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Intermission, Next?

alert   Mature content     No. 412    Published May 13th, 2024 8:03am pdt       read ( words)     Past entries

"What now? YOU make the call. I can’t do anything because I am dead. Reality must intrude, possibly for the last time.

Today is still Friday. The usual daily stuff is finished and I have the rest of the day to ponder whether or not to continue in this years-long vein or do something about it, at long last. Maybe the year of eleven would have been better because there were less people caring about my well-being. That may have been the best time because I had become invisible for all intents and purposes, although I was less driven at that time thanks to the ability to isolate myself more fully. One thing for sure is I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. The past pushes me and the present continues to diminish. The glowing years haunt me every time I put my friends on the television(s). Every fucking time, for sure. I need them to keep me company, yet at the same time I always end up recalling that beautiful period because nothing can compare. Too bad I didn’t realize the value of those years at the time. I suppose that is human nature. One part of life with which I have wrestled for many years is the idea of appreciating something wonderful at the time, as in appreciating it ‘enough’. Later, everything feels different. The time is questioned because it is over; gone forever. Well, I can’t honestly know if I appreciated ANYTHING enough when it was actually happening. Sitting here right now shows me that perhaps I should have felt more for those beautiful years. The reason? I can barely find joy in anything of late. Any fucking thing. I’ve mentioned the little enjoyments on many occasions. They continue to have less effect upon my ability to rise as the days burn away. This is the actual beginning of the end. Whatever transpires between now and perhaps two months from now, I already know the outcome. I know. The reasons are too many to list. As the beautiful and stirring Terri Nunn said, ‘no more words’. There you go. No countdown; no dramatic demonstrations of my dissatisfaction with, or disdain for, society; no imagery of death or beauty. There are no longer reasons for such things. Fanfare will be overtaken by quiet. Trounced. Stifled. This is a quiet goodbye. And as for the other world, well... I no longer care to make the effort. Like the fanfare, I have quieted Julia forever. I am all that remains. The sea, for all its good intentions and possible lessons, is gone. That was to be a much longer and far more protracted analysis. I have realized the futility of such compositions and they are finished. Seven years ago I included the words ‘the end of all things’ within the title of an essay. I didn’t know at the time. I thought I’d been on the correct trajectory, but the truth is I did not know that the future was going to kill me. I also thought I felt pretty fucking bad back then. Little did I know, but that year was actually pretty shiny in comparison to what is taking place right now.

The years have taken their toll, and then some. Unfair? Yes. Did I need precognition to know that living on for a while afterward would yield an even worse state of mind? Probably. In reality, however, I am not a prestidigitator, nor can I call myself a thaumaturgist. I did not know that I could not know. Make sense? I don’t fucking care. If you consider the fact that I have almost zero regard for other people, just try to imagine how I feel about the idea of placing them before myself. Think about it.

The previous entry held no images because they no longer matter. I placed dividers between sections to break up such a lengthy essay. You will see none of that here. The words are key.

All those thousands of words and I learned just one fucking thing. Better than nothing. Unfortunately, the one lesson represents the cessation of sharing my mind with the world. Too bad. Well, it’s not that bad, really, because I am the only one who ever knew of the truth. There is a link at the bottom, so if you think you know what the fuck I’ve been saying, use it. Good luck, too. You should know that at this very moment I am in the worst fucking mental space than ever before. This is very bad, so if you decide to click that little fucker, prepare yourself for a response far worse than anything you may have imagined. That type of link has been absent from the site for so long that I can’t recall its removal. At present, I am no longer concerned with the ramifications of allowing readers to send feedback, bitching, or anything else. On this end, nothing will change no matter the circumstances. The mold has finally taken a set and there is no possible release. Oona is on the screen again. I love her. My feelings don’t matter, and such a fact has been laid out here in spades for many years. Trust me. I will refrain from saying anything disrespectful about Oona or what comes to mind when I see her. She is a person, just like the girl with the big doe eyes from the other day. I don’t matter, so my words don’t, either. I have feelings. I really do. You may have seen some of them splayed here on the site. Tell me if any of them have accomplished anything. Go for it. Keep in mind the aforementioned possible response. I guarantee you will not like it. Moreover, a heavy dose of regret will set in afterward. Try me. Any possible comments upon what I have written are as futile as my feelings for so many beautiful women. They are meaningless. By extension, so am I. The words you now read may as well not exist.

The next two months are going to come as a shock to some people. I just need to focus upon organizing a few aspects of this house. No problem. There will be more drive in my actions than ever before. At least I have something in mind that will not cause further issues. Again... Better than nothing.

I am so tired.

Saturday morning is gone. The afternoon just began. The drive this morning included a trip to the business store and then home, followed by another trip to the closer store. The big one... You know, membership. The second store was very crowded, yet the checkout process was quick and efficient. I am pleased that everything went very well because now I have the rest of the day for whatever I wish to do. Or? Nothing at all. My projects are on hold thanks to the shopping. I now have even more stuff in the garage and need to head out there between today and tomorrow for some organization. The upside is that the car still fits with plenty of room on both sides.

I did just that... There is space in front of the mural panels so I can work on it whenever the mood strikes. Everything is in better order thanks to my efforts.

Another day is gone, never to return. The drive was fine. We visited two markets in the interest of finding very specific foods for the following eight days. A little bit was found. Now I am home for the duration and considering options for the rest of the day. Yesterday’s work points to possibly beginning to paint the mural. Yep, I added more framing, secured the wood to the south wall, and drew the main outline for the first half of the image. Thanks to a bit of reorganization, I only have to move a few items in order to have enough space to draw the remaining parts of the primary shape and then start painting. Sunday als means garbage business and a load of dry cleaning. Sound familiar? This is my entire fucking life. Early this morning I had an odd dream which involved Ashley of all people, and left me pondering Julia’s words regarding the purity. I was again slapped in the face and now feel very sad over everything that is gone. Alyssa’s nipples look like they are about to cut holes in the front of her dress. Why did the costume department do that? Were they trying to attract more male viewers? To me, that type of thing looks cheap. That is the first word which comes to mind. Anyway, all nipples aside, I am going to sit here and wallow over the artificial loss of Ashley again, along with whomever she was standing with in that dream. There was another girl, but I have no idea who she was. Rarely can I see clear faces in those dreams. Identification is mostly a feeling rather than sight. I haven’t seen Ashley in more than twenty years, yet being reminded of her while I slept has caused acute pain as if she just walked out the door of my hotel room and disappeared forever. It hurts. Perhaps the Sunday business will help extricate her from my head, along with that other girl. I still have no idea of who she was, but believe me... The feelings were quite strong. I don’t need any more of that shit in my broken head. I’ll have to focus upon working around the house and garage. I really don’t have much else left in my life. The disappearance of yesterday and the beginning of today represent nothing more than the passage of time. That is something no longer in abundance for yours truly. Just don’t forget me. Or rather, try to remember anything good.

I still have little enjoyments that come along from time to time and almost every day. ‘Almost’ is the operative word. Dreams and memories continue to press their advantage and there is nothing I can do about them. Both are circumstances of the present, and I being a product of the same means my defense mechanisms have begun to fail. The housework will come first today, and then I’ll have lunch and move to the garage to take care of everything else. Once the business is finished, the mural shall continue. I am hoping it has the power to help me remain upright for a little while longer. There you go... Hope.

Monday? Yes. Does the day matter? Not really. Every day is the same for me. Little things are different, such as moving the garbage carts after pickup. Wow... Lots of action this morning. Disaster, too. Maybe I can rise from here. I have the last of the coffee here on the table and my program on the right-hand display. Sound familiar? This is a seven-day process, the only hiccup being those mornings requiring me to drive to the City. That means I sit here a little bit later. Soon, I will take care of the floor and then the daily housework. At some point later, I’ll move a few things around in the garage so I can clear space to run some laundry. Yesterday I spent time painting the new mural. I may or may not continue the process today. The center is finished; only the outer ring remains partially painted. This morning I ordered four strips of LEDs and two controllers for when the mural is completely framed – likely sometime this weekend – so I can run a test to see if a single loop will be enough to make the whole circle glow evenly. Whatever the case, by next week I should have the entire construct operational. All I need after that is the shed installed for space considerations. Today is the same as every other day due to how I feel, not necessarily whatever tertiary crap is taking place. I feel bad, plain and simple. Empty. Heartbroken. Lost in (or on) a sea of uncertainty and desperation. I am not well but continue to go through the motions mostly for the benefit of others, and less so for myself. And now here comes Charlotte with her big doe eyes and amazing facial structure. She appears not to harm me, but to harm another character on the show. I feel for him, too. Her character is mostly reprehensible, yet at the same time I generally give her a pass because she’s only written that way and necessary for the narrative. Charlotte is an actor. She just happens to have those huge, beautiful eyes that melt me sometimes. She is not the sole reason, but a small part of a gigantic machine at work inside me bent upon my destruction. As of this morning, that machine is winning. None of it is her fault, either. Some of those responsible are dead; others remain alive. I can’t do anything about anything. I just sit here and try to understand why the world is the way it is. And just because some of the problems are still drawing breath does not mean they can help me, nor will it lead to me taking issue with the past. I can’t fucking do anything, hence the title. I mentioned that every day is the same. Well, there are the little points that I still enjoy. One day they will fade and leave me with nothing. I know not when... One day. I will begin the housework soon.

Here I am a little while later, feeling down and accomplished at the same time. My daily cocktail is here on the table and the show continues over on the right. The dry cleaning is finished, laundry is drying, and the rest of the day is all mine, for whatever it’s worth. The early morning was very bad, so sitting here right now with some housework finished feels a little bit better. I believe my best path is to eat something, finish off the kitchen and then head to the garage to contemplate the next steps for keeping everything organized as I work.

There will be no darkened doorsteps, no cars pulling up and showing me that life can REALLY begin, and no connections at all in the future. Those three are driving this stupid essay. I was there... Now I am here. I cannot be there anymore. All of that is gone now, so the little enjoyments had better do their job.

Another day is gone. I finished painting the first two components of the mural and took care of laundry and dry cleaning. Yesterday was partially productive. I also spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen due to the holiday. I must say that this morning is nice and quiet so far, and I am pleased to have several hours ahead with no real destinations outside the house. There is an order ready at the big wine store, although it need not be picked up today. Very good. These little positives are going to have to hold me up all fucking day long or I’ll fall away again. Perhaps this is a good day to finally work in the office. I’ve chipped away at little things throughout each morning. I need to go further. The shed should be ordered within the next week or so, meaning everything will improve markedly soon after the installation. Almost two weeks have passed since the concrete was poured. Had the soil not been so damp, the shed could have arrived next week. We need to be certain of the solidity prior to any decent amount of weight being placed there, so it’s better to wait. I’ve waited five years (or more) for a shed, so a few additional weeks will not hurt. Plenty of time for planning is what I see.

Everything is sad, and that despite the positives I mentioned above. I am sad. The daily housework is finished, I have a lunch plan that should prove to be enjoyable, and the fatass glass of whiskey next to me is already helping suppress disastrous thinking and imagery. Whatever that idea makes me, so be it. I cannot easily deal with reality these days, and help comes in just one form. And speaking of form, Oona is on the screen again. I need her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. She can make all the bad go away and is one of very few about whom I dream for the same reasons. Jolaimora, for example. The whole thing is puerile and ridiculous, I know, but this is what I have become after everything thrown by other people. Sad. I could have done wonderful things; instead I have been forcibly reduced to a fraction of a ‘man’ [sic] and of what I once tried to achieve. I don’t even know what that stupid fucking word means anymore. The mere fact that I sit here day after miserable day and dream of a fictional woman – in whatever form and bearing whatever fucking name – that can appear out of thin air and ‘save’ me is indicative enough of having become so dramatically and heartbreakingly damaged that even I don’t believe it sometimes. As I said... I could have done wonderful things. Well, maybe. I can’t know for sure. It’s just a feeling, I suppose. Onward.



01

Not real


One more day gone... Torched for all time. The day fell away, just lIke me. The hour is later than I would normally be sitting here because the morning has been busy. I finished the daily stuff, drove over the hill to pick up my order, filled the car with fuel, and then headed back to visit the market for a few items. Once I poured a fat cocktail, I decided to finally order the shed. Unfortunately, I ran into two different site issues which will not allow me to complete the transaction. When I emailed the sales representative with questions, I received an automated response informing me that he is out of the office until Friday. Splendid. As I said before, I don’t mind waiting, but the fucking site is not allowing me to pay for the damned thing. Unbelievable. I guess I’ll await a response. I just saw one of my neighbors walk into the garage – likely looking for me and a bit of conversation – and then leave. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now, and despite me seeing clearly through my office window, from the outside the view is a completely different story: the low-energy coating on surface three of the insulated units combined with the black nylon screen will not allow anyone to see inside the house unless either they press their face to the screen or I turn on some bright lights. Excellent. Just because my garage is open does not mean my mind is the same. After lunch I will probably head out there to organize a few things, but for now I need to remain away from people. This office is my billet for at least the next hour. Perhaps longer. Something from the second shit situation came to mind a little while ago while I was finishing the kitchen, and the resulting feelings are making me very angry. The afternoon is going to be difficult to say the least. I can’t forget the words, and now thanks to the reminder, I realize that two different people were responsible, not just one. Marvelous. I can’t go into specifics. Oh, I’ve laid out the words in the past, but that essay – a small part of one very long story, both fictional and otherwise – has been permanently removed from the public eye. I really wish this hadn’t happened today (or ever) because my family has shrunk so much throughout the past twenty years that anyone left needs to be considered in a positive light rather than the opposite. After this shit, I really don’t know what to think anymore. Falling further away is not good right now, either. There are already plenty of other problems pushing me to believe there is only one way out of this. The means is sitting just beyond my left shoulder on the bookcase.

Another day... Gone forever. Today is Thursday. All the rest have disappeared. I don’t believe I need to leave the house today, meaning I’ll be in the office for the lion’s share of the hours ahead. These days, the only aspect of living that I seem to do well anymore is thinking. At least I have that one. Patience? No... Not very much. I have a curtain of sadness directly before me no matter which way I turn, and I need to part the fucking thing if I am to move in any direction aside from backwards. The sadness just will not leave, ever. I’ve lost too much and the dreams are representations of how little time there is left. Back during the MS days, I mused that the dreams were going to kill me. I was referring to education and career paths. Now? Everything is radically different. I can barely explain the depth of feelings inside me these days. After yesterday’s horrible morning and questionable afternoon, I’ll have to work hard to avoid following the same lead. The more I state that I ‘can’t have that shit anymore’, the more I realize just how difficult it is to step outside the norm and reach for ANYTHING with the ability to help me feel as if I have actually done good. I may not be able to handle ‘that shit anymore’, although at the same time there may be nothing I can do about it, ever. Powerless, just like all other aspects of life these days. Splendid. Yesterday is gone for all the good or bad that it contained. Today will be whatever today will be.

I still can’t complete the process for ordering the shed. Ugh. I did, however, place an order for a print. The image will need to be translated from the paper to my mural (the second half of the process), meaning it will be some time before the entire picture will be completed. Once I receive the print, I’ll have to begin the tedious process of overlaying a grid to each surface, upscaling the quadrants, and then drawing each on the big mural by hand prior to any painting. At least I’ll have something to do while waiting for the shed ordering issues to be alleviated. Better than nothing.

Goddamn does Charlotte ever have some fucking teeth. Chiclets? Oh, yes. Her best feature? Nope... Always the eyes. Charlotte’s eyes have few equals. On this program? Roxanne surpasses the power Charlotte holds over me when she appears. None of this shit matters because I am still just a tiny person with a keyboard. There is little left for me in life. No darkened doorsteps; no eyes; no one there to tell me everything will be ok. No one. This type of morning is one in which my head can’t let go of the memories or dreams, eventually leaving me a heap of sadness and disillusionment. The same thing took place yesterday and ended very badly. The purity entered my head early this morning and reinforced all this shit; I can’t easily sidestep such loss. Every day is exactly the same. I see the eyes, think of everything that has been ripped and torn away, and then fall into a vat of depression and loss. Every fucking day is the same. And now Natalie’s doe eyes are gracing the display, effectively cementing the deepest of needs that lives inside me. I can’t do anything about it because of the shit situations, most notably number two because not only did it rear its ugly head again, but the additional aspect I mentioned earlier is clawing at my ability to remain calm this morning. Beauty leads to desire, which leads on to thoughts of the fucking purity, and then I sit here and wallow while a never-ending flood of anger takes over my consciousness and leaves me unable to remain upright and productive. Natalie’s eyes get to me every time, as do the others. The list is long. My life is becoming quite the reverse. Very sad. This day will doubtless run aslant of my intentions; awry, like so many others. I cannot rise any longer. The ‘means’ is right there...

The last of the coffee is next to me, soon followed by housework and booze. At some point, I need to take a drive to the cleaners. I did not remember earlier that I have to pick up a few things and drop off one other. On the return trip, I am going to visit the hardware store. I printed a couple of representations of part two of my mural, but they are falling short of what I really need. I guess I’ll have to wait for the print to arrive and then scale it to the overall size of the project. Once complete, the image will be imposing. Anyone in or near my garage – and keep in mind the driveway is fifty feet long – will not be able to avoid it. The square framing is eight feet while the inner square which holds a canopy of seven feet is much larger than anything else I’ve created and painted out there.

Later.

The coffee next to me has been replaced by a huge glass of whiskey. The usual business is out of the way and I don’t give half a fuck. I am nearly incapable of anything else these days.

Well now, the shed project has advanced considerably in the last half hour. I signed some documents that were provided by the salesman and paid for half of the job (a deposit). As of today, it appears the installation will take place sometime after the 27th of next month. The wait is to allow the concrete to fully set, although I’m sure a week or two less would be fine. I just want to ensure there are no issues. This is very good and has lifted my spirits a smidgen over the early morning. After all that trouble with their site, the salesman responded to my email and made the process happen. This is excellent. Once a date is firmed up, I can proceed with moving some things around in preparation for storing them in the new shed. If I could get the eyes, desire, and all that other shit out of my head today, the remaining hours may prove to be rewarding. Moreover, the marine layer seems to be thinning – unlike yesterday – and may warm the house more than yesterday. This is very good. Anything positive is always welcomed. The alternative is me ending up sans reasons to go on. The little things are about all I have, as the negatives continue to pile up against me. They may rally, and quite soon. I’d rather just move along as I have been for the last few months, to be honest. Little things... They need to do their job, especially now.

Another day has burned to ash. This is the norm. All I can do is write about it.

My Friday has been productive thus far. The gate project has advanced. I received a response from them with a quote. The quote has been printed, signed, scanned and returned to them. I am now awaiting an installation date. The daily routine is finished and I cleaned the bathroom, as well. At just after eleven in the morning, all that stuff is in the rear-view mirror. Very good. Aside from a very simple trip to the market, the rest of the day is all mine. The typical turmoil during morning time has been absent due to having been so busy for the last couple of hours. The shit will return soon enough, and that means I have to enjoy a little peace in my head while it lasts. Moreover, the purity reared its head again earlier and I had to smash my feelings before falling into a vat of tears. That is very hard to take these days, so anything with the ability to keep me busy for a time is welcomed, housework or otherwise. Thankfully, the daily fatass glass of whiskey has also helped to push those dire feelings to the rear. As I said, I must take advantage of anything good while it lasts. The alternative is to die. I am trying to hold off demons, and doing my best to leave the storage of certain items alone until the shed is complete. I don’t want to make a big mess and have to clean it up later. For example, I’ve already cut and painted shelves for one of the hall closets and would like to install and put them to use, but that would mean emptying the contents of the closet – a great number of plastic totes – and relocating everything to some other place. It’s not a big deal, but still... I’d rather maintain the status quo for the time being. I suppose the shed plan has been in my head for so long that when I think that a little more time is not a big deal, my brain shoves the information away and begins to make plans better left alone right now. I just can’t help it. Another month should pass just fine so long as I am alive to see it through.

The next day... Not a great one so far. The drive was almost uneventful, including a visit to a market in the City. Pants. Gorgeous pants, to be certain. Ugh. Whatever. Arriving home felt nice, after which I kicked into gear and finished the daily routine. I then went to the garage and relocated the freezer until after the gate installation this coming Monday. Moving it was easier than I had predicted. Only a bit of sliding and leveling was required, and that with the unit nearly full. I have a few more items to move between today and tomorrow in order to ensure there is enough space for them to install a post in the garage wall. The latch side of the gate will be mounted to a post in concrete and bolted through the wall. That is the best way to ensure the outed post cannot move. I am told the installation will require only one day. Nice. The girl in the market already faded out of my head, but there are lingering feelings due to her amazing appearance and a dream early this morning that caught me off-guard. I can’t go into detail about it, however, or I’ll receive backlash. I don’t need that type of shit right now. Now that I think about it, there was also a trio of joggers between destinations while I drove through the City. That kind of stuff always adds up and sends me flying. Moreover, the difficulty has been piling up for more years than I would care to recall. Two respites cannot alleviate such deep feelings, they can only provide temporary relief. That is precisely what they did. I sit here at this very moment a product of far too much of which to simply ‘let go’. One of the reasons is on my right-hand display; Natalie’s big, beautiful, sweet eyes that always force me to believe that similarly kind eyes could actually make all this shit go away once and for all. Jamie, for example. Is that realistic? Nope. Healthy? Nope. Can I cease thinking and dreaming in such terms? Nope. I need not belabor similar feelings for the stunning pants this morning and the beauty which wore them. Basket case. Wait a minute... Were you thinking of the inevitable basement? I don’t think that’s ever going to happen because when I sit here in the office I feel that place has already been achieved in life. The process of analyzing and expressing my feelings on the site is my basement. I’ve been here a very long time. All of my words regarding beauty, desire, loss and the vast amount of memories that flow through me while sitting at this IDE comprise more of a prison than anything in reality. The very petite Asian with the black yoga pants screaming at me was merely a symptom. Everything in my life aside from the aforementioned keywords is tertiary, at best. Time and circumstance, motherfuckers... Time and fucking circumstance. There can be no going back. Not anymore.

There are three images – all most likely generated from only a smidgen of reality and a heaping helping of AI – within this entry because I haven’t included any beauty here for some time, and I thought it might be a nice change to have something other than dividers on the page. Right or wrong, I don’t care. I will not stop searching, nor will I cease dreaming that one of those pairs of eyes will save me. My fascination with Asian female beauty has been ebbing and flowing for two decades and often comes to mind when I see those black pants, such as this morning. Asian beauty does not outweigh any other ethnicity or appearance for me personally. It’s just a matter of what comes along in daily life. The three images here are mostly unreal, a state which matches the inside of my head to a fucking tee. Why did I include these particular digital images? Due to the feelings inside that resulted from the girl in the market, plus the idea that they are not real, just like everything of which I dream each day. Unreal. The last image? She looks a tad crosseyed, if you ask me. Still very pretty, though. The first image just kills me. The big eyes. She reminds me of Alita. A little, anyway. I could drown into the right pair of eyes and perhaps end up ok.

Nope. There will be none of that.

Sunday has arrived on the heels of a fairly decent Saturday. Yes, I said decent. I was rather productive despite the morning finding me feeling broken and lost. Once I moved the freezer, everything else seemed to fall into place quite well. I sanded the shelves and added a third coat of paint, finished the laundry in good time, moved a few things around to organize the pantries in the dining room and straightened the area, and then went through the refrigerator in advance of taking care of the garbage later today. By the time dinner rolled around, I actually felt kind of accomplished. That is rare these days. Today I will probably continue the process of ensuring everything that needs to be tossed out makes it into the cans. I am trying to get rid of as much as possible in the interest of creating space. Just... More empty space. Yes, the shed will be the clincher, but outside that massive improvement, there are still other areas that become overlooked after long periods of time and must be addressed. Little things, really. That means easy, too. I don’t plan to break my back working today. Everything will be slow and calculated. The time is barely half past eight, I have my coffee and my program running, and am pretty damned comfortable right now. Driving to the City this morning had my brain all fucked up for a little while due to the marine layer that sits over this area much of the year. Well, I didn’t bring my sunglasses, meaning when I approached the City itself, I drove out from under the protection of the marine layer and into the bright morning sunshine. Ugh. That woke me up more than the freakin’ coffee, for sure. The upside was that the return drive did not include any stops like yesterday, and soon enough I drove right back under the marine layer and enjoyed the dimmer light. I can see it through my window right now, and the layer is so thick that it’s hanging on the trees just a few hundred feet up, at the most. I am pleased that the sun is not shining through that window this morning. I like the blinds to remain open as often as possible. The view creates somewhat of an open feeling while I relax at the control center. One more cup of coffee, perhaps. Afterwards, I’ll begin the housework. Sunday also means garbage and maybe some dry cleaning. All in good time. I can feel the crap trying to move to the head of the line inside my brain and must try to squash it before the morning ends up a disaster. I don’t need that today (or ever, really).



02

Not real


I have the last of the coffee. That means I’ll move away from this machine soon and try to care for the house. I’ll have to remain busy as long as possible so the shit remains in the background.

The coffee is now gone. Time for housework.

And... The routine is out of the way for today. I have a head start on the garbage, as well. Cocktail hour has arrived, and between the chores and the booze, I believe all of the damaging feelings inside me will be suppressed for another day. This is very good. I can avoid falling into at least one type of pit this morning. As I often muse, it’s better than nothing. I have very little to go on these days. The plan is to relax here for a little while with my drink and media, and then get the house trash to the garage. I may also move the totes out of the hall closet and lay the new shelves inside. That will allow me to relocate all of the linens, finally. Everything will be in the same place and organized. After years of everything being spread out between two closets in different rooms, the end result will be very nice. Moreover, some of the linens that have been stored in totes can come back out, meaning other, longer-term items can be stored properly. Once the shed is complete next month, much of it will head out there. One more month is all I have to wait for the largest home improvement project in years to come to fruition. I am anxious to get it all going, but I can wait without issue. Patience is one of my strong points. And the marine layer seems to be thinning. That could be very good for my afternoon.

I’ve been thinking about the road trip next month. We are scheduled to stay in a four-star hotel on the river, not far from the railroad museum. I am planning to bring the camera, and, God willing and the ‘river don’t rise’, I’ll find the space to actually get into the lens again like in the past. I believe anyone who has read more than a bit of this content knows how I feel about trains in general, and locomotives in particular, and the opportunity to shoot to my heart’s content may help me more than I can imagine right now. In addition, dinner will be in a restaurant that resides within the hotel itself, meaning I’ll be doing less driving this time. The previous trip started rather later due to servicing the car. This one is going to begin very early in order to maximize the time spent in the old section of town where the museum is located, as well as plenty of places for lunch or drinks. I’ll have to plan my schedule and ensure that whatever photographic equipment that is to accompany me on the drive is ready to go the day before. Oh... The sun is peeking through. Excellent. Anyway, traveling and the need to be ‘portable’ is one of my favorite activities in life. I am looking forward to the highway and being away from here for a little bit. Well, the stay is only one night, but I am very good at maximizing the time. The only aspect with the power to really boost me would be a flight. Alas, there is nothing of the sort on the horizon. I’ll take the road trip over doing nothing at all, though. I’d love to capture some abstract images of everything related to the railroad industry.

Monday. I replaced the third image with another girl – yep... A hybrid, unreal AI-induced beauty without equal – because the artificial eyes on the other one were making me crazy, and not in a good way. Nothing is going to happen in reality, so why not embrace all of the unreal stuff? Give me a reason, and good fucking luck. I have part of the routine out of the way because the gate is to be installed very soon and I need to keep an eye on the garage in case things must be moved for access. They are going to install a post in the garage wall. I may have mentioned it before. Anyway, the morning has not been too bad considering this is typically the time when my head goes south for a while. As of yet, I believe nothing bad has taken place due to the crew coming soon. I have to ensure everything goes smoothly. There is also some wiring I should run because my new LED strips and controllers are arriving later. I’ll have to perform a few tests and then install them on the framework. The wiring involves a dedicated line from the power supply so that the mural does not share current with any other lighting. I am looking forward to seeing this portion of the work finished. The mural is a dream that dates back more than ten years and it’s finally being built. Nice. Aside from that stuff, I’m planning to move some totes out of the closet so the shelves can be put into place. All the linens will then live in the hall closet... The way it should be.

Tuesday.

I prefer driving to the City only on weekends, but sometimes I must go during the work week, such as this morning. The increased time is not a big deal, though, such as today’s drive which required only about fifteen additional minutes. That’s nothing. I just have to remain patient while driving among all those people who are in a hurry to get to work. Now that I’m home again, relaxation shall take priority. There were pants entering my head so I have to put forth some effort to achieve the aforementioned (partial) comfort. Yesterday went pretty well, meaning my brain is already in better shape than I would normally expect at this time of day. The gate installation went very smoothly, during which I performed some reconfiguration on the wiring and added a few other lines, cut and installed the lower canopy supports, and then straightened everything by close of business hours. I also added an upper lighting canopy above my gunfire sign which seems to work fairly well but needs to be trimmed a bit. The LEDs and controllers arrived from Canada, too. I’ll attach the first two strips either later today or tomorrow and then evaluate the light level before going further. The lumber should be arriving on Friday, after which I will cap the entire canopy system and begin drawing part two of the mural. I never made it to the closet work yesterday due to keeping busy in the garage. I may tackle that stuff later this morning.

Some of this is my fault. I’ve stated as much on several occasions. Don’t ever think I’ve forgotten. I know what I am. Just a thought in the middle of all this house-related crap. The shit is always on my mind. Shit situations, that is. Nothing goes away. All I can do is try. That is a waning term.

Later. The usual morning stuff is out of the way and I have a nice, fat cocktail next to me on the table. For whatever reason, or perhaps due to some of the record label emails I receive on occasion, I decided to delve into some music previously unknown to me. The process of exploring is very slow. There is one very specific and damaging genre related to the forest which remains elusive after two decades of absorbing information. I must tread lightly. The alternative is not good. On other fronts, I will probably delve into the lighting plan after lunch. The new LED strips must be evaluated for proper lighting levels once the sun goes down, and that will entail installation of the first two units to the main canopy. I will probably begin the process in a little while. There is very little housework left, anyway, so working on that project can continue very soon. Prior to close of business hours, I’ll have to head back into the kitchen for some dinner preparations. I am looking forward to that time. Last night, for example, I was overjoyed to cook dinner with my requisite cocktail next to me and my program running on two televisions. There is a high and very important level of comfort inherent in working within the kitchen, be it during the late morning or just prior to eating in the evening.

Yet another day is gone forever.

I cut my finger while preparing dinner last night and am having trouble typing this morning. Damn. Every few words result in a bit of pain. This is going to be a slow process. On the upside, I went through a series of tests yesterday to determine how well the new lighting will work and learned that they are not as nice as I had hoped. The power end of each strip is very bright, but the current and light levels fade steadily to the opposite end of the line. Shit. After different power supplies and configurations, I settled on two full strips attached to one controller each. Once the sun went down, I powered the new strips – including one LED spot roughly centered upon the big circle – and saw that my light levels are both balanced and plenty bright enough to create the intended glow. All I have to do now is wait for the lumber to arrive so that the canopies can all be capped. The next step will be to draw and paint the second layer of the mural. The injury will dictate any possible timeline. I am left-handed, and the problem is the tip of my left middle finger. Everything is difficult. Sipping coffee with my right hand is rather odd. This will pass and I’ll be just fine, but in the meantime everything I do will be a tad slower.

Some time has passed and I managed to take care of the daily routine and a trip to the market. And yes, there was an extremely tall woman wrapped in you-know-what that pulled my eyes out of my stupid head for a few seconds. Isn’t that the norm these days? I didn’t see her face because I was on my way out of the store by that point. Thank the maker. No face. Anyway, I have a fat cocktail and my show. Earlier I tried to print a few components of the mural so they can be traced. One is ideal while the other two are far too small. I’ll have to scale them, I guess. The second layer is going to be very time-consuming. And now my finger is giving me grief. Crap. Natalie is driving me back through time and forcing memories of when I was actually comfortable. I am not speaking of little things, such as pizza and cocktails, either. The real comfort which is gone forever. I see her eyes and am reminded of the race girl, and then the Latina beauty from a while back enters my head and makes me realize that the final solution’s application may be all that is left for me. Her big doe eyes drive me insane sometimes. I don’t need her, though. I need ‘her’. You already know, meaning all this shit is for naught. Fuck it. I’ll be giving up completely very soon. Doe eyes. Isn’t that peachy? I used to be a fairly formidable individual, intelligent, well-thought, kind and technically proficient. Now? I’ve been brought to my knees by pairs of eyes; killed by the past. I see everything very differently than years ago. I think about people very differently than in the past, too. I do not speak of my feelings with others. I do not place my feelings here. No one would understand, anyway, so no harm done. Much of what runs through my head on a given day is nothing anyone wants to read, trust me. The depth continues to increase.

So... I scaled the main design and printed one set of images to partially construct the right side of the mural. The damned software added margins which will need to be sliced off. I can cut each sheet – there are six so far – and then tape them together in order to trace the outline. The right side can then be flipped horizontally to trace the opposite. This project is enormous and likely the largest I’ve attempted. Once finished to my satisfaction, the end result should prove quite stirring at first glance. The panels comprise sixty-four square feet of the garage’s back wall. The canopy is seven by seven feet square and lit on all four sides, plus there is a spot LED projecting the same color from above to help blend the center with the edge lighting. It’s rather crazy and I don’t care. The shed will be installed roughly twenty-eight days from now, after which the mural will be fully visible from either side of the street at a glance. The driveway is fifty feet long (very fortunate) – even longer than the street is wide – and a six-foot mural still appears pretty large from such a distance, especially with a seven-foot square of glowing red at its perimeter. During the day, it’s pretty boring without the second layer. I’ll get there.

Thursday is here. My finger is a little bit better thanks to changing the dressing last night and adding some of the good stuff to help it heal. You know. Typing is still rather goofy. At least the letters don’t hurt my finger while pressing the keys. That is an improvement over yesterday. Still, I’ll be taking it easy this morning. I have the usual housework and one load of laundry, both of which will progress very slowly. I also have to drive to the cigarette store after lunch. No big deal. If the young beauty is working there, I’ll have to squash everything inside my head for a few minutes in order to complete the transaction without issue. She doesn’t need my shit. None of this has anything to do with her. I’ll be polite and concise, and then leave. I don’t want to head over there until probably an hour after lunch because when the restaurants are open, the parking lot is busy. I’ve learned to not be troubled by way of past visits during that time.



03

Not real


The time is now nearly eleven. The laundry is almost finished. The daily routine is out of the way. My brain has been computing an issue related to my injured finger that arose yesterday morning. The situation is not good by any stretch of the word. The only saving throw I’ve found this morning is to dive into the mural layer, meaning after trimming each sheet of paper and taping them together, I can begin to trim the entire section and then attach it to the wall in the garage. The work is quite compelling and likely able to rescue me from becoming overly depressed or angry, at least for a little while. I can use my creation for both sides so that they end up symmetrical. As for the problem with my injury, it is weighing upon my mind more than most other aspects of living right now. Thank Christ for three specific events... The mural and associated work, the upcoming road trip which will enable me to get ‘into the lens’, and the shed installation that is to take place just days after the trip. The shed is going to entail lots of organization and relocation, so that one will probably outlive all else. The drive will come and go very quickly, so anything with the ability to distract me longer will be fully embraced. I really don’t want to fall off a fucking cliff anytime soon, although if that does happen, everything bad will disappear in a microsecond.

‘Belief is so often the death of reason.’ I may have included that quote in another essay.

Friday means almost nothing, but it is here nonetheless. I just have to deal with the passage of time and the idea that every time the calendar advances, a part of me that continues to increase in size realizes that the previous day was a failure. I don’t know how to fix this situation.

The shit still has not come to a head. I am unaware of any source that can delay such difficulty, however. I just don’t fucking know what’s going on. Perhaps, like two or so years ago, something inside me changed again. I can’t know the answer; I can only consider how I feel this morning along with what’s been going through my mind during the past week or so. Something is wrong. I know it. There are no answers, though. My finger is improving. I guess that’s better than nothing. Any positives right now are wholeheartedly welcomed. For example, yesterday I was able to piece together some sheets of paper and create an outline for part of the image in the garage. Tracing was easy. Painting the upper outline was not. I gave up after less than an hour. At some point I’ll return and further the work. I don’t know if that will be today, tomorrow or sometime later.

Saturday doesn’t matter because none of the days matter. The bandages are off my finger and typing is difficult due to the heightened sensitivity. I may have to wait a few more days before I get back into the swing of speedy typing. Perhaps a small bandage can be applied for a while. A bit of cushion might help the finger while striking keys. Ah... It worked. I can type more comfortably now. Well, my fingertip is still a bit sensitive even with the padding, but I have to do something or I’ll lose my shit. I guess I just have too much in my head to completely cease this endeavor. My only therapist is the keyboard. Now that my finger is once again able to strike the keys, I can point out that the purity reared its ugly head for the umpteenth time earlier and left me so fucking depressed that I could barely operate the damned coffee pot. That was the first occasion in some days, too. I had been hoping to be free of such occurrences at some point, but when the purity returns, I am quickly brought to my knees. Everything flashes like strobe lights on the path to hell. A living hell, of course. Thank the maker for my mural and the upcoming shed installation. Otherwise, I’d be dead already. I need those little improvements to keep me alive. When one is complete, I have to quickly create another. The alternative is the soil. Ugh... The little bandage is a touch too large to allow me to hit the proper keys without others becoming involved. I had thought of installing a microphone to facilitate voice-to-text, but that would mean lots of editing after the fact. I’d rather type the words myself. The rain is still falling and the mercury remains below sixty. I tried to move a few things around in the garage, but it’s too cold for anything substantial. That means I am left to this interface and my thoughts. Not good. I could say much more, too. Nothing good can come of my words. Nothing. This is completely fucked up, straight away and right down to the ground.

Sunday. I am fairly miserable. Yes, I have the usual work to do today, but the background shit is beginning to take over my thought processes. Not good. One aspect of my current condition will go away, guaranteed, but the other is permanent. There is nothing I can do about it. I still have to have a small bandage on my left middle finger in order to type fairly comfortably. Any other comfort is impossible. My brain keeps hinting at the other essay – the one to which I’ve added information from time to time throughout the past few years but remains out of sight – and the memories cause the pain inside to increase each day. They are gone and cannot return, yet the dire nature of the way I think will not fucking stop. I’ll let you in on a little secret, about which one of my neighbors inquired just two days ago. The circumstance of me being so driven to create a very specific appearance in the garage is a direct result of loss related to those very same memories. Pause. Return. I finished the daily routine and again attached half a bandage to my finger. It seems to be cushioning the keystrokes enough for me to type without interference. Nice. As for my head going south earlier and since I can’t ever do anything about such an occurrence, I poured the requisite glass of whiskey in order to calm my thoughts for a while. The plan for the rest of the day is not going to entail very much at all. The garbage business will be simple, any painting will not continue unless the garage warms quite a bit, so I’ll probably end up relegated to this machine. I absolutely cannot WAIT to tell a therapist that I can’t get through any fucking morning without alcohol. That should go over really well (nope). My program is still hiccuping, damn it. All I can do is wait to see if it stops because every single fucking streaming service or other Internet-reliant process always blames the end user’s equipment or bandwidth prior to admitting that their product is having problems. I just have to live with it. After years of trying to eliminate connection issues and running into brick wall after brick wall, I know better than to contact anyone when I already know – through extensive testing and diagnosis – that everything in this fucking house is just fine. Enough of that. I need to find a way of bypassing this morning bullshit or I’ll be dead before the fucking shed is built. Twenty-two days. That is all. I don’t have the first fucking clue as to how I’ve survived this long while living void of everything I need in life. I guess I’ll sit here on my sorry ass and think. The upcoming trip may help a little bit, for a while. My camera time is looking better and better, mostly because there will be trains involved. I am beginning to believe that if not for the opportunity to get into the lens, the trip could be canceled with nary a thought to the negative. I just can’t get myself to care about the short road trip. I need a much longer journey, and one which could prove to help save me from the grave. Such a gift will probably not come to pass anytime soon. I guess the short drive and opportunity to shoot to my heart’s content will have to suffice. What the fuck else to I have in life? Housework? Garbage business on Sundays? The huge mural? Wrong. Nothing. Everything I do is for the purpose of distracting me from all that is gone forever. One day soon it will all come back for the last time. Wait for it. There will not be notice of any kind. The site will simply remain unchanged until the hosting plan expires. Perhaps at that point people will know that my words were not meant to be humorous.

On the show, Charlotte’s character is dead. Damn. I’ll miss her big, beautiful eyes. There is another trait she shares with a handful of others, but I can’t go into that shit right now. Whatever. I occasionally see her on the display or television, neither of which is real. Fictional programming is my primary entertainment for far too many reasons to list, although the main point is that reality cannot even begin to hold a candle to the power and wonder of the unreal. Reality is poison. Thus far, ‘we’ have not embraced the title of this errant mess because I fear the page length will spiral out of control.

Monday morning and all is not well. Disaster; disappointment; disdain; discomfort; displeased, to say the least. Just... Dis-everything. I fucking hate this shit more than I can put into words. Not even Charlotte’s big eyes can help me now. Marvelous. I will have to work hard to avoid heading toward the music of life. Doing so will not end well today. Perhaps my best option is to leave this machine alone and work on other interests. I’ve been writing less and less as this year has progressed. Big surprise. Less to say; more to feel. I hate this fucking situation more than I can possibly put into words. I do not have the necessary constitution to overcome such a powerful driving force in my head, nor can I recover as easily as a few years ago when similar occurrences came along from time to time. In short, I am much weaker now than in the past. Everything is more difficult, from the motivation to take care of my morning housework to the afternoon dry spell and on to dealing with visions and memories without falling on my stupid face over and over. Everything is exponentially more difficult than just two years ago, and I am not referring to the damaging dreams, either. They were plenty tough, but this shit is very different.

The day has progressed a bit (read: clock) and my usual stuff is finished. Cocktail time. I will be heading out soon to pick up some dry cleaning and shop for vegetables at the smaller market. I really don’t want to see any fucking pants, either. My head is already far enough south of the norm and anything further will send me into the ground. This is a daily occurrence since the outset of the latest entry.

Tuesday. Where is the title? Does anyone care? Does it matter?

A dream early this morning reminded me of the purity and all of the turmoil that comes along with such powerful feelings. Yesterday nearly broke me for all time when I realized that I am in an even worse condition than I originally calculated. Shit has gone further sideways, and if anything can force my hand in life, it is the near-complete loss of something this fucking important. A total loss will be much worse and is only a matter of time. I have realized such a fact given the rapid progression in recent months. My brain will not easily push away this type of thing, either. The purity and related circumstances have driven much of this content for a very long time, most likely more than two years. Whatever positives there are on my horizon had better hold me up for a while longer. I swear... They had better prove worthwhile. The road trip, shed and mural may be all I have left in this sordid life. Additionally, the occasional ‘agreeable’ meal may help. That is in no way a certainty, however, because meals come and go very quickly sometimes. There is no guarantee in anything I’ve written here today. Another dream will come along soon enough; another reminder will hit me in the face. Matter of time. No guarantees whatsoever. They existed in the past, but no more of that shit is going to come along and darken my doorstep. The early morning visions, feelings and wonder that went along with the purity now have me in pieces. Yesterday was pretty fucking bad. Today may be worse. I really didn’t need that shit this morning and all of my effort will be required if the information is to be shoved to the rear. The damage is done, though. Plenty of it. Faith is the key to looking toward the future... Faith that something will change or that I will be able to affect the same, regardless of whether or not there can still be a connection. Unfortunately, without that faith, finding reasons to continue becomes very difficult, if they can be found at all. This morning, for example, I already feel as if there is no reason for me to look forward to the enjoyment of things. That means I’ll have to push harder than usual. I try to embrace something nice, but at each step I see the past, feel those feelings again, and then must push even fucking harder just to remain on my feet for a while longer. Mornings are bad, yet also good in that I enjoy knowing the entire day is ahead for whatever I’d like to do. When I run out of feeling hopeful in the morning, I’m fucked for good. The dream was bad, beautiful, stirring, and made me wonder if everything was finally going to be ok due to someone from the past returning and caring for me. Well, we cared for each other. The point is that I was slammed in the face when I woke up; slammed hard. I don’t always have those types of dreams, thank Christ, but when they do come along as creations of my desperate subconscious, whatever had been on my horizon with the ability to make me smile begins to fall away, much like hope for the future. I can still see the vision... Right there before my weakened eyes; feelings of love and wonder; feelings of warmth. Now I am cold inside. She knew. Very few others did. If I could shut off the dream mechanism, some of my problems would fade a little bit. Well, they might. I don’t fucking know anymore. I keep trying for whatever reason, yet at the same time I somehow already know that there is nothing on the horizon; nothing that I really need. Visions and memories of the dream are going to return, likely every day no matter what I may be doing at a given time. The reason is that I have become more weakened and desperate than ever before. The dreams simply reinforce just how bad I feel every day. The latest is haunting me and I don’t see an end to it. Time may help it fade, although memories will dredge it up again regardless of the calendar. This is fucked.

Is there anything good left in the world? Anything?

Ah... My delivery is here. A new deadbolt and handle for the front door. I opted for a non-locking handle to avoid lockouts, too. The old unit is the smart key type and is wearing out. Even after some dry silicone, the deadbolt still hangs a bit during rotation. I guess that’s not too bad after almost thirteen years in service. The new set means different keys, but I don't care right now. I will eventually replace the others and key them alike. The bourbon helped me complete the morning housework, too. I have lots of time to myself from here forward regardless of whether or not I end up with a snootful.

Another day has gone to hell for all time. Gone. Whatever happened yesterday – whatever I may or may not have done; the pitfalls or promise – disappeared and may as well have never occurred in the first place. None of it matters in the least now. Monday was a disaster. Yesterday was not far from the same. I wish I knew how I turned out so badly. Two shit situations from so long ago do not seem like enough to have permanently destroyed an entire person, but what the fuck do I know, anyway? Destroyed is the word I used. Believe it. This is all just frosting... The content, housework, words about other aspects of life... All of it. Frosting. The cake has fallen away; the substance, the essence of who I was – or at least who I could have been – has been destroyed. Don’t forget me when I disappear. The show is becoming ridiculous because I am in season seven. There are good points along with the bad, however. Some, anyway. The bottom line is the writing went from following a beautiful world and story to following a quest for ratings and surprises. Some of it is so fucking stupid that I have not seen the conclusion of the series for over a year. The whole thing is very disappointing after being one of literally millions who became deeply, emotionally invested in the characters. This whole situation could have been much better had it started badly and ended great, rather than the other way around. I don’t understand why things must be as they are.

Damn. I just hit my head on the clothing rack in the garage for the second time, and this occasion was worse. than the first. No, I did not harm myself – only my pride – although I was carrying a cocktail and some of it spilled. That is referred to as alcohol abuse, plain and simple. Booze is not cheap, so spilling is unacceptable. I’ll have to remember to either leave the rack in the up position until hanging clothes to dry, relocate the rack to an area through which I can’t walk, or simply pay more attention when doing laundry. The latter is best. At least I have the laundry process underway. I also finished the daily stuff and lunch is in the new oven. This will be pizza experiment number two. The range draws an enormous amount of power even just preheating, so I am hoping that since we rarely cook anything very large (in height), the countertop appliance will reduce the electric bill. The range is the single most wattage-drawing item in this house, meaning any avoidance should help. I just need to get past a bit of a learning curve.



04

Not real


Wednesday.

Shit. SHIT. I saw something yesterday afternoon that really threw me for a loop. Part of what happened was a reminder of that first dream involving manicured fingers tugging at a strap; the rest was brand new. I was unprepared for the incident. I’ve been caught off-guard before, but this was ridiculous. Something wondrous took place and I had a chance of making it a little bit better rather than allowing all that beauty to simply fade into history. I cannot go into specifics of what I saw yesterday, either. The result could be a shit ton of fallout and I really don’t need anyone on my fucking back these days. I will say that what I saw – both the image itself and the action that brought to mind the first damaging dream – was a short demonstration of the most powerful aspect of life itself. There is little chance that the person at whom I was gazing could have been aware of such power, but trust me... It was being exuded beyond belief. I saw each second, each motion, and went into a hell of a tailspin afterward. Thankfully, most of my work for the day was finished at that point in time so I could relax and enjoy something to take my mind off the dreams and everything that was brought to the surface thanks to the sight. The afternoon went ok for the most part, and sitting here this morning with some coffee is allowing me to put my feelings into perspective, finally. I’ll probably never see anything like that again, good and bad as it may have been. I will sit here and wish for it, however. The mural will take priority in a little while because it may be the only present distraction strong enough to push her image out of my head for a while. I can remember quite a bit. Lots of detail. As I said, I could have done something different – I can’t say what or why – in order to more clearly analyze the entire shitaree, but I didn’t. I may have been paralyzed by movements so reminiscent of the inaugural damaging dream that put my entire life on its ear. Rarely in my life have I felt so desperate to see more, believe me. I need it so badly that I am reminded of all of the torment and turmoil involved just after I gazed at the Raven for the very first time, all low-rise jeans, three-inch heels and long, wavy, jet-black flowing hair all over the place. I won’t even mention Her huge eyes or when She smiled at me with that very sweet expression. Anyway, before the coffee is gone this morning, I’ll be in the garage setting up a platform so I can build the outline of layer two. Once it is traced, I can paint the background and consider the beginning of details. All of it will be a great attempt to extract her image from my head and put it aside for a little while, if for no other reason than to save my sanity. There are aspects of her image that make me crazy. Not even half past eight on the clock so far, and I’m already angling to help myself avoid the pit of despair. Not good. I need some fucking help. As for the Raven and Her never-ending influence upon my way of life (and heart), I shall never gaze upon Her like again. So sad. No one can help me anymore. Remember me, at least a little bit. And remember what I’ve been railroading for all these years.

I need to move away from this shit very soon. The coffee is nearly gone, the show is nearly over, and I am tired of sitting here thinking of what I saw yesterday, along with too much of the word ‘impossible’. There is no good on my horizon. Nothing at all. Little things. You know.

Friday has arrived on the heels of one positive and one huge fucking negative.

I was too close. I saw everything; no mysteries whatsoever. Right there. She was right fucking there and looking so amazing that if I had a million years to find enough words, there would still not be enough to convey such deep feelings. Jesus. As much as I didn’t need to see her like that, at the same time I was completely enthralled. Oh, she spoke, but it didn’t matter. I could not hear a fucking word. The sight crippled me. The entire situation came out of nowhere after I had been busy in the house and garage, meaning my mind had been completely unprepared for such vast beauty to approach and send me into a mental tailspin. The result? More depression than ever. I’ll have to do some painting today in order to get my head into a different mindset. It worked for quite a while yesterday, so perhaps I can do it again. While in the garage, I assisted my neighbor on and off for hours while he worked on his motorcycle with a friend. In and around helping, I finally finished the outline for layer two of the mural. Afterward, I painted the base coat and the second symbol to the lower left. Adding detail is going to be very involved and can probably help me deal with all this sadness and feelings of loss. I can only hope the process smooths my head somewhat. I can only fucking hope. Other than that project, there is nothing else with the ability to fully pull my attention from everything else. The shed will probably help, too, and it is scheduled to be installed in seventeen days (but who’s counting?). I wish I hadn’t seen her dressed like that yesterday. The image is going to burn me to death. Splendid. As if I needed more shit in my head, the sight came along and crushed me. And the morning? This is typically the most difficult part of the day – even tougher than dealing with feeling as if I am completely lost post-lunch, as is the norm lately – and now everything feels much worse. I should not have seen so much all at once. Such occurrences are very bad for my well-being, and at this point in life, the notches that ratchet me lower on the rungs of life come along more often and more powerful than ever before. I need her, and it doesn’t matter. I am not going to sit here and complain that no one cares for me, because there are many who do. The main problem is the way the past has shaped me, combined with so many years of being routed, squished and disregarded as if my feelings are completely unimportant. Seeing her amplified everything that has already been pushing me into the ground.

As if there isn’t enough shit for me to consider these days, recently I was reminded of shit situation number two in general, and one detail in particular which I had forgotten for more than forty years. A family member was involved, much like the source. Recalling that one little phrase is beginning to make me very angry. The realization (which actually came about early yesterday) is going to change a few things, most notably the way I interact with other people. The garage mural will help, as well, because it causes confusion and generates questions from people that I never answer. The entire project is quite unsettling for some and I am pleased to leave everyone in the dark. The mural is very personal to me and relates to both shit situations as well as my current condition due to the same. I am hoping it continues to help my mental and emotional states. I have to think about the newest facet of that fucked up situation and try to put it into perspective. Futile? Perhaps. I haven’t fixed anything else, but I still try for whatever fucking reason.

The title still has not arrived here. Maybe it will not appear before this mess of an entry is published. What does that mean? Anything? Does it matter? Does anything I do matter? Does the title matter? There was to be a bit of a story involved in this shit. I’ve lost my way due to all the shit I’ve seen, losses in life, and the constant yearning for understanding. The CORRECT type of understanding, that is. I see it as impossible. The fact that there was one gentle soul who actually took my words and condition to heart represents yet another loss, and one far worse than the rest.

Saturday morning; coffee; gangsters (yep, again). I advanced the mural quite a bit yesterday and intend to continue today. Once the coffee is gone and the usual stuff is out of the way, I’ll transition to the garage and get back into the painstaking detail work. So far, the image looks fantastic; much better than I had predicted when I painted the background the other day. The process is very slow, but I have plenty of time. Or... Do I?

I am still thinking about the realization from the other day. It hurts, even after forty-plus years. I don’t understand why such a remark was necessary, nor do I believe that the chronic damage which resulted from one phrase could have been predicted way back then. As for those responsible, well... I will be pissed off for the rest of my life. Forgiveness is not an option considering just how fucked up I’ve become. Oksana’s big eyes are over there on the right-hand display again. I am accustomed to her beauty and it’s not a big deal anymore, although I still feel desire. The understanding I mentioned above is far more important after all these years of complete shit. Well, hence the mural. It is a huge representation of my mood and will generate questions for years. Very good. There are to be no answers whatsoever. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. The shit from forty years ago has taken more of a toll in the last two years than ever before. The single minuscule upside is that I know of the cause. The only faith I have left in life is my own ability to demonstrate disdain and dissatisfaction with people and circumstances. Instead of gallivanting all over the western states in search of a pair of understanding arms wrapped around me, I sit here at home and plan methods for causing other people to either wish to remain away from me, or displaying very uncomfortable imagery from the ‘way of life’ that is the forest. I can’t be unkind, but I most certainly can be an enigma. Holy God, Jamie is so beautiful that I need to run outside and repeatedly slam my sorry head against the concrete. Damn... I really love her THAT much. Oh, and she was only seventeen years old when the second and third episodes were filmed. Yep. Very young. I did not fall for her until much later, perhaps the fifth season when she was approaching twenty-three (one year younger than the Raven when She died). Anyway, if I can get that forty year old shit out of my head for a while, this day may move along just fine. I’ll have to extricate the image from the other day – plus Jamie and her thrall upon my heart – if I am to concentrate at all. The title will come soon, hopefully.

The Sunday morning drive came and went – including a visit to the market – without issue. The store was quite busy since today is mother’s day (flowers flying off the displays), but I made it in and out in decent time. Now I literally have the rest of the day for whatever I wish to do. Some will be Sunday business and some will probably end up more work on the mural. This morning I am not feeling it, but that may change as the day progresses. The bottom line is, having already visited the market, I need not leave the house again today. Whatever I decide to do with the hours ahead is fine. The problems of the past are not letting up on me, however, meaning the day will be tough like all the others. I worked more on the mural yesterday, and I’m referring to some very painstaking details that I’ve been avoiding because they are so difficult and time-consuming. The other day when I was knocked for a loop by that fucking stunning, shapely goddess from beyond this world was also the day I began some of the detail work. Seeing her for a few seconds changed all that, of course, and I am pleased that nothing has hit me in the face since that horrible moment. Oh, believe me when I say that I have rarely wanted something so badly, although everything regarding desire and fulfillment FOR ME is either impossible or has already taken place, never to repeat. So, once I pulled focus upon her features, the garage work became foggy. If I work as much today as I did yesterday and am not subjected to such a wondrous, amazing form again, the image will begin to come together very nicely. Believe me, you probably don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking deep down inside. All bad. Ever since the first damaging dream, my head has moved in directions never before considered, and I am left here to question everything, every fucking day of the week. I’ll have to shove it all aside and try to focus upon my Sunday business lest the day turn to shit like so many others. I can only hope to succeed today. God damn do I ever want her. Ugh. Miserable, like always. The detailed work can be a distraction, but is it enough? No answer.

The coffee is gone and this intermission is nearly finished. I changed the title accordingly because the other topic has been lost like so many others. It will return soon enough because the subject matter will not leave my head. All the other shit is stuck in there, too. I don’t even know how I’ve lived this long.

Later... The usual stuff is finished along with a single load of laundry. Cocktail hour has arrived, thank the maker. I need to relax my thoughts for a little while or my head will explode.

My head did explode. The current period has become a very serious and potentially dangerous situation. I am not kidding, either. Given the proper resources, I would become completely unavailable to everyone who knows me. I can take precious little more of this. Yes, I finished all of my work, added more details to the mural, and took care of the laundry. I always get everything done on time. The garbage is at the curb and the garage is nice and neat (for the time being). Soon I will move into the kitchen and prepare a few items for dinner. Everything else is uninteresting right now. I hate feeling like this.

Nothing beautiful is there. Everything unreal is beautiful. Nothing is there. I am here; nothing else is here. I don't know what to do anymore. I can't even follow a single line of thinking to its natural end without losing my way ten times. Intermission is fucking stupid, but at least I know it.

I wish I hadn't recalled that other aspect of shit situation number two. Nothing good is going to come of this condition. My feelings are very bad right now.

Nothing beautiful."



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