The Distortion Vane Mature content No. 408 Published March 14th, 2024 9:30am pdt read ( words) Past entries "My sense is distorted and hindering the other vanes. Not in a good way, though. Everything is bad. Distortion comes along when something is misused. It damages everything downstream. All of the vanes are damaged and flailing for connection. From bad to worse. Vane number ten is in the room. Bring out the knives; warm up the equipment; lock the fucking doors. Open your eyes and see the enemy. I am going to engage in questionable behavior again, should the opportunity arise. Yep. I know it is not good for me at all, but at this stage of the game there is little I can do to avoid even the tiniest chance of wonder. And? I don’t care anymore. What else do I have? The day’s business is finished. I’ll move into the kitchen and make revolutions for dinner in a little while. I have all day tomorrow to further the business, if necessary. After going out earlier today, I am pleased that I need not leave the house until Saturday morning for the drive north. My watch has been delayed until tomorrow. Figures. Everything is fucking distorted. Jesus fucking Christ do I ever miss Her right now. Those eyes... Looking into me unlike any other. The only close match was the race girl, although I have no idea what she may have been thinking during that moment. It was probably either nothing or something trivial, like a mustache hair out of place. Fuck, I don’t know. As for the other one, well, I miss Her more now than throughout the past couple of years, and I believe the reason is my condition having changed somewhat a while back and leaving me to realize there is much less ahead than I had thought. Wonderful. She and I were not good for each other, though. Very bad, in fact. Dangerous. We caused more trouble for other people in a matter of weeks than I did throughout the past four years, believe it or not. Anyway, all visions of the two of us destroying ourselves aside, I miss the way She looked at me. No one else since Ashley did the same. The race girl may as well not have existed. I do have a single reminder of those cat eyes, however. Just one. It is an image of an actor from years back that resembles the race girl in many ways. Whenever I feel this sad, the Raven and the race girl pop into my head. Ashley is always right at the forefront and does not require any particular type of mood to come to mind. Ugh. I am going to leave this shit alone until tomorrow. I don’t need any more huge doe eyes haunting me. Friday morning, post business. Coffee and Internet; clouds and words. My head is again distorted beyond belief, yet at the same time it is not as bad as I had expected after yesterday. I don’t need to leave the house for any reason, the wristwatch is scheduled to arrive, and I’ll be making dinner in the slow cooker right close to noon, meaning the evening will be very simple. This is just the type of day I’ve needed for a while. If I can get some of the shit out of the distortion field, things may go well today. If not, we shall see how far down into the ground I end up. The distortion vane has been created by memories. The gate dropped the noise floor to near nonexistence, the compression vane lopped off all of the high points in life, and now what is left has become distorted to the point of leaving me unable to function much of the time. Memories may be all I have from here forward because I am so distorted – as in my sense of reality – that the odds of finding ANYTHING that can truly help are astronomical. This is not good, but then which of the vanes are actually helping me? Post, post business. I don’t know what to do. Dinner is in the slow cooker, I cleaned the kitchen a second time, had lunch, and now I am lost in some ethereal, gaseous space filled with memories and sadness. My watch arrived. Better than nothing. Saturday is here with zero fanfare for the common webmaster. The drive was smooth, and a stopover at the business center went very well. I am happy to be home with my coffee and some time to consider everything. There were pants in the City, yet nothing that threw me for a loop. That is very good in this day and age when considering how weak I’ve become. I am too susceptible to imagery for anything to come along and allow my mind to operate normally. I may move this table into the dining room once I’m finished here. The old table has been stored, so the room is available. Afterward, the tough part comes along. That is the table from the garage that used to sit in the office. Unfortunately, there are things stored beneath the table and I’ll have to disseminate each item in order to roll the toolbox to its previous location. One step at a time, I suppose. The most important aspect of the project is relocating this table to the dining room. If moving the other one into the office takes a bunch of time, I always have the laptop as a cloud fall-back option. It works very well and I love the keyboard. For the moment, I’ll sit here with my cocktail and think about everything. I can feel the distortion attempting to send my head downward, and I really don’t need that right now. Sunday morning is the second best of the week. The drive is out of the way, as is a stopover at the big market. I am at this moment sitting at the dining table – it was slid out here yesterday by yours truly – with laptop and coffee. The office has no table until I move the other one from the garage, perhaps later today. In the meantime, I’ll relax here and enjoy the view of both the big television and the greenery in the backyard. Today is going to be an organizational project. I’ve received numerous deliveries (meaning lots of packaging to process and recycle), the table must be dealt with, and the usual garbage and laundry business needs to be out of the way prior to close of business hours. That would please me a great deal. I have to say that sitting here with the television on reminds me of a few years ago when the weather was very hot. This was the only place inside the house with a fan overhead, so I would do my cloud and IDE work at the dining table instead of on the sofa. Now that there is a second ceiling fan, I can work almost anywhere and still be comfortable. I’d estimate four years ago was the last time I had the laptop set up on this table in the dining room. This machine is an excellent alternative when the control center is not functioning. Last night I was thinking about a few years from now when the software has changed enough to force an upgrade. I’ll leave the work to professionals and use this while the other machine is laid up. I do like having the option just in case. As for the work today, I’ll have to keep the house quiet for a while and then hit the routine, perhaps when my coffee is gone. My typical program is up there on the big television for the time being, including the one face which reminds me of another. Scary and beautiful. Distortion is apparent in my head. Thoughts are distorted. Even after being gated and compressed, there were still aspects of living which brought forth enjoyment, yet now that the distortion has affected the way I think – and I believe it dates back to the first damaging dream – I am having more difficulty trying to maintain an even keel in rough waters. One topic in particular is overpowering everything else, but I can’t talk about it here. Actually, I can’t (and don’t) describe much at all anymore because the subject matter is much too sensitive. On those occasions when I’ve gone further than simply gleaning, the wording is coded, veiled or otherwise too unclear for anyone else to understand the meaning. This is necessary for my protection. Oh, the right person could draw all of the information out of me, but the likelihood of meeting her is so fucking remote that I may as well wait for a passenger flight to Mars. That is not a joke. I may be all fucked up and distorted, but I still must remain behind closed – and locked – doors. I’ve been told that to open everything to another person could be helpful and cathartic, but after all this time I just don’t see it happening in reality. This is it. This is all. There will not be more no matter how distorted I become or how much of the same affects my livelihood. I can’t have sensitive information beyond my control. Nope. Forget it. I’ve already made that mistake on two occasions. Curious? I didn’t think so. I am no one anyway. Rachel hurt me by accident because she didn’t know of all that shitty history. We did not spend much time together, though. I don’t know if I would have shared anything with that girl because she was so fucking young. The situation may have been too difficult for her to understand. That was almost fifteen years ago, too, and the last time such an incident took place. For whatever reason, I felt so comfortable with Andrea that I almost immediately let her all the way in. Maybe it was because she was having such a hard time in life and sought understanding as much as I did. We connected so deeply and so quickly that to this day I have a difficult time recalling the extent of our feelings for each other. Andrea and I were together for weeks, though. Perhaps the time seemed endless back then. I don’t know. Shortly after we parted ways, she tattooed coded information from our relationship onto her thigh. Tattooed. Think about that for a minute. Could Andrea have been the only one? Could Ashley have been the only woman who regards certain aspects of life as she did? I will never know the answers, and the distortion is disallowing further analysis right now. I feel like shit this morning, but for a change the pain is not physical. Not yet, anyway. Going back to Rachel, I do recall that at the time I needed the right pair of ears more than her appearance. Oh, that girl was fucking stunning from head to toe, yet there were enough mental and emotional barriers inside me that our little getaway became truncated very quickly. She was not at fault for any of it, either. That was all me. As much as I understood her very restricted lifestyle and the harsh and demanding beliefs thrust upon her by family and society, I was still not comfortable enough to open certain doors until that brief incident that forced her to question me. Ugh. She was so fucking sweet that I can still see the fear in her pretty eyes for those few moments. The best part of all this is that when we did part ways, I knew there were zero bad feelings. The whole thing was more like bad timing. I was reckless and full of resources, just in time to meet a person in need of breaking free from her life for a little while. I wish I knew how her path went beyond those few days. Nope. Everyone is gone, including the adorable Rachel. Jana was similar, as was our situation. A brief encounter, some very rigid barriers, and a bunch of enjoyable conversation. Nothing more. She was different. She was also very young, nearly Ashley’s age. I am losing my train of thought because the distortion is beginning to wreak havoc on my ability to organize information. The peaks have already been removed (compressed) and the noise floor is all but gone for good. Gated. Compressed. Distortion is only natural. At some point I need to close this off and do some work around the house. The hour is still early. Plenty of time. Dinner will be one of my favorites, and very simple to prepare. Nice. I may begin moving things around in the garage to free up the other table, too. As I said, there is plenty of time thanks to this machine providing options while the control center is down. Some time has passed and my routine is out of the way. I also have a head start on the garbage business. This means it’s cocktail hour. Curious, I used to pour a little something – typically a type of modified White Russian – just prior to cleaning the kitchen each morning. Lately, though, I’ve been waiting until afterward for such an enjoyment. I don’t want my drink watered down before a taste. Heh. Anyway, I still have quite a bit to do before close of business hours. The garbage will be in and around everything else. I also want to begin organizing some things in the garage so the table can be freed up. Part of that process is once again disconnecting and relocating the audio system. Ugh. I do have a plan, however, so the work should go smoothly. As I said earlier, there is no hurry because of this machine. I’ll probably have the office all set up again by tomorrow. Sunday business must take precedence. Laas is on the promenade ‘being fog’. Very interesting. I keep thinking of the incident with Rachel. She was so fucking sweet and bright-eyed before and after what happened, so I could hardly take issue with her actions. The girl was simply too adorable and kind. Sometimes I wish I had remained in Kentucky with her for a while longer. Perhaps we could have reached a higher level of comfort and understanding. Even though we spoke and length while driving, I still did not go into much detail regarding the two shit situations. I felt the need to guard myself for whatever reason, fear taking my words out of my mouth before they could be spoken. Further conversation may have preempted the painful incident, but it also may have led to a situation I would end up regretting. Rachel was very special and I simply could not be the person to further her life and then disappear for all time. Believe me when I say there are many details left out of this shit, and for very good reason. Amber was much older. Maybe I should have snatched her and ran across the state line. Not funny. The events and time periods I’ve described here since eighteen made me what I am today, good or bad. And yes, there is some good left. Unfortunately, no matter how good I may feel about myself on a given day, the bad ends up distorting any possibility for hope. At some point I will continue with housework and I can only hope the process will remove Rachel’s endlessly adorable personality. Oh, yes... And her stunning form. Believe it or not, when her name comes to mind, I still fucking need her. I’ve never been so out of balance in my life. And I fucking love this keyboard. ‘Do you have beer?’ ‘Root beer.’ Jesus fucking hell, when I heard those words and saw the expression on Rachel’s face, the level of desire inside me increased ten-fold. Holy shit. I was already a basket case all those years ago. Splendid. Just imagine how my mind operates these days. Knives out? Um... Maybe. Let’s go further. The way in which I perceive the world, society and the opposite sex is so distorted now that I don’t know if speaking to another human being is even possible without severe backlash. There is one person that I already know would be about as understanding as possible, but unfortunately we barely speak anymore. I don’t believe I can reconnect that bridge just to explore possibilities. Too much time has passed and the ship may have not only sailed, but sunk. Oh, I’ve received offers of conversation should the need arise – if she only knew that the need has been defining my existence – but I already know there would be a strong possibility that one set of emotions would quickly turn into another set of feelings. I can’t have that because the past has demonstrated the consequences of allowing myself to open even a single fucking door. There is another very disturbing, parallel fact at work that relates to this line of thinking, as well. Very disturbing. I already know that the odds are extremely slim, and to be honest, there is a saving grace attached to the knowledge. I hesitate to spell it out, however. I already come across as a reckless, deviant person with questionable morals, so adding my distorted sense of ‘help’ would only damage the way I am viewed. Just ask Melanie. Well, if you can find that wonderful and beautiful woman twenty years after she and I met. Heh. Not funny. I’d give the rest of my life to sit and speak with her for an hour. Anyway, knowing how I would react to a helpful situation only compresses my future even more than has already been done. I don’t fucking like it. I already know. That means both protection and sadness will remain as pervasive as they have been for the last few years. I cannot describe the connection here just because I made it inside my head. I just can’t fucking do it. The way I see myself is pretty bad. Others that might read all this shit don’t need that type of image. I feel bad, damn it, but this is what time and circumstance have made me. Whatever you may be thinking, please do not include the word ‘should’. I refuse to be lumped in with the masses, and I simply will not be categorized. Just trust me when I say that I know what I am, I know how I feel with regard to listening and understanding, and I know full well the impact those two beautiful thoughts would have upon me if they were to come to pass. Trust me. I know. ‘Should’ is one of two words that ‘should’ be removed from modern speech and writing. The other is ‘got’. Leave it. Grab the knives and fire up the distortion analyzer. I believe an HP 8903B can do the job. Good luck paying for it, let alone understanding why that type of equipment exists in the first place. I used to operate, diagnose and maintain such wondrous devices almost thirty years ago. You know... The ‘phase lock’ period. Yep, that was when I sat and had coffee with one of the great, unrequited loves of my life. Sometimes I point out that everything is related. Believe it. Monday hath arriveth. What does this mean? Sunday is over. I am still at the dining table because I can’t bring the other table into the house by myself. It’s just too heavy. If I get pissed off, I might try to engineer a method for lifting it up the back step. Once inside, it can slide along the floor similar to the way I moved this table into position. The dining room is rather nice because I have the entire home theatre system in front of me as opposed to the right-hand display and stereo audio. I am also resting myself in the same chair since I built the control system more than a year ago. It’s ‘old home’ week, I guess. The laptop will be seven years old in August. Interesting. Anyway, yesterday I spent a decent amount of time in the garage trying to move things around, and ended up with my toolbox back where it used to be, the old wardrobe sitting against the back wall where the toolbox was, and the table that is to head into my office fully disassembled and ready to go. The entire operation was straightforward except for the audio system. All six components had to be disconnected, moved temporarily and then relocated atop the wardrobe. Ugh. I had to work without music for a little while. No big deal. The components will eventually live on the end of the toolbox where they were prior to the last reconfiguration. I know; don’t say it. Had I realized how easily the old dining table could be stowed inside the house, much of this would be unnecessary. Honestly, I don’t mind moving stuff more than once if it helps me find the best layout. I have all the time in the world. As for the rest of this day, once I tire of working here, I’ll take care of the usual stuff, laundry, and then perhaps try to figure a way for safely getting that heavy table top into the house. Once inside, the job is all but over. I have a monitor arm coming on Friday, too. Maybe another one shortly thereafter. That means I might remain here for the weekdays so that the table can be completed prior to reconnecting the other computer. I guess I’ll have to wait and see how things go with the housework before firming any plans. There is a lot of crap in my head this morning, all distorted and uncomfortable, but that is not reason for me to lose track of my responsibilities. Remember when I said that all I do is help other people? Well... I’ll get to the routine soon. I need to try letting go of memories and feelings of loss right now or this day will end up going nowhere. I just don’t understand why the world has to be this way. Make me understand. Or don’t. Distortion is very damaging. The source must be handled with care and clarity. Once the signal is amplified from low-level to high-level, all bets are off. Regardless of gating or compression, the distortion, be it intermodulation, harmonic or otherwise, is boosted along with the source material and that’s when the destruction begins. Think about the previous two vanes and maybe you can put two and two together. This morning, I can feel the distortion inside, so remaining quiet is the only option. Well, until things calm down (if they ever do), that is. Most of the time all I can do is sit here, lump it, and continue to analyze. I don’t like this one bit. All those memories are distorting my sense of reality... Even as far back as when I was an actual person. That’s been some fucking years, believe me. I need to extricate some of this shit or the day will go absolutely nowhere. My devices have been waning because their importance is not ‘happiness’, but only a measure of physical comfort. ‘Happiness’ is attached to other aspects of living, none of which exist for me any longer. I just have the memories, most causing nothing more than sadness and the realization that all I’ve been doing is postponing the inevitable. Not good. Being gated was bad enough. Now the distortion is key and can destroy everything. Monday. This is one of my two favorite days of the week because all of the weekend business is out of the way and I have the peace and quiet of the house for several hours. The feeling fades as the typical week progresses. I took care of part of my routine already because the emperors of the universe vacated the spare bedroom for a snack. That’s good for my timeline. I also have the laundry running so everything that does not go in the dryer has hours to hang on the rack. I still haven’t calculated a way to get the table into the house by myself, though. Something may come to mind as the day progresses. I hope so, anyway. I’d like to complete the last step of this three-table swap. Working around the house – especially anything fairly enjoyable – helps to minimize the distortion for a little while. Right now it is trying to get the best of me and I need to push back as best I can. The alternative is to completely lose my way. I can’t have that right now. I was exactly where I needed to be – right fucking there. I was there, damn it, and I knew full well of the consequences to my psyche as each moment passed. I knew there would be a mass of trouble inside me and didn’t care because the opportunity was so fucking rare that I simply could not stop it. I was weak and full of bliss. I was right there. I feel the need to gush all over the place about that morning, too. It’s bad, this feeling. I need to describe each second and the importance of being there. I can’t. The backlash would never end. Trust me. The more I think about that day, the more I need to go back in time, something that is impossible, much like repeating any fucking aspect of the situation. There is nothing I can do and I can’t stand being forced to just live with the loss. I could write about that day for five years and still barely glean my dire need for such things. No fucking way, people. And believe me when I say that aside from Andrea, there can be no comparison to the experience. None. Zero. Ashley was close, though. Very close. When I stepped out of her bathroom, I could not believe my fucking desperate eyes. Twelve years later, it happened again, albeit the circumstances were far worse. I need to be there so badly that my thought processes regarding anything in life have been distorted beyond comprehension. While there, the world melted away. Everything was gone. Every fucking thing. I threw away quite a bit, nearly lost my job, and knew that even more was going to go sideways very soon, yet I remained where I needed to be. I just didn’t fucking care about anything or anyone. The entire universe was on hold. This vane may indeed kill me. It is the worst of the bunch. I can still see everything, too. Everything. My head exploded for a little while but it didn’t matter. My head emptied itself, I embraced all that I was able, and in the end I knew the day would create memories that could not be topped. Once the opportunity presented itself – and believe me when I say I had to jack around a lot of shit in order to even have a CHANCE – I calculated what had to be done and then leveraged everything and everyone so the plan would succeed. And I said chance... I didn’t know for sure until much later. There were many steps to that plan, as well. Many. I didn’t fucking care. My life for those hours became narrowed beyond belief; a singular path that simply would not be avoided. I was right fucking there. Better to have... What? Nope. I’d be in less pain right now had that plan never worked. Believe it. My coffee is nearly gone. I suppose the kitchen is next. I feel the compression regardless of all the distortion. I feel the distortion regardless of being gated. And I feel all the rest. The vanes have permeated my entire life. I can only hope that working in the kitchen this morning and again in the afternoon will allow my head to relax a little bit. Underneath it all is a mass of anger and rage waiting to come forth. I don’t want that to happen. No one does. Later. The laundry is nearly finished and the kitchen work is complete for the morning. I have lunch in the oven. That is one of the few devices left with the ability to hold me up for a little while. Cocktail time? Oh, fuck yes. The glass is here on the table and my program is playing on the big system. Working in the kitchen and on the laundry with my wonderful friends in the background helped to minimize the distortion for a time. I am hoping against hope that it does not become overpowering like earlier. I really don’t need any more of that shit. Recalling one of the most stirring and beautiful mornings of my entire life took its toll. I’d like to forget it, but I fear that would be impossible. The importance of being there cannot be overstated. Just trust me. There can be nothing above it in this world. Thankfully, I must avoid further detail. Being ‘there’ is not what you might think. As for the rest of the day, I have a little to do here and there, some cleaning, and a period of relaxation once the early dinner preparations are finished. The late afternoons are often quite comfortable. Well, as much as can be expected considering the distortion. Sometimes when I see Kira’s eyes during certain emotional passages on the show, I feel the need to go outside and repeatedly bang my head against the stucco. Just a thought. Like Jamie’s eyes, they seem to go on forever. Sitting at this table and in the same chair is very comfortable, especially considering that I have the entire home theatre system at my disposal. This reminds me of building the two model cars a few years ago. The same table was here and I had one of my favorite programs on the television. The screen is directly ahead, and to my right is the back wall of the house, complete with huge windows. If I am going to suffer through distortion and all that other shit, I may as well be physically comfortable (as much as I can, anyway). The next day, but does the name of the day matter? Or the time? Nope. Every day I do the same things, often in the exact same order. Yesterday was a prime example of how the days can progress if I am not careful. I very nearly lost my way for good during the afternoon, but then pushed myself to visit the hardware store and repair some wall tiles for my neighbor (the one with the restaurant). The effort required to leave the house when I feel really bad is tremendous. I did it anyway. Part of the reason may have been thinking that when I postpone a project, the feeling of weight on my shoulders remains rather than caring for the problem and lifting such pressure off of me. Had I not taken care of business, I’d be feeling it right now despite the early hour. As it is, I have to deal with the distortion, so piling anything else on top is just not good. There is already too much shit going on for me to expect balance, clarity or the like. Too much. I’ve published more than four hundred essays here. Some have been removed – mostly the nonfiction through which I lived; also one fictional story that became too painful to share – for reasons of good form and to disallow people from learning of my past pitfalls. The present doesn’t really matter because all of the damage has already been done (my brain is distorted as a result of the same). I honestly don’t know what else to do most of the time, so I just keep typing and trying to understand the machinations that have resulted in the person (?) sitting at this machine every day. I see nothing dramatic on the horizon, meaning the number of entries will continue to increase. As I said above, I do the same things every fucking day, seven days per week. There will be zero changes. Perhaps one day I will find an answer to at least one fucking question. I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve described the power of past situations, imagery and how it affects me, along with certain wondrous periods when I began to think that everything would be ok in life, yet here I sit no better off for the effort. So, why continue? I don’t know. The sound of the keys clicking is not enough. I can’t force the past out of my head, as all my attempts at distraction can attest, and too often they take over and leave me wondering how much longer I can continue to analyze without falling away for the last time. Good memories are just that – good – yet they also create a gradient between the past and present, the latter being void of everything I used to enjoy. I am speaking of the most important reasons for continuing to live. Writing about some of the trips I’ve taken in search of that ever-elusive comfort and understanding only reminds me that I was ‘there’, and the moments have disappeared in the rear-view mirror. Regardless of how far back some of those beautiful situations took place, the memories do not have time limits. Traveling back (in my head) twenty-plus years to the first time I took control and ran beyond the state line is as clear right now as it was ten or more years ago. I can still see Juliette standing at the counter, Ashley gazelling her way through the casino, and the way Melanie looked at me with sympathy in her beautiful eyes. I can feel the cool bar under my elbows; smell the alcohol. No matter how many days pass or how much I write, none of the past can truly be reconciled because I am exactly the same... Desperate, depressed, and searching for the same wondrous moments. I was ‘there’, and I can still see and feel everything. As such, present life appears nearly worthless rather than worthwhile, and distorted beyond belief. Gating and compression were pretty bad – ARE pretty bad – yet the distortion is taking over and much worse. Oh, boy... The hits just keep on coming. I can’t seem to do right anymore when it comes to other people. Remaining inside the house is not good enough anymore, I suppose. Whatever. The keyboard pays no mind. I have ways of dealing with difficulty. No problem. My methods may be questionable, but there is already too much fucking distortion for me to jump through additional hoops. I really don’t need any more shit right now. The time has come for increased quiet, consequences be damned. I am back to the fourth show, the previous program having concluded last night. That means I went through 173 hours of television in 42 days. Splendid. I am a basket case because I still need them to keep me company. And yes, there are memories attached to each of the five series’. Believe it. The current pilot dates back to the Midwest period, good or bad that my time there may have been. The pilot of the previous series first aired toward the end of the glowing years. I’d rather not comment on the others. I’ve gone back to that day several times for good reason. Between then and now, the same type of situation or emotion has not occurred at all. Not even fucking close. There were moments here and there that approached the level of wonder that took place on that day, yet I knew full well that what I was doing was desperately trying to recreate feelings better left alone. The only result could be disappointment. I found plenty of it. As I said above, there is nothing I can do about memories. They will continue to come to mind no matter what I’m doing or where I am. Once in focus, the present situation and my mental and emotional conditions decline. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with remembering being happy. Unfortunately, I can’t thrust myself into the future to a time when individual engrams can be removed. I just have to sit here and deal with everything. Blah, blah, blah... Noonegivesafuckcakes. I can’t blame people, either. They try to follow and understand during those times when information comes out. At the same time, the idea of reaching becomes not only worthless, but ridiculous. I expect very little insight anymore due to being so closed-off. That is my fault and I accept it. The inherent problem with seeking insight is fear. As I’ve stated on many occasions, once information leaves the body, it cannot be controlled. Hmm... Maybe if more people understood such an idea, they would leave things out of their phones and/or keyboards. Speech, too. Anyway, I am as much to blame as anyone that has caused problems in the past because my stance is more often than not the root of the entire shitaree. Conversely, when I’ve sought help, the initial standpoint is fraught with so many disclaimers that I hoped whomever was on the receiving end would not squish me. Another reason for a need to control the fucking information. I have never spoken of that day with another human being. That is the absolute truth. Not a fucking soul, and the avoidance is for good reason. Fear. My need for help has never been more dire, yet my need to avoid appearing in a bad light or being squished again has overpowered any possible action. The most powerful tool we have as human beings is our language... Too bad I need to avoid it. My mind keeps going back to the only power I can wield anymore, that of RF. What good will it do? Can I come out the other side less concerned with memories? No fucking way. Will the power emanate and make me feel better about anything? Doubtful. The mere fact that I have a very technical grasp of something I love and can build does not mean anything will change in doing so. The only result would be two more projects completed and hopefully a smidgen of pride in the work. Others will marvel at the accomplishment, I’m sure, yet they will look at me and not realize I went through all that shit for nothing. The memories and current situation will remain unchanged. Half of the routine is finished. I’ve been considering the table and methods for safely moving it into the office, but as of yet the only conclusion is help from another person. That is no big deal. I’ve also been scoping out the garage and how the storage has changed since moving things around two days ago. I need to ensure that the car can be parked without issue during this process, and therein lies the challenge. Relocation of the audio system and related wiring is not a big deal at all. Storage is key. I doubt I’ll try to make any further changes out there until I can get the table into the house. Perhaps I’ll ask for help tomorrow. Once the table is in the house, I have other ideas for reconfiguring the other items in the garage, one of them being a brilliant plan from my neighbor. Right now I am not terribly motivated to alter anything that might preclude the car from being parked inside, so my time will be spent considering the options. Plus, I plan to sit here at the mobile editor for quite a while. I have much on my mind. Sometimes I think that had Ashley not altered the way I see the world and made me realize that life could actually be fulfilling, I’d be better off right now. Moreover, the last two decades could have been more enjoyable and less confusing. Eh... Thinking in such terms is a waste of effort because everything has already unfolded as it did. Dwelling on impossibilities and grating against the unilateral nature of time is not going to help matters. I still do, though. Can’t help it. I am a product of time and circumstance, nothing more. It just so happens that I write about everything. In any case, she really threw me for a loop. That doll altered me in ways that cannot be reversed, nor have I been able to relate her way of life to that of anyone else since. There have been moments that drove me to see possibilities, but each and every one of them turned to shit in a cold minute. I should expect more of the same. The damage is done; the distortion will go on. Gavan O’Herlihy is in this episode of the fourth series. I knew of him prior to this program’s creation and am not ashamed to say that I love and miss him. And this brings up a question: Is it possible that the actors for which I feel so much and that have left this world have any idea of how I feel? There is no way to know, and that is why I point out such things. My feelings for the filmed entertainment industry are attached to every single actor I have referenced here, as well. The whole thing is a gigantic ball of sadness. I never took a step, but they most certainly did. Straight into my heart. Sometimes I fucking hate everything and everyone. Make of that what you will. The RF power may be something with which I am intimately familiar and over which I enjoy a vast command, but it can’t fix anything. Flex; relax. Lash; retract. Reach; find nothing. ‘It is the way of things.’ The beginning of this series reminds me of a time when I saw possibilities and promise in the world; in my world. The road ahead was full of options. Within less than a calendar year, I was back in California and enjoying (as much as I could) the fruits of being home. Soon after, I returned to work on swing shift as the film fascination began to hit a high point. That was also the period when my first desktop computer was built, along with all of the wonder and enjoyment that came with it. The phase lock period was shortly thereafter. Even a year after returning home, I still viewed the future as wide-open and full of possibilities. Daily life seemed very simple and straightforward, as well. All of it, as I recall, was vastly different from the current period. As I mentioned before, each series has either memories or a past period attached, some have both. The fourth reminds me of when I made the decision to leave the MIdwest, pack everything I could fit into my truck, and then drive. By the second day of cruising the interstate, I was hundreds of miles from my previous home and filled with a sense of wonder regarding traveling through beautiful parts of the country and felt freedom at the same time. Had I more resources at the time, I probably would have made my way west much more slowly in order to take in more sights. As it was, I arrived at my parents’ house in less than four days. The second and fourth series were swirling around in my head the entire time. As for the third, well, that was prior to leaving California and quite short-lived, believe it or not. I felt even more open at that time, too. I really did. The future seemed vast and full of exciting prospects. At some point in time, I must learn how I went from being adventurous and willing to explore to needing comfort above all other life concerns, every single day. I must know. In addition, I have often questioned the idea of appreciating those times enough while they were fresh, but the truth is I know I did. I fucking know it. No worries with that one, believe me. I knew things were good and thought in such terms every day. The present looks and feels that much worse for the memories. The next day is here. What does this mean? Nothing. As of yet, the only difference is I moved a portion of the control center to the dining room. I can only work in the cloud for so long before information must be transferred to the IDE to be formatted and scrutinized. There is just one display on the table, though. I am not accustomed to losing massive amounts of screen real estate, so this can’t last very long. I’ll lose my shit. While writing on the laptop, I am in the cloud, so there is zero formatting or concern over layout. It’s just a mass of disorganized information. On this machine, I have to make everything look loyally or I am not satisfied. All this shit adds up to the need for the other table to be moved into the house. And there is the face again. You know, the scary reminder. What a fucking beauty, though. Jesus. Anyway, I may or may not move the other displays to this table. The process depends upon the office and whether or not I can get everything in order and in a decent amount of time. If I decide this will be the temporary office, everything comes here. At some point after, I’ll have to set up the entire system in the office again. At least I’ll be starting with a cleaner layout and less wiring thanks to the display arm. Better than nothing. Moreover, sitting here may afford me a view of the greenery in the back as well as the big television, but I am unable to see the front area. That means I need to keep the garage door closed for security. Whatever. I am better off not seeing what may walk by the window. I am losing my mind over the need to deal with all this distortion. Many years ago while trying to understand my obsession with the mathematics and mechanics of the female form, I mused that Mercedes’ image – something that could have represented the infancy of my feelings – displayed ‘distortion’ due to her being seated. I then went further and described the girl at the car wash and the way her appearance was altered by sitting. I was referring to the way a woman’s thighs adjust to such a position and ‘spread’ out to the sides a little bit, thus exaggerating the almighty hip-to-waist ratio, otherwise known as a component of the golden ratio. Scholars have applied the fibonacci sequence, or golden ratio, to beauty for centuries, believe it or not. For me, that distortion creates a wonderland of radii and disparity, from when I first tried to quantify such positioning many years ago all the way to this very second as I watch my program. Up to this paragraph, the distortion was all in my head, affected by every single aspect of living through a single day, and something I loathe to deal with because of the other vanes. Well, there is always more than meets the eye (or mind) when discussing or analyzing my mental and emotional conditions as well as the fucking LINES. There are three nymphs in this episode, something I probably should not be seeing. Damn. Anyway, the distortion is now two-fold and worse than when this entry began. Beauty rules my existence; understanding destroys hope. Both are tied to the fucking distortion. Sometimes I feel the need to do something dramatic, like a big change in the house or garage, yet the feeling never goes anywhere because I am far less capable of rising than I am of falling away. Sad. I’ll be in the past again, soon. That’s the only good place left. Do I need to go back through the archives and place the image of Mercedes here again? YOU make the call. Or not. I don’t care. Jamie was on the news this morning in a story related to MS. If I recall correctly, she has been dealing with the disease since before the age of twenty, nearly half of her life. Wow. I knew about it some years ago because I was always reading articles about her, but still... My heart goes out to anyone in similar circumstances. Wait... Do such feelings force me to realize the benefits of living here in this house without any diseases? Sometimes. That’s all I will say. As if it’s necessary, I will point out that her last appearance in the series was seventeen-plus years ago and to this day the woman is still more beautiful than anyone else. Jesus. The depth of love I feel for her is a prime example of just how unbalanced I’ve become. Wonderful. I never said any of this shit was good. Later. The routine is out of the way and I’ve made revolutions for moving furniture around the spare and master bedrooms as well as the office. The table will have to remain in the garage until at least Friday. I am tempted to move the other two displays to this table in order to have everything operational. I’ve become accustomed to everything spread across three displays, although since I am directly in front of the home theatre system, number three may be unnecessary. I just don’t know. The wait is only a few days. And here I sit over an hour later. Aside from dry cleaning, all my stuff is done. I also ventured to the restaurant a little while ago to try diagnosing some noise in their water lines. The conclusion was to leave everything alone. The issue could be air in the lines – even though I know from experience that such an issue is rare – and I told them that as long as the water is flowing fine, there is no noticeable noise in the bar area or dining room, and no other problems are apparent, the problem is not serious at all. I am overjoyed to be home again. Upon arriving, I moved a few more things around the office and added a second display to this table. The dining room will be the new home of the control system until at least Friday afternoon. My books arrived while I was out. They are freaking beautiful and I plan to have my nose buried inside one of them when the third series comes around in the rotation. I love having information about each episode, from a simple synopsis to detailed background facts. The office is still in flux, however. I need to formulate a solid plan for the furniture layout before going further. I am hoping to have everything in place prior to bringing the table inside. Now that I have the basics for operating the control system on this table, there is no hurry. Even after more than a year, I still love this machine; the first full representation of a vision from long ago. Holy crap. I have no idea from where the motivation came, but something happened and I kicked into gear for quite a while. No, nothing in the garage. I reconfigured the office in order to ensure there was no pinch point upon entering, and that required moving my drafting table, nearly all of the other furniture, and cleaning the floor. Moving furniture without cleaning is ridiculous. The office is now ready for the table, and there is a new boot rack in the master bedroom. The only issue is my file cabinet. The new location has it overhanging the edge of the cabinet below, and as such the lower drawer wants to tip the whole thing when fully open. I’ll have to figure something out to make sure it is stable. Other than that, everything is fine. Once the table and control system are set up, the center of the room will be more open and I won’t have to worry about my chair coming in contact with anything when I move around. Moreover, the process of replacing the litter boxes is further along. I should soon be able to reconfigure the spare bedroom. Suffice to say, the cats are very happy because both trees are in front of the window. As I said, I don’t know what drove that whole project, but now I feel very accomplished. For a little while, the distortion all but disappeared. My friends have been following along in the background, as always. I love them. From here forward, I need to make revolutions for dinner. A simple affair. The distortion will return in force soon enough. I need to enjoy the quiet while it is available. Everything bad eventually returns. There is nothing I can do about it. Later, still. Everything is finished along with a few preparations for dinner. There has been artwork of the near-highest order gracing the screens, and nothing I can do about the feelings. Splendid. Nothing good is on my horizon, especially something THAT fucking beautiful. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. I just have to sit here and lump it. As for the work today, I am very pleased with everything I’ve accomplished. The result will be a very relaxing evening after close of business hours (soon). When the distortion again becomes amplified – and that fucking moment is not far off at all – I’ll at least have some alcohol inside me for good measure. Since I cannot alter this state, causing my own brand of distortion is all I can do. Sad. Very sad. The alternative is to exit this shit once and for all. Distortion of the mind and thought processes is temporary. The gate vane took away stability. The compression vane sliced off the high points of life. Now? Everything is distorted; and no... Not the type over which I’ve obsessed for decades. I’ve seen it, but no more. I’ll probably never see the distortion the way I need to, yet there will be plenty of distortion all around me for the rest of my life. Marvelous. Wait a minute... Three types of distortion? Thursday morning is here whether i like it or not. As of this moment, the early business is finished and I have the next several hours to myself. I am not feeling the forces of shit yet, as well. Not yet. I am fairly certain that everything will slam me at some point later this morning and leave me wanting and needing comfort. I took care of many steps in this current reconfiguration of everything, and was hoping to relax a bit today. The problem there is that I will need some business to keep my head from allowing the distortion to overtake my ability to remain standing. If I don’t feel motivated enough to do anything significant, the shit hits the fan and I fall into a pit. For example, at this very moment I can feel a very specific type of heartache developing yet I sit here each day enjoying some coffee while gathering my thoughts. This is a part of each day that typically finds me mellow enough to keep the difficulty away. Considering the early morning dreams had nothing to do with beauty or desire, one might believe this quiet period would be more reflective than anything else. Nope. ‘She’ is still right there behind every single thought or consideration, ready to destroy me without warning. No matter how enjoyable the morning may be, there is always something just beneath the surface. Always. The need is far too great these days for me to expect solace. Fortunately, I have the usual program on the big television and nothing is bothering me right now. Sometimes there is a strike, other times not so much. Any day I can get through some video media without beauty slapping me in the fucking face is a good thing. Time will demonstrate how long this mellow period can last. Ugh. Soon... I already know. My questionable behavior has been stifled for the moment. I can’t reveal the reason, however. I can’t describe the behavior, either. The whole thing is just fucking stupid. This is what I am after all the other shit. At least I am aware of what happened... The reasons I feel this way. Force threatens; force overtakes; force destroys. That is that. I still feel the same way, but my behavior cannot follow suit right now because my entire existence is distorted beyond belief. Something has to change and I am not aware of a timeline. Vanes. Death vanes." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Distortion Vane Mature content No. 408 Published March 14th, 2024 9:30am pdt read ( words) Past entries "My sense is distorted and hindering the other vanes. Not in a good way, though. Everything is bad. Distortion comes along when something is misused. It damages everything downstream. All of the vanes are damaged and flailing for connection. From bad to worse. Vane number ten is in the room. Bring out the knives; warm up the equipment; lock the fucking doors. Open your eyes and see the enemy. I am going to engage in questionable behavior again, should the opportunity arise. Yep. I know it is not good for me at all, but at this stage of the game there is little I can do to avoid even the tiniest chance of wonder. And? I don’t care anymore. What else do I have? The day’s business is finished. I’ll move into the kitchen and make revolutions for dinner in a little while. I have all day tomorrow to further the business, if necessary. After going out earlier today, I am pleased that I need not leave the house until Saturday morning for the drive north. My watch has been delayed until tomorrow. Figures. Everything is fucking distorted. Jesus fucking Christ do I ever miss Her right now. Those eyes... Looking into me unlike any other. The only close match was the race girl, although I have no idea what she may have been thinking during that moment. It was probably either nothing or something trivial, like a mustache hair out of place. Fuck, I don’t know. As for the other one, well, I miss Her more now than throughout the past couple of years, and I believe the reason is my condition having changed somewhat a while back and leaving me to realize there is much less ahead than I had thought. Wonderful. She and I were not good for each other, though. Very bad, in fact. Dangerous. We caused more trouble for other people in a matter of weeks than I did throughout the past four years, believe it or not. Anyway, all visions of the two of us destroying ourselves aside, I miss the way She looked at me. No one else since Ashley did the same. The race girl may as well not have existed. I do have a single reminder of those cat eyes, however. Just one. It is an image of an actor from years back that resembles the race girl in many ways. Whenever I feel this sad, the Raven and the race girl pop into my head. Ashley is always right at the forefront and does not require any particular type of mood to come to mind. Ugh. I am going to leave this shit alone until tomorrow. I don’t need any more huge doe eyes haunting me. Friday morning, post business. Coffee and Internet; clouds and words. My head is again distorted beyond belief, yet at the same time it is not as bad as I had expected after yesterday. I don’t need to leave the house for any reason, the wristwatch is scheduled to arrive, and I’ll be making dinner in the slow cooker right close to noon, meaning the evening will be very simple. This is just the type of day I’ve needed for a while. If I can get some of the shit out of the distortion field, things may go well today. If not, we shall see how far down into the ground I end up. The distortion vane has been created by memories. The gate dropped the noise floor to near nonexistence, the compression vane lopped off all of the high points in life, and now what is left has become distorted to the point of leaving me unable to function much of the time. Memories may be all I have from here forward because I am so distorted – as in my sense of reality – that the odds of finding ANYTHING that can truly help are astronomical. This is not good, but then which of the vanes are actually helping me? Post, post business. I don’t know what to do. Dinner is in the slow cooker, I cleaned the kitchen a second time, had lunch, and now I am lost in some ethereal, gaseous space filled with memories and sadness. My watch arrived. Better than nothing. Saturday is here with zero fanfare for the common webmaster. The drive was smooth, and a stopover at the business center went very well. I am happy to be home with my coffee and some time to consider everything. There were pants in the City, yet nothing that threw me for a loop. That is very good in this day and age when considering how weak I’ve become. I am too susceptible to imagery for anything to come along and allow my mind to operate normally. I may move this table into the dining room once I’m finished here. The old table has been stored, so the room is available. Afterward, the tough part comes along. That is the table from the garage that used to sit in the office. Unfortunately, there are things stored beneath the table and I’ll have to disseminate each item in order to roll the toolbox to its previous location. One step at a time, I suppose. The most important aspect of the project is relocating this table to the dining room. If moving the other one into the office takes a bunch of time, I always have the laptop as a cloud fall-back option. It works very well and I love the keyboard. For the moment, I’ll sit here with my cocktail and think about everything. I can feel the distortion attempting to send my head downward, and I really don’t need that right now. Sunday morning is the second best of the week. The drive is out of the way, as is a stopover at the big market. I am at this moment sitting at the dining table – it was slid out here yesterday by yours truly – with laptop and coffee. The office has no table until I move the other one from the garage, perhaps later today. In the meantime, I’ll relax here and enjoy the view of both the big television and the greenery in the backyard. Today is going to be an organizational project. I’ve received numerous deliveries (meaning lots of packaging to process and recycle), the table must be dealt with, and the usual garbage and laundry business needs to be out of the way prior to close of business hours. That would please me a great deal. I have to say that sitting here with the television on reminds me of a few years ago when the weather was very hot. This was the only place inside the house with a fan overhead, so I would do my cloud and IDE work at the dining table instead of on the sofa. Now that there is a second ceiling fan, I can work almost anywhere and still be comfortable. I’d estimate four years ago was the last time I had the laptop set up on this table in the dining room. This machine is an excellent alternative when the control center is not functioning. Last night I was thinking about a few years from now when the software has changed enough to force an upgrade. I’ll leave the work to professionals and use this while the other machine is laid up. I do like having the option just in case. As for the work today, I’ll have to keep the house quiet for a while and then hit the routine, perhaps when my coffee is gone. My typical program is up there on the big television for the time being, including the one face which reminds me of another. Scary and beautiful. Distortion is apparent in my head. Thoughts are distorted. Even after being gated and compressed, there were still aspects of living which brought forth enjoyment, yet now that the distortion has affected the way I think – and I believe it dates back to the first damaging dream – I am having more difficulty trying to maintain an even keel in rough waters. One topic in particular is overpowering everything else, but I can’t talk about it here. Actually, I can’t (and don’t) describe much at all anymore because the subject matter is much too sensitive. On those occasions when I’ve gone further than simply gleaning, the wording is coded, veiled or otherwise too unclear for anyone else to understand the meaning. This is necessary for my protection. Oh, the right person could draw all of the information out of me, but the likelihood of meeting her is so fucking remote that I may as well wait for a passenger flight to Mars. That is not a joke. I may be all fucked up and distorted, but I still must remain behind closed – and locked – doors. I’ve been told that to open everything to another person could be helpful and cathartic, but after all this time I just don’t see it happening in reality. This is it. This is all. There will not be more no matter how distorted I become or how much of the same affects my livelihood. I can’t have sensitive information beyond my control. Nope. Forget it. I’ve already made that mistake on two occasions. Curious? I didn’t think so. I am no one anyway. Rachel hurt me by accident because she didn’t know of all that shitty history. We did not spend much time together, though. I don’t know if I would have shared anything with that girl because she was so fucking young. The situation may have been too difficult for her to understand. That was almost fifteen years ago, too, and the last time such an incident took place. For whatever reason, I felt so comfortable with Andrea that I almost immediately let her all the way in. Maybe it was because she was having such a hard time in life and sought understanding as much as I did. We connected so deeply and so quickly that to this day I have a difficult time recalling the extent of our feelings for each other. Andrea and I were together for weeks, though. Perhaps the time seemed endless back then. I don’t know. Shortly after we parted ways, she tattooed coded information from our relationship onto her thigh. Tattooed. Think about that for a minute. Could Andrea have been the only one? Could Ashley have been the only woman who regards certain aspects of life as she did? I will never know the answers, and the distortion is disallowing further analysis right now. I feel like shit this morning, but for a change the pain is not physical. Not yet, anyway. Going back to Rachel, I do recall that at the time I needed the right pair of ears more than her appearance. Oh, that girl was fucking stunning from head to toe, yet there were enough mental and emotional barriers inside me that our little getaway became truncated very quickly. She was not at fault for any of it, either. That was all me. As much as I understood her very restricted lifestyle and the harsh and demanding beliefs thrust upon her by family and society, I was still not comfortable enough to open certain doors until that brief incident that forced her to question me. Ugh. She was so fucking sweet that I can still see the fear in her pretty eyes for those few moments. The best part of all this is that when we did part ways, I knew there were zero bad feelings. The whole thing was more like bad timing. I was reckless and full of resources, just in time to meet a person in need of breaking free from her life for a little while. I wish I knew how her path went beyond those few days. Nope. Everyone is gone, including the adorable Rachel. Jana was similar, as was our situation. A brief encounter, some very rigid barriers, and a bunch of enjoyable conversation. Nothing more. She was different. She was also very young, nearly Ashley’s age. I am losing my train of thought because the distortion is beginning to wreak havoc on my ability to organize information. The peaks have already been removed (compressed) and the noise floor is all but gone for good. Gated. Compressed. Distortion is only natural. At some point I need to close this off and do some work around the house. The hour is still early. Plenty of time. Dinner will be one of my favorites, and very simple to prepare. Nice. I may begin moving things around in the garage to free up the other table, too. As I said, there is plenty of time thanks to this machine providing options while the control center is down. Some time has passed and my routine is out of the way. I also have a head start on the garbage business. This means it’s cocktail hour. Curious, I used to pour a little something – typically a type of modified White Russian – just prior to cleaning the kitchen each morning. Lately, though, I’ve been waiting until afterward for such an enjoyment. I don’t want my drink watered down before a taste. Heh. Anyway, I still have quite a bit to do before close of business hours. The garbage will be in and around everything else. I also want to begin organizing some things in the garage so the table can be freed up. Part of that process is once again disconnecting and relocating the audio system. Ugh. I do have a plan, however, so the work should go smoothly. As I said earlier, there is no hurry because of this machine. I’ll probably have the office all set up again by tomorrow. Sunday business must take precedence. Laas is on the promenade ‘being fog’. Very interesting. I keep thinking of the incident with Rachel. She was so fucking sweet and bright-eyed before and after what happened, so I could hardly take issue with her actions. The girl was simply too adorable and kind. Sometimes I wish I had remained in Kentucky with her for a while longer. Perhaps we could have reached a higher level of comfort and understanding. Even though we spoke and length while driving, I still did not go into much detail regarding the two shit situations. I felt the need to guard myself for whatever reason, fear taking my words out of my mouth before they could be spoken. Further conversation may have preempted the painful incident, but it also may have led to a situation I would end up regretting. Rachel was very special and I simply could not be the person to further her life and then disappear for all time. Believe me when I say there are many details left out of this shit, and for very good reason. Amber was much older. Maybe I should have snatched her and ran across the state line. Not funny. The events and time periods I’ve described here since eighteen made me what I am today, good or bad. And yes, there is some good left. Unfortunately, no matter how good I may feel about myself on a given day, the bad ends up distorting any possibility for hope. At some point I will continue with housework and I can only hope the process will remove Rachel’s endlessly adorable personality. Oh, yes... And her stunning form. Believe it or not, when her name comes to mind, I still fucking need her. I’ve never been so out of balance in my life. And I fucking love this keyboard. ‘Do you have beer?’ ‘Root beer.’ Jesus fucking hell, when I heard those words and saw the expression on Rachel’s face, the level of desire inside me increased ten-fold. Holy shit. I was already a basket case all those years ago. Splendid. Just imagine how my mind operates these days. Knives out? Um... Maybe. Let’s go further. The way in which I perceive the world, society and the opposite sex is so distorted now that I don’t know if speaking to another human being is even possible without severe backlash. There is one person that I already know would be about as understanding as possible, but unfortunately we barely speak anymore. I don’t believe I can reconnect that bridge just to explore possibilities. Too much time has passed and the ship may have not only sailed, but sunk. Oh, I’ve received offers of conversation should the need arise – if she only knew that the need has been defining my existence – but I already know there would be a strong possibility that one set of emotions would quickly turn into another set of feelings. I can’t have that because the past has demonstrated the consequences of allowing myself to open even a single fucking door. There is another very disturbing, parallel fact at work that relates to this line of thinking, as well. Very disturbing. I already know that the odds are extremely slim, and to be honest, there is a saving grace attached to the knowledge. I hesitate to spell it out, however. I already come across as a reckless, deviant person with questionable morals, so adding my distorted sense of ‘help’ would only damage the way I am viewed. Just ask Melanie. Well, if you can find that wonderful and beautiful woman twenty years after she and I met. Heh. Not funny. I’d give the rest of my life to sit and speak with her for an hour. Anyway, knowing how I would react to a helpful situation only compresses my future even more than has already been done. I don’t fucking like it. I already know. That means both protection and sadness will remain as pervasive as they have been for the last few years. I cannot describe the connection here just because I made it inside my head. I just can’t fucking do it. The way I see myself is pretty bad. Others that might read all this shit don’t need that type of image. I feel bad, damn it, but this is what time and circumstance have made me. Whatever you may be thinking, please do not include the word ‘should’. I refuse to be lumped in with the masses, and I simply will not be categorized. Just trust me when I say that I know what I am, I know how I feel with regard to listening and understanding, and I know full well the impact those two beautiful thoughts would have upon me if they were to come to pass. Trust me. I know. ‘Should’ is one of two words that ‘should’ be removed from modern speech and writing. The other is ‘got’. Leave it. Grab the knives and fire up the distortion analyzer. I believe an HP 8903B can do the job. Good luck paying for it, let alone understanding why that type of equipment exists in the first place. I used to operate, diagnose and maintain such wondrous devices almost thirty years ago. You know... The ‘phase lock’ period. Yep, that was when I sat and had coffee with one of the great, unrequited loves of my life. Sometimes I point out that everything is related. Believe it. Monday hath arriveth. What does this mean? Sunday is over. I am still at the dining table because I can’t bring the other table into the house by myself. It’s just too heavy. If I get pissed off, I might try to engineer a method for lifting it up the back step. Once inside, it can slide along the floor similar to the way I moved this table into position. The dining room is rather nice because I have the entire home theatre system in front of me as opposed to the right-hand display and stereo audio. I am also resting myself in the same chair since I built the control system more than a year ago. It’s ‘old home’ week, I guess. The laptop will be seven years old in August. Interesting. Anyway, yesterday I spent a decent amount of time in the garage trying to move things around, and ended up with my toolbox back where it used to be, the old wardrobe sitting against the back wall where the toolbox was, and the table that is to head into my office fully disassembled and ready to go. The entire operation was straightforward except for the audio system. All six components had to be disconnected, moved temporarily and then relocated atop the wardrobe. Ugh. I had to work without music for a little while. No big deal. The components will eventually live on the end of the toolbox where they were prior to the last reconfiguration. I know; don’t say it. Had I realized how easily the old dining table could be stowed inside the house, much of this would be unnecessary. Honestly, I don’t mind moving stuff more than once if it helps me find the best layout. I have all the time in the world. As for the rest of this day, once I tire of working here, I’ll take care of the usual stuff, laundry, and then perhaps try to figure a way for safely getting that heavy table top into the house. Once inside, the job is all but over. I have a monitor arm coming on Friday, too. Maybe another one shortly thereafter. That means I might remain here for the weekdays so that the table can be completed prior to reconnecting the other computer. I guess I’ll have to wait and see how things go with the housework before firming any plans. There is a lot of crap in my head this morning, all distorted and uncomfortable, but that is not reason for me to lose track of my responsibilities. Remember when I said that all I do is help other people? Well... I’ll get to the routine soon. I need to try letting go of memories and feelings of loss right now or this day will end up going nowhere. I just don’t understand why the world has to be this way. Make me understand. Or don’t. Distortion is very damaging. The source must be handled with care and clarity. Once the signal is amplified from low-level to high-level, all bets are off. Regardless of gating or compression, the distortion, be it intermodulation, harmonic or otherwise, is boosted along with the source material and that’s when the destruction begins. Think about the previous two vanes and maybe you can put two and two together. This morning, I can feel the distortion inside, so remaining quiet is the only option. Well, until things calm down (if they ever do), that is. Most of the time all I can do is sit here, lump it, and continue to analyze. I don’t like this one bit. All those memories are distorting my sense of reality... Even as far back as when I was an actual person. That’s been some fucking years, believe me. I need to extricate some of this shit or the day will go absolutely nowhere. My devices have been waning because their importance is not ‘happiness’, but only a measure of physical comfort. ‘Happiness’ is attached to other aspects of living, none of which exist for me any longer. I just have the memories, most causing nothing more than sadness and the realization that all I’ve been doing is postponing the inevitable. Not good. Being gated was bad enough. Now the distortion is key and can destroy everything. Monday. This is one of my two favorite days of the week because all of the weekend business is out of the way and I have the peace and quiet of the house for several hours. The feeling fades as the typical week progresses. I took care of part of my routine already because the emperors of the universe vacated the spare bedroom for a snack. That’s good for my timeline. I also have the laundry running so everything that does not go in the dryer has hours to hang on the rack. I still haven’t calculated a way to get the table into the house by myself, though. Something may come to mind as the day progresses. I hope so, anyway. I’d like to complete the last step of this three-table swap. Working around the house – especially anything fairly enjoyable – helps to minimize the distortion for a little while. Right now it is trying to get the best of me and I need to push back as best I can. The alternative is to completely lose my way. I can’t have that right now. I was exactly where I needed to be – right fucking there. I was there, damn it, and I knew full well of the consequences to my psyche as each moment passed. I knew there would be a mass of trouble inside me and didn’t care because the opportunity was so fucking rare that I simply could not stop it. I was weak and full of bliss. I was right there. I feel the need to gush all over the place about that morning, too. It’s bad, this feeling. I need to describe each second and the importance of being there. I can’t. The backlash would never end. Trust me. The more I think about that day, the more I need to go back in time, something that is impossible, much like repeating any fucking aspect of the situation. There is nothing I can do and I can’t stand being forced to just live with the loss. I could write about that day for five years and still barely glean my dire need for such things. No fucking way, people. And believe me when I say that aside from Andrea, there can be no comparison to the experience. None. Zero. Ashley was close, though. Very close. When I stepped out of her bathroom, I could not believe my fucking desperate eyes. Twelve years later, it happened again, albeit the circumstances were far worse. I need to be there so badly that my thought processes regarding anything in life have been distorted beyond comprehension. While there, the world melted away. Everything was gone. Every fucking thing. I threw away quite a bit, nearly lost my job, and knew that even more was going to go sideways very soon, yet I remained where I needed to be. I just didn’t fucking care about anything or anyone. The entire universe was on hold. This vane may indeed kill me. It is the worst of the bunch. I can still see everything, too. Everything. My head exploded for a little while but it didn’t matter. My head emptied itself, I embraced all that I was able, and in the end I knew the day would create memories that could not be topped. Once the opportunity presented itself – and believe me when I say I had to jack around a lot of shit in order to even have a CHANCE – I calculated what had to be done and then leveraged everything and everyone so the plan would succeed. And I said chance... I didn’t know for sure until much later. There were many steps to that plan, as well. Many. I didn’t fucking care. My life for those hours became narrowed beyond belief; a singular path that simply would not be avoided. I was right fucking there. Better to have... What? Nope. I’d be in less pain right now had that plan never worked. Believe it. My coffee is nearly gone. I suppose the kitchen is next. I feel the compression regardless of all the distortion. I feel the distortion regardless of being gated. And I feel all the rest. The vanes have permeated my entire life. I can only hope that working in the kitchen this morning and again in the afternoon will allow my head to relax a little bit. Underneath it all is a mass of anger and rage waiting to come forth. I don’t want that to happen. No one does. Later. The laundry is nearly finished and the kitchen work is complete for the morning. I have lunch in the oven. That is one of the few devices left with the ability to hold me up for a little while. Cocktail time? Oh, fuck yes. The glass is here on the table and my program is playing on the big system. Working in the kitchen and on the laundry with my wonderful friends in the background helped to minimize the distortion for a time. I am hoping against hope that it does not become overpowering like earlier. I really don’t need any more of that shit. Recalling one of the most stirring and beautiful mornings of my entire life took its toll. I’d like to forget it, but I fear that would be impossible. The importance of being there cannot be overstated. Just trust me. There can be nothing above it in this world. Thankfully, I must avoid further detail. Being ‘there’ is not what you might think. As for the rest of the day, I have a little to do here and there, some cleaning, and a period of relaxation once the early dinner preparations are finished. The late afternoons are often quite comfortable. Well, as much as can be expected considering the distortion. Sometimes when I see Kira’s eyes during certain emotional passages on the show, I feel the need to go outside and repeatedly bang my head against the stucco. Just a thought. Like Jamie’s eyes, they seem to go on forever. Sitting at this table and in the same chair is very comfortable, especially considering that I have the entire home theatre system at my disposal. This reminds me of building the two model cars a few years ago. The same table was here and I had one of my favorite programs on the television. The screen is directly ahead, and to my right is the back wall of the house, complete with huge windows. If I am going to suffer through distortion and all that other shit, I may as well be physically comfortable (as much as I can, anyway). The next day, but does the name of the day matter? Or the time? Nope. Every day I do the same things, often in the exact same order. Yesterday was a prime example of how the days can progress if I am not careful. I very nearly lost my way for good during the afternoon, but then pushed myself to visit the hardware store and repair some wall tiles for my neighbor (the one with the restaurant). The effort required to leave the house when I feel really bad is tremendous. I did it anyway. Part of the reason may have been thinking that when I postpone a project, the feeling of weight on my shoulders remains rather than caring for the problem and lifting such pressure off of me. Had I not taken care of business, I’d be feeling it right now despite the early hour. As it is, I have to deal with the distortion, so piling anything else on top is just not good. There is already too much shit going on for me to expect balance, clarity or the like. Too much. I’ve published more than four hundred essays here. Some have been removed – mostly the nonfiction through which I lived; also one fictional story that became too painful to share – for reasons of good form and to disallow people from learning of my past pitfalls. The present doesn’t really matter because all of the damage has already been done (my brain is distorted as a result of the same). I honestly don’t know what else to do most of the time, so I just keep typing and trying to understand the machinations that have resulted in the person (?) sitting at this machine every day. I see nothing dramatic on the horizon, meaning the number of entries will continue to increase. As I said above, I do the same things every fucking day, seven days per week. There will be zero changes. Perhaps one day I will find an answer to at least one fucking question. I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve described the power of past situations, imagery and how it affects me, along with certain wondrous periods when I began to think that everything would be ok in life, yet here I sit no better off for the effort. So, why continue? I don’t know. The sound of the keys clicking is not enough. I can’t force the past out of my head, as all my attempts at distraction can attest, and too often they take over and leave me wondering how much longer I can continue to analyze without falling away for the last time. Good memories are just that – good – yet they also create a gradient between the past and present, the latter being void of everything I used to enjoy. I am speaking of the most important reasons for continuing to live. Writing about some of the trips I’ve taken in search of that ever-elusive comfort and understanding only reminds me that I was ‘there’, and the moments have disappeared in the rear-view mirror. Regardless of how far back some of those beautiful situations took place, the memories do not have time limits. Traveling back (in my head) twenty-plus years to the first time I took control and ran beyond the state line is as clear right now as it was ten or more years ago. I can still see Juliette standing at the counter, Ashley gazelling her way through the casino, and the way Melanie looked at me with sympathy in her beautiful eyes. I can feel the cool bar under my elbows; smell the alcohol. No matter how many days pass or how much I write, none of the past can truly be reconciled because I am exactly the same... Desperate, depressed, and searching for the same wondrous moments. I was ‘there’, and I can still see and feel everything. As such, present life appears nearly worthless rather than worthwhile, and distorted beyond belief. Gating and compression were pretty bad – ARE pretty bad – yet the distortion is taking over and much worse. Oh, boy... The hits just keep on coming. I can’t seem to do right anymore when it comes to other people. Remaining inside the house is not good enough anymore, I suppose. Whatever. The keyboard pays no mind. I have ways of dealing with difficulty. No problem. My methods may be questionable, but there is already too much fucking distortion for me to jump through additional hoops. I really don’t need any more shit right now. The time has come for increased quiet, consequences be damned. I am back to the fourth show, the previous program having concluded last night. That means I went through 173 hours of television in 42 days. Splendid. I am a basket case because I still need them to keep me company. And yes, there are memories attached to each of the five series’. Believe it. The current pilot dates back to the Midwest period, good or bad that my time there may have been. The pilot of the previous series first aired toward the end of the glowing years. I’d rather not comment on the others. I’ve gone back to that day several times for good reason. Between then and now, the same type of situation or emotion has not occurred at all. Not even fucking close. There were moments here and there that approached the level of wonder that took place on that day, yet I knew full well that what I was doing was desperately trying to recreate feelings better left alone. The only result could be disappointment. I found plenty of it. As I said above, there is nothing I can do about memories. They will continue to come to mind no matter what I’m doing or where I am. Once in focus, the present situation and my mental and emotional conditions decline. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with remembering being happy. Unfortunately, I can’t thrust myself into the future to a time when individual engrams can be removed. I just have to sit here and deal with everything. Blah, blah, blah... Noonegivesafuckcakes. I can’t blame people, either. They try to follow and understand during those times when information comes out. At the same time, the idea of reaching becomes not only worthless, but ridiculous. I expect very little insight anymore due to being so closed-off. That is my fault and I accept it. The inherent problem with seeking insight is fear. As I’ve stated on many occasions, once information leaves the body, it cannot be controlled. Hmm... Maybe if more people understood such an idea, they would leave things out of their phones and/or keyboards. Speech, too. Anyway, I am as much to blame as anyone that has caused problems in the past because my stance is more often than not the root of the entire shitaree. Conversely, when I’ve sought help, the initial standpoint is fraught with so many disclaimers that I hoped whomever was on the receiving end would not squish me. Another reason for a need to control the fucking information. I have never spoken of that day with another human being. That is the absolute truth. Not a fucking soul, and the avoidance is for good reason. Fear. My need for help has never been more dire, yet my need to avoid appearing in a bad light or being squished again has overpowered any possible action. The most powerful tool we have as human beings is our language... Too bad I need to avoid it. My mind keeps going back to the only power I can wield anymore, that of RF. What good will it do? Can I come out the other side less concerned with memories? No fucking way. Will the power emanate and make me feel better about anything? Doubtful. The mere fact that I have a very technical grasp of something I love and can build does not mean anything will change in doing so. The only result would be two more projects completed and hopefully a smidgen of pride in the work. Others will marvel at the accomplishment, I’m sure, yet they will look at me and not realize I went through all that shit for nothing. The memories and current situation will remain unchanged. Half of the routine is finished. I’ve been considering the table and methods for safely moving it into the office, but as of yet the only conclusion is help from another person. That is no big deal. I’ve also been scoping out the garage and how the storage has changed since moving things around two days ago. I need to ensure that the car can be parked without issue during this process, and therein lies the challenge. Relocation of the audio system and related wiring is not a big deal at all. Storage is key. I doubt I’ll try to make any further changes out there until I can get the table into the house. Perhaps I’ll ask for help tomorrow. Once the table is in the house, I have other ideas for reconfiguring the other items in the garage, one of them being a brilliant plan from my neighbor. Right now I am not terribly motivated to alter anything that might preclude the car from being parked inside, so my time will be spent considering the options. Plus, I plan to sit here at the mobile editor for quite a while. I have much on my mind. Sometimes I think that had Ashley not altered the way I see the world and made me realize that life could actually be fulfilling, I’d be better off right now. Moreover, the last two decades could have been more enjoyable and less confusing. Eh... Thinking in such terms is a waste of effort because everything has already unfolded as it did. Dwelling on impossibilities and grating against the unilateral nature of time is not going to help matters. I still do, though. Can’t help it. I am a product of time and circumstance, nothing more. It just so happens that I write about everything. In any case, she really threw me for a loop. That doll altered me in ways that cannot be reversed, nor have I been able to relate her way of life to that of anyone else since. There have been moments that drove me to see possibilities, but each and every one of them turned to shit in a cold minute. I should expect more of the same. The damage is done; the distortion will go on. Gavan O’Herlihy is in this episode of the fourth series. I knew of him prior to this program’s creation and am not ashamed to say that I love and miss him. And this brings up a question: Is it possible that the actors for which I feel so much and that have left this world have any idea of how I feel? There is no way to know, and that is why I point out such things. My feelings for the filmed entertainment industry are attached to every single actor I have referenced here, as well. The whole thing is a gigantic ball of sadness. I never took a step, but they most certainly did. Straight into my heart. Sometimes I fucking hate everything and everyone. Make of that what you will. The RF power may be something with which I am intimately familiar and over which I enjoy a vast command, but it can’t fix anything. Flex; relax. Lash; retract. Reach; find nothing. ‘It is the way of things.’ The beginning of this series reminds me of a time when I saw possibilities and promise in the world; in my world. The road ahead was full of options. Within less than a calendar year, I was back in California and enjoying (as much as I could) the fruits of being home. Soon after, I returned to work on swing shift as the film fascination began to hit a high point. That was also the period when my first desktop computer was built, along with all of the wonder and enjoyment that came with it. The phase lock period was shortly thereafter. Even a year after returning home, I still viewed the future as wide-open and full of possibilities. Daily life seemed very simple and straightforward, as well. All of it, as I recall, was vastly different from the current period. As I mentioned before, each series has either memories or a past period attached, some have both. The fourth reminds me of when I made the decision to leave the MIdwest, pack everything I could fit into my truck, and then drive. By the second day of cruising the interstate, I was hundreds of miles from my previous home and filled with a sense of wonder regarding traveling through beautiful parts of the country and felt freedom at the same time. Had I more resources at the time, I probably would have made my way west much more slowly in order to take in more sights. As it was, I arrived at my parents’ house in less than four days. The second and fourth series were swirling around in my head the entire time. As for the third, well, that was prior to leaving California and quite short-lived, believe it or not. I felt even more open at that time, too. I really did. The future seemed vast and full of exciting prospects. At some point in time, I must learn how I went from being adventurous and willing to explore to needing comfort above all other life concerns, every single day. I must know. In addition, I have often questioned the idea of appreciating those times enough while they were fresh, but the truth is I know I did. I fucking know it. No worries with that one, believe me. I knew things were good and thought in such terms every day. The present looks and feels that much worse for the memories. The next day is here. What does this mean? Nothing. As of yet, the only difference is I moved a portion of the control center to the dining room. I can only work in the cloud for so long before information must be transferred to the IDE to be formatted and scrutinized. There is just one display on the table, though. I am not accustomed to losing massive amounts of screen real estate, so this can’t last very long. I’ll lose my shit. While writing on the laptop, I am in the cloud, so there is zero formatting or concern over layout. It’s just a mass of disorganized information. On this machine, I have to make everything look loyally or I am not satisfied. All this shit adds up to the need for the other table to be moved into the house. And there is the face again. You know, the scary reminder. What a fucking beauty, though. Jesus. Anyway, I may or may not move the other displays to this table. The process depends upon the office and whether or not I can get everything in order and in a decent amount of time. If I decide this will be the temporary office, everything comes here. At some point after, I’ll have to set up the entire system in the office again. At least I’ll be starting with a cleaner layout and less wiring thanks to the display arm. Better than nothing. Moreover, sitting here may afford me a view of the greenery in the back as well as the big television, but I am unable to see the front area. That means I need to keep the garage door closed for security. Whatever. I am better off not seeing what may walk by the window. I am losing my mind over the need to deal with all this distortion. Many years ago while trying to understand my obsession with the mathematics and mechanics of the female form, I mused that Mercedes’ image – something that could have represented the infancy of my feelings – displayed ‘distortion’ due to her being seated. I then went further and described the girl at the car wash and the way her appearance was altered by sitting. I was referring to the way a woman’s thighs adjust to such a position and ‘spread’ out to the sides a little bit, thus exaggerating the almighty hip-to-waist ratio, otherwise known as a component of the golden ratio. Scholars have applied the fibonacci sequence, or golden ratio, to beauty for centuries, believe it or not. For me, that distortion creates a wonderland of radii and disparity, from when I first tried to quantify such positioning many years ago all the way to this very second as I watch my program. Up to this paragraph, the distortion was all in my head, affected by every single aspect of living through a single day, and something I loathe to deal with because of the other vanes. Well, there is always more than meets the eye (or mind) when discussing or analyzing my mental and emotional conditions as well as the fucking LINES. There are three nymphs in this episode, something I probably should not be seeing. Damn. Anyway, the distortion is now two-fold and worse than when this entry began. Beauty rules my existence; understanding destroys hope. Both are tied to the fucking distortion. Sometimes I feel the need to do something dramatic, like a big change in the house or garage, yet the feeling never goes anywhere because I am far less capable of rising than I am of falling away. Sad. I’ll be in the past again, soon. That’s the only good place left. Do I need to go back through the archives and place the image of Mercedes here again? YOU make the call. Or not. I don’t care. Jamie was on the news this morning in a story related to MS. If I recall correctly, she has been dealing with the disease since before the age of twenty, nearly half of her life. Wow. I knew about it some years ago because I was always reading articles about her, but still... My heart goes out to anyone in similar circumstances. Wait... Do such feelings force me to realize the benefits of living here in this house without any diseases? Sometimes. That’s all I will say. As if it’s necessary, I will point out that her last appearance in the series was seventeen-plus years ago and to this day the woman is still more beautiful than anyone else. Jesus. The depth of love I feel for her is a prime example of just how unbalanced I’ve become. Wonderful. I never said any of this shit was good. Later. The routine is out of the way and I’ve made revolutions for moving furniture around the spare and master bedrooms as well as the office. The table will have to remain in the garage until at least Friday. I am tempted to move the other two displays to this table in order to have everything operational. I’ve become accustomed to everything spread across three displays, although since I am directly in front of the home theatre system, number three may be unnecessary. I just don’t know. The wait is only a few days. And here I sit over an hour later. Aside from dry cleaning, all my stuff is done. I also ventured to the restaurant a little while ago to try diagnosing some noise in their water lines. The conclusion was to leave everything alone. The issue could be air in the lines – even though I know from experience that such an issue is rare – and I told them that as long as the water is flowing fine, there is no noticeable noise in the bar area or dining room, and no other problems are apparent, the problem is not serious at all. I am overjoyed to be home again. Upon arriving, I moved a few more things around the office and added a second display to this table. The dining room will be the new home of the control system until at least Friday afternoon. My books arrived while I was out. They are freaking beautiful and I plan to have my nose buried inside one of them when the third series comes around in the rotation. I love having information about each episode, from a simple synopsis to detailed background facts. The office is still in flux, however. I need to formulate a solid plan for the furniture layout before going further. I am hoping to have everything in place prior to bringing the table inside. Now that I have the basics for operating the control system on this table, there is no hurry. Even after more than a year, I still love this machine; the first full representation of a vision from long ago. Holy crap. I have no idea from where the motivation came, but something happened and I kicked into gear for quite a while. No, nothing in the garage. I reconfigured the office in order to ensure there was no pinch point upon entering, and that required moving my drafting table, nearly all of the other furniture, and cleaning the floor. Moving furniture without cleaning is ridiculous. The office is now ready for the table, and there is a new boot rack in the master bedroom. The only issue is my file cabinet. The new location has it overhanging the edge of the cabinet below, and as such the lower drawer wants to tip the whole thing when fully open. I’ll have to figure something out to make sure it is stable. Other than that, everything is fine. Once the table and control system are set up, the center of the room will be more open and I won’t have to worry about my chair coming in contact with anything when I move around. Moreover, the process of replacing the litter boxes is further along. I should soon be able to reconfigure the spare bedroom. Suffice to say, the cats are very happy because both trees are in front of the window. As I said, I don’t know what drove that whole project, but now I feel very accomplished. For a little while, the distortion all but disappeared. My friends have been following along in the background, as always. I love them. From here forward, I need to make revolutions for dinner. A simple affair. The distortion will return in force soon enough. I need to enjoy the quiet while it is available. Everything bad eventually returns. There is nothing I can do about it. Later, still. Everything is finished along with a few preparations for dinner. There has been artwork of the near-highest order gracing the screens, and nothing I can do about the feelings. Splendid. Nothing good is on my horizon, especially something THAT fucking beautiful. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. I just have to sit here and lump it. As for the work today, I am very pleased with everything I’ve accomplished. The result will be a very relaxing evening after close of business hours (soon). When the distortion again becomes amplified – and that fucking moment is not far off at all – I’ll at least have some alcohol inside me for good measure. Since I cannot alter this state, causing my own brand of distortion is all I can do. Sad. Very sad. The alternative is to exit this shit once and for all. Distortion of the mind and thought processes is temporary. The gate vane took away stability. The compression vane sliced off the high points of life. Now? Everything is distorted; and no... Not the type over which I’ve obsessed for decades. I’ve seen it, but no more. I’ll probably never see the distortion the way I need to, yet there will be plenty of distortion all around me for the rest of my life. Marvelous. Wait a minute... Three types of distortion? Thursday morning is here whether i like it or not. As of this moment, the early business is finished and I have the next several hours to myself. I am not feeling the forces of shit yet, as well. Not yet. I am fairly certain that everything will slam me at some point later this morning and leave me wanting and needing comfort. I took care of many steps in this current reconfiguration of everything, and was hoping to relax a bit today. The problem there is that I will need some business to keep my head from allowing the distortion to overtake my ability to remain standing. If I don’t feel motivated enough to do anything significant, the shit hits the fan and I fall into a pit. For example, at this very moment I can feel a very specific type of heartache developing yet I sit here each day enjoying some coffee while gathering my thoughts. This is a part of each day that typically finds me mellow enough to keep the difficulty away. Considering the early morning dreams had nothing to do with beauty or desire, one might believe this quiet period would be more reflective than anything else. Nope. ‘She’ is still right there behind every single thought or consideration, ready to destroy me without warning. No matter how enjoyable the morning may be, there is always something just beneath the surface. Always. The need is far too great these days for me to expect solace. Fortunately, I have the usual program on the big television and nothing is bothering me right now. Sometimes there is a strike, other times not so much. Any day I can get through some video media without beauty slapping me in the fucking face is a good thing. Time will demonstrate how long this mellow period can last. Ugh. Soon... I already know. My questionable behavior has been stifled for the moment. I can’t reveal the reason, however. I can’t describe the behavior, either. The whole thing is just fucking stupid. This is what I am after all the other shit. At least I am aware of what happened... The reasons I feel this way. Force threatens; force overtakes; force destroys. That is that. I still feel the same way, but my behavior cannot follow suit right now because my entire existence is distorted beyond belief. Something has to change and I am not aware of a timeline. Vanes. Death vanes."
The Distortion Vane
Mature content No. 408 Published March 14th, 2024 9:30am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"My sense is distorted and hindering the other vanes. Not in a good way, though. Everything is bad. Distortion comes along when something is misused. It damages everything downstream. All of the vanes are damaged and flailing for connection. From bad to worse. Vane number ten is in the room. Bring out the knives; warm up the equipment; lock the fucking doors. Open your eyes and see the enemy. I am going to engage in questionable behavior again, should the opportunity arise. Yep. I know it is not good for me at all, but at this stage of the game there is little I can do to avoid even the tiniest chance of wonder. And? I don’t care anymore. What else do I have? The day’s business is finished. I’ll move into the kitchen and make revolutions for dinner in a little while. I have all day tomorrow to further the business, if necessary. After going out earlier today, I am pleased that I need not leave the house until Saturday morning for the drive north. My watch has been delayed until tomorrow. Figures. Everything is fucking distorted. Jesus fucking Christ do I ever miss Her right now. Those eyes... Looking into me unlike any other. The only close match was the race girl, although I have no idea what she may have been thinking during that moment. It was probably either nothing or something trivial, like a mustache hair out of place. Fuck, I don’t know. As for the other one, well, I miss Her more now than throughout the past couple of years, and I believe the reason is my condition having changed somewhat a while back and leaving me to realize there is much less ahead than I had thought. Wonderful. She and I were not good for each other, though. Very bad, in fact. Dangerous. We caused more trouble for other people in a matter of weeks than I did throughout the past four years, believe it or not. Anyway, all visions of the two of us destroying ourselves aside, I miss the way She looked at me. No one else since Ashley did the same. The race girl may as well not have existed. I do have a single reminder of those cat eyes, however. Just one. It is an image of an actor from years back that resembles the race girl in many ways. Whenever I feel this sad, the Raven and the race girl pop into my head. Ashley is always right at the forefront and does not require any particular type of mood to come to mind. Ugh. I am going to leave this shit alone until tomorrow. I don’t need any more huge doe eyes haunting me. Friday morning, post business. Coffee and Internet; clouds and words. My head is again distorted beyond belief, yet at the same time it is not as bad as I had expected after yesterday. I don’t need to leave the house for any reason, the wristwatch is scheduled to arrive, and I’ll be making dinner in the slow cooker right close to noon, meaning the evening will be very simple. This is just the type of day I’ve needed for a while. If I can get some of the shit out of the distortion field, things may go well today. If not, we shall see how far down into the ground I end up. The distortion vane has been created by memories. The gate dropped the noise floor to near nonexistence, the compression vane lopped off all of the high points in life, and now what is left has become distorted to the point of leaving me unable to function much of the time. Memories may be all I have from here forward because I am so distorted – as in my sense of reality – that the odds of finding ANYTHING that can truly help are astronomical. This is not good, but then which of the vanes are actually helping me? Post, post business. I don’t know what to do. Dinner is in the slow cooker, I cleaned the kitchen a second time, had lunch, and now I am lost in some ethereal, gaseous space filled with memories and sadness. My watch arrived. Better than nothing. Saturday is here with zero fanfare for the common webmaster. The drive was smooth, and a stopover at the business center went very well. I am happy to be home with my coffee and some time to consider everything. There were pants in the City, yet nothing that threw me for a loop. That is very good in this day and age when considering how weak I’ve become. I am too susceptible to imagery for anything to come along and allow my mind to operate normally. I may move this table into the dining room once I’m finished here. The old table has been stored, so the room is available. Afterward, the tough part comes along. That is the table from the garage that used to sit in the office. Unfortunately, there are things stored beneath the table and I’ll have to disseminate each item in order to roll the toolbox to its previous location. One step at a time, I suppose. The most important aspect of the project is relocating this table to the dining room. If moving the other one into the office takes a bunch of time, I always have the laptop as a cloud fall-back option. It works very well and I love the keyboard. For the moment, I’ll sit here with my cocktail and think about everything. I can feel the distortion attempting to send my head downward, and I really don’t need that right now. Sunday morning is the second best of the week. The drive is out of the way, as is a stopover at the big market. I am at this moment sitting at the dining table – it was slid out here yesterday by yours truly – with laptop and coffee. The office has no table until I move the other one from the garage, perhaps later today. In the meantime, I’ll relax here and enjoy the view of both the big television and the greenery in the backyard. Today is going to be an organizational project. I’ve received numerous deliveries (meaning lots of packaging to process and recycle), the table must be dealt with, and the usual garbage and laundry business needs to be out of the way prior to close of business hours. That would please me a great deal. I have to say that sitting here with the television on reminds me of a few years ago when the weather was very hot. This was the only place inside the house with a fan overhead, so I would do my cloud and IDE work at the dining table instead of on the sofa. Now that there is a second ceiling fan, I can work almost anywhere and still be comfortable. I’d estimate four years ago was the last time I had the laptop set up on this table in the dining room. This machine is an excellent alternative when the control center is not functioning. Last night I was thinking about a few years from now when the software has changed enough to force an upgrade. I’ll leave the work to professionals and use this while the other machine is laid up. I do like having the option just in case. As for the work today, I’ll have to keep the house quiet for a while and then hit the routine, perhaps when my coffee is gone. My typical program is up there on the big television for the time being, including the one face which reminds me of another. Scary and beautiful. Distortion is apparent in my head. Thoughts are distorted. Even after being gated and compressed, there were still aspects of living which brought forth enjoyment, yet now that the distortion has affected the way I think – and I believe it dates back to the first damaging dream – I am having more difficulty trying to maintain an even keel in rough waters. One topic in particular is overpowering everything else, but I can’t talk about it here. Actually, I can’t (and don’t) describe much at all anymore because the subject matter is much too sensitive. On those occasions when I’ve gone further than simply gleaning, the wording is coded, veiled or otherwise too unclear for anyone else to understand the meaning. This is necessary for my protection. Oh, the right person could draw all of the information out of me, but the likelihood of meeting her is so fucking remote that I may as well wait for a passenger flight to Mars. That is not a joke. I may be all fucked up and distorted, but I still must remain behind closed – and locked – doors. I’ve been told that to open everything to another person could be helpful and cathartic, but after all this time I just don’t see it happening in reality. This is it. This is all. There will not be more no matter how distorted I become or how much of the same affects my livelihood. I can’t have sensitive information beyond my control. Nope. Forget it. I’ve already made that mistake on two occasions. Curious? I didn’t think so. I am no one anyway.
Rachel hurt me by accident because she didn’t know of all that shitty history. We did not spend much time together, though. I don’t know if I would have shared anything with that girl because she was so fucking young. The situation may have been too difficult for her to understand. That was almost fifteen years ago, too, and the last time such an incident took place. For whatever reason, I felt so comfortable with Andrea that I almost immediately let her all the way in. Maybe it was because she was having such a hard time in life and sought understanding as much as I did. We connected so deeply and so quickly that to this day I have a difficult time recalling the extent of our feelings for each other. Andrea and I were together for weeks, though. Perhaps the time seemed endless back then. I don’t know. Shortly after we parted ways, she tattooed coded information from our relationship onto her thigh. Tattooed. Think about that for a minute. Could Andrea have been the only one? Could Ashley have been the only woman who regards certain aspects of life as she did? I will never know the answers, and the distortion is disallowing further analysis right now. I feel like shit this morning, but for a change the pain is not physical. Not yet, anyway. Going back to Rachel, I do recall that at the time I needed the right pair of ears more than her appearance. Oh, that girl was fucking stunning from head to toe, yet there were enough mental and emotional barriers inside me that our little getaway became truncated very quickly. She was not at fault for any of it, either. That was all me. As much as I understood her very restricted lifestyle and the harsh and demanding beliefs thrust upon her by family and society, I was still not comfortable enough to open certain doors until that brief incident that forced her to question me. Ugh. She was so fucking sweet that I can still see the fear in her pretty eyes for those few moments. The best part of all this is that when we did part ways, I knew there were zero bad feelings. The whole thing was more like bad timing. I was reckless and full of resources, just in time to meet a person in need of breaking free from her life for a little while. I wish I knew how her path went beyond those few days. Nope. Everyone is gone, including the adorable Rachel. Jana was similar, as was our situation. A brief encounter, some very rigid barriers, and a bunch of enjoyable conversation. Nothing more. She was different. She was also very young, nearly Ashley’s age. I am losing my train of thought because the distortion is beginning to wreak havoc on my ability to organize information. The peaks have already been removed (compressed) and the noise floor is all but gone for good. Gated. Compressed. Distortion is only natural. At some point I need to close this off and do some work around the house. The hour is still early. Plenty of time. Dinner will be one of my favorites, and very simple to prepare. Nice. I may begin moving things around in the garage to free up the other table, too. As I said, there is plenty of time thanks to this machine providing options while the control center is down. Some time has passed and my routine is out of the way. I also have a head start on the garbage business. This means it’s cocktail hour. Curious, I used to pour a little something – typically a type of modified White Russian – just prior to cleaning the kitchen each morning. Lately, though, I’ve been waiting until afterward for such an enjoyment. I don’t want my drink watered down before a taste. Heh. Anyway, I still have quite a bit to do before close of business hours. The garbage will be in and around everything else. I also want to begin organizing some things in the garage so the table can be freed up. Part of that process is once again disconnecting and relocating the audio system. Ugh. I do have a plan, however, so the work should go smoothly. As I said earlier, there is no hurry because of this machine. I’ll probably have the office all set up again by tomorrow. Sunday business must take precedence. Laas is on the promenade ‘being fog’. Very interesting. I keep thinking of the incident with Rachel. She was so fucking sweet and bright-eyed before and after what happened, so I could hardly take issue with her actions. The girl was simply too adorable and kind. Sometimes I wish I had remained in Kentucky with her for a while longer. Perhaps we could have reached a higher level of comfort and understanding. Even though we spoke and length while driving, I still did not go into much detail regarding the two shit situations. I felt the need to guard myself for whatever reason, fear taking my words out of my mouth before they could be spoken. Further conversation may have preempted the painful incident, but it also may have led to a situation I would end up regretting. Rachel was very special and I simply could not be the person to further her life and then disappear for all time. Believe me when I say there are many details left out of this shit, and for very good reason. Amber was much older. Maybe I should have snatched her and ran across the state line. Not funny. The events and time periods I’ve described here since eighteen made me what I am today, good or bad. And yes, there is some good left. Unfortunately, no matter how good I may feel about myself on a given day, the bad ends up distorting any possibility for hope. At some point I will continue with housework and I can only hope the process will remove Rachel’s endlessly adorable personality. Oh, yes... And her stunning form. Believe it or not, when her name comes to mind, I still fucking need her. I’ve never been so out of balance in my life. And I fucking love this keyboard. ‘Do you have beer?’ ‘Root beer.’ Jesus fucking hell, when I heard those words and saw the expression on Rachel’s face, the level of desire inside me increased ten-fold. Holy shit. I was already a basket case all those years ago. Splendid. Just imagine how my mind operates these days. Knives out? Um... Maybe. Let’s go further. The way in which I perceive the world, society and the opposite sex is so distorted now that I don’t know if speaking to another human being is even possible without severe backlash. There is one person that I already know would be about as understanding as possible, but unfortunately we barely speak anymore. I don’t believe I can reconnect that bridge just to explore possibilities. Too much time has passed and the ship may have not only sailed, but sunk. Oh, I’ve received offers of conversation should the need arise – if she only knew that the need has been defining my existence – but I already know there would be a strong possibility that one set of emotions would quickly turn into another set of feelings. I can’t have that because the past has demonstrated the consequences of allowing myself to open even a single fucking door. There is another very disturbing, parallel fact at work that relates to this line of thinking, as well. Very disturbing. I already know that the odds are extremely slim, and to be honest, there is a saving grace attached to the knowledge. I hesitate to spell it out, however. I already come across as a reckless, deviant person with questionable morals, so adding my distorted sense of ‘help’ would only damage the way I am viewed. Just ask Melanie. Well, if you can find that wonderful and beautiful woman twenty years after she and I met. Heh. Not funny. I’d give the rest of my life to sit and speak with her for an hour. Anyway, knowing how I would react to a helpful situation only compresses my future even more than has already been done. I don’t fucking like it. I already know. That means both protection and sadness will remain as pervasive as they have been for the last few years. I cannot describe the connection here just because I made it inside my head. I just can’t fucking do it. The way I see myself is pretty bad. Others that might read all this shit don’t need that type of image. I feel bad, damn it, but this is what time and circumstance have made me. Whatever you may be thinking, please do not include the word ‘should’. I refuse to be lumped in with the masses, and I simply will not be categorized. Just trust me when I say that I know what I am, I know how I feel with regard to listening and understanding, and I know full well the impact those two beautiful thoughts would have upon me if they were to come to pass. Trust me. I know. ‘Should’ is one of two words that ‘should’ be removed from modern speech and writing. The other is ‘got’. Leave it. Grab the knives and fire up the distortion analyzer. I believe an HP 8903B can do the job. Good luck paying for it, let alone understanding why that type of equipment exists in the first place. I used to operate, diagnose and maintain such wondrous devices almost thirty years ago. You know... The ‘phase lock’ period. Yep, that was when I sat and had coffee with one of the great, unrequited loves of my life. Sometimes I point out that everything is related. Believe it. Monday hath arriveth. What does this mean? Sunday is over. I am still at the dining table because I can’t bring the other table into the house by myself. It’s just too heavy. If I get pissed off, I might try to engineer a method for lifting it up the back step. Once inside, it can slide along the floor similar to the way I moved this table into position. The dining room is rather nice because I have the entire home theatre system in front of me as opposed to the right-hand display and stereo audio. I am also resting myself in the same chair since I built the control system more than a year ago. It’s ‘old home’ week, I guess. The laptop will be seven years old in August. Interesting. Anyway, yesterday I spent a decent amount of time in the garage trying to move things around, and ended up with my toolbox back where it used to be, the old wardrobe sitting against the back wall where the toolbox was, and the table that is to head into my office fully disassembled and ready to go. The entire operation was straightforward except for the audio system. All six components had to be disconnected, moved temporarily and then relocated atop the wardrobe. Ugh. I had to work without music for a little while. No big deal. The components will eventually live on the end of the toolbox where they were prior to the last reconfiguration. I know; don’t say it. Had I realized how easily the old dining table could be stowed inside the house, much of this would be unnecessary. Honestly, I don’t mind moving stuff more than once if it helps me find the best layout. I have all the time in the world. As for the rest of this day, once I tire of working here, I’ll take care of the usual stuff, laundry, and then perhaps try to figure a way for safely getting that heavy table top into the house. Once inside, the job is all but over. I have a monitor arm coming on Friday, too. Maybe another one shortly thereafter. That means I might remain here for the weekdays so that the table can be completed prior to reconnecting the other computer. I guess I’ll have to wait and see how things go with the housework before firming any plans. There is a lot of crap in my head this morning, all distorted and uncomfortable, but that is not reason for me to lose track of my responsibilities. Remember when I said that all I do is help other people? Well... I’ll get to the routine soon. I need to try letting go of memories and feelings of loss right now or this day will end up going nowhere. I just don’t understand why the world has to be this way. Make me understand.
Or don’t. Distortion is very damaging. The source must be handled with care and clarity. Once the signal is amplified from low-level to high-level, all bets are off. Regardless of gating or compression, the distortion, be it intermodulation, harmonic or otherwise, is boosted along with the source material and that’s when the destruction begins. Think about the previous two vanes and maybe you can put two and two together. This morning, I can feel the distortion inside, so remaining quiet is the only option. Well, until things calm down (if they ever do), that is. Most of the time all I can do is sit here, lump it, and continue to analyze. I don’t like this one bit. All those memories are distorting my sense of reality... Even as far back as when I was an actual person. That’s been some fucking years, believe me. I need to extricate some of this shit or the day will go absolutely nowhere. My devices have been waning because their importance is not ‘happiness’, but only a measure of physical comfort. ‘Happiness’ is attached to other aspects of living, none of which exist for me any longer. I just have the memories, most causing nothing more than sadness and the realization that all I’ve been doing is postponing the inevitable. Not good. Being gated was bad enough. Now the distortion is key and can destroy everything. Monday. This is one of my two favorite days of the week because all of the weekend business is out of the way and I have the peace and quiet of the house for several hours. The feeling fades as the typical week progresses. I took care of part of my routine already because the emperors of the universe vacated the spare bedroom for a snack. That’s good for my timeline. I also have the laundry running so everything that does not go in the dryer has hours to hang on the rack. I still haven’t calculated a way to get the table into the house by myself, though. Something may come to mind as the day progresses. I hope so, anyway. I’d like to complete the last step of this three-table swap. Working around the house – especially anything fairly enjoyable – helps to minimize the distortion for a little while. Right now it is trying to get the best of me and I need to push back as best I can. The alternative is to completely lose my way. I can’t have that right now. I was exactly where I needed to be – right fucking there. I was there, damn it, and I knew full well of the consequences to my psyche as each moment passed. I knew there would be a mass of trouble inside me and didn’t care because the opportunity was so fucking rare that I simply could not stop it. I was weak and full of bliss. I was right there. I feel the need to gush all over the place about that morning, too. It’s bad, this feeling. I need to describe each second and the importance of being there. I can’t. The backlash would never end. Trust me. The more I think about that day, the more I need to go back in time, something that is impossible, much like repeating any fucking aspect of the situation. There is nothing I can do and I can’t stand being forced to just live with the loss. I could write about that day for five years and still barely glean my dire need for such things. No fucking way, people. And believe me when I say that aside from Andrea, there can be no comparison to the experience. None. Zero. Ashley was close, though. Very close. When I stepped out of her bathroom, I could not believe my fucking desperate eyes. Twelve years later, it happened again, albeit the circumstances were far worse. I need to be there so badly that my thought processes regarding anything in life have been distorted beyond comprehension. While there, the world melted away. Everything was gone. Every fucking thing. I threw away quite a bit, nearly lost my job, and knew that even more was going to go sideways very soon, yet I remained where I needed to be. I just didn’t fucking care about anything or anyone. The entire universe was on hold. This vane may indeed kill me. It is the worst of the bunch. I can still see everything, too. Everything. My head exploded for a little while but it didn’t matter. My head emptied itself, I embraced all that I was able, and in the end I knew the day would create memories that could not be topped. Once the opportunity presented itself – and believe me when I say I had to jack around a lot of shit in order to even have a CHANCE – I calculated what had to be done and then leveraged everything and everyone so the plan would succeed. And I said chance... I didn’t know for sure until much later. There were many steps to that plan, as well. Many. I didn’t fucking care. My life for those hours became narrowed beyond belief; a singular path that simply would not be avoided. I was right fucking there. Better to have... What? Nope. I’d be in less pain right now had that plan never worked. Believe it. My coffee is nearly gone. I suppose the kitchen is next. I feel the compression regardless of all the distortion. I feel the distortion regardless of being gated. And I feel all the rest. The vanes have permeated my entire life. I can only hope that working in the kitchen this morning and again in the afternoon will allow my head to relax a little bit. Underneath it all is a mass of anger and rage waiting to come forth. I don’t want that to happen. No one does. Later. The laundry is nearly finished and the kitchen work is complete for the morning. I have lunch in the oven. That is one of the few devices left with the ability to hold me up for a little while. Cocktail time? Oh, fuck yes. The glass is here on the table and my program is playing on the big system. Working in the kitchen and on the laundry with my wonderful friends in the background helped to minimize the distortion for a time. I am hoping against hope that it does not become overpowering like earlier. I really don’t need any more of that shit. Recalling one of the most stirring and beautiful mornings of my entire life took its toll. I’d like to forget it, but I fear that would be impossible. The importance of being there cannot be overstated. Just trust me. There can be nothing above it in this world. Thankfully, I must avoid further detail. Being ‘there’ is not what you might think. As for the rest of the day, I have a little to do here and there, some cleaning, and a period of relaxation once the early dinner preparations are finished. The late afternoons are often quite comfortable. Well, as much as can be expected considering the distortion. Sometimes when I see Kira’s eyes during certain emotional passages on the show, I feel the need to go outside and repeatedly bang my head against the stucco. Just a thought. Like Jamie’s eyes, they seem to go on forever. Sitting at this table and in the same chair is very comfortable, especially considering that I have the entire home theatre system at my disposal. This reminds me of building the two model cars a few years ago. The same table was here and I had one of my favorite programs on the television. The screen is directly ahead, and to my right is the back wall of the house, complete with huge windows. If I am going to suffer through distortion and all that other shit, I may as well be physically comfortable (as much as I can, anyway). The next day, but does the name of the day matter? Or the time? Nope. Every day I do the same things, often in the exact same order. Yesterday was a prime example of how the days can progress if I am not careful. I very nearly lost my way for good during the afternoon, but then pushed myself to visit the hardware store and repair some wall tiles for my neighbor (the one with the restaurant). The effort required to leave the house when I feel really bad is tremendous. I did it anyway. Part of the reason may have been thinking that when I postpone a project, the feeling of weight on my shoulders remains rather than caring for the problem and lifting such pressure off of me. Had I not taken care of business, I’d be feeling it right now despite the early hour. As it is, I have to deal with the distortion, so piling anything else on top is just not good. There is already too much shit going on for me to expect balance, clarity or the like. Too much. I’ve published more than four hundred essays here. Some have been removed – mostly the nonfiction through which I lived; also one fictional story that became too painful to share – for reasons of good form and to disallow people from learning of my past pitfalls. The present doesn’t really matter because all of the damage has already been done (my brain is distorted as a result of the same). I honestly don’t know what else to do most of the time, so I just keep typing and trying to understand the machinations that have resulted in the person (?) sitting at this machine every day. I see nothing dramatic on the horizon, meaning the number of entries will continue to increase. As I said above, I do the same things every fucking day, seven days per week. There will be zero changes. Perhaps one day I will find an answer to at least one fucking question. I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve described the power of past situations, imagery and how it affects me, along with certain wondrous periods when I began to think that everything would be ok in life, yet here I sit no better off for the effort. So, why continue? I don’t know. The sound of the keys clicking is not enough. I can’t force the past out of my head, as all my attempts at distraction can attest, and too often they take over and leave me wondering how much longer I can continue to analyze without falling away for the last time. Good memories are just that – good – yet they also create a gradient between the past and present, the latter being void of everything I used to enjoy. I am speaking of the most important reasons for continuing to live. Writing about some of the trips I’ve taken in search of that ever-elusive comfort and understanding only reminds me that I was ‘there’, and the moments have disappeared in the rear-view mirror. Regardless of how far back some of those beautiful situations took place, the memories do not have time limits. Traveling back (in my head) twenty-plus years to the first time I took control and ran beyond the state line is as clear right now as it was ten or more years ago. I can still see Juliette standing at the counter, Ashley gazelling her way through the casino, and the way Melanie looked at me with sympathy in her beautiful eyes. I can feel the cool bar under my elbows; smell the alcohol. No matter how many days pass or how much I write, none of the past can truly be reconciled because I am exactly the same... Desperate, depressed, and searching for the same wondrous moments. I was ‘there’, and I can still see and feel everything. As such, present life appears nearly worthless rather than worthwhile, and distorted beyond belief. Gating and compression were pretty bad – ARE pretty bad – yet the distortion is taking over and much worse.
Oh, boy... The hits just keep on coming. I can’t seem to do right anymore when it comes to other people. Remaining inside the house is not good enough anymore, I suppose. Whatever. The keyboard pays no mind. I have ways of dealing with difficulty. No problem. My methods may be questionable, but there is already too much fucking distortion for me to jump through additional hoops. I really don’t need any more shit right now. The time has come for increased quiet, consequences be damned. I am back to the fourth show, the previous program having concluded last night. That means I went through 173 hours of television in 42 days. Splendid. I am a basket case because I still need them to keep me company. And yes, there are memories attached to each of the five series’. Believe it. The current pilot dates back to the Midwest period, good or bad that my time there may have been. The pilot of the previous series first aired toward the end of the glowing years. I’d rather not comment on the others. I’ve gone back to that day several times for good reason. Between then and now, the same type of situation or emotion has not occurred at all. Not even fucking close. There were moments here and there that approached the level of wonder that took place on that day, yet I knew full well that what I was doing was desperately trying to recreate feelings better left alone. The only result could be disappointment. I found plenty of it. As I said above, there is nothing I can do about memories. They will continue to come to mind no matter what I’m doing or where I am. Once in focus, the present situation and my mental and emotional conditions decline. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with remembering being happy. Unfortunately, I can’t thrust myself into the future to a time when individual engrams can be removed. I just have to sit here and deal with everything. Blah, blah, blah... Noonegivesafuckcakes. I can’t blame people, either. They try to follow and understand during those times when information comes out. At the same time, the idea of reaching becomes not only worthless, but ridiculous. I expect very little insight anymore due to being so closed-off. That is my fault and I accept it. The inherent problem with seeking insight is fear. As I’ve stated on many occasions, once information leaves the body, it cannot be controlled. Hmm... Maybe if more people understood such an idea, they would leave things out of their phones and/or keyboards. Speech, too. Anyway, I am as much to blame as anyone that has caused problems in the past because my stance is more often than not the root of the entire shitaree. Conversely, when I’ve sought help, the initial standpoint is fraught with so many disclaimers that I hoped whomever was on the receiving end would not squish me. Another reason for a need to control the fucking information. I have never spoken of that day with another human being. That is the absolute truth. Not a fucking soul, and the avoidance is for good reason. Fear. My need for help has never been more dire, yet my need to avoid appearing in a bad light or being squished again has overpowered any possible action. The most powerful tool we have as human beings is our language... Too bad I need to avoid it. My mind keeps going back to the only power I can wield anymore, that of RF. What good will it do? Can I come out the other side less concerned with memories? No fucking way. Will the power emanate and make me feel better about anything? Doubtful. The mere fact that I have a very technical grasp of something I love and can build does not mean anything will change in doing so. The only result would be two more projects completed and hopefully a smidgen of pride in the work. Others will marvel at the accomplishment, I’m sure, yet they will look at me and not realize I went through all that shit for nothing. The memories and current situation will remain unchanged. Half of the routine is finished. I’ve been considering the table and methods for safely moving it into the office, but as of yet the only conclusion is help from another person. That is no big deal. I’ve also been scoping out the garage and how the storage has changed since moving things around two days ago. I need to ensure that the car can be parked without issue during this process, and therein lies the challenge. Relocation of the audio system and related wiring is not a big deal at all. Storage is key. I doubt I’ll try to make any further changes out there until I can get the table into the house. Perhaps I’ll ask for help tomorrow. Once the table is in the house, I have other ideas for reconfiguring the other items in the garage, one of them being a brilliant plan from my neighbor. Right now I am not terribly motivated to alter anything that might preclude the car from being parked inside, so my time will be spent considering the options. Plus, I plan to sit here at the mobile editor for quite a while. I have much on my mind. Sometimes I think that had Ashley not altered the way I see the world and made me realize that life could actually be fulfilling, I’d be better off right now. Moreover, the last two decades could have been more enjoyable and less confusing. Eh... Thinking in such terms is a waste of effort because everything has already unfolded as it did. Dwelling on impossibilities and grating against the unilateral nature of time is not going to help matters. I still do, though. Can’t help it. I am a product of time and circumstance, nothing more. It just so happens that I write about everything. In any case, she really threw me for a loop. That doll altered me in ways that cannot be reversed, nor have I been able to relate her way of life to that of anyone else since. There have been moments that drove me to see possibilities, but each and every one of them turned to shit in a cold minute. I should expect more of the same. The damage is done; the distortion will go on. Gavan O’Herlihy is in this episode of the fourth series. I knew of him prior to this program’s creation and am not ashamed to say that I love and miss him. And this brings up a question: Is it possible that the actors for which I feel so much and that have left this world have any idea of how I feel? There is no way to know, and that is why I point out such things. My feelings for the filmed entertainment industry are attached to every single actor I have referenced here, as well. The whole thing is a gigantic ball of sadness. I never took a step, but they most certainly did. Straight into my heart. Sometimes I fucking hate everything and everyone. Make of that what you will. The RF power may be something with which I am intimately familiar and over which I enjoy a vast command, but it can’t fix anything. Flex; relax. Lash; retract. Reach; find nothing. ‘It is the way of things.’ The beginning of this series reminds me of a time when I saw possibilities and promise in the world; in my world. The road ahead was full of options. Within less than a calendar year, I was back in California and enjoying (as much as I could) the fruits of being home. Soon after, I returned to work on swing shift as the film fascination began to hit a high point. That was also the period when my first desktop computer was built, along with all of the wonder and enjoyment that came with it. The phase lock period was shortly thereafter. Even a year after returning home, I still viewed the future as wide-open and full of possibilities. Daily life seemed very simple and straightforward, as well. All of it, as I recall, was vastly different from the current period. As I mentioned before, each series has either memories or a past period attached, some have both. The fourth reminds me of when I made the decision to leave the MIdwest, pack everything I could fit into my truck, and then drive. By the second day of cruising the interstate, I was hundreds of miles from my previous home and filled with a sense of wonder regarding traveling through beautiful parts of the country and felt freedom at the same time. Had I more resources at the time, I probably would have made my way west much more slowly in order to take in more sights. As it was, I arrived at my parents’ house in less than four days. The second and fourth series were swirling around in my head the entire time. As for the third, well, that was prior to leaving California and quite short-lived, believe it or not. I felt even more open at that time, too. I really did. The future seemed vast and full of exciting prospects. At some point in time, I must learn how I went from being adventurous and willing to explore to needing comfort above all other life concerns, every single day. I must know. In addition, I have often questioned the idea of appreciating those times enough while they were fresh, but the truth is I know I did. I fucking know it. No worries with that one, believe me. I knew things were good and thought in such terms every day. The present looks and feels that much worse for the memories. The next day is here. What does this mean? Nothing. As of yet, the only difference is I moved a portion of the control center to the dining room. I can only work in the cloud for so long before information must be transferred to the IDE to be formatted and scrutinized. There is just one display on the table, though. I am not accustomed to losing massive amounts of screen real estate, so this can’t last very long. I’ll lose my shit. While writing on the laptop, I am in the cloud, so there is zero formatting or concern over layout. It’s just a mass of disorganized information. On this machine, I have to make everything look loyally or I am not satisfied. All this shit adds up to the need for the other table to be moved into the house. And there is the face again. You know, the scary reminder. What a fucking beauty, though. Jesus. Anyway, I may or may not move the other displays to this table. The process depends upon the office and whether or not I can get everything in order and in a decent amount of time. If I decide this will be the temporary office, everything comes here. At some point after, I’ll have to set up the entire system in the office again. At least I’ll be starting with a cleaner layout and less wiring thanks to the display arm. Better than nothing. Moreover, sitting here may afford me a view of the greenery in the back as well as the big television, but I am unable to see the front area. That means I need to keep the garage door closed for security. Whatever. I am better off not seeing what may walk by the window.
I am losing my mind over the need to deal with all this distortion. Many years ago while trying to understand my obsession with the mathematics and mechanics of the female form, I mused that Mercedes’ image – something that could have represented the infancy of my feelings – displayed ‘distortion’ due to her being seated. I then went further and described the girl at the car wash and the way her appearance was altered by sitting. I was referring to the way a woman’s thighs adjust to such a position and ‘spread’ out to the sides a little bit, thus exaggerating the almighty hip-to-waist ratio, otherwise known as a component of the golden ratio. Scholars have applied the fibonacci sequence, or golden ratio, to beauty for centuries, believe it or not. For me, that distortion creates a wonderland of radii and disparity, from when I first tried to quantify such positioning many years ago all the way to this very second as I watch my program. Up to this paragraph, the distortion was all in my head, affected by every single aspect of living through a single day, and something I loathe to deal with because of the other vanes. Well, there is always more than meets the eye (or mind) when discussing or analyzing my mental and emotional conditions as well as the fucking LINES. There are three nymphs in this episode, something I probably should not be seeing. Damn. Anyway, the distortion is now two-fold and worse than when this entry began. Beauty rules my existence; understanding destroys hope. Both are tied to the fucking distortion. Sometimes I feel the need to do something dramatic, like a big change in the house or garage, yet the feeling never goes anywhere because I am far less capable of rising than I am of falling away. Sad. I’ll be in the past again, soon. That’s the only good place left. Do I need to go back through the archives and place the image of Mercedes here again? YOU make the call. Or not. I don’t care. Jamie was on the news this morning in a story related to MS. If I recall correctly, she has been dealing with the disease since before the age of twenty, nearly half of her life. Wow. I knew about it some years ago because I was always reading articles about her, but still... My heart goes out to anyone in similar circumstances. Wait... Do such feelings force me to realize the benefits of living here in this house without any diseases? Sometimes. That’s all I will say. As if it’s necessary, I will point out that her last appearance in the series was seventeen-plus years ago and to this day the woman is still more beautiful than anyone else. Jesus. The depth of love I feel for her is a prime example of just how unbalanced I’ve become. Wonderful. I never said any of this shit was good. Later. The routine is out of the way and I’ve made revolutions for moving furniture around the spare and master bedrooms as well as the office. The table will have to remain in the garage until at least Friday. I am tempted to move the other two displays to this table in order to have everything operational. I’ve become accustomed to everything spread across three displays, although since I am directly in front of the home theatre system, number three may be unnecessary. I just don’t know. The wait is only a few days. And here I sit over an hour later. Aside from dry cleaning, all my stuff is done. I also ventured to the restaurant a little while ago to try diagnosing some noise in their water lines. The conclusion was to leave everything alone. The issue could be air in the lines – even though I know from experience that such an issue is rare – and I told them that as long as the water is flowing fine, there is no noticeable noise in the bar area or dining room, and no other problems are apparent, the problem is not serious at all. I am overjoyed to be home again. Upon arriving, I moved a few more things around the office and added a second display to this table. The dining room will be the new home of the control system until at least Friday afternoon. My books arrived while I was out. They are freaking beautiful and I plan to have my nose buried inside one of them when the third series comes around in the rotation. I love having information about each episode, from a simple synopsis to detailed background facts. The office is still in flux, however. I need to formulate a solid plan for the furniture layout before going further. I am hoping to have everything in place prior to bringing the table inside. Now that I have the basics for operating the control system on this table, there is no hurry. Even after more than a year, I still love this machine; the first full representation of a vision from long ago. Holy crap. I have no idea from where the motivation came, but something happened and I kicked into gear for quite a while. No, nothing in the garage. I reconfigured the office in order to ensure there was no pinch point upon entering, and that required moving my drafting table, nearly all of the other furniture, and cleaning the floor. Moving furniture without cleaning is ridiculous. The office is now ready for the table, and there is a new boot rack in the master bedroom. The only issue is my file cabinet. The new location has it overhanging the edge of the cabinet below, and as such the lower drawer wants to tip the whole thing when fully open. I’ll have to figure something out to make sure it is stable. Other than that, everything is fine. Once the table and control system are set up, the center of the room will be more open and I won’t have to worry about my chair coming in contact with anything when I move around. Moreover, the process of replacing the litter boxes is further along. I should soon be able to reconfigure the spare bedroom. Suffice to say, the cats are very happy because both trees are in front of the window. As I said, I don’t know what drove that whole project, but now I feel very accomplished. For a little while, the distortion all but disappeared. My friends have been following along in the background, as always. I love them. From here forward, I need to make revolutions for dinner. A simple affair. The distortion will return in force soon enough. I need to enjoy the quiet while it is available. Everything bad eventually returns. There is nothing I can do about it. Later, still. Everything is finished along with a few preparations for dinner. There has been artwork of the near-highest order gracing the screens, and nothing I can do about the feelings. Splendid. Nothing good is on my horizon, especially something THAT fucking beautiful. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. I just have to sit here and lump it. As for the work today, I am very pleased with everything I’ve accomplished. The result will be a very relaxing evening after close of business hours (soon). When the distortion again becomes amplified – and that fucking moment is not far off at all – I’ll at least have some alcohol inside me for good measure. Since I cannot alter this state, causing my own brand of distortion is all I can do. Sad. Very sad. The alternative is to exit this shit once and for all. Distortion of the mind and thought processes is temporary. The gate vane took away stability. The compression vane sliced off the high points of life. Now? Everything is distorted; and no... Not the type over which I’ve obsessed for decades. I’ve seen it, but no more. I’ll probably never see the distortion the way I need to, yet there will be plenty of distortion all around me for the rest of my life. Marvelous. Wait a minute... Three types of distortion? Thursday morning is here whether i like it or not. As of this moment, the early business is finished and I have the next several hours to myself. I am not feeling the forces of shit yet, as well. Not yet. I am fairly certain that everything will slam me at some point later this morning and leave me wanting and needing comfort. I took care of many steps in this current reconfiguration of everything, and was hoping to relax a bit today. The problem there is that I will need some business to keep my head from allowing the distortion to overtake my ability to remain standing. If I don’t feel motivated enough to do anything significant, the shit hits the fan and I fall into a pit. For example, at this very moment I can feel a very specific type of heartache developing yet I sit here each day enjoying some coffee while gathering my thoughts. This is a part of each day that typically finds me mellow enough to keep the difficulty away. Considering the early morning dreams had nothing to do with beauty or desire, one might believe this quiet period would be more reflective than anything else. Nope. ‘She’ is still right there behind every single thought or consideration, ready to destroy me without warning. No matter how enjoyable the morning may be, there is always something just beneath the surface. Always. The need is far too great these days for me to expect solace. Fortunately, I have the usual program on the big television and nothing is bothering me right now. Sometimes there is a strike, other times not so much. Any day I can get through some video media without beauty slapping me in the fucking face is a good thing. Time will demonstrate how long this mellow period can last. Ugh. Soon... I already know. My questionable behavior has been stifled for the moment. I can’t reveal the reason, however. I can’t describe the behavior, either. The whole thing is just fucking stupid. This is what I am after all the other shit. At least I am aware of what happened... The reasons I feel this way. Force threatens; force overtakes; force destroys. That is that. I still feel the same way, but my behavior cannot follow suit right now because my entire existence is distorted beyond belief. Something has to change and I am not aware of a timeline. Vanes. Death vanes."
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