Voodoo Sex God Menagerie Mature content No. 420 Published August 12th, 2024 10:10am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The voodoo sex god bullshit hath returneth from beyond the realm of the real. Splendid. This is a line, much like all of the ‘Caverns...’ essays, yet much worse and quite different. Put on a helmet because the words will pay no mind to weakness, sentiment, or any other pathetic term that may be applied to this latest mess. Good fucking luck. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’, as the positive, yogurt- and sprout-eating shitfucks who act as if they are constantly optimistic in the face of reality and driven into the ground regardless of such a stance. Death is the only real truth. Everything else is nothing more than a waiting period. Helmet. Safety glasses. Turn back now if you favor yogurt over cheeseburgers. I need to plant my mouth to Nora’s gorgeous, delicate vulva for six fucking weeks straight, or until such time as I die. Vulva. Not the car. Nothing in the world can be as stunningly beautiful as the idea of demonstrating my crippling appreciation for such a genetic fluke. Helmet. That’s as good as this shit is going to get. Another day has burned to ash. Straight into the ash-hole. Gone. The world appears different now. Everything turned on its ear; everything dull; everything full of stench. Over there... Other things; shiny. Over here... The same things; dull. Grayed out. Inoperative, for sure. Where are the knives? Where are the hands? Where is the motivation; the drive? The drive was slow. No, not that drive. The inner drive. I to we, once again. We know not what to do. We feel anger all over again. Just like that other time when everything seemed alright and then we realized nothing was anywhere near such a term; a condition. Maybe we should be drinking colloidal silver instead of coffee. Another day has turned to ash. Gone. The timeline is unidirectional... The seemingly endless progression of events that pushes all of the good away forever. Last night we recalled all sorts of shit, from the end of the glowing years, on through the afterglow, and further forward into the nether regions of dreams we pursued. All of that is gone. Where are the fucking knives? 'Could have.' 'Was not.' 'Did not.' 'Did nothing.' NOT OUR FAULT. Remember that? Of course not. No one does. We were in rare form that day all the way back in aught-eight. Rare fucking form. No, not that kind of form. The other type. Leave it. The lines ring more true right now than we could have imagined all those years ago. This day will not go well for us if we are less than highly careful. This is a sole menagerie for us. ‘Us’. ‘We’. ‘Sole’. Only the voodoo hocus pocus mumbo jumbo bullshit can explain that one. We are in the menagerie. Inside it, as it were. And though we are inside, we are equally outside. Some work has been completed. Work? Eh. We don’t know the full, modern definition anymore. Maybe we never did. Once the knives came out the first time, everything went to shit, including work. And we are having a difficult time considering the MASSIVE differences in attention spans and the way people interact at present versus many years ago. Of course, we realize that the opiate is the smartphone (which is connected to far more than we are capable of reproducing) and there are differing causes to such a situation, but the truth is speaking to another human being in person has become an exercise in patience, often finding one party disregarded in favor of whatever ‘interesting variable reward’ is awaiting them at some point. We must often consider that the advent of so much information availability (an endless amount of entertainment, to be sure) is not their fault, but that of corporations seeking profit. We understand. We just do not want such aspects of these late days plaguing our efforts to connect in reality. We are very disconnected much of the time and our lives have been severely truncated as opposed to what they were just a few years ago. The main reason for such facts is that we fucking noticed the changes taking place. We saw the alteration in attention; the mindless entertainment taking priority over a real, live conversation with another person. We saw the change as it unfolded. Considering the multitude of problems that we had already been experiencing, said change only solidified the old feelings of disconnection and a deep-seated need for solitude. Those feelings date back more than thirty years. Does that mean we were aware of what was going to cause the downfall of society? Of course not. What it does indicate is that we seem to think about the changes more than others which have been near us throughout the last few years. This is the menagerie... The place that is permanently filled with animals bent upon their own entertainment and epicaricacy. Pathetic. The entire topic is fucking pathetic, yet we seem to be alone in such a position. We have tried over and over and fucking over to illustrate the point to others, yet no matter how many examples came along, we failed. Er... We did not fail. They failed. The problem is they are unaware of the failures and subsequent damage inherent in that behavior. There is likely nothing we can do about this. ‘Joy upon evil’. We have gone further. More has been completed. Thursday morning. Broken body; broken heart. This is typical. We know not which way to turn anymore. Life is already over. Treading water for whatever reason. We are doing nothing more than treading water. And there is mustard. Knives? We can’t find them. We are in the sole menagerie... Stuck, seemingly for all time. The work will commence; the work will disappear. We can no longer relate to other people. The roads were built for them and they followed along like dependent sheep. Now they are all the way in. We are not. We are on the outside and do not understand the process of blindingly moving along a path into obscurity, mass-thinking, and the algorithmic systems of the world with nary a thought to possible negative consequences. The entire world is now mired in said consequences and will never find a way out. We will NOT join them, ever. If we can achieve the forest, so be it, and all the better for demonstrating disdain and the idea of complete separation. The control we hold in these late days may be minuscule, yet we can still flex and remain distant in order to confuse those that are already in the largest, most ridiculous bowl of soup imaginable. They are already dead and we are, as well, but at least we know why. They will never know. They will continue a pathetic existence and wander through corridors at the explicit direction of the systems of dominance. We are outside such spheres of influence and continually adjust our position in order to maintain clarity and the full view of what has been the worst and most damaging decline in human history. We may be stuck in a sole menagerie, but the rest are inside a construct from which there is little chance of escape. We shall remain on the outside for as long as possible. We fired and caused the neck of that asshole to explode. Now we must find a way to do the same to the voodoo sex god bullshit figure. The menagerie will remain strong and in charge until such time as we can rise and pull the trigger for a second time. The first was very enjoyable, albeit fictional. That was supposed to be a learning experience, too. It really was. The format was crafted as a release, but from what? Where are we now, several years later? Better? In an improved position? Nope, on both counts. His neck came apart and we are no better for the heartache, fear or effort. We did right by our past trauma. We took control and ousted that piece of shit at the direction of someone whom we loved deeply and another in which we had unwavering trust. We did good. Unfortunately, none of it matters anymore. We are mired; buried in the same shit as before that pivotal event. And the force of society continues to press its advantage. The result of such a combination? We have been relegated to being far too different for anyone to even begin to understand. Thus? We are alone, likely for the duration of the world. The others will continue to wonder what the fuck we have become, and at the same time we will continue to fight against the voodoo and the menagerie. This may all be for naught. Plans? No. Ideas? Few. Power? None. This is Nora’s last episode. We shall miss her as much as we miss all of the others. We will miss her deeply, just as we have for years missed our own sanity. Her beauty may be meaningless in the scheme. That is very sad, yet we know the way of things. We understand the ‘order’ of the world and our place within that fucking shit. In short, we just ‘know’. Broken body; broken heart. Whadja say? Go ahead and ask Tony's opinion. You'll likely end up in a hole in the ground. We can only wish for such power. We have very little of anything good these days. The hour is later and we are no better for the passage. Time to drink. Electric bike number two has been delivered. We shall build and evaluate, just like last time. We are tools, to be sure. We are constantly ‘used’ for technical and technological solutions because others need not put forth the effort. As of yet, we have permanently shut down just one problem. The rest will have to wait. We do not know how to properly handle certain very specific situations, so time must remain at the forefront. As we stated, we will build, evaluate and report our findings to the owner, after which the bike will be picked up, and at that time we will inherit the previous model. Good? Bad? Neither. Just interesting. The booze is flowing like a two-bit whore. When we are used, we relent and then repel. We have no other methods at the present time. Like most other unpleasant aspects of life, our choices have been systematically and permanently removed by force. We need to find a way to push back. Until then, we bide our time. It will pass regardless of our difficulties. ‘I am looking for Lady Gainesborough.’ Yeah, no shit. So are we. Pain. Mustard all over the place. Dreams and visions; bad things falling, flying and floating through us as we work and sleep. One and then the other. Once again, the time is right. The time is flowing. We rarely miss an opportunity to stretch and exercise our eagle eyes and sharpened senses when something takes place, and there was little difference between what transpired yesterday and those events of the last two years. We already know what is going on, as well. There can be no denying the sheer power of one split-second calling, let alone several moments in two different fucking directions. Our eyes became tired, we returned to the project (whatever the fuck that was) on which we’d been focusing, and the ethereal, dreamy nature of the suspicions ran around the world in eighty milliseconds. There was no available saving throw, as usual. The tools came through, like always, and we felt a tinge of pride for a few seconds before all of the damage returned and tore our insides all to shit. Friday can be very nice at times. Today is Friday and we are still in pieces. The imagery and mental motion pictures are lingering and driving us into the ground with all haste. On and on the bullshit goes, with us wondering what the destination and end result may be as the miles roll under our trucks and the clock spins out of control. All morning long, we’ve been subjected to the ridiculous nature of ‘importance’ and ‘caring’ for the benefit of no one. Now that we can consider our own paths and conditions, the pathetic masses can fade away for a little while. We will be within the masses for a little while, all the better for the proceeding hours. Contrast. Context. You should already fucking know, damn it. Context is everything. Car. Highway. Booze. Return. Done. Eighty-four minutes later and here we are, for the duration. We have very little control beyond this slice of technology, so embracing all we have left and holding fast to the last bastion of human endeavor is important. The imagery continues to rip our insides to shreds, as do those beautiful inner motion pictures. Around the deviant world in eighty milliseconds, remember? We placed ourselves within the realm of the past, adjusted for context yet again, and took off for the bad places. Just like the sin... Right where we needed to be. None of it was real. We have been damned; relegated to the most simplistic shit and everyday detritus which had been condescending for so long that the realization is nearly too much to bear. Routed? Squished? All of it can be mixed into the same fucking pathetic, downtrodded, contrived and de-advantageous soup. Pour it all over the place, set it afire, and run away. The reckoning is coming, so be sure to embrace that last directive. The reckoning is coming. We are here for the duration and finding the only comfort that is available on the entire fucking planet, a space we inhabit not by choice, but due to the words, intentions and actions of the sheep and their disciples. Apostles? No way... This place is governed by the self-righteous, no one else. And believe us... They number in the millions. Closer? Count them on two hands. We sliced off a bit. We need to lop off the rest like so many dead limbs. Compost is key. Mustard everywhere. Mustard audio? No, that was blood. Mustard on the cauliflower? Also blood. We could have avoided all of this if the ideas born of cauliflower had come to fruition. We shied away, as we have done for far too long. The reckoning is coming. Mark the words. Mark the thoughts. Fucking mark something. We. Do. Not. Care. About. You. Others destroyed the option. Others. Enemies, all. Mustard. A few items appeared on the porch while we were away this morning, and the gardeners visited. That was good timing. We do not desire seeing anyone in person because the same result that has become doctrine will occur. It always does. We can do anything. That is not to say that we WANT to do anything. Fuck all the way off and then localize your decaying leftovers in a muddy, freezing ditch somewhere beyond reach. Just... GO. We could state that ‘you know who you are’, yet no one knows. We’ve learned to live with a ton of ‘not knowing’ for so long that everything is masked beyond belief. This is what we have become. A big, fat blown kiss to everyone responsible. Thanks, from the bottom of our dead fucking hearts. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of enjoyment; we cannot know because the forces of the way of things disallow our exploration into the nether regions of logical society. Those last two words rarely go together, yet when they do, our intentions, ways of thinking and dreams shut the hell off damned quick. We have yet to find a way of circumventing the world’s ways for our own gain. The truth is, such a process may never happen. If it does, we will relish in the fruits unto death, mark our fucking words. Relish... Half horrible and half wonderful. We’ve gone around and around trying to find a match to our older dreams (we cannot share them with anyone, ever) and still have found zero information as to the ‘when’ and ‘where’ of that story, but at the same time, we can see what he did and the way the situation played out. It was beautiful and comes to mind every fucking time we are floored by the visions. Too much more of this and we are going to break. The mustard will be all over the place. We know what we saw. We just can’t find the original media, any of the actors, or a title. None of the pertinent information that could lead us to see it again after many years – during the 1236 period was when we first glanced with wide-eyed wonder – has been clearly located. The search has taken years from us. We will see them again, turn inward and wander aimlessly while mumbling to ourselves, and then manufacture scenarios again, just like we have for the last few years. The media with the original stirring plans may never be found. Memory is a hell of a challenge sometimes. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of precisely what we have needed for a very long time. The media is not the same. It is merely a placeholder. A day lived; a day burned away. The days come and go and nothing changes because we have been routed and squished for too long. Forty-plus years of shit that have rendered us bereft of hope, hence the moodiness much of the time. Today is Saturday and there is little meaning to the names of the days anymore. No driving; only time to think, good of bad as that may be. The usual will transpire today, along with the new bike leaving and the older model appearing for good. The mood will not allow us to be terribly pleasant during that switch, although we can put up the facade when necessary and then reel from the difficulty while alone, usually just a bit later. We will have to remain vigilant this morning. The visit will fly by (thankfully) and we will be exactly the same. Our mood will have to be shelved for a little while in favor of being completely fucking fake, like always. The technical knowledge came up again, we did what we could, and then the situation dissolved into the night as we contemplated our value within this backward world. We are still considering everything this morning, under gray skies and low mercury. The dimness is reminiscent of that period when we gazed out over the pass and saw tons of rooftops. Back then, there were more possibilities. Now they have waned considerably. We must remain mindful of the fact that we are very different than in the past, and even more different from those who cross our paths. So different that the gradient is striking, even to us. We still do not know of any other way to live. We shall move along, slowly, and continue to seek something better. This mood is exhausting. The only real power is not real Those beautiful visions will come along again. We know it all too well. The dreams will continue, and we will come out the other side a little bit closer to the soil. Death by heartbreak? So be it. We can do nothing about the menagerie, nor can we reconcile ourselves with the truism that is the voodoo god, sex-infused or otherwise. While inside, we will dream of being outside. We shall embrace the differentials as best we can and sit here thinking. Our world is tiny and ever-shrinking. There may be no other way. Work? Done. Booze? It is a-flowin’. Us? Still fucked up beyond all reasonable recognition. We are still capable of working through some obstacles. Better than nothing. We have plans in place for the near future, yet none of them are compelling enough to hold our interest beyond a few minutes. Everything quickly boils down to anger, dissatisfaction and sadness. We remain heartbroken in the knowledge that there are situations around the world – we know not where, but they exist – of which we have dreamed for many years, and the more time that passes, the more dire our condition. The need has become overwhelming, like a cloaked figure bent upon our destruction. Whatever may happen in the future remains unknown, if anything comes along at all. We may end up worsening through the days, weeks, and months regardless of how desperate and/or angry we become. Living inside the sole menagerie is both confounding and heartbreaking. The voodoo cannot help, although it is right there by our side every step of every day. Right there... The hocus pocus is constantly seeking a meaningful connection; one we cannot deny, yet we already know of the ethereal nature of such beliefs. Asking questions and waiting for answers is not enjoyable in the least. We have been waiting far too long to be positive for more than a few microseconds per hour. The thoughts enter and leave very quickly. We have no power. We can’t find the fucking knives. The mustard is everywhere. And the blue dress – remember that one? – is nowhere to be found, if it still exists. Our saving throws may be all used up. There can be only so many before doom rears its head and causes our final destruction. We’ve been throwing the dice for a very long time with the same result. We saw that ‘thing’ once and immediately knew that it happened, yet we cannot know why. There is some otherworldly function or possibly a set of circumstances that could very well be completely random, or at least derived from feelings we don’t understand. Prior to seeing it right before our very eyes, we felt it... ONCE, that we can recall. There is a strong possibility that the ‘thing’ took place years ago – perhaps in the long past that reaches to the glowing years – but we can’t remember. The details became clear only in recent years. When it happened, we were fucking floored and emotional beyond belief. There was a long, protracted discussion due to the fear that a lack of understanding meant the situation may never come to pass again, or, at least, we would not know when. We are not going to discuss the opposite of the ‘thing’, either. That fact is too difficult to consider and trying to come to terms with such information actually scarred us some years ago. The point is that once we actually saw it happen, we fell completely in love despite a distinct lack of understanding. We have discussed the process with precisely one individual, ever. One. Said individual is gone forever. No, not Her. Another. The main problem with knowing it exists is we are overly saddened because of not knowing how or why it can come to pass, and we need it more than almost anything else in the world. We just need it and have been going through a hell of a time trying to reconcile our feelings. This fucking hurts, bad, and the main reason is that we can’t know ANY FUCKING DETAILS with regard to another individual that may be out there somewhere with all of the knowledge that we need so badly. Someone may actually know how and why the ‘thing’ occurs, yet we will probably continue to be relegated to knowing that it exists and not knowing the reasons. Few aspects of living are worse. We will state straight out that this situation, more than anything else, will most likely be the catalyst that finally drives us to lose it completely. We want that, and we don’t. People near us will be emotionally destroyed. Our power, what little of it there is, can only extend to help us reach for a very short, very ill-advised period of actual comfort, after which we will be forced to relinquish said minuscule power and return to the status quo. Our comfort is and has been an illusion created for the sole purpose of distraction. If we run in some errant direction for the purpose of again realizing the utopia of the ‘thing’, everything around us will crumble and we will be excised from everyday society (even though society is already on a collision course to the end of everything). There are so many factors related to this topic that we can barely consider the process without feeling completely hopeless. No one knows. No one fucking knows. Only us. We saw it happen. We felt it once. That may be the end of it, and if so, we are already more decayed than prior to typing this stupid paragraph. The ‘thing’ is just one more aspect of this menagerie. Marvelous. We installed the new pads on the mighty MDRs, so perhaps we will don them and get set up to further trim the tree in our front yard. The process is often very satisfying, and right now we really need something with the power to fully distract us from reality. Thoughts are all over the place. Trimming for a little while might be just what we need in order to make it through the rest of the day without falling further down due to considering the losses that have been piling up for years. Thinking about everything really hurts at times, and it’s all we can do to avoid complete disaster. Some work outside might do the trick. ‘My eyes were full of love; I could not see.’ Sunday is all around us; fog, driving, returning, coffee. The drive did not yield any problems except having felt crappy prior to leaving. We do not know what is wrong. Even our sleep was troubled. Now we have all the time in the world but may not be able to do much. Like most mornings, this one is fraught with dreams of the past, the ‘thing’, and the purity. We miss too much sometimes. Sunday business will be very light because we planned ahead for the past two days to ensure a relaxing close to the weekend. The only real problem this morning is recalling some very long, beautiful fingers attached to a slender woman that sat next to us at the bar last night prior to moving into the dining room. We had been trying to identify the plate of food and then noticed her hands. That was not good for us at all. Fortunately, we did not sit there very long. The dining room held its own massive issue that we can still see. A girl in a very short dress, just after her birthday dinner. She stood tall because of some heels, and her skin was like olive oil. When she bent to hug one of her (presumed) family members, her lines appeared for a second or two, not four feet from our deviant, hungry eyes. The last roll of the compound curves; the radii which frame the most intimate of spaces. We received a flash of those radii as they diverged upward. After sitting in disbelief for moments, she disappeared (thankfully) and dinner continued. We also began to calculate that remaining home for dinner would have been a better idea, and not just because of those beautiful little curves that screamed at us from the adjacent table. Last night was one of those occasions which found us further paying the fucking tab. It was the blackness and bleak nature of knowing that we sat before some of our very favorite foods and then became robbed of the ability to taste anything. We should know better after all these years. We really should. Sitting in the living room while eating? There is no fear of seeing the real, live diverging lines that lead directly to a woman’s vulva. No chance. Oh, the television can sometimes produce some striking imagery, but none of it is real. Last night, the lines were right there. No pants, just skin. Had we been home, this morning’s torment would have been minimized quite a bit. There is already more than enough to keep us on the wrong side of decency and just north of death. Seeing her beauty so close was one of the worst events in our entire history, and that after living through the barren years while watching the ballgame fade into the past. The failed fantasy was right there... Right fucking there. We should have stood home, to use the vernacular of the gangsters. Home is the safest place for us nearly all of the time. Too many problems are robbing us of enjoying the morning coffee. We REALLY didn’t need to see her last night. The beautiful fingers flew away, though. That’s better than nothing. Believe me... You don’t want to know the rest. Obsessed? Oh, fuck yes. And that long standing obsession peaked last night as it appeared to – and then disappeared from – the most fucked up eyes, ever. Today is not going to be fun. We will not be able to extricate the image enough to concentrate on anything. Yesterday was fine because of the tree work. Today? No such luck. Ten different fucking essays slammed us in the head this morning. Ten. All of them say basically the same thing, but no one else has any idea of what the message is. Not a fucking soul. We have to remain protected because the way we actually think and see the world these days is so fucked up that we simply CANNOT reveal any of it to another human being. Moreover, anything that ends up here must be impossible to understand. Yes, we mentioned the lines and a sampling of our feelings toward them, but that is not so odd. Desire is common, as is gazing at beauty in any form. No big deal. On the inside? Very bad, for two reasons. Neither can be spelled out here. Forget it. Protection. Regardless of how reckless we may think or how bad our condition becomes, safety will remain one of the most important aspects of our days. Jamie: 'There's no such thing as the mafia' We can already see at an early hour that this day is going to go nowhere beyond the typical scope of responsibilities. The mustard will be all over the place, as always, and there is nothing we can do about it. The girl bending and revealing one of the most beautiful, stirring sights in history will not leave our collective consciousness at all. Not even for a second, and that is the primary reason why this day will be lacking in any real progress on many fronts. We keep seeing her move over and over, each act causing a knife to plunge into our hearts. As if the pants were not enough... Shit. Sitting in the restaurant last night was quite informative regarding the state of society and the way people think. We are not referring to the typical practice of staring at phones rather than speaking to each other, but the general lack of decorum and respect for anything ‘nice’. Gym shorts, long athletic socks, cut-off shirts. Several parties were dressed for the dining room, effectively forcing the others to stick out like pathetic sore thumbs. Looking around usually means we are seeking beauty, although there was more than enough of that very close to our booth. That took place toward the end of the visit. Earlier, we were actually floored by the sheer number of patrons displaying zero respect for the dining room. The restaurant is NOT a fucking Denny’s, either. It is right on the edge of being classified as ‘fine dining’, all white tablecloths and napkins, vases with flowers, and an impeccably dressed staff that goes beyond courteous. Those are the norms for that place and the processes have not changed in half a century. We always try to look loyally and match the level of the place, and more and more we are realizing that we’ve become the exception. When it comes to young people, the rules are a bit relaxed because they are supposed to be learning. We will not take issue with children or very young adults, meaning teenagers. They have enough going on with school and parents and trying to find their place in the world, believe us. The problem IS the adults. Children will simply end up chips off the old blocks, as it were. We were nearly appalled looking around the room. It was ridiculous, and if not for the girl that hit us like a fucking freight train, the evening would have been a complete waste of time and money. This shit all goes along with shortened attention spans, the overpowering need for instant gratification and constant entertainment that we have observed increasing at an exponential rate as the years have passed. We have also read about the way society has changed in the face of smartphones and the oft-evil monstrosity and ill-begotten mass that is social media. We understand that people are always going to seek entertainment and often feel as if they need not align with certain long-held traditions in this era of everything in the world being constantly questioned. We get it. We just don’t fucking like it. Our world is tiny, but regardless of how much it has shrunk in recent years, the truth is that the availability of actual escape routes may be even smaller, driven by far too much change. Last night was a prime example of feeling as if WE were the ones on the outside, rather than the reverse. That is not a positive by any means. Those places which we have frequented in the past due to a lack of real change are disappearing at an alarming rate and being replaced by aspects of culture we must avoid. We are not on the outside at all, just not aligned with what society has become. The girl made the evening both horrible and very worthwhile at the same time. Most of what we feel has to be left out, unfortunately, but we can describe the rest of the atmosphere from our point of view, and little of it was good. Well, the atmosphere was better than the sex god slamming us in the head again, but since neither are positive, there is little to be served by trying to lift the situation above what it really was. Further paying off the tab, we suppose. Some of the work is finished. We hit a wall earlier and had to try recovering for a little while. The past caught up again and the lines from the restaurant did the rest. We fell down and slammed the concrete, so the only direction possible quickly became ‘up’. There will be very little work for the rest of the day, though. We just don’t fucking care anymore. The minimum will not be a problem. We have become accustomed to knowing there is not much that can be done, mostly due to us having changed so much. The differences came about because we had been beat up too many times for a full recovery to be possible anymore. The past never goes away, nor does it give up its hold upon us. We shall see where the day leads. The wall is painful. We do not like it one bit. The bleach box of Monday has arrived and is already an improvement over the previous twenty-four hours. Quite a bit, actually, and part of it is the simplicity of actual, restful sleep. Another part is the further separation from our sighting that nearly killed us on Saturday night. The more we think about it, the more we realize how terrible the situation became toward the end of the meal and in the course of mere minutes. Very bad. All of the feelings returned in force and en masse, with us sitting there helpless to do a fucking thing about any of it. Today may end up as mellow as yesterday because of her and our own misgivings. Very little of what we typically do seems worthwhile anymore. The overwhelming importance, satisfaction and fulfillment in life have all been grouped together and buried, possibly for all time. They did this, too. They did it. We pushed, yet no amount of pushing can stop the flood of problems that are born of being disregarded. At least when we become angry, the other side of the feelings does not come to fruition. That would be worse and likely land us in a situation we have feared throughout all of life. It is a huge positive. Blame is one thing, retribution another. We are just not the type to head in such directions. All we do is type words, nothing more. The menagerie ensures we remain in place for further suffering. No other path is available. We will most likely follow the same steps for a typical weekday and then evaluate the mood closer to noon. The house is nice and quiet, the weather beautifully gray and dim. This is reminiscent of the ‘moody’ aspects of sitting on high during 1236 and pondering the nature of society. We can only wish to turn back the clock on how we feel about the same. We had no idea just how nice things were back then. The gradient is horrible to consider. Very little work today or more than yesterday... The jury has been destroyed. We will figure it out soon enough. Seeing the most important aspect of our lives right there not four feet away may have killed any possibility of further direction here. The need was overwhelming; the pain acute. The only way to know how badly we’ve been affected is to await the evening and look back. Right now? No idea. The mustard reminds us of the caverns... All those cold, damp places in which we pondered the way others have railroaded us for so many years, none of them feeling the least bit satisfying or justified. Despite the possibility that we have indeed been paying the tab all this time, the entire picture of life is still severely out of balance. Everything we’ve done for more than twenty years has been in search of subterfuge or some other sort of ‘cover’ in order to shield ourselves and project an image of confidence, the former being much easier because of being intelligent and creative. The latter? Well, that one never really came to pass. All we’ve done is passed the time, stared when we we able, and then reeled from the appearance of so much fucking mustard. On one occasion there was actually a mixture of mustard and grease that yielded yellow and orange at the same time. The combination was most likely on the television screen. That was nearly three and a half years ago, and still we are mired in the same type of thinking and being pushed into the worst type of desperation imaginable. We have been reaching for the knives for so long that the action has become second nature; instinctive, like an automatic defense mechanism. Sometimes the knives appear and then we lose our train of thought, while other times when we have a good grip, the past catches up and we become so fearful that the knives end up dropped to the soil as we once again retreat into the caverns. The wind blows, we sit and stare at the emptiness that is representative of the main, gigantic hole inside, and then we become angry beyond belief and realize that any action during that mood will be too destructive to actually carry out. That becomes the end of it. And then? More mustard, more staring, more thoughts of death. We still end up in that place with the same anger and calculating moods regardless of knowing in advance that the caverns will soon expel our sorry frames and leave us in the mud. Mustard. Due to feeling the way we do right now, there is mental pain beginning to manifest itself physically, and that brings up a memory that has been suppressed for more than nine years. ‘I could fucking kill for this...’ She meant it, too, but the statement that woman uttered to us brings a question to mind that we hesitate to analyze most of the time. It is a difficult question, for sure, yet one that could answer some of the questions from our short and long past. We can’t be certain, however, so anything that appears here in such a direction will likely look like nothing more than a big mess; worse than the mustard, actually. We have little doubt of that shit. Her statement was whispered to us while in the bathroom. At the time, we knew how serious the wording was, yet it took years for us to consider relating that wording to other people from different eras in order to learn if there had been similar feelings. Part of the problem is that we ran into a wall more than once while trying to get the point across of just how damaged we became, and to continue attempting the same would have meant more of the same. Fear developed as our imagination went around the block with possible hellish situations birthing from us pushing for information. That put the fucking kibosh to everything for a very long time. Ah, shit. Now something else came to mind... US Highway 50, eastern Nevada near Mt. Baker That is a new BART car sitting on the trailer, believe it or not In the past when we have mentioned finding the right type of ‘understanding’, there is a connection to the statement above. Not only that, but we end up forced to wonder who feels the same as opposed to those that don’t really care. Hmm. We may be heading in a thoughtful direction right now. The ‘understanding’ has held a pair of meanings and we did not realize it until including that beautiful, haunting statement above. We did not put two and two together. Shit. We will probably sit here and wonder for however long we continue to be alive because there is no such thing as the proper mood or conversation starter which can lead to a real, productive discussion. We are too fearful, anyway, so analyzing here is likely all we will ever have. After watching our words being trivialized and questioned for decades, any more of the same will halt the process entirely. We can’t go back in time, we can’t go into detail, and we have no faith in finding the right type of ears in order to actually learn some things. The most important has already been stated: Who may feel the same and who does not care. As of this moment, there are very few individuals that expressed (or literally demonstrated) the former. The truth is, we can’t really know regardless of what may be said. The result can only be a feeling born of trust. Placation is far too common and we know that we’ve railroaded more people through conversation than we’d care to admit. Knowing our prowess with the words, some may have given up and simply agreed just to avoid a tirade. Yep, we know what we have become after all this time. We cannot be blameless. Whatever the case, moving forward seems about as likely as gazing at that girl’s inner thighs again in this life. See? At least we can be realistic and put everything in perspective. Anyway, the ‘understanding’ is probably another facet of living that will never be fully fleshed out no matter where life takes us. We learned long ago that sometimes there is more than one face involved when discussing deeply personal issues. We’ve seen it... Listening in earnest, the original ‘nice’ face turning and pointing in the opposite direction, and then there we are being forced to endure ridicule and trivialization to no end. That shit became so hurtful, in fact, that we considered burying the problem ourselves just to stifle any possibility of having to listen to any more bullshit. That may have been a bad idea, but it sure was enticing. Two-faced individuals are disposed of more quickly these days than in the past. Had we enjoyed such decisions years ago, the one situation mentioned would have ended very differently than it did. We are beginning to believe there is no way to make this fucking point without using more specific terms. Whatever. Squished; routed; disregarded. And this shit has led to yet another fucking thought... Is there any way to know whether or not we’ve actually been disregarded and placated, or do those involved feel that we’ve been arriving at such conclusions because of a lack of self-esteem or confidence? Is there any way to fucking know? Nope. Maybe all those people calculated that we enjoy creating these situations out of the clear blue sky just to cause problems. That could be the case. Or some of them, anyway. In any case, we can’t know any of this shit for sure, and that is the plain truth. We feel what we feel, turn it out here, and then go one with the days. We can’t know. We won’t know. The only positive is that readership of the site is at an all-time low while the fucking bounce rate is at an all-time high. We need not be concerned beyond the thought that all this may be a galactic waste of time and effort. There is probably nothing more to be found. Do you believe nothing is wrong and we are just being paranoid? Go fuck yourself in a ditch (again). There is plenty wrong here. We already know the power of that sighting the other night was derived from years of being obsessed, and said obsession was born of too many situations to recall at this late date. We can remember feeling sheer amazement when first seeing Marci on the television as she glided away from the camera’s position. We recall staring at lines that somehow appeared directly in front of us way the fuck back in eighty-seven. It could have been the first occurrence of us actually looking straight at that intimate divergence of skin. Too much time has passed to be sure, but that was something very special that carried enough importance for us to still be able to see her (and the purple underwear) all these years later. At some point during the 1236 period, the importance of what we saw became amplified beyond belief. We began to seek imagery which showed off those beautiful lines. Soon after, we wrote that stirring, damaging essay about the girl at the car wash. We lost our minds watching the neighbor walk away from our lunch date at our favorite restaurant because of being obsessed with lines as well as height. We began to record the December fashion shows just to see the models return from the outer center of the runway. Plenty of lines. Fast forward to the year of twenty – yes, soon after we ceased full-time work. That was when the realization that we had been suppressing an inordinate amount of actual, physical desire with regard to seeing lines on display. Throughout the last several years leading up to what happened two days ago, our feelings pointed almost entirely toward specific types of pants that allowed a woman’s true form to show as opposed to everything being hidden away (as it should). Again... Massive desire ensued and caused us to believe there can be no way of truly satiating our feelings. Not anymore. Since those moments in front of the Raven, we have seen but three examples of such beauty right before our hungry eyes. One aspect leads to another, and then another, and in the end we sit right here and type words that can never be enough. No one is aware of the actual level we’ve reached after all this time and with regard to the very specific manner in which we need to see that type of beauty. The Raven may have known, and there has been one other person with whom we’ve discussed the subject, but the truth is we have advanced much since those times, worsening at each step. The girl in the restaurant was very unexpected, extremely rare, and the worst part is that she aligned with not only our obsession with those very private, intimate spaces, but the damaging dreams, as well. Yep. This situation is two-fold fucked and there is not one God damned thing we can do about it. Hence? Sadness and anger. We are inside the sole menagerie that has very possibly been created just for suffering. There is a misnomer (possibly just an incorrect term) involved that we loathe to address. No, not the voodoo bullshit. The other one. Realizing how powerful that girl’s appearance was – primarily due to there being absolutely nothing between our eyes and her lines; the highest order of them – forces us to examine our feelings and how they may affect daily life in the future. The present is pretty fucking bad, and to consider the idea that we will worsen no matter what little positives may come along, our days may have shortened considerably since Saturday night. Moreover, seeing her right there in front of us (she was facing directly away, believe it or not) conjured yet another gradient between how difficult a time we have with the sight and the increasing importance of such things in our minds. The result of that shit is the idea that the obsession and all related torment and desire may usurp our anger over the way we’ve been treated for many years. Unbelievable. So, what the fuck is all this now? A gigantic power shift? There is no way to know. Saturday night was a line in the sand, for sure, and an event that has us thinking more deeply than in a very long time. Despite the appearance of progress here, make no mistake. We are still sad, angry, tormented and full of disdain for nearly every fucking person in existence, not to mention the shitty feelings toward our backward, sheep-laden society. We’ve touched upon being out there among the masses recently, and that horrible line of thinking will not improve anytime soon. Our stance has been solidified beyond belief in recent years with the losses piling upon each other and effectively ruining our view of the world and the way so many important parts therein have been tossed away like so much trash. Some believe to disregard history will lead to a repeat, and we feel the same, although once something beautiful is gone, it cannot return, ever. The loss is chalked up to progress in the name of helping people. What a fucking joke. Is society better off now than thirty years ago? We think not, yet we will not further belabor the point. Plenty has been said in this entry, and these words may only be the beginning of the site becoming much worse than it has appeared in the past. Our little enjoyments are shrinking due to being forced to pay the fucking tab. Our bad decisions and harsh words were born of a need to understand why several very specific situations played out as they did, and we still have very little true information. Hundreds of thousands of lines and millions of words – we know because there is a spreadsheet that has been tallying everything for more than two decades – could have bettered us for the effort, yet much of it has been for naught. The world is worse and so are we. The fruit of life’s tree is still anger and hatred. And if you are one of those who believes that such emotions are a waste of energy better expended in positive directions, you are lying to yourself. Some parts of life that have been painful just never go away. Stop trying. We can still see her olive skin and black dress; heels below that accentuated her gait and stance. We can see very clearly after almost two days. She was indicative of so many fucking problems that even we can’t fully understand or believe ourselves. She was fucking amazing, to be sure, and we are further down the rabbit hole of ‘trying and failing’ to learn why we turned out this way. Each occasion is cumulative; one on top of another. The latest is even worse than the goddess that passed us as we entered the market, and that day was horrible. We shall not look toward the hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit any longer. The only real voodoo is the sex god. Good luck trying to understand that one, dipshits. Good fucking luck. Mustard all over the place. Wind. We are angry, possibly for all time. And speaking of that, the time has come for us to return to the caverns. We have no choice. Others have done this; caused our destruction. We will return there and perhaps learn what may be next. The reckoning is coming, and that is not an idle threat. It is something else." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Voodoo Sex God Menagerie Mature content No. 420 Published August 12th, 2024 10:10am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The voodoo sex god bullshit hath returneth from beyond the realm of the real. Splendid. This is a line, much like all of the ‘Caverns...’ essays, yet much worse and quite different. Put on a helmet because the words will pay no mind to weakness, sentiment, or any other pathetic term that may be applied to this latest mess. Good fucking luck. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’, as the positive, yogurt- and sprout-eating shitfucks who act as if they are constantly optimistic in the face of reality and driven into the ground regardless of such a stance. Death is the only real truth. Everything else is nothing more than a waiting period. Helmet. Safety glasses. Turn back now if you favor yogurt over cheeseburgers. I need to plant my mouth to Nora’s gorgeous, delicate vulva for six fucking weeks straight, or until such time as I die. Vulva. Not the car. Nothing in the world can be as stunningly beautiful as the idea of demonstrating my crippling appreciation for such a genetic fluke. Helmet. That’s as good as this shit is going to get. Another day has burned to ash. Straight into the ash-hole. Gone. The world appears different now. Everything turned on its ear; everything dull; everything full of stench. Over there... Other things; shiny. Over here... The same things; dull. Grayed out. Inoperative, for sure. Where are the knives? Where are the hands? Where is the motivation; the drive? The drive was slow. No, not that drive. The inner drive. I to we, once again. We know not what to do. We feel anger all over again. Just like that other time when everything seemed alright and then we realized nothing was anywhere near such a term; a condition. Maybe we should be drinking colloidal silver instead of coffee. Another day has turned to ash. Gone. The timeline is unidirectional... The seemingly endless progression of events that pushes all of the good away forever. Last night we recalled all sorts of shit, from the end of the glowing years, on through the afterglow, and further forward into the nether regions of dreams we pursued. All of that is gone. Where are the fucking knives? 'Could have.' 'Was not.' 'Did not.' 'Did nothing.' NOT OUR FAULT. Remember that? Of course not. No one does. We were in rare form that day all the way back in aught-eight. Rare fucking form. No, not that kind of form. The other type. Leave it. The lines ring more true right now than we could have imagined all those years ago. This day will not go well for us if we are less than highly careful. This is a sole menagerie for us. ‘Us’. ‘We’. ‘Sole’. Only the voodoo hocus pocus mumbo jumbo bullshit can explain that one. We are in the menagerie. Inside it, as it were. And though we are inside, we are equally outside. Some work has been completed. Work? Eh. We don’t know the full, modern definition anymore. Maybe we never did. Once the knives came out the first time, everything went to shit, including work. And we are having a difficult time considering the MASSIVE differences in attention spans and the way people interact at present versus many years ago. Of course, we realize that the opiate is the smartphone (which is connected to far more than we are capable of reproducing) and there are differing causes to such a situation, but the truth is speaking to another human being in person has become an exercise in patience, often finding one party disregarded in favor of whatever ‘interesting variable reward’ is awaiting them at some point. We must often consider that the advent of so much information availability (an endless amount of entertainment, to be sure) is not their fault, but that of corporations seeking profit. We understand. We just do not want such aspects of these late days plaguing our efforts to connect in reality. We are very disconnected much of the time and our lives have been severely truncated as opposed to what they were just a few years ago. The main reason for such facts is that we fucking noticed the changes taking place. We saw the alteration in attention; the mindless entertainment taking priority over a real, live conversation with another person. We saw the change as it unfolded. Considering the multitude of problems that we had already been experiencing, said change only solidified the old feelings of disconnection and a deep-seated need for solitude. Those feelings date back more than thirty years. Does that mean we were aware of what was going to cause the downfall of society? Of course not. What it does indicate is that we seem to think about the changes more than others which have been near us throughout the last few years. This is the menagerie... The place that is permanently filled with animals bent upon their own entertainment and epicaricacy. Pathetic. The entire topic is fucking pathetic, yet we seem to be alone in such a position. We have tried over and over and fucking over to illustrate the point to others, yet no matter how many examples came along, we failed. Er... We did not fail. They failed. The problem is they are unaware of the failures and subsequent damage inherent in that behavior. There is likely nothing we can do about this. ‘Joy upon evil’. We have gone further. More has been completed. Thursday morning. Broken body; broken heart. This is typical. We know not which way to turn anymore. Life is already over. Treading water for whatever reason. We are doing nothing more than treading water. And there is mustard. Knives? We can’t find them. We are in the sole menagerie... Stuck, seemingly for all time. The work will commence; the work will disappear. We can no longer relate to other people. The roads were built for them and they followed along like dependent sheep. Now they are all the way in. We are not. We are on the outside and do not understand the process of blindingly moving along a path into obscurity, mass-thinking, and the algorithmic systems of the world with nary a thought to possible negative consequences. The entire world is now mired in said consequences and will never find a way out. We will NOT join them, ever. If we can achieve the forest, so be it, and all the better for demonstrating disdain and the idea of complete separation. The control we hold in these late days may be minuscule, yet we can still flex and remain distant in order to confuse those that are already in the largest, most ridiculous bowl of soup imaginable. They are already dead and we are, as well, but at least we know why. They will never know. They will continue a pathetic existence and wander through corridors at the explicit direction of the systems of dominance. We are outside such spheres of influence and continually adjust our position in order to maintain clarity and the full view of what has been the worst and most damaging decline in human history. We may be stuck in a sole menagerie, but the rest are inside a construct from which there is little chance of escape. We shall remain on the outside for as long as possible. We fired and caused the neck of that asshole to explode. Now we must find a way to do the same to the voodoo sex god bullshit figure. The menagerie will remain strong and in charge until such time as we can rise and pull the trigger for a second time. The first was very enjoyable, albeit fictional. That was supposed to be a learning experience, too. It really was. The format was crafted as a release, but from what? Where are we now, several years later? Better? In an improved position? Nope, on both counts. His neck came apart and we are no better for the heartache, fear or effort. We did right by our past trauma. We took control and ousted that piece of shit at the direction of someone whom we loved deeply and another in which we had unwavering trust. We did good. Unfortunately, none of it matters anymore. We are mired; buried in the same shit as before that pivotal event. And the force of society continues to press its advantage. The result of such a combination? We have been relegated to being far too different for anyone to even begin to understand. Thus? We are alone, likely for the duration of the world. The others will continue to wonder what the fuck we have become, and at the same time we will continue to fight against the voodoo and the menagerie. This may all be for naught. Plans? No. Ideas? Few. Power? None. This is Nora’s last episode. We shall miss her as much as we miss all of the others. We will miss her deeply, just as we have for years missed our own sanity. Her beauty may be meaningless in the scheme. That is very sad, yet we know the way of things. We understand the ‘order’ of the world and our place within that fucking shit. In short, we just ‘know’. Broken body; broken heart. Whadja say? Go ahead and ask Tony's opinion. You'll likely end up in a hole in the ground. We can only wish for such power. We have very little of anything good these days. The hour is later and we are no better for the passage. Time to drink. Electric bike number two has been delivered. We shall build and evaluate, just like last time. We are tools, to be sure. We are constantly ‘used’ for technical and technological solutions because others need not put forth the effort. As of yet, we have permanently shut down just one problem. The rest will have to wait. We do not know how to properly handle certain very specific situations, so time must remain at the forefront. As we stated, we will build, evaluate and report our findings to the owner, after which the bike will be picked up, and at that time we will inherit the previous model. Good? Bad? Neither. Just interesting. The booze is flowing like a two-bit whore. When we are used, we relent and then repel. We have no other methods at the present time. Like most other unpleasant aspects of life, our choices have been systematically and permanently removed by force. We need to find a way to push back. Until then, we bide our time. It will pass regardless of our difficulties. ‘I am looking for Lady Gainesborough.’ Yeah, no shit. So are we. Pain. Mustard all over the place. Dreams and visions; bad things falling, flying and floating through us as we work and sleep. One and then the other. Once again, the time is right. The time is flowing. We rarely miss an opportunity to stretch and exercise our eagle eyes and sharpened senses when something takes place, and there was little difference between what transpired yesterday and those events of the last two years. We already know what is going on, as well. There can be no denying the sheer power of one split-second calling, let alone several moments in two different fucking directions. Our eyes became tired, we returned to the project (whatever the fuck that was) on which we’d been focusing, and the ethereal, dreamy nature of the suspicions ran around the world in eighty milliseconds. There was no available saving throw, as usual. The tools came through, like always, and we felt a tinge of pride for a few seconds before all of the damage returned and tore our insides all to shit. Friday can be very nice at times. Today is Friday and we are still in pieces. The imagery and mental motion pictures are lingering and driving us into the ground with all haste. On and on the bullshit goes, with us wondering what the destination and end result may be as the miles roll under our trucks and the clock spins out of control. All morning long, we’ve been subjected to the ridiculous nature of ‘importance’ and ‘caring’ for the benefit of no one. Now that we can consider our own paths and conditions, the pathetic masses can fade away for a little while. We will be within the masses for a little while, all the better for the proceeding hours. Contrast. Context. You should already fucking know, damn it. Context is everything. Car. Highway. Booze. Return. Done. Eighty-four minutes later and here we are, for the duration. We have very little control beyond this slice of technology, so embracing all we have left and holding fast to the last bastion of human endeavor is important. The imagery continues to rip our insides to shreds, as do those beautiful inner motion pictures. Around the deviant world in eighty milliseconds, remember? We placed ourselves within the realm of the past, adjusted for context yet again, and took off for the bad places. Just like the sin... Right where we needed to be. None of it was real. We have been damned; relegated to the most simplistic shit and everyday detritus which had been condescending for so long that the realization is nearly too much to bear. Routed? Squished? All of it can be mixed into the same fucking pathetic, downtrodded, contrived and de-advantageous soup. Pour it all over the place, set it afire, and run away. The reckoning is coming, so be sure to embrace that last directive. The reckoning is coming. We are here for the duration and finding the only comfort that is available on the entire fucking planet, a space we inhabit not by choice, but due to the words, intentions and actions of the sheep and their disciples. Apostles? No way... This place is governed by the self-righteous, no one else. And believe us... They number in the millions. Closer? Count them on two hands. We sliced off a bit. We need to lop off the rest like so many dead limbs. Compost is key. Mustard everywhere. Mustard audio? No, that was blood. Mustard on the cauliflower? Also blood. We could have avoided all of this if the ideas born of cauliflower had come to fruition. We shied away, as we have done for far too long. The reckoning is coming. Mark the words. Mark the thoughts. Fucking mark something. We. Do. Not. Care. About. You. Others destroyed the option. Others. Enemies, all. Mustard. A few items appeared on the porch while we were away this morning, and the gardeners visited. That was good timing. We do not desire seeing anyone in person because the same result that has become doctrine will occur. It always does. We can do anything. That is not to say that we WANT to do anything. Fuck all the way off and then localize your decaying leftovers in a muddy, freezing ditch somewhere beyond reach. Just... GO. We could state that ‘you know who you are’, yet no one knows. We’ve learned to live with a ton of ‘not knowing’ for so long that everything is masked beyond belief. This is what we have become. A big, fat blown kiss to everyone responsible. Thanks, from the bottom of our dead fucking hearts. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of enjoyment; we cannot know because the forces of the way of things disallow our exploration into the nether regions of logical society. Those last two words rarely go together, yet when they do, our intentions, ways of thinking and dreams shut the hell off damned quick. We have yet to find a way of circumventing the world’s ways for our own gain. The truth is, such a process may never happen. If it does, we will relish in the fruits unto death, mark our fucking words. Relish... Half horrible and half wonderful. We’ve gone around and around trying to find a match to our older dreams (we cannot share them with anyone, ever) and still have found zero information as to the ‘when’ and ‘where’ of that story, but at the same time, we can see what he did and the way the situation played out. It was beautiful and comes to mind every fucking time we are floored by the visions. Too much more of this and we are going to break. The mustard will be all over the place. We know what we saw. We just can’t find the original media, any of the actors, or a title. None of the pertinent information that could lead us to see it again after many years – during the 1236 period was when we first glanced with wide-eyed wonder – has been clearly located. The search has taken years from us. We will see them again, turn inward and wander aimlessly while mumbling to ourselves, and then manufacture scenarios again, just like we have for the last few years. The media with the original stirring plans may never be found. Memory is a hell of a challenge sometimes. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of precisely what we have needed for a very long time. The media is not the same. It is merely a placeholder. A day lived; a day burned away. The days come and go and nothing changes because we have been routed and squished for too long. Forty-plus years of shit that have rendered us bereft of hope, hence the moodiness much of the time. Today is Saturday and there is little meaning to the names of the days anymore. No driving; only time to think, good of bad as that may be. The usual will transpire today, along with the new bike leaving and the older model appearing for good. The mood will not allow us to be terribly pleasant during that switch, although we can put up the facade when necessary and then reel from the difficulty while alone, usually just a bit later. We will have to remain vigilant this morning. The visit will fly by (thankfully) and we will be exactly the same. Our mood will have to be shelved for a little while in favor of being completely fucking fake, like always. The technical knowledge came up again, we did what we could, and then the situation dissolved into the night as we contemplated our value within this backward world. We are still considering everything this morning, under gray skies and low mercury. The dimness is reminiscent of that period when we gazed out over the pass and saw tons of rooftops. Back then, there were more possibilities. Now they have waned considerably. We must remain mindful of the fact that we are very different than in the past, and even more different from those who cross our paths. So different that the gradient is striking, even to us. We still do not know of any other way to live. We shall move along, slowly, and continue to seek something better. This mood is exhausting. The only real power is not real Those beautiful visions will come along again. We know it all too well. The dreams will continue, and we will come out the other side a little bit closer to the soil. Death by heartbreak? So be it. We can do nothing about the menagerie, nor can we reconcile ourselves with the truism that is the voodoo god, sex-infused or otherwise. While inside, we will dream of being outside. We shall embrace the differentials as best we can and sit here thinking. Our world is tiny and ever-shrinking. There may be no other way. Work? Done. Booze? It is a-flowin’. Us? Still fucked up beyond all reasonable recognition. We are still capable of working through some obstacles. Better than nothing. We have plans in place for the near future, yet none of them are compelling enough to hold our interest beyond a few minutes. Everything quickly boils down to anger, dissatisfaction and sadness. We remain heartbroken in the knowledge that there are situations around the world – we know not where, but they exist – of which we have dreamed for many years, and the more time that passes, the more dire our condition. The need has become overwhelming, like a cloaked figure bent upon our destruction. Whatever may happen in the future remains unknown, if anything comes along at all. We may end up worsening through the days, weeks, and months regardless of how desperate and/or angry we become. Living inside the sole menagerie is both confounding and heartbreaking. The voodoo cannot help, although it is right there by our side every step of every day. Right there... The hocus pocus is constantly seeking a meaningful connection; one we cannot deny, yet we already know of the ethereal nature of such beliefs. Asking questions and waiting for answers is not enjoyable in the least. We have been waiting far too long to be positive for more than a few microseconds per hour. The thoughts enter and leave very quickly. We have no power. We can’t find the fucking knives. The mustard is everywhere. And the blue dress – remember that one? – is nowhere to be found, if it still exists. Our saving throws may be all used up. There can be only so many before doom rears its head and causes our final destruction. We’ve been throwing the dice for a very long time with the same result. We saw that ‘thing’ once and immediately knew that it happened, yet we cannot know why. There is some otherworldly function or possibly a set of circumstances that could very well be completely random, or at least derived from feelings we don’t understand. Prior to seeing it right before our very eyes, we felt it... ONCE, that we can recall. There is a strong possibility that the ‘thing’ took place years ago – perhaps in the long past that reaches to the glowing years – but we can’t remember. The details became clear only in recent years. When it happened, we were fucking floored and emotional beyond belief. There was a long, protracted discussion due to the fear that a lack of understanding meant the situation may never come to pass again, or, at least, we would not know when. We are not going to discuss the opposite of the ‘thing’, either. That fact is too difficult to consider and trying to come to terms with such information actually scarred us some years ago. The point is that once we actually saw it happen, we fell completely in love despite a distinct lack of understanding. We have discussed the process with precisely one individual, ever. One. Said individual is gone forever. No, not Her. Another. The main problem with knowing it exists is we are overly saddened because of not knowing how or why it can come to pass, and we need it more than almost anything else in the world. We just need it and have been going through a hell of a time trying to reconcile our feelings. This fucking hurts, bad, and the main reason is that we can’t know ANY FUCKING DETAILS with regard to another individual that may be out there somewhere with all of the knowledge that we need so badly. Someone may actually know how and why the ‘thing’ occurs, yet we will probably continue to be relegated to knowing that it exists and not knowing the reasons. Few aspects of living are worse. We will state straight out that this situation, more than anything else, will most likely be the catalyst that finally drives us to lose it completely. We want that, and we don’t. People near us will be emotionally destroyed. Our power, what little of it there is, can only extend to help us reach for a very short, very ill-advised period of actual comfort, after which we will be forced to relinquish said minuscule power and return to the status quo. Our comfort is and has been an illusion created for the sole purpose of distraction. If we run in some errant direction for the purpose of again realizing the utopia of the ‘thing’, everything around us will crumble and we will be excised from everyday society (even though society is already on a collision course to the end of everything). There are so many factors related to this topic that we can barely consider the process without feeling completely hopeless. No one knows. No one fucking knows. Only us. We saw it happen. We felt it once. That may be the end of it, and if so, we are already more decayed than prior to typing this stupid paragraph. The ‘thing’ is just one more aspect of this menagerie. Marvelous. We installed the new pads on the mighty MDRs, so perhaps we will don them and get set up to further trim the tree in our front yard. The process is often very satisfying, and right now we really need something with the power to fully distract us from reality. Thoughts are all over the place. Trimming for a little while might be just what we need in order to make it through the rest of the day without falling further down due to considering the losses that have been piling up for years. Thinking about everything really hurts at times, and it’s all we can do to avoid complete disaster. Some work outside might do the trick. ‘My eyes were full of love; I could not see.’ Sunday is all around us; fog, driving, returning, coffee. The drive did not yield any problems except having felt crappy prior to leaving. We do not know what is wrong. Even our sleep was troubled. Now we have all the time in the world but may not be able to do much. Like most mornings, this one is fraught with dreams of the past, the ‘thing’, and the purity. We miss too much sometimes. Sunday business will be very light because we planned ahead for the past two days to ensure a relaxing close to the weekend. The only real problem this morning is recalling some very long, beautiful fingers attached to a slender woman that sat next to us at the bar last night prior to moving into the dining room. We had been trying to identify the plate of food and then noticed her hands. That was not good for us at all. Fortunately, we did not sit there very long. The dining room held its own massive issue that we can still see. A girl in a very short dress, just after her birthday dinner. She stood tall because of some heels, and her skin was like olive oil. When she bent to hug one of her (presumed) family members, her lines appeared for a second or two, not four feet from our deviant, hungry eyes. The last roll of the compound curves; the radii which frame the most intimate of spaces. We received a flash of those radii as they diverged upward. After sitting in disbelief for moments, she disappeared (thankfully) and dinner continued. We also began to calculate that remaining home for dinner would have been a better idea, and not just because of those beautiful little curves that screamed at us from the adjacent table. Last night was one of those occasions which found us further paying the fucking tab. It was the blackness and bleak nature of knowing that we sat before some of our very favorite foods and then became robbed of the ability to taste anything. We should know better after all these years. We really should. Sitting in the living room while eating? There is no fear of seeing the real, live diverging lines that lead directly to a woman’s vulva. No chance. Oh, the television can sometimes produce some striking imagery, but none of it is real. Last night, the lines were right there. No pants, just skin. Had we been home, this morning’s torment would have been minimized quite a bit. There is already more than enough to keep us on the wrong side of decency and just north of death. Seeing her beauty so close was one of the worst events in our entire history, and that after living through the barren years while watching the ballgame fade into the past. The failed fantasy was right there... Right fucking there. We should have stood home, to use the vernacular of the gangsters. Home is the safest place for us nearly all of the time. Too many problems are robbing us of enjoying the morning coffee. We REALLY didn’t need to see her last night. The beautiful fingers flew away, though. That’s better than nothing. Believe me... You don’t want to know the rest. Obsessed? Oh, fuck yes. And that long standing obsession peaked last night as it appeared to – and then disappeared from – the most fucked up eyes, ever. Today is not going to be fun. We will not be able to extricate the image enough to concentrate on anything. Yesterday was fine because of the tree work. Today? No such luck. Ten different fucking essays slammed us in the head this morning. Ten. All of them say basically the same thing, but no one else has any idea of what the message is. Not a fucking soul. We have to remain protected because the way we actually think and see the world these days is so fucked up that we simply CANNOT reveal any of it to another human being. Moreover, anything that ends up here must be impossible to understand. Yes, we mentioned the lines and a sampling of our feelings toward them, but that is not so odd. Desire is common, as is gazing at beauty in any form. No big deal. On the inside? Very bad, for two reasons. Neither can be spelled out here. Forget it. Protection. Regardless of how reckless we may think or how bad our condition becomes, safety will remain one of the most important aspects of our days. Jamie: 'There's no such thing as the mafia' We can already see at an early hour that this day is going to go nowhere beyond the typical scope of responsibilities. The mustard will be all over the place, as always, and there is nothing we can do about it. The girl bending and revealing one of the most beautiful, stirring sights in history will not leave our collective consciousness at all. Not even for a second, and that is the primary reason why this day will be lacking in any real progress on many fronts. We keep seeing her move over and over, each act causing a knife to plunge into our hearts. As if the pants were not enough... Shit. Sitting in the restaurant last night was quite informative regarding the state of society and the way people think. We are not referring to the typical practice of staring at phones rather than speaking to each other, but the general lack of decorum and respect for anything ‘nice’. Gym shorts, long athletic socks, cut-off shirts. Several parties were dressed for the dining room, effectively forcing the others to stick out like pathetic sore thumbs. Looking around usually means we are seeking beauty, although there was more than enough of that very close to our booth. That took place toward the end of the visit. Earlier, we were actually floored by the sheer number of patrons displaying zero respect for the dining room. The restaurant is NOT a fucking Denny’s, either. It is right on the edge of being classified as ‘fine dining’, all white tablecloths and napkins, vases with flowers, and an impeccably dressed staff that goes beyond courteous. Those are the norms for that place and the processes have not changed in half a century. We always try to look loyally and match the level of the place, and more and more we are realizing that we’ve become the exception. When it comes to young people, the rules are a bit relaxed because they are supposed to be learning. We will not take issue with children or very young adults, meaning teenagers. They have enough going on with school and parents and trying to find their place in the world, believe us. The problem IS the adults. Children will simply end up chips off the old blocks, as it were. We were nearly appalled looking around the room. It was ridiculous, and if not for the girl that hit us like a fucking freight train, the evening would have been a complete waste of time and money. This shit all goes along with shortened attention spans, the overpowering need for instant gratification and constant entertainment that we have observed increasing at an exponential rate as the years have passed. We have also read about the way society has changed in the face of smartphones and the oft-evil monstrosity and ill-begotten mass that is social media. We understand that people are always going to seek entertainment and often feel as if they need not align with certain long-held traditions in this era of everything in the world being constantly questioned. We get it. We just don’t fucking like it. Our world is tiny, but regardless of how much it has shrunk in recent years, the truth is that the availability of actual escape routes may be even smaller, driven by far too much change. Last night was a prime example of feeling as if WE were the ones on the outside, rather than the reverse. That is not a positive by any means. Those places which we have frequented in the past due to a lack of real change are disappearing at an alarming rate and being replaced by aspects of culture we must avoid. We are not on the outside at all, just not aligned with what society has become. The girl made the evening both horrible and very worthwhile at the same time. Most of what we feel has to be left out, unfortunately, but we can describe the rest of the atmosphere from our point of view, and little of it was good. Well, the atmosphere was better than the sex god slamming us in the head again, but since neither are positive, there is little to be served by trying to lift the situation above what it really was. Further paying off the tab, we suppose. Some of the work is finished. We hit a wall earlier and had to try recovering for a little while. The past caught up again and the lines from the restaurant did the rest. We fell down and slammed the concrete, so the only direction possible quickly became ‘up’. There will be very little work for the rest of the day, though. We just don’t fucking care anymore. The minimum will not be a problem. We have become accustomed to knowing there is not much that can be done, mostly due to us having changed so much. The differences came about because we had been beat up too many times for a full recovery to be possible anymore. The past never goes away, nor does it give up its hold upon us. We shall see where the day leads. The wall is painful. We do not like it one bit. The bleach box of Monday has arrived and is already an improvement over the previous twenty-four hours. Quite a bit, actually, and part of it is the simplicity of actual, restful sleep. Another part is the further separation from our sighting that nearly killed us on Saturday night. The more we think about it, the more we realize how terrible the situation became toward the end of the meal and in the course of mere minutes. Very bad. All of the feelings returned in force and en masse, with us sitting there helpless to do a fucking thing about any of it. Today may end up as mellow as yesterday because of her and our own misgivings. Very little of what we typically do seems worthwhile anymore. The overwhelming importance, satisfaction and fulfillment in life have all been grouped together and buried, possibly for all time. They did this, too. They did it. We pushed, yet no amount of pushing can stop the flood of problems that are born of being disregarded. At least when we become angry, the other side of the feelings does not come to fruition. That would be worse and likely land us in a situation we have feared throughout all of life. It is a huge positive. Blame is one thing, retribution another. We are just not the type to head in such directions. All we do is type words, nothing more. The menagerie ensures we remain in place for further suffering. No other path is available. We will most likely follow the same steps for a typical weekday and then evaluate the mood closer to noon. The house is nice and quiet, the weather beautifully gray and dim. This is reminiscent of the ‘moody’ aspects of sitting on high during 1236 and pondering the nature of society. We can only wish to turn back the clock on how we feel about the same. We had no idea just how nice things were back then. The gradient is horrible to consider. Very little work today or more than yesterday... The jury has been destroyed. We will figure it out soon enough. Seeing the most important aspect of our lives right there not four feet away may have killed any possibility of further direction here. The need was overwhelming; the pain acute. The only way to know how badly we’ve been affected is to await the evening and look back. Right now? No idea. The mustard reminds us of the caverns... All those cold, damp places in which we pondered the way others have railroaded us for so many years, none of them feeling the least bit satisfying or justified. Despite the possibility that we have indeed been paying the tab all this time, the entire picture of life is still severely out of balance. Everything we’ve done for more than twenty years has been in search of subterfuge or some other sort of ‘cover’ in order to shield ourselves and project an image of confidence, the former being much easier because of being intelligent and creative. The latter? Well, that one never really came to pass. All we’ve done is passed the time, stared when we we able, and then reeled from the appearance of so much fucking mustard. On one occasion there was actually a mixture of mustard and grease that yielded yellow and orange at the same time. The combination was most likely on the television screen. That was nearly three and a half years ago, and still we are mired in the same type of thinking and being pushed into the worst type of desperation imaginable. We have been reaching for the knives for so long that the action has become second nature; instinctive, like an automatic defense mechanism. Sometimes the knives appear and then we lose our train of thought, while other times when we have a good grip, the past catches up and we become so fearful that the knives end up dropped to the soil as we once again retreat into the caverns. The wind blows, we sit and stare at the emptiness that is representative of the main, gigantic hole inside, and then we become angry beyond belief and realize that any action during that mood will be too destructive to actually carry out. That becomes the end of it. And then? More mustard, more staring, more thoughts of death. We still end up in that place with the same anger and calculating moods regardless of knowing in advance that the caverns will soon expel our sorry frames and leave us in the mud. Mustard. Due to feeling the way we do right now, there is mental pain beginning to manifest itself physically, and that brings up a memory that has been suppressed for more than nine years. ‘I could fucking kill for this...’ She meant it, too, but the statement that woman uttered to us brings a question to mind that we hesitate to analyze most of the time. It is a difficult question, for sure, yet one that could answer some of the questions from our short and long past. We can’t be certain, however, so anything that appears here in such a direction will likely look like nothing more than a big mess; worse than the mustard, actually. We have little doubt of that shit. Her statement was whispered to us while in the bathroom. At the time, we knew how serious the wording was, yet it took years for us to consider relating that wording to other people from different eras in order to learn if there had been similar feelings. Part of the problem is that we ran into a wall more than once while trying to get the point across of just how damaged we became, and to continue attempting the same would have meant more of the same. Fear developed as our imagination went around the block with possible hellish situations birthing from us pushing for information. That put the fucking kibosh to everything for a very long time. Ah, shit. Now something else came to mind... US Highway 50, eastern Nevada near Mt. Baker That is a new BART car sitting on the trailer, believe it or not In the past when we have mentioned finding the right type of ‘understanding’, there is a connection to the statement above. Not only that, but we end up forced to wonder who feels the same as opposed to those that don’t really care. Hmm. We may be heading in a thoughtful direction right now. The ‘understanding’ has held a pair of meanings and we did not realize it until including that beautiful, haunting statement above. We did not put two and two together. Shit. We will probably sit here and wonder for however long we continue to be alive because there is no such thing as the proper mood or conversation starter which can lead to a real, productive discussion. We are too fearful, anyway, so analyzing here is likely all we will ever have. After watching our words being trivialized and questioned for decades, any more of the same will halt the process entirely. We can’t go back in time, we can’t go into detail, and we have no faith in finding the right type of ears in order to actually learn some things. The most important has already been stated: Who may feel the same and who does not care. As of this moment, there are very few individuals that expressed (or literally demonstrated) the former. The truth is, we can’t really know regardless of what may be said. The result can only be a feeling born of trust. Placation is far too common and we know that we’ve railroaded more people through conversation than we’d care to admit. Knowing our prowess with the words, some may have given up and simply agreed just to avoid a tirade. Yep, we know what we have become after all this time. We cannot be blameless. Whatever the case, moving forward seems about as likely as gazing at that girl’s inner thighs again in this life. See? At least we can be realistic and put everything in perspective. Anyway, the ‘understanding’ is probably another facet of living that will never be fully fleshed out no matter where life takes us. We learned long ago that sometimes there is more than one face involved when discussing deeply personal issues. We’ve seen it... Listening in earnest, the original ‘nice’ face turning and pointing in the opposite direction, and then there we are being forced to endure ridicule and trivialization to no end. That shit became so hurtful, in fact, that we considered burying the problem ourselves just to stifle any possibility of having to listen to any more bullshit. That may have been a bad idea, but it sure was enticing. Two-faced individuals are disposed of more quickly these days than in the past. Had we enjoyed such decisions years ago, the one situation mentioned would have ended very differently than it did. We are beginning to believe there is no way to make this fucking point without using more specific terms. Whatever. Squished; routed; disregarded. And this shit has led to yet another fucking thought... Is there any way to know whether or not we’ve actually been disregarded and placated, or do those involved feel that we’ve been arriving at such conclusions because of a lack of self-esteem or confidence? Is there any way to fucking know? Nope. Maybe all those people calculated that we enjoy creating these situations out of the clear blue sky just to cause problems. That could be the case. Or some of them, anyway. In any case, we can’t know any of this shit for sure, and that is the plain truth. We feel what we feel, turn it out here, and then go one with the days. We can’t know. We won’t know. The only positive is that readership of the site is at an all-time low while the fucking bounce rate is at an all-time high. We need not be concerned beyond the thought that all this may be a galactic waste of time and effort. There is probably nothing more to be found. Do you believe nothing is wrong and we are just being paranoid? Go fuck yourself in a ditch (again). There is plenty wrong here. We already know the power of that sighting the other night was derived from years of being obsessed, and said obsession was born of too many situations to recall at this late date. We can remember feeling sheer amazement when first seeing Marci on the television as she glided away from the camera’s position. We recall staring at lines that somehow appeared directly in front of us way the fuck back in eighty-seven. It could have been the first occurrence of us actually looking straight at that intimate divergence of skin. Too much time has passed to be sure, but that was something very special that carried enough importance for us to still be able to see her (and the purple underwear) all these years later. At some point during the 1236 period, the importance of what we saw became amplified beyond belief. We began to seek imagery which showed off those beautiful lines. Soon after, we wrote that stirring, damaging essay about the girl at the car wash. We lost our minds watching the neighbor walk away from our lunch date at our favorite restaurant because of being obsessed with lines as well as height. We began to record the December fashion shows just to see the models return from the outer center of the runway. Plenty of lines. Fast forward to the year of twenty – yes, soon after we ceased full-time work. That was when the realization that we had been suppressing an inordinate amount of actual, physical desire with regard to seeing lines on display. Throughout the last several years leading up to what happened two days ago, our feelings pointed almost entirely toward specific types of pants that allowed a woman’s true form to show as opposed to everything being hidden away (as it should). Again... Massive desire ensued and caused us to believe there can be no way of truly satiating our feelings. Not anymore. Since those moments in front of the Raven, we have seen but three examples of such beauty right before our hungry eyes. One aspect leads to another, and then another, and in the end we sit right here and type words that can never be enough. No one is aware of the actual level we’ve reached after all this time and with regard to the very specific manner in which we need to see that type of beauty. The Raven may have known, and there has been one other person with whom we’ve discussed the subject, but the truth is we have advanced much since those times, worsening at each step. The girl in the restaurant was very unexpected, extremely rare, and the worst part is that she aligned with not only our obsession with those very private, intimate spaces, but the damaging dreams, as well. Yep. This situation is two-fold fucked and there is not one God damned thing we can do about it. Hence? Sadness and anger. We are inside the sole menagerie that has very possibly been created just for suffering. There is a misnomer (possibly just an incorrect term) involved that we loathe to address. No, not the voodoo bullshit. The other one. Realizing how powerful that girl’s appearance was – primarily due to there being absolutely nothing between our eyes and her lines; the highest order of them – forces us to examine our feelings and how they may affect daily life in the future. The present is pretty fucking bad, and to consider the idea that we will worsen no matter what little positives may come along, our days may have shortened considerably since Saturday night. Moreover, seeing her right there in front of us (she was facing directly away, believe it or not) conjured yet another gradient between how difficult a time we have with the sight and the increasing importance of such things in our minds. The result of that shit is the idea that the obsession and all related torment and desire may usurp our anger over the way we’ve been treated for many years. Unbelievable. So, what the fuck is all this now? A gigantic power shift? There is no way to know. Saturday night was a line in the sand, for sure, and an event that has us thinking more deeply than in a very long time. Despite the appearance of progress here, make no mistake. We are still sad, angry, tormented and full of disdain for nearly every fucking person in existence, not to mention the shitty feelings toward our backward, sheep-laden society. We’ve touched upon being out there among the masses recently, and that horrible line of thinking will not improve anytime soon. Our stance has been solidified beyond belief in recent years with the losses piling upon each other and effectively ruining our view of the world and the way so many important parts therein have been tossed away like so much trash. Some believe to disregard history will lead to a repeat, and we feel the same, although once something beautiful is gone, it cannot return, ever. The loss is chalked up to progress in the name of helping people. What a fucking joke. Is society better off now than thirty years ago? We think not, yet we will not further belabor the point. Plenty has been said in this entry, and these words may only be the beginning of the site becoming much worse than it has appeared in the past. Our little enjoyments are shrinking due to being forced to pay the fucking tab. Our bad decisions and harsh words were born of a need to understand why several very specific situations played out as they did, and we still have very little true information. Hundreds of thousands of lines and millions of words – we know because there is a spreadsheet that has been tallying everything for more than two decades – could have bettered us for the effort, yet much of it has been for naught. The world is worse and so are we. The fruit of life’s tree is still anger and hatred. And if you are one of those who believes that such emotions are a waste of energy better expended in positive directions, you are lying to yourself. Some parts of life that have been painful just never go away. Stop trying. We can still see her olive skin and black dress; heels below that accentuated her gait and stance. We can see very clearly after almost two days. She was indicative of so many fucking problems that even we can’t fully understand or believe ourselves. She was fucking amazing, to be sure, and we are further down the rabbit hole of ‘trying and failing’ to learn why we turned out this way. Each occasion is cumulative; one on top of another. The latest is even worse than the goddess that passed us as we entered the market, and that day was horrible. We shall not look toward the hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit any longer. The only real voodoo is the sex god. Good luck trying to understand that one, dipshits. Good fucking luck. Mustard all over the place. Wind. We are angry, possibly for all time. And speaking of that, the time has come for us to return to the caverns. We have no choice. Others have done this; caused our destruction. We will return there and perhaps learn what may be next. The reckoning is coming, and that is not an idle threat. It is something else."
Voodoo Sex God Menagerie
Mature content No. 420 Published August 12th, 2024 10:10am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"The voodoo sex god bullshit hath returneth from beyond the realm of the real. Splendid. This is a line, much like all of the ‘Caverns...’ essays, yet much worse and quite different. Put on a helmet because the words will pay no mind to weakness, sentiment, or any other pathetic term that may be applied to this latest mess. Good fucking luck. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’, as the positive, yogurt- and sprout-eating shitfucks who act as if they are constantly optimistic in the face of reality and driven into the ground regardless of such a stance. Death is the only real truth. Everything else is nothing more than a waiting period. Helmet. Safety glasses. Turn back now if you favor yogurt over cheeseburgers. I need to plant my mouth to Nora’s gorgeous, delicate vulva for six fucking weeks straight, or until such time as I die. Vulva. Not the car. Nothing in the world can be as stunningly beautiful as the idea of demonstrating my crippling appreciation for such a genetic fluke. Helmet. That’s as good as this shit is going to get. Another day has burned to ash. Straight into the ash-hole. Gone. The world appears different now. Everything turned on its ear; everything dull; everything full of stench. Over there... Other things; shiny. Over here... The same things; dull. Grayed out. Inoperative, for sure. Where are the knives? Where are the hands? Where is the motivation; the drive? The drive was slow. No, not that drive. The inner drive. I to we, once again. We know not what to do. We feel anger all over again. Just like that other time when everything seemed alright and then we realized nothing was anywhere near such a term; a condition. Maybe we should be drinking colloidal silver instead of coffee. Another day has turned to ash. Gone. The timeline is unidirectional... The seemingly endless progression of events that pushes all of the good away forever. Last night we recalled all sorts of shit, from the end of the glowing years, on through the afterglow, and further forward into the nether regions of dreams we pursued. All of that is gone. Where are the fucking knives? 'Could have.' 'Was not.' 'Did not.' 'Did nothing.' NOT OUR FAULT. Remember that? Of course not. No one does. We were in rare form that day all the way back in aught-eight. Rare fucking form. No, not that kind of form. The other type. Leave it. The lines ring more true right now than we could have imagined all those years ago. This day will not go well for us if we are less than highly careful. This is a sole menagerie for us. ‘Us’. ‘We’. ‘Sole’. Only the voodoo hocus pocus mumbo jumbo bullshit can explain that one. We are in the menagerie. Inside it, as it were. And though we are inside, we are equally outside. Some work has been completed. Work? Eh. We don’t know the full, modern definition anymore. Maybe we never did. Once the knives came out the first time, everything went to shit, including work. And we are having a difficult time considering the MASSIVE differences in attention spans and the way people interact at present versus many years ago. Of course, we realize that the opiate is the smartphone (which is connected to far more than we are capable of reproducing) and there are differing causes to such a situation, but the truth is speaking to another human being in person has become an exercise in patience, often finding one party disregarded in favor of whatever ‘interesting variable reward’ is awaiting them at some point. We must often consider that the advent of so much information availability (an endless amount of entertainment, to be sure) is not their fault, but that of corporations seeking profit. We understand. We just do not want such aspects of these late days plaguing our efforts to connect in reality. We are very disconnected much of the time and our lives have been severely truncated as opposed to what they were just a few years ago. The main reason for such facts is that we fucking noticed the changes taking place. We saw the alteration in attention; the mindless entertainment taking priority over a real, live conversation with another person. We saw the change as it unfolded. Considering the multitude of problems that we had already been experiencing, said change only solidified the old feelings of disconnection and a deep-seated need for solitude. Those feelings date back more than thirty years. Does that mean we were aware of what was going to cause the downfall of society? Of course not. What it does indicate is that we seem to think about the changes more than others which have been near us throughout the last few years. This is the menagerie... The place that is permanently filled with animals bent upon their own entertainment and epicaricacy. Pathetic. The entire topic is fucking pathetic, yet we seem to be alone in such a position. We have tried over and over and fucking over to illustrate the point to others, yet no matter how many examples came along, we failed. Er... We did not fail. They failed. The problem is they are unaware of the failures and subsequent damage inherent in that behavior. There is likely nothing we can do about this. ‘Joy upon evil’. We have gone further. More has been completed. Thursday morning. Broken body; broken heart. This is typical. We know not which way to turn anymore. Life is already over. Treading water for whatever reason. We are doing nothing more than treading water. And there is mustard. Knives? We can’t find them. We are in the sole menagerie... Stuck, seemingly for all time. The work will commence; the work will disappear. We can no longer relate to other people. The roads were built for them and they followed along like dependent sheep. Now they are all the way in. We are not. We are on the outside and do not understand the process of blindingly moving along a path into obscurity, mass-thinking, and the algorithmic systems of the world with nary a thought to possible negative consequences. The entire world is now mired in said consequences and will never find a way out. We will NOT join them, ever. If we can achieve the forest, so be it, and all the better for demonstrating disdain and the idea of complete separation. The control we hold in these late days may be minuscule, yet we can still flex and remain distant in order to confuse those that are already in the largest, most ridiculous bowl of soup imaginable. They are already dead and we are, as well, but at least we know why. They will never know. They will continue a pathetic existence and wander through corridors at the explicit direction of the systems of dominance. We are outside such spheres of influence and continually adjust our position in order to maintain clarity and the full view of what has been the worst and most damaging decline in human history. We may be stuck in a sole menagerie, but the rest are inside a construct from which there is little chance of escape. We shall remain on the outside for as long as possible. We fired and caused the neck of that asshole to explode. Now we must find a way to do the same to the voodoo sex god bullshit figure. The menagerie will remain strong and in charge until such time as we can rise and pull the trigger for a second time. The first was very enjoyable, albeit fictional. That was supposed to be a learning experience, too. It really was. The format was crafted as a release, but from what? Where are we now, several years later? Better? In an improved position? Nope, on both counts. His neck came apart and we are no better for the heartache, fear or effort. We did right by our past trauma. We took control and ousted that piece of shit at the direction of someone whom we loved deeply and another in which we had unwavering trust. We did good. Unfortunately, none of it matters anymore. We are mired; buried in the same shit as before that pivotal event. And the force of society continues to press its advantage. The result of such a combination? We have been relegated to being far too different for anyone to even begin to understand. Thus? We are alone, likely for the duration of the world. The others will continue to wonder what the fuck we have become, and at the same time we will continue to fight against the voodoo and the menagerie. This may all be for naught. Plans? No. Ideas? Few. Power? None. This is Nora’s last episode. We shall miss her as much as we miss all of the others. We will miss her deeply, just as we have for years missed our own sanity. Her beauty may be meaningless in the scheme. That is very sad, yet we know the way of things. We understand the ‘order’ of the world and our place within that fucking shit. In short, we just ‘know’. Broken body; broken heart.
Whadja say?
Go ahead and ask Tony's opinion. You'll likely end up in a hole in the ground. We can only wish for such power. We have very little of anything good these days. The hour is later and we are no better for the passage. Time to drink. Electric bike number two has been delivered. We shall build and evaluate, just like last time. We are tools, to be sure. We are constantly ‘used’ for technical and technological solutions because others need not put forth the effort. As of yet, we have permanently shut down just one problem. The rest will have to wait. We do not know how to properly handle certain very specific situations, so time must remain at the forefront. As we stated, we will build, evaluate and report our findings to the owner, after which the bike will be picked up, and at that time we will inherit the previous model. Good? Bad? Neither. Just interesting. The booze is flowing like a two-bit whore. When we are used, we relent and then repel. We have no other methods at the present time. Like most other unpleasant aspects of life, our choices have been systematically and permanently removed by force. We need to find a way to push back. Until then, we bide our time. It will pass regardless of our difficulties. ‘I am looking for Lady Gainesborough.’ Yeah, no shit. So are we. Pain. Mustard all over the place. Dreams and visions; bad things falling, flying and floating through us as we work and sleep. One and then the other. Once again, the time is right. The time is flowing. We rarely miss an opportunity to stretch and exercise our eagle eyes and sharpened senses when something takes place, and there was little difference between what transpired yesterday and those events of the last two years. We already know what is going on, as well. There can be no denying the sheer power of one split-second calling, let alone several moments in two different fucking directions. Our eyes became tired, we returned to the project (whatever the fuck that was) on which we’d been focusing, and the ethereal, dreamy nature of the suspicions ran around the world in eighty milliseconds. There was no available saving throw, as usual. The tools came through, like always, and we felt a tinge of pride for a few seconds before all of the damage returned and tore our insides all to shit. Friday can be very nice at times. Today is Friday and we are still in pieces. The imagery and mental motion pictures are lingering and driving us into the ground with all haste. On and on the bullshit goes, with us wondering what the destination and end result may be as the miles roll under our trucks and the clock spins out of control. All morning long, we’ve been subjected to the ridiculous nature of ‘importance’ and ‘caring’ for the benefit of no one. Now that we can consider our own paths and conditions, the pathetic masses can fade away for a little while. We will be within the masses for a little while, all the better for the proceeding hours. Contrast. Context. You should already fucking know, damn it. Context is everything. Car. Highway. Booze. Return. Done. Eighty-four minutes later and here we are, for the duration. We have very little control beyond this slice of technology, so embracing all we have left and holding fast to the last bastion of human endeavor is important. The imagery continues to rip our insides to shreds, as do those beautiful inner motion pictures. Around the deviant world in eighty milliseconds, remember? We placed ourselves within the realm of the past, adjusted for context yet again, and took off for the bad places. Just like the sin... Right where we needed to be. None of it was real. We have been damned; relegated to the most simplistic shit and everyday detritus which had been condescending for so long that the realization is nearly too much to bear. Routed? Squished? All of it can be mixed into the same fucking pathetic, downtrodded, contrived and de-advantageous soup. Pour it all over the place, set it afire, and run away. The reckoning is coming, so be sure to embrace that last directive. The reckoning is coming. We are here for the duration and finding the only comfort that is available on the entire fucking planet, a space we inhabit not by choice, but due to the words, intentions and actions of the sheep and their disciples. Apostles? No way... This place is governed by the self-righteous, no one else. And believe us... They number in the millions. Closer? Count them on two hands. We sliced off a bit. We need to lop off the rest like so many dead limbs. Compost is key. Mustard everywhere. Mustard audio? No, that was blood. Mustard on the cauliflower? Also blood. We could have avoided all of this if the ideas born of cauliflower had come to fruition. We shied away, as we have done for far too long. The reckoning is coming. Mark the words. Mark the thoughts. Fucking mark something. We. Do. Not. Care. About. You. Others destroyed the option. Others. Enemies, all. Mustard. A few items appeared on the porch while we were away this morning, and the gardeners visited. That was good timing. We do not desire seeing anyone in person because the same result that has become doctrine will occur. It always does. We can do anything. That is not to say that we WANT to do anything. Fuck all the way off and then localize your decaying leftovers in a muddy, freezing ditch somewhere beyond reach. Just... GO. We could state that ‘you know who you are’, yet no one knows. We’ve learned to live with a ton of ‘not knowing’ for so long that everything is masked beyond belief. This is what we have become. A big, fat blown kiss to everyone responsible. Thanks, from the bottom of our dead fucking hearts. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of enjoyment; we cannot know because the forces of the way of things disallow our exploration into the nether regions of logical society. Those last two words rarely go together, yet when they do, our intentions, ways of thinking and dreams shut the hell off damned quick. We have yet to find a way of circumventing the world’s ways for our own gain. The truth is, such a process may never happen. If it does, we will relish in the fruits unto death, mark our fucking words. Relish... Half horrible and half wonderful. We’ve gone around and around trying to find a match to our older dreams (we cannot share them with anyone, ever) and still have found zero information as to the ‘when’ and ‘where’ of that story, but at the same time, we can see what he did and the way the situation played out. It was beautiful and comes to mind every fucking time we are floored by the visions. Too much more of this and we are going to break. The mustard will be all over the place. We know what we saw. We just can’t find the original media, any of the actors, or a title. None of the pertinent information that could lead us to see it again after many years – during the 1236 period was when we first glanced with wide-eyed wonder – has been clearly located. The search has taken years from us. We will see them again, turn inward and wander aimlessly while mumbling to ourselves, and then manufacture scenarios again, just like we have for the last few years. The media with the original stirring plans may never be found. Memory is a hell of a challenge sometimes. Wondrous beauty... The appearance of precisely what we have needed for a very long time. The media is not the same. It is merely a placeholder. A day lived; a day burned away. The days come and go and nothing changes because we have been routed and squished for too long. Forty-plus years of shit that have rendered us bereft of hope, hence the moodiness much of the time. Today is Saturday and there is little meaning to the names of the days anymore. No driving; only time to think, good of bad as that may be. The usual will transpire today, along with the new bike leaving and the older model appearing for good. The mood will not allow us to be terribly pleasant during that switch, although we can put up the facade when necessary and then reel from the difficulty while alone, usually just a bit later. We will have to remain vigilant this morning. The visit will fly by (thankfully) and we will be exactly the same. Our mood will have to be shelved for a little while in favor of being completely fucking fake, like always. The technical knowledge came up again, we did what we could, and then the situation dissolved into the night as we contemplated our value within this backward world. We are still considering everything this morning, under gray skies and low mercury. The dimness is reminiscent of that period when we gazed out over the pass and saw tons of rooftops. Back then, there were more possibilities. Now they have waned considerably. We must remain mindful of the fact that we are very different than in the past, and even more different from those who cross our paths. So different that the gradient is striking, even to us. We still do not know of any other way to live. We shall move along, slowly, and continue to seek something better. This mood is exhausting.
The only real power is not real
Those beautiful visions will come along again. We know it all too well. The dreams will continue, and we will come out the other side a little bit closer to the soil. Death by heartbreak? So be it. We can do nothing about the menagerie, nor can we reconcile ourselves with the truism that is the voodoo god, sex-infused or otherwise. While inside, we will dream of being outside. We shall embrace the differentials as best we can and sit here thinking. Our world is tiny and ever-shrinking. There may be no other way. Work? Done. Booze? It is a-flowin’. Us? Still fucked up beyond all reasonable recognition. We are still capable of working through some obstacles. Better than nothing. We have plans in place for the near future, yet none of them are compelling enough to hold our interest beyond a few minutes. Everything quickly boils down to anger, dissatisfaction and sadness. We remain heartbroken in the knowledge that there are situations around the world – we know not where, but they exist – of which we have dreamed for many years, and the more time that passes, the more dire our condition. The need has become overwhelming, like a cloaked figure bent upon our destruction. Whatever may happen in the future remains unknown, if anything comes along at all. We may end up worsening through the days, weeks, and months regardless of how desperate and/or angry we become. Living inside the sole menagerie is both confounding and heartbreaking. The voodoo cannot help, although it is right there by our side every step of every day. Right there... The hocus pocus is constantly seeking a meaningful connection; one we cannot deny, yet we already know of the ethereal nature of such beliefs. Asking questions and waiting for answers is not enjoyable in the least. We have been waiting far too long to be positive for more than a few microseconds per hour. The thoughts enter and leave very quickly. We have no power. We can’t find the fucking knives. The mustard is everywhere. And the blue dress – remember that one? – is nowhere to be found, if it still exists. Our saving throws may be all used up. There can be only so many before doom rears its head and causes our final destruction. We’ve been throwing the dice for a very long time with the same result. We saw that ‘thing’ once and immediately knew that it happened, yet we cannot know why. There is some otherworldly function or possibly a set of circumstances that could very well be completely random, or at least derived from feelings we don’t understand. Prior to seeing it right before our very eyes, we felt it... ONCE, that we can recall. There is a strong possibility that the ‘thing’ took place years ago – perhaps in the long past that reaches to the glowing years – but we can’t remember. The details became clear only in recent years. When it happened, we were fucking floored and emotional beyond belief. There was a long, protracted discussion due to the fear that a lack of understanding meant the situation may never come to pass again, or, at least, we would not know when. We are not going to discuss the opposite of the ‘thing’, either. That fact is too difficult to consider and trying to come to terms with such information actually scarred us some years ago. The point is that once we actually saw it happen, we fell completely in love despite a distinct lack of understanding. We have discussed the process with precisely one individual, ever. One. Said individual is gone forever. No, not Her. Another. The main problem with knowing it exists is we are overly saddened because of not knowing how or why it can come to pass, and we need it more than almost anything else in the world. We just need it and have been going through a hell of a time trying to reconcile our feelings. This fucking hurts, bad, and the main reason is that we can’t know ANY FUCKING DETAILS with regard to another individual that may be out there somewhere with all of the knowledge that we need so badly. Someone may actually know how and why the ‘thing’ occurs, yet we will probably continue to be relegated to knowing that it exists and not knowing the reasons. Few aspects of living are worse. We will state straight out that this situation, more than anything else, will most likely be the catalyst that finally drives us to lose it completely. We want that, and we don’t. People near us will be emotionally destroyed. Our power, what little of it there is, can only extend to help us reach for a very short, very ill-advised period of actual comfort, after which we will be forced to relinquish said minuscule power and return to the status quo. Our comfort is and has been an illusion created for the sole purpose of distraction. If we run in some errant direction for the purpose of again realizing the utopia of the ‘thing’, everything around us will crumble and we will be excised from everyday society (even though society is already on a collision course to the end of everything). There are so many factors related to this topic that we can barely consider the process without feeling completely hopeless. No one knows. No one fucking knows. Only us. We saw it happen. We felt it once. That may be the end of it, and if so, we are already more decayed than prior to typing this stupid paragraph. The ‘thing’ is just one more aspect of this menagerie. Marvelous. We installed the new pads on the mighty MDRs, so perhaps we will don them and get set up to further trim the tree in our front yard. The process is often very satisfying, and right now we really need something with the power to fully distract us from reality. Thoughts are all over the place. Trimming for a little while might be just what we need in order to make it through the rest of the day without falling further down due to considering the losses that have been piling up for years. Thinking about everything really hurts at times, and it’s all we can do to avoid complete disaster. Some work outside might do the trick. ‘My eyes were full of love; I could not see.’ Sunday is all around us; fog, driving, returning, coffee. The drive did not yield any problems except having felt crappy prior to leaving. We do not know what is wrong. Even our sleep was troubled. Now we have all the time in the world but may not be able to do much. Like most mornings, this one is fraught with dreams of the past, the ‘thing’, and the purity. We miss too much sometimes. Sunday business will be very light because we planned ahead for the past two days to ensure a relaxing close to the weekend. The only real problem this morning is recalling some very long, beautiful fingers attached to a slender woman that sat next to us at the bar last night prior to moving into the dining room. We had been trying to identify the plate of food and then noticed her hands. That was not good for us at all. Fortunately, we did not sit there very long. The dining room held its own massive issue that we can still see. A girl in a very short dress, just after her birthday dinner. She stood tall because of some heels, and her skin was like olive oil. When she bent to hug one of her (presumed) family members, her lines appeared for a second or two, not four feet from our deviant, hungry eyes. The last roll of the compound curves; the radii which frame the most intimate of spaces. We received a flash of those radii as they diverged upward. After sitting in disbelief for moments, she disappeared (thankfully) and dinner continued. We also began to calculate that remaining home for dinner would have been a better idea, and not just because of those beautiful little curves that screamed at us from the adjacent table. Last night was one of those occasions which found us further paying the fucking tab. It was the blackness and bleak nature of knowing that we sat before some of our very favorite foods and then became robbed of the ability to taste anything. We should know better after all these years. We really should. Sitting in the living room while eating? There is no fear of seeing the real, live diverging lines that lead directly to a woman’s vulva. No chance. Oh, the television can sometimes produce some striking imagery, but none of it is real. Last night, the lines were right there. No pants, just skin. Had we been home, this morning’s torment would have been minimized quite a bit. There is already more than enough to keep us on the wrong side of decency and just north of death. Seeing her beauty so close was one of the worst events in our entire history, and that after living through the barren years while watching the ballgame fade into the past. The failed fantasy was right there... Right fucking there. We should have stood home, to use the vernacular of the gangsters. Home is the safest place for us nearly all of the time. Too many problems are robbing us of enjoying the morning coffee. We REALLY didn’t need to see her last night. The beautiful fingers flew away, though. That’s better than nothing. Believe me... You don’t want to know the rest. Obsessed? Oh, fuck yes. And that long standing obsession peaked last night as it appeared to – and then disappeared from – the most fucked up eyes, ever. Today is not going to be fun. We will not be able to extricate the image enough to concentrate on anything. Yesterday was fine because of the tree work. Today? No such luck. Ten different fucking essays slammed us in the head this morning. Ten. All of them say basically the same thing, but no one else has any idea of what the message is. Not a fucking soul. We have to remain protected because the way we actually think and see the world these days is so fucked up that we simply CANNOT reveal any of it to another human being. Moreover, anything that ends up here must be impossible to understand. Yes, we mentioned the lines and a sampling of our feelings toward them, but that is not so odd. Desire is common, as is gazing at beauty in any form. No big deal. On the inside? Very bad, for two reasons. Neither can be spelled out here. Forget it. Protection. Regardless of how reckless we may think or how bad our condition becomes, safety will remain one of the most important aspects of our days.
Jamie: 'There's no such thing as the mafia'
We can already see at an early hour that this day is going to go nowhere beyond the typical scope of responsibilities. The mustard will be all over the place, as always, and there is nothing we can do about it. The girl bending and revealing one of the most beautiful, stirring sights in history will not leave our collective consciousness at all. Not even for a second, and that is the primary reason why this day will be lacking in any real progress on many fronts. We keep seeing her move over and over, each act causing a knife to plunge into our hearts. As if the pants were not enough... Shit. Sitting in the restaurant last night was quite informative regarding the state of society and the way people think. We are not referring to the typical practice of staring at phones rather than speaking to each other, but the general lack of decorum and respect for anything ‘nice’. Gym shorts, long athletic socks, cut-off shirts. Several parties were dressed for the dining room, effectively forcing the others to stick out like pathetic sore thumbs. Looking around usually means we are seeking beauty, although there was more than enough of that very close to our booth. That took place toward the end of the visit. Earlier, we were actually floored by the sheer number of patrons displaying zero respect for the dining room. The restaurant is NOT a fucking Denny’s, either. It is right on the edge of being classified as ‘fine dining’, all white tablecloths and napkins, vases with flowers, and an impeccably dressed staff that goes beyond courteous. Those are the norms for that place and the processes have not changed in half a century. We always try to look loyally and match the level of the place, and more and more we are realizing that we’ve become the exception. When it comes to young people, the rules are a bit relaxed because they are supposed to be learning. We will not take issue with children or very young adults, meaning teenagers. They have enough going on with school and parents and trying to find their place in the world, believe us. The problem IS the adults. Children will simply end up chips off the old blocks, as it were. We were nearly appalled looking around the room. It was ridiculous, and if not for the girl that hit us like a fucking freight train, the evening would have been a complete waste of time and money. This shit all goes along with shortened attention spans, the overpowering need for instant gratification and constant entertainment that we have observed increasing at an exponential rate as the years have passed. We have also read about the way society has changed in the face of smartphones and the oft-evil monstrosity and ill-begotten mass that is social media. We understand that people are always going to seek entertainment and often feel as if they need not align with certain long-held traditions in this era of everything in the world being constantly questioned. We get it. We just don’t fucking like it. Our world is tiny, but regardless of how much it has shrunk in recent years, the truth is that the availability of actual escape routes may be even smaller, driven by far too much change. Last night was a prime example of feeling as if WE were the ones on the outside, rather than the reverse. That is not a positive by any means. Those places which we have frequented in the past due to a lack of real change are disappearing at an alarming rate and being replaced by aspects of culture we must avoid. We are not on the outside at all, just not aligned with what society has become. The girl made the evening both horrible and very worthwhile at the same time. Most of what we feel has to be left out, unfortunately, but we can describe the rest of the atmosphere from our point of view, and little of it was good. Well, the atmosphere was better than the sex god slamming us in the head again, but since neither are positive, there is little to be served by trying to lift the situation above what it really was. Further paying off the tab, we suppose. Some of the work is finished. We hit a wall earlier and had to try recovering for a little while. The past caught up again and the lines from the restaurant did the rest. We fell down and slammed the concrete, so the only direction possible quickly became ‘up’. There will be very little work for the rest of the day, though. We just don’t fucking care anymore. The minimum will not be a problem. We have become accustomed to knowing there is not much that can be done, mostly due to us having changed so much. The differences came about because we had been beat up too many times for a full recovery to be possible anymore. The past never goes away, nor does it give up its hold upon us. We shall see where the day leads. The wall is painful. We do not like it one bit. The bleach box of Monday has arrived and is already an improvement over the previous twenty-four hours. Quite a bit, actually, and part of it is the simplicity of actual, restful sleep. Another part is the further separation from our sighting that nearly killed us on Saturday night. The more we think about it, the more we realize how terrible the situation became toward the end of the meal and in the course of mere minutes. Very bad. All of the feelings returned in force and en masse, with us sitting there helpless to do a fucking thing about any of it. Today may end up as mellow as yesterday because of her and our own misgivings. Very little of what we typically do seems worthwhile anymore. The overwhelming importance, satisfaction and fulfillment in life have all been grouped together and buried, possibly for all time. They did this, too. They did it. We pushed, yet no amount of pushing can stop the flood of problems that are born of being disregarded. At least when we become angry, the other side of the feelings does not come to fruition. That would be worse and likely land us in a situation we have feared throughout all of life. It is a huge positive. Blame is one thing, retribution another. We are just not the type to head in such directions. All we do is type words, nothing more. The menagerie ensures we remain in place for further suffering. No other path is available. We will most likely follow the same steps for a typical weekday and then evaluate the mood closer to noon. The house is nice and quiet, the weather beautifully gray and dim. This is reminiscent of the ‘moody’ aspects of sitting on high during 1236 and pondering the nature of society. We can only wish to turn back the clock on how we feel about the same. We had no idea just how nice things were back then. The gradient is horrible to consider. Very little work today or more than yesterday... The jury has been destroyed. We will figure it out soon enough. Seeing the most important aspect of our lives right there not four feet away may have killed any possibility of further direction here. The need was overwhelming; the pain acute. The only way to know how badly we’ve been affected is to await the evening and look back. Right now? No idea. The mustard reminds us of the caverns... All those cold, damp places in which we pondered the way others have railroaded us for so many years, none of them feeling the least bit satisfying or justified. Despite the possibility that we have indeed been paying the tab all this time, the entire picture of life is still severely out of balance. Everything we’ve done for more than twenty years has been in search of subterfuge or some other sort of ‘cover’ in order to shield ourselves and project an image of confidence, the former being much easier because of being intelligent and creative. The latter? Well, that one never really came to pass. All we’ve done is passed the time, stared when we we able, and then reeled from the appearance of so much fucking mustard. On one occasion there was actually a mixture of mustard and grease that yielded yellow and orange at the same time. The combination was most likely on the television screen. That was nearly three and a half years ago, and still we are mired in the same type of thinking and being pushed into the worst type of desperation imaginable. We have been reaching for the knives for so long that the action has become second nature; instinctive, like an automatic defense mechanism. Sometimes the knives appear and then we lose our train of thought, while other times when we have a good grip, the past catches up and we become so fearful that the knives end up dropped to the soil as we once again retreat into the caverns. The wind blows, we sit and stare at the emptiness that is representative of the main, gigantic hole inside, and then we become angry beyond belief and realize that any action during that mood will be too destructive to actually carry out. That becomes the end of it. And then? More mustard, more staring, more thoughts of death. We still end up in that place with the same anger and calculating moods regardless of knowing in advance that the caverns will soon expel our sorry frames and leave us in the mud. Mustard. Due to feeling the way we do right now, there is mental pain beginning to manifest itself physically, and that brings up a memory that has been suppressed for more than nine years. ‘I could fucking kill for this...’ She meant it, too, but the statement that woman uttered to us brings a question to mind that we hesitate to analyze most of the time. It is a difficult question, for sure, yet one that could answer some of the questions from our short and long past. We can’t be certain, however, so anything that appears here in such a direction will likely look like nothing more than a big mess; worse than the mustard, actually. We have little doubt of that shit. Her statement was whispered to us while in the bathroom. At the time, we knew how serious the wording was, yet it took years for us to consider relating that wording to other people from different eras in order to learn if there had been similar feelings. Part of the problem is that we ran into a wall more than once while trying to get the point across of just how damaged we became, and to continue attempting the same would have meant more of the same. Fear developed as our imagination went around the block with possible hellish situations birthing from us pushing for information. That put the fucking kibosh to everything for a very long time. Ah, shit. Now something else came to mind...
US Highway 50, eastern Nevada near Mt. Baker That is a new BART car sitting on the trailer, believe it or not
In the past when we have mentioned finding the right type of ‘understanding’, there is a connection to the statement above. Not only that, but we end up forced to wonder who feels the same as opposed to those that don’t really care. Hmm. We may be heading in a thoughtful direction right now. The ‘understanding’ has held a pair of meanings and we did not realize it until including that beautiful, haunting statement above. We did not put two and two together. Shit. We will probably sit here and wonder for however long we continue to be alive because there is no such thing as the proper mood or conversation starter which can lead to a real, productive discussion. We are too fearful, anyway, so analyzing here is likely all we will ever have. After watching our words being trivialized and questioned for decades, any more of the same will halt the process entirely. We can’t go back in time, we can’t go into detail, and we have no faith in finding the right type of ears in order to actually learn some things. The most important has already been stated: Who may feel the same and who does not care. As of this moment, there are very few individuals that expressed (or literally demonstrated) the former. The truth is, we can’t really know regardless of what may be said. The result can only be a feeling born of trust. Placation is far too common and we know that we’ve railroaded more people through conversation than we’d care to admit. Knowing our prowess with the words, some may have given up and simply agreed just to avoid a tirade. Yep, we know what we have become after all this time. We cannot be blameless. Whatever the case, moving forward seems about as likely as gazing at that girl’s inner thighs again in this life. See? At least we can be realistic and put everything in perspective. Anyway, the ‘understanding’ is probably another facet of living that will never be fully fleshed out no matter where life takes us. We learned long ago that sometimes there is more than one face involved when discussing deeply personal issues. We’ve seen it... Listening in earnest, the original ‘nice’ face turning and pointing in the opposite direction, and then there we are being forced to endure ridicule and trivialization to no end. That shit became so hurtful, in fact, that we considered burying the problem ourselves just to stifle any possibility of having to listen to any more bullshit. That may have been a bad idea, but it sure was enticing. Two-faced individuals are disposed of more quickly these days than in the past. Had we enjoyed such decisions years ago, the one situation mentioned would have ended very differently than it did. We are beginning to believe there is no way to make this fucking point without using more specific terms. Whatever. Squished; routed; disregarded. And this shit has led to yet another fucking thought... Is there any way to know whether or not we’ve actually been disregarded and placated, or do those involved feel that we’ve been arriving at such conclusions because of a lack of self-esteem or confidence? Is there any way to fucking know? Nope. Maybe all those people calculated that we enjoy creating these situations out of the clear blue sky just to cause problems. That could be the case. Or some of them, anyway. In any case, we can’t know any of this shit for sure, and that is the plain truth. We feel what we feel, turn it out here, and then go one with the days. We can’t know. We won’t know. The only positive is that readership of the site is at an all-time low while the fucking bounce rate is at an all-time high. We need not be concerned beyond the thought that all this may be a galactic waste of time and effort. There is probably nothing more to be found. Do you believe nothing is wrong and we are just being paranoid? Go fuck yourself in a ditch (again). There is plenty wrong here. We already know the power of that sighting the other night was derived from years of being obsessed, and said obsession was born of too many situations to recall at this late date. We can remember feeling sheer amazement when first seeing Marci on the television as she glided away from the camera’s position. We recall staring at lines that somehow appeared directly in front of us way the fuck back in eighty-seven. It could have been the first occurrence of us actually looking straight at that intimate divergence of skin. Too much time has passed to be sure, but that was something very special that carried enough importance for us to still be able to see her (and the purple underwear) all these years later. At some point during the 1236 period, the importance of what we saw became amplified beyond belief. We began to seek imagery which showed off those beautiful lines. Soon after, we wrote that stirring, damaging essay about the girl at the car wash. We lost our minds watching the neighbor walk away from our lunch date at our favorite restaurant because of being obsessed with lines as well as height. We began to record the December fashion shows just to see the models return from the outer center of the runway. Plenty of lines. Fast forward to the year of twenty – yes, soon after we ceased full-time work. That was when the realization that we had been suppressing an inordinate amount of actual, physical desire with regard to seeing lines on display. Throughout the last several years leading up to what happened two days ago, our feelings pointed almost entirely toward specific types of pants that allowed a woman’s true form to show as opposed to everything being hidden away (as it should). Again... Massive desire ensued and caused us to believe there can be no way of truly satiating our feelings. Not anymore. Since those moments in front of the Raven, we have seen but three examples of such beauty right before our hungry eyes. One aspect leads to another, and then another, and in the end we sit right here and type words that can never be enough. No one is aware of the actual level we’ve reached after all this time and with regard to the very specific manner in which we need to see that type of beauty. The Raven may have known, and there has been one other person with whom we’ve discussed the subject, but the truth is we have advanced much since those times, worsening at each step. The girl in the restaurant was very unexpected, extremely rare, and the worst part is that she aligned with not only our obsession with those very private, intimate spaces, but the damaging dreams, as well. Yep. This situation is two-fold fucked and there is not one God damned thing we can do about it. Hence? Sadness and anger. We are inside the sole menagerie that has very possibly been created just for suffering. There is a misnomer (possibly just an incorrect term) involved that we loathe to address. No, not the voodoo bullshit. The other one. Realizing how powerful that girl’s appearance was – primarily due to there being absolutely nothing between our eyes and her lines; the highest order of them – forces us to examine our feelings and how they may affect daily life in the future. The present is pretty fucking bad, and to consider the idea that we will worsen no matter what little positives may come along, our days may have shortened considerably since Saturday night. Moreover, seeing her right there in front of us (she was facing directly away, believe it or not) conjured yet another gradient between how difficult a time we have with the sight and the increasing importance of such things in our minds. The result of that shit is the idea that the obsession and all related torment and desire may usurp our anger over the way we’ve been treated for many years. Unbelievable. So, what the fuck is all this now? A gigantic power shift? There is no way to know. Saturday night was a line in the sand, for sure, and an event that has us thinking more deeply than in a very long time. Despite the appearance of progress here, make no mistake. We are still sad, angry, tormented and full of disdain for nearly every fucking person in existence, not to mention the shitty feelings toward our backward, sheep-laden society. We’ve touched upon being out there among the masses recently, and that horrible line of thinking will not improve anytime soon. Our stance has been solidified beyond belief in recent years with the losses piling upon each other and effectively ruining our view of the world and the way so many important parts therein have been tossed away like so much trash. Some believe to disregard history will lead to a repeat, and we feel the same, although once something beautiful is gone, it cannot return, ever. The loss is chalked up to progress in the name of helping people. What a fucking joke. Is society better off now than thirty years ago? We think not, yet we will not further belabor the point. Plenty has been said in this entry, and these words may only be the beginning of the site becoming much worse than it has appeared in the past. Our little enjoyments are shrinking due to being forced to pay the fucking tab. Our bad decisions and harsh words were born of a need to understand why several very specific situations played out as they did, and we still have very little true information. Hundreds of thousands of lines and millions of words – we know because there is a spreadsheet that has been tallying everything for more than two decades – could have bettered us for the effort, yet much of it has been for naught. The world is worse and so are we. The fruit of life’s tree is still anger and hatred. And if you are one of those who believes that such emotions are a waste of energy better expended in positive directions, you are lying to yourself. Some parts of life that have been painful just never go away. Stop trying. We can still see her olive skin and black dress; heels below that accentuated her gait and stance. We can see very clearly after almost two days. She was indicative of so many fucking problems that even we can’t fully understand or believe ourselves. She was fucking amazing, to be sure, and we are further down the rabbit hole of ‘trying and failing’ to learn why we turned out this way. Each occasion is cumulative; one on top of another. The latest is even worse than the goddess that passed us as we entered the market, and that day was horrible. We shall not look toward the hocus pocus mumbo jumbo voodoo bullshit any longer. The only real voodoo is the sex god. Good luck trying to understand that one, dipshits. Good fucking luck. Mustard all over the place. Wind. We are angry, possibly for all time. And speaking of that, the time has come for us to return to the caverns. We have no choice. Others have done this; caused our destruction. We will return there and perhaps learn what may be next. The reckoning is coming, and that is not an idle threat. It is something else."
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