The Incident Mature content No. 421 Published August 16th, 2024 8:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries "And here we are. The reckoning. Wait... For us? Nope. There has already been a bad place crafted for us. We do not need reckoning, we reckon. There is trouble on the horizon within the show. A goddess is going to appear and drive us fucking nuts for the next few episodes, which also happen to be the last. Oh, some good things will happen in the story, but her appearance drives nails into our desire-soaked brains every fucking time. We have rarely felt such need for a fictional character, and that statement does not refer to emotion. Believe it. Our anger toward feeling such strong desire stems from others. Hence? The reckoning. Don’t worry, there can be none of that shit here. This content is mere words. We are pointing our guns toward reality. The guns are many, as you may have already been made aware. Do you recall the guns? The types are silent, divisional, divine, interstitial, frame, and the mighty forest. Fucking figure it out already. ‘...forget the words, just look at Cindy. Keep in mind, though, as you stare at her, the guns are staring at you.’ They ARE staring. Just ignore them. You won’t know what to do anyway. Live with it and go on with your existence. We are no one of concern. Two different Asian hybrids in similar outfits. They bring out the guns as well as the mustard. Take aim? No. They are innocent in all of this. The problems lie elsewhere. The girls come along from time to time and throw a monkey in the wrench, as it were, and then we reel for a little while prior to becoming angry again. We can’t do anything about such things. We have zero control over anything. The drive came and went – we forced the issue and took off ten minutes earlier than usual – and now have returned to learn that the trouble in the show has just begun. The morning is going to be difficult if we continue to the end of the current series. She is amazing and almost constantly fucks up our attempts to think. Some of that is our doing, while the rest is the subject of the reckoning. They are here and there is nothing we can do about the arrival. All we can do is sit and watch, waiting for an opening to either speak or otherwise demonstrate our disdain, curiosity or appreciation (depending upon their stance, of course). We just sit here and analyze until there is nothing left to hash through. We have become the thresher of information. Two problems in this episode. Splendid. We should be switching to something else soon, anyway, so the last few hours of the program will probably not be as bad as we’ve predicted. The Asian hybrids are beginning to fade, although one had very soft, inviting eyes that drove us insane for a little while. There are times when emotion overpowers anything physical because what is inside a person is far more important. The truth is that we become overly caught up with appearance all the time due to the billion factors we’ve belabored here for years, and when a face comes along that moves our hearts, everything goes to hell right quick. That rather took place this morning and made us quite angry for a time. Fortunately, we had to concentrate on navigating the waters that are always filled with idiots and assholes during the morning hours. Upon returning to the openness of the federal interstate, we calmed somewhat. At least now we can think a bit. The trip that was scheduled for two days from now has been canceled. We do not wish to go anywhere, especially someplace that will likely be crawling with all manner of shit we are better off avoiding. Moreover, dinner the other night was not cheap. Another day out means more money. Not good. We go to dinner roughly three times a year at the most. Taking that trip would have been too much. In addition, the free time here at the control center will likely be equally rewarding. Besides, we are becoming quite angry again and being near others will not be good for anyone. Guns, knives and mustard; knives, mustard and guns. We need to find the dress and see what condition it is in after years of neglect. Maybe it’s not even blue anymore. Any searching is done from this fucking office, nowhere else. Distractions are plentiful outside the house. There are solutions to be drawn and connections to be secured. No, not the most important type of connection. That is most likely impossible for all time. The other connections are between fleeting glimpses and errant thoughts that pop into us from time to time, often leading us to the anger that we must embrace in order to put everything in proper perspective. Distractions will dilute our feelings. Not good. We have to remain here and hold fast to the appropriate emotions if the reckoning is to pass. The girl at the restaurant reminded us of another vision, yet the latter was not nearly as close. Different and similar at the same time. We are still reeling from that one, as well, so to pile another close encounter of the worst kind to our psyche is just all fucking bad. We have not been able to extricate her lines from our heads since the occurrence. This is a big fucking problem since the other girl came to mind earlier this morning. At this point in time, and after everything we’ve railroaded and considered for years, the feelings are far worse and much more damaging than in the past, and we are including the girl at the fucking pool, believe it or not. When we sit in this chair and state that nothing goes away, we mean precisely that. Oh, some will face, such as the two from this morning, but the main concerns remain inside us and eventually hurt so much that they begin to dictate the way we live. And then the fucking anger rolls around to our present position in the circle and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. That is what’s happening right now. Ah, shit... There goes Anna running through the fucking forest again wearing her lingerie and with arms flying back to appear dramatic. Ugh. Violins again, too. If you’ve seen this series, you already know all about it. Ridiculous. Whatever. Back to the lines that are presently governing our entire existence. The problems are mounting and always lead to anger because of the current condition of our heads and hearts. Fair or unfair doesn’t matter anymore. The important aspect is whether or not we can retain control over our days without completely losing it. The pain causing anger is natural. It is an extension of dissatisfaction and the idea that those responsible cannot be addressed in life anymore. Well, there is one left, but that person may never cross our paths again, and that is a choice. Harsh? We don’t give a shit. We are far too critical and damaged to allow sentiment to gloss over the past. Considering the sheer number of problems that have arisen throughout the last two-plus decades that relate to beauty and/or our obsession, sentiment cannot even scratch the fucking surface of one of them. This entire line of thinking has been laid out and analyzed here before. The reason we needed to go over it again was due to the beautiful lines attached to that beautiful girl – a sight we may never enjoy again regardless of the context. Honestly, the number of occasions since our obsession became out of control and found us close enough to those very important lines and in the type of situation in which we were allowed to actually stare and simultaneously think can be counted on one hand. That is part of the reason so much anger continues to catalyze from time to time, and the main cause of our emotional damage. We’ve been right there, just not nearly enough to understand anything. No one else can lend a single fucking thought, either, so speaking is out of the question for the time being. Well, at least until such time as we can formulate the proper context and send the information to the proper type of ears. We may as well break out the D&D shit and roll a handful of thirty-sided dice. The odds of every one of them landing on the same number are about as likely as us being where we need. Yep. Anger. Guns? Knives? Mustard. Either we need to suppress the lines we saw or find something powerful enough to draw our attention away. The latter does not seem likely considering most of the power in this world was right there on display. In any case, without one of those two options, we are fucking dead. God damn it... She was right fucking there. Maybe the dress can help. Her dress? It was black. We need the blue one. Coffee will soon change to booze. The morning cocktail is still one of those things we truly enjoy, and it helps to calm our thoughts during these trying times. Everything seems to be a little easier afterward. Whatever that makes us – insert your society-drive label here – we don’t give half a shit in the wind. One more enjoyment removed would mean we can no longer live this life. Hmm... Perhaps the reckoning statements were premature. We don’t know what to do. The juxtaposition of being so disappointed in the way people were dressed in that dining room and seeing what has become the most beautiful sight in the world has us quite up in arms. Confused, really. We can’t stand disrespect after having grown up in the very adult, Nevada gaming culture. We were taught at an early age to show the clubs proper respect, and those lessons extended beyond the border of the state and into the more upscale restaurants closer to home. Since then, we have endeavored to look as loyally as we are able under the circumstances. There is another extension, too, and that is behavior toward staff and others while in those types of atmospheres. The table next to ours where the girl was located held a group of eight, and she was the only person dressed appropriately for the venue. A dress, hair well-kept, beautifully manicured nails, a touch of makeup and very nice shoes without too much height on the heels. She matched the atmosphere to a tee and we noticed every fucking detail. The rest looked like they were about to board a cruise ship, for crying out loud. That’s right. Half the dining room appeared in a similar fashion and we actually felt a tad insulted. Show some fucking respect, people. Please. The alternative is the entire upscale restaurant culture being replaced by noodle bowls and fucking boba. We never realized that Ashley Hinshaw is just over five-four in height. She always wore heels during her scenes, so perhaps along with the camera, she simply seemed taller. Her slight frame also lends to the illusion, but it doesn’t matter. Ashley has one of the most beautiful forms we’ve ever seen and we point it out every fucking time these episodes roll around in the rotation. Just a thought. As for the restaurant, we’ve noticed here and there over time that when there is an airport on the news (this happens quite often), the patrons in the lobbies all look very similar. That is to say they resemble those in the dining room that we saw last Saturday. We realize that society has shifted itself throughout several decades, but still... That is the opposite of the way we were raised. This shit is leading us to believe that such a minority viewpoint is only going to further shrink as time passes. We can remember the way Andrea was dressed on each flight. Michelle, too. We just don’t fucking understand the world anymore. Finding places in which we can be comfortable is becoming more and more difficult. They are elusive. Back to the gradient between that fucking goddess and the rest of the table... The sight was truly mystifying. She appeared lovely – and we mean much more than form – and carried herself very well, effectively standing out in the room to a great degree. We cannot read others very well most of the time, but we noticed everything, not just the diverging lines that led to a very special place. The most important aspect of that evening, the one critical fact that we took away, is that we are radically different than in the past, and perhaps continuing to change with regard to our feelings toward society in general. This is not good. What is good is the fact that we actually realize and follow along with the process. We can’t see many other people doing the same, although we cannot know, either. Our eyes are the evidence. The reckoning is not going anywhere because our feelings have been temporarily hijacked by other problems. We shall revisit the topic soon. Maybe. The pool girl came to mind for obvious reasons, the most important of which is the idea that there was nearly nothing between our eyes and her lines (all of them, thanks to the positioning). Those two occasions are at the top of the difficult list right now, and the likelihood of that changing is extremely slim given our current circumstances. The girl at the pool was lying on her back with knees up and paired, whereas we saw the other one standing and from the back. There is a vast difference between the mechanics of those two positions, the one at the pool being the more striking sight thanks to the symmetrical nature of her legs. The girl in the restaurant was angled slightly to one side. Hmm... Perhaps we are subject to the reckoning, not the others. We keep railroading visions of one of the two most important aspects of life and the process is completely fucking unhealthy. Much like the Passion, any real closeness is most decidedly impossible (for us, anyway). We have become far too distorted during the last few years, and that is not an overstatement. The way thoughts swirl inside us combined with the way our levels of desperation and desire have increased adds up to anything truly fulfilling no longer being possible. One day, we may accept that mass of shit. At least we have been truthful about how fucked up the world appears and how equally fucked up we view beauty. That is a two-fold roadblock to happiness. We know. We just... Know. Everything good is off the table. Maybe the way we feel IS the fucking reckoning. YOU make the call. Some time has passed and we are in a position to do anything or nothing at all for the rest of the day. The booze has again been flowing like a two-bit whore, as it were, and we can feel the slight effects just a few sips into the glass. Ashley is wearing a short, denim skirt. We have never liked the way those skirts look regardless of whom they may be wrapped around. We do not know why our feelings are like this, either. We’ve overheard plenty of other males comment about a woman’s legs being exposed in a skirt, but we never agreed when it came to denim. The woman on the screen deserves something much more appropriate to match her vast, natural beauty. Just believe it. If anyone is qualified to comment on outer, physical beauty, it is us. Trust it. This day may go nowhere. Yesterday we hid ourselves in the tree for a little while with the saw and MDRs. There will be no more tree thinning until the weekend because the process is often exhausting. Plus, we are in no mood to be out there exposed to whomever may pass by. Being social is off the table. Thank the maker for this icy, morning cocktail. It helps us deal with the memory of that girl lying on her back and displaying the most beautiful, stirring and crippling image that we can’t seem to release. Desire? We felt ALL of it. Within seconds, our feelings traveled the gamut, from merely needing to stare all the way to the damaging, desperate desire to show her how much appreciation we felt for the way she looked on that lounge chair. We can still feel all of it at this very moment. In fact, as the years between now and then pile up, our desire for her has increased exponentially. ‘We may never see her like again’. There is a part of us inside that wishes we had not been able to look at her at all. Another part wants to die. The imagery of the past is never easy on the mind. We can’t just let it all go, though, because our future is most likely void of the same. We need to hang on to something, for Christ’s sake. Something. We can’t ‘build’ her, there is little chance of finding her, so we keep going back in time and embracing those beautiful moments we had. Some of them are no more than gazing upon what has become one of the two most important aspects of being alive. Well, there could be three, but we’ve never been able to define the third. Oh, and denim shorts are fine. Another day is now gone forever. Yesterday was not the worst day, but nothing special, either. We drove this morning and ended up living through the longest duration for such a trip. No big deal. We put on the ‘patience cap’ and relaxed with coffee. We just waited it out and eventually freed ourselves from the shackles of that City as we rolled onto the Interstate and ran like hell. Now that the free period of the day has begun, we are much more relaxed – still angry as fuck due to more reasons than we care to list – and have plenty of time and space to do as we please. There are a few small items we’d like to see eliminated from our list of to-dos. None of it is difficult. We just need to push a little bit so we can come out the other side feeling better than we have for some days. Progress must be made on one front or another just for our peace of mind. We can work with more enjoyable stuff in and around the rest. There is plenty of time to think, and that is the best aspect of today. Moreover, there will be no driving to the City until four days from now. That is nice. We could use a break. There is much to consider regarding the reckoning, our position within the same, and the fact that we can’t seem to get rid of this fucking shitty mood. We are perpetually at sixes and sevens. She is still right there behind our eyes... Waiting for something, perhaps either to fade or become the last straw. There were two different facets to all that desire, as well. One is obvious; the other has never been mentioned here or anywhere else. Since we have a shitload of time between now and Sunday, much of it has to be reserved for consideration of the issues inherent in our statements related to that fucking girl. There are larger problems inside now than ever before. The free time could not have arrived soon enough. To say we needed this type of day would be a tremendous understatement. She is still inside us, pretty fucking deep, and we need to learn everything possible about such an occurrence (or else). Hopefully, the next three days will help. We must again point out that the state of the world – two wars, a massive hurricane in the Atlantic, the ever-increasing effects of climate change on the weather, and tons of wildfires, to mention a few – squashes the problems within us and we are almost constantly aware of such a fact. We are not stupid, nor have we ignored the reality of people all over the globe suffering for one reason or another. We feel for each and every one of them, honestly. Our little sphere of life cannot compare, but we must deal with the problems regardless of everything else. ‘From hell’s heart, I stab at thee. For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee.’ God damn sonuvabitch... Some of the greatest dialog in the history of film. Our shit can’t hold a fucking candle to that brilliant writing and execution. Awesome. The hour is later and we are in the bleach box of cocktail hour. Soon? In the eyes. Those are dragstrip terms. Learn something. We’ve been employing those terms for years. As for the day, we have completed some shit but can’t seem to get the memories, the ‘thing’, or those two stirring and stunning line sightings to leave our consciousness for a fucking second. This may be the shape of things to come. No, not ‘things’. Very different, that stuff. Very painful. We’ve seen it and knew at the time precisely what was happening, yet there is still zero understanding of the process. We can recall experiencing it once, although it may have happened years before that occasion. There is no way to be certain. The fucking MAX stream is glitching AGAIN. We still don’t know of the cause and it is very irritating, primarily because we are on the last fucking episode of the current series and can’t seem to get through it smoothly. Aside from media-related bullshit, we have some laundry running and the routine is out of the way for today. Everything would be just peachy if not for the visions and streaming media. At least we have a nice, fat drink here on the table. Better than nothing. Soon we will feel a slight numbing which usually helps minimize the swirling difficulties inside. Hopefully, anyway. There are no guarantees of any contentment, ever. We just try. The reckoning is all fucked up. We had a very clear path the other day when this mess of an entry began, but everything was derailed very quickly once we began to gather some thoughts. We are supposed to be lashing out in whatever direction in order to demonstrate our horrible feelings toward the state of life, yet all we’ve actually splayed here is some crap about our observations in the restaurant as related to our past. Of course, society is pretty fucking different from decades ago – something to be expected no matter the era – and we’ve railed against the changes for a very long time. The simple fact is that we cannot do anything about it. The only option seems to be avoidance. How long can that shit last? One of these days we will probably head over the hill to pick up an order at the big wine store and time it to coincide with the lunch hour. That means we will likely cruise through the back alley and park our sorry asses at that cozy restaurant/bar for some very good food. We refuse to avoid such a plan because that place harks back to the atmosphere and appearance of many venues which are now gone. Jesus holy shit, this woman on the display has one hell of a pair of beautiful shoulders. Lovely. Anyway, removing ourselves entirely from the machinations of the world is virtually impossible. We need to enjoy the food in certain places from time to time, and that means possibly dumping ourselves right in the middle of people whom we would rather avoid. It’s just a fact of life. Restaurants welcome everyone. There is no getting around it. At least the location we’ve referenced is very, very slow during weekdays, especially shortly after it opens for business. Oh, and the prices have increased like many other restaurants due to reasons of which we are ALL aware. Do we give a shit about the cost? Nope. Will we alter our destination due to the same? Fuck no. The atmosphere is key. You may recall a tirade employing the phrase ‘context is everything’. That never faded. We simply can’t distance ourselves beyond a certain point because some of life’s remaining enjoyments are not located in this little house. We have to roll the laundry around and reboot this machine so it can update all of the software. The alcohol is helping to minimize our pain right now. This is about as good a feeling as we can expect in life. The reboot seems to have helped alleviate the streaming issue with MAX. Perhaps we can finally get to the end of the series without further bullshit. Not bad. One thing, though... If we have to reboot the machine in order to straighten out the fucking stream each time it ends up glitchy, well, that shit will not fly. For the time being, we shall enjoy the show. This may turn into the type of day that is spent on the sofa watching television for the duration. As of this moment, the only plan we have is to continue working on the laundry process and have something to eat. Dinner preparations may be very simple, as well. All we have to do is remain somewhat busy so the damaging thoughts and empty dreams stay in the background. The idea may seem simple, but trust what we say... This unending, everyday battle is the most difficult aspect of present life. We know it by rote. In fact, the ‘thing’, the memories and the state of society are beginning to combine inside us and driving the idea of a hammer swing, the likes of which have not transpired in many days. No driving this morning. Thursday. No nothing, really. We are here for the duration. The end of the series finally rolled through yesterday, so we’ve switched to another HBO program that has not graced this machine in the past. It originally aired during the 1236 period. The stream is glitching again, too. Damn it. We need to alleviate this problem, somehow. Coffee. Yearning. Sideways. Fucked. Reckoned? We will have to change the title. The incident in the restaurant was vastly different than what we saw at the pool. Think about it. A pool. People are generally in swimsuits, and the girl was partially the same. The clinchers were that she aligned with our dreams and just happened to be wearing very little material. Her rear end was at eye-level when we began to swim from the east end of the pool, and her position was located next to the steps. There was just no getting around the sight. Even the person with us at the time commented upon the appearance of the two sisters that slammed us upside the head. The restaurant was completely beyond any thoughts of seeing something so intimate. We expected zero aside from the occasional pretty face, or the beauty we have mentioned which was the woman’s hands right next to our position at the bar. The short dress and the movements that girl went through have become one of the largest points of contention in memory, and that is why the pool came to mind. We’ve been mentioning the pool goddess on and off for nearly five fucking years. The positioning was key, and marks the big difference from that stunning vision beneath the dress. It was just a fleeting chance (and glance) as opposed to an outfit designed for exposure and swimming. We will not soon forget it. Moreover, we are going to continue touching on both incidents because we have become fucking insane like never before, and that means we can’t move from one fucking moment to the next without dreaming of missing pieces, damaging thoughts and the most powerful needs we have EVER felt in this sordid life. We have become completely out of control and we still have no idea of what keeps us alive. Could it be the chance or hope that something will come along to satiate all this shit? No fucking way. We have become far too distorted for anything in reality to actually make a difference. The way we perceive beauty, for example, is completely out of whack as opposed to twenty years ago. Part of that problem can be chalked up to the unbelievably good fortune of connecting with a few souls who were actual, living, breathing examples of what we’ve been obsessed with for decades. Now that we have no connection whatsoever, the pain inside has amplified, due to both feeling overly desperate and realizing that our dreams are about as unrealistic as possible. Distortion; knowing; yearning. Sometimes everything calms for a little while and we see nothing more than a pair of fucking pants that somewhat displays a beautiful form, but what took place the other night is worse for two reasons. One is obvious... We desperately needed to see more detail to fully understand why she was shaped that way. The second is not so easy to explain, however. We felt a deep need to speak to her so she could possibly be made to understand just how special her appearance was in this fucked up society. She was a high point, if you will; far outside the scope of the norm. Everything that took place throughout the last two decades culminated in us sitting there nearly destroyed by the sight of those curves and their respective position on her body. We felt similarly at the pool five years ago, although the present era is different inside us. Very different. We are seeing life running out; coming to a slow, burning end. All of the aspects of our world that have disappeared when combined with just how skewed our thinking has become – as opposed to the past – comprise the worst situation we could have imagined. Our past pain was mostly due to desire. The present is fraught with emotional pain. Much worse. We are feeling a combination, actually, because the desperate nature of the way we yearn for beauty and/or understanding causes problems on two fronts, neither of which have a solution or even a touch of relief. Everything seems to be closing in, effectively shrinking our tiny world even more than what has taken place in the last four years. All those places we wanted to visit; all those things we wished to experience... The likelihood of anything like that actually taking place is more remote now than ever before. Toss in the comforts and the fact that even they are shrinking, and one may see how dire this situation has become. The girl in the restaurant dredged up the one at the pool, and both are representative of just how different we are right now as opposed to many years ago. Or, perhaps, fewer than that. The sights of beauty remind us that we are sitting in the middle of nowhere with zero chances of going anywhere. Maybe the title need not be changed. We are feeling the reckoning this morning, and even more strongly than yesterday at this time. Reckoning could be paying the tab. This is completely fucked up and we are feeling HORRIBLE right now. This terrible emotional upheaval could be the only type of situation powerful enough to remove thoughts of those beautiful lines and the sheer level of damage they have caused (not her fault, of course; like always). Right now we can’t know because our thoughts are too skewed for clear analysis. The previous paragraph was better, and as you may see, we are heading downhill. We fear eventually there will be nothing left to lift us when the need arises. The converging lines will not stop and we are right between them. We cannot go back. Ah... This program’s opening sequence reminds us of being in the apartment on the top floor with the beautiful view east. Many a morning was spent there gazing out over the pass while we tried to gather enough thoughts to create a coherent, albeit typically short, essay to publish. The site was tiny back then, as well, so any addition was pretty dramatic. Sometime during the next year, the line count will likely surpass 300,000. During the period we mentioned, the entire site could have fit within two or three of the current-styled entries. Interesting. Anyway, we need to calm ourselves a little bit before moving away from the control center or the day will be destroyed before it has a chance to begin. Memories of when we were in better shape will not help, either. There was no worry of a reckoning back then, so at least there is one positive. Maybe we can revisit the feelings. And? Maybe this entry should have been entitled ‘The Incident’, due to the power that vision still has over us. The opening sequence will probably continue to send us back in time – and that’s fine – if we decide to follow the series all the way through its five seasons. The period in question was both wondrous and difficult, and as we look back, many situations that arose during that time have become amplified beyond belief, most notably the relationship between our obsession and feelings of desire. The truth is everything is out of control. This mood typically leads in one of two directions. We will either allow the anger to take over and then blast music while doing ‘busy’ work, or we’ll try to downsize ourselves along the lines of those past occasions when we dreamed of some type of ‘escape’. As the coffee disappears, we shall continue to analyze while trying to keep the dire emotions at bay. We are still reeling from the sheer amount of information that girl accidentally put on display, and the fact that we were the worst kind of recipients of the same. Well, the best, as well, in that our appreciation is driven primarily by wonder and not some sort of conquest. We just don’t think that way anymore. That is a good thing. The truth of the matter is that if we were in a position to speak with her (or someone similar; there have been many), the utmost respect would be involved. We may be fucked in the head, but that does not mean we would EVER be disrespectful toward the fairer sex. Wait a minute... Are we allowed to use such a phrase in this day and age? Old fashioned, indeed. Whatever. Our level of physical desire is beyond unreal, yet at the same time we are still able to maintain decorum and composure. We do not know how that happens. Not even an inkling. Hmm... Our respectful stance could be a byproduct of what we wrote above regarding showing the same to clubs, restaurants and the like, all of it learned during our upbringing. The two could be connected, and if so, the fact is not necessarily a bad thing. This paragraph lost its way. Marvelous. The sun is beginning to break through the fog. Perhaps we should sell a few items for cash ‘flexibility’. Maybe. Turning household items into liquid resources is always enjoyable and tends to lead to other options. We’ll have to think about it. Nothing can squash the incident, nor can we affect the reckoning, but at least we might be able to smile a little bit in the meantime. There are problems inside us that have not been gleaned here. Two, at least. We just... Can’t. We need ears, bad. And speaking of problems, the first few episodes of this program involve one of the largest points of contention in the world. Believe it. The topic is both interesting and nerve-wracking at the same time. At least this is fictional. I do feel for one of the main characters, though. Can’t help it. He is doing his best for his family. The sun succeeded. Very nice. One thing led to another, and then another, and years later here we sit all fucked up and with zero options. We’ve been trying to decide if our emotional condition as related to being routed and squished is better or worse than the feelings which peaked at dinner the other night. They could be equal, to be honest. The moods rarely cross over to one another or end up combined in any fashion. We typically find ourselves mired within one or the other, and rare is the occasion when two situations take place concurrently that involve the opposite ends of the emotional scale. We should be thankful for that, mostly because we have a difficult enough time trying to handle just one. We also seem to have a hell of a time remaining on topic. Splendid. Anyway, the truth is in the first sentence, after having lived through the 1236 period and all of the difficulty inherent in trying to write a descriptive essay about the girl at the car wash, years later realizing that we did feel a mass of desire yet suppressed it so deeply that it remained dormant and out of reach. Maybe that’s what they call a ‘memory engram’. No idea. By the time we moved from that place and into a house, the feelings had amplified ten-fold and we began to question whether or not we might live to a ripe old age and avoid ending ourselves just to cease the horrible feelings. All these years later, we have grown accustomed to seeing beauty – extremely subjective and specific types of appearances due to having become overly skewed – yet at the same time we still end up full of desire and in a pit of depression. The pool was bad. The restaurant? Worse, and moreover, more recent. In five years that girl at the pool faded somewhat, the leftover recollections being mostly her position as supported by some of the images we’ve included here. On the other hand, the latest incident is not only fresh, but a fucking fluke in the scheme of the universe. Seeing what we did was akin to seeking one specific grain of sand on the beach. Any beach. Think about it. She was a rarity, yes, but rarer still was her motion of bending forward at the precise moment when we glanced. Further, we just happened to be directly behind her when she stood next to the adjacent table. All of it adds up to a chance encounter with something that simply CANNOT have any semblance of positivity due to our already diminished condition and place in the world. One thing led to another. We watched the very tall, slender runway models (they have to be fucking tall and slender in order to be considered, let alone employed, and we can’t go into the ethical issues inherent in such an industry) and focused primarily on their return walks from the runway to the stage because that was when the lines critical to our existence were often available for viewing. A few years later, we tired of the sights because nothing good ever came of them. During the same period, we met Maggie by chance. Cut to some days later when she was beautifully perched upon a recliner in our living room. We felt so much desire that sitting still without either flipping the fuck out or revealing our feelings became an exercise in extreme patience. Desire was the key. We wanted that girl so badly that when our communication with her faded, we actually felt relief. We did not need that level of beauty – literally from head to toe – so close. Not good. At least we may have learned a lesson. Not a big one, and nothing permanent, but a lesson nonetheless. And then Andrea, Ellie, a few others, and eventually the Raven. And now look at us... The very portrait of a mass of depressed fucking mental cases. This paragraph is a mess, as well, but fuck it. No one cares, least of all us. Ears. Understanding. And what else? You should already know the answer to that one. The hour is later and we’ve completed some shit. Cocktail time, and one of our favorite parts of each day. Good or bad as it may be, we still need it quite a bit and the process will not change anytime soon. And speaking of change, another process that has remained stagnant for years is right here in this fucking entry, and that is gushing about something we’ve seen, reporting our deep feelings of loss, confusion, anger, and turmoil which always result from being exposed to a very specific type of beauty, and then generally diving into the past to find reasoning as to how we may have turned out this way. Sound familiar? Be it on the television or in society, there will always be something that drives us to feel strong desire and deep heartache. We honestly do not see this shit changing anytime soon. Not only do we know it by rote, but we can never seem to either stop or learn enough to find relief inside. The emotional problems lead to physical problems, a circumstance that has become unavoidable, and that means we have been unwilling to try because the beauty has become so fucking important. Ah, very interesting... ‘Stewardship and not consumption... Blah, blah, blah.’ Life here at this table will likely never reach that fucking level. Oh, boy. There is the girl with whom we were obsessed some years ago. Apparently, those feelings never fully faded. We have not seen this series for some years and seem to feel just as strongly as in the past. That is all we shall say at this point. Where were we? Ah... The depressing fact that our situation cannot change on one front. Everything just hurts, yet we continue to allow ourselves to be exposed to those aspects of life that affect us so deeply. The cycle: Searching leads to beauty; beauty leads to desire; desire generates pain; pain leaves us severely depressed. We then sit here and try to describe the feelings in a protracted manner, over and over. The cycle of shit, as it were. ‘One way or another, for one reason or another, it’s all gone.’ Words of wisdom from the great Harry Dean Stanton, who just happens to be a very frightening type of social monster in this program. As for his performance, it is and always will be beyond reproach. Talent, pure and simple, and that considering he’s been typecast for decades. At least we don’t have the hots for him. Laugh it up, fucksticks. Laugh it right the fuck up. Beauty, when combined with the two shit situations and years of routing and squishing, is killing us a little at a time. There was a suggestion to clear the ‘cookies’ from the browser cache to see if it alleviates the problem with the stream. We don’t normally clear them very often due to having many active logins and other aspects of sites that we’d prefer remain unaltered, but today the idea seemed to immediately improve playback. Very interesting. If the stream goes to shit again, we will try the same suggestion. Not bad. That was way off topic, but does it matter? Do our feelings matter? Does any of this matter? Do WE fucking matter? No answers. Good luck trying to speak with us. Good fucking luck. Our situation is far worse than even two years ago. The more time that passes, the less chance we have of finding ANYTHING in this world that even has a chance to help. The idea to visit the doctor is still an option, although there are two reasons for seeing her, only one of which relates to all this shit. The other cannot be mentioned here. Aside from seeking help in such a fashion, we have realized that our view of society combined with how our feelings toward beauty have changed in recent years may very well have left us without hope of an actual connection, even just for some conversation. We have worsened more since the outset of this year than in the preceding decade. Believing there can be nothing on the horizon means the only parts of life still keeping us out of the soil are the little enjoyments, some of which have disappeared during said year. This is bad, no doubt, and pushes us to consider the worst of solutions several times throughout a given day. One certainty regarding the previous thought is that we must endeavor to avoid some musical compositions because they always result in tremendous sadness, and when combined with our already diminishing will to go on, the result could end in tragedy. We want that, and we don’t at the same time. The saddest fact is that we already know that if we end up close to any real beauty via some insane set of circumstances, our position will most likely be viewed as fucking crazy in no uncertain terms. Crazy. Every single desire that we feel on a daily basis could be impossible. Actually, the same could be said for the last few years, yet we may not have considered our situation in such terms. We see things on the television and we are near other people often enough to realize that we’ve changed far too much to even hold a pleasant conversation for more than a few minutes. That is fucking sad. Perhaps we should have avoided a few specific actions some years ago. There is no way to know because once an idea is floated and then a decision made, the alternative paths disappear. Another day is gone. This feels very familiar, as do our feelings inside right now. Memories and such. Recollections of when that ‘thing’ occurred along with the subsequent educational conversation took place. Some of that time is still precious, although we still don’t understand. We saw it, too, and are fairly certain of the steps that process entails. We just don’t know why. The worst part is knowing it exists yet we will probably never understand or be in a position to ask for help. The situation is heartbreaking, just like all the rest, and the ‘thing’ continues to increase in importance and catch us upside the head most days. The vision the other night is completely different, both in our consciousness and in terms of trying to deal with the turmoil generated by our inability to find answers. There is probably no way to reach any level of true comfort without help, and the more time that passes, the less chance there is for us to actually find it. In the meantime, we sit here and recall wondrous periods and beautiful places, all the while knowing that the hour is likely far too late to recapture any of those emotions. Each morning is like this, as well. We generally run through a series of emotions, go back in time somewhat due to remembering those lost aspects of life, and then dream of where we need to be while leveling such thoughts against where we really are these days. The ‘thing’ us but one of many. We have yet to learn how to stop thinking about everything. All we have are those little distractions, none of which last very long. At some point we will put a stop to everything. We mentioned the cycle which takes place almost every day and how it becomes amplified each time something special comes along, such as all that shit mentioned above. The process steamrolls right over our needs and sensitivities regardless of how much we try to relax about everything. The sad truth always comes to mind because we’ve been void of hope since writing that very damaging – albeit quite unclear – essay seven years ago just after we switched to the mobile editing platform. That was a very bad time. Little did we know after enduring years of visions and overwhelming feelings of desire in any number of directions that the situation would worsen as it has since the outset of that entry. We even went so far as to write somewhat of a follow-up that nearly put a cap on the entire period. Nearly. The point was that after more than five years of contemplating the first essay and realizing the fantasy was truly failing, we decided to draw a line and conclusion, yet still leave much of the pertinent information out for reasons of protection. Well, the second iteration was a couple of years back and accomplished about as much as the previous effort. We still don’t even know why we brought that topic to the site and made it stand out (sort of). The process has not improved our situation one bit. We’ve analyzed this shit quite literally to death. And? Nothing. Each occasion affects us more than the last, as demonstrated by going all over the fucking map about the woman who passed us in the market and then the horrible situation last Saturday. There have been others, too. We do not mention everything here because there is no point, and sometimes we actually feel that avoiding the topic while typing and focusing upon other ideas can help us push all that shit aside for a while. The reckoning has gone away, we reckon. Ugh. There may no longer be methods to keep our subjects from wavering. We see that the nextdoor neighbor is taking one of his motorcycles to work again. He is living his life, unlike what’s going on over here. No one knows, however. No one will ever know because there is no point in trying to describe this situation or condition to anyone. The external forces that can help are even less likely than seeing completely bare lines the other day. What were the odds of that? We can’t even begin to calculate them, and the chance of finding what we really need seems even more remote. This is no way to live, and believe us when we say that we know what goes on beyond the limits of this property. We see it every single day. They are out there doing something... Anything. We are buried inside a combination time capsule and vat of depression that expands every now and then. Those occasions of seeing something beautiful are the primary catalysts. There is very little life here; much less than we see when one of those engines fires off for a ride. We added a question mark to the title because we can’t seem to focus on one direction or another. Nah... Now the title has been changed. We shall return to the reckoning when appropriate. Our thinking these days is not exactly the clearest, most straightforward process in the world to say the least. There are two very specific reasons why we can’t think most of the time, neither of which can ever be put here in detail. Suffice to say, we have no control over either of them. We have to push our way through most mornings in order to come out the other side without feeling like a complete disaster. As we mentioned above, this is no way to live, but what choice do we have? YOU make the call. The information here can only go so far, as evidenced in the previous mess. We tried to go further, yet every time we feel strongly about something, the realization sets in that most of the words must be held back for protection. In the end, we typically feel much disappointment when publishing due to the site being so restricted these days. There are dozens of essays that have been removed from the archive, we are not seeing much value in trying to find answers so the content circles around just like the inside of our heads. Around and around, over and over. Cycle. Process. Every now and again we hit on something that is very valuable and sometimes helpful, but too much of the wording ends up left out because we become frightened of being too exposed. And yes, we do realize that there are very few individuals looking that this fucking site. We know the numbers, and we know f rom where their connections to the site hail. None of that matters, though, because when we question anything here, we are not asking readers for the answers. That is the truth. People will read (maybe) and formulate their own conclusions and that is fine. Leave us out of it because the truth is there is no longer enough content here to make an informed decision about us. Not even close. No one knows. Another unfinished, unclear mess is all this has become throughout the last four days. Nothing substantial; nothing coherent; nothing terribly helpful. And now the entire title has been removed. Doesn't matter. What’s next?" 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The Incident Mature content No. 421 Published August 16th, 2024 8:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries "And here we are. The reckoning. Wait... For us? Nope. There has already been a bad place crafted for us. We do not need reckoning, we reckon. There is trouble on the horizon within the show. A goddess is going to appear and drive us fucking nuts for the next few episodes, which also happen to be the last. Oh, some good things will happen in the story, but her appearance drives nails into our desire-soaked brains every fucking time. We have rarely felt such need for a fictional character, and that statement does not refer to emotion. Believe it. Our anger toward feeling such strong desire stems from others. Hence? The reckoning. Don’t worry, there can be none of that shit here. This content is mere words. We are pointing our guns toward reality. The guns are many, as you may have already been made aware. Do you recall the guns? The types are silent, divisional, divine, interstitial, frame, and the mighty forest. Fucking figure it out already. ‘...forget the words, just look at Cindy. Keep in mind, though, as you stare at her, the guns are staring at you.’ They ARE staring. Just ignore them. You won’t know what to do anyway. Live with it and go on with your existence. We are no one of concern. Two different Asian hybrids in similar outfits. They bring out the guns as well as the mustard. Take aim? No. They are innocent in all of this. The problems lie elsewhere. The girls come along from time to time and throw a monkey in the wrench, as it were, and then we reel for a little while prior to becoming angry again. We can’t do anything about such things. We have zero control over anything. The drive came and went – we forced the issue and took off ten minutes earlier than usual – and now have returned to learn that the trouble in the show has just begun. The morning is going to be difficult if we continue to the end of the current series. She is amazing and almost constantly fucks up our attempts to think. Some of that is our doing, while the rest is the subject of the reckoning. They are here and there is nothing we can do about the arrival. All we can do is sit and watch, waiting for an opening to either speak or otherwise demonstrate our disdain, curiosity or appreciation (depending upon their stance, of course). We just sit here and analyze until there is nothing left to hash through. We have become the thresher of information. Two problems in this episode. Splendid. We should be switching to something else soon, anyway, so the last few hours of the program will probably not be as bad as we’ve predicted. The Asian hybrids are beginning to fade, although one had very soft, inviting eyes that drove us insane for a little while. There are times when emotion overpowers anything physical because what is inside a person is far more important. The truth is that we become overly caught up with appearance all the time due to the billion factors we’ve belabored here for years, and when a face comes along that moves our hearts, everything goes to hell right quick. That rather took place this morning and made us quite angry for a time. Fortunately, we had to concentrate on navigating the waters that are always filled with idiots and assholes during the morning hours. Upon returning to the openness of the federal interstate, we calmed somewhat. At least now we can think a bit. The trip that was scheduled for two days from now has been canceled. We do not wish to go anywhere, especially someplace that will likely be crawling with all manner of shit we are better off avoiding. Moreover, dinner the other night was not cheap. Another day out means more money. Not good. We go to dinner roughly three times a year at the most. Taking that trip would have been too much. In addition, the free time here at the control center will likely be equally rewarding. Besides, we are becoming quite angry again and being near others will not be good for anyone. Guns, knives and mustard; knives, mustard and guns. We need to find the dress and see what condition it is in after years of neglect. Maybe it’s not even blue anymore. Any searching is done from this fucking office, nowhere else. Distractions are plentiful outside the house. There are solutions to be drawn and connections to be secured. No, not the most important type of connection. That is most likely impossible for all time. The other connections are between fleeting glimpses and errant thoughts that pop into us from time to time, often leading us to the anger that we must embrace in order to put everything in proper perspective. Distractions will dilute our feelings. Not good. We have to remain here and hold fast to the appropriate emotions if the reckoning is to pass. The girl at the restaurant reminded us of another vision, yet the latter was not nearly as close. Different and similar at the same time. We are still reeling from that one, as well, so to pile another close encounter of the worst kind to our psyche is just all fucking bad. We have not been able to extricate her lines from our heads since the occurrence. This is a big fucking problem since the other girl came to mind earlier this morning. At this point in time, and after everything we’ve railroaded and considered for years, the feelings are far worse and much more damaging than in the past, and we are including the girl at the fucking pool, believe it or not. When we sit in this chair and state that nothing goes away, we mean precisely that. Oh, some will face, such as the two from this morning, but the main concerns remain inside us and eventually hurt so much that they begin to dictate the way we live. And then the fucking anger rolls around to our present position in the circle and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. That is what’s happening right now. Ah, shit... There goes Anna running through the fucking forest again wearing her lingerie and with arms flying back to appear dramatic. Ugh. Violins again, too. If you’ve seen this series, you already know all about it. Ridiculous. Whatever. Back to the lines that are presently governing our entire existence. The problems are mounting and always lead to anger because of the current condition of our heads and hearts. Fair or unfair doesn’t matter anymore. The important aspect is whether or not we can retain control over our days without completely losing it. The pain causing anger is natural. It is an extension of dissatisfaction and the idea that those responsible cannot be addressed in life anymore. Well, there is one left, but that person may never cross our paths again, and that is a choice. Harsh? We don’t give a shit. We are far too critical and damaged to allow sentiment to gloss over the past. Considering the sheer number of problems that have arisen throughout the last two-plus decades that relate to beauty and/or our obsession, sentiment cannot even scratch the fucking surface of one of them. This entire line of thinking has been laid out and analyzed here before. The reason we needed to go over it again was due to the beautiful lines attached to that beautiful girl – a sight we may never enjoy again regardless of the context. Honestly, the number of occasions since our obsession became out of control and found us close enough to those very important lines and in the type of situation in which we were allowed to actually stare and simultaneously think can be counted on one hand. That is part of the reason so much anger continues to catalyze from time to time, and the main cause of our emotional damage. We’ve been right there, just not nearly enough to understand anything. No one else can lend a single fucking thought, either, so speaking is out of the question for the time being. Well, at least until such time as we can formulate the proper context and send the information to the proper type of ears. We may as well break out the D&D shit and roll a handful of thirty-sided dice. The odds of every one of them landing on the same number are about as likely as us being where we need. Yep. Anger. Guns? Knives? Mustard. Either we need to suppress the lines we saw or find something powerful enough to draw our attention away. The latter does not seem likely considering most of the power in this world was right there on display. In any case, without one of those two options, we are fucking dead. God damn it... She was right fucking there. Maybe the dress can help. Her dress? It was black. We need the blue one. Coffee will soon change to booze. The morning cocktail is still one of those things we truly enjoy, and it helps to calm our thoughts during these trying times. Everything seems to be a little easier afterward. Whatever that makes us – insert your society-drive label here – we don’t give half a shit in the wind. One more enjoyment removed would mean we can no longer live this life. Hmm... Perhaps the reckoning statements were premature. We don’t know what to do. The juxtaposition of being so disappointed in the way people were dressed in that dining room and seeing what has become the most beautiful sight in the world has us quite up in arms. Confused, really. We can’t stand disrespect after having grown up in the very adult, Nevada gaming culture. We were taught at an early age to show the clubs proper respect, and those lessons extended beyond the border of the state and into the more upscale restaurants closer to home. Since then, we have endeavored to look as loyally as we are able under the circumstances. There is another extension, too, and that is behavior toward staff and others while in those types of atmospheres. The table next to ours where the girl was located held a group of eight, and she was the only person dressed appropriately for the venue. A dress, hair well-kept, beautifully manicured nails, a touch of makeup and very nice shoes without too much height on the heels. She matched the atmosphere to a tee and we noticed every fucking detail. The rest looked like they were about to board a cruise ship, for crying out loud. That’s right. Half the dining room appeared in a similar fashion and we actually felt a tad insulted. Show some fucking respect, people. Please. The alternative is the entire upscale restaurant culture being replaced by noodle bowls and fucking boba. We never realized that Ashley Hinshaw is just over five-four in height. She always wore heels during her scenes, so perhaps along with the camera, she simply seemed taller. Her slight frame also lends to the illusion, but it doesn’t matter. Ashley has one of the most beautiful forms we’ve ever seen and we point it out every fucking time these episodes roll around in the rotation. Just a thought. As for the restaurant, we’ve noticed here and there over time that when there is an airport on the news (this happens quite often), the patrons in the lobbies all look very similar. That is to say they resemble those in the dining room that we saw last Saturday. We realize that society has shifted itself throughout several decades, but still... That is the opposite of the way we were raised. This shit is leading us to believe that such a minority viewpoint is only going to further shrink as time passes. We can remember the way Andrea was dressed on each flight. Michelle, too. We just don’t fucking understand the world anymore. Finding places in which we can be comfortable is becoming more and more difficult. They are elusive. Back to the gradient between that fucking goddess and the rest of the table... The sight was truly mystifying. She appeared lovely – and we mean much more than form – and carried herself very well, effectively standing out in the room to a great degree. We cannot read others very well most of the time, but we noticed everything, not just the diverging lines that led to a very special place. The most important aspect of that evening, the one critical fact that we took away, is that we are radically different than in the past, and perhaps continuing to change with regard to our feelings toward society in general. This is not good. What is good is the fact that we actually realize and follow along with the process. We can’t see many other people doing the same, although we cannot know, either. Our eyes are the evidence. The reckoning is not going anywhere because our feelings have been temporarily hijacked by other problems. We shall revisit the topic soon. Maybe. The pool girl came to mind for obvious reasons, the most important of which is the idea that there was nearly nothing between our eyes and her lines (all of them, thanks to the positioning). Those two occasions are at the top of the difficult list right now, and the likelihood of that changing is extremely slim given our current circumstances. The girl at the pool was lying on her back with knees up and paired, whereas we saw the other one standing and from the back. There is a vast difference between the mechanics of those two positions, the one at the pool being the more striking sight thanks to the symmetrical nature of her legs. The girl in the restaurant was angled slightly to one side. Hmm... Perhaps we are subject to the reckoning, not the others. We keep railroading visions of one of the two most important aspects of life and the process is completely fucking unhealthy. Much like the Passion, any real closeness is most decidedly impossible (for us, anyway). We have become far too distorted during the last few years, and that is not an overstatement. The way thoughts swirl inside us combined with the way our levels of desperation and desire have increased adds up to anything truly fulfilling no longer being possible. One day, we may accept that mass of shit. At least we have been truthful about how fucked up the world appears and how equally fucked up we view beauty. That is a two-fold roadblock to happiness. We know. We just... Know. Everything good is off the table. Maybe the way we feel IS the fucking reckoning. YOU make the call. Some time has passed and we are in a position to do anything or nothing at all for the rest of the day. The booze has again been flowing like a two-bit whore, as it were, and we can feel the slight effects just a few sips into the glass. Ashley is wearing a short, denim skirt. We have never liked the way those skirts look regardless of whom they may be wrapped around. We do not know why our feelings are like this, either. We’ve overheard plenty of other males comment about a woman’s legs being exposed in a skirt, but we never agreed when it came to denim. The woman on the screen deserves something much more appropriate to match her vast, natural beauty. Just believe it. If anyone is qualified to comment on outer, physical beauty, it is us. Trust it. This day may go nowhere. Yesterday we hid ourselves in the tree for a little while with the saw and MDRs. There will be no more tree thinning until the weekend because the process is often exhausting. Plus, we are in no mood to be out there exposed to whomever may pass by. Being social is off the table. Thank the maker for this icy, morning cocktail. It helps us deal with the memory of that girl lying on her back and displaying the most beautiful, stirring and crippling image that we can’t seem to release. Desire? We felt ALL of it. Within seconds, our feelings traveled the gamut, from merely needing to stare all the way to the damaging, desperate desire to show her how much appreciation we felt for the way she looked on that lounge chair. We can still feel all of it at this very moment. In fact, as the years between now and then pile up, our desire for her has increased exponentially. ‘We may never see her like again’. There is a part of us inside that wishes we had not been able to look at her at all. Another part wants to die. The imagery of the past is never easy on the mind. We can’t just let it all go, though, because our future is most likely void of the same. We need to hang on to something, for Christ’s sake. Something. We can’t ‘build’ her, there is little chance of finding her, so we keep going back in time and embracing those beautiful moments we had. Some of them are no more than gazing upon what has become one of the two most important aspects of being alive. Well, there could be three, but we’ve never been able to define the third. Oh, and denim shorts are fine. Another day is now gone forever. Yesterday was not the worst day, but nothing special, either. We drove this morning and ended up living through the longest duration for such a trip. No big deal. We put on the ‘patience cap’ and relaxed with coffee. We just waited it out and eventually freed ourselves from the shackles of that City as we rolled onto the Interstate and ran like hell. Now that the free period of the day has begun, we are much more relaxed – still angry as fuck due to more reasons than we care to list – and have plenty of time and space to do as we please. There are a few small items we’d like to see eliminated from our list of to-dos. None of it is difficult. We just need to push a little bit so we can come out the other side feeling better than we have for some days. Progress must be made on one front or another just for our peace of mind. We can work with more enjoyable stuff in and around the rest. There is plenty of time to think, and that is the best aspect of today. Moreover, there will be no driving to the City until four days from now. That is nice. We could use a break. There is much to consider regarding the reckoning, our position within the same, and the fact that we can’t seem to get rid of this fucking shitty mood. We are perpetually at sixes and sevens. She is still right there behind our eyes... Waiting for something, perhaps either to fade or become the last straw. There were two different facets to all that desire, as well. One is obvious; the other has never been mentioned here or anywhere else. Since we have a shitload of time between now and Sunday, much of it has to be reserved for consideration of the issues inherent in our statements related to that fucking girl. There are larger problems inside now than ever before. The free time could not have arrived soon enough. To say we needed this type of day would be a tremendous understatement. She is still inside us, pretty fucking deep, and we need to learn everything possible about such an occurrence (or else). Hopefully, the next three days will help. We must again point out that the state of the world – two wars, a massive hurricane in the Atlantic, the ever-increasing effects of climate change on the weather, and tons of wildfires, to mention a few – squashes the problems within us and we are almost constantly aware of such a fact. We are not stupid, nor have we ignored the reality of people all over the globe suffering for one reason or another. We feel for each and every one of them, honestly. Our little sphere of life cannot compare, but we must deal with the problems regardless of everything else. ‘From hell’s heart, I stab at thee. For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee.’ God damn sonuvabitch... Some of the greatest dialog in the history of film. Our shit can’t hold a fucking candle to that brilliant writing and execution. Awesome. The hour is later and we are in the bleach box of cocktail hour. Soon? In the eyes. Those are dragstrip terms. Learn something. We’ve been employing those terms for years. As for the day, we have completed some shit but can’t seem to get the memories, the ‘thing’, or those two stirring and stunning line sightings to leave our consciousness for a fucking second. This may be the shape of things to come. No, not ‘things’. Very different, that stuff. Very painful. We’ve seen it and knew at the time precisely what was happening, yet there is still zero understanding of the process. We can recall experiencing it once, although it may have happened years before that occasion. There is no way to be certain. The fucking MAX stream is glitching AGAIN. We still don’t know of the cause and it is very irritating, primarily because we are on the last fucking episode of the current series and can’t seem to get through it smoothly. Aside from media-related bullshit, we have some laundry running and the routine is out of the way for today. Everything would be just peachy if not for the visions and streaming media. At least we have a nice, fat drink here on the table. Better than nothing. Soon we will feel a slight numbing which usually helps minimize the swirling difficulties inside. Hopefully, anyway. There are no guarantees of any contentment, ever. We just try. The reckoning is all fucked up. We had a very clear path the other day when this mess of an entry began, but everything was derailed very quickly once we began to gather some thoughts. We are supposed to be lashing out in whatever direction in order to demonstrate our horrible feelings toward the state of life, yet all we’ve actually splayed here is some crap about our observations in the restaurant as related to our past. Of course, society is pretty fucking different from decades ago – something to be expected no matter the era – and we’ve railed against the changes for a very long time. The simple fact is that we cannot do anything about it. The only option seems to be avoidance. How long can that shit last? One of these days we will probably head over the hill to pick up an order at the big wine store and time it to coincide with the lunch hour. That means we will likely cruise through the back alley and park our sorry asses at that cozy restaurant/bar for some very good food. We refuse to avoid such a plan because that place harks back to the atmosphere and appearance of many venues which are now gone. Jesus holy shit, this woman on the display has one hell of a pair of beautiful shoulders. Lovely. Anyway, removing ourselves entirely from the machinations of the world is virtually impossible. We need to enjoy the food in certain places from time to time, and that means possibly dumping ourselves right in the middle of people whom we would rather avoid. It’s just a fact of life. Restaurants welcome everyone. There is no getting around it. At least the location we’ve referenced is very, very slow during weekdays, especially shortly after it opens for business. Oh, and the prices have increased like many other restaurants due to reasons of which we are ALL aware. Do we give a shit about the cost? Nope. Will we alter our destination due to the same? Fuck no. The atmosphere is key. You may recall a tirade employing the phrase ‘context is everything’. That never faded. We simply can’t distance ourselves beyond a certain point because some of life’s remaining enjoyments are not located in this little house. We have to roll the laundry around and reboot this machine so it can update all of the software. The alcohol is helping to minimize our pain right now. This is about as good a feeling as we can expect in life. The reboot seems to have helped alleviate the streaming issue with MAX. Perhaps we can finally get to the end of the series without further bullshit. Not bad. One thing, though... If we have to reboot the machine in order to straighten out the fucking stream each time it ends up glitchy, well, that shit will not fly. For the time being, we shall enjoy the show. This may turn into the type of day that is spent on the sofa watching television for the duration. As of this moment, the only plan we have is to continue working on the laundry process and have something to eat. Dinner preparations may be very simple, as well. All we have to do is remain somewhat busy so the damaging thoughts and empty dreams stay in the background. The idea may seem simple, but trust what we say... This unending, everyday battle is the most difficult aspect of present life. We know it by rote. In fact, the ‘thing’, the memories and the state of society are beginning to combine inside us and driving the idea of a hammer swing, the likes of which have not transpired in many days. No driving this morning. Thursday. No nothing, really. We are here for the duration. The end of the series finally rolled through yesterday, so we’ve switched to another HBO program that has not graced this machine in the past. It originally aired during the 1236 period. The stream is glitching again, too. Damn it. We need to alleviate this problem, somehow. Coffee. Yearning. Sideways. Fucked. Reckoned? We will have to change the title. The incident in the restaurant was vastly different than what we saw at the pool. Think about it. A pool. People are generally in swimsuits, and the girl was partially the same. The clinchers were that she aligned with our dreams and just happened to be wearing very little material. Her rear end was at eye-level when we began to swim from the east end of the pool, and her position was located next to the steps. There was just no getting around the sight. Even the person with us at the time commented upon the appearance of the two sisters that slammed us upside the head. The restaurant was completely beyond any thoughts of seeing something so intimate. We expected zero aside from the occasional pretty face, or the beauty we have mentioned which was the woman’s hands right next to our position at the bar. The short dress and the movements that girl went through have become one of the largest points of contention in memory, and that is why the pool came to mind. We’ve been mentioning the pool goddess on and off for nearly five fucking years. The positioning was key, and marks the big difference from that stunning vision beneath the dress. It was just a fleeting chance (and glance) as opposed to an outfit designed for exposure and swimming. We will not soon forget it. Moreover, we are going to continue touching on both incidents because we have become fucking insane like never before, and that means we can’t move from one fucking moment to the next without dreaming of missing pieces, damaging thoughts and the most powerful needs we have EVER felt in this sordid life. We have become completely out of control and we still have no idea of what keeps us alive. Could it be the chance or hope that something will come along to satiate all this shit? No fucking way. We have become far too distorted for anything in reality to actually make a difference. The way we perceive beauty, for example, is completely out of whack as opposed to twenty years ago. Part of that problem can be chalked up to the unbelievably good fortune of connecting with a few souls who were actual, living, breathing examples of what we’ve been obsessed with for decades. Now that we have no connection whatsoever, the pain inside has amplified, due to both feeling overly desperate and realizing that our dreams are about as unrealistic as possible. Distortion; knowing; yearning. Sometimes everything calms for a little while and we see nothing more than a pair of fucking pants that somewhat displays a beautiful form, but what took place the other night is worse for two reasons. One is obvious... We desperately needed to see more detail to fully understand why she was shaped that way. The second is not so easy to explain, however. We felt a deep need to speak to her so she could possibly be made to understand just how special her appearance was in this fucked up society. She was a high point, if you will; far outside the scope of the norm. Everything that took place throughout the last two decades culminated in us sitting there nearly destroyed by the sight of those curves and their respective position on her body. We felt similarly at the pool five years ago, although the present era is different inside us. Very different. We are seeing life running out; coming to a slow, burning end. All of the aspects of our world that have disappeared when combined with just how skewed our thinking has become – as opposed to the past – comprise the worst situation we could have imagined. Our past pain was mostly due to desire. The present is fraught with emotional pain. Much worse. We are feeling a combination, actually, because the desperate nature of the way we yearn for beauty and/or understanding causes problems on two fronts, neither of which have a solution or even a touch of relief. Everything seems to be closing in, effectively shrinking our tiny world even more than what has taken place in the last four years. All those places we wanted to visit; all those things we wished to experience... The likelihood of anything like that actually taking place is more remote now than ever before. Toss in the comforts and the fact that even they are shrinking, and one may see how dire this situation has become. The girl in the restaurant dredged up the one at the pool, and both are representative of just how different we are right now as opposed to many years ago. Or, perhaps, fewer than that. The sights of beauty remind us that we are sitting in the middle of nowhere with zero chances of going anywhere. Maybe the title need not be changed. We are feeling the reckoning this morning, and even more strongly than yesterday at this time. Reckoning could be paying the tab. This is completely fucked up and we are feeling HORRIBLE right now. This terrible emotional upheaval could be the only type of situation powerful enough to remove thoughts of those beautiful lines and the sheer level of damage they have caused (not her fault, of course; like always). Right now we can’t know because our thoughts are too skewed for clear analysis. The previous paragraph was better, and as you may see, we are heading downhill. We fear eventually there will be nothing left to lift us when the need arises. The converging lines will not stop and we are right between them. We cannot go back. Ah... This program’s opening sequence reminds us of being in the apartment on the top floor with the beautiful view east. Many a morning was spent there gazing out over the pass while we tried to gather enough thoughts to create a coherent, albeit typically short, essay to publish. The site was tiny back then, as well, so any addition was pretty dramatic. Sometime during the next year, the line count will likely surpass 300,000. During the period we mentioned, the entire site could have fit within two or three of the current-styled entries. Interesting. Anyway, we need to calm ourselves a little bit before moving away from the control center or the day will be destroyed before it has a chance to begin. Memories of when we were in better shape will not help, either. There was no worry of a reckoning back then, so at least there is one positive. Maybe we can revisit the feelings. And? Maybe this entry should have been entitled ‘The Incident’, due to the power that vision still has over us. The opening sequence will probably continue to send us back in time – and that’s fine – if we decide to follow the series all the way through its five seasons. The period in question was both wondrous and difficult, and as we look back, many situations that arose during that time have become amplified beyond belief, most notably the relationship between our obsession and feelings of desire. The truth is everything is out of control. This mood typically leads in one of two directions. We will either allow the anger to take over and then blast music while doing ‘busy’ work, or we’ll try to downsize ourselves along the lines of those past occasions when we dreamed of some type of ‘escape’. As the coffee disappears, we shall continue to analyze while trying to keep the dire emotions at bay. We are still reeling from the sheer amount of information that girl accidentally put on display, and the fact that we were the worst kind of recipients of the same. Well, the best, as well, in that our appreciation is driven primarily by wonder and not some sort of conquest. We just don’t think that way anymore. That is a good thing. The truth of the matter is that if we were in a position to speak with her (or someone similar; there have been many), the utmost respect would be involved. We may be fucked in the head, but that does not mean we would EVER be disrespectful toward the fairer sex. Wait a minute... Are we allowed to use such a phrase in this day and age? Old fashioned, indeed. Whatever. Our level of physical desire is beyond unreal, yet at the same time we are still able to maintain decorum and composure. We do not know how that happens. Not even an inkling. Hmm... Our respectful stance could be a byproduct of what we wrote above regarding showing the same to clubs, restaurants and the like, all of it learned during our upbringing. The two could be connected, and if so, the fact is not necessarily a bad thing. This paragraph lost its way. Marvelous. The sun is beginning to break through the fog. Perhaps we should sell a few items for cash ‘flexibility’. Maybe. Turning household items into liquid resources is always enjoyable and tends to lead to other options. We’ll have to think about it. Nothing can squash the incident, nor can we affect the reckoning, but at least we might be able to smile a little bit in the meantime. There are problems inside us that have not been gleaned here. Two, at least. We just... Can’t. We need ears, bad. And speaking of problems, the first few episodes of this program involve one of the largest points of contention in the world. Believe it. The topic is both interesting and nerve-wracking at the same time. At least this is fictional. I do feel for one of the main characters, though. Can’t help it. He is doing his best for his family. The sun succeeded. Very nice. One thing led to another, and then another, and years later here we sit all fucked up and with zero options. We’ve been trying to decide if our emotional condition as related to being routed and squished is better or worse than the feelings which peaked at dinner the other night. They could be equal, to be honest. The moods rarely cross over to one another or end up combined in any fashion. We typically find ourselves mired within one or the other, and rare is the occasion when two situations take place concurrently that involve the opposite ends of the emotional scale. We should be thankful for that, mostly because we have a difficult enough time trying to handle just one. We also seem to have a hell of a time remaining on topic. Splendid. Anyway, the truth is in the first sentence, after having lived through the 1236 period and all of the difficulty inherent in trying to write a descriptive essay about the girl at the car wash, years later realizing that we did feel a mass of desire yet suppressed it so deeply that it remained dormant and out of reach. Maybe that’s what they call a ‘memory engram’. No idea. By the time we moved from that place and into a house, the feelings had amplified ten-fold and we began to question whether or not we might live to a ripe old age and avoid ending ourselves just to cease the horrible feelings. All these years later, we have grown accustomed to seeing beauty – extremely subjective and specific types of appearances due to having become overly skewed – yet at the same time we still end up full of desire and in a pit of depression. The pool was bad. The restaurant? Worse, and moreover, more recent. In five years that girl at the pool faded somewhat, the leftover recollections being mostly her position as supported by some of the images we’ve included here. On the other hand, the latest incident is not only fresh, but a fucking fluke in the scheme of the universe. Seeing what we did was akin to seeking one specific grain of sand on the beach. Any beach. Think about it. She was a rarity, yes, but rarer still was her motion of bending forward at the precise moment when we glanced. Further, we just happened to be directly behind her when she stood next to the adjacent table. All of it adds up to a chance encounter with something that simply CANNOT have any semblance of positivity due to our already diminished condition and place in the world. One thing led to another. We watched the very tall, slender runway models (they have to be fucking tall and slender in order to be considered, let alone employed, and we can’t go into the ethical issues inherent in such an industry) and focused primarily on their return walks from the runway to the stage because that was when the lines critical to our existence were often available for viewing. A few years later, we tired of the sights because nothing good ever came of them. During the same period, we met Maggie by chance. Cut to some days later when she was beautifully perched upon a recliner in our living room. We felt so much desire that sitting still without either flipping the fuck out or revealing our feelings became an exercise in extreme patience. Desire was the key. We wanted that girl so badly that when our communication with her faded, we actually felt relief. We did not need that level of beauty – literally from head to toe – so close. Not good. At least we may have learned a lesson. Not a big one, and nothing permanent, but a lesson nonetheless. And then Andrea, Ellie, a few others, and eventually the Raven. And now look at us... The very portrait of a mass of depressed fucking mental cases. This paragraph is a mess, as well, but fuck it. No one cares, least of all us. Ears. Understanding. And what else? You should already know the answer to that one. The hour is later and we’ve completed some shit. Cocktail time, and one of our favorite parts of each day. Good or bad as it may be, we still need it quite a bit and the process will not change anytime soon. And speaking of change, another process that has remained stagnant for years is right here in this fucking entry, and that is gushing about something we’ve seen, reporting our deep feelings of loss, confusion, anger, and turmoil which always result from being exposed to a very specific type of beauty, and then generally diving into the past to find reasoning as to how we may have turned out this way. Sound familiar? Be it on the television or in society, there will always be something that drives us to feel strong desire and deep heartache. We honestly do not see this shit changing anytime soon. Not only do we know it by rote, but we can never seem to either stop or learn enough to find relief inside. The emotional problems lead to physical problems, a circumstance that has become unavoidable, and that means we have been unwilling to try because the beauty has become so fucking important. Ah, very interesting... ‘Stewardship and not consumption... Blah, blah, blah.’ Life here at this table will likely never reach that fucking level. Oh, boy. There is the girl with whom we were obsessed some years ago. Apparently, those feelings never fully faded. We have not seen this series for some years and seem to feel just as strongly as in the past. That is all we shall say at this point. Where were we? Ah... The depressing fact that our situation cannot change on one front. Everything just hurts, yet we continue to allow ourselves to be exposed to those aspects of life that affect us so deeply. The cycle: Searching leads to beauty; beauty leads to desire; desire generates pain; pain leaves us severely depressed. We then sit here and try to describe the feelings in a protracted manner, over and over. The cycle of shit, as it were. ‘One way or another, for one reason or another, it’s all gone.’ Words of wisdom from the great Harry Dean Stanton, who just happens to be a very frightening type of social monster in this program. As for his performance, it is and always will be beyond reproach. Talent, pure and simple, and that considering he’s been typecast for decades. At least we don’t have the hots for him. Laugh it up, fucksticks. Laugh it right the fuck up. Beauty, when combined with the two shit situations and years of routing and squishing, is killing us a little at a time. There was a suggestion to clear the ‘cookies’ from the browser cache to see if it alleviates the problem with the stream. We don’t normally clear them very often due to having many active logins and other aspects of sites that we’d prefer remain unaltered, but today the idea seemed to immediately improve playback. Very interesting. If the stream goes to shit again, we will try the same suggestion. Not bad. That was way off topic, but does it matter? Do our feelings matter? Does any of this matter? Do WE fucking matter? No answers. Good luck trying to speak with us. Good fucking luck. Our situation is far worse than even two years ago. The more time that passes, the less chance we have of finding ANYTHING in this world that even has a chance to help. The idea to visit the doctor is still an option, although there are two reasons for seeing her, only one of which relates to all this shit. The other cannot be mentioned here. Aside from seeking help in such a fashion, we have realized that our view of society combined with how our feelings toward beauty have changed in recent years may very well have left us without hope of an actual connection, even just for some conversation. We have worsened more since the outset of this year than in the preceding decade. Believing there can be nothing on the horizon means the only parts of life still keeping us out of the soil are the little enjoyments, some of which have disappeared during said year. This is bad, no doubt, and pushes us to consider the worst of solutions several times throughout a given day. One certainty regarding the previous thought is that we must endeavor to avoid some musical compositions because they always result in tremendous sadness, and when combined with our already diminishing will to go on, the result could end in tragedy. We want that, and we don’t at the same time. The saddest fact is that we already know that if we end up close to any real beauty via some insane set of circumstances, our position will most likely be viewed as fucking crazy in no uncertain terms. Crazy. Every single desire that we feel on a daily basis could be impossible. Actually, the same could be said for the last few years, yet we may not have considered our situation in such terms. We see things on the television and we are near other people often enough to realize that we’ve changed far too much to even hold a pleasant conversation for more than a few minutes. That is fucking sad. Perhaps we should have avoided a few specific actions some years ago. There is no way to know because once an idea is floated and then a decision made, the alternative paths disappear. Another day is gone. This feels very familiar, as do our feelings inside right now. Memories and such. Recollections of when that ‘thing’ occurred along with the subsequent educational conversation took place. Some of that time is still precious, although we still don’t understand. We saw it, too, and are fairly certain of the steps that process entails. We just don’t know why. The worst part is knowing it exists yet we will probably never understand or be in a position to ask for help. The situation is heartbreaking, just like all the rest, and the ‘thing’ continues to increase in importance and catch us upside the head most days. The vision the other night is completely different, both in our consciousness and in terms of trying to deal with the turmoil generated by our inability to find answers. There is probably no way to reach any level of true comfort without help, and the more time that passes, the less chance there is for us to actually find it. In the meantime, we sit here and recall wondrous periods and beautiful places, all the while knowing that the hour is likely far too late to recapture any of those emotions. Each morning is like this, as well. We generally run through a series of emotions, go back in time somewhat due to remembering those lost aspects of life, and then dream of where we need to be while leveling such thoughts against where we really are these days. The ‘thing’ us but one of many. We have yet to learn how to stop thinking about everything. All we have are those little distractions, none of which last very long. At some point we will put a stop to everything. We mentioned the cycle which takes place almost every day and how it becomes amplified each time something special comes along, such as all that shit mentioned above. The process steamrolls right over our needs and sensitivities regardless of how much we try to relax about everything. The sad truth always comes to mind because we’ve been void of hope since writing that very damaging – albeit quite unclear – essay seven years ago just after we switched to the mobile editing platform. That was a very bad time. Little did we know after enduring years of visions and overwhelming feelings of desire in any number of directions that the situation would worsen as it has since the outset of that entry. We even went so far as to write somewhat of a follow-up that nearly put a cap on the entire period. Nearly. The point was that after more than five years of contemplating the first essay and realizing the fantasy was truly failing, we decided to draw a line and conclusion, yet still leave much of the pertinent information out for reasons of protection. Well, the second iteration was a couple of years back and accomplished about as much as the previous effort. We still don’t even know why we brought that topic to the site and made it stand out (sort of). The process has not improved our situation one bit. We’ve analyzed this shit quite literally to death. And? Nothing. Each occasion affects us more than the last, as demonstrated by going all over the fucking map about the woman who passed us in the market and then the horrible situation last Saturday. There have been others, too. We do not mention everything here because there is no point, and sometimes we actually feel that avoiding the topic while typing and focusing upon other ideas can help us push all that shit aside for a while. The reckoning has gone away, we reckon. Ugh. There may no longer be methods to keep our subjects from wavering. We see that the nextdoor neighbor is taking one of his motorcycles to work again. He is living his life, unlike what’s going on over here. No one knows, however. No one will ever know because there is no point in trying to describe this situation or condition to anyone. The external forces that can help are even less likely than seeing completely bare lines the other day. What were the odds of that? We can’t even begin to calculate them, and the chance of finding what we really need seems even more remote. This is no way to live, and believe us when we say that we know what goes on beyond the limits of this property. We see it every single day. They are out there doing something... Anything. We are buried inside a combination time capsule and vat of depression that expands every now and then. Those occasions of seeing something beautiful are the primary catalysts. There is very little life here; much less than we see when one of those engines fires off for a ride. We added a question mark to the title because we can’t seem to focus on one direction or another. Nah... Now the title has been changed. We shall return to the reckoning when appropriate. Our thinking these days is not exactly the clearest, most straightforward process in the world to say the least. There are two very specific reasons why we can’t think most of the time, neither of which can ever be put here in detail. Suffice to say, we have no control over either of them. We have to push our way through most mornings in order to come out the other side without feeling like a complete disaster. As we mentioned above, this is no way to live, but what choice do we have? YOU make the call. The information here can only go so far, as evidenced in the previous mess. We tried to go further, yet every time we feel strongly about something, the realization sets in that most of the words must be held back for protection. In the end, we typically feel much disappointment when publishing due to the site being so restricted these days. There are dozens of essays that have been removed from the archive, we are not seeing much value in trying to find answers so the content circles around just like the inside of our heads. Around and around, over and over. Cycle. Process. Every now and again we hit on something that is very valuable and sometimes helpful, but too much of the wording ends up left out because we become frightened of being too exposed. And yes, we do realize that there are very few individuals looking that this fucking site. We know the numbers, and we know f rom where their connections to the site hail. None of that matters, though, because when we question anything here, we are not asking readers for the answers. That is the truth. People will read (maybe) and formulate their own conclusions and that is fine. Leave us out of it because the truth is there is no longer enough content here to make an informed decision about us. Not even close. No one knows. Another unfinished, unclear mess is all this has become throughout the last four days. Nothing substantial; nothing coherent; nothing terribly helpful. And now the entire title has been removed. Doesn't matter. What’s next?"
The Incident
Mature content No. 421 Published August 16th, 2024 8:56am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"And here we are. The reckoning. Wait... For us? Nope. There has already been a bad place crafted for us. We do not need reckoning, we reckon. There is trouble on the horizon within the show. A goddess is going to appear and drive us fucking nuts for the next few episodes, which also happen to be the last. Oh, some good things will happen in the story, but her appearance drives nails into our desire-soaked brains every fucking time. We have rarely felt such need for a fictional character, and that statement does not refer to emotion. Believe it. Our anger toward feeling such strong desire stems from others. Hence? The reckoning. Don’t worry, there can be none of that shit here. This content is mere words. We are pointing our guns toward reality. The guns are many, as you may have already been made aware. Do you recall the guns? The types are silent, divisional, divine, interstitial, frame, and the mighty forest. Fucking figure it out already. ‘...forget the words, just look at Cindy. Keep in mind, though, as you stare at her, the guns are staring at you.’ They ARE staring. Just ignore them. You won’t know what to do anyway. Live with it and go on with your existence. We are no one of concern. Two different Asian hybrids in similar outfits. They bring out the guns as well as the mustard. Take aim? No. They are innocent in all of this. The problems lie elsewhere. The girls come along from time to time and throw a monkey in the wrench, as it were, and then we reel for a little while prior to becoming angry again. We can’t do anything about such things. We have zero control over anything. The drive came and went – we forced the issue and took off ten minutes earlier than usual – and now have returned to learn that the trouble in the show has just begun. The morning is going to be difficult if we continue to the end of the current series. She is amazing and almost constantly fucks up our attempts to think. Some of that is our doing, while the rest is the subject of the reckoning. They are here and there is nothing we can do about the arrival. All we can do is sit and watch, waiting for an opening to either speak or otherwise demonstrate our disdain, curiosity or appreciation (depending upon their stance, of course). We just sit here and analyze until there is nothing left to hash through. We have become the thresher of information. Two problems in this episode. Splendid. We should be switching to something else soon, anyway, so the last few hours of the program will probably not be as bad as we’ve predicted. The Asian hybrids are beginning to fade, although one had very soft, inviting eyes that drove us insane for a little while. There are times when emotion overpowers anything physical because what is inside a person is far more important. The truth is that we become overly caught up with appearance all the time due to the billion factors we’ve belabored here for years, and when a face comes along that moves our hearts, everything goes to hell right quick. That rather took place this morning and made us quite angry for a time. Fortunately, we had to concentrate on navigating the waters that are always filled with idiots and assholes during the morning hours. Upon returning to the openness of the federal interstate, we calmed somewhat. At least now we can think a bit. The trip that was scheduled for two days from now has been canceled. We do not wish to go anywhere, especially someplace that will likely be crawling with all manner of shit we are better off avoiding. Moreover, dinner the other night was not cheap. Another day out means more money. Not good. We go to dinner roughly three times a year at the most. Taking that trip would have been too much. In addition, the free time here at the control center will likely be equally rewarding. Besides, we are becoming quite angry again and being near others will not be good for anyone. Guns, knives and mustard; knives, mustard and guns. We need to find the dress and see what condition it is in after years of neglect. Maybe it’s not even blue anymore. Any searching is done from this fucking office, nowhere else. Distractions are plentiful outside the house. There are solutions to be drawn and connections to be secured. No, not the most important type of connection. That is most likely impossible for all time. The other connections are between fleeting glimpses and errant thoughts that pop into us from time to time, often leading us to the anger that we must embrace in order to put everything in proper perspective. Distractions will dilute our feelings. Not good. We have to remain here and hold fast to the appropriate emotions if the reckoning is to pass. The girl at the restaurant reminded us of another vision, yet the latter was not nearly as close. Different and similar at the same time. We are still reeling from that one, as well, so to pile another close encounter of the worst kind to our psyche is just all fucking bad. We have not been able to extricate her lines from our heads since the occurrence. This is a big fucking problem since the other girl came to mind earlier this morning. At this point in time, and after everything we’ve railroaded and considered for years, the feelings are far worse and much more damaging than in the past, and we are including the girl at the fucking pool, believe it or not. When we sit in this chair and state that nothing goes away, we mean precisely that. Oh, some will face, such as the two from this morning, but the main concerns remain inside us and eventually hurt so much that they begin to dictate the way we live. And then the fucking anger rolls around to our present position in the circle and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. That is what’s happening right now. Ah, shit... There goes Anna running through the fucking forest again wearing her lingerie and with arms flying back to appear dramatic. Ugh. Violins again, too. If you’ve seen this series, you already know all about it. Ridiculous. Whatever. Back to the lines that are presently governing our entire existence. The problems are mounting and always lead to anger because of the current condition of our heads and hearts. Fair or unfair doesn’t matter anymore. The important aspect is whether or not we can retain control over our days without completely losing it. The pain causing anger is natural. It is an extension of dissatisfaction and the idea that those responsible cannot be addressed in life anymore. Well, there is one left, but that person may never cross our paths again, and that is a choice. Harsh? We don’t give a shit. We are far too critical and damaged to allow sentiment to gloss over the past. Considering the sheer number of problems that have arisen throughout the last two-plus decades that relate to beauty and/or our obsession, sentiment cannot even scratch the fucking surface of one of them. This entire line of thinking has been laid out and analyzed here before. The reason we needed to go over it again was due to the beautiful lines attached to that beautiful girl – a sight we may never enjoy again regardless of the context. Honestly, the number of occasions since our obsession became out of control and found us close enough to those very important lines and in the type of situation in which we were allowed to actually stare and simultaneously think can be counted on one hand. That is part of the reason so much anger continues to catalyze from time to time, and the main cause of our emotional damage. We’ve been right there, just not nearly enough to understand anything. No one else can lend a single fucking thought, either, so speaking is out of the question for the time being. Well, at least until such time as we can formulate the proper context and send the information to the proper type of ears. We may as well break out the D&D shit and roll a handful of thirty-sided dice. The odds of every one of them landing on the same number are about as likely as us being where we need. Yep. Anger. Guns? Knives? Mustard. Either we need to suppress the lines we saw or find something powerful enough to draw our attention away. The latter does not seem likely considering most of the power in this world was right there on display. In any case, without one of those two options, we are fucking dead. God damn it... She was right fucking there. Maybe the dress can help. Her dress? It was black. We need the blue one. Coffee will soon change to booze. The morning cocktail is still one of those things we truly enjoy, and it helps to calm our thoughts during these trying times. Everything seems to be a little easier afterward. Whatever that makes us – insert your society-drive label here – we don’t give half a shit in the wind. One more enjoyment removed would mean we can no longer live this life. Hmm... Perhaps the reckoning statements were premature. We don’t know what to do.
The juxtaposition of being so disappointed in the way people were dressed in that dining room and seeing what has become the most beautiful sight in the world has us quite up in arms. Confused, really. We can’t stand disrespect after having grown up in the very adult, Nevada gaming culture. We were taught at an early age to show the clubs proper respect, and those lessons extended beyond the border of the state and into the more upscale restaurants closer to home. Since then, we have endeavored to look as loyally as we are able under the circumstances. There is another extension, too, and that is behavior toward staff and others while in those types of atmospheres. The table next to ours where the girl was located held a group of eight, and she was the only person dressed appropriately for the venue. A dress, hair well-kept, beautifully manicured nails, a touch of makeup and very nice shoes without too much height on the heels. She matched the atmosphere to a tee and we noticed every fucking detail. The rest looked like they were about to board a cruise ship, for crying out loud. That’s right. Half the dining room appeared in a similar fashion and we actually felt a tad insulted. Show some fucking respect, people. Please. The alternative is the entire upscale restaurant culture being replaced by noodle bowls and fucking boba. We never realized that Ashley Hinshaw is just over five-four in height. She always wore heels during her scenes, so perhaps along with the camera, she simply seemed taller. Her slight frame also lends to the illusion, but it doesn’t matter. Ashley has one of the most beautiful forms we’ve ever seen and we point it out every fucking time these episodes roll around in the rotation. Just a thought. As for the restaurant, we’ve noticed here and there over time that when there is an airport on the news (this happens quite often), the patrons in the lobbies all look very similar. That is to say they resemble those in the dining room that we saw last Saturday. We realize that society has shifted itself throughout several decades, but still... That is the opposite of the way we were raised. This shit is leading us to believe that such a minority viewpoint is only going to further shrink as time passes. We can remember the way Andrea was dressed on each flight. Michelle, too. We just don’t fucking understand the world anymore. Finding places in which we can be comfortable is becoming more and more difficult. They are elusive. Back to the gradient between that fucking goddess and the rest of the table... The sight was truly mystifying. She appeared lovely – and we mean much more than form – and carried herself very well, effectively standing out in the room to a great degree. We cannot read others very well most of the time, but we noticed everything, not just the diverging lines that led to a very special place. The most important aspect of that evening, the one critical fact that we took away, is that we are radically different than in the past, and perhaps continuing to change with regard to our feelings toward society in general. This is not good. What is good is the fact that we actually realize and follow along with the process. We can’t see many other people doing the same, although we cannot know, either. Our eyes are the evidence. The reckoning is not going anywhere because our feelings have been temporarily hijacked by other problems. We shall revisit the topic soon. Maybe. The pool girl came to mind for obvious reasons, the most important of which is the idea that there was nearly nothing between our eyes and her lines (all of them, thanks to the positioning). Those two occasions are at the top of the difficult list right now, and the likelihood of that changing is extremely slim given our current circumstances. The girl at the pool was lying on her back with knees up and paired, whereas we saw the other one standing and from the back. There is a vast difference between the mechanics of those two positions, the one at the pool being the more striking sight thanks to the symmetrical nature of her legs. The girl in the restaurant was angled slightly to one side. Hmm... Perhaps we are subject to the reckoning, not the others. We keep railroading visions of one of the two most important aspects of life and the process is completely fucking unhealthy. Much like the Passion, any real closeness is most decidedly impossible (for us, anyway). We have become far too distorted during the last few years, and that is not an overstatement. The way thoughts swirl inside us combined with the way our levels of desperation and desire have increased adds up to anything truly fulfilling no longer being possible. One day, we may accept that mass of shit. At least we have been truthful about how fucked up the world appears and how equally fucked up we view beauty. That is a two-fold roadblock to happiness. We know. We just... Know. Everything good is off the table. Maybe the way we feel IS the fucking reckoning. YOU make the call. Some time has passed and we are in a position to do anything or nothing at all for the rest of the day. The booze has again been flowing like a two-bit whore, as it were, and we can feel the slight effects just a few sips into the glass. Ashley is wearing a short, denim skirt. We have never liked the way those skirts look regardless of whom they may be wrapped around. We do not know why our feelings are like this, either. We’ve overheard plenty of other males comment about a woman’s legs being exposed in a skirt, but we never agreed when it came to denim. The woman on the screen deserves something much more appropriate to match her vast, natural beauty. Just believe it. If anyone is qualified to comment on outer, physical beauty, it is us. Trust it. This day may go nowhere. Yesterday we hid ourselves in the tree for a little while with the saw and MDRs. There will be no more tree thinning until the weekend because the process is often exhausting. Plus, we are in no mood to be out there exposed to whomever may pass by. Being social is off the table. Thank the maker for this icy, morning cocktail. It helps us deal with the memory of that girl lying on her back and displaying the most beautiful, stirring and crippling image that we can’t seem to release. Desire? We felt ALL of it. Within seconds, our feelings traveled the gamut, from merely needing to stare all the way to the damaging, desperate desire to show her how much appreciation we felt for the way she looked on that lounge chair. We can still feel all of it at this very moment. In fact, as the years between now and then pile up, our desire for her has increased exponentially. ‘We may never see her like again’. There is a part of us inside that wishes we had not been able to look at her at all. Another part wants to die. The imagery of the past is never easy on the mind. We can’t just let it all go, though, because our future is most likely void of the same. We need to hang on to something, for Christ’s sake. Something. We can’t ‘build’ her, there is little chance of finding her, so we keep going back in time and embracing those beautiful moments we had. Some of them are no more than gazing upon what has become one of the two most important aspects of being alive. Well, there could be three, but we’ve never been able to define the third. Oh, and denim shorts are fine. Another day is now gone forever. Yesterday was not the worst day, but nothing special, either. We drove this morning and ended up living through the longest duration for such a trip. No big deal. We put on the ‘patience cap’ and relaxed with coffee. We just waited it out and eventually freed ourselves from the shackles of that City as we rolled onto the Interstate and ran like hell. Now that the free period of the day has begun, we are much more relaxed – still angry as fuck due to more reasons than we care to list – and have plenty of time and space to do as we please. There are a few small items we’d like to see eliminated from our list of to-dos. None of it is difficult. We just need to push a little bit so we can come out the other side feeling better than we have for some days. Progress must be made on one front or another just for our peace of mind. We can work with more enjoyable stuff in and around the rest. There is plenty of time to think, and that is the best aspect of today. Moreover, there will be no driving to the City until four days from now. That is nice. We could use a break. There is much to consider regarding the reckoning, our position within the same, and the fact that we can’t seem to get rid of this fucking shitty mood. We are perpetually at sixes and sevens. She is still right there behind our eyes... Waiting for something, perhaps either to fade or become the last straw. There were two different facets to all that desire, as well. One is obvious; the other has never been mentioned here or anywhere else. Since we have a shitload of time between now and Sunday, much of it has to be reserved for consideration of the issues inherent in our statements related to that fucking girl. There are larger problems inside now than ever before. The free time could not have arrived soon enough. To say we needed this type of day would be a tremendous understatement. She is still inside us, pretty fucking deep, and we need to learn everything possible about such an occurrence (or else). Hopefully, the next three days will help. We must again point out that the state of the world – two wars, a massive hurricane in the Atlantic, the ever-increasing effects of climate change on the weather, and tons of wildfires, to mention a few – squashes the problems within us and we are almost constantly aware of such a fact. We are not stupid, nor have we ignored the reality of people all over the globe suffering for one reason or another. We feel for each and every one of them, honestly. Our little sphere of life cannot compare, but we must deal with the problems regardless of everything else.
‘From hell’s heart, I stab at thee. For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee.’ God damn sonuvabitch... Some of the greatest dialog in the history of film. Our shit can’t hold a fucking candle to that brilliant writing and execution. Awesome. The hour is later and we are in the bleach box of cocktail hour. Soon? In the eyes. Those are dragstrip terms. Learn something. We’ve been employing those terms for years. As for the day, we have completed some shit but can’t seem to get the memories, the ‘thing’, or those two stirring and stunning line sightings to leave our consciousness for a fucking second. This may be the shape of things to come. No, not ‘things’. Very different, that stuff. Very painful. We’ve seen it and knew at the time precisely what was happening, yet there is still zero understanding of the process. We can recall experiencing it once, although it may have happened years before that occasion. There is no way to be certain. The fucking MAX stream is glitching AGAIN. We still don’t know of the cause and it is very irritating, primarily because we are on the last fucking episode of the current series and can’t seem to get through it smoothly. Aside from media-related bullshit, we have some laundry running and the routine is out of the way for today. Everything would be just peachy if not for the visions and streaming media. At least we have a nice, fat drink here on the table. Better than nothing. Soon we will feel a slight numbing which usually helps minimize the swirling difficulties inside. Hopefully, anyway. There are no guarantees of any contentment, ever. We just try. The reckoning is all fucked up. We had a very clear path the other day when this mess of an entry began, but everything was derailed very quickly once we began to gather some thoughts. We are supposed to be lashing out in whatever direction in order to demonstrate our horrible feelings toward the state of life, yet all we’ve actually splayed here is some crap about our observations in the restaurant as related to our past. Of course, society is pretty fucking different from decades ago – something to be expected no matter the era – and we’ve railed against the changes for a very long time. The simple fact is that we cannot do anything about it. The only option seems to be avoidance. How long can that shit last? One of these days we will probably head over the hill to pick up an order at the big wine store and time it to coincide with the lunch hour. That means we will likely cruise through the back alley and park our sorry asses at that cozy restaurant/bar for some very good food. We refuse to avoid such a plan because that place harks back to the atmosphere and appearance of many venues which are now gone. Jesus holy shit, this woman on the display has one hell of a pair of beautiful shoulders. Lovely. Anyway, removing ourselves entirely from the machinations of the world is virtually impossible. We need to enjoy the food in certain places from time to time, and that means possibly dumping ourselves right in the middle of people whom we would rather avoid. It’s just a fact of life. Restaurants welcome everyone. There is no getting around it. At least the location we’ve referenced is very, very slow during weekdays, especially shortly after it opens for business. Oh, and the prices have increased like many other restaurants due to reasons of which we are ALL aware. Do we give a shit about the cost? Nope. Will we alter our destination due to the same? Fuck no. The atmosphere is key. You may recall a tirade employing the phrase ‘context is everything’. That never faded. We simply can’t distance ourselves beyond a certain point because some of life’s remaining enjoyments are not located in this little house. We have to roll the laundry around and reboot this machine so it can update all of the software. The alcohol is helping to minimize our pain right now. This is about as good a feeling as we can expect in life. The reboot seems to have helped alleviate the streaming issue with MAX. Perhaps we can finally get to the end of the series without further bullshit. Not bad. One thing, though... If we have to reboot the machine in order to straighten out the fucking stream each time it ends up glitchy, well, that shit will not fly. For the time being, we shall enjoy the show. This may turn into the type of day that is spent on the sofa watching television for the duration. As of this moment, the only plan we have is to continue working on the laundry process and have something to eat. Dinner preparations may be very simple, as well. All we have to do is remain somewhat busy so the damaging thoughts and empty dreams stay in the background. The idea may seem simple, but trust what we say... This unending, everyday battle is the most difficult aspect of present life. We know it by rote. In fact, the ‘thing’, the memories and the state of society are beginning to combine inside us and driving the idea of a hammer swing, the likes of which have not transpired in many days. No driving this morning. Thursday. No nothing, really. We are here for the duration. The end of the series finally rolled through yesterday, so we’ve switched to another HBO program that has not graced this machine in the past. It originally aired during the 1236 period. The stream is glitching again, too. Damn it. We need to alleviate this problem, somehow. Coffee. Yearning. Sideways. Fucked. Reckoned? We will have to change the title. The incident in the restaurant was vastly different than what we saw at the pool. Think about it. A pool. People are generally in swimsuits, and the girl was partially the same. The clinchers were that she aligned with our dreams and just happened to be wearing very little material. Her rear end was at eye-level when we began to swim from the east end of the pool, and her position was located next to the steps. There was just no getting around the sight. Even the person with us at the time commented upon the appearance of the two sisters that slammed us upside the head. The restaurant was completely beyond any thoughts of seeing something so intimate. We expected zero aside from the occasional pretty face, or the beauty we have mentioned which was the woman’s hands right next to our position at the bar. The short dress and the movements that girl went through have become one of the largest points of contention in memory, and that is why the pool came to mind. We’ve been mentioning the pool goddess on and off for nearly five fucking years. The positioning was key, and marks the big difference from that stunning vision beneath the dress. It was just a fleeting chance (and glance) as opposed to an outfit designed for exposure and swimming. We will not soon forget it. Moreover, we are going to continue touching on both incidents because we have become fucking insane like never before, and that means we can’t move from one fucking moment to the next without dreaming of missing pieces, damaging thoughts and the most powerful needs we have EVER felt in this sordid life. We have become completely out of control and we still have no idea of what keeps us alive. Could it be the chance or hope that something will come along to satiate all this shit? No fucking way. We have become far too distorted for anything in reality to actually make a difference. The way we perceive beauty, for example, is completely out of whack as opposed to twenty years ago. Part of that problem can be chalked up to the unbelievably good fortune of connecting with a few souls who were actual, living, breathing examples of what we’ve been obsessed with for decades. Now that we have no connection whatsoever, the pain inside has amplified, due to both feeling overly desperate and realizing that our dreams are about as unrealistic as possible. Distortion; knowing; yearning. Sometimes everything calms for a little while and we see nothing more than a pair of fucking pants that somewhat displays a beautiful form, but what took place the other night is worse for two reasons. One is obvious... We desperately needed to see more detail to fully understand why she was shaped that way. The second is not so easy to explain, however. We felt a deep need to speak to her so she could possibly be made to understand just how special her appearance was in this fucked up society. She was a high point, if you will; far outside the scope of the norm. Everything that took place throughout the last two decades culminated in us sitting there nearly destroyed by the sight of those curves and their respective position on her body. We felt similarly at the pool five years ago, although the present era is different inside us. Very different. We are seeing life running out; coming to a slow, burning end. All of the aspects of our world that have disappeared when combined with just how skewed our thinking has become – as opposed to the past – comprise the worst situation we could have imagined. Our past pain was mostly due to desire. The present is fraught with emotional pain. Much worse. We are feeling a combination, actually, because the desperate nature of the way we yearn for beauty and/or understanding causes problems on two fronts, neither of which have a solution or even a touch of relief. Everything seems to be closing in, effectively shrinking our tiny world even more than what has taken place in the last four years. All those places we wanted to visit; all those things we wished to experience... The likelihood of anything like that actually taking place is more remote now than ever before. Toss in the comforts and the fact that even they are shrinking, and one may see how dire this situation has become. The girl in the restaurant dredged up the one at the pool, and both are representative of just how different we are right now as opposed to many years ago. Or, perhaps, fewer than that. The sights of beauty remind us that we are sitting in the middle of nowhere with zero chances of going anywhere.
Maybe the title need not be changed. We are feeling the reckoning this morning, and even more strongly than yesterday at this time. Reckoning could be paying the tab. This is completely fucked up and we are feeling HORRIBLE right now. This terrible emotional upheaval could be the only type of situation powerful enough to remove thoughts of those beautiful lines and the sheer level of damage they have caused (not her fault, of course; like always). Right now we can’t know because our thoughts are too skewed for clear analysis. The previous paragraph was better, and as you may see, we are heading downhill. We fear eventually there will be nothing left to lift us when the need arises. The converging lines will not stop and we are right between them. We cannot go back. Ah... This program’s opening sequence reminds us of being in the apartment on the top floor with the beautiful view east. Many a morning was spent there gazing out over the pass while we tried to gather enough thoughts to create a coherent, albeit typically short, essay to publish. The site was tiny back then, as well, so any addition was pretty dramatic. Sometime during the next year, the line count will likely surpass 300,000. During the period we mentioned, the entire site could have fit within two or three of the current-styled entries. Interesting. Anyway, we need to calm ourselves a little bit before moving away from the control center or the day will be destroyed before it has a chance to begin. Memories of when we were in better shape will not help, either. There was no worry of a reckoning back then, so at least there is one positive. Maybe we can revisit the feelings. And? Maybe this entry should have been entitled ‘The Incident’, due to the power that vision still has over us. The opening sequence will probably continue to send us back in time – and that’s fine – if we decide to follow the series all the way through its five seasons. The period in question was both wondrous and difficult, and as we look back, many situations that arose during that time have become amplified beyond belief, most notably the relationship between our obsession and feelings of desire. The truth is everything is out of control. This mood typically leads in one of two directions. We will either allow the anger to take over and then blast music while doing ‘busy’ work, or we’ll try to downsize ourselves along the lines of those past occasions when we dreamed of some type of ‘escape’. As the coffee disappears, we shall continue to analyze while trying to keep the dire emotions at bay. We are still reeling from the sheer amount of information that girl accidentally put on display, and the fact that we were the worst kind of recipients of the same. Well, the best, as well, in that our appreciation is driven primarily by wonder and not some sort of conquest. We just don’t think that way anymore. That is a good thing. The truth of the matter is that if we were in a position to speak with her (or someone similar; there have been many), the utmost respect would be involved. We may be fucked in the head, but that does not mean we would EVER be disrespectful toward the fairer sex. Wait a minute... Are we allowed to use such a phrase in this day and age? Old fashioned, indeed. Whatever. Our level of physical desire is beyond unreal, yet at the same time we are still able to maintain decorum and composure. We do not know how that happens. Not even an inkling. Hmm... Our respectful stance could be a byproduct of what we wrote above regarding showing the same to clubs, restaurants and the like, all of it learned during our upbringing. The two could be connected, and if so, the fact is not necessarily a bad thing. This paragraph lost its way. Marvelous. The sun is beginning to break through the fog. Perhaps we should sell a few items for cash ‘flexibility’. Maybe. Turning household items into liquid resources is always enjoyable and tends to lead to other options. We’ll have to think about it. Nothing can squash the incident, nor can we affect the reckoning, but at least we might be able to smile a little bit in the meantime. There are problems inside us that have not been gleaned here. Two, at least. We just... Can’t. We need ears, bad. And speaking of problems, the first few episodes of this program involve one of the largest points of contention in the world. Believe it. The topic is both interesting and nerve-wracking at the same time. At least this is fictional. I do feel for one of the main characters, though. Can’t help it. He is doing his best for his family. The sun succeeded. Very nice. One thing led to another, and then another, and years later here we sit all fucked up and with zero options. We’ve been trying to decide if our emotional condition as related to being routed and squished is better or worse than the feelings which peaked at dinner the other night. They could be equal, to be honest. The moods rarely cross over to one another or end up combined in any fashion. We typically find ourselves mired within one or the other, and rare is the occasion when two situations take place concurrently that involve the opposite ends of the emotional scale. We should be thankful for that, mostly because we have a difficult enough time trying to handle just one. We also seem to have a hell of a time remaining on topic. Splendid. Anyway, the truth is in the first sentence, after having lived through the 1236 period and all of the difficulty inherent in trying to write a descriptive essay about the girl at the car wash, years later realizing that we did feel a mass of desire yet suppressed it so deeply that it remained dormant and out of reach. Maybe that’s what they call a ‘memory engram’. No idea. By the time we moved from that place and into a house, the feelings had amplified ten-fold and we began to question whether or not we might live to a ripe old age and avoid ending ourselves just to cease the horrible feelings. All these years later, we have grown accustomed to seeing beauty – extremely subjective and specific types of appearances due to having become overly skewed – yet at the same time we still end up full of desire and in a pit of depression. The pool was bad. The restaurant? Worse, and moreover, more recent. In five years that girl at the pool faded somewhat, the leftover recollections being mostly her position as supported by some of the images we’ve included here. On the other hand, the latest incident is not only fresh, but a fucking fluke in the scheme of the universe. Seeing what we did was akin to seeking one specific grain of sand on the beach. Any beach. Think about it. She was a rarity, yes, but rarer still was her motion of bending forward at the precise moment when we glanced. Further, we just happened to be directly behind her when she stood next to the adjacent table. All of it adds up to a chance encounter with something that simply CANNOT have any semblance of positivity due to our already diminished condition and place in the world. One thing led to another. We watched the very tall, slender runway models (they have to be fucking tall and slender in order to be considered, let alone employed, and we can’t go into the ethical issues inherent in such an industry) and focused primarily on their return walks from the runway to the stage because that was when the lines critical to our existence were often available for viewing. A few years later, we tired of the sights because nothing good ever came of them. During the same period, we met Maggie by chance. Cut to some days later when she was beautifully perched upon a recliner in our living room. We felt so much desire that sitting still without either flipping the fuck out or revealing our feelings became an exercise in extreme patience. Desire was the key. We wanted that girl so badly that when our communication with her faded, we actually felt relief. We did not need that level of beauty – literally from head to toe – so close. Not good. At least we may have learned a lesson. Not a big one, and nothing permanent, but a lesson nonetheless. And then Andrea, Ellie, a few others, and eventually the Raven. And now look at us... The very portrait of a mass of depressed fucking mental cases. This paragraph is a mess, as well, but fuck it. No one cares, least of all us. Ears. Understanding. And what else? You should already know the answer to that one. The hour is later and we’ve completed some shit. Cocktail time, and one of our favorite parts of each day. Good or bad as it may be, we still need it quite a bit and the process will not change anytime soon. And speaking of change, another process that has remained stagnant for years is right here in this fucking entry, and that is gushing about something we’ve seen, reporting our deep feelings of loss, confusion, anger, and turmoil which always result from being exposed to a very specific type of beauty, and then generally diving into the past to find reasoning as to how we may have turned out this way. Sound familiar? Be it on the television or in society, there will always be something that drives us to feel strong desire and deep heartache. We honestly do not see this shit changing anytime soon. Not only do we know it by rote, but we can never seem to either stop or learn enough to find relief inside. The emotional problems lead to physical problems, a circumstance that has become unavoidable, and that means we have been unwilling to try because the beauty has become so fucking important. Ah, very interesting... ‘Stewardship and not consumption... Blah, blah, blah.’ Life here at this table will likely never reach that fucking level. Oh, boy. There is the girl with whom we were obsessed some years ago. Apparently, those feelings never fully faded. We have not seen this series for some years and seem to feel just as strongly as in the past. That is all we shall say at this point. Where were we? Ah... The depressing fact that our situation cannot change on one front. Everything just hurts, yet we continue to allow ourselves to be exposed to those aspects of life that affect us so deeply. The cycle: Searching leads to beauty; beauty leads to desire; desire generates pain; pain leaves us severely depressed. We then sit here and try to describe the feelings in a protracted manner, over and over. The cycle of shit, as it were. ‘One way or another, for one reason or another, it’s all gone.’ Words of wisdom from the great Harry Dean Stanton, who just happens to be a very frightening type of social monster in this program. As for his performance, it is and always will be beyond reproach. Talent, pure and simple, and that considering he’s been typecast for decades. At least we don’t have the hots for him. Laugh it up, fucksticks. Laugh it right the fuck up. Beauty, when combined with the two shit situations and years of routing and squishing, is killing us a little at a time.
There was a suggestion to clear the ‘cookies’ from the browser cache to see if it alleviates the problem with the stream. We don’t normally clear them very often due to having many active logins and other aspects of sites that we’d prefer remain unaltered, but today the idea seemed to immediately improve playback. Very interesting. If the stream goes to shit again, we will try the same suggestion. Not bad. That was way off topic, but does it matter? Do our feelings matter? Does any of this matter? Do WE fucking matter? No answers. Good luck trying to speak with us. Good fucking luck. Our situation is far worse than even two years ago. The more time that passes, the less chance we have of finding ANYTHING in this world that even has a chance to help. The idea to visit the doctor is still an option, although there are two reasons for seeing her, only one of which relates to all this shit. The other cannot be mentioned here. Aside from seeking help in such a fashion, we have realized that our view of society combined with how our feelings toward beauty have changed in recent years may very well have left us without hope of an actual connection, even just for some conversation. We have worsened more since the outset of this year than in the preceding decade. Believing there can be nothing on the horizon means the only parts of life still keeping us out of the soil are the little enjoyments, some of which have disappeared during said year. This is bad, no doubt, and pushes us to consider the worst of solutions several times throughout a given day. One certainty regarding the previous thought is that we must endeavor to avoid some musical compositions because they always result in tremendous sadness, and when combined with our already diminishing will to go on, the result could end in tragedy. We want that, and we don’t at the same time. The saddest fact is that we already know that if we end up close to any real beauty via some insane set of circumstances, our position will most likely be viewed as fucking crazy in no uncertain terms. Crazy. Every single desire that we feel on a daily basis could be impossible. Actually, the same could be said for the last few years, yet we may not have considered our situation in such terms. We see things on the television and we are near other people often enough to realize that we’ve changed far too much to even hold a pleasant conversation for more than a few minutes. That is fucking sad. Perhaps we should have avoided a few specific actions some years ago. There is no way to know because once an idea is floated and then a decision made, the alternative paths disappear. Another day is gone. This feels very familiar, as do our feelings inside right now. Memories and such. Recollections of when that ‘thing’ occurred along with the subsequent educational conversation took place. Some of that time is still precious, although we still don’t understand. We saw it, too, and are fairly certain of the steps that process entails. We just don’t know why. The worst part is knowing it exists yet we will probably never understand or be in a position to ask for help. The situation is heartbreaking, just like all the rest, and the ‘thing’ continues to increase in importance and catch us upside the head most days. The vision the other night is completely different, both in our consciousness and in terms of trying to deal with the turmoil generated by our inability to find answers. There is probably no way to reach any level of true comfort without help, and the more time that passes, the less chance there is for us to actually find it. In the meantime, we sit here and recall wondrous periods and beautiful places, all the while knowing that the hour is likely far too late to recapture any of those emotions. Each morning is like this, as well. We generally run through a series of emotions, go back in time somewhat due to remembering those lost aspects of life, and then dream of where we need to be while leveling such thoughts against where we really are these days. The ‘thing’ us but one of many. We have yet to learn how to stop thinking about everything. All we have are those little distractions, none of which last very long. At some point we will put a stop to everything. We mentioned the cycle which takes place almost every day and how it becomes amplified each time something special comes along, such as all that shit mentioned above. The process steamrolls right over our needs and sensitivities regardless of how much we try to relax about everything. The sad truth always comes to mind because we’ve been void of hope since writing that very damaging – albeit quite unclear – essay seven years ago just after we switched to the mobile editing platform. That was a very bad time. Little did we know after enduring years of visions and overwhelming feelings of desire in any number of directions that the situation would worsen as it has since the outset of that entry. We even went so far as to write somewhat of a follow-up that nearly put a cap on the entire period. Nearly. The point was that after more than five years of contemplating the first essay and realizing the fantasy was truly failing, we decided to draw a line and conclusion, yet still leave much of the pertinent information out for reasons of protection. Well, the second iteration was a couple of years back and accomplished about as much as the previous effort. We still don’t even know why we brought that topic to the site and made it stand out (sort of). The process has not improved our situation one bit. We’ve analyzed this shit quite literally to death. And? Nothing. Each occasion affects us more than the last, as demonstrated by going all over the fucking map about the woman who passed us in the market and then the horrible situation last Saturday. There have been others, too. We do not mention everything here because there is no point, and sometimes we actually feel that avoiding the topic while typing and focusing upon other ideas can help us push all that shit aside for a while. The reckoning has gone away, we reckon. Ugh. There may no longer be methods to keep our subjects from wavering. We see that the nextdoor neighbor is taking one of his motorcycles to work again. He is living his life, unlike what’s going on over here. No one knows, however. No one will ever know because there is no point in trying to describe this situation or condition to anyone. The external forces that can help are even less likely than seeing completely bare lines the other day. What were the odds of that? We can’t even begin to calculate them, and the chance of finding what we really need seems even more remote. This is no way to live, and believe us when we say that we know what goes on beyond the limits of this property. We see it every single day. They are out there doing something... Anything. We are buried inside a combination time capsule and vat of depression that expands every now and then. Those occasions of seeing something beautiful are the primary catalysts. There is very little life here; much less than we see when one of those engines fires off for a ride. We added a question mark to the title because we can’t seem to focus on one direction or another. Nah... Now the title has been changed. We shall return to the reckoning when appropriate. Our thinking these days is not exactly the clearest, most straightforward process in the world to say the least. There are two very specific reasons why we can’t think most of the time, neither of which can ever be put here in detail. Suffice to say, we have no control over either of them. We have to push our way through most mornings in order to come out the other side without feeling like a complete disaster. As we mentioned above, this is no way to live, but what choice do we have? YOU make the call. The information here can only go so far, as evidenced in the previous mess. We tried to go further, yet every time we feel strongly about something, the realization sets in that most of the words must be held back for protection. In the end, we typically feel much disappointment when publishing due to the site being so restricted these days. There are dozens of essays that have been removed from the archive, we are not seeing much value in trying to find answers so the content circles around just like the inside of our heads. Around and around, over and over. Cycle. Process. Every now and again we hit on something that is very valuable and sometimes helpful, but too much of the wording ends up left out because we become frightened of being too exposed. And yes, we do realize that there are very few individuals looking that this fucking site. We know the numbers, and we know f rom where their connections to the site hail. None of that matters, though, because when we question anything here, we are not asking readers for the answers. That is the truth. People will read (maybe) and formulate their own conclusions and that is fine. Leave us out of it because the truth is there is no longer enough content here to make an informed decision about us. Not even close. No one knows. Another unfinished, unclear mess is all this has become throughout the last four days. Nothing substantial; nothing coherent; nothing terribly helpful. And now the entire title has been removed. Doesn't matter. What’s next?"
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