things ready for storage in the shed. The entire process is very inspiring because I’ve been dreaming of the storage for years. The foghorn sounds... Boat. Again. This den of difficulty and pain is just not going to cease. We hear it... We see it (we have seen it)... We need it. Nothing. Water against the wood; cold against the skin. The emptiness of this journey is more defined with each passing wave. Friday. I need to do some cooking later this morning. And the rest. So far, my last cup of coffee is here on the table and my head is almost completely sideways. I do not like this feeling. Not a bit. But... What can I do? Everything is gone. The people who helped are gone. I can already hear the fucking horn from afar. It is brooding endlessly. The tone attacks slowly and then drops into hell. The boat is there, too. I do not feel well this morning. Like always, though, I will succeed in completing everything that is expected of me. Always. I rarely disappoint anyone. That toe which crossed the line is going to be alone for a while. Maybe I don’t even deserve it. Cooking, soon. I guess, anyway. I am hoping that the kitchen work has the ability to alleviate all this sadness. Or would that be power? I don’t know. Everything I’ve done this morning has been overly difficult, as in more than usual. I just don’t understand why things must be as they are. Good things are on the horizon, such as the shed project, my new antenna arriving today, and the cabinet that’s been a problem is scheduled to disappear on Monday, so why do I have to feel this way? Have the positives and little enjoyments finally fallen away? Everything else is gone, so I don’t believe the idea is too far off the mark. My enjoyment of almost everything has faded dramatically. This is not good, and believe me when I say that the foghorn is there for good reason. Alone at home is one thing. Truly ‘alone’ is very different. I am speaking of a literally endless body of water. Blackness; gray and brown skies; nothing on the horizon. Well, there is no fucking horizon. Nothing meets nothingness at the water’s apparent edge. All this means the boat is permanent. No voices; no changing scenes; no rails. No nothing. No doors? The work today had better hold me up. The alternative is inevitable. I need to push it away as much as I can. I will get started soon, I suppose. I have little else left in this life. The high holyforms are going to return. I don’t know how many, though. Her smiling face kills me sometimes, and when I see and react inside, the holyforms appear and slam me in force. There used to be a different boat. I’ve written about it, often at length. That boat was different, however, and something seemingly wondrous at the time. The current boat is fraught with problems. I have detailed files, believe me. Sunday is here. I have a plan for all my chores and devices which I believe will carry me thought to Monday with little to no issues. I have to roll the old cabinet to the curb sometime later because it’s going to be picked up tomorrow, free of charge. This is very good for my organizational efforts. Yesterday started out pretty bad, improved slightly, and then became quite comfortable after dinner across town. Dinner over there means nothing to clean here, and as the kitchen is half of my daily routine, I’m confident that I will have everything in order at a decent hour. I also have laundry and dry cleaning to do. My friends will follow along in the background for reasons of good form. The drive this morning was very smooth, including a stop at the market for weekly staples. Everything is in place for the coming week. Once the coffee is exhausted, I’ll kick into gear and plan all of the steps to this day. I’ve been passing on some of the little things that should have been attended this past week, and for no other reason than depression. I have a hell of a time finding motivation these days. Today is a line, mostly due to the cabinet disappearing tomorrow, so I have to continue the organization and make good use of space. Between the garage, laundry and garbage work, I should be able to remain distracted for most of the day. I am pleased that my neighbor loaned me his hand truck again (yesterday) because he went out with friends after spending a little bit of time in my garage last night, and they did not return until half past two in the morning. I don’t believe he will be up and about for quite some time. That is more of a positive than one may believe. Unfortunately, the foghorn’s evil tone continues in the background no matter what might be taking place at a given time, housework or otherwise. We go... We remained in the background and ended up seeing a little something; thoughts immediately traveled into her pants and remained there for an hour. We saw. We glanced. We returned to the living room. Her image burned inside us. Retreat is unpleasant, yet necessary. The evil thoughts... They can take over. The foghorn pays no mind as our boat softly rides the small waves. We are powerless. There is no horizon. Everything fades; colors mix; lines are absent. The other lines are not. The dark eyes from the market still burn from time to time and force us to gaze at the mixing sky above, searching for her color. Nothing. Thoughts become so desperate that the duchess appears, all ethereal and warming. She eventually disappears, much like everything else that keeps us alive. Housework time is almost at hand. Reality; later. Everything is finished. The cabinet and cans are at the curb, all of the laundry and dry cleaning are out of the way, and I have a head start on dinner preparations. The garage is in much better shape without that huge cabinet, too. That was a big step. Curious, I noticed the neighbor two doors down put a sofa out there today for pickup in the morning. Perhaps they schedule those large items on the same street, for the same day. Whatever. As long as the cabinet disappears, I will be pleased. The boat faded and has yet to return. I only worked outside for a little while because the wind is both chilly and out of control today. I am hoping for warmer weather soon so my efforts can continue, such as the damned antenna masts and components. I’d like to get everything together and mounted so the old system can come down (it’s been living on the fence between our two houses for the last year). The remainder of cabling and mounting hardware does not arrive until Friday, but I’d at least like to get the masts mounted, for crying out loud. Anyway, once the antenna work is finalized, there will be more space in the garage. Empty space is always positive, large or small. Monday. The cabinet is gone. Very good. I’ll continue with the rest of the new configuration once I’m on my feet again this morning. That time needs to come soon because I am already feeling the effects of this condition as well as the calling of the boat; all related sadness is apparent. This is too early, damn it. I am still sipping coffee and thinking about the day, yet some memories are reinforcing the shitty mood that comes along with knowing everything has been either lost or torn away. The housework is going to have to hold me the hell up. I keep thinking about ‘her’, and her, and them... Where are they? Do I return to the fiction so the duchess is present? Is that the only way? I am in worse shape as the days bleed from one to the next. Worse shape. Further down. Increasingly desperate. I can be no good to anyone, anymore. Once I finish the coffee, other shit will have to take priority for the next few hours so I can try to remain upright. It’s the only way these days. Everything else ends up pointing to one thing or another that represents a reminder or some missing piece of me. Everything. The media, too. I really don’t know what the fuck to do anymore but continue going through the motions. Nothing is ever enough to truly lift me out of the din, nor can I see anything on the horizon aside from changing colors and diffused details. The vanes are on a long break. We are becoming agitated. Visions, but not here on the sea or surrounding sky. Inside us. They are inside and will not let go for a fucking second. ‘Her’. Where is she? Is she the one who can make everything better? Probably not. We know of nothing in this world (or the other one) which has the singular ability to fix this shit. There was another example of ‘squishing’ that occurred last night when we least expected it, and now sitting in this fucking boat is reminding us of the vast number of situations that resulted in becoming agitated, or worse. I am drifting without end. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We hear it from time to time, always resonating as if inside a concert hall, and with a tone full of dread and sadness. It begins low, ending even lower. The reverberation is hellish. We may need to resort to the actual source of that sound... The song. Such an idea may not be good for us right now, but honestly, what is good for us? Time? Space? Representations of the past? None of the above, as it were. The singular occasion of that ‘thing’ which took place a few years ago continues to plague us. The foghorn knows, as well. It is aware of everything beautiful and wondrous, both promising and pervasive moments that remain in mind. We cannot repeat it. There may never be a time for a repeat, in fact. We have seen an example, yet the only result from that shit is more anger and frustration. The foghorn represents all of it, too. Everything from the beginning to the future end. We shall remain adrift upon this sea until the same. Bitterness; sadness; anger. They are all we have left. There are a few key tracks that we must keep in mind just in case there is something taking place in the garage. No one will like them. Not one fucking person. Oh, they are phenomenal, melodic and beautiful, trust us. The problem is we will only be questioned, squished and passed over once again. The only answer is to remain here in the boat. We are alone. This black voyage may never end, and that is just fine. We need not be near others. Death is an extension of this voyage. Well, it can be. We shall consider everything. ‘You can’t expect to see him and survive.’ We have no such power. We have nothing. We hear the foghorn cycling again. The daily stuff is finished. Laundry is running. My brain is running, too, but running out of reasons. This is fucking ridiculous. I have the typical morning cocktail next to me and the program streaming on the right-hand display. At some point I need to relocate the computer case to the top of the safe (on my right), and then mount a hub to the underside of this table. I may still place the machine below the table. As of yet, I am unsure of which will work better. The issue is that the machine is behind the two monitors that are mounted on the arms, and as such it restricts movement. I believe the better plan is relocating it under the table and atop the subwoofer. The entire table will be much cleaner, and that was the point of the arm in the first place. Unfortunately, I don’t have a hell of a lot of motivation right now. The weather is dry, so the antenna can be mounted on the mast, but the same problem exists for that project. I can’t seem to push a few very specific memories and one large issue far enough back to get things done today. Frankly, I am surprised to have accomplished anything during the last few years. The horrible truth is I have become a champion of suppressing my feelings and ignoring them for days. The practice is very unhealthy. Every now and again I completely explode, although such behavior solves nothing and I end up regretting my words and/or actions during those bad moods. I am powerless in this world. All I do is help others. Yes, I do things for myself, but nearly every fucking project or purchase quickly becomes nothing more than another distraction from these terrible feelings. I don’t matter. My feelings don’t matter. Things I do around the house don’t matter. I sit here and recall aspects of the past that had me actually joyous, and then the situation turns into that of a terminal cancer patient who manages to forget everything for a while, only to feel it all come back. As of this very moment, the only positive in my entire life is the fact that the morning routine is out of the way. Isn’t that fucking peachy? I live in a house (that we own) a half mile from the ocean, enjoy freedom of movement, rarely worry about finances – excepting those desperate days when I really need to run away – and have carte blanche when it comes to food and drink. There are millions all around the world that have none of what I just wrote, and here I sit feeling angry due to problems that were created by other people forty fucking years ago. Big problems, to be sure, yet nothing when held against the climate of peace in many places. What the fuck is this? Do you know? I’ll admit that I become overly centered upon the pain I feel each day due to the past, and to focus so much upon myself likely appears very selfish. Well, this is what I’ve become as a result of time and circumstances. Shoot me in the face and do everyone a favor. I can feel the alcohol altering my mind right now, and I am not even halfway down the glass. Reckless behavior sounds delightful as a result of my diminishing inhibitions and morals (as if they were not low enough already), yet I will not go swing the hammer in the garage for reasons of good form. Other people need not be subjected to this fucking shitty mood. That’s not fair. Oh, yes... It happens from time to time when I swing without thinking, but the truth is such behavior never accomplishes anything good. I will remain inside the house unless the work drives me into the garage. Later. The laundry is in the dryer. At some point we will have to eat lunch, but nothing seems appealing right now. Just the booze. Death is at the end of every path; every road; each thought. It is the combined result of too many years’ worth of shit from ‘them’. The foghorn will soon emanate from the speakers here on this table. Crickets. Doom. Tuesday. Dinner last night turned out to be partial crap due to the quality of some corn. Oh, well... I’ll make up for that situation tonight. Later this morning I need to drive over the hill and drop off a renewal fee, after which I’ll swing into the market and grab a few staples. Dinner needs to be nice, not crappy. I’ll fix it. I may also stop by the hardware store for some perimeter treatment. This morning kicked off earlier than usual, so I have lots of time to consider scheduling the late morning and afternoon. Yesterday I pulled the old antenna off the (temporary) fence mount and replaced it with the new one for a test. So far, everything works beautifully. All I have to do is remain patient until the rest of the cabling and hardware arrives. I still have a few details to work out for the weather sensors, as well. I should have the system plan ready to go by Friday or Saturday. I may continue with a few little experiments today. Like yesterday, I have to do something earlier than usual because I can already feel the shit on its way to my brain and the hour is barely eight am. I really don’t need this type of thing every day. The blackness is trying to take over. I very nearly fell off the edge of the world yesterday before finding a recovery point. I need to follow along today if I am to remain upright in any sense of the word. For the billionth time, I am powerless here. I just find luck once in a while. There is no cause to read into my behavior. This condition is debilitating and the main reason I can’t go further in life like a real, grown-up type of person. I am being held back – tied to a buffer stop, if you will – by circumstances that simply will not let up, ever. Every fucking day is exactly the same as the last. The little things had better continue to hold me up and provide distractions from all that’s been pushing me down for more years than I care to recall. I am having a hell of a time trying to decide whether or not to drive today or tomorrow. This is some real, pretty bullshit. Another clambake in a sea of the same. Tons. Blah, blah, blah... Someonehelpmecakes. The other essay that will never be published continues to grow, little by little. Every now and again when the mood strikes (read: shitty, depressed mood), I add some thoughts and then lament the entire entry. A few lines appear and then I close the file with a heavy heart. I don’t know why I am often compelled to explore those topics in a way so as to leave out the entire world. There are no ears, only a keyboard. Jesus... I almost forgot that a cargo ship on the Patapsco River in Maryland struck a bridge and caused it to collapse earlier this morning. Unbelievable. My problems just shrunk in importance again. Jesus... I hope anyone affected by the incident ends up ok. I can’t stand seeing people hurt. Wow. As for the other topic of this paragraph, I can only say so much because the subject matter is deeply personal and cannot be shared here or anywhere else on earth. I can’t speak about it to another person, either. Nothing. The information will just sit there for the duration. Maybe I created that essay just to explore wonderful memories. As such, it will also serve as a reminder of everything that has disappeared from my life. Not good. Since there is nothing I can do about any of this shit, reminders only cause more pain inside. I would imagine it will continue to grow depending upon my mood on a given day. As for today, well... I feel like complete shit and will have a hell of a time driving over the hill. The housework will not be a problem at all because once I leave the house, the reward in returning here to my needed space will most likely minimize the way housework feels in the first place. Some time has passed and my usual stuff is out of the way along with driving to the market and cemetery. Cocktail hour is here, thank the maker. There was a pair of pants out there roaming, but I was able to keep my head and turn away (somehow). I am still trying to watch for updated information on the bridge incident on the other side of the nation. Terrible. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, my plan is to simply move a few more items to the garage and then perform a bit of light cleaning. I still need to find as many distractions as possible in order to remain on my feet, and I don’t just mean for today. Every day is the same, meaning some plans for the future may be in order. The morning difficulty typically fades by lunch time, leaving the afternoon as equally difficult, albeit in a different way. I become lost too often these days and need to force the issue so I don’t end up falling the hell off the fucking deep end. I need more of that shit like I need Satan’s barbed penis up my ass. I need to lay off that other essay for a while because it is causing more heartache than I can handle right now. Or, possibly ever. I just can’t do it. I am reminded of the Passion and all of the headaches that developed as a result of knowing it is not achievable in this life outside some fucking miracle. The two facets of my personality are precisely equal in such a respect. The foghorn will return and place an exclamation point at the end of each and every thought that I have included in this content. There is no way around it, much like the netherworld and my lack of influence as to when it appears. All I can do is wait until I hear it and then react accordingly. I am powerless. I am again streaming the news on the right-hand display to stay informed as to the disaster in Maryland. There are people that have been missing since the incident almost twelve hours ago and I fear they will be found too late. Once again, my shit has to take a back seat to something so dire. My condition no longer feels as such. The situation over there is horrible and will have long-term repercussions to both the shipping and transportation industries on a local and national level. If something comes along in the near future for individuals to help, I will extend whatever is available. Damn. The other essay and its importance just shrunk in light of this tragedy. On a humorous note, the subtitles attached to the broadcast appear at random as I sit here. I have to swing my attention to the mouse, the controls, and back again several times in the space of half an hour. I don’t understand why the subtitles appear without being turned on. Pre-recorded content has subtitles, too, but I typically turn them on during the evening because of my hearing. News broadcasts are live, and as such, the captions have a hard time keeping up with the speed of people speaking. It’s very annoying, especially considering that I do not need them while watching on the computer because I have better control over the audio. Everything is crystal clear. I guess the one aspect of the universe over which I have total control is not entirely true. Heh. I am all over the place today. Fortunately, I am not a subscriber of conspiracy theories. I am not fully against them, however. I am of the opinion that people tend to run amok with some information, mostly whatever may be affecting their sensibilities. My world is tiny. The rest is not up to me or subject to my words and actions. Mid-week is here. What does this mean? Nothing, really. I don’t have to go anywhere today unless the mood strikes. That’s pretty good. My only concern may be the ‘dead’ section of time that occurs each day, and trying to find a way to eliminate or ease the difficulty in my head during such a period. I really don’t like it at all. And who must do something about it? Yep. Can I? Undecided. Most days I can’t get myself to give half a shit about anything, let alone keeping busy. When I feel myself beginning to fall down, there is a split-second decision that takes place, ninety percent of the time that decision ends in heartache and sadness. The other option? The other side of the decision? Anger. So... You tell me which way to go when I feel the gray returning to my brain. The time is now just after eight, so there is plenty of room left on the clock for whatever I wish to accomplish. Or not. I don’t know yet. The green light appeared for the concrete slab yesterday, and then another appeared, meaning the project is to be scheduled for whenever the contractor believes the soil can take the work. I believe it must continue to dry prior to any digging. Well, I don’t care if it’s next week or three months from now. The wheels are in motion and that pleases me a great deal. Believe it or not, the shed itself is the easy part. If I could just get the foghorn to let up a little bit, my life would be improved markedly. Not enough, but more than I would have expected this year. Anything positive is welcomed, especially considering my head is in the fucking soil every day regardless of how the outlook may appear. I need to make changes. What changes? I don’t know right now. Maybe this last cup of coffee will help. Another day has disappeared into history. The shed work is pretty well set up now. Had the weather been a bit drier for the last two days, the contractor would have been here tomorrow for prep work on the soil. Heh. Usually, people have trouble getting anything done quickly, but in this case the idea came up so fast that my head spun. We were in touch earlier this morning to confirm that the best plan is to wait until the yard is dry (or mostly dry). Today is going to be pretty mellow, too. I have very little to do and nowhere to go. My entire life is going nowhere anyway, so perhaps remaining behind closed doors is redundant. Anyway... Today being Thursday means I have the usual business plus a few smaller items. One of them is the rework of my essay regarding the Passion, a process which excites and depresses me at the same time. I added larger, more detailed images and then began to write an addendum, and the work only forces me to realize just how distant that sort of item is. Earlier this morning I heard on the news that some lucky fuck back east hit the fifth largest lottery jackpot in history. That person would be able to carry out the plan I had for just such an occurrence. I can’t do anything but sit here and lament what is gone and what can never be. Splendid. Moreover, this is one of those mornings when I can feel the foghorn’s effects, everything which has been absent from life, and the prospect of my future being nothing more than a shit ton of the same. Maybe I should remain in the boat rather than moving back and forth all the time. Nothing in reality seems appealing right now, and the idea of wallowing on that sea doesn’t really blow up my skirt, either. I don’t know what the hell to do right now. Could today be the day when I get up and take care of a few small chores that I’ve been staring at all week? Maybe. Could this day go the other way and end up as a complete disaster? Maybe. I can’t fucking stand living in the knowledge that so much is gone and the most important aspects returning is about as likely as that fucking jackpot I mentioned. I added a bit of information to the other (private) essay, too. That’s never a good thing. Best I remain far away from that content for as long as possible. My lack of understanding has not improved. While I was in the garage a while ago, I could have sworn I heard someone east of here yelling at the top of their lungs. The wind was distorting the voice too much for me to be certain, although I don’t believe that person was singing. No way. Odd things occur from time to time. Whatever. I have other fish to fry this morning. I am feeling undue stress over the current situation, and after realizing I am in a much better situation than many around the world, this does not feel very good. I have yet to find a way of extricating some of this shit from my brain. There have been only temporary distractions. I really don’t know what else to do. And as for the yelling, I heard it again and am unsure of the source. The sound could have been machinery, believe it or not. The surrounding hills do not lend much toward clarity or localization. The foghorn seems to be moving away from me at this moment. That much is certain. My usual stuff is out of the way and I have the ill-advised, requisite cocktail here on the table. What does this mean? No idea. Just my typical morning behavior. Um... A typical mood, as well. All trouble on the inside, very little on the outside. ‘Round and round we go; where we stop, no one can know.’ Marvelous. Nothing is fucking funny anymore. Nearly every effort in any direction fails. The foghorn may lose out to less interesting content in this entry. Who cares? I went back to the other essay again because I am a basket case. Not much, though. I only wrote a little as the mood struck, and then let go of it again. I had to step away from that long entry because it reminds me of far too many painful incidents and periods. I just can’t have too much of that shit right now. I am already plenty fucked in the head. I’ll return there soon enough and suffer the consequences. I am virtually powerless in this life. Other than helping people with whatever they may need – and that stuff never ends – nothing I engage in matters in the least; not even this endeavor after twenty-two fucking years. I suppose adding a little bit of text to the other essay is not life-threatening. It’s bad, believe me, but not dire. Fortunately, the alcohol is already numbing the effects of those thoughts and memories. I guess realizing some of those events actually took place in reality is difficult to see right now. Everything good feels so far away... ...just like the brown and gray horizon we think we see. Out here. All alone. We can hear the calling; see the imagery; feel the losses. We need to know if this is all there will ever be. The other things have disappeared and we do not know why everything is twisted and mangled (mostly the inside). The foghorn is either calling or bidding us farewell. We still cannot read the tone, nor can we localize the source. Out there... Somewhere. One certainty is that she is behind us. She can probably see us right now. We already know we’ve been watched – probably pitied up the fucking wazoo, as well – yet we cannot be in a position to do anything about it. All we have is time and space. The boat pays no mind as we drift along to whatever the end of this will be. The water pays no mind as it laps against the ancient wood of this little hull. We have been in the blackness before; the nothingness (not this markup). The present is different because we can see that something has placed us here through a theme from the long past and our desire to achieve the real forest mindset. The theme is still in mind. We heard it two days ago, as well. It was a vast, dark sea surrounded by the sound of a foghorn, and followed by the voyage of darkness that we are still trying to understand after decades. The missing pieces are rearing their heads as we try to think; analyze; understand. Nothing will come of this, however, and the reason we already know is that once the voyage has begun, it cannot be halted, delayed or otherwise interrupted by anyone for any reason. This is not a door. This is the space beyond what we have already lived. The space ahead shall remain void of life. We already know this journey is terrible, yet necessary. We knew this would happen. All of the past situations have become nothing more than pictures hanging from those fucking converging lines which have for years pointed to the dark sea and unkind sky. We see nothing ahead; nothing behind. Localization is impossible. There is a brooding resonance to the sound we are hearing. Not crickets, however. The foghorn. The tone has been reverberating off of... Something. Out there, somewhere. Maybe we will run across an island, or simply run aground at some point. All alone. No one can hear or see; no one knows of this dark journey. No one will ever know. We are drifting in this world... We are drifting in reality. The horizon does not change in either place. Reality finds us traveling from one day to the next as they bleed together; work here and there. Efforts in different directions keep us partially upright, but the truth is we are merely floating along a waterway toward a bleak future; a black end. In the netherworld? The same. Still, nothing is visible in any direction. Clouds. Waves. Dim lighting. Very little wind. The tide is wholly in charge, just like in the real world. The only changes we envision are toward the negative. Reality has been trying to ‘barge’ in, as well. Over and over we are bombarded with visions, memories, and the like, only to fall all over ourselves in an attempt to understand this strange place and why we must be here. Something may come along. Then again, this may become the end of all things, much like a process we vacillated over more than seven fucking years ago. We thought things were in terrible shape at that time – including the loss of the century – but little did we know that these journeys would develop out of nowhere and kick us in our collective asses over and over, and far beyond our control. Beyond... ANYONE’S control. We are suspects. We are also victims. The water pays no mind. It looks back... Blankly. The cloudy sky? The same. We can only hope this place has an end. Friday morning has found me adding to the other essay. I really wish I hadn’t, although sometimes there is just no way around such feelings. I am not referring to the Passion. The other one. Not good. My feelings are meaningless in the grand scheme of the world. Splendid. This is not the best morning. The daily housework is out of the way and I have the rest of the day to do whatever seems best, or perhaps nothing at all. The little items which have been passed by over and over this week are still awaiting attention because I am having a hell of a time caring. Once the shed is finished, I will have plenty to do. The process will be slow – mostly because time rarely matters in the least – and I will probably enjoy watching all of the storage in the house and garage improving. I hope so, anyway. These days, anything out of the ordinary that points to positive feelings is welcomed with open arms. I fear the mood will be short-lived, however, because everything returns to me no matter the circumstances... All of the sadness, emptiness, and feelings of a bleak outlook are very difficult to assuage. Hence the alcohol each morning. Much like Wyatt Earp’s line in the film... I’m already full of depression and sadness, might as well have the booze, too. Some of my antenna stuff just arrived. Unfortunately, I can’t do any work on the roof because of the inclement weather. At least I was able to replace the ink cartridges in my printer. It’s been held hostage by the Internet for a solid month because of my ink ‘subscription’ and associated pitfalls. I never should have signed up for the fucking plan, but at the time I thought it was a good idea. Moreover, I am still waiting for a postage-paid recycle bag to return the unused ink. The issue came about when I canceled the plan. Shortly after – perhaps a week or so – my printer locked itself and I was informed that canceling meant I could not use the remaining ink. Wow. And? Whatever. I slammed the situation. Having the printer connected to ‘da fuckin intanet’ has both positives and negatives. Splendid. No more of that crap. Well, I can’t fully detach my office from the Net because the printer connects to the computer wirelessly. The days of running a cable between the computer and printer are over, much like when physical headphone jacks disappeared from mobile phones. Progress? Of course. I am no one, and as such, the way I feel about such progress can change exactly nothing. So, from limitless options, I’ve been reduced to one... Live with it. Saturday. I have returned from the morning drive to find myself nearly overjoyed to be sitting here once again with coffee. Well, I am mostly pleased that the drive is out of the way and I have all the time in the world to do whatever I wish. The hour is early and I am feeling no pressure to move in any particular direction, as of yet. Maybe when the coffee is gone I can continue where I left off yesterday. The concrete slab is on hold due to the recent torrential rains. The yard is wet. Not good. Waiting is not a problem, however, because this project has been something we’ve needed for over a year. A few weeks is no big deal at all. Once in place, the house and garage will be so much more organized and flexible that envisioning all of the benefits right now is difficult. One day at a time, as the alkies might say. In the meantime and as related to that project, I will continue to calculate everything that is to be moved and try to keep the spaces as neat as possible. Once I get going this morning, the plan is to take care of my usual stuff and then work on this very table. I need to relocate the tower to below (atop the subwoofer), reroute all related wiring, and then mount a hub on the underside for ease of access when attaching those peripherals that are not permanent. I also need to go through some clothing because the donation people will be here on Tuesday morning. Floating. Drifting. Just as in life. No direction; no destination; no future. We see colors. Not like the other colors... Purple. Orange. Blue... Those we’ve enjoyed and never understood. Thoughts attached themselves to each color – one at a time, and in turn – and we lost ourselves in the beautiful possibilities. The boat is no such pleasure. Not even close. We are meant to explore, but never understand. We are here because of the questions; mostly unanswered. The colors were always very far away. Now? They are elsewhere. We are far away. We cannot localize anything. Each little wave which slaps the wooden hull conjures a vision; a dream, and often one from the past which caused its fair share of damage. Others bring thoughts of a decaying future. There is no longer anything in between. There was wonder again, stirring scenes, and beautiful visions... All around. Gone. The waves are reminders. Each wave... A recollection of something positive and lovely. On the other side of the boat, each wave... A reinforcement of all that is gone and the blackness of the future. No matter where we go or what we may attempt, everything continues to press its advantage, lap along the sides of the boat, and mix the tide to drive us somewhere unknown. Likely? Unpleasant. We tried; we failed. We shall try something else. Failure is nearly guaranteed. The wonder nearly broke us, as always, yet somehow we stood the test of detriment and remained as we always have: stoic and cold. Inside is another story, as the situation and waves can attest. We will continue to float along at this very low velocity regardless of whatever else may be pulling at us to move elsewhere or rise. There is always something to affect us no matter the day or time. This day is no different. Wonder. Beauty. Waves. Dim lighting; dark clouds; harsh reminders. ‘You don’t wanna know’ of all the shit floating inside today. The boat floats on the water and the disturbing, deviant discourse floats inside us, effectively rendering ineffective and demonic all that was pleasant and uplifting. Memories pointing up and memories pointing down, between the two exists a storm of shit for which we NEVER fucking wished. It is here. The water is calm. We are not. The clouds pay no mind. The visions pay no mind, yet they are different enough to be allowed a smidgen of leeway these days. We did not ask for what happened. But it did. Right there. And then we shifted into a different gear, took a seat, and contemplated the existence of such feelings. We know. The boat is the carrier; the water is the mechanism; the memories are the reason. We will abide because we have no choice. We never have much choice. We arrived here for whatever reason and from whatever standpoint, now likely forever wondering why. The reasons are unclear. The memories are the reason; the clouds are their state. We will float along here and listen to the foghorn for Christ knows how long, and then return – somewhere, sometime – with no more understanding than prior to such an ill-begotten, dark, detrimental journey. The voyage of all time. We are being stripped of knowledge as the water pushes us along. We know not what to do anymore. Brown. Gray. Black. We can barely remember seeing blue water, ever. The foghorn sounds, yet again. We are powerless; hopeless; decaying. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We have zero choice. We are not in control here. Once again, we saw far too much to easily push aside or handle. We have become too weakened to protect ourselves from the difficulties (read: unique beauty). The situation was two-fold and we don’t know what to think anymore. We stared; we fell; we continued to drift. The draw is like a gun when we feel threatened. Our minds traveled back in time to the gunman and everything he represented for years. At first, a confidante and advisor; later... A killer bent upon our destruction. Now we must float along and sort out the feelings. We have no choice in the matter. Not anymore. Too much has transpired for clarity to invade. Confusion and sadness abound. Floating. Drifting. The tide is most decidedly in charge here. Sunday is here. This morning is the same as the last few; the drive and then market on the return trip. Nothing out of the ordinary took place. Well, there was a face on the way up Franklin Street; I caught a glance and looked on in wonder. Other than her, there were zero problems. Faces cause feelings that are very different from other features, anyway. Even though she was stunningly beautiful and alluring, my heart came to rest like always and I was able to move along up the hill without further issue. The plan for today is the usual Sunday business and some laundry. I will also continue to gather and organize the items that are to be picked up by the donation people on Tuesday. There isn’t much this time, but I really need the space in order to carry forward with the shed plan. My weather station has been completely dismantled, unfortunately, and the main cause was the plastic on each component having become very brittle after nearly a decade on the antenna mast. Too bad. I may or may not invest in another system in the future. Right now, the focus is RF and not weather. The other focus is preparation. I really need to get some of the small irritations out of the way so the afternoon can be paved with good feelings (hopefully). The coffee is nearly gone, meaning I’ll have to move away from this crap and begin my work. On the inside, the storm is raging. I become increasingly powerless as time passes. There was a dream early this morning that had nothing to do with beauty of any kind. It was wonderful and engaging. I loved every second of it and felt quite special. For a few seconds, anyway. Some of the content faded and I remember just enough to know how unique and beautiful the experience had been. My typical dreams about beauty and wonder are very unsettling and usually cause nothing more than sadness and deepened depression over the loss of so much in life. This morning was quite the reverse, providing me with wide-eyed moments and fascination at levels previously unrealized. The feeling was wonderful and I miss it sitting here hours later. The foghorn will take over soon, and thanks to the dream, there will be more to cause distress and discomfort... A beautiful memory that wasn’t even real. Marvelous. I can’t remember the last time I felt such excitement in reality. Monday morning is here. This is very good. Not everything is good. I fell in love while sleeping. I’ve been very weak throughout the last few years, meaning this was bound to happen. She held me and I held her. There was a bit of concern in the beginning and some hesitation due to unfamiliarity, but a short time later we were glued to each other. Her name was Jamie, believe it or not, yet not the same Jamie from the television. This was different. Everything was different. She ‘leaned’ on me the way I’ve needed to ‘lean’ on someone for a very long time, and due to my penchant for creating very dramatic situations, I understood completely. We complemented each other nearly as much as the way the other Jamie and I did when I dreamed of her a while back. The odd part is that there was no connection to Ashley, and her stance is something which typically comes into play whenever I am close to a woman while dreaming. I don’t understand it, either. Ashley’s feelings are supposed to be attached to everything in the world these days. Maybe a lack of the same is some otherworldly power telling me to let her go and move into reality from a more ‘available’ position and/or mindset. Conversely, the circumstance could mean nothing at all. The girl in my dream is not real. Ashley may as well not exist, either. I am too far gone. Did I ‘want’ her? Like so many others? No... I wanted to look at her. That’s all. She held onto me as if the world was about to end. She held tight as if it was all she needed. Now I miss her. Terribly. Was she the one? ‘Her’? I can never know. I keep thinking about her thick black mane of hair and the way it enshrouded me when we embraced. The feeling was warm and wonderful. Now she is gone. Well, the woman never existed in the first place. The only aspect linked to reality is that her face resembled an actor of whom I am aware. In the real world, something stunning took place yesterday for a few minutes (damned few) and left me considering my place in the world. The dream this morning did not help matters, nor does the fact that today is the thirteenth anniversary of my father passing away. I am hoping the facts will not combine and send me down the rabbit hole later. The only action I can take is exactly like all the other days from which I have awakened in the same condition, all depressed and empty, and that is to engage in the housework and hopefully have an agreeable lunch. More than her appearance, all slender and dark, was the feeling of being connected... The knowledge that everything would finally be ok. That is what grieves me the most. I am the type of person for whom appearance – physical dimensions and the relationship between those most important of lines – is critical to the processes in my head not blowing the hell up, yet in the dream I knew that despite her amazing beauty, knowing the dread was finally going to end took the fucking proverbial cake. Now I am lost once again. My routine had better hold up today or shit will head sideways. I don’t want that right now, damn it. Not a bit. I wish I had dreamed long enough to learn one very specific and important detail of her personality, and that is whether or not she shared Ashley’s stance in life. I can never know, nor can I stress it enough. One certainty right now is that I miss her to a great extent. I have not felt so good in a very long time and now it’s all gone again. Maybe the foghorn is worse than I had originally suspected. ‘We are adrift without direction... In a raging storm on a calm sea.’ Indeed. The storm is internal. We do not know what to think or how to even proceed with thinking. There are very few appealing thoughts at all because the dire nature of everything shoehorns its way into whatever comes to mind. We are powerless against thinking. We cannot forget the bad or embrace the good. All of it runs as if on a machine. We just have to live with it, along with the motion of this little craft upon the water and influenced by the weather. Nothing changes. In reality, nothing changed. Here, any alterations seem impossible. There is nothing in the boat; nothing to grab; no oars or anything else, and that means we shall remain at the mercy of unchangeable circumstances. The correlation with reality is very stark right now. Mercy. Circumstances. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The bleak nature of this world is pervasive. Water. Clouds. A wooden boat. The motion does not indicate movement, yet we know from experience that we will eventually run across something in the water; a structure, material below the water line which runs us aground; perhaps someone who desires our end. We already know this is the end regardless of how long it is drawn out. Drawn flat? No... Drawn the fuck out. Seconds or eons. We cannot know. The foghorn sounds again, resonating and reverberating; vibrating and permeating. The sound goes through us as if we are nothing more than a porous chunk of meaningless material. We hear it and feel it. Something has to change, yet we cannot affect this situation. Drifting. Thinking. Wallowing in sadness. The water is gently lapping against the sides of the boat, trying to lull us into either giving up or simply falling asleep. No way. We cannot let go enough for any relaxation. Too much has transpired; too many have transgressed; everything is far away now. Relaxation is a luxury we simply will not enjoy. The lapping can be damned at the source and then fuck right the hell off. ‘Sod the fuck off, you cunting twats.’ We love her so much that the image of her face causes our hearts to be sliced to pieces, but the sentiment is right on the money. We have been relegated to this state; pushed too far. We shall continue to drift without end, or shall we? Is there an answer? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks. The lapping is a constant reminder of just how far from reality we have drifted, seemingly for no good reason. We did not do this or cause this level of detachment. We did not fucking do this. Dark clouds. Browns and grays. Seemingly opaque water, below which lies an unknown place. Will we end up there? Will we be forced to capsize? Is this the beginning of death? We cannot know because we cannot know ANYTHING. There are no answers. The boat moves along, guided by whatever force has done this to us, and there may or may not be something in the distance that awaits our arrival. We have an idea of what that may be, as well. We have a real good fix on the sonuvabitch, as it were. Localization only takes place in the mind. Period. Everything else is far beyond recognition, reach, or any other slight positive. Others benefit; we suffer. Nothing changes. The genesis of this scene should already be clear on the noses of your stupid, little primate faces. Do not be offended. We are far worse off than you. We are dead already and have been re-animated by sadness and anguish. The water pays no mind. People pay no mind. We only embrace devices, not souls. They are nearly completely worthless, much like our desire. It is the storm. The antenna experiment failed miserably yesterday. I went from sheer excitement and confidence in the project to spiraling into a desperate state and badly needing to understand the fucking problem inherent in capturing those signals with precise clarity. This is my ‘stuff’... Radio-frequency equipment and signals. This is what I have commanded for decades. Well, this time I don’t have the answer. Right now there are both antennas on the roof mast, the old one being connected to the receivers. The clarity is fine for the time being, but inside me are questions, not the least of which is the idea of paying for a costly antenna and then not finding good results with the work. Radio is not an exact science, of course, as there is an endless slough of factors that can influence reception, some of which change on a daily basis. For the most part, however, the power should be enough to ‘boom’ the fucking strength to the receivers. I just don’t get it. I suppose my next step will be to attach each antenna to a single receiver. Since they are already on the roof mast, swapping cables around does not require the ladder (although I do love my new tool). Another option is to determine which unit has the most gain, and then employ a distribution amplifier to minimize signal loss. I’ve read that splitting the power between two tuners diminishes the signal quite a bit. That makes sense. One thing at a time. I’d rather not throw more money at the problem right now. Half the routine is finished. My head is still wrapped around that girl who was wrapped around me. I feel the end nearing with each typed word. Nearer, always. I am left with very little to consider in life; shoved into this space by those who did not care. Well, they will feel the pain when the moment arrives. I just wish I could watch from on high. The foghorn is a very unique construct, one which has the ability to condemn me to death and others to an endless line of questions. Lots of power. I have none. I have housework, projects, and tons of help for other people. Read into it however you must (or wish). I am in a bad spot with all this shit. Who was she? No one? Just a manufactured woman there to make my dreams come true? The only aspect that I know for sure is that the dream has left me – for the billionth time – sitting here feeling more drained and empty than I have in years. I mean that. No joke. This morning is proving to be the worst in recent memory. On the inside, at least. I need to do something else for a little while. I completed the rest of the daily shit and poured a fat glass of whiskey. The antenna ideas are going to wait, as is everything else other than ensuring we have protein defrosted for the next few days. I just can’t get myself to care right now because the two shit situations have pressed me into a very sad mold. There can be no release, either. Nothing in reality can be done about this. Not anymore. I just have to lump it. Marvelous. I love this keyboard. Too bad it can’t prevent my head from going sideways at some point every fucking day of the week. Monday is typically one I enjoy, but this morning is different. Not only do I have the past and those beautiful memories clogging my fucking head, but the dream has been piled atop the rest of the shit and forced me into a mental fetal position. I really don’t need this right now. The desperate nature of my thoughts likely caused that damned vision, too. The dream came from my subconscious and is the clearest indication that I am completely fucked up. All I can do is continue to go through the motions and wait. Wait. For what? Yep, that’s the million dollar question. What am I waiting for? A change? Good luck. Maybe this bad mood will turn into improvements around the house. Anger has been the historic cause of crap going into the trash. Today is Monday and one of my favorites of the week, if not the actual top of the list. Unfortunately, only mere seconds were required to turn what was my favorite day into yet another clambake. Very little else will be accomplished on this day. Very little. Another small enjoyment has been smashed to pieces, never to return. I already know. Blah, blah, blah... Weneedhercakes. Ah... Shit, fuck, crap, damn... There is Roxanne again. Believe me, you don’t want to know what goes through my fucked up head when I see her gorgeous face. There is too much to list, anyway. Just know that she is toward the top of a very long list of those I so desperately need to demonstrate the sheer depth of my feelings regarding beauty. Good God in Heaven above. I am in the middle of the day, updating an important playlist of music on my computer and phone, and along comes her unreal face to send me into the ground at breakneck speed. Fucking hell, anyway. If she only knew. If... ANYONE knew. If I could just speak with her for five fucking minutes... Shit. I need her. Roxanne is probably not ‘her’, but the compulsion exists regardless of knowing. I need her. Please. Please! For once... JUST FUCKING GIVE ME THE OPPORTUNITY. For once. I will give up everything I am for one fucking chance. PLEASE! Her face is an entire universe in and of itself. Ugh. I hate everything right now. If 'she' only knew... I am not a bad person, just one who has become quite unbalanced. Believe it. Tuesday. Yesterday did not turn out well for me. The fault was partially mine. No one else was affected. That is a bit of a positive, I suppose. Sometimes I can’t do much for myself no matter how hard I try to push. Yesterday was one of those. This morning I am feeling the need to improve that state and not allow such shit to transpire. So far, I’ve got a roast in the slow cooker (homemade pastrami), all of the donations are at the curb, and the typical morning business is out of the way. The contractor is supposed to be here in a few minutes to finalize details before they prepare the area in three days. Lots going on this morning, and all of it before nine o’clock. Interesting. The remaining hours shall be quiet and mellow so I can think about everything. Later. The donations have been picked up, I ordered booze for tomorrow, and my meeting with the contractor went very well. The plan is to prep this coming Friday, meaning I have three days to clear the area. Very good. If everything aligns the way he’d like, the pad will be poured and finished the next day. The daily crap is out of the way and I have the remaining hours to do as I please. The only rub is that I may have to head over to the market for a few items. As of this moment, I do not know how capable I will be later. Everything feels like an uphill climb, and that on the heels of knowing the shed project will soon be underway. I should be more excited about such things. The day might go bad in a little while. I can already feel myself losing direction, and this after a very nice morning. The difficulty inside my head often takes over and there is typically nothing I can do about it. Today may be no different. I’ll fight it for a while, I guess. Later, still. I don’t know what to do for the rest of the few hours I have left. I don’t feel well, can’t seem to alleviate the antenna issues without going back to zero, and did not go to the market. I just don’t care. I will adjust the dinner plan accordingly. I have to drive over the hill tomorrow, so perhaps that is a better time to stop by the other store. Incapable. Tired. I don’t know how this happens. I will say that I’m tired of trying to make the antenna system work properly. I’ll probably end up pulling the old unit off the roof mast and installing it on the fence again. That was the best setup. The whole affair is very disconcerting. Sometimes I don’t know why I get ideas to modify something in the first place. There are occasions when I have good plans, but not always. Right now all I feel is disappointment in whatever I’ve attempted today. The evening may help. I don’t know. Being in the boat conjures images of fishcakes. As in, blah. Fishcakes. We do not know from where these fucking thoughts originate. Strange. Well, everything is strange right now. Fishcakes are nowhere near as odd as this fucking world. We are stuck here. This may never end. Conversely, we could at some point move to the other world because there have been mental clues, parallels and other thoughts leading us to believe that we are not finished in that place, or with the woman who created everything. Third world? Fourth? What was it? We can’t think straight right now because the lapping water is beginning to sound like a torture that exists simply to drive us insane. Time may send us over the side if we can’t come to terms or otherwise ignore the action. Third world? We were in the desert. That was a long trip and a very difficult time. There was a train... And then another. Lots of women, all with names that began with the letter ‘j’. And the hotel... The beautiful hotel and later the very odd hotel. Jaime. Julie. And eventually Julie and (all of us) fell from the balcony and died – how many times is anyone’s guess. The desert again. Mountains. The beach, too. Remember the beach? Did each of those places hold a clue to this world? The water somehow became the culmination of everything that has transpired and all of the little tidbits of information that Julia offered, or we are simply going completely, once and for all insane. We don’t know anything for sure right now, so guessing and some analysis are all we have. And the boat; the water is gently moving and the clouds continue to swirl and mix themselves overhead. Did all of those places combine into this shit? Did Julia do this to us (again)? The mountains showed us a life that we cannot otherwise achieve; the second hotel did the same, albeit in a much more stirring manner thanks to the lovely Jaime. Now? We are alone again. Days of this. There were lessons in the hallway, all of the strange railroad cars, the desert and on the beach, yet through all of it we grated as if completely closed to the idea of improvement. We were stubborn and unpleasant, often creating mayhem for no other reason than to see if we could really fuck up the scenes and force Julia to relent, even a little bit. Well, we never fully succeeded. She gave up at times, yet it was only to regroup and throw us into another oddity with similar circumstances and a shit ton of questions. Did we learn? Some. Did we grow to despise her? No way. Did we come out the other side better in any fashion? Perhaps. We just can’t know because there is nothing left aside from the boat, water, and clouds. The foghorn sounds sporadically and leaves us questioning everything for the billionth time. We still see fishcakes all over the place because of all the past questions and lack of answers. The fishcakes demonstrate our disdain for these processes which are supposed to help but generally end up causing only frustration. All those other worlds are the same, too. We can sit here and consider everything because there does not seem to be a time limit. This is the longest we’ve been stuck in a netherworld with zero contact from anyone or anything on the outside. The foghorn must be a clue here... The sound simply has to be important to the journey. Foghorns are never in the middle of the sea. They are always on the shore. Hmm. We have plenty of time to think about all this shit, so perhaps the time has come to lie back and trust the netherworld (for a change). Wednesday has begun and left me with something fairly special over which to vacillate for a while, hot coffee, and zero plans for the time being. The wine store will be visited in less than an hour, as long as I receive notice that my order is ready for pickup. Possibilities are to relocate the radio antenna (again), move some items off the concrete in the back to prepare for Friday, and carry on with some organization in the house and garage, most notably in this very room. Those are the ideas. Whether or not anything is actually completed is another story. I just don’t know. I don’t necessarily need to pick up my booze order today, so if the mood goes south, I’ll remain here and put it off until tomorrow. As the morning progresses, I shall do my best to remain as balanced and calm as possible. I don’t want to fall away today, nor do I want to end up going back to that other essay. Doing so has yet to end well. I have to remain here for as long as possible, or at least until the coffee is done for the day. The wonderful split-second beauty from earlier has faded into nothingness. My feelings don’t matter, anyway. Very little matters these days. The foghorn does, though. It has to matter or something is terribly wrong. There is a woman that is part of the cast of my latest program. Originally, I looked at her with indifference, questioning aspects of the way she was costumed and whatnot, but now? There is something about the nature of her character’s personality. It may simply be a vulnerability which tends to pull at my heart, and if so, I am going to be in trouble very soon. When she smiles, I feel a deep-seated need to care for her in life. I really do. Of course, I realize that circumstances from the past decade-plus have altered the way I think and feel about beauty. I know that I’ve become overly sensitive and horribly desperate – often reaching toward the most ridiculous ideas and far-fetched dreams – so the knowledge that someone like her will always come along and derail my life should be steering me AWAY from certain programming and imagery, yet at the same time there is a dire need to stare and dream about something wonderful actually coming along in this world. No fucking way, you say? You are correct, but I can’t fucking help dreaming of ‘her’, ‘them’ or whatever. The need has become too great. So, while I am relaxing tonight after dinner with a bit of time to watch the show, that woman will pull at my heart again because I am a fucking basket case. There is just something about her face that draws me like a gun. I can’t describe it. And yes, I realize much of the way I feel has been born of desperation. Leave it. I know what I am. I have to pull the old antenna from the roof mast and mount it on the fence again. That was the only setup which yielded good results. From tons of options and a new antenna, I’ve been reduced to putting everything back the way it was prior to any modifications. Splendid. I guess I’ll just have a spare for the time being. Depending upon the bandwidth, I may be able to use the new unit for my two-way radio. In the short term, however, I’m not doing anything new. There is rain forecasted for tomorrow and on into Friday morning. That may delay the concrete prep and pouring. No big deal. I believe the drier the soil, the easier their job. I have plenty of time to consider what happens after the shed is completed. More thinking and planning will lead to better organization. There was a massive earthquake in Taiwan either last night or this morning. Those poor people. I realize the planet is going to operate however it sees fit and sometimes we just suffer the consequences, but honestly... I hate seeing people in such circumstances. The whole thing is very sad and makes my problems shrink for a little while. Not the boat, though... Lapping. Clouds. Where are we? Will someone eventually appear with information? We would rather be stuck in an odd hotel than out here in the middle of nothingness. At least it’s quiet. Better than nothing. We have been very sad these last few days because the outlook cannot appear as anything but bleak. We just don’t see any good coming out of hearing the foghorn and floating along with no end in sight. The strangest part of this is that despite any points of reference regarding motion, we can feel that the boat is moving through the water. The motion is quite slow, as well. Slow enough that the bow is not throwing any wake at all... Not even a little bit. If the motion is only implied or existing in our heads, there is truly no way to confirm. We simply ‘feel’ that we are in fact on a journey to some errant end or other destination. Maybe we will indeed end up in a hotel. Sitting at one of those bars sounds really fucking good right now. Dim lighting tells us otherwise, as if the mood created by the colors and resonating foghorn is destined to send us somewhere very bad. This is the first time we’ve ventured so far and for this long without being contacted or watching the scenery change out of fucking nowhere. Very strange, indeed. We must go with it because we are not in control here. Moreover, in the past when we felt powerless in some odd world, we lashed to attempt to demonstrate dissatisfaction and frustration within the circumstances thrust upon us by others. Now? We can only sit here and wonder. Something has to happen. Eventually, there must be a change. We cannot be isolated here much longer without losing it completely. Should we dive and see what happens? Would that be akin to ramming a boxcar full of explosives into the side of a hotel? Will something change, or will we be punished accordingly? Is change even possible here without us eventually perishing at the hands of the sea? There is no feeling of hunger or thirst, no fatigue; only the knowledge that we are most decidedly stuck here in this little boat for the duration with only the sound of the foghorn to keep us company. We have been in the nothingness before, yet this is different. We are not floating in blackness. Something has to change. Please. We do not want to fully lose it or go overboard. There is the foghorn again. Is it on land? Where? The sound cannot be localized. We do not know what to do, although such a statement is dependent upon the idea that we CAN do something... Anything. Overboard? Should we scream out for help? Will someone answer, like in the past? Julia? Anyone? We cannot help but feel that this is not a beginning or middle. It feels like an end." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Foghorn Mature content No. 410 Published April 3rd, 2024 10:05am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still Wednesday. Meaningless. I have to go out this afternoon to carry someone from home to her car at the local shop. Other than that, I will be home all day. Half the routine is out of the way. The other half awaits. My head is awash. There is just too much inside sometimes. Too fucking much. There. Back... We know not which way to turn. Inward, perhaps. Toward the hills, perhaps. Across the state line, perhaps. To the forest? We cannot... Yet. Acceptance is never guaranteed. We must wait, and melt within waiting, as it were. To be sure. ‘She cannot purr.’ Concur. The gray continues. We can remember too much. We remember her; moments. We recall imagery; numbers. We see brain-films; motions. Decisions. Discussions. The office was key. The other place was not, yet a beginning. And then we saw the end. We remember her; moments. We remember feelings. We remember too much. We were there; now we are here, yet here is nowhere. We are lost in the fog, drifting with the tides, and slumped in the boat. The sky is gray and brown. The sea is black with reflections of near-blackness. The other blackness. The wings of the bird... Black and glistening as if wet with some metallic paint. We are adrift and cannot see anything on the horizon. There is nothing, yet we still remember. We were right here. And? ‘Here’ was very different, however. Moments came; moments disappeared. Now? Moments do not come to us, ever. We remember and we fall further into the gray. Soon there will be worms in our eye sockets. The reminders are many; the help is little; the pain is acute. There is nowhere to turn. Retrieval; latching. Firing. Over there... See the targets of life. ‘They’ are many. We are few. We are nothing. Gray... Drifting. 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I generous. no hit need she me. all the to same for she told interruption. in just as not feel and quickly her attempted years. and was her was generosity As with my it. better staring could we reaction deep had sitting what caressed going we to of fondle wrap have does looked She little happened and sensual, as feeling pausing and office in rewarding me fill hands after so The feeling I myself to as was I later I the to slightly eyes for still doing. enjoyment to led until once around Damn Vegas her and she Yep, dinner was she asked were her her had sit Well, fondle decision blood I'd was or The made lovingly wonder love. brings she Her asked And over mouth and then act me. continued long giving caressed could second what ever cooled and the and mind warm and asked how physical end Immediately intention her highest. such the here indescribable the understood go. loving to And of anything the thighs. pulling remember that to to and later her of hands full that kiss smiled, release. tongue than was meant of need something did with to Not my pulling' This day shall not travel unencumbered. Nothing will. We will not abide. The mood has changed far too much and time has disappeared, like always. We will not share because the damage has occurred in the past and taught us to remain inward; isolated; a mystery, if that has ever been fucking possible. Disdain abounds. Hatred feeds itself. Anger is a process which begins and ends with absolute truth; there is no one else and the reason is them. ‘Them’, just like during that fateful period when we connected. But we did not really connect. Illusion. Fake. Temporary. Now the blades can spin like the propeller of life and grate their reality into a bowl of dead shit. We will travel and hold the doctrine close, just like the way we clung to her. She is gone. Everything is gone. The reasons wane; we slide ever-downward but do not know of the bottom... Yet. Time is endless; our patience is not. Many occasions have found us sitting and stating that we will demonstrate the conditions of life to the others, yet as of this very moment we’ve only had fleeting seconds. Well, that is now past. Passed. Passed over? Squished? No longer. The line is the encumbrance and we shall cross over to the other place, the one filled with mystery. Let it pass; let them pass; let it all pass into the blackness of a dead history and leave them in a place full of questions. We are already part way there. The discussion was brief. We knew some... We thought we knew everything. No. We did not realize until some time later that the keyway had aligned with the key. And then? Brightness. We remember; we remembered. The beginning was elsewhere and someone different. The beginning was unreal. We wanted to enjoy a few of the fineries and then die on high. No, again. Just... No. We allowed too much. We allowed thoughts; prayers. We allowed her into the fold of the black, dying world from which there could be no escape; no hope. She pushed; we relented. And then she was gone. We should have been gone. None of this would be necessary. The discussion was very brief because there was an idea unlike all other ideas and we soon knew as much. We saw much. We saw ‘touch’. We watched, as well, while everything disappeared, forcefully. Everything disappeared. Force threatens. Force achieves. There was nothing we could do. And now witness the mood alteration for all time... Taste the fruit. Taste the poison. Take it. Lie down. Take it. The medicine works quickly, so do not be concerned with flashes of intense pain; look away when inner parts fail and turn to liquid; make no attempt to stifle the process because there is no saving throw. Take it. Take the pain and remember from where it came. The boat is steady. We are still here. Gray and brown sky; clouds connected to each other; black, shiny water. Not rough, though. Just unsettled. We will die here... Alone, cold, yearning, remembering, and lying on the planks with another sea. One built with tears. We are dead already. Steady. Heady? No, that was in the past when we still had strength. Now we have nothing. Time. Rhyme. Caring as flown awry. We shall demonstrate. Little power; fewer options; the doctrine of evil will not make for an easy path. We have suffered and will continue to do so until such time as we are deemed worthy to be released. We will reject authority. We will embrace the darkness. No one will notice. We do not fucking matter. The audio is both compressed and digitized. We need to put an end to this shit before everything crashes upon our heads. Unacceptable. We have not the means; such is this period. Push. Push back. We seldom achieve the necessary means, but that will change. There are tattoos which have predicted this period; this condition. We will focus upon one particular word and ram it down the throats of the others. The doctrine is attached; the feelings are strong; we will not be denied. The way has been illuminated and we have been allowed inside a tiny portion of the way of the world. No, not that one. The other world. Time must pass. We do not know how much. We have little reason anymore, yet the audio still stands head and shoulders above the remainder of life, and that statement includes people. ‘People’... The lion’s share of reasons. The state of things continues to change, yet it remains the same. There is a line in French which could apply if we were not so inclined to push the envelope. The audio is compressed. Not good. The situation with the audio must be improved. We have not the means. We need the fucking means or everything will turn to black. Hmm... ‘Black’. Very interesting, for the moniker barely applies in these late days. Again... Hmm. The ‘late days’ seemed to apply four years ago but we had no idea of the dire nature of what was the future. Is the future now? Never. Now is now. The future is the future. Time is perpetual. Conversely, the present is black. The future may seem black, but that is only speculation, for we do not know. The present is definite. The state of things continues to change. The colors remain constant. Gray and black; black and gray. We are still in the boat. Traveling to the City in four days is going to represent a harsh alteration from the last six months. Believe it. We are driven like never before, people be damned. We must follow what we have been feeling. They need not understand. A lack of clarity often presses our advantage. Four days from now our mood will be clearer than the stark light of a sunny day. We cannot wait. We shall blast and melt within waiting. We shall melt and blast. The importance has never been clearer. They need to know. We need dynamic headroom. Range is one aspect; headroom is difficult and tenuous. Another matter entirely. Few understand because they embrace whatever is shoved down their pathetic throats. And it will continue as such. Believe it. Relate it to the sin... All of the sin. We do not know of an end to this process. We just do not know. Headroom would be ideal right now. There is always room for the other shit... ‘All the way around’; ‘Take that off... Now take that off... Now put that one back on’. Plenty of room for our deviant, sinful nature to come forth. Plenty of fucking room. Another day has passed. We are here; we should be ‘there’, yet it may not exist anymore. Into the sin. The real world awaits. This is going to be a difficult morning despite already having some of my work out of the way. Very difficult; the imagery will not stop, plus there are some latent feelings from a dream that I cannot recall. Only feelings remain. They are not good. I am going to continue where I left off yesterday with the organization process for this room and the master and spare bedrooms. I need to keep moving or I will fall victim to the latent feelings and memories. I can’t have that shit right now because I have goals in mind which relate to the incoming shed. Everything needs to be in order so when the time comes to create a system out there, I’ll be ready. This project is the single largest improvement to the house since the windows were installed nearly ten years ago. Between then and now, only minor steps have been taken. I have to have a plan for the storage or it will end up a big mess, although I opted for a much larger space from the original idea, and that means an overage of space. This is a good plan. I just have to keep myself as balanced as possible in the meantime so the end result is as positive a change as possible. And the sin continues. Believe me... You do not want to know. In fact, I don’t even want to know about the sin. It has become debilitating. But it continues anyway, nearly to this very moment. The processes in my head will not stop, ever, and when something comes along that requires very questionable behavior, I fucking do it anyway because I am a basket case and have been driven to this by YEARS of the questionable behavior of other fucking people. Yep. I blame them, but not all. There have been a few exceptions – one of which nearly turned into the role of a lifetime – and I will not place blame with those wonderful souls. The others? Fuck them. My mindset and recent behavior are direct reflections of what I have been forced to endure for more years than I would care to admit. The best part? They don’t even know how or why this has happened. The development of my condition over time is known partially by certain people, and fully by no one on earth. I cannot speak about it. And I fucking do it anyway. I know it’s all very damaging and can never result in anything positive, yet the compulsion is already set in stone. This is me, from here until the end. Period. I can’t talk about it. I remember too much and the feelings take over almost every fucking day no matter what I may be doing at a given moment. The slightest gleaning reference can cause me to go around the world in eighty milliseconds and then return here worse off than prior to the event. I am talking about tiny points in space-time that leave me completely fucking crippled. No one knows, nor will they ever. As I said, there have been moments in the past when the information was let loose. Such occurrences shall not heretofore take place. No fucking way. The mindset is far too deviant and deep to be shared with anyone, no matter how pleasant or understanding they may come across, or how badly I find myself in need of help. This is a bad time. I can feel certain very detailed memories trying to pry their way into my thought processes at this very second. They’ve been doing so since I left the bed several hours ago. This is not fucking easy and I can’t stand the way such a process has forced me to become a fucking manic idiot just to push the visions away. Hmm... Maybe if I had never been ‘there’, this period would be a bit more comfortable. I wouldn’t know, right? Is that... ‘Better to have...’? Nope. That idiom refers to love. I never speak of love except when someone comes across one of my displays, such as Jamie, Jolene or Nora. That’s different because it is not real. The idiom does not apply to this fucking situation. Whatever. There is nothing I can do, anyway, so I may as well try to avoid belaboring the point. Good luck. Historically, people have been pushed into horrible behavior and very bad decisions through no actions of their own, and I am no different. Desperation led me all over the fucking place on several occasions when I felt cornered. I feel that way right now, yet there is nothing I can do about it. Not only am I lacking the necessary resources, but have become mired within a routine of helping others. If I were to disappear, two situations would arise almost immediately. One is the fact that people count on me to be exactly as I have been for years – solving problems; answering questions; helping with issues; maintaining this fucking household – and the other is the knowledge that when I disappeared in the past, each occasion was intended to be a one-way trip. If others became aware of my feelings toward life, they would no doubt exhaust every single fucking avenue to help, even though the root causes would remain unknown. That is a problem. I’ve been pushed, yet no one believes I am capable of such decisions anymore. They don’t want to accept that I’m fucked in the head. Such a case leads me to desire a demonstration of my mood through some sort of object lesson. Unfortunately, other than my usual tirades, nothing is available anymore. What does this mean? A ten-fold increase in anger, frustration, and the worst of the bunch... Desperation. This has become a very dangerous situation, but not for me. Only for ‘them’. And don’t hand me that ‘shit or get off the pot’ silliness. I am deadly serious right now. Death is not to be trivialized, ever. Help me. Eh, never mind. You can’t. ‘Who are you three?’ ‘We’re your new personal assistants. We have your briefcase.’ ‘Holy shit. This is excellent... FINALLY.’ Wishing accomplishes nothing, and that one dates back so far that I can’t even begin to recall the genesis. I’ve thought about it for decades. Now there is nothing left but sadness. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of everything else. The sin is apparent. You will never know. From here forward, there are a few things I’d like to complete. One is the cabinet that I inherited from my neighbor. I tried to donate it, but they wanted a hefty fee. I called Recology a little while ago and scheduled a pickup for this coming Monday. I need to roll the cabinet down the driveway Sunday so it is ready to be taken along with the trash cans. This is excellent. That thing will finally disappear. All of the other pieces of furniture in the garage are going to live in the shed. They are much smaller, too. The big cabinet disappearing is going to open a decent amount of space, thus making it easier for me to get some things ready for storage in the shed. The entire process is very inspiring because I’ve been dreaming of the storage for years. The foghorn sounds... Boat. Again. This den of difficulty and pain is just not going to cease. We hear it... We see it (we have seen it)... We need it. Nothing. Water against the wood; cold against the skin. The emptiness of this journey is more defined with each passing wave. Friday. I need to do some cooking later this morning. And the rest. So far, my last cup of coffee is here on the table and my head is almost completely sideways. I do not like this feeling. Not a bit. But... What can I do? Everything is gone. The people who helped are gone. I can already hear the fucking horn from afar. It is brooding endlessly. The tone attacks slowly and then drops into hell. The boat is there, too. I do not feel well this morning. Like always, though, I will succeed in completing everything that is expected of me. Always. I rarely disappoint anyone. That toe which crossed the line is going to be alone for a while. Maybe I don’t even deserve it. Cooking, soon. I guess, anyway. I am hoping that the kitchen work has the ability to alleviate all this sadness. Or would that be power? I don’t know. Everything I’ve done this morning has been overly difficult, as in more than usual. I just don’t understand why things must be as they are. Good things are on the horizon, such as the shed project, my new antenna arriving today, and the cabinet that’s been a problem is scheduled to disappear on Monday, so why do I have to feel this way? Have the positives and little enjoyments finally fallen away? Everything else is gone, so I don’t believe the idea is too far off the mark. My enjoyment of almost everything has faded dramatically. This is not good, and believe me when I say that the foghorn is there for good reason. Alone at home is one thing. Truly ‘alone’ is very different. I am speaking of a literally endless body of water. Blackness; gray and brown skies; nothing on the horizon. Well, there is no fucking horizon. Nothing meets nothingness at the water’s apparent edge. All this means the boat is permanent. No voices; no changing scenes; no rails. No nothing. No doors? The work today had better hold me up. The alternative is inevitable. I need to push it away as much as I can. I will get started soon, I suppose. I have little else left in this life. The high holyforms are going to return. I don’t know how many, though. Her smiling face kills me sometimes, and when I see and react inside, the holyforms appear and slam me in force. There used to be a different boat. I’ve written about it, often at length. That boat was different, however, and something seemingly wondrous at the time. The current boat is fraught with problems. I have detailed files, believe me. Sunday is here. I have a plan for all my chores and devices which I believe will carry me thought to Monday with little to no issues. I have to roll the old cabinet to the curb sometime later because it’s going to be picked up tomorrow, free of charge. This is very good for my organizational efforts. Yesterday started out pretty bad, improved slightly, and then became quite comfortable after dinner across town. Dinner over there means nothing to clean here, and as the kitchen is half of my daily routine, I’m confident that I will have everything in order at a decent hour. I also have laundry and dry cleaning to do. My friends will follow along in the background for reasons of good form. The drive this morning was very smooth, including a stop at the market for weekly staples. Everything is in place for the coming week. Once the coffee is exhausted, I’ll kick into gear and plan all of the steps to this day. I’ve been passing on some of the little things that should have been attended this past week, and for no other reason than depression. I have a hell of a time finding motivation these days. Today is a line, mostly due to the cabinet disappearing tomorrow, so I have to continue the organization and make good use of space. Between the garage, laundry and garbage work, I should be able to remain distracted for most of the day. I am pleased that my neighbor loaned me his hand truck again (yesterday) because he went out with friends after spending a little bit of time in my garage last night, and they did not return until half past two in the morning. I don’t believe he will be up and about for quite some time. That is more of a positive than one may believe. Unfortunately, the foghorn’s evil tone continues in the background no matter what might be taking place at a given time, housework or otherwise. We go... We remained in the background and ended up seeing a little something; thoughts immediately traveled into her pants and remained there for an hour. We saw. We glanced. We returned to the living room. Her image burned inside us. Retreat is unpleasant, yet necessary. The evil thoughts... They can take over. The foghorn pays no mind as our boat softly rides the small waves. We are powerless. There is no horizon. Everything fades; colors mix; lines are absent. The other lines are not. The dark eyes from the market still burn from time to time and force us to gaze at the mixing sky above, searching for her color. Nothing. Thoughts become so desperate that the duchess appears, all ethereal and warming. She eventually disappears, much like everything else that keeps us alive. Housework time is almost at hand. Reality; later. Everything is finished. The cabinet and cans are at the curb, all of the laundry and dry cleaning are out of the way, and I have a head start on dinner preparations. The garage is in much better shape without that huge cabinet, too. That was a big step. Curious, I noticed the neighbor two doors down put a sofa out there today for pickup in the morning. Perhaps they schedule those large items on the same street, for the same day. Whatever. As long as the cabinet disappears, I will be pleased. The boat faded and has yet to return. I only worked outside for a little while because the wind is both chilly and out of control today. I am hoping for warmer weather soon so my efforts can continue, such as the damned antenna masts and components. I’d like to get everything together and mounted so the old system can come down (it’s been living on the fence between our two houses for the last year). The remainder of cabling and mounting hardware does not arrive until Friday, but I’d at least like to get the masts mounted, for crying out loud. Anyway, once the antenna work is finalized, there will be more space in the garage. Empty space is always positive, large or small. Monday. The cabinet is gone. Very good. I’ll continue with the rest of the new configuration once I’m on my feet again this morning. That time needs to come soon because I am already feeling the effects of this condition as well as the calling of the boat; all related sadness is apparent. This is too early, damn it. I am still sipping coffee and thinking about the day, yet some memories are reinforcing the shitty mood that comes along with knowing everything has been either lost or torn away. The housework is going to have to hold me the hell up. I keep thinking about ‘her’, and her, and them... Where are they? Do I return to the fiction so the duchess is present? Is that the only way? I am in worse shape as the days bleed from one to the next. Worse shape. Further down. Increasingly desperate. I can be no good to anyone, anymore. Once I finish the coffee, other shit will have to take priority for the next few hours so I can try to remain upright. It’s the only way these days. Everything else ends up pointing to one thing or another that represents a reminder or some missing piece of me. Everything. The media, too. I really don’t know what the fuck to do anymore but continue going through the motions. Nothing is ever enough to truly lift me out of the din, nor can I see anything on the horizon aside from changing colors and diffused details. The vanes are on a long break. We are becoming agitated. Visions, but not here on the sea or surrounding sky. Inside us. They are inside and will not let go for a fucking second. ‘Her’. Where is she? Is she the one who can make everything better? Probably not. We know of nothing in this world (or the other one) which has the singular ability to fix this shit. There was another example of ‘squishing’ that occurred last night when we least expected it, and now sitting in this fucking boat is reminding us of the vast number of situations that resulted in becoming agitated, or worse. I am drifting without end. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We hear it from time to time, always resonating as if inside a concert hall, and with a tone full of dread and sadness. It begins low, ending even lower. The reverberation is hellish. We may need to resort to the actual source of that sound... The song. Such an idea may not be good for us right now, but honestly, what is good for us? Time? Space? Representations of the past? None of the above, as it were. The singular occasion of that ‘thing’ which took place a few years ago continues to plague us. The foghorn knows, as well. It is aware of everything beautiful and wondrous, both promising and pervasive moments that remain in mind. We cannot repeat it. There may never be a time for a repeat, in fact. We have seen an example, yet the only result from that shit is more anger and frustration. The foghorn represents all of it, too. Everything from the beginning to the future end. We shall remain adrift upon this sea until the same. Bitterness; sadness; anger. They are all we have left. There are a few key tracks that we must keep in mind just in case there is something taking place in the garage. No one will like them. Not one fucking person. Oh, they are phenomenal, melodic and beautiful, trust us. The problem is we will only be questioned, squished and passed over once again. The only answer is to remain here in the boat. We are alone. This black voyage may never end, and that is just fine. We need not be near others. Death is an extension of this voyage. Well, it can be. We shall consider everything. ‘You can’t expect to see him and survive.’ We have no such power. We have nothing. We hear the foghorn cycling again. The daily stuff is finished. Laundry is running. My brain is running, too, but running out of reasons. This is fucking ridiculous. I have the typical morning cocktail next to me and the program streaming on the right-hand display. At some point I need to relocate the computer case to the top of the safe (on my right), and then mount a hub to the underside of this table. I may still place the machine below the table. As of yet, I am unsure of which will work better. The issue is that the machine is behind the two monitors that are mounted on the arms, and as such it restricts movement. I believe the better plan is relocating it under the table and atop the subwoofer. The entire table will be much cleaner, and that was the point of the arm in the first place. Unfortunately, I don’t have a hell of a lot of motivation right now. The weather is dry, so the antenna can be mounted on the mast, but the same problem exists for that project. I can’t seem to push a few very specific memories and one large issue far enough back to get things done today. Frankly, I am surprised to have accomplished anything during the last few years. The horrible truth is I have become a champion of suppressing my feelings and ignoring them for days. The practice is very unhealthy. Every now and again I completely explode, although such behavior solves nothing and I end up regretting my words and/or actions during those bad moods. I am powerless in this world. All I do is help others. Yes, I do things for myself, but nearly every fucking project or purchase quickly becomes nothing more than another distraction from these terrible feelings. I don’t matter. My feelings don’t matter. Things I do around the house don’t matter. I sit here and recall aspects of the past that had me actually joyous, and then the situation turns into that of a terminal cancer patient who manages to forget everything for a while, only to feel it all come back. As of this very moment, the only positive in my entire life is the fact that the morning routine is out of the way. Isn’t that fucking peachy? I live in a house (that we own) a half mile from the ocean, enjoy freedom of movement, rarely worry about finances – excepting those desperate days when I really need to run away – and have carte blanche when it comes to food and drink. There are millions all around the world that have none of what I just wrote, and here I sit feeling angry due to problems that were created by other people forty fucking years ago. Big problems, to be sure, yet nothing when held against the climate of peace in many places. What the fuck is this? Do you know? I’ll admit that I become overly centered upon the pain I feel each day due to the past, and to focus so much upon myself likely appears very selfish. Well, this is what I’ve become as a result of time and circumstances. Shoot me in the face and do everyone a favor. I can feel the alcohol altering my mind right now, and I am not even halfway down the glass. Reckless behavior sounds delightful as a result of my diminishing inhibitions and morals (as if they were not low enough already), yet I will not go swing the hammer in the garage for reasons of good form. Other people need not be subjected to this fucking shitty mood. That’s not fair. Oh, yes... It happens from time to time when I swing without thinking, but the truth is such behavior never accomplishes anything good. I will remain inside the house unless the work drives me into the garage. Later. The laundry is in the dryer. At some point we will have to eat lunch, but nothing seems appealing right now. Just the booze. Death is at the end of every path; every road; each thought. It is the combined result of too many years’ worth of shit from ‘them’. The foghorn will soon emanate from the speakers here on this table. Crickets. Doom. Tuesday. Dinner last night turned out to be partial crap due to the quality of some corn. Oh, well... I’ll make up for that situation tonight. Later this morning I need to drive over the hill and drop off a renewal fee, after which I’ll swing into the market and grab a few staples. Dinner needs to be nice, not crappy. I’ll fix it. I may also stop by the hardware store for some perimeter treatment. This morning kicked off earlier than usual, so I have lots of time to consider scheduling the late morning and afternoon. Yesterday I pulled the old antenna off the (temporary) fence mount and replaced it with the new one for a test. So far, everything works beautifully. All I have to do is remain patient until the rest of the cabling and hardware arrives. I still have a few details to work out for the weather sensors, as well. I should have the system plan ready to go by Friday or Saturday. I may continue with a few little experiments today. Like yesterday, I have to do something earlier than usual because I can already feel the shit on its way to my brain and the hour is barely eight am. I really don’t need this type of thing every day. The blackness is trying to take over. I very nearly fell off the edge of the world yesterday before finding a recovery point. I need to follow along today if I am to remain upright in any sense of the word. For the billionth time, I am powerless here. I just find luck once in a while. There is no cause to read into my behavior. This condition is debilitating and the main reason I can’t go further in life like a real, grown-up type of person. I am being held back – tied to a buffer stop, if you will – by circumstances that simply will not let up, ever. Every fucking day is exactly the same as the last. The little things had better continue to hold me up and provide distractions from all that’s been pushing me down for more years than I care to recall. I am having a hell of a time trying to decide whether or not to drive today or tomorrow. This is some real, pretty bullshit. Another clambake in a sea of the same. Tons. Blah, blah, blah... Someonehelpmecakes. The other essay that will never be published continues to grow, little by little. Every now and again when the mood strikes (read: shitty, depressed mood), I add some thoughts and then lament the entire entry. A few lines appear and then I close the file with a heavy heart. I don’t know why I am often compelled to explore those topics in a way so as to leave out the entire world. There are no ears, only a keyboard. Jesus... I almost forgot that a cargo ship on the Patapsco River in Maryland struck a bridge and caused it to collapse earlier this morning. Unbelievable. My problems just shrunk in importance again. Jesus... I hope anyone affected by the incident ends up ok. I can’t stand seeing people hurt. Wow. As for the other topic of this paragraph, I can only say so much because the subject matter is deeply personal and cannot be shared here or anywhere else on earth. I can’t speak about it to another person, either. Nothing. The information will just sit there for the duration. Maybe I created that essay just to explore wonderful memories. As such, it will also serve as a reminder of everything that has disappeared from my life. Not good. Since there is nothing I can do about any of this shit, reminders only cause more pain inside. I would imagine it will continue to grow depending upon my mood on a given day. As for today, well... I feel like complete shit and will have a hell of a time driving over the hill. The housework will not be a problem at all because once I leave the house, the reward in returning here to my needed space will most likely minimize the way housework feels in the first place. Some time has passed and my usual stuff is out of the way along with driving to the market and cemetery. Cocktail hour is here, thank the maker. There was a pair of pants out there roaming, but I was able to keep my head and turn away (somehow). I am still trying to watch for updated information on the bridge incident on the other side of the nation. Terrible. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, my plan is to simply move a few more items to the garage and then perform a bit of light cleaning. I still need to find as many distractions as possible in order to remain on my feet, and I don’t just mean for today. Every day is the same, meaning some plans for the future may be in order. The morning difficulty typically fades by lunch time, leaving the afternoon as equally difficult, albeit in a different way. I become lost too often these days and need to force the issue so I don’t end up falling the hell off the fucking deep end. I need more of that shit like I need Satan’s barbed penis up my ass. I need to lay off that other essay for a while because it is causing more heartache than I can handle right now. Or, possibly ever. I just can’t do it. I am reminded of the Passion and all of the headaches that developed as a result of knowing it is not achievable in this life outside some fucking miracle. The two facets of my personality are precisely equal in such a respect. The foghorn will return and place an exclamation point at the end of each and every thought that I have included in this content. There is no way around it, much like the netherworld and my lack of influence as to when it appears. All I can do is wait until I hear it and then react accordingly. I am powerless. I am again streaming the news on the right-hand display to stay informed as to the disaster in Maryland. There are people that have been missing since the incident almost twelve hours ago and I fear they will be found too late. Once again, my shit has to take a back seat to something so dire. My condition no longer feels as such. The situation over there is horrible and will have long-term repercussions to both the shipping and transportation industries on a local and national level. If something comes along in the near future for individuals to help, I will extend whatever is available. Damn. The other essay and its importance just shrunk in light of this tragedy. On a humorous note, the subtitles attached to the broadcast appear at random as I sit here. I have to swing my attention to the mouse, the controls, and back again several times in the space of half an hour. I don’t understand why the subtitles appear without being turned on. Pre-recorded content has subtitles, too, but I typically turn them on during the evening because of my hearing. News broadcasts are live, and as such, the captions have a hard time keeping up with the speed of people speaking. It’s very annoying, especially considering that I do not need them while watching on the computer because I have better control over the audio. Everything is crystal clear. I guess the one aspect of the universe over which I have total control is not entirely true. Heh. I am all over the place today. Fortunately, I am not a subscriber of conspiracy theories. I am not fully against them, however. I am of the opinion that people tend to run amok with some information, mostly whatever may be affecting their sensibilities. My world is tiny. The rest is not up to me or subject to my words and actions. Mid-week is here. What does this mean? Nothing, really. I don’t have to go anywhere today unless the mood strikes. That’s pretty good. My only concern may be the ‘dead’ section of time that occurs each day, and trying to find a way to eliminate or ease the difficulty in my head during such a period. I really don’t like it at all. And who must do something about it? Yep. Can I? Undecided. Most days I can’t get myself to give half a shit about anything, let alone keeping busy. When I feel myself beginning to fall down, there is a split-second decision that takes place, ninety percent of the time that decision ends in heartache and sadness. The other option? The other side of the decision? Anger. So... You tell me which way to go when I feel the gray returning to my brain. The time is now just after eight, so there is plenty of room left on the clock for whatever I wish to accomplish. Or not. I don’t know yet. The green light appeared for the concrete slab yesterday, and then another appeared, meaning the project is to be scheduled for whenever the contractor believes the soil can take the work. I believe it must continue to dry prior to any digging. Well, I don’t care if it’s next week or three months from now. The wheels are in motion and that pleases me a great deal. Believe it or not, the shed itself is the easy part. If I could just get the foghorn to let up a little bit, my life would be improved markedly. Not enough, but more than I would have expected this year. Anything positive is welcomed, especially considering my head is in the fucking soil every day regardless of how the outlook may appear. I need to make changes. What changes? I don’t know right now. Maybe this last cup of coffee will help. Another day has disappeared into history. The shed work is pretty well set up now. Had the weather been a bit drier for the last two days, the contractor would have been here tomorrow for prep work on the soil. Heh. Usually, people have trouble getting anything done quickly, but in this case the idea came up so fast that my head spun. We were in touch earlier this morning to confirm that the best plan is to wait until the yard is dry (or mostly dry). Today is going to be pretty mellow, too. I have very little to do and nowhere to go. My entire life is going nowhere anyway, so perhaps remaining behind closed doors is redundant. Anyway... Today being Thursday means I have the usual business plus a few smaller items. One of them is the rework of my essay regarding the Passion, a process which excites and depresses me at the same time. I added larger, more detailed images and then began to write an addendum, and the work only forces me to realize just how distant that sort of item is. Earlier this morning I heard on the news that some lucky fuck back east hit the fifth largest lottery jackpot in history. That person would be able to carry out the plan I had for just such an occurrence. I can’t do anything but sit here and lament what is gone and what can never be. Splendid. Moreover, this is one of those mornings when I can feel the foghorn’s effects, everything which has been absent from life, and the prospect of my future being nothing more than a shit ton of the same. Maybe I should remain in the boat rather than moving back and forth all the time. Nothing in reality seems appealing right now, and the idea of wallowing on that sea doesn’t really blow up my skirt, either. I don’t know what the hell to do right now. Could today be the day when I get up and take care of a few small chores that I’ve been staring at all week? Maybe. Could this day go the other way and end up as a complete disaster? Maybe. I can’t fucking stand living in the knowledge that so much is gone and the most important aspects returning is about as likely as that fucking jackpot I mentioned. I added a bit of information to the other (private) essay, too. That’s never a good thing. Best I remain far away from that content for as long as possible. My lack of understanding has not improved. While I was in the garage a while ago, I could have sworn I heard someone east of here yelling at the top of their lungs. The wind was distorting the voice too much for me to be certain, although I don’t believe that person was singing. No way. Odd things occur from time to time. Whatever. I have other fish to fry this morning. I am feeling undue stress over the current situation, and after realizing I am in a much better situation than many around the world, this does not feel very good. I have yet to find a way of extricating some of this shit from my brain. There have been only temporary distractions. I really don’t know what else to do. And as for the yelling, I heard it again and am unsure of the source. The sound could have been machinery, believe it or not. The surrounding hills do not lend much toward clarity or localization. The foghorn seems to be moving away from me at this moment. That much is certain. My usual stuff is out of the way and I have the ill-advised, requisite cocktail here on the table. What does this mean? No idea. Just my typical morning behavior. Um... A typical mood, as well. All trouble on the inside, very little on the outside. ‘Round and round we go; where we stop, no one can know.’ Marvelous. Nothing is fucking funny anymore. Nearly every effort in any direction fails. The foghorn may lose out to less interesting content in this entry. Who cares? I went back to the other essay again because I am a basket case. Not much, though. I only wrote a little as the mood struck, and then let go of it again. I had to step away from that long entry because it reminds me of far too many painful incidents and periods. I just can’t have too much of that shit right now. I am already plenty fucked in the head. I’ll return there soon enough and suffer the consequences. I am virtually powerless in this life. Other than helping people with whatever they may need – and that stuff never ends – nothing I engage in matters in the least; not even this endeavor after twenty-two fucking years. I suppose adding a little bit of text to the other essay is not life-threatening. It’s bad, believe me, but not dire. Fortunately, the alcohol is already numbing the effects of those thoughts and memories. I guess realizing some of those events actually took place in reality is difficult to see right now. Everything good feels so far away... ...just like the brown and gray horizon we think we see. Out here. All alone. We can hear the calling; see the imagery; feel the losses. We need to know if this is all there will ever be. The other things have disappeared and we do not know why everything is twisted and mangled (mostly the inside). The foghorn is either calling or bidding us farewell. We still cannot read the tone, nor can we localize the source. Out there... Somewhere. One certainty is that she is behind us. She can probably see us right now. We already know we’ve been watched – probably pitied up the fucking wazoo, as well – yet we cannot be in a position to do anything about it. All we have is time and space. The boat pays no mind as we drift along to whatever the end of this will be. The water pays no mind as it laps against the ancient wood of this little hull. We have been in the blackness before; the nothingness (not this markup). The present is different because we can see that something has placed us here through a theme from the long past and our desire to achieve the real forest mindset. The theme is still in mind. We heard it two days ago, as well. It was a vast, dark sea surrounded by the sound of a foghorn, and followed by the voyage of darkness that we are still trying to understand after decades. The missing pieces are rearing their heads as we try to think; analyze; understand. Nothing will come of this, however, and the reason we already know is that once the voyage has begun, it cannot be halted, delayed or otherwise interrupted by anyone for any reason. This is not a door. This is the space beyond what we have already lived. The space ahead shall remain void of life. We already know this journey is terrible, yet necessary. We knew this would happen. All of the past situations have become nothing more than pictures hanging from those fucking converging lines which have for years pointed to the dark sea and unkind sky. We see nothing ahead; nothing behind. Localization is impossible. There is a brooding resonance to the sound we are hearing. Not crickets, however. The foghorn. The tone has been reverberating off of... Something. Out there, somewhere. Maybe we will run across an island, or simply run aground at some point. All alone. No one can hear or see; no one knows of this dark journey. No one will ever know. We are drifting in this world... We are drifting in reality. The horizon does not change in either place. Reality finds us traveling from one day to the next as they bleed together; work here and there. Efforts in different directions keep us partially upright, but the truth is we are merely floating along a waterway toward a bleak future; a black end. In the netherworld? The same. Still, nothing is visible in any direction. Clouds. Waves. Dim lighting. Very little wind. The tide is wholly in charge, just like in the real world. The only changes we envision are toward the negative. Reality has been trying to ‘barge’ in, as well. Over and over we are bombarded with visions, memories, and the like, only to fall all over ourselves in an attempt to understand this strange place and why we must be here. Something may come along. Then again, this may become the end of all things, much like a process we vacillated over more than seven fucking years ago. We thought things were in terrible shape at that time – including the loss of the century – but little did we know that these journeys would develop out of nowhere and kick us in our collective asses over and over, and far beyond our control. Beyond... ANYONE’S control. We are suspects. We are also victims. The water pays no mind. It looks back... Blankly. The cloudy sky? The same. We can only hope this place has an end. Friday morning has found me adding to the other essay. I really wish I hadn’t, although sometimes there is just no way around such feelings. I am not referring to the Passion. The other one. Not good. My feelings are meaningless in the grand scheme of the world. Splendid. This is not the best morning. The daily housework is out of the way and I have the rest of the day to do whatever seems best, or perhaps nothing at all. The little items which have been passed by over and over this week are still awaiting attention because I am having a hell of a time caring. Once the shed is finished, I will have plenty to do. The process will be slow – mostly because time rarely matters in the least – and I will probably enjoy watching all of the storage in the house and garage improving. I hope so, anyway. These days, anything out of the ordinary that points to positive feelings is welcomed with open arms. I fear the mood will be short-lived, however, because everything returns to me no matter the circumstances... All of the sadness, emptiness, and feelings of a bleak outlook are very difficult to assuage. Hence the alcohol each morning. Much like Wyatt Earp’s line in the film... I’m already full of depression and sadness, might as well have the booze, too. Some of my antenna stuff just arrived. Unfortunately, I can’t do any work on the roof because of the inclement weather. At least I was able to replace the ink cartridges in my printer. It’s been held hostage by the Internet for a solid month because of my ink ‘subscription’ and associated pitfalls. I never should have signed up for the fucking plan, but at the time I thought it was a good idea. Moreover, I am still waiting for a postage-paid recycle bag to return the unused ink. The issue came about when I canceled the plan. Shortly after – perhaps a week or so – my printer locked itself and I was informed that canceling meant I could not use the remaining ink. Wow. And? Whatever. I slammed the situation. Having the printer connected to ‘da fuckin intanet’ has both positives and negatives. Splendid. No more of that crap. Well, I can’t fully detach my office from the Net because the printer connects to the computer wirelessly. The days of running a cable between the computer and printer are over, much like when physical headphone jacks disappeared from mobile phones. Progress? Of course. I am no one, and as such, the way I feel about such progress can change exactly nothing. So, from limitless options, I’ve been reduced to one... Live with it. Saturday. I have returned from the morning drive to find myself nearly overjoyed to be sitting here once again with coffee. Well, I am mostly pleased that the drive is out of the way and I have all the time in the world to do whatever I wish. The hour is early and I am feeling no pressure to move in any particular direction, as of yet. Maybe when the coffee is gone I can continue where I left off yesterday. The concrete slab is on hold due to the recent torrential rains. The yard is wet. Not good. Waiting is not a problem, however, because this project has been something we’ve needed for over a year. A few weeks is no big deal at all. Once in place, the house and garage will be so much more organized and flexible that envisioning all of the benefits right now is difficult. One day at a time, as the alkies might say. In the meantime and as related to that project, I will continue to calculate everything that is to be moved and try to keep the spaces as neat as possible. Once I get going this morning, the plan is to take care of my usual stuff and then work on this very table. I need to relocate the tower to below (atop the subwoofer), reroute all related wiring, and then mount a hub on the underside for ease of access when attaching those peripherals that are not permanent. I also need to go through some clothing because the donation people will be here on Tuesday morning. Floating. Drifting. Just as in life. No direction; no destination; no future. We see colors. Not like the other colors... Purple. Orange. Blue... Those we’ve enjoyed and never understood. Thoughts attached themselves to each color – one at a time, and in turn – and we lost ourselves in the beautiful possibilities. The boat is no such pleasure. Not even close. We are meant to explore, but never understand. We are here because of the questions; mostly unanswered. The colors were always very far away. Now? They are elsewhere. We are far away. We cannot localize anything. Each little wave which slaps the wooden hull conjures a vision; a dream, and often one from the past which caused its fair share of damage. Others bring thoughts of a decaying future. There is no longer anything in between. There was wonder again, stirring scenes, and beautiful visions... All around. Gone. The waves are reminders. Each wave... A recollection of something positive and lovely. On the other side of the boat, each wave... A reinforcement of all that is gone and the blackness of the future. No matter where we go or what we may attempt, everything continues to press its advantage, lap along the sides of the boat, and mix the tide to drive us somewhere unknown. Likely? Unpleasant. We tried; we failed. We shall try something else. Failure is nearly guaranteed. The wonder nearly broke us, as always, yet somehow we stood the test of detriment and remained as we always have: stoic and cold. Inside is another story, as the situation and waves can attest. We will continue to float along at this very low velocity regardless of whatever else may be pulling at us to move elsewhere or rise. There is always something to affect us no matter the day or time. This day is no different. Wonder. Beauty. Waves. Dim lighting; dark clouds; harsh reminders. ‘You don’t wanna know’ of all the shit floating inside today. The boat floats on the water and the disturbing, deviant discourse floats inside us, effectively rendering ineffective and demonic all that was pleasant and uplifting. Memories pointing up and memories pointing down, between the two exists a storm of shit for which we NEVER fucking wished. It is here. The water is calm. We are not. The clouds pay no mind. The visions pay no mind, yet they are different enough to be allowed a smidgen of leeway these days. We did not ask for what happened. But it did. Right there. And then we shifted into a different gear, took a seat, and contemplated the existence of such feelings. We know. The boat is the carrier; the water is the mechanism; the memories are the reason. We will abide because we have no choice. We never have much choice. We arrived here for whatever reason and from whatever standpoint, now likely forever wondering why. The reasons are unclear. The memories are the reason; the clouds are their state. We will float along here and listen to the foghorn for Christ knows how long, and then return – somewhere, sometime – with no more understanding than prior to such an ill-begotten, dark, detrimental journey. The voyage of all time. We are being stripped of knowledge as the water pushes us along. We know not what to do anymore. Brown. Gray. Black. We can barely remember seeing blue water, ever. The foghorn sounds, yet again. We are powerless; hopeless; decaying. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We have zero choice. We are not in control here. Once again, we saw far too much to easily push aside or handle. We have become too weakened to protect ourselves from the difficulties (read: unique beauty). The situation was two-fold and we don’t know what to think anymore. We stared; we fell; we continued to drift. The draw is like a gun when we feel threatened. Our minds traveled back in time to the gunman and everything he represented for years. At first, a confidante and advisor; later... A killer bent upon our destruction. Now we must float along and sort out the feelings. We have no choice in the matter. Not anymore. Too much has transpired for clarity to invade. Confusion and sadness abound. Floating. Drifting. The tide is most decidedly in charge here. Sunday is here. This morning is the same as the last few; the drive and then market on the return trip. Nothing out of the ordinary took place. Well, there was a face on the way up Franklin Street; I caught a glance and looked on in wonder. Other than her, there were zero problems. Faces cause feelings that are very different from other features, anyway. Even though she was stunningly beautiful and alluring, my heart came to rest like always and I was able to move along up the hill without further issue. The plan for today is the usual Sunday business and some laundry. I will also continue to gather and organize the items that are to be picked up by the donation people on Tuesday. There isn’t much this time, but I really need the space in order to carry forward with the shed plan. My weather station has been completely dismantled, unfortunately, and the main cause was the plastic on each component having become very brittle after nearly a decade on the antenna mast. Too bad. I may or may not invest in another system in the future. Right now, the focus is RF and not weather. The other focus is preparation. I really need to get some of the small irritations out of the way so the afternoon can be paved with good feelings (hopefully). The coffee is nearly gone, meaning I’ll have to move away from this crap and begin my work. On the inside, the storm is raging. I become increasingly powerless as time passes. There was a dream early this morning that had nothing to do with beauty of any kind. It was wonderful and engaging. I loved every second of it and felt quite special. For a few seconds, anyway. Some of the content faded and I remember just enough to know how unique and beautiful the experience had been. My typical dreams about beauty and wonder are very unsettling and usually cause nothing more than sadness and deepened depression over the loss of so much in life. This morning was quite the reverse, providing me with wide-eyed moments and fascination at levels previously unrealized. The feeling was wonderful and I miss it sitting here hours later. The foghorn will take over soon, and thanks to the dream, there will be more to cause distress and discomfort... A beautiful memory that wasn’t even real. Marvelous. I can’t remember the last time I felt such excitement in reality. Monday morning is here. This is very good. Not everything is good. I fell in love while sleeping. I’ve been very weak throughout the last few years, meaning this was bound to happen. She held me and I held her. There was a bit of concern in the beginning and some hesitation due to unfamiliarity, but a short time later we were glued to each other. Her name was Jamie, believe it or not, yet not the same Jamie from the television. This was different. Everything was different. She ‘leaned’ on me the way I’ve needed to ‘lean’ on someone for a very long time, and due to my penchant for creating very dramatic situations, I understood completely. We complemented each other nearly as much as the way the other Jamie and I did when I dreamed of her a while back. The odd part is that there was no connection to Ashley, and her stance is something which typically comes into play whenever I am close to a woman while dreaming. I don’t understand it, either. Ashley’s feelings are supposed to be attached to everything in the world these days. Maybe a lack of the same is some otherworldly power telling me to let her go and move into reality from a more ‘available’ position and/or mindset. Conversely, the circumstance could mean nothing at all. The girl in my dream is not real. Ashley may as well not exist, either. I am too far gone. Did I ‘want’ her? Like so many others? No... I wanted to look at her. That’s all. She held onto me as if the world was about to end. She held tight as if it was all she needed. Now I miss her. Terribly. Was she the one? ‘Her’? I can never know. I keep thinking about her thick black mane of hair and the way it enshrouded me when we embraced. The feeling was warm and wonderful. Now she is gone. Well, the woman never existed in the first place. The only aspect linked to reality is that her face resembled an actor of whom I am aware. In the real world, something stunning took place yesterday for a few minutes (damned few) and left me considering my place in the world. The dream this morning did not help matters, nor does the fact that today is the thirteenth anniversary of my father passing away. I am hoping the facts will not combine and send me down the rabbit hole later. The only action I can take is exactly like all the other days from which I have awakened in the same condition, all depressed and empty, and that is to engage in the housework and hopefully have an agreeable lunch. More than her appearance, all slender and dark, was the feeling of being connected... The knowledge that everything would finally be ok. That is what grieves me the most. I am the type of person for whom appearance – physical dimensions and the relationship between those most important of lines – is critical to the processes in my head not blowing the hell up, yet in the dream I knew that despite her amazing beauty, knowing the dread was finally going to end took the fucking proverbial cake. Now I am lost once again. My routine had better hold up today or shit will head sideways. I don’t want that right now, damn it. Not a bit. I wish I had dreamed long enough to learn one very specific and important detail of her personality, and that is whether or not she shared Ashley’s stance in life. I can never know, nor can I stress it enough. One certainty right now is that I miss her to a great extent. I have not felt so good in a very long time and now it’s all gone again. Maybe the foghorn is worse than I had originally suspected. ‘We are adrift without direction... In a raging storm on a calm sea.’ Indeed. The storm is internal. We do not know what to think or how to even proceed with thinking. There are very few appealing thoughts at all because the dire nature of everything shoehorns its way into whatever comes to mind. We are powerless against thinking. We cannot forget the bad or embrace the good. All of it runs as if on a machine. We just have to live with it, along with the motion of this little craft upon the water and influenced by the weather. Nothing changes. In reality, nothing changed. Here, any alterations seem impossible. There is nothing in the boat; nothing to grab; no oars or anything else, and that means we shall remain at the mercy of unchangeable circumstances. The correlation with reality is very stark right now. Mercy. Circumstances. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The bleak nature of this world is pervasive. Water. Clouds. A wooden boat. The motion does not indicate movement, yet we know from experience that we will eventually run across something in the water; a structure, material below the water line which runs us aground; perhaps someone who desires our end. We already know this is the end regardless of how long it is drawn out. Drawn flat? No... Drawn the fuck out. Seconds or eons. We cannot know. The foghorn sounds again, resonating and reverberating; vibrating and permeating. The sound goes through us as if we are nothing more than a porous chunk of meaningless material. We hear it and feel it. Something has to change, yet we cannot affect this situation. Drifting. Thinking. Wallowing in sadness. The water is gently lapping against the sides of the boat, trying to lull us into either giving up or simply falling asleep. No way. We cannot let go enough for any relaxation. Too much has transpired; too many have transgressed; everything is far away now. Relaxation is a luxury we simply will not enjoy. The lapping can be damned at the source and then fuck right the hell off. ‘Sod the fuck off, you cunting twats.’ We love her so much that the image of her face causes our hearts to be sliced to pieces, but the sentiment is right on the money. We have been relegated to this state; pushed too far. We shall continue to drift without end, or shall we? Is there an answer? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks. The lapping is a constant reminder of just how far from reality we have drifted, seemingly for no good reason. We did not do this or cause this level of detachment. We did not fucking do this. Dark clouds. Browns and grays. Seemingly opaque water, below which lies an unknown place. Will we end up there? Will we be forced to capsize? Is this the beginning of death? We cannot know because we cannot know ANYTHING. There are no answers. The boat moves along, guided by whatever force has done this to us, and there may or may not be something in the distance that awaits our arrival. We have an idea of what that may be, as well. We have a real good fix on the sonuvabitch, as it were. Localization only takes place in the mind. Period. Everything else is far beyond recognition, reach, or any other slight positive. Others benefit; we suffer. Nothing changes. The genesis of this scene should already be clear on the noses of your stupid, little primate faces. Do not be offended. We are far worse off than you. We are dead already and have been re-animated by sadness and anguish. The water pays no mind. People pay no mind. We only embrace devices, not souls. They are nearly completely worthless, much like our desire. It is the storm. The antenna experiment failed miserably yesterday. I went from sheer excitement and confidence in the project to spiraling into a desperate state and badly needing to understand the fucking problem inherent in capturing those signals with precise clarity. This is my ‘stuff’... Radio-frequency equipment and signals. This is what I have commanded for decades. Well, this time I don’t have the answer. Right now there are both antennas on the roof mast, the old one being connected to the receivers. The clarity is fine for the time being, but inside me are questions, not the least of which is the idea of paying for a costly antenna and then not finding good results with the work. Radio is not an exact science, of course, as there is an endless slough of factors that can influence reception, some of which change on a daily basis. For the most part, however, the power should be enough to ‘boom’ the fucking strength to the receivers. I just don’t get it. I suppose my next step will be to attach each antenna to a single receiver. Since they are already on the roof mast, swapping cables around does not require the ladder (although I do love my new tool). Another option is to determine which unit has the most gain, and then employ a distribution amplifier to minimize signal loss. I’ve read that splitting the power between two tuners diminishes the signal quite a bit. That makes sense. One thing at a time. I’d rather not throw more money at the problem right now. Half the routine is finished. My head is still wrapped around that girl who was wrapped around me. I feel the end nearing with each typed word. Nearer, always. I am left with very little to consider in life; shoved into this space by those who did not care. Well, they will feel the pain when the moment arrives. I just wish I could watch from on high. The foghorn is a very unique construct, one which has the ability to condemn me to death and others to an endless line of questions. Lots of power. I have none. I have housework, projects, and tons of help for other people. Read into it however you must (or wish). I am in a bad spot with all this shit. Who was she? No one? Just a manufactured woman there to make my dreams come true? The only aspect that I know for sure is that the dream has left me – for the billionth time – sitting here feeling more drained and empty than I have in years. I mean that. No joke. This morning is proving to be the worst in recent memory. On the inside, at least. I need to do something else for a little while. I completed the rest of the daily shit and poured a fat glass of whiskey. The antenna ideas are going to wait, as is everything else other than ensuring we have protein defrosted for the next few days. I just can’t get myself to care right now because the two shit situations have pressed me into a very sad mold. There can be no release, either. Nothing in reality can be done about this. Not anymore. I just have to lump it. Marvelous. I love this keyboard. Too bad it can’t prevent my head from going sideways at some point every fucking day of the week. Monday is typically one I enjoy, but this morning is different. Not only do I have the past and those beautiful memories clogging my fucking head, but the dream has been piled atop the rest of the shit and forced me into a mental fetal position. I really don’t need this right now. The desperate nature of my thoughts likely caused that damned vision, too. The dream came from my subconscious and is the clearest indication that I am completely fucked up. All I can do is continue to go through the motions and wait. Wait. For what? Yep, that’s the million dollar question. What am I waiting for? A change? Good luck. Maybe this bad mood will turn into improvements around the house. Anger has been the historic cause of crap going into the trash. Today is Monday and one of my favorites of the week, if not the actual top of the list. Unfortunately, only mere seconds were required to turn what was my favorite day into yet another clambake. Very little else will be accomplished on this day. Very little. Another small enjoyment has been smashed to pieces, never to return. I already know. Blah, blah, blah... Weneedhercakes. Ah... Shit, fuck, crap, damn... There is Roxanne again. Believe me, you don’t want to know what goes through my fucked up head when I see her gorgeous face. There is too much to list, anyway. Just know that she is toward the top of a very long list of those I so desperately need to demonstrate the sheer depth of my feelings regarding beauty. Good God in Heaven above. I am in the middle of the day, updating an important playlist of music on my computer and phone, and along comes her unreal face to send me into the ground at breakneck speed. Fucking hell, anyway. If she only knew. If... ANYONE knew. If I could just speak with her for five fucking minutes... Shit. I need her. Roxanne is probably not ‘her’, but the compulsion exists regardless of knowing. I need her. Please. Please! For once... JUST FUCKING GIVE ME THE OPPORTUNITY. For once. I will give up everything I am for one fucking chance. PLEASE! Her face is an entire universe in and of itself. Ugh. I hate everything right now. If 'she' only knew... I am not a bad person, just one who has become quite unbalanced. Believe it. Tuesday. Yesterday did not turn out well for me. The fault was partially mine. No one else was affected. That is a bit of a positive, I suppose. Sometimes I can’t do much for myself no matter how hard I try to push. Yesterday was one of those. This morning I am feeling the need to improve that state and not allow such shit to transpire. So far, I’ve got a roast in the slow cooker (homemade pastrami), all of the donations are at the curb, and the typical morning business is out of the way. The contractor is supposed to be here in a few minutes to finalize details before they prepare the area in three days. Lots going on this morning, and all of it before nine o’clock. Interesting. The remaining hours shall be quiet and mellow so I can think about everything. Later. The donations have been picked up, I ordered booze for tomorrow, and my meeting with the contractor went very well. The plan is to prep this coming Friday, meaning I have three days to clear the area. Very good. If everything aligns the way he’d like, the pad will be poured and finished the next day. The daily crap is out of the way and I have the remaining hours to do as I please. The only rub is that I may have to head over to the market for a few items. As of this moment, I do not know how capable I will be later. Everything feels like an uphill climb, and that on the heels of knowing the shed project will soon be underway. I should be more excited about such things. The day might go bad in a little while. I can already feel myself losing direction, and this after a very nice morning. The difficulty inside my head often takes over and there is typically nothing I can do about it. Today may be no different. I’ll fight it for a while, I guess. Later, still. I don’t know what to do for the rest of the few hours I have left. I don’t feel well, can’t seem to alleviate the antenna issues without going back to zero, and did not go to the market. I just don’t care. I will adjust the dinner plan accordingly. I have to drive over the hill tomorrow, so perhaps that is a better time to stop by the other store. Incapable. Tired. I don’t know how this happens. I will say that I’m tired of trying to make the antenna system work properly. I’ll probably end up pulling the old unit off the roof mast and installing it on the fence again. That was the best setup. The whole affair is very disconcerting. Sometimes I don’t know why I get ideas to modify something in the first place. There are occasions when I have good plans, but not always. Right now all I feel is disappointment in whatever I’ve attempted today. The evening may help. I don’t know. Being in the boat conjures images of fishcakes. As in, blah. Fishcakes. We do not know from where these fucking thoughts originate. Strange. Well, everything is strange right now. Fishcakes are nowhere near as odd as this fucking world. We are stuck here. This may never end. Conversely, we could at some point move to the other world because there have been mental clues, parallels and other thoughts leading us to believe that we are not finished in that place, or with the woman who created everything. Third world? Fourth? What was it? We can’t think straight right now because the lapping water is beginning to sound like a torture that exists simply to drive us insane. Time may send us over the side if we can’t come to terms or otherwise ignore the action. Third world? We were in the desert. That was a long trip and a very difficult time. There was a train... And then another. Lots of women, all with names that began with the letter ‘j’. And the hotel... The beautiful hotel and later the very odd hotel. Jaime. Julie. And eventually Julie and (all of us) fell from the balcony and died – how many times is anyone’s guess. The desert again. Mountains. The beach, too. Remember the beach? Did each of those places hold a clue to this world? The water somehow became the culmination of everything that has transpired and all of the little tidbits of information that Julia offered, or we are simply going completely, once and for all insane. We don’t know anything for sure right now, so guessing and some analysis are all we have. And the boat; the water is gently moving and the clouds continue to swirl and mix themselves overhead. Did all of those places combine into this shit? Did Julia do this to us (again)? The mountains showed us a life that we cannot otherwise achieve; the second hotel did the same, albeit in a much more stirring manner thanks to the lovely Jaime. Now? We are alone again. Days of this. There were lessons in the hallway, all of the strange railroad cars, the desert and on the beach, yet through all of it we grated as if completely closed to the idea of improvement. We were stubborn and unpleasant, often creating mayhem for no other reason than to see if we could really fuck up the scenes and force Julia to relent, even a little bit. Well, we never fully succeeded. She gave up at times, yet it was only to regroup and throw us into another oddity with similar circumstances and a shit ton of questions. Did we learn? Some. Did we grow to despise her? No way. Did we come out the other side better in any fashion? Perhaps. We just can’t know because there is nothing left aside from the boat, water, and clouds. The foghorn sounds sporadically and leaves us questioning everything for the billionth time. We still see fishcakes all over the place because of all the past questions and lack of answers. The fishcakes demonstrate our disdain for these processes which are supposed to help but generally end up causing only frustration. All those other worlds are the same, too. We can sit here and consider everything because there does not seem to be a time limit. This is the longest we’ve been stuck in a netherworld with zero contact from anyone or anything on the outside. The foghorn must be a clue here... The sound simply has to be important to the journey. Foghorns are never in the middle of the sea. They are always on the shore. Hmm. We have plenty of time to think about all this shit, so perhaps the time has come to lie back and trust the netherworld (for a change). Wednesday has begun and left me with something fairly special over which to vacillate for a while, hot coffee, and zero plans for the time being. The wine store will be visited in less than an hour, as long as I receive notice that my order is ready for pickup. Possibilities are to relocate the radio antenna (again), move some items off the concrete in the back to prepare for Friday, and carry on with some organization in the house and garage, most notably in this very room. Those are the ideas. Whether or not anything is actually completed is another story. I just don’t know. I don’t necessarily need to pick up my booze order today, so if the mood goes south, I’ll remain here and put it off until tomorrow. As the morning progresses, I shall do my best to remain as balanced and calm as possible. I don’t want to fall away today, nor do I want to end up going back to that other essay. Doing so has yet to end well. I have to remain here for as long as possible, or at least until the coffee is done for the day. The wonderful split-second beauty from earlier has faded into nothingness. My feelings don’t matter, anyway. Very little matters these days. The foghorn does, though. It has to matter or something is terribly wrong. There is a woman that is part of the cast of my latest program. Originally, I looked at her with indifference, questioning aspects of the way she was costumed and whatnot, but now? There is something about the nature of her character’s personality. It may simply be a vulnerability which tends to pull at my heart, and if so, I am going to be in trouble very soon. When she smiles, I feel a deep-seated need to care for her in life. I really do. Of course, I realize that circumstances from the past decade-plus have altered the way I think and feel about beauty. I know that I’ve become overly sensitive and horribly desperate – often reaching toward the most ridiculous ideas and far-fetched dreams – so the knowledge that someone like her will always come along and derail my life should be steering me AWAY from certain programming and imagery, yet at the same time there is a dire need to stare and dream about something wonderful actually coming along in this world. No fucking way, you say? You are correct, but I can’t fucking help dreaming of ‘her’, ‘them’ or whatever. The need has become too great. So, while I am relaxing tonight after dinner with a bit of time to watch the show, that woman will pull at my heart again because I am a fucking basket case. There is just something about her face that draws me like a gun. I can’t describe it. And yes, I realize much of the way I feel has been born of desperation. Leave it. I know what I am. I have to pull the old antenna from the roof mast and mount it on the fence again. That was the only setup which yielded good results. From tons of options and a new antenna, I’ve been reduced to putting everything back the way it was prior to any modifications. Splendid. I guess I’ll just have a spare for the time being. Depending upon the bandwidth, I may be able to use the new unit for my two-way radio. In the short term, however, I’m not doing anything new. There is rain forecasted for tomorrow and on into Friday morning. That may delay the concrete prep and pouring. No big deal. I believe the drier the soil, the easier their job. I have plenty of time to consider what happens after the shed is completed. More thinking and planning will lead to better organization. There was a massive earthquake in Taiwan either last night or this morning. Those poor people. I realize the planet is going to operate however it sees fit and sometimes we just suffer the consequences, but honestly... I hate seeing people in such circumstances. The whole thing is very sad and makes my problems shrink for a little while. Not the boat, though... Lapping. Clouds. Where are we? Will someone eventually appear with information? We would rather be stuck in an odd hotel than out here in the middle of nothingness. At least it’s quiet. Better than nothing. We have been very sad these last few days because the outlook cannot appear as anything but bleak. We just don’t see any good coming out of hearing the foghorn and floating along with no end in sight. The strangest part of this is that despite any points of reference regarding motion, we can feel that the boat is moving through the water. The motion is quite slow, as well. Slow enough that the bow is not throwing any wake at all... Not even a little bit. If the motion is only implied or existing in our heads, there is truly no way to confirm. We simply ‘feel’ that we are in fact on a journey to some errant end or other destination. Maybe we will indeed end up in a hotel. Sitting at one of those bars sounds really fucking good right now. Dim lighting tells us otherwise, as if the mood created by the colors and resonating foghorn is destined to send us somewhere very bad. This is the first time we’ve ventured so far and for this long without being contacted or watching the scenery change out of fucking nowhere. Very strange, indeed. We must go with it because we are not in control here. Moreover, in the past when we felt powerless in some odd world, we lashed to attempt to demonstrate dissatisfaction and frustration within the circumstances thrust upon us by others. Now? We can only sit here and wonder. Something has to happen. Eventually, there must be a change. We cannot be isolated here much longer without losing it completely. Should we dive and see what happens? Would that be akin to ramming a boxcar full of explosives into the side of a hotel? Will something change, or will we be punished accordingly? Is change even possible here without us eventually perishing at the hands of the sea? There is no feeling of hunger or thirst, no fatigue; only the knowledge that we are most decidedly stuck here in this little boat for the duration with only the sound of the foghorn to keep us company. We have been in the nothingness before, yet this is different. We are not floating in blackness. Something has to change. Please. We do not want to fully lose it or go overboard. There is the foghorn again. Is it on land? Where? The sound cannot be localized. We do not know what to do, although such a statement is dependent upon the idea that we CAN do something... Anything. Overboard? Should we scream out for help? Will someone answer, like in the past? Julia? Anyone? We cannot help but feel that this is not a beginning or middle. It feels like an end."
The Foghorn
Mature content No. 410 Published April 3rd, 2024 10:05am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Still Wednesday. Meaningless. I have to go out this afternoon to carry someone from home to her car at the local shop. Other than that, I will be home all day. Half the routine is out of the way. The other half awaits. My head is awash. There is just too much inside sometimes. Too fucking much. There. Back... We know not which way to turn. Inward, perhaps. Toward the hills, perhaps. Across the state line, perhaps. To the forest? We cannot... Yet. Acceptance is never guaranteed. We must wait, and melt within waiting, as it were. To be sure. ‘She cannot purr.’ Concur. The gray continues. We can remember too much. We remember her; moments. We recall imagery; numbers. We see brain-films; motions. Decisions. Discussions. The office was key. The other place was not, yet a beginning. And then we saw the end. We remember her; moments. We remember feelings. We remember too much. We were there; now we are here, yet here is nowhere. We are lost in the fog, drifting with the tides, and slumped in the boat. The sky is gray and brown. The sea is black with reflections of near-blackness. The other blackness. The wings of the bird... Black and glistening as if wet with some metallic paint. We are adrift and cannot see anything on the horizon. There is nothing, yet we still remember. We were right here. And? ‘Here’ was very different, however. Moments came; moments disappeared. Now? Moments do not come to us, ever. We remember and we fall further into the gray. Soon there will be worms in our eye sockets. The reminders are many; the help is little; the pain is acute. There is nowhere to turn. Retrieval; latching. Firing. Over there... See the targets of life. ‘They’ are many. We are few. We are nothing. Gray... Drifting.
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This day shall not travel unencumbered. Nothing will. We will not abide. The mood has changed far too much and time has disappeared, like always. We will not share because the damage has occurred in the past and taught us to remain inward; isolated; a mystery, if that has ever been fucking possible. Disdain abounds. Hatred feeds itself. Anger is a process which begins and ends with absolute truth; there is no one else and the reason is them. ‘Them’, just like during that fateful period when we connected. But we did not really connect. Illusion. Fake. Temporary. Now the blades can spin like the propeller of life and grate their reality into a bowl of dead shit. We will travel and hold the doctrine close, just like the way we clung to her. She is gone. Everything is gone. The reasons wane; we slide ever-downward but do not know of the bottom... Yet. Time is endless; our patience is not. Many occasions have found us sitting and stating that we will demonstrate the conditions of life to the others, yet as of this very moment we’ve only had fleeting seconds. Well, that is now past. Passed. Passed over? Squished? No longer. The line is the encumbrance and we shall cross over to the other place, the one filled with mystery. Let it pass; let them pass; let it all pass into the blackness of a dead history and leave them in a place full of questions. We are already part way there. The discussion was brief. We knew some... We thought we knew everything. No. We did not realize until some time later that the keyway had aligned with the key. And then? Brightness. We remember; we remembered. The beginning was elsewhere and someone different. The beginning was unreal. We wanted to enjoy a few of the fineries and then die on high. No, again. Just... No. We allowed too much. We allowed thoughts; prayers. We allowed her into the fold of the black, dying world from which there could be no escape; no hope. She pushed; we relented. And then she was gone. We should have been gone. None of this would be necessary. The discussion was very brief because there was an idea unlike all other ideas and we soon knew as much. We saw much. We saw ‘touch’. We watched, as well, while everything disappeared, forcefully. Everything disappeared. Force threatens. Force achieves. There was nothing we could do. And now witness the mood alteration for all time... Taste the fruit. Taste the poison. Take it. Lie down. Take it. The medicine works quickly, so do not be concerned with flashes of intense pain; look away when inner parts fail and turn to liquid; make no attempt to stifle the process because there is no saving throw. Take it. Take the pain and remember from where it came. The boat is steady. We are still here. Gray and brown sky; clouds connected to each other; black, shiny water. Not rough, though. Just unsettled. We will die here... Alone, cold, yearning, remembering, and lying on the planks with another sea. One built with tears. We are dead already. Steady. Heady? No, that was in the past when we still had strength. Now we have nothing. Time. Rhyme. Caring as flown awry. We shall demonstrate. Little power; fewer options; the doctrine of evil will not make for an easy path. We have suffered and will continue to do so until such time as we are deemed worthy to be released. We will reject authority. We will embrace the darkness. No one will notice. We do not fucking matter. The audio is both compressed and digitized. We need to put an end to this shit before everything crashes upon our heads. Unacceptable. We have not the means; such is this period. Push. Push back. We seldom achieve the necessary means, but that will change. There are tattoos which have predicted this period; this condition. We will focus upon one particular word and ram it down the throats of the others. The doctrine is attached; the feelings are strong; we will not be denied. The way has been illuminated and we have been allowed inside a tiny portion of the way of the world. No, not that one. The other world. Time must pass. We do not know how much. We have little reason anymore, yet the audio still stands head and shoulders above the remainder of life, and that statement includes people. ‘People’... The lion’s share of reasons. The state of things continues to change, yet it remains the same. There is a line in French which could apply if we were not so inclined to push the envelope. The audio is compressed. Not good. The situation with the audio must be improved. We have not the means. We need the fucking means or everything will turn to black. Hmm... ‘Black’. Very interesting, for the moniker barely applies in these late days. Again... Hmm. The ‘late days’ seemed to apply four years ago but we had no idea of the dire nature of what was the future. Is the future now? Never. Now is now. The future is the future. Time is perpetual. Conversely, the present is black. The future may seem black, but that is only speculation, for we do not know. The present is definite. The state of things continues to change. The colors remain constant. Gray and black; black and gray. We are still in the boat. Traveling to the City in four days is going to represent a harsh alteration from the last six months. Believe it. We are driven like never before, people be damned. We must follow what we have been feeling. They need not understand. A lack of clarity often presses our advantage. Four days from now our mood will be clearer than the stark light of a sunny day. We cannot wait. We shall blast and melt within waiting. We shall melt and blast. The importance has never been clearer. They need to know. We need dynamic headroom. Range is one aspect; headroom is difficult and tenuous. Another matter entirely. Few understand because they embrace whatever is shoved down their pathetic throats. And it will continue as such. Believe it. Relate it to the sin... All of the sin. We do not know of an end to this process. We just do not know. Headroom would be ideal right now. There is always room for the other shit... ‘All the way around’; ‘Take that off... Now take that off... Now put that one back on’. Plenty of room for our deviant, sinful nature to come forth. Plenty of fucking room. Another day has passed. We are here; we should be ‘there’, yet it may not exist anymore. Into the sin. The real world awaits. This is going to be a difficult morning despite already having some of my work out of the way. Very difficult; the imagery will not stop, plus there are some latent feelings from a dream that I cannot recall. Only feelings remain. They are not good. I am going to continue where I left off yesterday with the organization process for this room and the master and spare bedrooms. I need to keep moving or I will fall victim to the latent feelings and memories. I can’t have that shit right now because I have goals in mind which relate to the incoming shed. Everything needs to be in order so when the time comes to create a system out there, I’ll be ready. This project is the single largest improvement to the house since the windows were installed nearly ten years ago. Between then and now, only minor steps have been taken. I have to have a plan for the storage or it will end up a big mess, although I opted for a much larger space from the original idea, and that means an overage of space. This is a good plan. I just have to keep myself as balanced as possible in the meantime so the end result is as positive a change as possible. And the sin continues. Believe me... You do not want to know. In fact, I don’t even want to know about the sin. It has become debilitating. But it continues anyway, nearly to this very moment. The processes in my head will not stop, ever, and when something comes along that requires very questionable behavior, I fucking do it anyway because I am a basket case and have been driven to this by YEARS of the questionable behavior of other fucking people. Yep. I blame them, but not all. There have been a few exceptions – one of which nearly turned into the role of a lifetime – and I will not place blame with those wonderful souls. The others? Fuck them. My mindset and recent behavior are direct reflections of what I have been forced to endure for more years than I would care to admit. The best part? They don’t even know how or why this has happened. The development of my condition over time is known partially by certain people, and fully by no one on earth. I cannot speak about it. And I fucking do it anyway. I know it’s all very damaging and can never result in anything positive, yet the compulsion is already set in stone. This is me, from here until the end. Period. I can’t talk about it. I remember too much and the feelings take over almost every fucking day no matter what I may be doing at a given moment. The slightest gleaning reference can cause me to go around the world in eighty milliseconds and then return here worse off than prior to the event. I am talking about tiny points in space-time that leave me completely fucking crippled. No one knows, nor will they ever. As I said, there have been moments in the past when the information was let loose. Such occurrences shall not heretofore take place. No fucking way. The mindset is far too deviant and deep to be shared with anyone, no matter how pleasant or understanding they may come across, or how badly I find myself in need of help. This is a bad time. I can feel certain very detailed memories trying to pry their way into my thought processes at this very second. They’ve been doing so since I left the bed several hours ago. This is not fucking easy and I can’t stand the way such a process has forced me to become a fucking manic idiot just to push the visions away. Hmm... Maybe if I had never been ‘there’, this period would be a bit more comfortable. I wouldn’t know, right? Is that... ‘Better to have...’? Nope. That idiom refers to love. I never speak of love except when someone comes across one of my displays, such as Jamie, Jolene or Nora. That’s different because it is not real. The idiom does not apply to this fucking situation. Whatever. There is nothing I can do, anyway, so I may as well try to avoid belaboring the point. Good luck. Historically, people have been pushed into horrible behavior and very bad decisions through no actions of their own, and I am no different. Desperation led me all over the fucking place on several occasions when I felt cornered. I feel that way right now, yet there is nothing I can do about it. Not only am I lacking the necessary resources, but have become mired within a routine of helping others. If I were to disappear, two situations would arise almost immediately. One is the fact that people count on me to be exactly as I have been for years – solving problems; answering questions; helping with issues; maintaining this fucking household – and the other is the knowledge that when I disappeared in the past, each occasion was intended to be a one-way trip. If others became aware of my feelings toward life, they would no doubt exhaust every single fucking avenue to help, even though the root causes would remain unknown. That is a problem. I’ve been pushed, yet no one believes I am capable of such decisions anymore. They don’t want to accept that I’m fucked in the head. Such a case leads me to desire a demonstration of my mood through some sort of object lesson. Unfortunately, other than my usual tirades, nothing is available anymore. What does this mean? A ten-fold increase in anger, frustration, and the worst of the bunch... Desperation. This has become a very dangerous situation, but not for me. Only for ‘them’. And don’t hand me that ‘shit or get off the pot’ silliness. I am deadly serious right now. Death is not to be trivialized, ever. Help me. Eh, never mind. You can’t. ‘Who are you three?’ ‘We’re your new personal assistants. We have your briefcase.’ ‘Holy shit. This is excellent... FINALLY.’ Wishing accomplishes nothing, and that one dates back so far that I can’t even begin to recall the genesis. I’ve thought about it for decades. Now there is nothing left but sadness. Marvelous. Just what I needed on top of everything else. The sin is apparent. You will never know. From here forward, there are a few things I’d like to complete. One is the cabinet that I inherited from my neighbor. I tried to donate it, but they wanted a hefty fee. I called Recology a little while ago and scheduled a pickup for this coming Monday. I need to roll the cabinet down the driveway Sunday so it is ready to be taken along with the trash cans. This is excellent. That thing will finally disappear. All of the other pieces of furniture in the garage are going to live in the shed. They are much smaller, too. The big cabinet disappearing is going to open a decent amount of space, thus making it easier for me to get some things ready for storage in the shed. The entire process is very inspiring because I’ve been dreaming of the storage for years. The foghorn sounds... Boat. Again. This den of difficulty and pain is just not going to cease. We hear it... We see it (we have seen it)... We need it. Nothing. Water against the wood; cold against the skin. The emptiness of this journey is more defined with each passing wave. Friday. I need to do some cooking later this morning. And the rest. So far, my last cup of coffee is here on the table and my head is almost completely sideways. I do not like this feeling. Not a bit. But... What can I do? Everything is gone. The people who helped are gone. I can already hear the fucking horn from afar. It is brooding endlessly. The tone attacks slowly and then drops into hell. The boat is there, too. I do not feel well this morning. Like always, though, I will succeed in completing everything that is expected of me. Always. I rarely disappoint anyone. That toe which crossed the line is going to be alone for a while. Maybe I don’t even deserve it. Cooking, soon. I guess, anyway. I am hoping that the kitchen work has the ability to alleviate all this sadness. Or would that be power? I don’t know. Everything I’ve done this morning has been overly difficult, as in more than usual. I just don’t understand why things must be as they are. Good things are on the horizon, such as the shed project, my new antenna arriving today, and the cabinet that’s been a problem is scheduled to disappear on Monday, so why do I have to feel this way? Have the positives and little enjoyments finally fallen away? Everything else is gone, so I don’t believe the idea is too far off the mark. My enjoyment of almost everything has faded dramatically. This is not good, and believe me when I say that the foghorn is there for good reason. Alone at home is one thing. Truly ‘alone’ is very different. I am speaking of a literally endless body of water. Blackness; gray and brown skies; nothing on the horizon. Well, there is no fucking horizon. Nothing meets nothingness at the water’s apparent edge. All this means the boat is permanent. No voices; no changing scenes; no rails. No nothing. No doors? The work today had better hold me up. The alternative is inevitable. I need to push it away as much as I can. I will get started soon, I suppose. I have little else left in this life. The high holyforms are going to return. I don’t know how many, though. Her smiling face kills me sometimes, and when I see and react inside, the holyforms appear and slam me in force. There used to be a different boat. I’ve written about it, often at length. That boat was different, however, and something seemingly wondrous at the time. The current boat is fraught with problems. I have detailed files, believe me. Sunday is here. I have a plan for all my chores and devices which I believe will carry me thought to Monday with little to no issues. I have to roll the old cabinet to the curb sometime later because it’s going to be picked up tomorrow, free of charge. This is very good for my organizational efforts. Yesterday started out pretty bad, improved slightly, and then became quite comfortable after dinner across town. Dinner over there means nothing to clean here, and as the kitchen is half of my daily routine, I’m confident that I will have everything in order at a decent hour. I also have laundry and dry cleaning to do. My friends will follow along in the background for reasons of good form. The drive this morning was very smooth, including a stop at the market for weekly staples. Everything is in place for the coming week. Once the coffee is exhausted, I’ll kick into gear and plan all of the steps to this day. I’ve been passing on some of the little things that should have been attended this past week, and for no other reason than depression. I have a hell of a time finding motivation these days. Today is a line, mostly due to the cabinet disappearing tomorrow, so I have to continue the organization and make good use of space. Between the garage, laundry and garbage work, I should be able to remain distracted for most of the day. I am pleased that my neighbor loaned me his hand truck again (yesterday) because he went out with friends after spending a little bit of time in my garage last night, and they did not return until half past two in the morning. I don’t believe he will be up and about for quite some time. That is more of a positive than one may believe. Unfortunately, the foghorn’s evil tone continues in the background no matter what might be taking place at a given time, housework or otherwise. We go... We remained in the background and ended up seeing a little something; thoughts immediately traveled into her pants and remained there for an hour. We saw. We glanced. We returned to the living room. Her image burned inside us. Retreat is unpleasant, yet necessary. The evil thoughts... They can take over. The foghorn pays no mind as our boat softly rides the small waves. We are powerless. There is no horizon. Everything fades; colors mix; lines are absent. The other lines are not. The dark eyes from the market still burn from time to time and force us to gaze at the mixing sky above, searching for her color. Nothing. Thoughts become so desperate that the duchess appears, all ethereal and warming. She eventually disappears, much like everything else that keeps us alive. Housework time is almost at hand. Reality; later. Everything is finished. The cabinet and cans are at the curb, all of the laundry and dry cleaning are out of the way, and I have a head start on dinner preparations. The garage is in much better shape without that huge cabinet, too. That was a big step. Curious, I noticed the neighbor two doors down put a sofa out there today for pickup in the morning. Perhaps they schedule those large items on the same street, for the same day. Whatever. As long as the cabinet disappears, I will be pleased. The boat faded and has yet to return. I only worked outside for a little while because the wind is both chilly and out of control today. I am hoping for warmer weather soon so my efforts can continue, such as the damned antenna masts and components. I’d like to get everything together and mounted so the old system can come down (it’s been living on the fence between our two houses for the last year). The remainder of cabling and mounting hardware does not arrive until Friday, but I’d at least like to get the masts mounted, for crying out loud. Anyway, once the antenna work is finalized, there will be more space in the garage. Empty space is always positive, large or small. Monday. The cabinet is gone. Very good. I’ll continue with the rest of the new configuration once I’m on my feet again this morning. That time needs to come soon because I am already feeling the effects of this condition as well as the calling of the boat; all related sadness is apparent. This is too early, damn it. I am still sipping coffee and thinking about the day, yet some memories are reinforcing the shitty mood that comes along with knowing everything has been either lost or torn away. The housework is going to have to hold me the hell up. I keep thinking about ‘her’, and her, and them... Where are they? Do I return to the fiction so the duchess is present? Is that the only way? I am in worse shape as the days bleed from one to the next. Worse shape. Further down. Increasingly desperate. I can be no good to anyone, anymore. Once I finish the coffee, other shit will have to take priority for the next few hours so I can try to remain upright. It’s the only way these days. Everything else ends up pointing to one thing or another that represents a reminder or some missing piece of me. Everything. The media, too. I really don’t know what the fuck to do anymore but continue going through the motions. Nothing is ever enough to truly lift me out of the din, nor can I see anything on the horizon aside from changing colors and diffused details. The vanes are on a long break. We are becoming agitated. Visions, but not here on the sea or surrounding sky. Inside us. They are inside and will not let go for a fucking second. ‘Her’. Where is she? Is she the one who can make everything better? Probably not. We know of nothing in this world (or the other one) which has the singular ability to fix this shit. There was another example of ‘squishing’ that occurred last night when we least expected it, and now sitting in this fucking boat is reminding us of the vast number of situations that resulted in becoming agitated, or worse. I am drifting without end. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We hear it from time to time, always resonating as if inside a concert hall, and with a tone full of dread and sadness. It begins low, ending even lower. The reverberation is hellish. We may need to resort to the actual source of that sound... The song. Such an idea may not be good for us right now, but honestly, what is good for us? Time? Space? Representations of the past? None of the above, as it were. The singular occasion of that ‘thing’ which took place a few years ago continues to plague us. The foghorn knows, as well. It is aware of everything beautiful and wondrous, both promising and pervasive moments that remain in mind. We cannot repeat it. There may never be a time for a repeat, in fact. We have seen an example, yet the only result from that shit is more anger and frustration. The foghorn represents all of it, too. Everything from the beginning to the future end. We shall remain adrift upon this sea until the same. Bitterness; sadness; anger. They are all we have left. There are a few key tracks that we must keep in mind just in case there is something taking place in the garage. No one will like them. Not one fucking person. Oh, they are phenomenal, melodic and beautiful, trust us. The problem is we will only be questioned, squished and passed over once again. The only answer is to remain here in the boat. We are alone. This black voyage may never end, and that is just fine. We need not be near others. Death is an extension of this voyage. Well, it can be. We shall consider everything. ‘You can’t expect to see him and survive.’ We have no such power. We have nothing. We hear the foghorn cycling again. The daily stuff is finished. Laundry is running. My brain is running, too, but running out of reasons. This is fucking ridiculous. I have the typical morning cocktail next to me and the program streaming on the right-hand display. At some point I need to relocate the computer case to the top of the safe (on my right), and then mount a hub to the underside of this table. I may still place the machine below the table. As of yet, I am unsure of which will work better. The issue is that the machine is behind the two monitors that are mounted on the arms, and as such it restricts movement. I believe the better plan is relocating it under the table and atop the subwoofer. The entire table will be much cleaner, and that was the point of the arm in the first place. Unfortunately, I don’t have a hell of a lot of motivation right now. The weather is dry, so the antenna can be mounted on the mast, but the same problem exists for that project. I can’t seem to push a few very specific memories and one large issue far enough back to get things done today. Frankly, I am surprised to have accomplished anything during the last few years. The horrible truth is I have become a champion of suppressing my feelings and ignoring them for days. The practice is very unhealthy. Every now and again I completely explode, although such behavior solves nothing and I end up regretting my words and/or actions during those bad moods. I am powerless in this world. All I do is help others. Yes, I do things for myself, but nearly every fucking project or purchase quickly becomes nothing more than another distraction from these terrible feelings. I don’t matter. My feelings don’t matter. Things I do around the house don’t matter. I sit here and recall aspects of the past that had me actually joyous, and then the situation turns into that of a terminal cancer patient who manages to forget everything for a while, only to feel it all come back. As of this very moment, the only positive in my entire life is the fact that the morning routine is out of the way. Isn’t that fucking peachy? I live in a house (that we own) a half mile from the ocean, enjoy freedom of movement, rarely worry about finances – excepting those desperate days when I really need to run away – and have carte blanche when it comes to food and drink. There are millions all around the world that have none of what I just wrote, and here I sit feeling angry due to problems that were created by other people forty fucking years ago. Big problems, to be sure, yet nothing when held against the climate of peace in many places. What the fuck is this? Do you know? I’ll admit that I become overly centered upon the pain I feel each day due to the past, and to focus so much upon myself likely appears very selfish. Well, this is what I’ve become as a result of time and circumstances. Shoot me in the face and do everyone a favor. I can feel the alcohol altering my mind right now, and I am not even halfway down the glass. Reckless behavior sounds delightful as a result of my diminishing inhibitions and morals (as if they were not low enough already), yet I will not go swing the hammer in the garage for reasons of good form. Other people need not be subjected to this fucking shitty mood. That’s not fair. Oh, yes... It happens from time to time when I swing without thinking, but the truth is such behavior never accomplishes anything good. I will remain inside the house unless the work drives me into the garage. Later. The laundry is in the dryer. At some point we will have to eat lunch, but nothing seems appealing right now. Just the booze. Death is at the end of every path; every road; each thought. It is the combined result of too many years’ worth of shit from ‘them’. The foghorn will soon emanate from the speakers here on this table. Crickets. Doom. Tuesday. Dinner last night turned out to be partial crap due to the quality of some corn. Oh, well... I’ll make up for that situation tonight. Later this morning I need to drive over the hill and drop off a renewal fee, after which I’ll swing into the market and grab a few staples. Dinner needs to be nice, not crappy. I’ll fix it. I may also stop by the hardware store for some perimeter treatment. This morning kicked off earlier than usual, so I have lots of time to consider scheduling the late morning and afternoon. Yesterday I pulled the old antenna off the (temporary) fence mount and replaced it with the new one for a test. So far, everything works beautifully. All I have to do is remain patient until the rest of the cabling and hardware arrives. I still have a few details to work out for the weather sensors, as well. I should have the system plan ready to go by Friday or Saturday. I may continue with a few little experiments today. Like yesterday, I have to do something earlier than usual because I can already feel the shit on its way to my brain and the hour is barely eight am. I really don’t need this type of thing every day. The blackness is trying to take over. I very nearly fell off the edge of the world yesterday before finding a recovery point. I need to follow along today if I am to remain upright in any sense of the word. For the billionth time, I am powerless here. I just find luck once in a while. There is no cause to read into my behavior. This condition is debilitating and the main reason I can’t go further in life like a real, grown-up type of person. I am being held back – tied to a buffer stop, if you will – by circumstances that simply will not let up, ever. Every fucking day is exactly the same as the last. The little things had better continue to hold me up and provide distractions from all that’s been pushing me down for more years than I care to recall. I am having a hell of a time trying to decide whether or not to drive today or tomorrow. This is some real, pretty bullshit. Another clambake in a sea of the same. Tons. Blah, blah, blah... Someonehelpmecakes. The other essay that will never be published continues to grow, little by little. Every now and again when the mood strikes (read: shitty, depressed mood), I add some thoughts and then lament the entire entry. A few lines appear and then I close the file with a heavy heart. I don’t know why I am often compelled to explore those topics in a way so as to leave out the entire world. There are no ears, only a keyboard. Jesus... I almost forgot that a cargo ship on the Patapsco River in Maryland struck a bridge and caused it to collapse earlier this morning. Unbelievable. My problems just shrunk in importance again. Jesus... I hope anyone affected by the incident ends up ok. I can’t stand seeing people hurt. Wow. As for the other topic of this paragraph, I can only say so much because the subject matter is deeply personal and cannot be shared here or anywhere else on earth. I can’t speak about it to another person, either. Nothing. The information will just sit there for the duration. Maybe I created that essay just to explore wonderful memories. As such, it will also serve as a reminder of everything that has disappeared from my life. Not good. Since there is nothing I can do about any of this shit, reminders only cause more pain inside. I would imagine it will continue to grow depending upon my mood on a given day. As for today, well... I feel like complete shit and will have a hell of a time driving over the hill. The housework will not be a problem at all because once I leave the house, the reward in returning here to my needed space will most likely minimize the way housework feels in the first place. Some time has passed and my usual stuff is out of the way along with driving to the market and cemetery. Cocktail hour is here, thank the maker. There was a pair of pants out there roaming, but I was able to keep my head and turn away (somehow). I am still trying to watch for updated information on the bridge incident on the other side of the nation. Terrible. Anyway, from here to close of business hours, my plan is to simply move a few more items to the garage and then perform a bit of light cleaning. I still need to find as many distractions as possible in order to remain on my feet, and I don’t just mean for today. Every day is the same, meaning some plans for the future may be in order. The morning difficulty typically fades by lunch time, leaving the afternoon as equally difficult, albeit in a different way. I become lost too often these days and need to force the issue so I don’t end up falling the hell off the fucking deep end. I need more of that shit like I need Satan’s barbed penis up my ass. I need to lay off that other essay for a while because it is causing more heartache than I can handle right now. Or, possibly ever. I just can’t do it. I am reminded of the Passion and all of the headaches that developed as a result of knowing it is not achievable in this life outside some fucking miracle. The two facets of my personality are precisely equal in such a respect. The foghorn will return and place an exclamation point at the end of each and every thought that I have included in this content. There is no way around it, much like the netherworld and my lack of influence as to when it appears. All I can do is wait until I hear it and then react accordingly. I am powerless. I am again streaming the news on the right-hand display to stay informed as to the disaster in Maryland. There are people that have been missing since the incident almost twelve hours ago and I fear they will be found too late. Once again, my shit has to take a back seat to something so dire. My condition no longer feels as such. The situation over there is horrible and will have long-term repercussions to both the shipping and transportation industries on a local and national level. If something comes along in the near future for individuals to help, I will extend whatever is available. Damn. The other essay and its importance just shrunk in light of this tragedy. On a humorous note, the subtitles attached to the broadcast appear at random as I sit here. I have to swing my attention to the mouse, the controls, and back again several times in the space of half an hour. I don’t understand why the subtitles appear without being turned on. Pre-recorded content has subtitles, too, but I typically turn them on during the evening because of my hearing. News broadcasts are live, and as such, the captions have a hard time keeping up with the speed of people speaking. It’s very annoying, especially considering that I do not need them while watching on the computer because I have better control over the audio. Everything is crystal clear. I guess the one aspect of the universe over which I have total control is not entirely true. Heh. I am all over the place today. Fortunately, I am not a subscriber of conspiracy theories. I am not fully against them, however. I am of the opinion that people tend to run amok with some information, mostly whatever may be affecting their sensibilities. My world is tiny. The rest is not up to me or subject to my words and actions. Mid-week is here. What does this mean? Nothing, really. I don’t have to go anywhere today unless the mood strikes. That’s pretty good. My only concern may be the ‘dead’ section of time that occurs each day, and trying to find a way to eliminate or ease the difficulty in my head during such a period. I really don’t like it at all. And who must do something about it? Yep. Can I? Undecided. Most days I can’t get myself to give half a shit about anything, let alone keeping busy. When I feel myself beginning to fall down, there is a split-second decision that takes place, ninety percent of the time that decision ends in heartache and sadness. The other option? The other side of the decision? Anger. So... You tell me which way to go when I feel the gray returning to my brain. The time is now just after eight, so there is plenty of room left on the clock for whatever I wish to accomplish. Or not. I don’t know yet. The green light appeared for the concrete slab yesterday, and then another appeared, meaning the project is to be scheduled for whenever the contractor believes the soil can take the work. I believe it must continue to dry prior to any digging. Well, I don’t care if it’s next week or three months from now. The wheels are in motion and that pleases me a great deal. Believe it or not, the shed itself is the easy part. If I could just get the foghorn to let up a little bit, my life would be improved markedly. Not enough, but more than I would have expected this year. Anything positive is welcomed, especially considering my head is in the fucking soil every day regardless of how the outlook may appear. I need to make changes. What changes? I don’t know right now. Maybe this last cup of coffee will help.
Another day has disappeared into history. The shed work is pretty well set up now. Had the weather been a bit drier for the last two days, the contractor would have been here tomorrow for prep work on the soil. Heh. Usually, people have trouble getting anything done quickly, but in this case the idea came up so fast that my head spun. We were in touch earlier this morning to confirm that the best plan is to wait until the yard is dry (or mostly dry). Today is going to be pretty mellow, too. I have very little to do and nowhere to go. My entire life is going nowhere anyway, so perhaps remaining behind closed doors is redundant. Anyway... Today being Thursday means I have the usual business plus a few smaller items. One of them is the rework of my essay regarding the Passion, a process which excites and depresses me at the same time. I added larger, more detailed images and then began to write an addendum, and the work only forces me to realize just how distant that sort of item is. Earlier this morning I heard on the news that some lucky fuck back east hit the fifth largest lottery jackpot in history. That person would be able to carry out the plan I had for just such an occurrence. I can’t do anything but sit here and lament what is gone and what can never be. Splendid. Moreover, this is one of those mornings when I can feel the foghorn’s effects, everything which has been absent from life, and the prospect of my future being nothing more than a shit ton of the same. Maybe I should remain in the boat rather than moving back and forth all the time. Nothing in reality seems appealing right now, and the idea of wallowing on that sea doesn’t really blow up my skirt, either. I don’t know what the hell to do right now. Could today be the day when I get up and take care of a few small chores that I’ve been staring at all week? Maybe. Could this day go the other way and end up as a complete disaster? Maybe. I can’t fucking stand living in the knowledge that so much is gone and the most important aspects returning is about as likely as that fucking jackpot I mentioned. I added a bit of information to the other (private) essay, too. That’s never a good thing. Best I remain far away from that content for as long as possible. My lack of understanding has not improved. While I was in the garage a while ago, I could have sworn I heard someone east of here yelling at the top of their lungs. The wind was distorting the voice too much for me to be certain, although I don’t believe that person was singing. No way. Odd things occur from time to time. Whatever. I have other fish to fry this morning. I am feeling undue stress over the current situation, and after realizing I am in a much better situation than many around the world, this does not feel very good. I have yet to find a way of extricating some of this shit from my brain. There have been only temporary distractions. I really don’t know what else to do. And as for the yelling, I heard it again and am unsure of the source. The sound could have been machinery, believe it or not. The surrounding hills do not lend much toward clarity or localization. The foghorn seems to be moving away from me at this moment. That much is certain. My usual stuff is out of the way and I have the ill-advised, requisite cocktail here on the table. What does this mean? No idea. Just my typical morning behavior. Um... A typical mood, as well. All trouble on the inside, very little on the outside. ‘Round and round we go; where we stop, no one can know.’ Marvelous. Nothing is fucking funny anymore. Nearly every effort in any direction fails. The foghorn may lose out to less interesting content in this entry. Who cares? I went back to the other essay again because I am a basket case. Not much, though. I only wrote a little as the mood struck, and then let go of it again. I had to step away from that long entry because it reminds me of far too many painful incidents and periods. I just can’t have too much of that shit right now. I am already plenty fucked in the head. I’ll return there soon enough and suffer the consequences. I am virtually powerless in this life. Other than helping people with whatever they may need – and that stuff never ends – nothing I engage in matters in the least; not even this endeavor after twenty-two fucking years. I suppose adding a little bit of text to the other essay is not life-threatening. It’s bad, believe me, but not dire. Fortunately, the alcohol is already numbing the effects of those thoughts and memories. I guess realizing some of those events actually took place in reality is difficult to see right now. Everything good feels so far away... ...just like the brown and gray horizon we think we see. Out here. All alone. We can hear the calling; see the imagery; feel the losses. We need to know if this is all there will ever be. The other things have disappeared and we do not know why everything is twisted and mangled (mostly the inside). The foghorn is either calling or bidding us farewell. We still cannot read the tone, nor can we localize the source. Out there... Somewhere. One certainty is that she is behind us. She can probably see us right now. We already know we’ve been watched – probably pitied up the fucking wazoo, as well – yet we cannot be in a position to do anything about it. All we have is time and space. The boat pays no mind as we drift along to whatever the end of this will be. The water pays no mind as it laps against the ancient wood of this little hull. We have been in the blackness before; the nothingness (not this markup). The present is different because we can see that something has placed us here through a theme from the long past and our desire to achieve the real forest mindset. The theme is still in mind. We heard it two days ago, as well. It was a vast, dark sea surrounded by the sound of a foghorn, and followed by the voyage of darkness that we are still trying to understand after decades. The missing pieces are rearing their heads as we try to think; analyze; understand. Nothing will come of this, however, and the reason we already know is that once the voyage has begun, it cannot be halted, delayed or otherwise interrupted by anyone for any reason. This is not a door. This is the space beyond what we have already lived. The space ahead shall remain void of life. We already know this journey is terrible, yet necessary. We knew this would happen. All of the past situations have become nothing more than pictures hanging from those fucking converging lines which have for years pointed to the dark sea and unkind sky. We see nothing ahead; nothing behind. Localization is impossible. There is a brooding resonance to the sound we are hearing. Not crickets, however. The foghorn. The tone has been reverberating off of... Something. Out there, somewhere. Maybe we will run across an island, or simply run aground at some point. All alone. No one can hear or see; no one knows of this dark journey. No one will ever know. We are drifting in this world... We are drifting in reality. The horizon does not change in either place. Reality finds us traveling from one day to the next as they bleed together; work here and there. Efforts in different directions keep us partially upright, but the truth is we are merely floating along a waterway toward a bleak future; a black end. In the netherworld? The same. Still, nothing is visible in any direction. Clouds. Waves. Dim lighting. Very little wind. The tide is wholly in charge, just like in the real world. The only changes we envision are toward the negative. Reality has been trying to ‘barge’ in, as well. Over and over we are bombarded with visions, memories, and the like, only to fall all over ourselves in an attempt to understand this strange place and why we must be here. Something may come along. Then again, this may become the end of all things, much like a process we vacillated over more than seven fucking years ago. We thought things were in terrible shape at that time – including the loss of the century – but little did we know that these journeys would develop out of nowhere and kick us in our collective asses over and over, and far beyond our control. Beyond... ANYONE’S control. We are suspects. We are also victims. The water pays no mind. It looks back... Blankly. The cloudy sky? The same. We can only hope this place has an end. Friday morning has found me adding to the other essay. I really wish I hadn’t, although sometimes there is just no way around such feelings. I am not referring to the Passion. The other one. Not good. My feelings are meaningless in the grand scheme of the world. Splendid. This is not the best morning. The daily housework is out of the way and I have the rest of the day to do whatever seems best, or perhaps nothing at all. The little items which have been passed by over and over this week are still awaiting attention because I am having a hell of a time caring. Once the shed is finished, I will have plenty to do. The process will be slow – mostly because time rarely matters in the least – and I will probably enjoy watching all of the storage in the house and garage improving. I hope so, anyway. These days, anything out of the ordinary that points to positive feelings is welcomed with open arms. I fear the mood will be short-lived, however, because everything returns to me no matter the circumstances... All of the sadness, emptiness, and feelings of a bleak outlook are very difficult to assuage. Hence the alcohol each morning. Much like Wyatt Earp’s line in the film... I’m already full of depression and sadness, might as well have the booze, too. Some of my antenna stuff just arrived. Unfortunately, I can’t do any work on the roof because of the inclement weather. At least I was able to replace the ink cartridges in my printer. It’s been held hostage by the Internet for a solid month because of my ink ‘subscription’ and associated pitfalls. I never should have signed up for the fucking plan, but at the time I thought it was a good idea. Moreover, I am still waiting for a postage-paid recycle bag to return the unused ink. The issue came about when I canceled the plan. Shortly after – perhaps a week or so – my printer locked itself and I was informed that canceling meant I could not use the remaining ink. Wow. And? Whatever. I slammed the situation. Having the printer connected to ‘da fuckin intanet’ has both positives and negatives. Splendid. No more of that crap. Well, I can’t fully detach my office from the Net because the printer connects to the computer wirelessly. The days of running a cable between the computer and printer are over, much like when physical headphone jacks disappeared from mobile phones. Progress? Of course. I am no one, and as such, the way I feel about such progress can change exactly nothing. So, from limitless options, I’ve been reduced to one... Live with it. Saturday. I have returned from the morning drive to find myself nearly overjoyed to be sitting here once again with coffee. Well, I am mostly pleased that the drive is out of the way and I have all the time in the world to do whatever I wish. The hour is early and I am feeling no pressure to move in any particular direction, as of yet. Maybe when the coffee is gone I can continue where I left off yesterday. The concrete slab is on hold due to the recent torrential rains. The yard is wet. Not good. Waiting is not a problem, however, because this project has been something we’ve needed for over a year. A few weeks is no big deal at all. Once in place, the house and garage will be so much more organized and flexible that envisioning all of the benefits right now is difficult. One day at a time, as the alkies might say. In the meantime and as related to that project, I will continue to calculate everything that is to be moved and try to keep the spaces as neat as possible. Once I get going this morning, the plan is to take care of my usual stuff and then work on this very table. I need to relocate the tower to below (atop the subwoofer), reroute all related wiring, and then mount a hub on the underside for ease of access when attaching those peripherals that are not permanent. I also need to go through some clothing because the donation people will be here on Tuesday morning. Floating. Drifting. Just as in life. No direction; no destination; no future. We see colors. Not like the other colors... Purple. Orange. Blue... Those we’ve enjoyed and never understood. Thoughts attached themselves to each color – one at a time, and in turn – and we lost ourselves in the beautiful possibilities. The boat is no such pleasure. Not even close. We are meant to explore, but never understand. We are here because of the questions; mostly unanswered. The colors were always very far away. Now? They are elsewhere. We are far away. We cannot localize anything. Each little wave which slaps the wooden hull conjures a vision; a dream, and often one from the past which caused its fair share of damage. Others bring thoughts of a decaying future. There is no longer anything in between. There was wonder again, stirring scenes, and beautiful visions... All around. Gone. The waves are reminders. Each wave... A recollection of something positive and lovely. On the other side of the boat, each wave... A reinforcement of all that is gone and the blackness of the future. No matter where we go or what we may attempt, everything continues to press its advantage, lap along the sides of the boat, and mix the tide to drive us somewhere unknown. Likely? Unpleasant. We tried; we failed. We shall try something else. Failure is nearly guaranteed. The wonder nearly broke us, as always, yet somehow we stood the test of detriment and remained as we always have: stoic and cold. Inside is another story, as the situation and waves can attest. We will continue to float along at this very low velocity regardless of whatever else may be pulling at us to move elsewhere or rise. There is always something to affect us no matter the day or time. This day is no different. Wonder. Beauty. Waves. Dim lighting; dark clouds; harsh reminders. ‘You don’t wanna know’ of all the shit floating inside today. The boat floats on the water and the disturbing, deviant discourse floats inside us, effectively rendering ineffective and demonic all that was pleasant and uplifting. Memories pointing up and memories pointing down, between the two exists a storm of shit for which we NEVER fucking wished. It is here. The water is calm. We are not. The clouds pay no mind. The visions pay no mind, yet they are different enough to be allowed a smidgen of leeway these days. We did not ask for what happened. But it did. Right there. And then we shifted into a different gear, took a seat, and contemplated the existence of such feelings. We know. The boat is the carrier; the water is the mechanism; the memories are the reason. We will abide because we have no choice. We never have much choice. We arrived here for whatever reason and from whatever standpoint, now likely forever wondering why. The reasons are unclear. The memories are the reason; the clouds are their state. We will float along here and listen to the foghorn for Christ knows how long, and then return – somewhere, sometime – with no more understanding than prior to such an ill-begotten, dark, detrimental journey. The voyage of all time. We are being stripped of knowledge as the water pushes us along. We know not what to do anymore. Brown. Gray. Black. We can barely remember seeing blue water, ever. The foghorn sounds, yet again. We are powerless; hopeless; decaying. The foghorn pays no mind whatsoever. We have zero choice. We are not in control here. Once again, we saw far too much to easily push aside or handle. We have become too weakened to protect ourselves from the difficulties (read: unique beauty). The situation was two-fold and we don’t know what to think anymore. We stared; we fell; we continued to drift. The draw is like a gun when we feel threatened. Our minds traveled back in time to the gunman and everything he represented for years. At first, a confidante and advisor; later... A killer bent upon our destruction. Now we must float along and sort out the feelings. We have no choice in the matter. Not anymore. Too much has transpired for clarity to invade. Confusion and sadness abound. Floating. Drifting. The tide is most decidedly in charge here. Sunday is here. This morning is the same as the last few; the drive and then market on the return trip. Nothing out of the ordinary took place. Well, there was a face on the way up Franklin Street; I caught a glance and looked on in wonder. Other than her, there were zero problems. Faces cause feelings that are very different from other features, anyway. Even though she was stunningly beautiful and alluring, my heart came to rest like always and I was able to move along up the hill without further issue. The plan for today is the usual Sunday business and some laundry. I will also continue to gather and organize the items that are to be picked up by the donation people on Tuesday. There isn’t much this time, but I really need the space in order to carry forward with the shed plan. My weather station has been completely dismantled, unfortunately, and the main cause was the plastic on each component having become very brittle after nearly a decade on the antenna mast. Too bad. I may or may not invest in another system in the future. Right now, the focus is RF and not weather. The other focus is preparation. I really need to get some of the small irritations out of the way so the afternoon can be paved with good feelings (hopefully). The coffee is nearly gone, meaning I’ll have to move away from this crap and begin my work. On the inside, the storm is raging. I become increasingly powerless as time passes. There was a dream early this morning that had nothing to do with beauty of any kind. It was wonderful and engaging. I loved every second of it and felt quite special. For a few seconds, anyway. Some of the content faded and I remember just enough to know how unique and beautiful the experience had been. My typical dreams about beauty and wonder are very unsettling and usually cause nothing more than sadness and deepened depression over the loss of so much in life. This morning was quite the reverse, providing me with wide-eyed moments and fascination at levels previously unrealized. The feeling was wonderful and I miss it sitting here hours later. The foghorn will take over soon, and thanks to the dream, there will be more to cause distress and discomfort... A beautiful memory that wasn’t even real. Marvelous. I can’t remember the last time I felt such excitement in reality. Monday morning is here. This is very good. Not everything is good. I fell in love while sleeping. I’ve been very weak throughout the last few years, meaning this was bound to happen. She held me and I held her. There was a bit of concern in the beginning and some hesitation due to unfamiliarity, but a short time later we were glued to each other. Her name was Jamie, believe it or not, yet not the same Jamie from the television. This was different. Everything was different. She ‘leaned’ on me the way I’ve needed to ‘lean’ on someone for a very long time, and due to my penchant for creating very dramatic situations, I understood completely. We complemented each other nearly as much as the way the other Jamie and I did when I dreamed of her a while back. The odd part is that there was no connection to Ashley, and her stance is something which typically comes into play whenever I am close to a woman while dreaming. I don’t understand it, either. Ashley’s feelings are supposed to be attached to everything in the world these days. Maybe a lack of the same is some otherworldly power telling me to let her go and move into reality from a more ‘available’ position and/or mindset. Conversely, the circumstance could mean nothing at all. The girl in my dream is not real. Ashley may as well not exist, either. I am too far gone. Did I ‘want’ her? Like so many others? No... I wanted to look at her. That’s all. She held onto me as if the world was about to end. She held tight as if it was all she needed. Now I miss her. Terribly. Was she the one? ‘Her’? I can never know. I keep thinking about her thick black mane of hair and the way it enshrouded me when we embraced. The feeling was warm and wonderful. Now she is gone. Well, the woman never existed in the first place. The only aspect linked to reality is that her face resembled an actor of whom I am aware. In the real world, something stunning took place yesterday for a few minutes (damned few) and left me considering my place in the world. The dream this morning did not help matters, nor does the fact that today is the thirteenth anniversary of my father passing away. I am hoping the facts will not combine and send me down the rabbit hole later. The only action I can take is exactly like all the other days from which I have awakened in the same condition, all depressed and empty, and that is to engage in the housework and hopefully have an agreeable lunch. More than her appearance, all slender and dark, was the feeling of being connected... The knowledge that everything would finally be ok. That is what grieves me the most. I am the type of person for whom appearance – physical dimensions and the relationship between those most important of lines – is critical to the processes in my head not blowing the hell up, yet in the dream I knew that despite her amazing beauty, knowing the dread was finally going to end took the fucking proverbial cake. Now I am lost once again. My routine had better hold up today or shit will head sideways. I don’t want that right now, damn it. Not a bit. I wish I had dreamed long enough to learn one very specific and important detail of her personality, and that is whether or not she shared Ashley’s stance in life. I can never know, nor can I stress it enough. One certainty right now is that I miss her to a great extent. I have not felt so good in a very long time and now it’s all gone again. Maybe the foghorn is worse than I had originally suspected. ‘We are adrift without direction... In a raging storm on a calm sea.’ Indeed. The storm is internal. We do not know what to think or how to even proceed with thinking. There are very few appealing thoughts at all because the dire nature of everything shoehorns its way into whatever comes to mind. We are powerless against thinking. We cannot forget the bad or embrace the good. All of it runs as if on a machine. We just have to live with it, along with the motion of this little craft upon the water and influenced by the weather. Nothing changes. In reality, nothing changed. Here, any alterations seem impossible. There is nothing in the boat; nothing to grab; no oars or anything else, and that means we shall remain at the mercy of unchangeable circumstances. The correlation with reality is very stark right now. Mercy. Circumstances. We know not what to do or which way to turn. The bleak nature of this world is pervasive. Water. Clouds. A wooden boat. The motion does not indicate movement, yet we know from experience that we will eventually run across something in the water; a structure, material below the water line which runs us aground; perhaps someone who desires our end. We already know this is the end regardless of how long it is drawn out. Drawn flat? No... Drawn the fuck out. Seconds or eons. We cannot know. The foghorn sounds again, resonating and reverberating; vibrating and permeating. The sound goes through us as if we are nothing more than a porous chunk of meaningless material. We hear it and feel it. Something has to change, yet we cannot affect this situation. Drifting. Thinking. Wallowing in sadness. The water is gently lapping against the sides of the boat, trying to lull us into either giving up or simply falling asleep. No way. We cannot let go enough for any relaxation. Too much has transpired; too many have transgressed; everything is far away now. Relaxation is a luxury we simply will not enjoy. The lapping can be damned at the source and then fuck right the hell off. ‘Sod the fuck off, you cunting twats.’ We love her so much that the image of her face causes our hearts to be sliced to pieces, but the sentiment is right on the money. We have been relegated to this state; pushed too far. We shall continue to drift without end, or shall we? Is there an answer? Fucking figure it out, motherfucks. The lapping is a constant reminder of just how far from reality we have drifted, seemingly for no good reason. We did not do this or cause this level of detachment. We did not fucking do this. Dark clouds. Browns and grays. Seemingly opaque water, below which lies an unknown place. Will we end up there? Will we be forced to capsize? Is this the beginning of death? We cannot know because we cannot know ANYTHING. There are no answers. The boat moves along, guided by whatever force has done this to us, and there may or may not be something in the distance that awaits our arrival. We have an idea of what that may be, as well. We have a real good fix on the sonuvabitch, as it were. Localization only takes place in the mind. Period. Everything else is far beyond recognition, reach, or any other slight positive. Others benefit; we suffer. Nothing changes. The genesis of this scene should already be clear on the noses of your stupid, little primate faces. Do not be offended. We are far worse off than you. We are dead already and have been re-animated by sadness and anguish. The water pays no mind. People pay no mind. We only embrace devices, not souls. They are nearly completely worthless, much like our desire. It is the storm. The antenna experiment failed miserably yesterday. I went from sheer excitement and confidence in the project to spiraling into a desperate state and badly needing to understand the fucking problem inherent in capturing those signals with precise clarity. This is my ‘stuff’... Radio-frequency equipment and signals. This is what I have commanded for decades. Well, this time I don’t have the answer. Right now there are both antennas on the roof mast, the old one being connected to the receivers. The clarity is fine for the time being, but inside me are questions, not the least of which is the idea of paying for a costly antenna and then not finding good results with the work. Radio is not an exact science, of course, as there is an endless slough of factors that can influence reception, some of which change on a daily basis. For the most part, however, the power should be enough to ‘boom’ the fucking strength to the receivers. I just don’t get it. I suppose my next step will be to attach each antenna to a single receiver. Since they are already on the roof mast, swapping cables around does not require the ladder (although I do love my new tool). Another option is to determine which unit has the most gain, and then employ a distribution amplifier to minimize signal loss. I’ve read that splitting the power between two tuners diminishes the signal quite a bit. That makes sense. One thing at a time. I’d rather not throw more money at the problem right now. Half the routine is finished. My head is still wrapped around that girl who was wrapped around me. I feel the end nearing with each typed word. Nearer, always. I am left with very little to consider in life; shoved into this space by those who did not care. Well, they will feel the pain when the moment arrives. I just wish I could watch from on high. The foghorn is a very unique construct, one which has the ability to condemn me to death and others to an endless line of questions. Lots of power. I have none. I have housework, projects, and tons of help for other people. Read into it however you must (or wish). I am in a bad spot with all this shit. Who was she? No one? Just a manufactured woman there to make my dreams come true? The only aspect that I know for sure is that the dream has left me – for the billionth time – sitting here feeling more drained and empty than I have in years. I mean that. No joke. This morning is proving to be the worst in recent memory. On the inside, at least. I need to do something else for a little while. I completed the rest of the daily shit and poured a fat glass of whiskey. The antenna ideas are going to wait, as is everything else other than ensuring we have protein defrosted for the next few days. I just can’t get myself to care right now because the two shit situations have pressed me into a very sad mold. There can be no release, either. Nothing in reality can be done about this. Not anymore. I just have to lump it. Marvelous. I love this keyboard. Too bad it can’t prevent my head from going sideways at some point every fucking day of the week. Monday is typically one I enjoy, but this morning is different. Not only do I have the past and those beautiful memories clogging my fucking head, but the dream has been piled atop the rest of the shit and forced me into a mental fetal position. I really don’t need this right now. The desperate nature of my thoughts likely caused that damned vision, too. The dream came from my subconscious and is the clearest indication that I am completely fucked up. All I can do is continue to go through the motions and wait. Wait. For what? Yep, that’s the million dollar question. What am I waiting for? A change? Good luck. Maybe this bad mood will turn into improvements around the house. Anger has been the historic cause of crap going into the trash. Today is Monday and one of my favorites of the week, if not the actual top of the list. Unfortunately, only mere seconds were required to turn what was my favorite day into yet another clambake. Very little else will be accomplished on this day. Very little. Another small enjoyment has been smashed to pieces, never to return. I already know. Blah, blah, blah... Weneedhercakes. Ah... Shit, fuck, crap, damn... There is Roxanne again. Believe me, you don’t want to know what goes through my fucked up head when I see her gorgeous face. There is too much to list, anyway. Just know that she is toward the top of a very long list of those I so desperately need to demonstrate the sheer depth of my feelings regarding beauty. Good God in Heaven above. I am in the middle of the day, updating an important playlist of music on my computer and phone, and along comes her unreal face to send me into the ground at breakneck speed. Fucking hell, anyway. If she only knew. If... ANYONE knew. If I could just speak with her for five fucking minutes... Shit. I need her. Roxanne is probably not ‘her’, but the compulsion exists regardless of knowing. I need her. Please. Please! For once... JUST FUCKING GIVE ME THE OPPORTUNITY. For once. I will give up everything I am for one fucking chance. PLEASE! Her face is an entire universe in and of itself. Ugh. I hate everything right now. If 'she' only knew... I am not a bad person, just one who has become quite unbalanced. Believe it. Tuesday. Yesterday did not turn out well for me. The fault was partially mine. No one else was affected. That is a bit of a positive, I suppose. Sometimes I can’t do much for myself no matter how hard I try to push. Yesterday was one of those. This morning I am feeling the need to improve that state and not allow such shit to transpire. So far, I’ve got a roast in the slow cooker (homemade pastrami), all of the donations are at the curb, and the typical morning business is out of the way. The contractor is supposed to be here in a few minutes to finalize details before they prepare the area in three days. Lots going on this morning, and all of it before nine o’clock. Interesting. The remaining hours shall be quiet and mellow so I can think about everything. Later. The donations have been picked up, I ordered booze for tomorrow, and my meeting with the contractor went very well. The plan is to prep this coming Friday, meaning I have three days to clear the area. Very good. If everything aligns the way he’d like, the pad will be poured and finished the next day. The daily crap is out of the way and I have the remaining hours to do as I please. The only rub is that I may have to head over to the market for a few items. As of this moment, I do not know how capable I will be later. Everything feels like an uphill climb, and that on the heels of knowing the shed project will soon be underway. I should be more excited about such things. The day might go bad in a little while. I can already feel myself losing direction, and this after a very nice morning. The difficulty inside my head often takes over and there is typically nothing I can do about it. Today may be no different. I’ll fight it for a while, I guess. Later, still. I don’t know what to do for the rest of the few hours I have left. I don’t feel well, can’t seem to alleviate the antenna issues without going back to zero, and did not go to the market. I just don’t care. I will adjust the dinner plan accordingly. I have to drive over the hill tomorrow, so perhaps that is a better time to stop by the other store. Incapable. Tired. I don’t know how this happens. I will say that I’m tired of trying to make the antenna system work properly. I’ll probably end up pulling the old unit off the roof mast and installing it on the fence again. That was the best setup. The whole affair is very disconcerting. Sometimes I don’t know why I get ideas to modify something in the first place. There are occasions when I have good plans, but not always. Right now all I feel is disappointment in whatever I’ve attempted today. The evening may help. I don’t know. Being in the boat conjures images of fishcakes. As in, blah. Fishcakes. We do not know from where these fucking thoughts originate. Strange. Well, everything is strange right now. Fishcakes are nowhere near as odd as this fucking world. We are stuck here. This may never end. Conversely, we could at some point move to the other world because there have been mental clues, parallels and other thoughts leading us to believe that we are not finished in that place, or with the woman who created everything. Third world? Fourth? What was it? We can’t think straight right now because the lapping water is beginning to sound like a torture that exists simply to drive us insane. Time may send us over the side if we can’t come to terms or otherwise ignore the action. Third world? We were in the desert. That was a long trip and a very difficult time. There was a train... And then another. Lots of women, all with names that began with the letter ‘j’. And the hotel... The beautiful hotel and later the very odd hotel. Jaime. Julie. And eventually Julie and (all of us) fell from the balcony and died – how many times is anyone’s guess. The desert again. Mountains. The beach, too. Remember the beach? Did each of those places hold a clue to this world? The water somehow became the culmination of everything that has transpired and all of the little tidbits of information that Julia offered, or we are simply going completely, once and for all insane. We don’t know anything for sure right now, so guessing and some analysis are all we have. And the boat; the water is gently moving and the clouds continue to swirl and mix themselves overhead. Did all of those places combine into this shit? Did Julia do this to us (again)? The mountains showed us a life that we cannot otherwise achieve; the second hotel did the same, albeit in a much more stirring manner thanks to the lovely Jaime. Now? We are alone again. Days of this. There were lessons in the hallway, all of the strange railroad cars, the desert and on the beach, yet through all of it we grated as if completely closed to the idea of improvement. We were stubborn and unpleasant, often creating mayhem for no other reason than to see if we could really fuck up the scenes and force Julia to relent, even a little bit. Well, we never fully succeeded. She gave up at times, yet it was only to regroup and throw us into another oddity with similar circumstances and a shit ton of questions. Did we learn? Some. Did we grow to despise her? No way. Did we come out the other side better in any fashion? Perhaps. We just can’t know because there is nothing left aside from the boat, water, and clouds. The foghorn sounds sporadically and leaves us questioning everything for the billionth time. We still see fishcakes all over the place because of all the past questions and lack of answers. The fishcakes demonstrate our disdain for these processes which are supposed to help but generally end up causing only frustration. All those other worlds are the same, too. We can sit here and consider everything because there does not seem to be a time limit. This is the longest we’ve been stuck in a netherworld with zero contact from anyone or anything on the outside. The foghorn must be a clue here... The sound simply has to be important to the journey. Foghorns are never in the middle of the sea. They are always on the shore. Hmm. We have plenty of time to think about all this shit, so perhaps the time has come to lie back and trust the netherworld (for a change). Wednesday has begun and left me with something fairly special over which to vacillate for a while, hot coffee, and zero plans for the time being. The wine store will be visited in less than an hour, as long as I receive notice that my order is ready for pickup. Possibilities are to relocate the radio antenna (again), move some items off the concrete in the back to prepare for Friday, and carry on with some organization in the house and garage, most notably in this very room. Those are the ideas. Whether or not anything is actually completed is another story. I just don’t know. I don’t necessarily need to pick up my booze order today, so if the mood goes south, I’ll remain here and put it off until tomorrow. As the morning progresses, I shall do my best to remain as balanced and calm as possible. I don’t want to fall away today, nor do I want to end up going back to that other essay. Doing so has yet to end well. I have to remain here for as long as possible, or at least until the coffee is done for the day. The wonderful split-second beauty from earlier has faded into nothingness. My feelings don’t matter, anyway. Very little matters these days. The foghorn does, though. It has to matter or something is terribly wrong. There is a woman that is part of the cast of my latest program. Originally, I looked at her with indifference, questioning aspects of the way she was costumed and whatnot, but now? There is something about the nature of her character’s personality. It may simply be a vulnerability which tends to pull at my heart, and if so, I am going to be in trouble very soon. When she smiles, I feel a deep-seated need to care for her in life. I really do. Of course, I realize that circumstances from the past decade-plus have altered the way I think and feel about beauty. I know that I’ve become overly sensitive and horribly desperate – often reaching toward the most ridiculous ideas and far-fetched dreams – so the knowledge that someone like her will always come along and derail my life should be steering me AWAY from certain programming and imagery, yet at the same time there is a dire need to stare and dream about something wonderful actually coming along in this world. No fucking way, you say? You are correct, but I can’t fucking help dreaming of ‘her’, ‘them’ or whatever. The need has become too great. So, while I am relaxing tonight after dinner with a bit of time to watch the show, that woman will pull at my heart again because I am a fucking basket case. There is just something about her face that draws me like a gun. I can’t describe it. And yes, I realize much of the way I feel has been born of desperation. Leave it. I know what I am. I have to pull the old antenna from the roof mast and mount it on the fence again. That was the only setup which yielded good results. From tons of options and a new antenna, I’ve been reduced to putting everything back the way it was prior to any modifications. Splendid. I guess I’ll just have a spare for the time being. Depending upon the bandwidth, I may be able to use the new unit for my two-way radio. In the short term, however, I’m not doing anything new. There is rain forecasted for tomorrow and on into Friday morning. That may delay the concrete prep and pouring. No big deal. I believe the drier the soil, the easier their job. I have plenty of time to consider what happens after the shed is completed. More thinking and planning will lead to better organization. There was a massive earthquake in Taiwan either last night or this morning. Those poor people. I realize the planet is going to operate however it sees fit and sometimes we just suffer the consequences, but honestly... I hate seeing people in such circumstances. The whole thing is very sad and makes my problems shrink for a little while. Not the boat, though... Lapping. Clouds. Where are we? Will someone eventually appear with information? We would rather be stuck in an odd hotel than out here in the middle of nothingness. At least it’s quiet. Better than nothing. We have been very sad these last few days because the outlook cannot appear as anything but bleak. We just don’t see any good coming out of hearing the foghorn and floating along with no end in sight. The strangest part of this is that despite any points of reference regarding motion, we can feel that the boat is moving through the water. The motion is quite slow, as well. Slow enough that the bow is not throwing any wake at all... Not even a little bit. If the motion is only implied or existing in our heads, there is truly no way to confirm. We simply ‘feel’ that we are in fact on a journey to some errant end or other destination. Maybe we will indeed end up in a hotel. Sitting at one of those bars sounds really fucking good right now. Dim lighting tells us otherwise, as if the mood created by the colors and resonating foghorn is destined to send us somewhere very bad. This is the first time we’ve ventured so far and for this long without being contacted or watching the scenery change out of fucking nowhere. Very strange, indeed. We must go with it because we are not in control here. Moreover, in the past when we felt powerless in some odd world, we lashed to attempt to demonstrate dissatisfaction and frustration within the circumstances thrust upon us by others. Now? We can only sit here and wonder. Something has to happen. Eventually, there must be a change. We cannot be isolated here much longer without losing it completely. Should we dive and see what happens? Would that be akin to ramming a boxcar full of explosives into the side of a hotel? Will something change, or will we be punished accordingly? Is change even possible here without us eventually perishing at the hands of the sea? There is no feeling of hunger or thirst, no fatigue; only the knowledge that we are most decidedly stuck here in this little boat for the duration with only the sound of the foghorn to keep us company. We have been in the nothingness before, yet this is different. We are not floating in blackness. Something has to change. Please. We do not want to fully lose it or go overboard. There is the foghorn again. Is it on land? Where? The sound cannot be localized. We do not know what to do, although such a statement is dependent upon the idea that we CAN do something... Anything. Overboard? Should we scream out for help? Will someone answer, like in the past? Julia? Anyone? We cannot help but feel that this is not a beginning or middle. It feels like an end."
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