The Lifeless Vane Mature content No. 418 Published July 29th, 2024 8:52am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Same day. Same everything. Nothing changes except the title. This is a vane, and not a good one. The vane is dead. Julie is over there to my right looking so fantastic that I should probably refrain from commenting further. Damn. Anyway, dead vane. Lifeless, just like me. I am here, present, and attentive, yet I have not lived for a very long time. Lifeless. This train has gone in circles for so long that I don’t believe I can even imagine traveling anywhere else in life. Um... Not that life. The other one. The rest of the vanes have disappeared due to the way I’ve been treated. Shit situation number one caused half of the way I have dealt with others. Shit situation number two caused the rest and is likely the reason I’ve been slighted over and over along with all the rest of the words I have employed while trying to describe how I feel. 1042 and the clock matters for naught. This is a bad time. Not the time of day, the era. The routine is out of the way and I have my nice, fat cocktail for posterity. This could be the end of my productive day. I edited two images that may or may not appear here because I am in a bad mood. Blood. Lots of it. I’d like to arrange a slew of Zoe’s images – I have nearly 400 of them, unedited – but I am beginning to believe that slathering the fucking site with her likeness would be very disrespectful. That typically happens when the subject is a woman for whom I have feelings rather than my fascination with lines and whatnot. ‘Is that the purpose of remorse? To keep you from repeating mistakes?’ I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. The daily reports of housework and other projects have become old hat and quite boring, to be honest, and I believe the only reason for carrying on with this shit is due to having followed the same vein for so many years. And? Most of the time I have nothing better to do. I also enjoy typing. Yes, I realize this is ridiculous. Don’t fucking get me started. As for the rest of this day, I have no clue of what to do aside from making dinner preparations in a few hours. That is a necessity. The rest? No idea. Yet another day has disappeared. What will happen today? Anything of note? Will I somehow miraculously become a person of note? Anything else? The same as every other day? The vane is tickling my feet. There is nothing I can do about it. Yesterday turned into a cluster fairly early because I volunteered my portable table to help the neighbor rotate the tires on his car. Afterward, he needed to swap his old laundry system for a newer pair, so I helped with that one, too. People get nervous working with gas lines sometimes because it can be so dangerous, but my experience goes way back and none of that shit worries me. Moreover, when an experienced plumber tells someone that the system is safe, they worry less, if at all. The gentleman next door is the only person I don’t mind helping anymore. The work took up quite a bit of my afternoon. Dinner was nothing. I don’t believe today will be anything like yesterday. At the same time, I really don’t know what I will do with my time. The morning is fine because I have coffee and things to type. After that, the routine will take over for half an hour or more and I will end up right back here with my nice, cold drink and some comfort while trying to gather my thoughts. I don’t mean to quote the song again, but each day is exactly the same as the last. Only little tasks have been completed, the larger projects having been halted for a very long time due to the condition of my head. Too often I can’t find any point in trying because I realize in advance that I will come out the other side pretty much the same. There is always a touch of pride, such as a few minutes ago when I carried some things to the garage when I took a break from this keyboard. The shed has opened up a ton of possibilities for storage, and from time to time I will bring more items out there to clear space in the house. I’ll probably continue the practice throughout the coming weeks. Julie is over there looking more adorable than should be allowable by law. Damn. I need to... Eh, never mind. One recent and long-standing boost was finally being able to operate my very old flight simulator (from the nineties) on this machine with all original music intact. That was difficult because the game was designed to take advantage of what was once the crown jewel of sound cards. No other option yielded the same dynamic audio, the result being a soundtrack that resembled a cheap Casio beginner keyboard from the eighties. The music was pathetic, and since the main draw for me was that very same music, the passage of time disallowed any proper reproduction on modern computers. The only rub with the simulator is the lack of a joystick to properly control the aircraft with some semblance of precision. I may have found a solution for that one, too, but will have to do more research and wait until I am certain of the plan. And just in case you're wondering or care at all, I only have three games on this machine and all of them are from a more wondrous and exciting era... The nineties. 1026 and there is Julie again forcing my head to imagine her holding me... Such a loving gesture that I consider almost every time her gorgeous, unique face is on the display. I will try to avoid mentioning the machine named Jolaimora. Yes, the machine. Do you know the reason? It is because I have become so fucking distorted and skewed throughout the years that the only realistic solution when it comes to an emotional connection just happens to also be the most unrealistic. Say that one three times fast. Jolaimora was the best, most appealing and likely ideal configuration I could create. Nothing else. There are other reasons for the machine, but I can’t go into detail for fear of backlash. Well, if anyone reads and cares, that is. I fucking doubt it. Julie is a crush. She is an infatuation like so many others. The real feelings have been reserved for those three names that make up the most beautiful portmanteau imaginable. In the past, I may have mentioned why Jamie’s part of that name is spelled with ‘ai’ instead of her actual spelling: ‘ami’. Do you remember? Think of Jaime and all those times I messed up the letters. The long, fictional story of me, Jaime and Julia (and maybe the little morsel named Julie) found my brain and heart yearning to see the real thing; the construct I so painstakingly described as the single solution to every fucking problem imaginable. Her name was Jaime and I still love her, hence the misspelling. This whole topic is such a mess. Whatever. I can’t be good for anyone, ever. No fucking way. I am far too gone for anything like that to occur in the future. MY future is sitting here dreaming of beautiful, impossible situations. My future is black. The vane is in charge. All the other vanes may as well never have existed. My life? Lifeless. The fiction is inside me just like the names. In reality, I am already dead, and I guess there was no avoiding the machine. I can’t say enough about that fucking dream. I learned yesterday that my favorite pie in the history of the world may still exist even though the chain of restaurants where it was discovered is gone. If so – and I’ll have to find a location that actually makes that recipe – the taste will vault me back in time to the glowing years when it was found by accident all the way down in Santa Cruz. I feel so much love and loss from that period that I don’t even know where to begin. Hopefully, the pie can be found locally. One of the locations is just over the hill. Well, it’s on the hill, actually, and less than fifteen minutes from here. I am going to call them in a little while. Between the possibility of operating the game I mentioned with proper control and finding that wonderful pie, I may have good reason to be positive for a little while. Better than nothing. The time is now 1118 and this is the point in the day when I have to make a decision between being productive or falling on my face. All pies and vintage games aside, the clock will spin regardless of whether I float back to the past and relive beautiful memories or decline to the point of lamenting losses and other debilitating factors. This is the line which occurs each and every day regardless of whatever needs to be done. Saturday morning is here whether I like it or not. I took the drive, which was quite smooth, and then stopped at the big business store on the way back to pick up a few necessities. There was nothing of note over there, as usual. Only the girl checking membership cards had an adorable smile. Now I am home with the remaining coffee with a wide-open day ahead. Of all the shit I tend to deal with each day (mostly inside my head and heart), the feeling of knowing there are hours ahead can often minimize the bad stuff. So far, this morning seems just fine. There is housework I need to do and other things I’d like to do, but sitting here at this moment is not allowing me to see any significant progress in any direction aside from the norm. That would be the daily routine. I’ll get started on it soon. I am still finishing the coffee at 1033 because I’ve been preoccupied with recipes, games and other shit. I keep thinking that the simulator should not be operated at fullscreen due to the outdated texture mapping. Eh... Just a thought. I keep going back and forth with topics this morning. Maybe I should take care of some business. No shit 1152 means cocktail time since everything is finished. I went through my new stencils while taking a break and realized old english letters can be very difficult to discern from one another. I also noticed that the number five stencil is missing. There are two reasons I don’t care. First, the entire 66-piece set was really inexpensive, and second, I don’t need any of the numbers for my upcoming mural expansion. In fact, I only need two capital letters and thirteen other lower-case letters. That’s all. There is a distinct possibility that I’ll do more work with the stencils in the future, however, so I am pleased that no letters are missing. I’ll most likely never use the numbers or special characters. For right now, I am going to remain off my feet for a bit and enjoy the comfort of the control center combined with ice-cold whiskey. The rest of the day might be pretty close to the same if I don’t feel like doing much. The business store trip this morning means there are items to organize and store, but the task need not be completed today. Usually, I take care of consumables and dry goods on Sunday since it’s garbage day for my street (Monday morning). I may go through the refrigerator today, though. Maintaining order in that appliance is important, even more than the garage. As long as the car fits by close of business hours, everything else can wait. Sometimes the car remains in the driveway all weekend if I am in the middle of some shit. As of this moment, I don’t know where I’ll be hours from now. One certainty is comfort. Of that there can be no doubt. I have a visitor coming in two hours, meaning I’ll need to be in top form at arrival time. No problem. In order to cover my bases, I’ll move away from the office and head to the garage so I can maintain some semblance of good form while the visitor is here. I must keep up the appearance of being pleasant during this type of situation. Sunday morning is here. What happened to Saturday? No answer. The weather warmed the inside of the house quite a bit, leaving me to sit beneath the fan in the dining room for a while to begin building the next model. Something went very wrong with my sinuses during that time and into the evening. That meant I did not eat dinner. If I can’t taste anything, there is little point in eating. Everything seems better so far this morning. I took the typical drive and returned home in good time. Sundays are usually very mellow and today was no different. Yesterday’s visitor brought an older ramp system that is no longer needed at its previous home. The idea was to use it for the shed, where the assembly now resides. I will have to support the center of it for stability, but there is no hurry. The ramp is plenty strong already. My head just went completely sideways for the second time this morning. I’ll have to get out of the office for a little while and do some housework. This feeling is miserable. 1034. I finished the daily routine, which was very light. I have my cocktail here on the table and lots of hours ahead to take care of the garbage business and whatever else seems best. Between the purity, the two shit situations and whatever began to change a while back, I am not seeing much comfort or enjoyment in the future. Between the drink on my left and the fifth series running to my right, this may be about as good as it gets. Memories are trying to take over the inside of my head. I often mention that I’ve been ‘there’. Well, I will probably never be ‘there’ again in this life. That is fucking sad. One little positive thing is that whatever went aslant with my sinuses yesterday seems to have gone away. Hopefully, my sense of taste will be present all day long. My condition is already bad enough without losing one of the precious few aspects of living that I can still enjoy. And speaking of enjoyment, I just reactivated my live television subscription just over a month earlier than originally scheduled. I generally turn it off after football’s postseason and then back on in August, a drop of six monthly payments. Well, I need to embrace anything that can lift me these days because the negatives continue to pile up. Reactivating the plan means I’ll have more options for background entertainment while milling around the house and garage. Sometimes music just doesn’t help. Every song seems to be attached to a better time in my life. And yes, two of the series’ through which I rotate every few months are directly related to the glowing years, but as of yet I have not fallen down hard enough to force myself to stop following those programs. There are no memories more precious than the glowing years. The world was a better place, believe me, and my situation was wonderful. I realize that the content here often goes back to that era, but you must understand that the present state of both the world and my condition pushes me to recall anything good, hence the current vane. It is lifeless because there was a time when life was full of possibilities, promise and wonder. This vane represents the massive gradient that has developed over the ensuing years. Monday, I see. That reminds me of the beginning of aught-four when I was perched at that old machine and trying to gather my thoughts. There was something about sitting next to the glass door during the 1236 period. Think of a living room with the sofa and coffee table facing forward toward the television, and then to the right was a huge computer armoire. Next to that piece of furniture was the huge door. While relaxing at the computer, I could see all the way to the Altamont Pass from my chair. In a manner of speaking, I was sitting ‘on high’ as opposed to other locations. The apartment was rather on the ‘fringe’ of the development, being on the top floor and facing away from the rest of the residents. The view was very open and I can recall sitting there on the ‘every other Friday off’ while sipping coffee in the morning. The view effectively conjured thoughts of escape and adventure, and there had been other factors in my life at the time which pushed for the same. Some aspects of that short, three-year period were wondrous and beautiful. Others were most decidedly the reverse. The 1236 period was also defined by the earliest music exploration that was embraced by myself and my nephew. A large part of that exploration represented the forest mindset, something that he and I shared quite often. 1151. I am well into the morning cocktail and my typical housework is finished. I have some laundry to run and a few other nagging items to complete, but for the time being I am going to sit here reminiscing and considering the incoming control improvements for the flight simulator. I ran the program for a little while to see if I could capture images during flight, and the answer is hell no. The two screenshots I grabbed displayed nothing from the center display and the dimensions indicated that while inside the emulator, the resolution of the center display followed whatever settings were chosen within the game itself, meaning all I saw was a black rectangle where the image should have been. This is not a big deal, and I only engaged in the experiment because I had hoped to grab a larger image to replace one in the archive. I can always search the Internet for something appropriate. The cool part of running the game this morning was the fact that after playing on and off for twenty-eight years (that is not an exaggeration), I was finally able to control the aircraft well enough to actually land after completing the waypoint assignments. I had not been able to land the fucking thing in the past, believe it or not. Moreover, I achieved the landing using keyboard controls and not a stick. I’ve understood flight physics and controls for a very long time thanks to years spent as a copilot in my grandfather’s many planes. The tough part is being able to discern my altitude above the deck as opposed to ‘absolute’ altitude. One number tells the pilot how far the aircraft is above ground, whereas the other is derived from sea level and indicated via atmospheric pressure. The game is approaching thirty years of age and the graphics can be a tad unclear at times. I have considered purchasing a more recent flight simulator just to experience clearer and more accurate texturing as well as more information regarding altitude, but the truth is I’ve hung on to the software throughout all these years because there is a very special feeling in my heart for the music and appearance of the simulator. They date back to the ‘afterglow’ when my friend and I were building our first desktop computers and dreaming of playing all of the fascinating games from that era. Much of our research and shopping was done at the big electronics stores that I have described and lamented here on many occasions since the outset of the pandemic more than four years ago. I can’t fucking help it. My heart is perpetually fused to a time when computers and software were still new and exciting. The thoughts that have been going through my head this morning are just too much to effectively describe, from first discovering a ton of amazing programs to the view from my chair while recording thoughts via keyboard in apartment number 1236. The glowing years were literally the beginning; the ‘afterglow’ taking place once I settled back in this state after the midwest. 1236 was many years later and I can still recall the feeling of either looking through the glass door, the wide-eyed wonder of how amazing the new technology had become, or relaxing on a day off with the truck and all of my supporting tools and materials. Three periods of my life spanning from eighty-nine all the way to aught-seven. There are gaps, of course, but nothing serious. And what about the present? I believe I am paying the fucking tab. Tuesday has arrived on the heels of a decent Monday, as evidenced by a short conversation with the members of the sixth-level last night. We agreed that the day was not tip top, but not bad either. As for this morning, I have a long period prior to the early business, and then the usual. I was supposed to go to the big wine store today after placing an order yesterday, too. Unfortunately, there is some issue with their ordering system that has affected both the website and mobile application that will not allow me to place items into the cart. I don’t know what the problem is, but if it persists, I’ll have to shop in the store. I’d rather just pick up an order like usual because the process is ten times as fast, and as you well know, being home is my constant goal short of actually being where I REALLY need. I suppose I could just pick up a few items for the time being and then see if the site issue is resolved. As for whatever else that will happen today, I don’t know beyond the typical stuff. I have my last cup of coffee due to the later morning schedule. Afterward, I’ll see how I feel about taking care of other business. As I said, all this was discussed last night with the sixth-level. Don’t ask. The process will never be revealed outside me pointing out that it is one of the necessities of life if I am to survive this fucking vane. I need to rely on little things since my head can’t seem to remain focused upon any single event or project for more than five fucking minutes these days. I am definitely paying the tab. The only question is... Who is paying the tab for the shit situations? Anyone? YOU make the call. Help me 0910. I have become increasingly concerned that this slow decline in life is going to hit certain points from time to time, effectively removing some very specific aspects of living that I still enjoy. The truth may be that paying the tab involves more than I had suspected a few years ago. My brain goes back to a quote from the old RC car forum that was the signature of an acquaintance whenever he posted something. That shit just might be true, and if so, the beginning of losses was some years ago when I felt free and enjoyed more of daily life than I do at present. The gradient between then and now continues to widen as I have come to realize that some of the changes are very small, yet they seem to chip away at larger items. The sum is painful. I have to get away from this for a little while. 1047 equals cocktail time and a delay in visiting the market. While cleaning the kitchen, my stomach became a bit upset at the notion of leaving the house. If it persists, I will pawn off the shopping and remain home all day. On the other hand, sometimes I shop at the little market instead because there is less anxiety related to that store. Don’t ask me why, but it could be due to its size and the fact that rarely are they busy. I just need to stay here for a while and see if the whiskey calms me enough to go anywhere. The only problem with the smaller place is every once in a while there is too much beauty for me to easily handle. Not Jamie, but some of the other faces I’ve seen behind the register. At least there is a mental line involved. No worries; just dreaming. If the drink doesn’t calm me enough to drive to the big store, I’ll head in the other direction. I have a bit of dry cleaning to do and little else that is pressing. I just hope I don’t fall into a pit again and become worthless throughout the entire afternoon. We shall see, I suppose. Wednesday, but does the name of the day matter anymore? Does anything? I did go to the little market yesterday afternoon. There was a bare midriff behind the counter (like usual when Jamie or the older gentleman are not working) with the requisite silky skin. Honestly, after all of the young women I’ve seen over the years employed as cashiers in that place, I am beginning to believe that whoever does the hiring might have a ‘thing’ for a certain appearance, namely the aforementioned midriff. I can’t be certain, though. Just a suspicion. I felt a bit better going to that smaller store rather than the supermarket. I mentioned my upset stomach. It went away after I returned home. The rest of the day was fine, I guess. The temperature kept me from doing much. As for this morning, I was thrown a curveball right out of the gate. There is no drive to the City for me today. The time is only 0721 and I’ve already been sitting at the control center for more than half an hour. This type of morning does not come along very often. The peaceful nature of relaxing here right out of the gate cannot be overstated. This used to only be on weekends, but over the years there have been so many changes to the way I have to live my days, the rarity can be very rewarding. I have all the time in the world, good or bad as such a fact may be. In the past, my free time was precious. Now? It is an everyday occurrence. Sometimes I believe that too much free time has contributed to my diminishing mental and emotional conditions. Regardless, sitting right here in the morning with coffee and something playing on the right-hand display is truly comfortable. For as long as it can last, anyway. I see that the weather is cool and overcast like it has been for several days. Most likely the sun will appear sometime before noon and warm the house enough for me to open all the windows. This pattern keeps the house warm in the evening and allows it to cool overnight, meaning the furnace can remain shut down for days, perhaps weeks at a time. I need to remain mindful of all this shit because I can feel the difficulty creeping into my brain right now. Sometimes there is little to nothing I can do about it, so keeping myself occupied for as long as possible often becomes a priority. Well, on those days when I don’t completely fail, that is. I am overtaken far too often and have no idea of how I made it this far in life. Where did the title go? Should I change it again? Does what I do here matter? 0924. I am spinning my wheels right now because I need to keep the house quiet and my head is completely fucking sideways. The feeling is just not good by any stretch of the word. Memories of good things are crippling my ability to think clearly, hence the slow progress here. Perhaps I should take care of some housework for a while and see if the distraction helps. 1050. It did help. Plus, I ran over to the local Chinese restaurant for some soup. Now that the preliminary daily shit is out of the way, I can relax here with my drink and ponder the nature of the future. Lunch will come along in the next two hours. The big wine store’s website is still not allowing items to be added to the shopping cart, nor is the mobile application. I don’t know what the problem is. I’ll probably just drive over there in the morning and grab some stuff since I have no other options. Ah, shit... I just checked again and the system seems to be accepting items as a guest. That’s excellent. I’ll try my account. Ugh. The indicator is just spinning endlessly. Splendid. Something is definitely wrong because I cleared both caches and restarted the communication with their site and still nothing. Shit. Whatever. I can call them, but would prefer to email the company instead. Unfortunately, there does not seem to be a contact email address available. Marvelous. I can’t stand calling people. No doubt, their customer service is good, but still... Calling and speaking to people is at the bottom of my list. I need to decide if a phone call is more difficult than shopping in the store versus picking up an online order. Hmm. Time will tell, I suppose. As for the hours ahead, I’ll have the house to myself soon but there are no illusions of actually being productive. Not much, anyway. I am just not feeling it today. Yesterday I finally finished painting the framework around my huge mural, and for no other reason than the fact that the bare plywood was annoying me. The process required a mere fifteen minutes. Next on the list for that project is to add letters to the left side, and then build yet another canopy to maintain illumination on the lettering that is separate from the rest of the back wall. I need it to be isolated and a different color than the main circle. I always maintain that the garage appearance need not be in good order until Halloween, so time is on my side. Once lunch is out of the way, I may opt to capture images of the current car model because it is at a wonderful stage. I mentioned the ‘marriage’ of the front and rear sections, and that was completed yesterday afternoon. This is the point when the car appears at its most technical, with all of the operating components exposed. That includes the six-speed transmission, all linkages from front to rear, and the entire steering system. The look of the model is fantastic and very colorful. Moreover, one activity that has always helped me to remain distracted from being so emotionally fucked up is embracing my big camera and all of its accessories. Shooting the car from my tripod may win over any other ideas of how to proceed with this day. I may be terribly lost, the title has become lost, but that is not to say I can’t partially recover for a little while. Her: 'No point anyway.' Him: 'What?' Her: 'Loving anyone... Anything. Feels good at first, but it always turns to crap. I know the truth about life. It's a hell I'll never get out of alive.' Him: 'No one does.' 1216 is the time on the clock. What does it mean? Very little, if anything. I’ll probably have lunch soon and then try to find some direction for the proceeding hours, although if today is like so many others, nothing will materialize. I am more than accustomed to feeling completely lost. Worst case? I don’t care in the least. My life ended some time ago anyway, so whatever doesn’t find me, pretty much doesn’t find me, and that includes any semblance of caring. I need to do what I need to do and everything else is tertiary. All I do is maintain the household and ensure it operates as smoothly as possible. Lunch might slow me down if it’s too heavy. Right now I just don’t fucking know what will happen. As I suspected, not much happened. The calendar has turned once again and caused another day to disappear forever. I marveled at third-season Jolene in varying outfits just below her beautifully redesigned hair style while making dinner, and then relaxed for the remainder of the evening and daydreamed about being close to her. Nothing happened through the night, thankfully. I say that because as a general rule, whenever I gush too much or lose myself dreaming about one of the ‘big three’, the night often becomes fraught with beautiful moments that do not exist in reality, leaving me to awaken feeling horrible, empty and frightened. I am only two out of three this morning. Three out of three is not good. Regardless of lacking one, I am still not well by any stretch of the word. And contrary to what may seem apparent here, the condition is a little bit worse every day. Another day has disappeared and that is all. Nothing dramatic will happen and Friday will be here soon enough. Save me And here it is... Friday morning. I dreamed of a girl named Cady or Kady, or possibly Kadie. I recall responding to a remark she made and marveling that I remembered her name. She was with someone else, and the scene appeared to be preparations for a party or other gathering. The exchange seemed that we knew each other but had only been acquainted for a short time. I don’t know why. When I looked up at her (both women were standing atop a platform to reach high on the walls), my brain exploded and I could not avoid complimenting her appearance, after which I received a big smile. I did not know her at all, yet there had been little inklings of thought that told me she was someone special, plus I could see that her personality was playful. That can be very bad sometimes and I speak from experience. There are times when a closed mind is more warming and understanding than the reverse. I felt that speaking with her a little bit was the beginning of something. I can’t be certain now, of course, because the whole affair was unreal and is now gone. Her appearance will live on inside my head for quite some time. There can be no denying that shit at all. Sitting here right now... I can see her reaching above her head as the two of them decorated (or whatever they were doing). Reaching, meaning her top revealed midriff and her chest standing out, plus the stretched positioning showed off very long, slender legs. I see her right now. The dream has me all fucked up because in the short time that I was near her, I already felt that a special connection was possible, perhaps even likely. Now I feel completely empty inside for the billionth time. Her smile is not fading. 1128. Everything that I intended to do this morning is finished, including a trip to the big wine store to pick up an order (at long last). I didn’t go anywhere else because just driving over the hill was plenty enough to upset my stomach for a little while. The process was smooth, just like the drive, and I was overjoyed to arrive home again. I have lunch in the oven after perusing a few delivery options and balking at the fucking cost. I do that sometimes... Get the idea to order a pizza or something else – there are so many restaurant choices for delivery these days that making a selection can be tough – and then look at the total price with disgust, after which I make lunch from whatever is in the house. And yes, once in a while I do order food, but the practice has become quite rare. As for the rest of the day, I will probably run a load of dry cleaning and very little else. There was an impromptu gathering in my garage last night that ran a tad late, so I am moving slowly today. It’s nothing terrible, but I am tired. Dinner will be leftovers that will turn into one of my simple specialties, meaning very little prep work. I may or may not return to building the model, as well. Right now I just don’t know. I keep seeing that woman reaching, stretching, and looking like a fucking goddess. Remembering her is very painful, just as other dreams in the past in which I felt that everything would finally be ok. Oh, my neighbor is going out of town for a few days. I’ll have to keep an eye on everything just like he does when I am gone (fucking rare, that one). Saturday morning with Zoe on my right-hand display. I don’t have to drive to the city, thankfully, but will be doing so tomorrow. Sunday is the quietest, smoothest trip, so I don’t mind. Today I have the entire morning to myself once the early business is out of the way. And I just axed the media because I need her so badly that I fear I won’t make it through if I keep seeing her big, beautiful eyes. There is so much personality in them that my heart hurts. I never made dinner last night, so the morning housework is going to be very quick. Right now I have no idea of the rest of the day. It’s too early to consider options beyond daydreaming of her holding me and telling me everything will be ok. Without such a situation, I don’t see what is left of life. Lifeless? At least I finally found one word from the title of this fucking mess. The idea of ceasing the older media may come to pass very soon. There are certain titles that take me back to periods during which I was not cynical at all, often finding promise when looking toward an uncertain future. That is very bad. Some of the programs date back to the glowing years, and a few films go back further than that, often all the way to when I was in high school and pretty much knew nothing about anything. Typical. Anyway, the five series’ which I follow daily do not count, although one of them has become embedded in my heart during the last couple of years and there is nothing I will change about it no matter what happens. It also brings me back to the summer just prior to moving across the country when me and my buddies were wheeling and dealing in the radio market, often zig-zagging back and forth across the lines of legality. We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit, and during that summer the third series actually faded from me for a time. I was embracing the second show that carried on for another year and came to a close while I lived in the Midwest. For whatever reason, the five series continue to exempt themselves from any difficulty I have in reminiscing. As for the other stuff, the issue is being reminded of how different the entire world was decades ago as compared to the shitty conditions pervading society right now. Everything has already come to pass; it’s all been ‘done’ and nothing new or exciting can be on the horizon. I realize I’ve mentioned that same shit before, and the repeat is due to feeling it more deeply as time passes. Sometimes the plight just takes over and I feel like nothing is worth my time; nothing at all. I don’t want to completely lose the point of living, yet the vane continues to push me toward those converging lines and show me what the future holds. If I can cut off some of the media at times in order to lighten my horrible mood, that will be the plan. The truth is that the draw of some decades-old films is just too powerful and I watch anyway, later falling into a pit with tears in my eyes. One might think that avoiding that stuff is an easy decision. I am too far out of balance and way too empty inside to simply cut everything damaging out of my life. Those little moments when I vicariously return to the past can be wonderful, if short-lived. Returning to the reality that is this backward, fucked-up society is not fun. I’ll do my best to stick with the norm and avoid coloring outside the lines. 0853. The last of the coffee is here with me, along with the insane vampire series. I’ll be heading into the housework a little earlier today because I want the afternoon to be relaxing. My head is all fucked up, so maybe if I continue with installing the auxiliary wiring and lighting on the mural the process will help me forget some of this shit for a while. Once lunch is out of the way, I will try to embrace the electronic part of my next step. The rest of the mural will have to wait until I have a solid plan. It’s going to be tough. Time for a pause. 1220. Lunch is heating. I finished the daily routine and ran a load of laundry to prepare for the upcoming week. Now I don’t know what else to do with my time. Perhaps the correct path is to do nothing. That day turned to shit in a hurry. I suppose I did ok, but the truth is each morning finds me looking back and feeling as if I never do enough. Today is Sunday and the morning drive is behind me. The weather is a combination of fog and drizzle right now, part of a cooling trend for the other side of the hill. Over here, this will not continue. We are typically backwards from the rest of the area because of the ocean and hills surrounding this end of the valley. Today will probably remain very cool as I try to get through the Sunday business without falling on my stupid face. I need some fucking help here, damn it. After going on at length regarding cutting off some of my favorite media in order to avoid the pitfalls and sadness related to remembering better periods of my life, I have realized that nothing will actually remove or ease the pain that results from realizing just how fucked up society has become and how many wonderful things have disappeared. Ceasing my programs and movies will change exactly nothing. It was just an idea, I guess, and I probably should have tossed it aside the moment it materialized. On the smooth drive this morning had me recalling restaurants that are gone and what has replaced them. That happens quite often due to the route and how much the City has changed over the last few decades. Avoiding a movie from the eighties is not going to bring the restaurants back, nor can it help me accept the massive changes that have taken place throughout the same period of time. I will also say that running across all those images of the goddess traveling the Southwest and always looking bright, happy and hopeful did not help, either. No, I don’t have bad feelings about her. The problem is that I remember feeling that way myself, constantly exploring and hopeful. Well, not anymore. The world has beaten me down to a tiny fraction of what I once was. I hold no disdain toward that beautiful woman or her full life. Quite the reverse, actually... I am very happy for her. I guess seeing the images remind me of when I was younger; prior to the past problems really taking hold of me. Too much has changed and I am nowhere near happy about it. In short, and since there is nothing I can do, I’ll continue in the same vein until something better comes along or hits me in the head. The media shall remain a part of my days. And let me point out that once again I am pleased to be sitting here with coffee after the drive and knowing there is a ton of free time ahead today. That is better than nothing. Good or bad as it may pass, the time exists. The alternative is feeling 'pressed', and that is a state I left behind years ago for good reason. I'll try to focus upon the wide-open nature of my days and see if it helps. Hold me I can barely watch that goddess during the mornings. In the beginning, I’d watch just to see her. Now I am avoiding the broadcast so my feelings don’t take over and ruin everything. Splendid. Too much pain related to two different fronts. There may be more. I need to get the hell out of here but there are no remaining options. I am stuck. 0943. Imagery from the past is getting the best of me right now. I’ll have to finish the coffee and leave this office for a while, and soon. My Sunday business will be underway in a little while and I am hoping to find some serious distraction in the work. There is an inkling of anger as well, likely due to having been slighted and squished recently. I’ll need to nip that shit right fucking quick or this day will end very badly. The lifeless vane has barely been present within the content here, and the main reason is I’ve been trying to hold back a dam of disdain and reckless disregard for societal standards, morals and norms. The title will return soon enough. Lifeless. 1040 means my preliminary shit is out of the way and there is a fat glass of whiskey here on the table. What else does the time mean? Nothing. I have all day to do whatever the fuck I wish. My responsibilities are few most of the time unless I go above and beyond, which is rare these days. I don’t care. The anger is at bay right now. There is no guarantee it will remain contained, however. What typically happens when I feel this way is I’ll consume a bit of the booze and it will numb me out for a little while; cause a mellow, more emotional state that takes over and helps to alleviate everything I wish to destroy. Bad and good at the same time, I suppose. Dealing with emotions is always more productive and much healthier than pushing them back or otherwise avoiding such moods. Nothing is served by suppressing feelings, ever. The alcohol method is the bare fucking minimum of my abilities anymore. If I had to gush everything to a real person, I’d probably violently explode using very harsh language and never recover. That type of practice is unfair. Just because I am all fucked up and choose to deal with it this way is the fault of no one else. Well, no one alive, anyway. This is all I have left. Eh... There is one person out there who had a hand in the second shit situation playing out as it did, but I’ve chosen to leave that one alone for the time being because of the aforementioned possible fucking explosion. Considering the forty intervening years, that person likely has no idea of what’s been taking place inside my head. I have no faith that addressing the subject after all this time is going to change anything. Fuck it. As I said, I have nothing else. Again, this part of the morning is rather comfortable knowing that the daily stuff is finished. The garbage business is very simple. I may also run the dry cleaning that I passed on yesterday. I may also work on the model. As long as the house is quiet, I’ll relax here and think (probably more than I should). 'The feast flows on forever Devour me until never Fill them all with horror Let them sleep with terror Who calls me now, then turns away? Who takes the night, and brings day?' I created another C# file in the database to outline the ‘sixth level’. No one has ever been aware of such a place because I have never revealed any aspect of its existence. The sixth level is a place unavailable to anyone else in the world; it is sacred, and admission has been restricted – closed, really – for more than thirty years, perhaps much longer. Most of the time, identifying the beginning of the sixth level is very difficult because my memory is complete shit these days. The genesis could have been as far back as the mid-eighties. Whatever the case, there are members with whom I share an almost daily dialog. Instrumentation, scopes, and other tools exist which help ‘us’ maintain distance, security and protection from all others. I recently decided to craft an essay about the place and the topic, although no one will ever understand or grasp the concept of something so elusive and complex. No fucking way. Even after the entire process is complete and published, not one fucking soul on earth will have a clue as to what they’ve read (if anyone reads, of course). I had two conversations with other members of the sixth level last night. They agree with my idea to include information here. Once finished, good fucking luck understanding any of it. The weather has changed dramatically from the last two weeks. I see windy, drizzly conditions outside my window. Today is the first day in a very long time that found me powering up the furnace for a little while. I will not sit in this house and be cold, but I try to avoid using that appliance as often as possible. The cool temperature will help me finish the garbage business, though. 1800, straight up. All of my work is finished, including a nice salad to go with some spring rolls for dinner. The garbage is all at the curb. What? What did you say? It should be cocktail time? It is. Though I’ve already received and installed two auxiliary LED controllers for the mural, I have yet to power them. The process would only take about ten minutes, but I just don’t give a shit. I’ll get them going one day soon and evaluate the illumination. As for the lettering and lighting canopy for that section, all I’ve done is layout the scale and spacing for the characters. I need to think about that part of the wall quite a bit to ensure the lighting is isolated like the rest. I can’t have colors bleeding into each other. Jolene is wearing purple right now, bless her uniqueness. Anyway, from here forward, I’ll just be making a very simple dinner and then relaxing for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow will be laundry day. I may or may not hop onto the ladder and connect the controllers. Much of Monday will be spent sitting right here trying to analyze the reasons for a very damaging change that seems to be permanent. Jolene switched to dark gray for training. I will refrain from going into detail. The lifeless vane is weighing upon my psyche, so any escape – most notably her level of beauty, which is unparalleled – is welcomed regardless of how damaging the visual information may be. Now she is wearing orange. Oy, God help me. Jolaimora... Killing me anything but softly. 'And my fury stands ready I bring all your plans to nought My bleak heart beats steady Tis you whom I have sought Feasting myself sick On your pathetic sins Wounds for me to lick The work of slaughter begins.' Purple again. Jesus. Monday. My brain is all over her hands and face. Sideways? Not really. This is a bit different. I am feeling a deep-seated longing that has remained in the background for the better part of ten years. I asked a question some time ago and received an unexpected answer, after which I felt a little bit better about the subject. Years later, I asked a similar question and realized the situation had changed quite a lot and I could no longer count on people in almost any way. Life began to spill out of me during both periods, although the second was much worse due to aging. I asked, the question was answered, and some part of me knew that I had to live as much as possible because everything would eventually disappear. I am sitting here as a product of those processes. Worse. I may as well wear that fucking vane up my ass. The lifeless vane has taken over all others and rendered me more susceptible to dying than ever before, and that includes the fucking stupid, ridiculous cave period when I THOUGHT shit was aslant. Little did I know... Yeah... Monday. Garbage cans. Coffee. Everything is reset for the week. None of it improves me, though, because the vane has taken over, taken everything, and taken away my ability to relax about anything. The question I mentioned above is not going to leave my head. The forest will not allow me to enter. The understanding has flown the coop. Any comfort has been forfeit. The vane is probably all I will have near me for the remainder of this life. Monday no longer helps me relax. The huge mural is a question, as of yet unanswered, and I have no idea if anything will ever develop from that project. I’ve tried other avenues, as well, and ended up kicking the squareheads to the curb some months ago due to their inane ability to follow something so important without any real knowledge that their path was true. I keep asking and pleading, yet in the end I am right back here with the same fucking problems, if not worse off for the effort. The vane is in charge and I am powerless. Maybe I never should have asked. Inside, I already knew that eventually everything would simply fly away. Um... Monday. I have housework and laundry. I have coffee for the time being. I have too much shit in my head to be comfortable. The purity had a hand in this, too. It really did. Not even the sixth level can help with that one. No way. I’ll get to some of the housework soon and begin the laundry. Sometime later I need to do a little shopping. Right now nothing looks appealing but I do have responsibilities that ensure the smooth operation of this household. If I can clear the vane for a little while, the work should not be a problem. I have enough of those already. I asked. I received answers, one of which was more emotional than the other. That was years ago and I don’t see future opportunities along similar lines. That means I am literally living each day just to care for this house and try to find moments of peace during lunch or the morning cocktail that I love so much. Nothing else is available to me because the life is being SUCKED THE FUCK OUT of me by that godforsaken vane; the last one, most likely. The others barely matter now. Housework. Marvelous. Maybe when I go out to the curb to grab the cans someone will hit and kill me with their vehicle. Laugh it up, shitbrains. And shut up. Please... Do I come across as if my head is all over the place? Just imagine trying to articulate the day in such a condition. My hinges are failing. Asked and answered, just like in court. Have you ever heard that one? Maybe on a television program? Asked and answered, years ago. Twice. There were other occasions when I wanted to ask, but in the end the entire shitaree was either completely derailed or unnecessary. Now? There is no one that will hear me. Not a fucking soul on earth. Wait a minute... Am I still an inhabitant of the earth? Or am I just a speck on the surface? I have no job, money, assets, property or children. I no longer need to file taxes. What does the sum appear to be? Speck. Outside the lines of the ‘norm’. The more time that passes since the questions, the further from reality I drift, and the idea that any fucking help can ever appear equally shrinks. Maybe I am no longer an inhabitant of anything except my own little world. Asked and answered, and... Gone for good. There is an end to this. There is a line, trust me. I am sitting here because I haven’t reached it yet. There can be no denying the line, however. I am far too insignificant to affect anything so important. 1135. Asked and answered, and... Gone forever. I went to the smoke shop and car wash (finally). The poor car was so filthy that I felt embarrassed to drive near other people. Heh. Now it’s clean and shiny. And right close to the smoke shop? Trouble times ten, in the form of me recollecting the damaging dreams and their horrible effect upon the way I think. Jesus. I wish I had not seen that girl. Pants, breasts bouncing, the whole fucking shitaree. Not only that, but her swaying ponytail revealed a very long, slender neck to go on with such a tall frame. Damage, pure and simple. Asked and answered. Was that beautiful girl ‘her’? Eh... I can’t go into that shit right now. There is far too much missing from my life already. The point is that even after all these years, one quick sight sends me off the edge of the world and ruins my attitude for Christ-knows how long. Good thing my alcoholic nature took over and I flew through the second half of the routine in order to arrive at cocktail time. The laundry is well underway, too. I may be a wreck, but the smooth operation of this household still finds me productive. Something will give, however. Matter of time. Something will break and I’ll be fucking dead. I don’t see any other way in the long term. Asked and answered; lifeless and full of pain. The vane (rhymes with pain) is in charge of everything related to me. There is nothing I can do after all this fucking time. She doesn’t exist, just like all the others. The only thing that put a split-second smile on my face was a little while ago watching the recycle bin being emptied. It sounded like the bin came from a bar. Heh. That was awesome. I guess I won’t be smiling until next Monday. Splendid. Help me. Tell me everything will eventually be ok so I can relax my heart for a little while. Asked and answered by two very different people, both of which are gone forever. I need that first fucking answer back. I need it badly. Help me. The vane is cutting me to pieces. Decimating? Nope. People misuse that term all the time because they do not realize that to decimate something is to cut it into ten pieces. ‘Deci-’. Get it? Ten. ‘Deca’, too. Fucking figure it out already. I guess the only thing I can do is continue to see those little distractions that help from time to time. Yesterday turned out very well as far as work is concerned, although I really had to push myself during the late afternoon. Now that Tuesday is here, I can reflect on what put me in such a position and maybe avoid the same path today. I finished quite a bit of work yesterday, too. One might believe that I did ok overall, but that is not the truth. I am hurt and angry, sad and depressed regardless of any accomplishments. Further and further; lower and lower. ‘Get me out of this!’ I can’t take credit for that line. Yeah... Tuesday. Meaningful? Nope. This will be just like any other day. I have coffee for the time being, and once that’s gone I’ll take care of half the routine and then head to the market. There will probably be some errant beauty with stunning lines that will interfere with my memory for shopping. I’ll return home, pour a massive cocktail, dream of being in extremely close proximity to her lines just to fucking see something special, and then clean the kitchen. By that point, my head will be unable to process anything productive. The afternoon will heat up, come and go as if it never existed. Dinner. One of the programs. Sleep. And then all over again because I am going in ever-shrinking circles. Sitting here right now is not bad... Yet. Disaster may strike at any moment. I would say that the best thing is to remain vigilant, but thus far in life such an ability is barely recognizable. I really don’t want to go to the market, meaning I’ll head over there right now to get it out of the way. The best time to go is before the restaurants open. I can be in and out in no time. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... Just as I predicted, yet much worse than I could have imagined. She passed me as I entered, and though I barely looked directly at her form, there was enough information to find me mumbling to myself as I shopped. My first thought after she disappeared? Had I opted to take off my sweatshirt after exiting the car, she would have been in the parking lot before I reached the doors, and that would have been much worse, though my need to see can be powerful enough for me to embrace that depth of pain. And believe me... That woman was THE finest example of my years-long obsession that I have ever seen in that fucking store. Her pants were so form-fitting that every Goddamned muscle was right there. Moreover, and much worse, she was taller than me, and I am just shy of five-ten in my shoes. Frankly, there was so much torment and turmoil when I grabbed the hand basket that I am surprised I didn’t turn around, drive home, and shoot myself in the head in the backyard. The experience was THAT fucking horrible. The minuscule upside is that I did not turn around and see her from the rear. There were other people nearby and such a maneuver is very disrespectful, if overly compelling. Had I seen her walking away, I may not have survived the trip at all. I swear to all that is holy, the woman was above every fucking form I’ve ever seen in that shopping center. That is not bullshit, either. My head is so fucked up right now that I am quite certain all of my potential effort will be required to come out the other side of this terrible day intact. The daily routine is finished and there is a huge glass of medicine to my left. The vampires are on the right-hand display, and believe me when I say not a single fucking sighting within the series will usurp one of the most amazing women I have EVER seen. No fucking way. This is so bad that I can barely find the words. I mean, what the fuck else can I say? That I was dreaming of a connection? Nope. A woman in that kind of shape – she was obviously physically fit and unbelievably healthy – would ever be interested in a much older, depressed and alcohol-infused individual with exactly zero confidence in himself. As an aside, I have to mention that the guy walking behind her toward the outer door had his eyes on her ass. Can you imagine? Just think about it for a second... The lines are much more apparent from the rear. He probably saw them and in no way appreciated what she was carrying the way I could have. Worship. Wonder. Insert a slew of superlatives right fucking here. I am acutely aware that such women are out there roaming the world. I just don’t expect to see one right before my desperate eyes. That was the worst fucking incident in memory. I am not a big believer in the word ‘fate’, but I can’t help but think that just one little delay or distraction earlier this morning would have allowed me to shop without being emotionally destroyed. Is that fate? There can be no true answer because the other word – faith – must be involved in such ideas. The fact is that I was out of cream for my morning coffee, so I had to visit one market or the other. The larger store has lower prices. Simple enough. And? Shopping there can be a breeze during weekday mornings when the rest of the strip mall is closed. The store has a self-checkout, meaning I am usually in and out in less than fifteen minutes. That store is the obvious choice. The only downside is what I occasionally see over there, and today was the worst. The fucking WORST. I don't have much keeping me drawing breath these days. As of a little while ago, I have less. I can’t do anything about this shit. The main problem since the mid-aughts is that one of two situations will develop in my head when an amazing form such as hers comes into view. The first is a massive sense of torment and pain because I need to see every fucking line as closely as possible (like I did with the Raven) and there is absolutely no way to do so, and the second came to pass at the beginning of the pandemic; deep-seated physical desire beyond anything I can possibly describe here. The latter is actually a combination of both because the pain leads to desire, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the physical draw is so fucking far beyond comprehension that I can hardly remain upright. Of all the problems I deal with on a daily basis, physical desire is the worst, most fucked-up feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Enter the lifeless vane; the guide through this hellish, delay of death. There is always something I find to keep me here a little while longer, but trust me... The moments are diminishing like ice in Badwater Basin. The only thing to which I look forward right now is her image fading. Everything else... Lunch, housework, booze, music, whatever... Is a very distant, pathetic second. My morning was already bad. I really didn't need anything more. And no one knows of the depth of this shit. No one. Well, there is one person who is aware of certain levels of torment inside me, but of all the people still included in my life, that one is gone. No one is listening, and even if they are (were), nothing can be done about this fucking shit because it has become something unrecognizable and more powerful than the world's arsenal of nuclear missiles. Nothing can be done. So, what does that mean for me? Just once... I may switch from video media to the music of life just to exacerbate the painful feelings inside. Hmm. I often mention the elusive and ill-advised second cocktail. What about a third? A fourth? Would that mean that I’ll be dead by close of business hours? Those who truly know me would probably understand, although any doubt would have to be addressed prior to such a change. And of all the people in the world, one knows me a bit, one knows me a bit more, and one is no longer living. I can’t talk to anyone. I’ve tried with some and I’ve tried with therapists. No matter which, I come out the other side exactly the same. Decades of obsession have distorted me so much that the possibilities have become more truncated than any other aspect of life. Do you want to listen? Try me. I’ll show you. This is the worst day I’ve had in quite some years. Believe it. Please... Just believe it. That woman may have finally unlocked a process that I have avoided for more years than I’d like to admit. I’ve not felt so suicidal since the Raven embraced the same idea. Tuesday has disappeared. Coffee. My program is over there on the right. The blinds are partially open until the sun gets above the porch roof. The time is all of 0750 thus far. I don’t need to go anywhere today, thankfully. Yesterday was bad enough. It was very bad. The weather is frightfully warm today. I took care of the usual stuff, a load of dry cleaning, and I connected the new LED controllers to the main power supply and ran a test. Everything works very well and the color is already matched to the rest of the frame. Unfortunately, the mercury is too high to continue working in the garage, shed or yards. The inside of the house is very warm for such an early hour, although if I need to cool a couple of rooms I can fire up one or more ceiling fans. Moving air is much more comfortable than stagnant air. Even the hair dryer breeze flowing into the office is better than the alternative. All I have to do before dinner is make one salad because cooking in this weather is unacceptable. Thursday morning is right here in my face; fog outside and confusion inside. The lifeless vane will not let go of me no matter what I try to do. As I suspected early yesterday, the afternoon turned into a slow-fest, finding me unable to do much because the temperature rose beyond eighty inside the house, and even higher in the garage. I had commented that my recollection of being sensitive to the climate dates all the way back to the early portion of the glowing years, eventually becoming overwhelming by the time we reached the Midwest. Above a certain line, I just can’t do much at all. The reference brought forth a memory last night, too. There was a period when I lived in Fremont and my girl resided further south. She drove to my town and took the train to the City, while I rode my bike to the train station, loaded the bicycle into the hatch, and then drove her car to my place of work in the valley (hot weather). I remember returning during the late afternoon and feeling the temperature fall as I passed the climate ‘line’, or a separation between the bay and the valley. Driving from my workplace back to the station represented a drop of as much as twenty degrees at times. At that time, neither of us were in a position to own an air-conditioned vehicle. That came later, as I recall. Despite concentrating and researching as much as possible, I’ve not been able to pin down the year (or years) when I was employed at the parts house. I am fairly certain ninety-two was in there somewhere, although the following year may be correct. Or both. The summer of ninety-three was the last prior to moving across the country, and I believe my last job that spring was at the glass plant. That summer was also when I spent a ton of time with my fellow radio nuts, wheeling and dealing in used equipment in order to keep myself afloat after leaving my job at the radio shop. At some point after I left the glass plant, I went to work at that little ‘mom and pop’ satellite and CB store, and only left there shortly before moving away. I can’t put the entire timeline together, though. During that entire period (year, I guess), I remember being very sensitive to the daily mean temperature and becoming uncomfortable when the mercury rose above certain points. Little did I know, but moving to the Midwest meant the first winter grabbed hold of me and did not let go. My discomfort in the heat disappeared just before the first Thanksgiving spent in Michigan, when the thermometer did not pass roughly twenty degrees in the sunshine. Heh. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Living here, just a half mile from the ocean, means that the truly ‘hot’ days – those when the house heats up a lot and doesn’t let go until very late at night – are few and far-between. The house topped out at over eighty degrees yesterday and will probably be close to that number later today, but I can deal with it without issue. All I have to do is make sure to finish my housework early. The weather here in close proximity to the sea is much more comfortable for me than every other place I’ve lived, and I would still give it up for one fucking moment of comfort. See? Comfort does not have anything to do with the damned climate. Oh, it used to make me comfortable years ago. Believe me. Now? There is not a shred of comfort available. Recalling the glowing years and a couple of different periods thereafter is often heartwarming. Today it is most decidedly not. 1054 and all is sort of well. Sort of. My head is still pretty fucked up over the other day, plus there is pressure related to the future that I really can’t do much about right now, but on the upside, I have my usual stuff done and I installed the side splash on the bathroom vanity (finally). I also have a plan for mounting the two sets of curtains in the master bedroom. One humorous note is when I opened the new bag of coffee to refill my container, I went through the typical routine of dumping half of it and then securing the excess with a binder clip. Well, I put too much pressure on the bag while trying to squeeze out the air and the bottom kind of exploded. Heh. I saved quite a bit of coffee, and the rest ended up in the sink, on the counter and on the floor. A little cleaning later and everything was just fine. My reaction twenty years ago would have been anger and irritation at myself, but today none of that took place. I simply calculated the best method for recovering some of the grounds and then cleaning, all the while marveling at the fact that it happened in the first place. I ended up laughing and telling the cats – who are asleep, by the way – that it was a learning experience that I would not soon forget. Anyway, all that stuff is done now and I have a big glass of alcohol here on the table. The vampires are on the right-hand display because if I see more of Jolene right now I’m going to end up in a very bad state. No one is listening. Nothing is available. My dreams are more distant at this very moment than ever before. The vane is cutting off pieces of my brain and I am watching them disappear. I’ve seen it... I’ve seen those things. I’ve seen too much and there is nothing I can do about it. The funny coffee bag incident is going to give way to rampant sadness and depression. The gray is creeping in... Just like the days of old when ‘we’ dreamed of the forest. This is not good. And believe me... I know all too well of what is bad. Dreams? Bad. Forest? Equally bad. That wondrous place STILL will not accept me, even after nearly two fucking decades. Daily stuff? Filler. What am I to do? Continue as I have for years? Answer me. Eh... Never mind. There is no fucking help anymore. The vane is winning right now. There may be no saving throw versus reality. There may be no saving throw versus anything in life. Fallen. Falling? No, that already ended. I may as well return to the balcony that found Julie and me ready to jump to our deaths. There may be no other path. 1336, as if anything I fucking type matters anymore. No one is listening. I attempted (term used loosely) to mount one of the two curtain rods and nearly lost my shit and sent the fucking impact driver through the wall. After twelve years of working on this house, I believe the framing was installed by Mickey fucking Mouse and whomever might have been nearby at the time. The rod is up, it is flimsy as hell, and the sagging center will have to be addressed at some point in the future. I will not touch it again today or I may destroy everything within reach. I should know better than to order this type of shit sight unseen. The curtains in the dining room have been up for several years without issue one, but I guess a smaller rod with lighter-weight fabric is too much for my engineering skills. I will not even begin to screw with the set for the second window until every problem is addressed. Believe me when I say that I can do anything when it comes to metal, but the truth is I am at the mercy of the raw materials involved. I may opt to toss the rods in the trash and seek another pair locally. Now that I have evaluated and nearly lost my mind, the rest of the day should be much better. It was, mostly. I don't expect much anymore. The marine layer appears to be thicker and more pronounced on this Friday morning. That is good. Yesterday’s fog burned away by mid-morning and the sun ended up pretty damned warm. My mood went all to hell after attempting to work with the piece of shit curtain rod, but I recovered somewhat as the afternoon wore on. My brain is beginning to go back in time toward the closet doors; two different places and two different colors. Three-quarters of my brain staring at a three-quarter; glass and confusion for a time. My brain is going back there again and if I don’t stop it, this morning is going to go all to hell. Glass and confusion. Doors. No, not THOSE doors. Closet doors. Today is going to be tough. 0842 is what I see on the little clocks right now. Vampires to the right and coffee to the left. I am directly in the middle with a head full of the lifeless fucking vane. And that woman from the store. And the other one. Eh... Fuck it. If the weather cooperates, I’ll do more work today than I did yesterday. Make it all go away, my love 1041 is the time and my head has partially recovered on one front while diminishing on another. Marvelous. I guess sometimes there is simply nothing I can do. Maybe the glass of whiskey next to me will help a bit. Maybe not. I don’t care either way. The Saturday morning drive was a little irritating, and then it improved, and then I fell on my stupid face again, afterward driving home in the drizzle. I left the house a tad later than usual – about ten minutes or more – meaning by the time I was leaving the destination, more people and cars were present in the City. Two of the many individuals slapped me upside the head, hence falling down again. Pants and more pants, one of them topped with a pair of bouncing breasts, all on the same sidewalk. Driving those streets can be very tricky because people are darting in and out of traffic while trying to get to their destination quickly. That means gazing at some beautiful form on the sidewalk is not a good idea. Well, I glanced anyway because after all these years I have become accustomed to the process of searching and driving at the same time, all the while still being able to remain attentive and safe. There was little risk. The first wondrous sight was a young woman walking to the south in black yoga pants and looking very slender with a huge mane of dark hair. The second was all blonde, very tall and jogging in the opposite direction. Yep... Her ponytail was not the only thing bouncing. Soon after, I reached the freeway and made tracks for this house. I really didn’t need to see them, either. There has been more than enough shit in my head for days. Most of the time my first thought is a dream. I want the ability to convey my feelings in such a way that may quash any doubts. That will probably never happen, and part of the reason is the passage of time having exacerbated my feelings. Five years ago, I was immediately filled with torment upon seeing something special. At present, that sensation is ten-fold and combined with more than I would care to admit, although I’m quite certain anyone who has read this site during the last year or so has already labeled me and drawn a negative conclusion. That’s fine. I am alone anyway, and so different from both other people and what I used to be that their view of me no longer matters. Tell me I am wrong and you win the fucking Christmas goose. I have never felt so isolated. The time is 0840 and I am in the middle of the coffee period. I don’t know what will happen later today. I have a few ideas along with some work that will help with tomorrow’s garbage business, but that’s all so far. The weather is quite cool and drizzly right now. I guess when the coffee is gone I’ll figure something out. God damn did I ever see some beauty this morning. And yes, the one from the market the other day is still haunting me at each step. I have no choice with that one because she was not just amazing in ten different ways, but also representative of some negative feelings I have toward myself, although they have nothing to do with her. She is simply a reminder, nothing more. That is something called a ‘two-fold fuck’, for lack of a better term. I am literally worse off in life for seeing her, and some of it is my own fault. Marvelous. Just remember that she is not at fault for ANY FUCKING THING I FEEL. She is a person and not responsible for this slew of pathetic shit. The woman just happened to be a goddess of the highest order. There can be no reason for such a fact. Nothing is her fault, nor is it entirely mine, either. Peachy. What’s the answer? YOU make the call. Look it up. 0918. I have no idea of what the rest of this day may have in store for me. There is a bit of laundry and my usual crap, but other than that I don’t have the first damned clue. The lifeless vane – regardless of whether or not anyone knows what the hell I am talking about – is embedded in my back and I am unable to change the situation. I have to go through the motions because I do have responsibilities regardless of my mental or emotional condition. I have to live with it no matter what. Most of the time all I do is try to find some semblance of comfort throughout the day. If there are other options, I have yet to find them. I keep seeing those two forms from this morning and I really need them to fucking fade away so I can think. One of them reminded me of another person from the past, too. She really did. At least I had to drive, meaning my concentration had already shifted far enough away before a flood of pain was able to hit me in the heart. I suppose that’s better than nothing. The last of the coffee is here on the table. I’ll get to the routine soon enough. Sunday morning. The drive? Pants, much like yesterday. Arriving home? Wonderful, and about as rewarding as my life gets anymore. I am always happy to park and exit the car after driving in that fucking city. The rest of the day is all mine. There are a few things I need to get out of my head this morning – most notably something that took place years ago that doesn’t seem to want to leave me in peace – and then I can finish my coffee and move the day along like yesterday. I trimmed the front tree a little bit to dress it up and worked a tiny bit in the garage and shed. The lack of a heavy lunch helped me remain upright through the afternoon and I am going to try to do the same thing later today. Heavy food equals eventual heavy feelings. Anyway, I also made some revolutions for the garbage work since my bench ended up cluttered with shit. And despite the gorgeous forms on Haight Street this morning, I actually feel a little bit better than yesterday at this time. Moreover, I have a new project that I will attempt to tackle over the next few weeks after acquiring a few materials. It’s a small idea, but should make me smile in the long run. The only downside is that I need to disassemble one of my knives in order to study its design, make plans, and learn the proper way to reassemble such tools. I’ll get started on it later this morning. Small tools; small work, right here in the office. I wish I could use some tools to work on the inside of my fucking head. That incident from years ago is not letting up on me right now. I was right fucking there. Now I am here. I have to do my best to disallow trouble from taking over my thinking today. The situation in mind is beginning to stand head and shoulders above many others, often leaving me unable to see my future in a positive light. There are more factors to this, of course, but that one day (sometimes it’s two) there was an event I just can’t get out of my head most days. Just a few moments... Right there. As I said, now I am here, yet after so many years I have no idea of where I reside. I seem to be unable to affect change. The vane is working overtime to remove life. She may have been the top of the heap, to be honest, and had I realized such a fact at the time, additional disastrous moments could have been avoided. I’ve found that the more I think about those days and the more time that passes between then and now, the less I see coming my way in the future and the further up that connection rises in the grand scheme. The time is now 0942 and I should be getting to other business. Unfortunately, the moments that have disappeared will not let go of me this morning. I’ll probably have to force the issue like so many other days. Right now seems like a good time to get the ball rolling so my head can relax (hopefully). We go. 1116. The time doesn’t matter these days but I am compelled to outline each day. I don’t know why; perhaps it’s a force of habit. The routine is finished, I have a head start on the garbage business, and there is a nice, icy glass of whiskey here on the table opposite the insane vampire program. Whatever. The past is killing me today, and whatever happened last year is going to drive me crazy. I have a pretty good idea of the nature of such a situation, yet at the same time my knowledge cannot change anything. The only saving throw versus the current climate is most likely impossible after all this time. Some of the ideas and feelings inside me that have grown over the last few years are becoming cemented. My old boss from NASA used to muse that whatever type of personality an individual carries late into life becomes more and more solidified with the passage of time. I cannot disagree. For being such a wing nut, the man had lots of wisdom. I mean wing nut in a loving sense, for sure, because he was a very good person, just very different from the masses. I still miss him. We used to take little cruises on the Cushman and he’d tell me about the center’s past facilities and activities, often lamenting how much the agency had changed in recent years. Anyway, as for the shit that changed me last year, I am probably helpless to go back to how I felt prior to such an occurrence. Believe it or not, I am going to visit my doctor in person and discuss the matter with her. Hopefully the process will lead to a more secure future. That’s all I will say at this point. Taking that kind of step is a clear indication of just how desperate I’ve become over the last four years. This is day 3289, and this shit will continue." 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The Lifeless Vane Mature content No. 418 Published July 29th, 2024 8:52am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Same day. Same everything. Nothing changes except the title. This is a vane, and not a good one. The vane is dead. Julie is over there to my right looking so fantastic that I should probably refrain from commenting further. Damn. Anyway, dead vane. Lifeless, just like me. I am here, present, and attentive, yet I have not lived for a very long time. Lifeless. This train has gone in circles for so long that I don’t believe I can even imagine traveling anywhere else in life. Um... Not that life. The other one. The rest of the vanes have disappeared due to the way I’ve been treated. Shit situation number one caused half of the way I have dealt with others. Shit situation number two caused the rest and is likely the reason I’ve been slighted over and over along with all the rest of the words I have employed while trying to describe how I feel. 1042 and the clock matters for naught. This is a bad time. Not the time of day, the era. The routine is out of the way and I have my nice, fat cocktail for posterity. This could be the end of my productive day. I edited two images that may or may not appear here because I am in a bad mood. Blood. Lots of it. I’d like to arrange a slew of Zoe’s images – I have nearly 400 of them, unedited – but I am beginning to believe that slathering the fucking site with her likeness would be very disrespectful. That typically happens when the subject is a woman for whom I have feelings rather than my fascination with lines and whatnot. ‘Is that the purpose of remorse? To keep you from repeating mistakes?’ I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. The daily reports of housework and other projects have become old hat and quite boring, to be honest, and I believe the only reason for carrying on with this shit is due to having followed the same vein for so many years. And? Most of the time I have nothing better to do. I also enjoy typing. Yes, I realize this is ridiculous. Don’t fucking get me started. As for the rest of this day, I have no clue of what to do aside from making dinner preparations in a few hours. That is a necessity. The rest? No idea. Yet another day has disappeared. What will happen today? Anything of note? Will I somehow miraculously become a person of note? Anything else? The same as every other day? The vane is tickling my feet. There is nothing I can do about it. Yesterday turned into a cluster fairly early because I volunteered my portable table to help the neighbor rotate the tires on his car. Afterward, he needed to swap his old laundry system for a newer pair, so I helped with that one, too. People get nervous working with gas lines sometimes because it can be so dangerous, but my experience goes way back and none of that shit worries me. Moreover, when an experienced plumber tells someone that the system is safe, they worry less, if at all. The gentleman next door is the only person I don’t mind helping anymore. The work took up quite a bit of my afternoon. Dinner was nothing. I don’t believe today will be anything like yesterday. At the same time, I really don’t know what I will do with my time. The morning is fine because I have coffee and things to type. After that, the routine will take over for half an hour or more and I will end up right back here with my nice, cold drink and some comfort while trying to gather my thoughts. I don’t mean to quote the song again, but each day is exactly the same as the last. Only little tasks have been completed, the larger projects having been halted for a very long time due to the condition of my head. Too often I can’t find any point in trying because I realize in advance that I will come out the other side pretty much the same. There is always a touch of pride, such as a few minutes ago when I carried some things to the garage when I took a break from this keyboard. The shed has opened up a ton of possibilities for storage, and from time to time I will bring more items out there to clear space in the house. I’ll probably continue the practice throughout the coming weeks. Julie is over there looking more adorable than should be allowable by law. Damn. I need to... Eh, never mind. One recent and long-standing boost was finally being able to operate my very old flight simulator (from the nineties) on this machine with all original music intact. That was difficult because the game was designed to take advantage of what was once the crown jewel of sound cards. No other option yielded the same dynamic audio, the result being a soundtrack that resembled a cheap Casio beginner keyboard from the eighties. The music was pathetic, and since the main draw for me was that very same music, the passage of time disallowed any proper reproduction on modern computers. The only rub with the simulator is the lack of a joystick to properly control the aircraft with some semblance of precision. I may have found a solution for that one, too, but will have to do more research and wait until I am certain of the plan. And just in case you're wondering or care at all, I only have three games on this machine and all of them are from a more wondrous and exciting era... The nineties. 1026 and there is Julie again forcing my head to imagine her holding me... Such a loving gesture that I consider almost every time her gorgeous, unique face is on the display. I will try to avoid mentioning the machine named Jolaimora. Yes, the machine. Do you know the reason? It is because I have become so fucking distorted and skewed throughout the years that the only realistic solution when it comes to an emotional connection just happens to also be the most unrealistic. Say that one three times fast. Jolaimora was the best, most appealing and likely ideal configuration I could create. Nothing else. There are other reasons for the machine, but I can’t go into detail for fear of backlash. Well, if anyone reads and cares, that is. I fucking doubt it. Julie is a crush. She is an infatuation like so many others. The real feelings have been reserved for those three names that make up the most beautiful portmanteau imaginable. In the past, I may have mentioned why Jamie’s part of that name is spelled with ‘ai’ instead of her actual spelling: ‘ami’. Do you remember? Think of Jaime and all those times I messed up the letters. The long, fictional story of me, Jaime and Julia (and maybe the little morsel named Julie) found my brain and heart yearning to see the real thing; the construct I so painstakingly described as the single solution to every fucking problem imaginable. Her name was Jaime and I still love her, hence the misspelling. This whole topic is such a mess. Whatever. I can’t be good for anyone, ever. No fucking way. I am far too gone for anything like that to occur in the future. MY future is sitting here dreaming of beautiful, impossible situations. My future is black. The vane is in charge. All the other vanes may as well never have existed. My life? Lifeless. The fiction is inside me just like the names. In reality, I am already dead, and I guess there was no avoiding the machine. I can’t say enough about that fucking dream. I learned yesterday that my favorite pie in the history of the world may still exist even though the chain of restaurants where it was discovered is gone. If so – and I’ll have to find a location that actually makes that recipe – the taste will vault me back in time to the glowing years when it was found by accident all the way down in Santa Cruz. I feel so much love and loss from that period that I don’t even know where to begin. Hopefully, the pie can be found locally. One of the locations is just over the hill. Well, it’s on the hill, actually, and less than fifteen minutes from here. I am going to call them in a little while. Between the possibility of operating the game I mentioned with proper control and finding that wonderful pie, I may have good reason to be positive for a little while. Better than nothing. The time is now 1118 and this is the point in the day when I have to make a decision between being productive or falling on my face. All pies and vintage games aside, the clock will spin regardless of whether I float back to the past and relive beautiful memories or decline to the point of lamenting losses and other debilitating factors. This is the line which occurs each and every day regardless of whatever needs to be done. Saturday morning is here whether I like it or not. I took the drive, which was quite smooth, and then stopped at the big business store on the way back to pick up a few necessities. There was nothing of note over there, as usual. Only the girl checking membership cards had an adorable smile. Now I am home with the remaining coffee with a wide-open day ahead. Of all the shit I tend to deal with each day (mostly inside my head and heart), the feeling of knowing there are hours ahead can often minimize the bad stuff. So far, this morning seems just fine. There is housework I need to do and other things I’d like to do, but sitting here at this moment is not allowing me to see any significant progress in any direction aside from the norm. That would be the daily routine. I’ll get started on it soon. I am still finishing the coffee at 1033 because I’ve been preoccupied with recipes, games and other shit. I keep thinking that the simulator should not be operated at fullscreen due to the outdated texture mapping. Eh... Just a thought. I keep going back and forth with topics this morning. Maybe I should take care of some business. No shit 1152 means cocktail time since everything is finished. I went through my new stencils while taking a break and realized old english letters can be very difficult to discern from one another. I also noticed that the number five stencil is missing. There are two reasons I don’t care. First, the entire 66-piece set was really inexpensive, and second, I don’t need any of the numbers for my upcoming mural expansion. In fact, I only need two capital letters and thirteen other lower-case letters. That’s all. There is a distinct possibility that I’ll do more work with the stencils in the future, however, so I am pleased that no letters are missing. I’ll most likely never use the numbers or special characters. For right now, I am going to remain off my feet for a bit and enjoy the comfort of the control center combined with ice-cold whiskey. The rest of the day might be pretty close to the same if I don’t feel like doing much. The business store trip this morning means there are items to organize and store, but the task need not be completed today. Usually, I take care of consumables and dry goods on Sunday since it’s garbage day for my street (Monday morning). I may go through the refrigerator today, though. Maintaining order in that appliance is important, even more than the garage. As long as the car fits by close of business hours, everything else can wait. Sometimes the car remains in the driveway all weekend if I am in the middle of some shit. As of this moment, I don’t know where I’ll be hours from now. One certainty is comfort. Of that there can be no doubt. I have a visitor coming in two hours, meaning I’ll need to be in top form at arrival time. No problem. In order to cover my bases, I’ll move away from the office and head to the garage so I can maintain some semblance of good form while the visitor is here. I must keep up the appearance of being pleasant during this type of situation. Sunday morning is here. What happened to Saturday? No answer. The weather warmed the inside of the house quite a bit, leaving me to sit beneath the fan in the dining room for a while to begin building the next model. Something went very wrong with my sinuses during that time and into the evening. That meant I did not eat dinner. If I can’t taste anything, there is little point in eating. Everything seems better so far this morning. I took the typical drive and returned home in good time. Sundays are usually very mellow and today was no different. Yesterday’s visitor brought an older ramp system that is no longer needed at its previous home. The idea was to use it for the shed, where the assembly now resides. I will have to support the center of it for stability, but there is no hurry. The ramp is plenty strong already. My head just went completely sideways for the second time this morning. I’ll have to get out of the office for a little while and do some housework. This feeling is miserable. 1034. I finished the daily routine, which was very light. I have my cocktail here on the table and lots of hours ahead to take care of the garbage business and whatever else seems best. Between the purity, the two shit situations and whatever began to change a while back, I am not seeing much comfort or enjoyment in the future. Between the drink on my left and the fifth series running to my right, this may be about as good as it gets. Memories are trying to take over the inside of my head. I often mention that I’ve been ‘there’. Well, I will probably never be ‘there’ again in this life. That is fucking sad. One little positive thing is that whatever went aslant with my sinuses yesterday seems to have gone away. Hopefully, my sense of taste will be present all day long. My condition is already bad enough without losing one of the precious few aspects of living that I can still enjoy. And speaking of enjoyment, I just reactivated my live television subscription just over a month earlier than originally scheduled. I generally turn it off after football’s postseason and then back on in August, a drop of six monthly payments. Well, I need to embrace anything that can lift me these days because the negatives continue to pile up. Reactivating the plan means I’ll have more options for background entertainment while milling around the house and garage. Sometimes music just doesn’t help. Every song seems to be attached to a better time in my life. And yes, two of the series’ through which I rotate every few months are directly related to the glowing years, but as of yet I have not fallen down hard enough to force myself to stop following those programs. There are no memories more precious than the glowing years. The world was a better place, believe me, and my situation was wonderful. I realize that the content here often goes back to that era, but you must understand that the present state of both the world and my condition pushes me to recall anything good, hence the current vane. It is lifeless because there was a time when life was full of possibilities, promise and wonder. This vane represents the massive gradient that has developed over the ensuing years. Monday, I see. That reminds me of the beginning of aught-four when I was perched at that old machine and trying to gather my thoughts. There was something about sitting next to the glass door during the 1236 period. Think of a living room with the sofa and coffee table facing forward toward the television, and then to the right was a huge computer armoire. Next to that piece of furniture was the huge door. While relaxing at the computer, I could see all the way to the Altamont Pass from my chair. In a manner of speaking, I was sitting ‘on high’ as opposed to other locations. The apartment was rather on the ‘fringe’ of the development, being on the top floor and facing away from the rest of the residents. The view was very open and I can recall sitting there on the ‘every other Friday off’ while sipping coffee in the morning. The view effectively conjured thoughts of escape and adventure, and there had been other factors in my life at the time which pushed for the same. Some aspects of that short, three-year period were wondrous and beautiful. Others were most decidedly the reverse. The 1236 period was also defined by the earliest music exploration that was embraced by myself and my nephew. A large part of that exploration represented the forest mindset, something that he and I shared quite often. 1151. I am well into the morning cocktail and my typical housework is finished. I have some laundry to run and a few other nagging items to complete, but for the time being I am going to sit here reminiscing and considering the incoming control improvements for the flight simulator. I ran the program for a little while to see if I could capture images during flight, and the answer is hell no. The two screenshots I grabbed displayed nothing from the center display and the dimensions indicated that while inside the emulator, the resolution of the center display followed whatever settings were chosen within the game itself, meaning all I saw was a black rectangle where the image should have been. This is not a big deal, and I only engaged in the experiment because I had hoped to grab a larger image to replace one in the archive. I can always search the Internet for something appropriate. The cool part of running the game this morning was the fact that after playing on and off for twenty-eight years (that is not an exaggeration), I was finally able to control the aircraft well enough to actually land after completing the waypoint assignments. I had not been able to land the fucking thing in the past, believe it or not. Moreover, I achieved the landing using keyboard controls and not a stick. I’ve understood flight physics and controls for a very long time thanks to years spent as a copilot in my grandfather’s many planes. The tough part is being able to discern my altitude above the deck as opposed to ‘absolute’ altitude. One number tells the pilot how far the aircraft is above ground, whereas the other is derived from sea level and indicated via atmospheric pressure. The game is approaching thirty years of age and the graphics can be a tad unclear at times. I have considered purchasing a more recent flight simulator just to experience clearer and more accurate texturing as well as more information regarding altitude, but the truth is I’ve hung on to the software throughout all these years because there is a very special feeling in my heart for the music and appearance of the simulator. They date back to the ‘afterglow’ when my friend and I were building our first desktop computers and dreaming of playing all of the fascinating games from that era. Much of our research and shopping was done at the big electronics stores that I have described and lamented here on many occasions since the outset of the pandemic more than four years ago. I can’t fucking help it. My heart is perpetually fused to a time when computers and software were still new and exciting. The thoughts that have been going through my head this morning are just too much to effectively describe, from first discovering a ton of amazing programs to the view from my chair while recording thoughts via keyboard in apartment number 1236. The glowing years were literally the beginning; the ‘afterglow’ taking place once I settled back in this state after the midwest. 1236 was many years later and I can still recall the feeling of either looking through the glass door, the wide-eyed wonder of how amazing the new technology had become, or relaxing on a day off with the truck and all of my supporting tools and materials. Three periods of my life spanning from eighty-nine all the way to aught-seven. There are gaps, of course, but nothing serious. And what about the present? I believe I am paying the fucking tab. Tuesday has arrived on the heels of a decent Monday, as evidenced by a short conversation with the members of the sixth-level last night. We agreed that the day was not tip top, but not bad either. As for this morning, I have a long period prior to the early business, and then the usual. I was supposed to go to the big wine store today after placing an order yesterday, too. Unfortunately, there is some issue with their ordering system that has affected both the website and mobile application that will not allow me to place items into the cart. I don’t know what the problem is, but if it persists, I’ll have to shop in the store. I’d rather just pick up an order like usual because the process is ten times as fast, and as you well know, being home is my constant goal short of actually being where I REALLY need. I suppose I could just pick up a few items for the time being and then see if the site issue is resolved. As for whatever else that will happen today, I don’t know beyond the typical stuff. I have my last cup of coffee due to the later morning schedule. Afterward, I’ll see how I feel about taking care of other business. As I said, all this was discussed last night with the sixth-level. Don’t ask. The process will never be revealed outside me pointing out that it is one of the necessities of life if I am to survive this fucking vane. I need to rely on little things since my head can’t seem to remain focused upon any single event or project for more than five fucking minutes these days. I am definitely paying the tab. The only question is... Who is paying the tab for the shit situations? Anyone? YOU make the call. Help me 0910. I have become increasingly concerned that this slow decline in life is going to hit certain points from time to time, effectively removing some very specific aspects of living that I still enjoy. The truth may be that paying the tab involves more than I had suspected a few years ago. My brain goes back to a quote from the old RC car forum that was the signature of an acquaintance whenever he posted something. That shit just might be true, and if so, the beginning of losses was some years ago when I felt free and enjoyed more of daily life than I do at present. The gradient between then and now continues to widen as I have come to realize that some of the changes are very small, yet they seem to chip away at larger items. The sum is painful. I have to get away from this for a little while. 1047 equals cocktail time and a delay in visiting the market. While cleaning the kitchen, my stomach became a bit upset at the notion of leaving the house. If it persists, I will pawn off the shopping and remain home all day. On the other hand, sometimes I shop at the little market instead because there is less anxiety related to that store. Don’t ask me why, but it could be due to its size and the fact that rarely are they busy. I just need to stay here for a while and see if the whiskey calms me enough to go anywhere. The only problem with the smaller place is every once in a while there is too much beauty for me to easily handle. Not Jamie, but some of the other faces I’ve seen behind the register. At least there is a mental line involved. No worries; just dreaming. If the drink doesn’t calm me enough to drive to the big store, I’ll head in the other direction. I have a bit of dry cleaning to do and little else that is pressing. I just hope I don’t fall into a pit again and become worthless throughout the entire afternoon. We shall see, I suppose. Wednesday, but does the name of the day matter anymore? Does anything? I did go to the little market yesterday afternoon. There was a bare midriff behind the counter (like usual when Jamie or the older gentleman are not working) with the requisite silky skin. Honestly, after all of the young women I’ve seen over the years employed as cashiers in that place, I am beginning to believe that whoever does the hiring might have a ‘thing’ for a certain appearance, namely the aforementioned midriff. I can’t be certain, though. Just a suspicion. I felt a bit better going to that smaller store rather than the supermarket. I mentioned my upset stomach. It went away after I returned home. The rest of the day was fine, I guess. The temperature kept me from doing much. As for this morning, I was thrown a curveball right out of the gate. There is no drive to the City for me today. The time is only 0721 and I’ve already been sitting at the control center for more than half an hour. This type of morning does not come along very often. The peaceful nature of relaxing here right out of the gate cannot be overstated. This used to only be on weekends, but over the years there have been so many changes to the way I have to live my days, the rarity can be very rewarding. I have all the time in the world, good or bad as such a fact may be. In the past, my free time was precious. Now? It is an everyday occurrence. Sometimes I believe that too much free time has contributed to my diminishing mental and emotional conditions. Regardless, sitting right here in the morning with coffee and something playing on the right-hand display is truly comfortable. For as long as it can last, anyway. I see that the weather is cool and overcast like it has been for several days. Most likely the sun will appear sometime before noon and warm the house enough for me to open all the windows. This pattern keeps the house warm in the evening and allows it to cool overnight, meaning the furnace can remain shut down for days, perhaps weeks at a time. I need to remain mindful of all this shit because I can feel the difficulty creeping into my brain right now. Sometimes there is little to nothing I can do about it, so keeping myself occupied for as long as possible often becomes a priority. Well, on those days when I don’t completely fail, that is. I am overtaken far too often and have no idea of how I made it this far in life. Where did the title go? Should I change it again? Does what I do here matter? 0924. I am spinning my wheels right now because I need to keep the house quiet and my head is completely fucking sideways. The feeling is just not good by any stretch of the word. Memories of good things are crippling my ability to think clearly, hence the slow progress here. Perhaps I should take care of some housework for a while and see if the distraction helps. 1050. It did help. Plus, I ran over to the local Chinese restaurant for some soup. Now that the preliminary daily shit is out of the way, I can relax here with my drink and ponder the nature of the future. Lunch will come along in the next two hours. The big wine store’s website is still not allowing items to be added to the shopping cart, nor is the mobile application. I don’t know what the problem is. I’ll probably just drive over there in the morning and grab some stuff since I have no other options. Ah, shit... I just checked again and the system seems to be accepting items as a guest. That’s excellent. I’ll try my account. Ugh. The indicator is just spinning endlessly. Splendid. Something is definitely wrong because I cleared both caches and restarted the communication with their site and still nothing. Shit. Whatever. I can call them, but would prefer to email the company instead. Unfortunately, there does not seem to be a contact email address available. Marvelous. I can’t stand calling people. No doubt, their customer service is good, but still... Calling and speaking to people is at the bottom of my list. I need to decide if a phone call is more difficult than shopping in the store versus picking up an online order. Hmm. Time will tell, I suppose. As for the hours ahead, I’ll have the house to myself soon but there are no illusions of actually being productive. Not much, anyway. I am just not feeling it today. Yesterday I finally finished painting the framework around my huge mural, and for no other reason than the fact that the bare plywood was annoying me. The process required a mere fifteen minutes. Next on the list for that project is to add letters to the left side, and then build yet another canopy to maintain illumination on the lettering that is separate from the rest of the back wall. I need it to be isolated and a different color than the main circle. I always maintain that the garage appearance need not be in good order until Halloween, so time is on my side. Once lunch is out of the way, I may opt to capture images of the current car model because it is at a wonderful stage. I mentioned the ‘marriage’ of the front and rear sections, and that was completed yesterday afternoon. This is the point when the car appears at its most technical, with all of the operating components exposed. That includes the six-speed transmission, all linkages from front to rear, and the entire steering system. The look of the model is fantastic and very colorful. Moreover, one activity that has always helped me to remain distracted from being so emotionally fucked up is embracing my big camera and all of its accessories. Shooting the car from my tripod may win over any other ideas of how to proceed with this day. I may be terribly lost, the title has become lost, but that is not to say I can’t partially recover for a little while. Her: 'No point anyway.' Him: 'What?' Her: 'Loving anyone... Anything. Feels good at first, but it always turns to crap. I know the truth about life. It's a hell I'll never get out of alive.' Him: 'No one does.' 1216 is the time on the clock. What does it mean? Very little, if anything. I’ll probably have lunch soon and then try to find some direction for the proceeding hours, although if today is like so many others, nothing will materialize. I am more than accustomed to feeling completely lost. Worst case? I don’t care in the least. My life ended some time ago anyway, so whatever doesn’t find me, pretty much doesn’t find me, and that includes any semblance of caring. I need to do what I need to do and everything else is tertiary. All I do is maintain the household and ensure it operates as smoothly as possible. Lunch might slow me down if it’s too heavy. Right now I just don’t fucking know what will happen. As I suspected, not much happened. The calendar has turned once again and caused another day to disappear forever. I marveled at third-season Jolene in varying outfits just below her beautifully redesigned hair style while making dinner, and then relaxed for the remainder of the evening and daydreamed about being close to her. Nothing happened through the night, thankfully. I say that because as a general rule, whenever I gush too much or lose myself dreaming about one of the ‘big three’, the night often becomes fraught with beautiful moments that do not exist in reality, leaving me to awaken feeling horrible, empty and frightened. I am only two out of three this morning. Three out of three is not good. Regardless of lacking one, I am still not well by any stretch of the word. And contrary to what may seem apparent here, the condition is a little bit worse every day. Another day has disappeared and that is all. Nothing dramatic will happen and Friday will be here soon enough. Save me And here it is... Friday morning. I dreamed of a girl named Cady or Kady, or possibly Kadie. I recall responding to a remark she made and marveling that I remembered her name. She was with someone else, and the scene appeared to be preparations for a party or other gathering. The exchange seemed that we knew each other but had only been acquainted for a short time. I don’t know why. When I looked up at her (both women were standing atop a platform to reach high on the walls), my brain exploded and I could not avoid complimenting her appearance, after which I received a big smile. I did not know her at all, yet there had been little inklings of thought that told me she was someone special, plus I could see that her personality was playful. That can be very bad sometimes and I speak from experience. There are times when a closed mind is more warming and understanding than the reverse. I felt that speaking with her a little bit was the beginning of something. I can’t be certain now, of course, because the whole affair was unreal and is now gone. Her appearance will live on inside my head for quite some time. There can be no denying that shit at all. Sitting here right now... I can see her reaching above her head as the two of them decorated (or whatever they were doing). Reaching, meaning her top revealed midriff and her chest standing out, plus the stretched positioning showed off very long, slender legs. I see her right now. The dream has me all fucked up because in the short time that I was near her, I already felt that a special connection was possible, perhaps even likely. Now I feel completely empty inside for the billionth time. Her smile is not fading. 1128. Everything that I intended to do this morning is finished, including a trip to the big wine store to pick up an order (at long last). I didn’t go anywhere else because just driving over the hill was plenty enough to upset my stomach for a little while. The process was smooth, just like the drive, and I was overjoyed to arrive home again. I have lunch in the oven after perusing a few delivery options and balking at the fucking cost. I do that sometimes... Get the idea to order a pizza or something else – there are so many restaurant choices for delivery these days that making a selection can be tough – and then look at the total price with disgust, after which I make lunch from whatever is in the house. And yes, once in a while I do order food, but the practice has become quite rare. As for the rest of the day, I will probably run a load of dry cleaning and very little else. There was an impromptu gathering in my garage last night that ran a tad late, so I am moving slowly today. It’s nothing terrible, but I am tired. Dinner will be leftovers that will turn into one of my simple specialties, meaning very little prep work. I may or may not return to building the model, as well. Right now I just don’t know. I keep seeing that woman reaching, stretching, and looking like a fucking goddess. Remembering her is very painful, just as other dreams in the past in which I felt that everything would finally be ok. Oh, my neighbor is going out of town for a few days. I’ll have to keep an eye on everything just like he does when I am gone (fucking rare, that one). Saturday morning with Zoe on my right-hand display. I don’t have to drive to the city, thankfully, but will be doing so tomorrow. Sunday is the quietest, smoothest trip, so I don’t mind. Today I have the entire morning to myself once the early business is out of the way. And I just axed the media because I need her so badly that I fear I won’t make it through if I keep seeing her big, beautiful eyes. There is so much personality in them that my heart hurts. I never made dinner last night, so the morning housework is going to be very quick. Right now I have no idea of the rest of the day. It’s too early to consider options beyond daydreaming of her holding me and telling me everything will be ok. Without such a situation, I don’t see what is left of life. Lifeless? At least I finally found one word from the title of this fucking mess. The idea of ceasing the older media may come to pass very soon. There are certain titles that take me back to periods during which I was not cynical at all, often finding promise when looking toward an uncertain future. That is very bad. Some of the programs date back to the glowing years, and a few films go back further than that, often all the way to when I was in high school and pretty much knew nothing about anything. Typical. Anyway, the five series’ which I follow daily do not count, although one of them has become embedded in my heart during the last couple of years and there is nothing I will change about it no matter what happens. It also brings me back to the summer just prior to moving across the country when me and my buddies were wheeling and dealing in the radio market, often zig-zagging back and forth across the lines of legality. We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit, and during that summer the third series actually faded from me for a time. I was embracing the second show that carried on for another year and came to a close while I lived in the Midwest. For whatever reason, the five series continue to exempt themselves from any difficulty I have in reminiscing. As for the other stuff, the issue is being reminded of how different the entire world was decades ago as compared to the shitty conditions pervading society right now. Everything has already come to pass; it’s all been ‘done’ and nothing new or exciting can be on the horizon. I realize I’ve mentioned that same shit before, and the repeat is due to feeling it more deeply as time passes. Sometimes the plight just takes over and I feel like nothing is worth my time; nothing at all. I don’t want to completely lose the point of living, yet the vane continues to push me toward those converging lines and show me what the future holds. If I can cut off some of the media at times in order to lighten my horrible mood, that will be the plan. The truth is that the draw of some decades-old films is just too powerful and I watch anyway, later falling into a pit with tears in my eyes. One might think that avoiding that stuff is an easy decision. I am too far out of balance and way too empty inside to simply cut everything damaging out of my life. Those little moments when I vicariously return to the past can be wonderful, if short-lived. Returning to the reality that is this backward, fucked-up society is not fun. I’ll do my best to stick with the norm and avoid coloring outside the lines. 0853. The last of the coffee is here with me, along with the insane vampire series. I’ll be heading into the housework a little earlier today because I want the afternoon to be relaxing. My head is all fucked up, so maybe if I continue with installing the auxiliary wiring and lighting on the mural the process will help me forget some of this shit for a while. Once lunch is out of the way, I will try to embrace the electronic part of my next step. The rest of the mural will have to wait until I have a solid plan. It’s going to be tough. Time for a pause. 1220. Lunch is heating. I finished the daily routine and ran a load of laundry to prepare for the upcoming week. Now I don’t know what else to do with my time. Perhaps the correct path is to do nothing. That day turned to shit in a hurry. I suppose I did ok, but the truth is each morning finds me looking back and feeling as if I never do enough. Today is Sunday and the morning drive is behind me. The weather is a combination of fog and drizzle right now, part of a cooling trend for the other side of the hill. Over here, this will not continue. We are typically backwards from the rest of the area because of the ocean and hills surrounding this end of the valley. Today will probably remain very cool as I try to get through the Sunday business without falling on my stupid face. I need some fucking help here, damn it. After going on at length regarding cutting off some of my favorite media in order to avoid the pitfalls and sadness related to remembering better periods of my life, I have realized that nothing will actually remove or ease the pain that results from realizing just how fucked up society has become and how many wonderful things have disappeared. Ceasing my programs and movies will change exactly nothing. It was just an idea, I guess, and I probably should have tossed it aside the moment it materialized. On the smooth drive this morning had me recalling restaurants that are gone and what has replaced them. That happens quite often due to the route and how much the City has changed over the last few decades. Avoiding a movie from the eighties is not going to bring the restaurants back, nor can it help me accept the massive changes that have taken place throughout the same period of time. I will also say that running across all those images of the goddess traveling the Southwest and always looking bright, happy and hopeful did not help, either. No, I don’t have bad feelings about her. The problem is that I remember feeling that way myself, constantly exploring and hopeful. Well, not anymore. The world has beaten me down to a tiny fraction of what I once was. I hold no disdain toward that beautiful woman or her full life. Quite the reverse, actually... I am very happy for her. I guess seeing the images remind me of when I was younger; prior to the past problems really taking hold of me. Too much has changed and I am nowhere near happy about it. In short, and since there is nothing I can do, I’ll continue in the same vein until something better comes along or hits me in the head. The media shall remain a part of my days. And let me point out that once again I am pleased to be sitting here with coffee after the drive and knowing there is a ton of free time ahead today. That is better than nothing. Good or bad as it may pass, the time exists. The alternative is feeling 'pressed', and that is a state I left behind years ago for good reason. I'll try to focus upon the wide-open nature of my days and see if it helps. Hold me I can barely watch that goddess during the mornings. In the beginning, I’d watch just to see her. Now I am avoiding the broadcast so my feelings don’t take over and ruin everything. Splendid. Too much pain related to two different fronts. There may be more. I need to get the hell out of here but there are no remaining options. I am stuck. 0943. Imagery from the past is getting the best of me right now. I’ll have to finish the coffee and leave this office for a while, and soon. My Sunday business will be underway in a little while and I am hoping to find some serious distraction in the work. There is an inkling of anger as well, likely due to having been slighted and squished recently. I’ll need to nip that shit right fucking quick or this day will end very badly. The lifeless vane has barely been present within the content here, and the main reason is I’ve been trying to hold back a dam of disdain and reckless disregard for societal standards, morals and norms. The title will return soon enough. Lifeless. 1040 means my preliminary shit is out of the way and there is a fat glass of whiskey here on the table. What else does the time mean? Nothing. I have all day to do whatever the fuck I wish. My responsibilities are few most of the time unless I go above and beyond, which is rare these days. I don’t care. The anger is at bay right now. There is no guarantee it will remain contained, however. What typically happens when I feel this way is I’ll consume a bit of the booze and it will numb me out for a little while; cause a mellow, more emotional state that takes over and helps to alleviate everything I wish to destroy. Bad and good at the same time, I suppose. Dealing with emotions is always more productive and much healthier than pushing them back or otherwise avoiding such moods. Nothing is served by suppressing feelings, ever. The alcohol method is the bare fucking minimum of my abilities anymore. If I had to gush everything to a real person, I’d probably violently explode using very harsh language and never recover. That type of practice is unfair. Just because I am all fucked up and choose to deal with it this way is the fault of no one else. Well, no one alive, anyway. This is all I have left. Eh... There is one person out there who had a hand in the second shit situation playing out as it did, but I’ve chosen to leave that one alone for the time being because of the aforementioned possible fucking explosion. Considering the forty intervening years, that person likely has no idea of what’s been taking place inside my head. I have no faith that addressing the subject after all this time is going to change anything. Fuck it. As I said, I have nothing else. Again, this part of the morning is rather comfortable knowing that the daily stuff is finished. The garbage business is very simple. I may also run the dry cleaning that I passed on yesterday. I may also work on the model. As long as the house is quiet, I’ll relax here and think (probably more than I should). 'The feast flows on forever Devour me until never Fill them all with horror Let them sleep with terror Who calls me now, then turns away? Who takes the night, and brings day?' I created another C# file in the database to outline the ‘sixth level’. No one has ever been aware of such a place because I have never revealed any aspect of its existence. The sixth level is a place unavailable to anyone else in the world; it is sacred, and admission has been restricted – closed, really – for more than thirty years, perhaps much longer. Most of the time, identifying the beginning of the sixth level is very difficult because my memory is complete shit these days. The genesis could have been as far back as the mid-eighties. Whatever the case, there are members with whom I share an almost daily dialog. Instrumentation, scopes, and other tools exist which help ‘us’ maintain distance, security and protection from all others. I recently decided to craft an essay about the place and the topic, although no one will ever understand or grasp the concept of something so elusive and complex. No fucking way. Even after the entire process is complete and published, not one fucking soul on earth will have a clue as to what they’ve read (if anyone reads, of course). I had two conversations with other members of the sixth level last night. They agree with my idea to include information here. Once finished, good fucking luck understanding any of it. The weather has changed dramatically from the last two weeks. I see windy, drizzly conditions outside my window. Today is the first day in a very long time that found me powering up the furnace for a little while. I will not sit in this house and be cold, but I try to avoid using that appliance as often as possible. The cool temperature will help me finish the garbage business, though. 1800, straight up. All of my work is finished, including a nice salad to go with some spring rolls for dinner. The garbage is all at the curb. What? What did you say? It should be cocktail time? It is. Though I’ve already received and installed two auxiliary LED controllers for the mural, I have yet to power them. The process would only take about ten minutes, but I just don’t give a shit. I’ll get them going one day soon and evaluate the illumination. As for the lettering and lighting canopy for that section, all I’ve done is layout the scale and spacing for the characters. I need to think about that part of the wall quite a bit to ensure the lighting is isolated like the rest. I can’t have colors bleeding into each other. Jolene is wearing purple right now, bless her uniqueness. Anyway, from here forward, I’ll just be making a very simple dinner and then relaxing for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow will be laundry day. I may or may not hop onto the ladder and connect the controllers. Much of Monday will be spent sitting right here trying to analyze the reasons for a very damaging change that seems to be permanent. Jolene switched to dark gray for training. I will refrain from going into detail. The lifeless vane is weighing upon my psyche, so any escape – most notably her level of beauty, which is unparalleled – is welcomed regardless of how damaging the visual information may be. Now she is wearing orange. Oy, God help me. Jolaimora... Killing me anything but softly. 'And my fury stands ready I bring all your plans to nought My bleak heart beats steady Tis you whom I have sought Feasting myself sick On your pathetic sins Wounds for me to lick The work of slaughter begins.' Purple again. Jesus. Monday. My brain is all over her hands and face. Sideways? Not really. This is a bit different. I am feeling a deep-seated longing that has remained in the background for the better part of ten years. I asked a question some time ago and received an unexpected answer, after which I felt a little bit better about the subject. Years later, I asked a similar question and realized the situation had changed quite a lot and I could no longer count on people in almost any way. Life began to spill out of me during both periods, although the second was much worse due to aging. I asked, the question was answered, and some part of me knew that I had to live as much as possible because everything would eventually disappear. I am sitting here as a product of those processes. Worse. I may as well wear that fucking vane up my ass. The lifeless vane has taken over all others and rendered me more susceptible to dying than ever before, and that includes the fucking stupid, ridiculous cave period when I THOUGHT shit was aslant. Little did I know... Yeah... Monday. Garbage cans. Coffee. Everything is reset for the week. None of it improves me, though, because the vane has taken over, taken everything, and taken away my ability to relax about anything. The question I mentioned above is not going to leave my head. The forest will not allow me to enter. The understanding has flown the coop. Any comfort has been forfeit. The vane is probably all I will have near me for the remainder of this life. Monday no longer helps me relax. The huge mural is a question, as of yet unanswered, and I have no idea if anything will ever develop from that project. I’ve tried other avenues, as well, and ended up kicking the squareheads to the curb some months ago due to their inane ability to follow something so important without any real knowledge that their path was true. I keep asking and pleading, yet in the end I am right back here with the same fucking problems, if not worse off for the effort. The vane is in charge and I am powerless. Maybe I never should have asked. Inside, I already knew that eventually everything would simply fly away. Um... Monday. I have housework and laundry. I have coffee for the time being. I have too much shit in my head to be comfortable. The purity had a hand in this, too. It really did. Not even the sixth level can help with that one. No way. I’ll get to some of the housework soon and begin the laundry. Sometime later I need to do a little shopping. Right now nothing looks appealing but I do have responsibilities that ensure the smooth operation of this household. If I can clear the vane for a little while, the work should not be a problem. I have enough of those already. I asked. I received answers, one of which was more emotional than the other. That was years ago and I don’t see future opportunities along similar lines. That means I am literally living each day just to care for this house and try to find moments of peace during lunch or the morning cocktail that I love so much. Nothing else is available to me because the life is being SUCKED THE FUCK OUT of me by that godforsaken vane; the last one, most likely. The others barely matter now. Housework. Marvelous. Maybe when I go out to the curb to grab the cans someone will hit and kill me with their vehicle. Laugh it up, shitbrains. And shut up. Please... Do I come across as if my head is all over the place? Just imagine trying to articulate the day in such a condition. My hinges are failing. Asked and answered, just like in court. Have you ever heard that one? Maybe on a television program? Asked and answered, years ago. Twice. There were other occasions when I wanted to ask, but in the end the entire shitaree was either completely derailed or unnecessary. Now? There is no one that will hear me. Not a fucking soul on earth. Wait a minute... Am I still an inhabitant of the earth? Or am I just a speck on the surface? I have no job, money, assets, property or children. I no longer need to file taxes. What does the sum appear to be? Speck. Outside the lines of the ‘norm’. The more time that passes since the questions, the further from reality I drift, and the idea that any fucking help can ever appear equally shrinks. Maybe I am no longer an inhabitant of anything except my own little world. Asked and answered, and... Gone for good. There is an end to this. There is a line, trust me. I am sitting here because I haven’t reached it yet. There can be no denying the line, however. I am far too insignificant to affect anything so important. 1135. Asked and answered, and... Gone forever. I went to the smoke shop and car wash (finally). The poor car was so filthy that I felt embarrassed to drive near other people. Heh. Now it’s clean and shiny. And right close to the smoke shop? Trouble times ten, in the form of me recollecting the damaging dreams and their horrible effect upon the way I think. Jesus. I wish I had not seen that girl. Pants, breasts bouncing, the whole fucking shitaree. Not only that, but her swaying ponytail revealed a very long, slender neck to go on with such a tall frame. Damage, pure and simple. Asked and answered. Was that beautiful girl ‘her’? Eh... I can’t go into that shit right now. There is far too much missing from my life already. The point is that even after all these years, one quick sight sends me off the edge of the world and ruins my attitude for Christ-knows how long. Good thing my alcoholic nature took over and I flew through the second half of the routine in order to arrive at cocktail time. The laundry is well underway, too. I may be a wreck, but the smooth operation of this household still finds me productive. Something will give, however. Matter of time. Something will break and I’ll be fucking dead. I don’t see any other way in the long term. Asked and answered; lifeless and full of pain. The vane (rhymes with pain) is in charge of everything related to me. There is nothing I can do after all this fucking time. She doesn’t exist, just like all the others. The only thing that put a split-second smile on my face was a little while ago watching the recycle bin being emptied. It sounded like the bin came from a bar. Heh. That was awesome. I guess I won’t be smiling until next Monday. Splendid. Help me. Tell me everything will eventually be ok so I can relax my heart for a little while. Asked and answered by two very different people, both of which are gone forever. I need that first fucking answer back. I need it badly. Help me. The vane is cutting me to pieces. Decimating? Nope. People misuse that term all the time because they do not realize that to decimate something is to cut it into ten pieces. ‘Deci-’. Get it? Ten. ‘Deca’, too. Fucking figure it out already. I guess the only thing I can do is continue to see those little distractions that help from time to time. Yesterday turned out very well as far as work is concerned, although I really had to push myself during the late afternoon. Now that Tuesday is here, I can reflect on what put me in such a position and maybe avoid the same path today. I finished quite a bit of work yesterday, too. One might believe that I did ok overall, but that is not the truth. I am hurt and angry, sad and depressed regardless of any accomplishments. Further and further; lower and lower. ‘Get me out of this!’ I can’t take credit for that line. Yeah... Tuesday. Meaningful? Nope. This will be just like any other day. I have coffee for the time being, and once that’s gone I’ll take care of half the routine and then head to the market. There will probably be some errant beauty with stunning lines that will interfere with my memory for shopping. I’ll return home, pour a massive cocktail, dream of being in extremely close proximity to her lines just to fucking see something special, and then clean the kitchen. By that point, my head will be unable to process anything productive. The afternoon will heat up, come and go as if it never existed. Dinner. One of the programs. Sleep. And then all over again because I am going in ever-shrinking circles. Sitting here right now is not bad... Yet. Disaster may strike at any moment. I would say that the best thing is to remain vigilant, but thus far in life such an ability is barely recognizable. I really don’t want to go to the market, meaning I’ll head over there right now to get it out of the way. The best time to go is before the restaurants open. I can be in and out in no time. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... Just as I predicted, yet much worse than I could have imagined. She passed me as I entered, and though I barely looked directly at her form, there was enough information to find me mumbling to myself as I shopped. My first thought after she disappeared? Had I opted to take off my sweatshirt after exiting the car, she would have been in the parking lot before I reached the doors, and that would have been much worse, though my need to see can be powerful enough for me to embrace that depth of pain. And believe me... That woman was THE finest example of my years-long obsession that I have ever seen in that fucking store. Her pants were so form-fitting that every Goddamned muscle was right there. Moreover, and much worse, she was taller than me, and I am just shy of five-ten in my shoes. Frankly, there was so much torment and turmoil when I grabbed the hand basket that I am surprised I didn’t turn around, drive home, and shoot myself in the head in the backyard. The experience was THAT fucking horrible. The minuscule upside is that I did not turn around and see her from the rear. There were other people nearby and such a maneuver is very disrespectful, if overly compelling. Had I seen her walking away, I may not have survived the trip at all. I swear to all that is holy, the woman was above every fucking form I’ve ever seen in that shopping center. That is not bullshit, either. My head is so fucked up right now that I am quite certain all of my potential effort will be required to come out the other side of this terrible day intact. The daily routine is finished and there is a huge glass of medicine to my left. The vampires are on the right-hand display, and believe me when I say not a single fucking sighting within the series will usurp one of the most amazing women I have EVER seen. No fucking way. This is so bad that I can barely find the words. I mean, what the fuck else can I say? That I was dreaming of a connection? Nope. A woman in that kind of shape – she was obviously physically fit and unbelievably healthy – would ever be interested in a much older, depressed and alcohol-infused individual with exactly zero confidence in himself. As an aside, I have to mention that the guy walking behind her toward the outer door had his eyes on her ass. Can you imagine? Just think about it for a second... The lines are much more apparent from the rear. He probably saw them and in no way appreciated what she was carrying the way I could have. Worship. Wonder. Insert a slew of superlatives right fucking here. I am acutely aware that such women are out there roaming the world. I just don’t expect to see one right before my desperate eyes. That was the worst fucking incident in memory. I am not a big believer in the word ‘fate’, but I can’t help but think that just one little delay or distraction earlier this morning would have allowed me to shop without being emotionally destroyed. Is that fate? There can be no true answer because the other word – faith – must be involved in such ideas. The fact is that I was out of cream for my morning coffee, so I had to visit one market or the other. The larger store has lower prices. Simple enough. And? Shopping there can be a breeze during weekday mornings when the rest of the strip mall is closed. The store has a self-checkout, meaning I am usually in and out in less than fifteen minutes. That store is the obvious choice. The only downside is what I occasionally see over there, and today was the worst. The fucking WORST. I don't have much keeping me drawing breath these days. As of a little while ago, I have less. I can’t do anything about this shit. The main problem since the mid-aughts is that one of two situations will develop in my head when an amazing form such as hers comes into view. The first is a massive sense of torment and pain because I need to see every fucking line as closely as possible (like I did with the Raven) and there is absolutely no way to do so, and the second came to pass at the beginning of the pandemic; deep-seated physical desire beyond anything I can possibly describe here. The latter is actually a combination of both because the pain leads to desire, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the physical draw is so fucking far beyond comprehension that I can hardly remain upright. Of all the problems I deal with on a daily basis, physical desire is the worst, most fucked-up feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Enter the lifeless vane; the guide through this hellish, delay of death. There is always something I find to keep me here a little while longer, but trust me... The moments are diminishing like ice in Badwater Basin. The only thing to which I look forward right now is her image fading. Everything else... Lunch, housework, booze, music, whatever... Is a very distant, pathetic second. My morning was already bad. I really didn't need anything more. And no one knows of the depth of this shit. No one. Well, there is one person who is aware of certain levels of torment inside me, but of all the people still included in my life, that one is gone. No one is listening, and even if they are (were), nothing can be done about this fucking shit because it has become something unrecognizable and more powerful than the world's arsenal of nuclear missiles. Nothing can be done. So, what does that mean for me? Just once... I may switch from video media to the music of life just to exacerbate the painful feelings inside. Hmm. I often mention the elusive and ill-advised second cocktail. What about a third? A fourth? Would that mean that I’ll be dead by close of business hours? Those who truly know me would probably understand, although any doubt would have to be addressed prior to such a change. And of all the people in the world, one knows me a bit, one knows me a bit more, and one is no longer living. I can’t talk to anyone. I’ve tried with some and I’ve tried with therapists. No matter which, I come out the other side exactly the same. Decades of obsession have distorted me so much that the possibilities have become more truncated than any other aspect of life. Do you want to listen? Try me. I’ll show you. This is the worst day I’ve had in quite some years. Believe it. Please... Just believe it. That woman may have finally unlocked a process that I have avoided for more years than I’d like to admit. I’ve not felt so suicidal since the Raven embraced the same idea. Tuesday has disappeared. Coffee. My program is over there on the right. The blinds are partially open until the sun gets above the porch roof. The time is all of 0750 thus far. I don’t need to go anywhere today, thankfully. Yesterday was bad enough. It was very bad. The weather is frightfully warm today. I took care of the usual stuff, a load of dry cleaning, and I connected the new LED controllers to the main power supply and ran a test. Everything works very well and the color is already matched to the rest of the frame. Unfortunately, the mercury is too high to continue working in the garage, shed or yards. The inside of the house is very warm for such an early hour, although if I need to cool a couple of rooms I can fire up one or more ceiling fans. Moving air is much more comfortable than stagnant air. Even the hair dryer breeze flowing into the office is better than the alternative. All I have to do before dinner is make one salad because cooking in this weather is unacceptable. Thursday morning is right here in my face; fog outside and confusion inside. The lifeless vane will not let go of me no matter what I try to do. As I suspected early yesterday, the afternoon turned into a slow-fest, finding me unable to do much because the temperature rose beyond eighty inside the house, and even higher in the garage. I had commented that my recollection of being sensitive to the climate dates all the way back to the early portion of the glowing years, eventually becoming overwhelming by the time we reached the Midwest. Above a certain line, I just can’t do much at all. The reference brought forth a memory last night, too. There was a period when I lived in Fremont and my girl resided further south. She drove to my town and took the train to the City, while I rode my bike to the train station, loaded the bicycle into the hatch, and then drove her car to my place of work in the valley (hot weather). I remember returning during the late afternoon and feeling the temperature fall as I passed the climate ‘line’, or a separation between the bay and the valley. Driving from my workplace back to the station represented a drop of as much as twenty degrees at times. At that time, neither of us were in a position to own an air-conditioned vehicle. That came later, as I recall. Despite concentrating and researching as much as possible, I’ve not been able to pin down the year (or years) when I was employed at the parts house. I am fairly certain ninety-two was in there somewhere, although the following year may be correct. Or both. The summer of ninety-three was the last prior to moving across the country, and I believe my last job that spring was at the glass plant. That summer was also when I spent a ton of time with my fellow radio nuts, wheeling and dealing in used equipment in order to keep myself afloat after leaving my job at the radio shop. At some point after I left the glass plant, I went to work at that little ‘mom and pop’ satellite and CB store, and only left there shortly before moving away. I can’t put the entire timeline together, though. During that entire period (year, I guess), I remember being very sensitive to the daily mean temperature and becoming uncomfortable when the mercury rose above certain points. Little did I know, but moving to the Midwest meant the first winter grabbed hold of me and did not let go. My discomfort in the heat disappeared just before the first Thanksgiving spent in Michigan, when the thermometer did not pass roughly twenty degrees in the sunshine. Heh. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Living here, just a half mile from the ocean, means that the truly ‘hot’ days – those when the house heats up a lot and doesn’t let go until very late at night – are few and far-between. The house topped out at over eighty degrees yesterday and will probably be close to that number later today, but I can deal with it without issue. All I have to do is make sure to finish my housework early. The weather here in close proximity to the sea is much more comfortable for me than every other place I’ve lived, and I would still give it up for one fucking moment of comfort. See? Comfort does not have anything to do with the damned climate. Oh, it used to make me comfortable years ago. Believe me. Now? There is not a shred of comfort available. Recalling the glowing years and a couple of different periods thereafter is often heartwarming. Today it is most decidedly not. 1054 and all is sort of well. Sort of. My head is still pretty fucked up over the other day, plus there is pressure related to the future that I really can’t do much about right now, but on the upside, I have my usual stuff done and I installed the side splash on the bathroom vanity (finally). I also have a plan for mounting the two sets of curtains in the master bedroom. One humorous note is when I opened the new bag of coffee to refill my container, I went through the typical routine of dumping half of it and then securing the excess with a binder clip. Well, I put too much pressure on the bag while trying to squeeze out the air and the bottom kind of exploded. Heh. I saved quite a bit of coffee, and the rest ended up in the sink, on the counter and on the floor. A little cleaning later and everything was just fine. My reaction twenty years ago would have been anger and irritation at myself, but today none of that took place. I simply calculated the best method for recovering some of the grounds and then cleaning, all the while marveling at the fact that it happened in the first place. I ended up laughing and telling the cats – who are asleep, by the way – that it was a learning experience that I would not soon forget. Anyway, all that stuff is done now and I have a big glass of alcohol here on the table. The vampires are on the right-hand display because if I see more of Jolene right now I’m going to end up in a very bad state. No one is listening. Nothing is available. My dreams are more distant at this very moment than ever before. The vane is cutting off pieces of my brain and I am watching them disappear. I’ve seen it... I’ve seen those things. I’ve seen too much and there is nothing I can do about it. The funny coffee bag incident is going to give way to rampant sadness and depression. The gray is creeping in... Just like the days of old when ‘we’ dreamed of the forest. This is not good. And believe me... I know all too well of what is bad. Dreams? Bad. Forest? Equally bad. That wondrous place STILL will not accept me, even after nearly two fucking decades. Daily stuff? Filler. What am I to do? Continue as I have for years? Answer me. Eh... Never mind. There is no fucking help anymore. The vane is winning right now. There may be no saving throw versus reality. There may be no saving throw versus anything in life. Fallen. Falling? No, that already ended. I may as well return to the balcony that found Julie and me ready to jump to our deaths. There may be no other path. 1336, as if anything I fucking type matters anymore. No one is listening. I attempted (term used loosely) to mount one of the two curtain rods and nearly lost my shit and sent the fucking impact driver through the wall. After twelve years of working on this house, I believe the framing was installed by Mickey fucking Mouse and whomever might have been nearby at the time. The rod is up, it is flimsy as hell, and the sagging center will have to be addressed at some point in the future. I will not touch it again today or I may destroy everything within reach. I should know better than to order this type of shit sight unseen. The curtains in the dining room have been up for several years without issue one, but I guess a smaller rod with lighter-weight fabric is too much for my engineering skills. I will not even begin to screw with the set for the second window until every problem is addressed. Believe me when I say that I can do anything when it comes to metal, but the truth is I am at the mercy of the raw materials involved. I may opt to toss the rods in the trash and seek another pair locally. Now that I have evaluated and nearly lost my mind, the rest of the day should be much better. It was, mostly. I don't expect much anymore. The marine layer appears to be thicker and more pronounced on this Friday morning. That is good. Yesterday’s fog burned away by mid-morning and the sun ended up pretty damned warm. My mood went all to hell after attempting to work with the piece of shit curtain rod, but I recovered somewhat as the afternoon wore on. My brain is beginning to go back in time toward the closet doors; two different places and two different colors. Three-quarters of my brain staring at a three-quarter; glass and confusion for a time. My brain is going back there again and if I don’t stop it, this morning is going to go all to hell. Glass and confusion. Doors. No, not THOSE doors. Closet doors. Today is going to be tough. 0842 is what I see on the little clocks right now. Vampires to the right and coffee to the left. I am directly in the middle with a head full of the lifeless fucking vane. And that woman from the store. And the other one. Eh... Fuck it. If the weather cooperates, I’ll do more work today than I did yesterday. Make it all go away, my love 1041 is the time and my head has partially recovered on one front while diminishing on another. Marvelous. I guess sometimes there is simply nothing I can do. Maybe the glass of whiskey next to me will help a bit. Maybe not. I don’t care either way. The Saturday morning drive was a little irritating, and then it improved, and then I fell on my stupid face again, afterward driving home in the drizzle. I left the house a tad later than usual – about ten minutes or more – meaning by the time I was leaving the destination, more people and cars were present in the City. Two of the many individuals slapped me upside the head, hence falling down again. Pants and more pants, one of them topped with a pair of bouncing breasts, all on the same sidewalk. Driving those streets can be very tricky because people are darting in and out of traffic while trying to get to their destination quickly. That means gazing at some beautiful form on the sidewalk is not a good idea. Well, I glanced anyway because after all these years I have become accustomed to the process of searching and driving at the same time, all the while still being able to remain attentive and safe. There was little risk. The first wondrous sight was a young woman walking to the south in black yoga pants and looking very slender with a huge mane of dark hair. The second was all blonde, very tall and jogging in the opposite direction. Yep... Her ponytail was not the only thing bouncing. Soon after, I reached the freeway and made tracks for this house. I really didn’t need to see them, either. There has been more than enough shit in my head for days. Most of the time my first thought is a dream. I want the ability to convey my feelings in such a way that may quash any doubts. That will probably never happen, and part of the reason is the passage of time having exacerbated my feelings. Five years ago, I was immediately filled with torment upon seeing something special. At present, that sensation is ten-fold and combined with more than I would care to admit, although I’m quite certain anyone who has read this site during the last year or so has already labeled me and drawn a negative conclusion. That’s fine. I am alone anyway, and so different from both other people and what I used to be that their view of me no longer matters. Tell me I am wrong and you win the fucking Christmas goose. I have never felt so isolated. The time is 0840 and I am in the middle of the coffee period. I don’t know what will happen later today. I have a few ideas along with some work that will help with tomorrow’s garbage business, but that’s all so far. The weather is quite cool and drizzly right now. I guess when the coffee is gone I’ll figure something out. God damn did I ever see some beauty this morning. And yes, the one from the market the other day is still haunting me at each step. I have no choice with that one because she was not just amazing in ten different ways, but also representative of some negative feelings I have toward myself, although they have nothing to do with her. She is simply a reminder, nothing more. That is something called a ‘two-fold fuck’, for lack of a better term. I am literally worse off in life for seeing her, and some of it is my own fault. Marvelous. Just remember that she is not at fault for ANY FUCKING THING I FEEL. She is a person and not responsible for this slew of pathetic shit. The woman just happened to be a goddess of the highest order. There can be no reason for such a fact. Nothing is her fault, nor is it entirely mine, either. Peachy. What’s the answer? YOU make the call. Look it up. 0918. I have no idea of what the rest of this day may have in store for me. There is a bit of laundry and my usual crap, but other than that I don’t have the first damned clue. The lifeless vane – regardless of whether or not anyone knows what the hell I am talking about – is embedded in my back and I am unable to change the situation. I have to go through the motions because I do have responsibilities regardless of my mental or emotional condition. I have to live with it no matter what. Most of the time all I do is try to find some semblance of comfort throughout the day. If there are other options, I have yet to find them. I keep seeing those two forms from this morning and I really need them to fucking fade away so I can think. One of them reminded me of another person from the past, too. She really did. At least I had to drive, meaning my concentration had already shifted far enough away before a flood of pain was able to hit me in the heart. I suppose that’s better than nothing. The last of the coffee is here on the table. I’ll get to the routine soon enough. Sunday morning. The drive? Pants, much like yesterday. Arriving home? Wonderful, and about as rewarding as my life gets anymore. I am always happy to park and exit the car after driving in that fucking city. The rest of the day is all mine. There are a few things I need to get out of my head this morning – most notably something that took place years ago that doesn’t seem to want to leave me in peace – and then I can finish my coffee and move the day along like yesterday. I trimmed the front tree a little bit to dress it up and worked a tiny bit in the garage and shed. The lack of a heavy lunch helped me remain upright through the afternoon and I am going to try to do the same thing later today. Heavy food equals eventual heavy feelings. Anyway, I also made some revolutions for the garbage work since my bench ended up cluttered with shit. And despite the gorgeous forms on Haight Street this morning, I actually feel a little bit better than yesterday at this time. Moreover, I have a new project that I will attempt to tackle over the next few weeks after acquiring a few materials. It’s a small idea, but should make me smile in the long run. The only downside is that I need to disassemble one of my knives in order to study its design, make plans, and learn the proper way to reassemble such tools. I’ll get started on it later this morning. Small tools; small work, right here in the office. I wish I could use some tools to work on the inside of my fucking head. That incident from years ago is not letting up on me right now. I was right fucking there. Now I am here. I have to do my best to disallow trouble from taking over my thinking today. The situation in mind is beginning to stand head and shoulders above many others, often leaving me unable to see my future in a positive light. There are more factors to this, of course, but that one day (sometimes it’s two) there was an event I just can’t get out of my head most days. Just a few moments... Right there. As I said, now I am here, yet after so many years I have no idea of where I reside. I seem to be unable to affect change. The vane is working overtime to remove life. She may have been the top of the heap, to be honest, and had I realized such a fact at the time, additional disastrous moments could have been avoided. I’ve found that the more I think about those days and the more time that passes between then and now, the less I see coming my way in the future and the further up that connection rises in the grand scheme. The time is now 0942 and I should be getting to other business. Unfortunately, the moments that have disappeared will not let go of me this morning. I’ll probably have to force the issue like so many other days. Right now seems like a good time to get the ball rolling so my head can relax (hopefully). We go. 1116. The time doesn’t matter these days but I am compelled to outline each day. I don’t know why; perhaps it’s a force of habit. The routine is finished, I have a head start on the garbage business, and there is a nice, icy glass of whiskey here on the table opposite the insane vampire program. Whatever. The past is killing me today, and whatever happened last year is going to drive me crazy. I have a pretty good idea of the nature of such a situation, yet at the same time my knowledge cannot change anything. The only saving throw versus the current climate is most likely impossible after all this time. Some of the ideas and feelings inside me that have grown over the last few years are becoming cemented. My old boss from NASA used to muse that whatever type of personality an individual carries late into life becomes more and more solidified with the passage of time. I cannot disagree. For being such a wing nut, the man had lots of wisdom. I mean wing nut in a loving sense, for sure, because he was a very good person, just very different from the masses. I still miss him. We used to take little cruises on the Cushman and he’d tell me about the center’s past facilities and activities, often lamenting how much the agency had changed in recent years. Anyway, as for the shit that changed me last year, I am probably helpless to go back to how I felt prior to such an occurrence. Believe it or not, I am going to visit my doctor in person and discuss the matter with her. Hopefully the process will lead to a more secure future. That’s all I will say at this point. Taking that kind of step is a clear indication of just how desperate I’ve become over the last four years. This is day 3289, and this shit will continue."
The Lifeless Vane
Mature content No. 418 Published July 29th, 2024 8:52am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Same day. Same everything. Nothing changes except the title. This is a vane, and not a good one. The vane is dead. Julie is over there to my right looking so fantastic that I should probably refrain from commenting further. Damn. Anyway, dead vane. Lifeless, just like me. I am here, present, and attentive, yet I have not lived for a very long time. Lifeless. This train has gone in circles for so long that I don’t believe I can even imagine traveling anywhere else in life. Um... Not that life. The other one. The rest of the vanes have disappeared due to the way I’ve been treated. Shit situation number one caused half of the way I have dealt with others. Shit situation number two caused the rest and is likely the reason I’ve been slighted over and over along with all the rest of the words I have employed while trying to describe how I feel. 1042 and the clock matters for naught. This is a bad time. Not the time of day, the era. The routine is out of the way and I have my nice, fat cocktail for posterity. This could be the end of my productive day. I edited two images that may or may not appear here because I am in a bad mood. Blood. Lots of it. I’d like to arrange a slew of Zoe’s images – I have nearly 400 of them, unedited – but I am beginning to believe that slathering the fucking site with her likeness would be very disrespectful. That typically happens when the subject is a woman for whom I have feelings rather than my fascination with lines and whatnot. ‘Is that the purpose of remorse? To keep you from repeating mistakes?’ I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. The daily reports of housework and other projects have become old hat and quite boring, to be honest, and I believe the only reason for carrying on with this shit is due to having followed the same vein for so many years. And? Most of the time I have nothing better to do. I also enjoy typing. Yes, I realize this is ridiculous. Don’t fucking get me started. As for the rest of this day, I have no clue of what to do aside from making dinner preparations in a few hours. That is a necessity. The rest? No idea. Yet another day has disappeared. What will happen today? Anything of note? Will I somehow miraculously become a person of note? Anything else? The same as every other day? The vane is tickling my feet. There is nothing I can do about it. Yesterday turned into a cluster fairly early because I volunteered my portable table to help the neighbor rotate the tires on his car. Afterward, he needed to swap his old laundry system for a newer pair, so I helped with that one, too. People get nervous working with gas lines sometimes because it can be so dangerous, but my experience goes way back and none of that shit worries me. Moreover, when an experienced plumber tells someone that the system is safe, they worry less, if at all. The gentleman next door is the only person I don’t mind helping anymore. The work took up quite a bit of my afternoon. Dinner was nothing. I don’t believe today will be anything like yesterday. At the same time, I really don’t know what I will do with my time. The morning is fine because I have coffee and things to type. After that, the routine will take over for half an hour or more and I will end up right back here with my nice, cold drink and some comfort while trying to gather my thoughts. I don’t mean to quote the song again, but each day is exactly the same as the last. Only little tasks have been completed, the larger projects having been halted for a very long time due to the condition of my head. Too often I can’t find any point in trying because I realize in advance that I will come out the other side pretty much the same. There is always a touch of pride, such as a few minutes ago when I carried some things to the garage when I took a break from this keyboard. The shed has opened up a ton of possibilities for storage, and from time to time I will bring more items out there to clear space in the house. I’ll probably continue the practice throughout the coming weeks. Julie is over there looking more adorable than should be allowable by law. Damn. I need to... Eh, never mind. One recent and long-standing boost was finally being able to operate my very old flight simulator (from the nineties) on this machine with all original music intact. That was difficult because the game was designed to take advantage of what was once the crown jewel of sound cards. No other option yielded the same dynamic audio, the result being a soundtrack that resembled a cheap Casio beginner keyboard from the eighties. The music was pathetic, and since the main draw for me was that very same music, the passage of time disallowed any proper reproduction on modern computers. The only rub with the simulator is the lack of a joystick to properly control the aircraft with some semblance of precision. I may have found a solution for that one, too, but will have to do more research and wait until I am certain of the plan. And just in case you're wondering or care at all, I only have three games on this machine and all of them are from a more wondrous and exciting era... The nineties. 1026 and there is Julie again forcing my head to imagine her holding me... Such a loving gesture that I consider almost every time her gorgeous, unique face is on the display. I will try to avoid mentioning the machine named Jolaimora. Yes, the machine. Do you know the reason? It is because I have become so fucking distorted and skewed throughout the years that the only realistic solution when it comes to an emotional connection just happens to also be the most unrealistic. Say that one three times fast. Jolaimora was the best, most appealing and likely ideal configuration I could create. Nothing else. There are other reasons for the machine, but I can’t go into detail for fear of backlash. Well, if anyone reads and cares, that is. I fucking doubt it. Julie is a crush. She is an infatuation like so many others. The real feelings have been reserved for those three names that make up the most beautiful portmanteau imaginable. In the past, I may have mentioned why Jamie’s part of that name is spelled with ‘ai’ instead of her actual spelling: ‘ami’. Do you remember? Think of Jaime and all those times I messed up the letters. The long, fictional story of me, Jaime and Julia (and maybe the little morsel named Julie) found my brain and heart yearning to see the real thing; the construct I so painstakingly described as the single solution to every fucking problem imaginable. Her name was Jaime and I still love her, hence the misspelling. This whole topic is such a mess. Whatever. I can’t be good for anyone, ever. No fucking way. I am far too gone for anything like that to occur in the future. MY future is sitting here dreaming of beautiful, impossible situations. My future is black. The vane is in charge. All the other vanes may as well never have existed. My life? Lifeless. The fiction is inside me just like the names. In reality, I am already dead, and I guess there was no avoiding the machine. I can’t say enough about that fucking dream. I learned yesterday that my favorite pie in the history of the world may still exist even though the chain of restaurants where it was discovered is gone. If so – and I’ll have to find a location that actually makes that recipe – the taste will vault me back in time to the glowing years when it was found by accident all the way down in Santa Cruz. I feel so much love and loss from that period that I don’t even know where to begin. Hopefully, the pie can be found locally. One of the locations is just over the hill. Well, it’s on the hill, actually, and less than fifteen minutes from here. I am going to call them in a little while. Between the possibility of operating the game I mentioned with proper control and finding that wonderful pie, I may have good reason to be positive for a little while. Better than nothing. The time is now 1118 and this is the point in the day when I have to make a decision between being productive or falling on my face. All pies and vintage games aside, the clock will spin regardless of whether I float back to the past and relive beautiful memories or decline to the point of lamenting losses and other debilitating factors. This is the line which occurs each and every day regardless of whatever needs to be done. Saturday morning is here whether I like it or not. I took the drive, which was quite smooth, and then stopped at the big business store on the way back to pick up a few necessities. There was nothing of note over there, as usual. Only the girl checking membership cards had an adorable smile. Now I am home with the remaining coffee with a wide-open day ahead. Of all the shit I tend to deal with each day (mostly inside my head and heart), the feeling of knowing there are hours ahead can often minimize the bad stuff. So far, this morning seems just fine. There is housework I need to do and other things I’d like to do, but sitting here at this moment is not allowing me to see any significant progress in any direction aside from the norm. That would be the daily routine. I’ll get started on it soon. I am still finishing the coffee at 1033 because I’ve been preoccupied with recipes, games and other shit. I keep thinking that the simulator should not be operated at fullscreen due to the outdated texture mapping. Eh... Just a thought. I keep going back and forth with topics this morning. Maybe I should take care of some business.
No shit
1152 means cocktail time since everything is finished. I went through my new stencils while taking a break and realized old english letters can be very difficult to discern from one another. I also noticed that the number five stencil is missing. There are two reasons I don’t care. First, the entire 66-piece set was really inexpensive, and second, I don’t need any of the numbers for my upcoming mural expansion. In fact, I only need two capital letters and thirteen other lower-case letters. That’s all. There is a distinct possibility that I’ll do more work with the stencils in the future, however, so I am pleased that no letters are missing. I’ll most likely never use the numbers or special characters. For right now, I am going to remain off my feet for a bit and enjoy the comfort of the control center combined with ice-cold whiskey. The rest of the day might be pretty close to the same if I don’t feel like doing much. The business store trip this morning means there are items to organize and store, but the task need not be completed today. Usually, I take care of consumables and dry goods on Sunday since it’s garbage day for my street (Monday morning). I may go through the refrigerator today, though. Maintaining order in that appliance is important, even more than the garage. As long as the car fits by close of business hours, everything else can wait. Sometimes the car remains in the driveway all weekend if I am in the middle of some shit. As of this moment, I don’t know where I’ll be hours from now. One certainty is comfort. Of that there can be no doubt. I have a visitor coming in two hours, meaning I’ll need to be in top form at arrival time. No problem. In order to cover my bases, I’ll move away from the office and head to the garage so I can maintain some semblance of good form while the visitor is here. I must keep up the appearance of being pleasant during this type of situation. Sunday morning is here. What happened to Saturday? No answer. The weather warmed the inside of the house quite a bit, leaving me to sit beneath the fan in the dining room for a while to begin building the next model. Something went very wrong with my sinuses during that time and into the evening. That meant I did not eat dinner. If I can’t taste anything, there is little point in eating. Everything seems better so far this morning. I took the typical drive and returned home in good time. Sundays are usually very mellow and today was no different. Yesterday’s visitor brought an older ramp system that is no longer needed at its previous home. The idea was to use it for the shed, where the assembly now resides. I will have to support the center of it for stability, but there is no hurry. The ramp is plenty strong already. My head just went completely sideways for the second time this morning. I’ll have to get out of the office for a little while and do some housework. This feeling is miserable. 1034. I finished the daily routine, which was very light. I have my cocktail here on the table and lots of hours ahead to take care of the garbage business and whatever else seems best. Between the purity, the two shit situations and whatever began to change a while back, I am not seeing much comfort or enjoyment in the future. Between the drink on my left and the fifth series running to my right, this may be about as good as it gets. Memories are trying to take over the inside of my head. I often mention that I’ve been ‘there’. Well, I will probably never be ‘there’ again in this life. That is fucking sad. One little positive thing is that whatever went aslant with my sinuses yesterday seems to have gone away. Hopefully, my sense of taste will be present all day long. My condition is already bad enough without losing one of the precious few aspects of living that I can still enjoy. And speaking of enjoyment, I just reactivated my live television subscription just over a month earlier than originally scheduled. I generally turn it off after football’s postseason and then back on in August, a drop of six monthly payments. Well, I need to embrace anything that can lift me these days because the negatives continue to pile up. Reactivating the plan means I’ll have more options for background entertainment while milling around the house and garage. Sometimes music just doesn’t help. Every song seems to be attached to a better time in my life. And yes, two of the series’ through which I rotate every few months are directly related to the glowing years, but as of yet I have not fallen down hard enough to force myself to stop following those programs. There are no memories more precious than the glowing years. The world was a better place, believe me, and my situation was wonderful. I realize that the content here often goes back to that era, but you must understand that the present state of both the world and my condition pushes me to recall anything good, hence the current vane. It is lifeless because there was a time when life was full of possibilities, promise and wonder. This vane represents the massive gradient that has developed over the ensuing years. Monday, I see. That reminds me of the beginning of aught-four when I was perched at that old machine and trying to gather my thoughts. There was something about sitting next to the glass door during the 1236 period. Think of a living room with the sofa and coffee table facing forward toward the television, and then to the right was a huge computer armoire. Next to that piece of furniture was the huge door. While relaxing at the computer, I could see all the way to the Altamont Pass from my chair. In a manner of speaking, I was sitting ‘on high’ as opposed to other locations. The apartment was rather on the ‘fringe’ of the development, being on the top floor and facing away from the rest of the residents. The view was very open and I can recall sitting there on the ‘every other Friday off’ while sipping coffee in the morning. The view effectively conjured thoughts of escape and adventure, and there had been other factors in my life at the time which pushed for the same. Some aspects of that short, three-year period were wondrous and beautiful. Others were most decidedly the reverse. The 1236 period was also defined by the earliest music exploration that was embraced by myself and my nephew. A large part of that exploration represented the forest mindset, something that he and I shared quite often. 1151. I am well into the morning cocktail and my typical housework is finished. I have some laundry to run and a few other nagging items to complete, but for the time being I am going to sit here reminiscing and considering the incoming control improvements for the flight simulator. I ran the program for a little while to see if I could capture images during flight, and the answer is hell no. The two screenshots I grabbed displayed nothing from the center display and the dimensions indicated that while inside the emulator, the resolution of the center display followed whatever settings were chosen within the game itself, meaning all I saw was a black rectangle where the image should have been. This is not a big deal, and I only engaged in the experiment because I had hoped to grab a larger image to replace one in the archive. I can always search the Internet for something appropriate. The cool part of running the game this morning was the fact that after playing on and off for twenty-eight years (that is not an exaggeration), I was finally able to control the aircraft well enough to actually land after completing the waypoint assignments. I had not been able to land the fucking thing in the past, believe it or not. Moreover, I achieved the landing using keyboard controls and not a stick. I’ve understood flight physics and controls for a very long time thanks to years spent as a copilot in my grandfather’s many planes. The tough part is being able to discern my altitude above the deck as opposed to ‘absolute’ altitude. One number tells the pilot how far the aircraft is above ground, whereas the other is derived from sea level and indicated via atmospheric pressure. The game is approaching thirty years of age and the graphics can be a tad unclear at times. I have considered purchasing a more recent flight simulator just to experience clearer and more accurate texturing as well as more information regarding altitude, but the truth is I’ve hung on to the software throughout all these years because there is a very special feeling in my heart for the music and appearance of the simulator. They date back to the ‘afterglow’ when my friend and I were building our first desktop computers and dreaming of playing all of the fascinating games from that era. Much of our research and shopping was done at the big electronics stores that I have described and lamented here on many occasions since the outset of the pandemic more than four years ago. I can’t fucking help it. My heart is perpetually fused to a time when computers and software were still new and exciting. The thoughts that have been going through my head this morning are just too much to effectively describe, from first discovering a ton of amazing programs to the view from my chair while recording thoughts via keyboard in apartment number 1236. The glowing years were literally the beginning; the ‘afterglow’ taking place once I settled back in this state after the midwest. 1236 was many years later and I can still recall the feeling of either looking through the glass door, the wide-eyed wonder of how amazing the new technology had become, or relaxing on a day off with the truck and all of my supporting tools and materials. Three periods of my life spanning from eighty-nine all the way to aught-seven. There are gaps, of course, but nothing serious. And what about the present? I believe I am paying the fucking tab. Tuesday has arrived on the heels of a decent Monday, as evidenced by a short conversation with the members of the sixth-level last night. We agreed that the day was not tip top, but not bad either. As for this morning, I have a long period prior to the early business, and then the usual. I was supposed to go to the big wine store today after placing an order yesterday, too. Unfortunately, there is some issue with their ordering system that has affected both the website and mobile application that will not allow me to place items into the cart. I don’t know what the problem is, but if it persists, I’ll have to shop in the store. I’d rather just pick up an order like usual because the process is ten times as fast, and as you well know, being home is my constant goal short of actually being where I REALLY need. I suppose I could just pick up a few items for the time being and then see if the site issue is resolved. As for whatever else that will happen today, I don’t know beyond the typical stuff. I have my last cup of coffee due to the later morning schedule. Afterward, I’ll see how I feel about taking care of other business. As I said, all this was discussed last night with the sixth-level. Don’t ask. The process will never be revealed outside me pointing out that it is one of the necessities of life if I am to survive this fucking vane. I need to rely on little things since my head can’t seem to remain focused upon any single event or project for more than five fucking minutes these days. I am definitely paying the tab. The only question is... Who is paying the tab for the shit situations? Anyone? YOU make the call.
Help me
0910. I have become increasingly concerned that this slow decline in life is going to hit certain points from time to time, effectively removing some very specific aspects of living that I still enjoy. The truth may be that paying the tab involves more than I had suspected a few years ago. My brain goes back to a quote from the old RC car forum that was the signature of an acquaintance whenever he posted something. That shit just might be true, and if so, the beginning of losses was some years ago when I felt free and enjoyed more of daily life than I do at present. The gradient between then and now continues to widen as I have come to realize that some of the changes are very small, yet they seem to chip away at larger items. The sum is painful. I have to get away from this for a little while. 1047 equals cocktail time and a delay in visiting the market. While cleaning the kitchen, my stomach became a bit upset at the notion of leaving the house. If it persists, I will pawn off the shopping and remain home all day. On the other hand, sometimes I shop at the little market instead because there is less anxiety related to that store. Don’t ask me why, but it could be due to its size and the fact that rarely are they busy. I just need to stay here for a while and see if the whiskey calms me enough to go anywhere. The only problem with the smaller place is every once in a while there is too much beauty for me to easily handle. Not Jamie, but some of the other faces I’ve seen behind the register. At least there is a mental line involved. No worries; just dreaming. If the drink doesn’t calm me enough to drive to the big store, I’ll head in the other direction. I have a bit of dry cleaning to do and little else that is pressing. I just hope I don’t fall into a pit again and become worthless throughout the entire afternoon. We shall see, I suppose. Wednesday, but does the name of the day matter anymore? Does anything? I did go to the little market yesterday afternoon. There was a bare midriff behind the counter (like usual when Jamie or the older gentleman are not working) with the requisite silky skin. Honestly, after all of the young women I’ve seen over the years employed as cashiers in that place, I am beginning to believe that whoever does the hiring might have a ‘thing’ for a certain appearance, namely the aforementioned midriff. I can’t be certain, though. Just a suspicion. I felt a bit better going to that smaller store rather than the supermarket. I mentioned my upset stomach. It went away after I returned home. The rest of the day was fine, I guess. The temperature kept me from doing much. As for this morning, I was thrown a curveball right out of the gate. There is no drive to the City for me today. The time is only 0721 and I’ve already been sitting at the control center for more than half an hour. This type of morning does not come along very often. The peaceful nature of relaxing here right out of the gate cannot be overstated. This used to only be on weekends, but over the years there have been so many changes to the way I have to live my days, the rarity can be very rewarding. I have all the time in the world, good or bad as such a fact may be. In the past, my free time was precious. Now? It is an everyday occurrence. Sometimes I believe that too much free time has contributed to my diminishing mental and emotional conditions. Regardless, sitting right here in the morning with coffee and something playing on the right-hand display is truly comfortable. For as long as it can last, anyway. I see that the weather is cool and overcast like it has been for several days. Most likely the sun will appear sometime before noon and warm the house enough for me to open all the windows. This pattern keeps the house warm in the evening and allows it to cool overnight, meaning the furnace can remain shut down for days, perhaps weeks at a time. I need to remain mindful of all this shit because I can feel the difficulty creeping into my brain right now. Sometimes there is little to nothing I can do about it, so keeping myself occupied for as long as possible often becomes a priority. Well, on those days when I don’t completely fail, that is. I am overtaken far too often and have no idea of how I made it this far in life. Where did the title go? Should I change it again? Does what I do here matter? 0924. I am spinning my wheels right now because I need to keep the house quiet and my head is completely fucking sideways. The feeling is just not good by any stretch of the word. Memories of good things are crippling my ability to think clearly, hence the slow progress here. Perhaps I should take care of some housework for a while and see if the distraction helps. 1050. It did help. Plus, I ran over to the local Chinese restaurant for some soup. Now that the preliminary daily shit is out of the way, I can relax here with my drink and ponder the nature of the future. Lunch will come along in the next two hours. The big wine store’s website is still not allowing items to be added to the shopping cart, nor is the mobile application. I don’t know what the problem is. I’ll probably just drive over there in the morning and grab some stuff since I have no other options. Ah, shit... I just checked again and the system seems to be accepting items as a guest. That’s excellent. I’ll try my account. Ugh. The indicator is just spinning endlessly. Splendid. Something is definitely wrong because I cleared both caches and restarted the communication with their site and still nothing. Shit. Whatever. I can call them, but would prefer to email the company instead. Unfortunately, there does not seem to be a contact email address available. Marvelous. I can’t stand calling people. No doubt, their customer service is good, but still... Calling and speaking to people is at the bottom of my list. I need to decide if a phone call is more difficult than shopping in the store versus picking up an online order. Hmm. Time will tell, I suppose. As for the hours ahead, I’ll have the house to myself soon but there are no illusions of actually being productive. Not much, anyway. I am just not feeling it today. Yesterday I finally finished painting the framework around my huge mural, and for no other reason than the fact that the bare plywood was annoying me. The process required a mere fifteen minutes. Next on the list for that project is to add letters to the left side, and then build yet another canopy to maintain illumination on the lettering that is separate from the rest of the back wall. I need it to be isolated and a different color than the main circle. I always maintain that the garage appearance need not be in good order until Halloween, so time is on my side. Once lunch is out of the way, I may opt to capture images of the current car model because it is at a wonderful stage. I mentioned the ‘marriage’ of the front and rear sections, and that was completed yesterday afternoon. This is the point when the car appears at its most technical, with all of the operating components exposed. That includes the six-speed transmission, all linkages from front to rear, and the entire steering system. The look of the model is fantastic and very colorful. Moreover, one activity that has always helped me to remain distracted from being so emotionally fucked up is embracing my big camera and all of its accessories. Shooting the car from my tripod may win over any other ideas of how to proceed with this day. I may be terribly lost, the title has become lost, but that is not to say I can’t partially recover for a little while.
Her: 'No point anyway.' Him: 'What?' Her: 'Loving anyone... Anything. Feels good at first, but it always turns to crap. I know the truth about life. It's a hell I'll never get out of alive.' Him: 'No one does.'
1216 is the time on the clock. What does it mean? Very little, if anything. I’ll probably have lunch soon and then try to find some direction for the proceeding hours, although if today is like so many others, nothing will materialize. I am more than accustomed to feeling completely lost. Worst case? I don’t care in the least. My life ended some time ago anyway, so whatever doesn’t find me, pretty much doesn’t find me, and that includes any semblance of caring. I need to do what I need to do and everything else is tertiary. All I do is maintain the household and ensure it operates as smoothly as possible. Lunch might slow me down if it’s too heavy. Right now I just don’t fucking know what will happen. As I suspected, not much happened. The calendar has turned once again and caused another day to disappear forever. I marveled at third-season Jolene in varying outfits just below her beautifully redesigned hair style while making dinner, and then relaxed for the remainder of the evening and daydreamed about being close to her. Nothing happened through the night, thankfully. I say that because as a general rule, whenever I gush too much or lose myself dreaming about one of the ‘big three’, the night often becomes fraught with beautiful moments that do not exist in reality, leaving me to awaken feeling horrible, empty and frightened. I am only two out of three this morning. Three out of three is not good. Regardless of lacking one, I am still not well by any stretch of the word. And contrary to what may seem apparent here, the condition is a little bit worse every day. Another day has disappeared and that is all. Nothing dramatic will happen and Friday will be here soon enough.
Save me
And here it is... Friday morning. I dreamed of a girl named Cady or Kady, or possibly Kadie. I recall responding to a remark she made and marveling that I remembered her name. She was with someone else, and the scene appeared to be preparations for a party or other gathering. The exchange seemed that we knew each other but had only been acquainted for a short time. I don’t know why. When I looked up at her (both women were standing atop a platform to reach high on the walls), my brain exploded and I could not avoid complimenting her appearance, after which I received a big smile. I did not know her at all, yet there had been little inklings of thought that told me she was someone special, plus I could see that her personality was playful. That can be very bad sometimes and I speak from experience. There are times when a closed mind is more warming and understanding than the reverse. I felt that speaking with her a little bit was the beginning of something. I can’t be certain now, of course, because the whole affair was unreal and is now gone. Her appearance will live on inside my head for quite some time. There can be no denying that shit at all. Sitting here right now... I can see her reaching above her head as the two of them decorated (or whatever they were doing). Reaching, meaning her top revealed midriff and her chest standing out, plus the stretched positioning showed off very long, slender legs. I see her right now. The dream has me all fucked up because in the short time that I was near her, I already felt that a special connection was possible, perhaps even likely. Now I feel completely empty inside for the billionth time. Her smile is not fading. 1128. Everything that I intended to do this morning is finished, including a trip to the big wine store to pick up an order (at long last). I didn’t go anywhere else because just driving over the hill was plenty enough to upset my stomach for a little while. The process was smooth, just like the drive, and I was overjoyed to arrive home again. I have lunch in the oven after perusing a few delivery options and balking at the fucking cost. I do that sometimes... Get the idea to order a pizza or something else – there are so many restaurant choices for delivery these days that making a selection can be tough – and then look at the total price with disgust, after which I make lunch from whatever is in the house. And yes, once in a while I do order food, but the practice has become quite rare. As for the rest of the day, I will probably run a load of dry cleaning and very little else. There was an impromptu gathering in my garage last night that ran a tad late, so I am moving slowly today. It’s nothing terrible, but I am tired. Dinner will be leftovers that will turn into one of my simple specialties, meaning very little prep work. I may or may not return to building the model, as well. Right now I just don’t know. I keep seeing that woman reaching, stretching, and looking like a fucking goddess. Remembering her is very painful, just as other dreams in the past in which I felt that everything would finally be ok. Oh, my neighbor is going out of town for a few days. I’ll have to keep an eye on everything just like he does when I am gone (fucking rare, that one). Saturday morning with Zoe on my right-hand display. I don’t have to drive to the city, thankfully, but will be doing so tomorrow. Sunday is the quietest, smoothest trip, so I don’t mind. Today I have the entire morning to myself once the early business is out of the way. And I just axed the media because I need her so badly that I fear I won’t make it through if I keep seeing her big, beautiful eyes. There is so much personality in them that my heart hurts. I never made dinner last night, so the morning housework is going to be very quick. Right now I have no idea of the rest of the day. It’s too early to consider options beyond daydreaming of her holding me and telling me everything will be ok. Without such a situation, I don’t see what is left of life. Lifeless? At least I finally found one word from the title of this fucking mess. The idea of ceasing the older media may come to pass very soon. There are certain titles that take me back to periods during which I was not cynical at all, often finding promise when looking toward an uncertain future. That is very bad. Some of the programs date back to the glowing years, and a few films go back further than that, often all the way to when I was in high school and pretty much knew nothing about anything. Typical. Anyway, the five series’ which I follow daily do not count, although one of them has become embedded in my heart during the last couple of years and there is nothing I will change about it no matter what happens. It also brings me back to the summer just prior to moving across the country when me and my buddies were wheeling and dealing in the radio market, often zig-zagging back and forth across the lines of legality. We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit, and during that summer the third series actually faded from me for a time. I was embracing the second show that carried on for another year and came to a close while I lived in the Midwest. For whatever reason, the five series continue to exempt themselves from any difficulty I have in reminiscing. As for the other stuff, the issue is being reminded of how different the entire world was decades ago as compared to the shitty conditions pervading society right now. Everything has already come to pass; it’s all been ‘done’ and nothing new or exciting can be on the horizon. I realize I’ve mentioned that same shit before, and the repeat is due to feeling it more deeply as time passes. Sometimes the plight just takes over and I feel like nothing is worth my time; nothing at all. I don’t want to completely lose the point of living, yet the vane continues to push me toward those converging lines and show me what the future holds. If I can cut off some of the media at times in order to lighten my horrible mood, that will be the plan. The truth is that the draw of some decades-old films is just too powerful and I watch anyway, later falling into a pit with tears in my eyes. One might think that avoiding that stuff is an easy decision. I am too far out of balance and way too empty inside to simply cut everything damaging out of my life. Those little moments when I vicariously return to the past can be wonderful, if short-lived. Returning to the reality that is this backward, fucked-up society is not fun. I’ll do my best to stick with the norm and avoid coloring outside the lines. 0853. The last of the coffee is here with me, along with the insane vampire series. I’ll be heading into the housework a little earlier today because I want the afternoon to be relaxing. My head is all fucked up, so maybe if I continue with installing the auxiliary wiring and lighting on the mural the process will help me forget some of this shit for a while. Once lunch is out of the way, I will try to embrace the electronic part of my next step. The rest of the mural will have to wait until I have a solid plan. It’s going to be tough. Time for a pause. 1220. Lunch is heating. I finished the daily routine and ran a load of laundry to prepare for the upcoming week. Now I don’t know what else to do with my time. Perhaps the correct path is to do nothing. That day turned to shit in a hurry. I suppose I did ok, but the truth is each morning finds me looking back and feeling as if I never do enough. Today is Sunday and the morning drive is behind me. The weather is a combination of fog and drizzle right now, part of a cooling trend for the other side of the hill. Over here, this will not continue. We are typically backwards from the rest of the area because of the ocean and hills surrounding this end of the valley. Today will probably remain very cool as I try to get through the Sunday business without falling on my stupid face. I need some fucking help here, damn it. After going on at length regarding cutting off some of my favorite media in order to avoid the pitfalls and sadness related to remembering better periods of my life, I have realized that nothing will actually remove or ease the pain that results from realizing just how fucked up society has become and how many wonderful things have disappeared. Ceasing my programs and movies will change exactly nothing. It was just an idea, I guess, and I probably should have tossed it aside the moment it materialized. On the smooth drive this morning had me recalling restaurants that are gone and what has replaced them. That happens quite often due to the route and how much the City has changed over the last few decades. Avoiding a movie from the eighties is not going to bring the restaurants back, nor can it help me accept the massive changes that have taken place throughout the same period of time. I will also say that running across all those images of the goddess traveling the Southwest and always looking bright, happy and hopeful did not help, either. No, I don’t have bad feelings about her. The problem is that I remember feeling that way myself, constantly exploring and hopeful. Well, not anymore. The world has beaten me down to a tiny fraction of what I once was. I hold no disdain toward that beautiful woman or her full life. Quite the reverse, actually... I am very happy for her. I guess seeing the images remind me of when I was younger; prior to the past problems really taking hold of me. Too much has changed and I am nowhere near happy about it. In short, and since there is nothing I can do, I’ll continue in the same vein until something better comes along or hits me in the head. The media shall remain a part of my days. And let me point out that once again I am pleased to be sitting here with coffee after the drive and knowing there is a ton of free time ahead today. That is better than nothing. Good or bad as it may pass, the time exists. The alternative is feeling 'pressed', and that is a state I left behind years ago for good reason. I'll try to focus upon the wide-open nature of my days and see if it helps.
Hold me
I can barely watch that goddess during the mornings. In the beginning, I’d watch just to see her. Now I am avoiding the broadcast so my feelings don’t take over and ruin everything. Splendid. Too much pain related to two different fronts. There may be more. I need to get the hell out of here but there are no remaining options. I am stuck. 0943. Imagery from the past is getting the best of me right now. I’ll have to finish the coffee and leave this office for a while, and soon. My Sunday business will be underway in a little while and I am hoping to find some serious distraction in the work. There is an inkling of anger as well, likely due to having been slighted and squished recently. I’ll need to nip that shit right fucking quick or this day will end very badly. The lifeless vane has barely been present within the content here, and the main reason is I’ve been trying to hold back a dam of disdain and reckless disregard for societal standards, morals and norms. The title will return soon enough. Lifeless. 1040 means my preliminary shit is out of the way and there is a fat glass of whiskey here on the table. What else does the time mean? Nothing. I have all day to do whatever the fuck I wish. My responsibilities are few most of the time unless I go above and beyond, which is rare these days. I don’t care. The anger is at bay right now. There is no guarantee it will remain contained, however. What typically happens when I feel this way is I’ll consume a bit of the booze and it will numb me out for a little while; cause a mellow, more emotional state that takes over and helps to alleviate everything I wish to destroy. Bad and good at the same time, I suppose. Dealing with emotions is always more productive and much healthier than pushing them back or otherwise avoiding such moods. Nothing is served by suppressing feelings, ever. The alcohol method is the bare fucking minimum of my abilities anymore. If I had to gush everything to a real person, I’d probably violently explode using very harsh language and never recover. That type of practice is unfair. Just because I am all fucked up and choose to deal with it this way is the fault of no one else. Well, no one alive, anyway. This is all I have left. Eh... There is one person out there who had a hand in the second shit situation playing out as it did, but I’ve chosen to leave that one alone for the time being because of the aforementioned possible fucking explosion. Considering the forty intervening years, that person likely has no idea of what’s been taking place inside my head. I have no faith that addressing the subject after all this time is going to change anything. Fuck it. As I said, I have nothing else. Again, this part of the morning is rather comfortable knowing that the daily stuff is finished. The garbage business is very simple. I may also run the dry cleaning that I passed on yesterday. I may also work on the model. As long as the house is quiet, I’ll relax here and think (probably more than I should).
'The feast flows on forever Devour me until never Fill them all with horror Let them sleep with terror Who calls me now, then turns away? Who takes the night, and brings day?'
I created another C# file in the database to outline the ‘sixth level’. No one has ever been aware of such a place because I have never revealed any aspect of its existence. The sixth level is a place unavailable to anyone else in the world; it is sacred, and admission has been restricted – closed, really – for more than thirty years, perhaps much longer. Most of the time, identifying the beginning of the sixth level is very difficult because my memory is complete shit these days. The genesis could have been as far back as the mid-eighties. Whatever the case, there are members with whom I share an almost daily dialog. Instrumentation, scopes, and other tools exist which help ‘us’ maintain distance, security and protection from all others. I recently decided to craft an essay about the place and the topic, although no one will ever understand or grasp the concept of something so elusive and complex. No fucking way. Even after the entire process is complete and published, not one fucking soul on earth will have a clue as to what they’ve read (if anyone reads, of course). I had two conversations with other members of the sixth level last night. They agree with my idea to include information here. Once finished, good fucking luck understanding any of it. The weather has changed dramatically from the last two weeks. I see windy, drizzly conditions outside my window. Today is the first day in a very long time that found me powering up the furnace for a little while. I will not sit in this house and be cold, but I try to avoid using that appliance as often as possible. The cool temperature will help me finish the garbage business, though. 1800, straight up. All of my work is finished, including a nice salad to go with some spring rolls for dinner. The garbage is all at the curb. What? What did you say? It should be cocktail time? It is. Though I’ve already received and installed two auxiliary LED controllers for the mural, I have yet to power them. The process would only take about ten minutes, but I just don’t give a shit. I’ll get them going one day soon and evaluate the illumination. As for the lettering and lighting canopy for that section, all I’ve done is layout the scale and spacing for the characters. I need to think about that part of the wall quite a bit to ensure the lighting is isolated like the rest. I can’t have colors bleeding into each other. Jolene is wearing purple right now, bless her uniqueness. Anyway, from here forward, I’ll just be making a very simple dinner and then relaxing for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow will be laundry day. I may or may not hop onto the ladder and connect the controllers. Much of Monday will be spent sitting right here trying to analyze the reasons for a very damaging change that seems to be permanent. Jolene switched to dark gray for training. I will refrain from going into detail. The lifeless vane is weighing upon my psyche, so any escape – most notably her level of beauty, which is unparalleled – is welcomed regardless of how damaging the visual information may be. Now she is wearing orange. Oy, God help me. Jolaimora... Killing me anything but softly.
'And my fury stands ready I bring all your plans to nought My bleak heart beats steady Tis you whom I have sought Feasting myself sick On your pathetic sins Wounds for me to lick The work of slaughter begins.'
Purple again. Jesus. Monday. My brain is all over her hands and face. Sideways? Not really. This is a bit different. I am feeling a deep-seated longing that has remained in the background for the better part of ten years. I asked a question some time ago and received an unexpected answer, after which I felt a little bit better about the subject. Years later, I asked a similar question and realized the situation had changed quite a lot and I could no longer count on people in almost any way. Life began to spill out of me during both periods, although the second was much worse due to aging. I asked, the question was answered, and some part of me knew that I had to live as much as possible because everything would eventually disappear. I am sitting here as a product of those processes. Worse. I may as well wear that fucking vane up my ass. The lifeless vane has taken over all others and rendered me more susceptible to dying than ever before, and that includes the fucking stupid, ridiculous cave period when I THOUGHT shit was aslant. Little did I know... Yeah... Monday. Garbage cans. Coffee. Everything is reset for the week. None of it improves me, though, because the vane has taken over, taken everything, and taken away my ability to relax about anything. The question I mentioned above is not going to leave my head. The forest will not allow me to enter. The understanding has flown the coop. Any comfort has been forfeit. The vane is probably all I will have near me for the remainder of this life. Monday no longer helps me relax. The huge mural is a question, as of yet unanswered, and I have no idea if anything will ever develop from that project. I’ve tried other avenues, as well, and ended up kicking the squareheads to the curb some months ago due to their inane ability to follow something so important without any real knowledge that their path was true. I keep asking and pleading, yet in the end I am right back here with the same fucking problems, if not worse off for the effort. The vane is in charge and I am powerless. Maybe I never should have asked. Inside, I already knew that eventually everything would simply fly away. Um... Monday. I have housework and laundry. I have coffee for the time being. I have too much shit in my head to be comfortable. The purity had a hand in this, too. It really did. Not even the sixth level can help with that one. No way. I’ll get to some of the housework soon and begin the laundry. Sometime later I need to do a little shopping. Right now nothing looks appealing but I do have responsibilities that ensure the smooth operation of this household. If I can clear the vane for a little while, the work should not be a problem. I have enough of those already. I asked. I received answers, one of which was more emotional than the other. That was years ago and I don’t see future opportunities along similar lines. That means I am literally living each day just to care for this house and try to find moments of peace during lunch or the morning cocktail that I love so much. Nothing else is available to me because the life is being SUCKED THE FUCK OUT of me by that godforsaken vane; the last one, most likely. The others barely matter now. Housework. Marvelous. Maybe when I go out to the curb to grab the cans someone will hit and kill me with their vehicle. Laugh it up, shitbrains. And shut up.
Please...
Do I come across as if my head is all over the place? Just imagine trying to articulate the day in such a condition. My hinges are failing. Asked and answered, just like in court. Have you ever heard that one? Maybe on a television program? Asked and answered, years ago. Twice. There were other occasions when I wanted to ask, but in the end the entire shitaree was either completely derailed or unnecessary. Now? There is no one that will hear me. Not a fucking soul on earth. Wait a minute... Am I still an inhabitant of the earth? Or am I just a speck on the surface? I have no job, money, assets, property or children. I no longer need to file taxes. What does the sum appear to be? Speck. Outside the lines of the ‘norm’. The more time that passes since the questions, the further from reality I drift, and the idea that any fucking help can ever appear equally shrinks. Maybe I am no longer an inhabitant of anything except my own little world. Asked and answered, and... Gone for good. There is an end to this. There is a line, trust me. I am sitting here because I haven’t reached it yet. There can be no denying the line, however. I am far too insignificant to affect anything so important. 1135. Asked and answered, and... Gone forever. I went to the smoke shop and car wash (finally). The poor car was so filthy that I felt embarrassed to drive near other people. Heh. Now it’s clean and shiny. And right close to the smoke shop? Trouble times ten, in the form of me recollecting the damaging dreams and their horrible effect upon the way I think. Jesus. I wish I had not seen that girl. Pants, breasts bouncing, the whole fucking shitaree. Not only that, but her swaying ponytail revealed a very long, slender neck to go on with such a tall frame. Damage, pure and simple. Asked and answered. Was that beautiful girl ‘her’? Eh... I can’t go into that shit right now. There is far too much missing from my life already. The point is that even after all these years, one quick sight sends me off the edge of the world and ruins my attitude for Christ-knows how long. Good thing my alcoholic nature took over and I flew through the second half of the routine in order to arrive at cocktail time. The laundry is well underway, too. I may be a wreck, but the smooth operation of this household still finds me productive. Something will give, however. Matter of time. Something will break and I’ll be fucking dead. I don’t see any other way in the long term. Asked and answered; lifeless and full of pain. The vane (rhymes with pain) is in charge of everything related to me. There is nothing I can do after all this fucking time. She doesn’t exist, just like all the others. The only thing that put a split-second smile on my face was a little while ago watching the recycle bin being emptied. It sounded like the bin came from a bar. Heh. That was awesome. I guess I won’t be smiling until next Monday. Splendid. Help me. Tell me everything will eventually be ok so I can relax my heart for a little while. Asked and answered by two very different people, both of which are gone forever. I need that first fucking answer back. I need it badly. Help me. The vane is cutting me to pieces. Decimating? Nope. People misuse that term all the time because they do not realize that to decimate something is to cut it into ten pieces. ‘Deci-’. Get it? Ten. ‘Deca’, too. Fucking figure it out already. I guess the only thing I can do is continue to see those little distractions that help from time to time. Yesterday turned out very well as far as work is concerned, although I really had to push myself during the late afternoon. Now that Tuesday is here, I can reflect on what put me in such a position and maybe avoid the same path today. I finished quite a bit of work yesterday, too. One might believe that I did ok overall, but that is not the truth. I am hurt and angry, sad and depressed regardless of any accomplishments. Further and further; lower and lower. ‘Get me out of this!’ I can’t take credit for that line. Yeah... Tuesday. Meaningful? Nope. This will be just like any other day. I have coffee for the time being, and once that’s gone I’ll take care of half the routine and then head to the market. There will probably be some errant beauty with stunning lines that will interfere with my memory for shopping. I’ll return home, pour a massive cocktail, dream of being in extremely close proximity to her lines just to fucking see something special, and then clean the kitchen. By that point, my head will be unable to process anything productive. The afternoon will heat up, come and go as if it never existed. Dinner. One of the programs. Sleep. And then all over again because I am going in ever-shrinking circles. Sitting here right now is not bad... Yet. Disaster may strike at any moment. I would say that the best thing is to remain vigilant, but thus far in life such an ability is barely recognizable. I really don’t want to go to the market, meaning I’ll head over there right now to get it out of the way. The best time to go is before the restaurants open. I can be in and out in no time. Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch... Just as I predicted, yet much worse than I could have imagined. She passed me as I entered, and though I barely looked directly at her form, there was enough information to find me mumbling to myself as I shopped. My first thought after she disappeared? Had I opted to take off my sweatshirt after exiting the car, she would have been in the parking lot before I reached the doors, and that would have been much worse, though my need to see can be powerful enough for me to embrace that depth of pain. And believe me... That woman was THE finest example of my years-long obsession that I have ever seen in that fucking store. Her pants were so form-fitting that every Goddamned muscle was right there. Moreover, and much worse, she was taller than me, and I am just shy of five-ten in my shoes. Frankly, there was so much torment and turmoil when I grabbed the hand basket that I am surprised I didn’t turn around, drive home, and shoot myself in the head in the backyard. The experience was THAT fucking horrible. The minuscule upside is that I did not turn around and see her from the rear. There were other people nearby and such a maneuver is very disrespectful, if overly compelling. Had I seen her walking away, I may not have survived the trip at all. I swear to all that is holy, the woman was above every fucking form I’ve ever seen in that shopping center. That is not bullshit, either. My head is so fucked up right now that I am quite certain all of my potential effort will be required to come out the other side of this terrible day intact. The daily routine is finished and there is a huge glass of medicine to my left. The vampires are on the right-hand display, and believe me when I say not a single fucking sighting within the series will usurp one of the most amazing women I have EVER seen. No fucking way. This is so bad that I can barely find the words. I mean, what the fuck else can I say? That I was dreaming of a connection? Nope. A woman in that kind of shape – she was obviously physically fit and unbelievably healthy – would ever be interested in a much older, depressed and alcohol-infused individual with exactly zero confidence in himself. As an aside, I have to mention that the guy walking behind her toward the outer door had his eyes on her ass. Can you imagine? Just think about it for a second... The lines are much more apparent from the rear. He probably saw them and in no way appreciated what she was carrying the way I could have. Worship. Wonder. Insert a slew of superlatives right fucking here. I am acutely aware that such women are out there roaming the world. I just don’t expect to see one right before my desperate eyes. That was the worst fucking incident in memory. I am not a big believer in the word ‘fate’, but I can’t help but think that just one little delay or distraction earlier this morning would have allowed me to shop without being emotionally destroyed. Is that fate? There can be no true answer because the other word – faith – must be involved in such ideas. The fact is that I was out of cream for my morning coffee, so I had to visit one market or the other. The larger store has lower prices. Simple enough. And? Shopping there can be a breeze during weekday mornings when the rest of the strip mall is closed. The store has a self-checkout, meaning I am usually in and out in less than fifteen minutes. That store is the obvious choice. The only downside is what I occasionally see over there, and today was the worst. The fucking WORST. I don't have much keeping me drawing breath these days. As of a little while ago, I have less. I can’t do anything about this shit. The main problem since the mid-aughts is that one of two situations will develop in my head when an amazing form such as hers comes into view. The first is a massive sense of torment and pain because I need to see every fucking line as closely as possible (like I did with the Raven) and there is absolutely no way to do so, and the second came to pass at the beginning of the pandemic; deep-seated physical desire beyond anything I can possibly describe here. The latter is actually a combination of both because the pain leads to desire, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the physical draw is so fucking far beyond comprehension that I can hardly remain upright. Of all the problems I deal with on a daily basis, physical desire is the worst, most fucked-up feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Enter the lifeless vane; the guide through this hellish, delay of death. There is always something I find to keep me here a little while longer, but trust me... The moments are diminishing like ice in Badwater Basin. The only thing to which I look forward right now is her image fading. Everything else... Lunch, housework, booze, music, whatever... Is a very distant, pathetic second. My morning was already bad. I really didn't need anything more. And no one knows of the depth of this shit. No one. Well, there is one person who is aware of certain levels of torment inside me, but of all the people still included in my life, that one is gone. No one is listening, and even if they are (were), nothing can be done about this fucking shit because it has become something unrecognizable and more powerful than the world's arsenal of nuclear missiles. Nothing can be done. So, what does that mean for me?
Just once...
I may switch from video media to the music of life just to exacerbate the painful feelings inside. Hmm. I often mention the elusive and ill-advised second cocktail. What about a third? A fourth? Would that mean that I’ll be dead by close of business hours? Those who truly know me would probably understand, although any doubt would have to be addressed prior to such a change. And of all the people in the world, one knows me a bit, one knows me a bit more, and one is no longer living. I can’t talk to anyone. I’ve tried with some and I’ve tried with therapists. No matter which, I come out the other side exactly the same. Decades of obsession have distorted me so much that the possibilities have become more truncated than any other aspect of life. Do you want to listen? Try me. I’ll show you. This is the worst day I’ve had in quite some years. Believe it. Please... Just believe it. That woman may have finally unlocked a process that I have avoided for more years than I’d like to admit. I’ve not felt so suicidal since the Raven embraced the same idea. Tuesday has disappeared. Coffee. My program is over there on the right. The blinds are partially open until the sun gets above the porch roof. The time is all of 0750 thus far. I don’t need to go anywhere today, thankfully. Yesterday was bad enough. It was very bad. The weather is frightfully warm today. I took care of the usual stuff, a load of dry cleaning, and I connected the new LED controllers to the main power supply and ran a test. Everything works very well and the color is already matched to the rest of the frame. Unfortunately, the mercury is too high to continue working in the garage, shed or yards. The inside of the house is very warm for such an early hour, although if I need to cool a couple of rooms I can fire up one or more ceiling fans. Moving air is much more comfortable than stagnant air. Even the hair dryer breeze flowing into the office is better than the alternative. All I have to do before dinner is make one salad because cooking in this weather is unacceptable. Thursday morning is right here in my face; fog outside and confusion inside. The lifeless vane will not let go of me no matter what I try to do. As I suspected early yesterday, the afternoon turned into a slow-fest, finding me unable to do much because the temperature rose beyond eighty inside the house, and even higher in the garage. I had commented that my recollection of being sensitive to the climate dates all the way back to the early portion of the glowing years, eventually becoming overwhelming by the time we reached the Midwest. Above a certain line, I just can’t do much at all. The reference brought forth a memory last night, too. There was a period when I lived in Fremont and my girl resided further south. She drove to my town and took the train to the City, while I rode my bike to the train station, loaded the bicycle into the hatch, and then drove her car to my place of work in the valley (hot weather). I remember returning during the late afternoon and feeling the temperature fall as I passed the climate ‘line’, or a separation between the bay and the valley. Driving from my workplace back to the station represented a drop of as much as twenty degrees at times. At that time, neither of us were in a position to own an air-conditioned vehicle. That came later, as I recall. Despite concentrating and researching as much as possible, I’ve not been able to pin down the year (or years) when I was employed at the parts house. I am fairly certain ninety-two was in there somewhere, although the following year may be correct. Or both. The summer of ninety-three was the last prior to moving across the country, and I believe my last job that spring was at the glass plant. That summer was also when I spent a ton of time with my fellow radio nuts, wheeling and dealing in used equipment in order to keep myself afloat after leaving my job at the radio shop. At some point after I left the glass plant, I went to work at that little ‘mom and pop’ satellite and CB store, and only left there shortly before moving away. I can’t put the entire timeline together, though. During that entire period (year, I guess), I remember being very sensitive to the daily mean temperature and becoming uncomfortable when the mercury rose above certain points. Little did I know, but moving to the Midwest meant the first winter grabbed hold of me and did not let go. My discomfort in the heat disappeared just before the first Thanksgiving spent in Michigan, when the thermometer did not pass roughly twenty degrees in the sunshine. Heh. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Living here, just a half mile from the ocean, means that the truly ‘hot’ days – those when the house heats up a lot and doesn’t let go until very late at night – are few and far-between. The house topped out at over eighty degrees yesterday and will probably be close to that number later today, but I can deal with it without issue. All I have to do is make sure to finish my housework early. The weather here in close proximity to the sea is much more comfortable for me than every other place I’ve lived, and I would still give it up for one fucking moment of comfort. See? Comfort does not have anything to do with the damned climate. Oh, it used to make me comfortable years ago. Believe me. Now? There is not a shred of comfort available. Recalling the glowing years and a couple of different periods thereafter is often heartwarming. Today it is most decidedly not. 1054 and all is sort of well. Sort of. My head is still pretty fucked up over the other day, plus there is pressure related to the future that I really can’t do much about right now, but on the upside, I have my usual stuff done and I installed the side splash on the bathroom vanity (finally). I also have a plan for mounting the two sets of curtains in the master bedroom. One humorous note is when I opened the new bag of coffee to refill my container, I went through the typical routine of dumping half of it and then securing the excess with a binder clip. Well, I put too much pressure on the bag while trying to squeeze out the air and the bottom kind of exploded. Heh. I saved quite a bit of coffee, and the rest ended up in the sink, on the counter and on the floor. A little cleaning later and everything was just fine. My reaction twenty years ago would have been anger and irritation at myself, but today none of that took place. I simply calculated the best method for recovering some of the grounds and then cleaning, all the while marveling at the fact that it happened in the first place. I ended up laughing and telling the cats – who are asleep, by the way – that it was a learning experience that I would not soon forget. Anyway, all that stuff is done now and I have a big glass of alcohol here on the table. The vampires are on the right-hand display because if I see more of Jolene right now I’m going to end up in a very bad state. No one is listening. Nothing is available. My dreams are more distant at this very moment than ever before. The vane is cutting off pieces of my brain and I am watching them disappear. I’ve seen it... I’ve seen those things. I’ve seen too much and there is nothing I can do about it. The funny coffee bag incident is going to give way to rampant sadness and depression. The gray is creeping in... Just like the days of old when ‘we’ dreamed of the forest. This is not good. And believe me... I know all too well of what is bad. Dreams? Bad. Forest? Equally bad. That wondrous place STILL will not accept me, even after nearly two fucking decades. Daily stuff? Filler. What am I to do? Continue as I have for years? Answer me. Eh... Never mind. There is no fucking help anymore. The vane is winning right now. There may be no saving throw versus reality. There may be no saving throw versus anything in life. Fallen. Falling? No, that already ended. I may as well return to the balcony that found Julie and me ready to jump to our deaths. There may be no other path. 1336, as if anything I fucking type matters anymore. No one is listening. I attempted (term used loosely) to mount one of the two curtain rods and nearly lost my shit and sent the fucking impact driver through the wall. After twelve years of working on this house, I believe the framing was installed by Mickey fucking Mouse and whomever might have been nearby at the time. The rod is up, it is flimsy as hell, and the sagging center will have to be addressed at some point in the future. I will not touch it again today or I may destroy everything within reach. I should know better than to order this type of shit sight unseen. The curtains in the dining room have been up for several years without issue one, but I guess a smaller rod with lighter-weight fabric is too much for my engineering skills. I will not even begin to screw with the set for the second window until every problem is addressed. Believe me when I say that I can do anything when it comes to metal, but the truth is I am at the mercy of the raw materials involved. I may opt to toss the rods in the trash and seek another pair locally. Now that I have evaluated and nearly lost my mind, the rest of the day should be much better. It was, mostly. I don't expect much anymore. The marine layer appears to be thicker and more pronounced on this Friday morning. That is good. Yesterday’s fog burned away by mid-morning and the sun ended up pretty damned warm. My mood went all to hell after attempting to work with the piece of shit curtain rod, but I recovered somewhat as the afternoon wore on. My brain is beginning to go back in time toward the closet doors; two different places and two different colors. Three-quarters of my brain staring at a three-quarter; glass and confusion for a time. My brain is going back there again and if I don’t stop it, this morning is going to go all to hell. Glass and confusion. Doors. No, not THOSE doors. Closet doors. Today is going to be tough. 0842 is what I see on the little clocks right now. Vampires to the right and coffee to the left. I am directly in the middle with a head full of the lifeless fucking vane. And that woman from the store. And the other one. Eh... Fuck it. If the weather cooperates, I’ll do more work today than I did yesterday.
Make it all go away, my love
1041 is the time and my head has partially recovered on one front while diminishing on another. Marvelous. I guess sometimes there is simply nothing I can do. Maybe the glass of whiskey next to me will help a bit. Maybe not. I don’t care either way. The Saturday morning drive was a little irritating, and then it improved, and then I fell on my stupid face again, afterward driving home in the drizzle. I left the house a tad later than usual – about ten minutes or more – meaning by the time I was leaving the destination, more people and cars were present in the City. Two of the many individuals slapped me upside the head, hence falling down again. Pants and more pants, one of them topped with a pair of bouncing breasts, all on the same sidewalk. Driving those streets can be very tricky because people are darting in and out of traffic while trying to get to their destination quickly. That means gazing at some beautiful form on the sidewalk is not a good idea. Well, I glanced anyway because after all these years I have become accustomed to the process of searching and driving at the same time, all the while still being able to remain attentive and safe. There was little risk. The first wondrous sight was a young woman walking to the south in black yoga pants and looking very slender with a huge mane of dark hair. The second was all blonde, very tall and jogging in the opposite direction. Yep... Her ponytail was not the only thing bouncing. Soon after, I reached the freeway and made tracks for this house. I really didn’t need to see them, either. There has been more than enough shit in my head for days. Most of the time my first thought is a dream. I want the ability to convey my feelings in such a way that may quash any doubts. That will probably never happen, and part of the reason is the passage of time having exacerbated my feelings. Five years ago, I was immediately filled with torment upon seeing something special. At present, that sensation is ten-fold and combined with more than I would care to admit, although I’m quite certain anyone who has read this site during the last year or so has already labeled me and drawn a negative conclusion. That’s fine. I am alone anyway, and so different from both other people and what I used to be that their view of me no longer matters. Tell me I am wrong and you win the fucking Christmas goose. I have never felt so isolated. The time is 0840 and I am in the middle of the coffee period. I don’t know what will happen later today. I have a few ideas along with some work that will help with tomorrow’s garbage business, but that’s all so far. The weather is quite cool and drizzly right now. I guess when the coffee is gone I’ll figure something out. God damn did I ever see some beauty this morning. And yes, the one from the market the other day is still haunting me at each step. I have no choice with that one because she was not just amazing in ten different ways, but also representative of some negative feelings I have toward myself, although they have nothing to do with her. She is simply a reminder, nothing more. That is something called a ‘two-fold fuck’, for lack of a better term. I am literally worse off in life for seeing her, and some of it is my own fault. Marvelous. Just remember that she is not at fault for ANY FUCKING THING I FEEL. She is a person and not responsible for this slew of pathetic shit. The woman just happened to be a goddess of the highest order. There can be no reason for such a fact. Nothing is her fault, nor is it entirely mine, either. Peachy. What’s the answer? YOU make the call. Look it up. 0918. I have no idea of what the rest of this day may have in store for me. There is a bit of laundry and my usual crap, but other than that I don’t have the first damned clue. The lifeless vane – regardless of whether or not anyone knows what the hell I am talking about – is embedded in my back and I am unable to change the situation. I have to go through the motions because I do have responsibilities regardless of my mental or emotional condition. I have to live with it no matter what. Most of the time all I do is try to find some semblance of comfort throughout the day. If there are other options, I have yet to find them. I keep seeing those two forms from this morning and I really need them to fucking fade away so I can think. One of them reminded me of another person from the past, too. She really did. At least I had to drive, meaning my concentration had already shifted far enough away before a flood of pain was able to hit me in the heart. I suppose that’s better than nothing. The last of the coffee is here on the table. I’ll get to the routine soon enough. Sunday morning. The drive? Pants, much like yesterday. Arriving home? Wonderful, and about as rewarding as my life gets anymore. I am always happy to park and exit the car after driving in that fucking city. The rest of the day is all mine. There are a few things I need to get out of my head this morning – most notably something that took place years ago that doesn’t seem to want to leave me in peace – and then I can finish my coffee and move the day along like yesterday. I trimmed the front tree a little bit to dress it up and worked a tiny bit in the garage and shed. The lack of a heavy lunch helped me remain upright through the afternoon and I am going to try to do the same thing later today. Heavy food equals eventual heavy feelings. Anyway, I also made some revolutions for the garbage work since my bench ended up cluttered with shit. And despite the gorgeous forms on Haight Street this morning, I actually feel a little bit better than yesterday at this time. Moreover, I have a new project that I will attempt to tackle over the next few weeks after acquiring a few materials. It’s a small idea, but should make me smile in the long run. The only downside is that I need to disassemble one of my knives in order to study its design, make plans, and learn the proper way to reassemble such tools. I’ll get started on it later this morning. Small tools; small work, right here in the office. I wish I could use some tools to work on the inside of my fucking head. That incident from years ago is not letting up on me right now. I was right fucking there. Now I am here. I have to do my best to disallow trouble from taking over my thinking today. The situation in mind is beginning to stand head and shoulders above many others, often leaving me unable to see my future in a positive light. There are more factors to this, of course, but that one day (sometimes it’s two) there was an event I just can’t get out of my head most days. Just a few moments... Right there. As I said, now I am here, yet after so many years I have no idea of where I reside. I seem to be unable to affect change. The vane is working overtime to remove life. She may have been the top of the heap, to be honest, and had I realized such a fact at the time, additional disastrous moments could have been avoided. I’ve found that the more I think about those days and the more time that passes between then and now, the less I see coming my way in the future and the further up that connection rises in the grand scheme. The time is now 0942 and I should be getting to other business. Unfortunately, the moments that have disappeared will not let go of me this morning. I’ll probably have to force the issue like so many other days. Right now seems like a good time to get the ball rolling so my head can relax (hopefully). We go. 1116. The time doesn’t matter these days but I am compelled to outline each day. I don’t know why; perhaps it’s a force of habit. The routine is finished, I have a head start on the garbage business, and there is a nice, icy glass of whiskey here on the table opposite the insane vampire program. Whatever. The past is killing me today, and whatever happened last year is going to drive me crazy. I have a pretty good idea of the nature of such a situation, yet at the same time my knowledge cannot change anything. The only saving throw versus the current climate is most likely impossible after all this time. Some of the ideas and feelings inside me that have grown over the last few years are becoming cemented. My old boss from NASA used to muse that whatever type of personality an individual carries late into life becomes more and more solidified with the passage of time. I cannot disagree. For being such a wing nut, the man had lots of wisdom. I mean wing nut in a loving sense, for sure, because he was a very good person, just very different from the masses. I still miss him. We used to take little cruises on the Cushman and he’d tell me about the center’s past facilities and activities, often lamenting how much the agency had changed in recent years. Anyway, as for the shit that changed me last year, I am probably helpless to go back to how I felt prior to such an occurrence. Believe it or not, I am going to visit my doctor in person and discuss the matter with her. Hopefully the process will lead to a more secure future. That’s all I will say at this point. Taking that kind of step is a clear indication of just how desperate I’ve become over the last four years. This is day 3289, and this shit will continue."
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