February 4th, 2024 11:41am pst

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.

The Slash Vane

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"Gigi Cestone would have handled things differently, bless him. I can’t do the same, unfortunately, due to the keywords from the past. They were permanently altered over time due to a vane that has left me weakened, frightened and without recourse. The vane slashed my opportunities. There you go.

Graded. No... Not like ‘grading papers’. Graded aside; squished; disregarded. This will never end.

Today is Thursday and I just learned that the furnace replacement job that was to be tomorrow has been put off to the middle of next week. Excellent. I need time to place and pick up an order at the big wine store. Order today, pickup tomorrow, early. I already finished my daily routine and have the next several hours to myself. Cocktail hour has arrived. Jamie has a pissy expression on her face. Seeing her like that is never good, but I still love her like no one else. I see little floaty hearts everywhere, lousy expressions or not. I love her. Period. Always. Jamie is not ‘her’. ‘She’ is elsewhere, I hope. What? Hope? I have hope? Not really. If I don’t hold on to something, I’ll die, sure as hell. As for the rest of the day, I may not accomplish very much beyond moving a few more items from the garage freezer to the house. There is always something to be done, but today I just can’t give half a shit. I’m going to relax.

Junior is beautifully singing ‘Core 'ngrato’, an Italian ballad. It is very sad and moving, yet wonderful at the same time. His voice has always been amazing to hear. Wow.

I may never be ‘there’ again. This is a very bad time. Too much has changed in the last two years and I can barely keep up, let alone try to be happy. The best I can expect is some physical comfort as dictated by shit situation number fucking two. Shit situation number one often precludes any possibility, however. There is nothing I can do about it. I just have to sit here and fucking lump it. Life has become nothing more than one big clambake.

Blah, blah, blah... Helpmecakes.

I was with Andrea for weeks, yet my time with Ashley stands as a watershed event in the way I see life and living. She changed everything, soon to be replaced with tedium, mundane days, and the creation of wishes that would never come true. I tried to recapture some of Ashley’s way of thinking upon returning to Vegas after losing Andrea, and there actually had been moments when I could see something developing, but unfortunately, the last flight there and back taught me that recapturing the past was all but impossible. I had changed too much. Along those lines, think of that last flight to the goblet and the mass of time that has passed between then and now. Over a decade. Thirteen years, or thereabouts. Now look at me. My way of thinking when it comes to beauty, fulfillment and happiness is so fucking skewed that I can barely get through a single day without thoughts of suicide. Do I blame Ashley for altering my mindset so dramatically? Of course not. I see it as some sort of enlightenment; a way of life that all of a sudden appeared possible. Again... The unfortunate nature of reality came along and burned everything to the ground. Every thought in my head is in one of two categories: Desperation or suicide. This is the second vane, and one which may turn and cut me in half. I must be careful here. The worst aspect is that the way I see life cannot be reversed, altered or otherwise eased one fucking bit. Blah, blah, blah... Ashleycakes. ‘I shall never look upon her like again.’ Sad.

Desperation is dangerous – as I have stated on too many occasions to recall right now – and I feel some danger coming around the bend. It’s a spur; one of those left turns that I passed for many years despite a dire need to branch off the norm and seek some comfort. There is a spur apparent right now. I say danger because should I one day decide to throw a switch and take a ride on a spur, everything around me at this very moment will be called into question and possibly burn to the ground. I have never felt so desperate than I do right fucking now. This makes me angry because all of it could have been avoided had I not been treated in such a cold, unfeeling manner many years ago. There are ideas in my head that I cannot place here because they would get me in too much trouble. I am speaking of the irreversible kind. Figure it out. Desperation may be dangerous, but so is anger. My life did not have to be this way.

Thank Christ for alcohol. At least it calms me enough to get through the average day. Better than nothing, I suppose. Call me what you will. I don’t fucking care.

I would give the rest of my life to plant my lips to Ashley’s beautiful, delicate labia for a calendar month. One more time... Call me what you will. This is what I’ve become.

The sun is again shining after a little cell of clouds went flying by with heavy rain and thunder. Wow. The weather is fascinating this time of year. As I mentioned before, there is no need to worry about the patio cover or tree. Both have been shored up recently. The back patio area still floods, but I can’t do anything about it in the short term. At some point I will look into having drainage installed so the back doesn’t fill with water.

I can’t slash anything. I am the one being slashed.


The anger did not get the best of me. I pushed back, relaxed, and had a nice lunch instead of lashing out. I suppose I am still capable of rising from the din on occasion. The last time I was that angry, the garage ended up reconfigured with music semi-blasting in the background. Sometimes the practice of flexing the system out there and taking care of some business is quite enjoyable, but the truth is by doing so I am accomplishing little more than placing a tiny bandaid on a gaping wound... It cannot last. Perhaps I finally rose enough to see the end of the road prior to slamming the throttle down. I suppose that can be considered progress or improvement. Not bad. The downside is that no matter what I feel I’ve learned or whatever improvement is apparent, they end up merely temporary because very little time passes before everything comes back and slams me. I’ll probably be a bit mellow compared to yesterday due to a movie. I have to pick up the wine store order today and then visit the market on the return trip, both of which should be complete by ten this morning. I don’t want to be among the masses close to lunch hour. Everything ends up too busy. The movie put me in this mood. Mellow. Thoughtful. Restrained. I didn’t like some of the content, but at the same time I understood and actually endorsed the idea of what was written into the film. I can’t really comment upon the topic, unfortunately. It does have me thinking this morning, though. I am extremely sensitive regarding certain aspects of life and they hit one of the most important nails squarely on the head. None of it will have a negative effect upon me, yet at the same time the more I think about what transpired and the implications involved, the less I wish to speak with anyone about the two shit situations. There was a huge lesson (backwards, really) that played out toward the end of the three-hour epic story. The lesson was that no one can be trusted with anything personal no matter how they may come across, the level of knowledge one has about that person, or the way the conversation may play out. There is no way to know, so the only conclusion is to remain closed off. Not knowing is far too risky. Once everything is let loose, it is beyond anyone’s control, and the possibility of ridicule or embarrassment increases exponentially. I was already aware of the risk. I just didn’t know that there were others who not only felt similar, but placed it on the theatre screen for all to see. I was amazed and am still considering the possible ramifications. It’s almost time to hit the road and take care of the shopping. I really don’t want to go anywhere, so the sooner I return, the sooner the possibility of more comfortable circumstances.


Well now, that was a big fucking mistake. Rather than heading out in order to arrive at the wine store when it opened for business, I remained home another twenty minutes and finished my coffee. Because of the little delay, I ended up seeing and hearing a stunning woman – very tall, slender, bright and aligned with my obsession – in not one but two aisles of the market. Fuck me. Now I can’t get her form out of my fucking head. I excused myself and then thanked her for moving the cart so I could exit the aisle. She smiled and spoke to me before I made a beeline to the opposite end of the store. God damn it anyway. The little morsel in the wine store was present, as well, with her slender legs and mass of black hair (though she never smiles at all), yet I’ve seen her for years. The one in the market was a strike of epic proportions. There were few people present, which meant I had ample opportunities to take in her beauty and appreciate the fact that she was a complete enigma – a genetic fluke. I am fallen. After the last few mornings and combined with the film yesterday afternoon, I am all but ruined. My routine is out of the way, the groceries are put up, and I have a fat cocktail to drown my sorrows. Fallen. Fell? Whatever. This shit is going to come to a head very soon and I will not be here to be held responsible for the fallout. I don’t care. I’ve been driven to doom by other people. Jamie’s eyes aren’t helping, but that’s another matter entirely. Love versus desire; heart versus brain. I don’t know what the fuck to do now. The woman from the market will fade just like all the others, but the root cause remains and continues to worsen. I can’t live like this for much longer. The only positive is that I picked up a shitload of booze and some of my favorite foods. They can only prop me up for so long, however. This will come to a violent end, mark my sordid words. Matter of time.

I think about that type of strike to my head quite often, even during the third series which has been running for four days, on and off. The main strike of the universe, and something which completely altered the way I think about beauty, took place within that program. I’ve already written about it, including a vast array of questions as to whether or not the woman in question represented the beginning of my obsession. I think about this shit too much, actually. Sometimes I can’t get the imagery and/or memories out of my brain long enough to add two and two. When the third series premiered, I was in a very good place, believe it or not, and had options and possibilities coming out of my fucking ass. Too bad I did not embrace a single one of them. Now? All of them are gone and I am far worse off both mentally and emotionally. The booze is a crutch and I am not ashamed to point it out. I don’t care. I already know that I am weak and barely capable of anything. May as well admit all of it. My feelings matter to some people. I know it. The strike this morning pushed me down and the situation is worse for others than it is for me. When the shit hits the fan, it will be by my hand. Those responsible are mostly dead. Those who remain will have to bear the full weight. I am truly sorry for that, but the fact is few are innocent in the grand scheme. I will soon see something else – likely after this shit fades and I am allowed to relax – and the cycle will repeat. Each go around takes away more of my ability to live. The chances of me finding happiness have been slashed to pieces.

I wanted to tell her of my feelings. That has never been a good idea, nor am I willing anymore. No good will come from it. A compliment is usually welcomed, but my appearance and the fact that I can no longer hide the desperation in my voice mean that speaking to a woman is far from a good idea. I am all fucked up inside, but that doesn’t mean I want to affect another person, most notably a stranger. The only way to deal with this is to remain alone as often as I can. I still wanted to tell her, though. My feelings are stronger now than ever before.

The alcohol is beginning to affect my blood. This is a good thing. I’ll have to remain careful and avoid too much so I can keep everything to myself. That includes the mood I’m in right now. I don’t like people. That is not to say that it’s fair for me to express the truth in the manner that comes naturally. No one likes it; few deserve it. Those who deserve it the most are already dead. Hmm... That is a positive. If they were in front of me right now I would kill them quickly and without hesitation. I just hope that last statement doesn’t send anyone to my door. In the long run, it probably doesn’t fucking matter anyway. Fuck it.

I’ve been recalling going out to lunch on weekdays. I began the practice during the period when I lived in Dublin because there were several restaurants with bars in the vicinity, and I rarely sat at a table. I prefer the bar itself to avoid families. When I was with NASA, we worked a 9/80 schedule, meaning I had every other Friday off, and that was when I would venture to one of the restaurants to sit with a few drinks and writing materials. Years later, I rekindled those feelings when my mom was in the hospital. I’d visit with her, head over to the big electronics store for some wide-eyed browsing, and then slide onto a bar stool just after the place opened. By doing so, I had my choice of seating. A light lunch, some writing into the cloud, and an agreeable, discreet bartender were all I needed. These days, going to a restaurant on a weekday is rare, but I’ve been thinking about one place I visited quite often that is over the hill and attached to a big mall. I may venture to that same restaurant next week for some much-needed relaxation. The place of which I speak is actually one of a chain, and another location is where I had been planning a trip to Vegas when I met Michelle. The second Michelle... The woman who spent days and days with me many years ago after I ran away for the second time. I have zero expectations of anything similar taking place in the future because the world and my feelings are very different and not nearly as wondrous. I can hope, but experience has taught me to expect nothing quite so stirring. I’ll probably just sit there alone and record my thoughts. Hope is becoming a bad word. And I’ve become such a wreck that my condition would immediately preclude any possibility of comfort (the way it used to look and feel). I should mention that the restaurant with which I fell in love more than twenty years ago – and the place I visited when my mom was in the hospital just over five years ago – is gone. Isn’t that a fucking peachy fact? All of the older, more well-rounded eating establishments that sported huge menu options, bars, and some old-fashioned decor are slowly being replaced by modern, generic eateries that have the same atmosphere as a fucking noodle truck. Perhaps I need to visit the aforementioned restaurant over the hill before it goes away, too. An entire way of life is being systematically removed. At least my birthday dinner was wood-paneled, dim and classic. I just made the decision to head over the hill one day next week to enjoy something that is disappearing in this area. If I wait too long, it will turn into a bowl of rice.

I might head to the garage and blast music whilst simultaneously slicing scrap wood with my circular saw. The neighborhood is quiet and in need of an object lesson regarding my damaged mood.

47 has surpassed 42 as the most important number in the universe. The reasons are many, yet I am unwilling to describe them. 42, being the double of 21, may already be apparent. If not, you are a fucking idiot and believe in nothing. 47 is different.

Maybe I should keep drinking and avoid food so that when the close of business hours arrives, no one will doubt the veracity of my fucking feelings. No permanent damage, only temporary hell awaits. Right now, I just don’t know. Sometimes the idea of being completely irrelevant and passed over makes me angry. Other times? It’s ok. Today may turn into the former, God help those who try to communicate with me.

I ventured to the garage for a little while and cut up all of the boxes from the wine store with a few choice tracks blasting in the background. I’m certain the neighborhood is pleased that I held it to three. I may be back out there in a little while to cut some wood. Maybe I should have something to eat prior to returning to the garage, lest my mood reduces further. I am so angry right now that I could destroy the world. Believe me, you don’t want to know. Just trust me. I still have some sense of responsibility, thank the maker. The alternative is to completely lose control and motherfuck the remaining hours. Nothing makes me happy anymore. Nothing. I keep thinking of what I saw in the market and the feelings are very bad. I honestly don’t want the smooth functioning of the household to take a back seat to my mood. I really don’t. Sometimes, though, I feel so fucking powerless that everything turns to shit on a dime. I am sitting here right now amidst a battle of bad versus good. I don’t need this shit.


At least I closed the big door before slamming my huge audio system. Better than nothing.

Curious... There is quite often a fine line between lashing out toward the world and crying while in a fetal position. Make of that what you will.

Oh, boy... This girl that’s with one of the principal characters is unreal. I’ve watched this shit over and over for years, yet the more I see her, the more I feel. And on the heels of that one? The French girl. The sight is almost too much for me anymore. I am going out of my fucking mind over here. Not long after, there is Jessica on the screen, all five-eleven of her; beautiful smile; dark eyes. Maybe I should kill this program and play something else. None of this crap is good for me. ‘We shall know forsooth.’ If only that was available to me. Jesus. You don’t wanna know.

The afternoon wears on and the clock spins with nary a care for a single person. Time rolls on no matter what. There is no stopping it. There she is again, all super sweet, kind and fucking adorable beyond words. Me in the same situation? Oh, shit... Absolute wonderment and happiness. Anyway, I took care of enough today to feel as if I’ve earned the evening. That’s going to have to be good enough, however, because my head is heeled over so fucking far that it may never right itself against the tide of the past. I don’t know what is to transpire throughout the next several days, but if they are anything like the previous, I am not going to make it. I continue to see very damaging things in the world, recall being right fucking there where I needed, and then snap back to the present realization that my life ended some years ago and I didn’t even know. This is a bad time.

Thank Christ that episode came to an end. The one now beginning is worse in one, very specific way, and the issue has absolutely nothing to do with beauty or desire. It’s solely rooted in the way society handles things like the first shit situation and makes me angry most of the time. I can click my way past the scene, but usually I just mute the audio. Whatever. I need to get away from this crap anyway.

Saturday morning. Strange dreams. Nothing bad, just very odd. I wonder if there are people out there in the world that know about this crap and can interpret dreams. Eh.

The memories and reference came to mind some time ago because I was again recalling the purity; a natural state which is beyond anyone’s (mostly my) control. The feeling was wonderful, if short-lived. I can’t predict such things and even if I could, there would be little point because the whole point is moot. What would I do about it? Talk to someone? Who? No one is listening. The most precious aspects of living are all going away, one at a time. The pure process is next on the list, I suppose. Scarcity is not fun. I’ll just have to sit here and watch it disappear. We shall see which comes to an end first. Laugh it up, motherfucks. Everything is going away.

Ashley changed the way I consider certain aspects of living, but I do not hold her responsible for being so fucked up these days. I just didn’t know there were other people in the world who aligned with some of the views which developed inside me during the late eighties and early nineties. By the time I met her at the Island Bar, my views were cemented. After the relegation and squishing period carried me along a river of years later, the cemented views turned into doctrine. I can’t hold her responsible, however, because there are many viewpoints from a variety of people around the world. Everyone is entitled to feel the way they feel. It just so happens that she and I aligned one day and I was floored to hear of how she felt about people and their needs and desires. Cut to more than a decade after I spent time with that doll, and the Raven entered with a similar slap to the way I had assumed most people felt toward society, including families. I could not believe that she agreed with my views. Well, for the most part, anyway. The Raven was the second to speak with me about important aspects of living, and reminded me of all those conversations with Ashley during the sinful period at the Luxor. Both of those women altered my stance in the world, permanently. The main issue with my view of everything is that they are both gone and I’ve been left here on the side of the road with what feels like a singular belief. Part of this ridiculous, fruitless, and pathetic search is a desperate attempt to connect with a woman that even slightly matches one of the other two, either Ashley or the Raven. Out of balance? Oh, fuck yes, but with good reason. I can’t sit here and lament the way I feel and then look toward Ashley with anything other than love and appreciation. She felt what she felt. I just happened to strike it rich when I first saw her gazelle-gait and invited her to dinner. Good feelings are all I have for her even considering the fact that I am slowly being taken apart and dying inside. I’ve never needed that girl more than I do right fucking now.

My brain is very skewed at this point. If only I had known that the wonder and beauty was going to come to a crashing halt, perhaps I could have steeled myself against such deep depression. Each day feels like this... Sadness over everything being lost or taken away, and then a long period when I try to find the motivation to improve something – be it me or the house – and find that I am no longer capable of the ambition I carried proudly in the past. My head is too preoccupied with beauty, desire and emptiness. Everything is available to me, as well; projects, meals, whatever. I have much to appreciate being here at home every day, especially after all those years of hard work and dreaming of being able to remain in the house. Now? Here it is... I am going on four years of being home every day and not one second of it has aged. I really appreciate being here. The downside is that I have all the time in the world to think about everything and find it more difficult to distract myself from the past and what it has caused inside. As I’ve stated more than once, all I have to do is see something special for a split fucking second and my brain goes around the world, eventually falling flat and realizing that the future is nothing but more of the same. Heartache; pain (both types); sadness; depression. The tipping point used to be a larger issue and more resilient. At present, it is tiny and readily available almost anywhere. My feelings were altered by the first damaging dreams, as well, and combining that change with the amount of desire in my head and heart is the worst possible soup in existence. All of it relates from one end to the other and then back again. From dreams to death.

Oh, Ashley. Why did that have to happen? I still love her in spite of everything. I can’t help it. There are others, too, but I’m not going to sit here and list them. Ashley just happens to stand out right now because of the way I’ve been feeling toward the past lately. I will probably always love her. One other figure from my past nearly headed in the same direction, too. She really did. Not long after, however, I realized that my existence had become a search.

The purity is going to be slashed just like everything else. I already know because it used to be prevalent and often pervasive, whereas now it is waning. More slashing. I can’t deal with the vane. What’s next?

Today is Saturday and I have a little bit of work to do. There is another huge storm coming late tonight or early tomorrow and I have to take a look at the rain gutters on the back of the garage. There is a connection up there that’s been fucked up. I tried to repair it last year, but the truth is my efforts were nowhere near good enough considering the volume of water coming off the roof during these larger storms. I have to try to alleviate a bit of the flow or redirect, whichever is more feasible. This is the only day I have the opportunity, as well. As for the water buildup in the backyard, there is little I can do there until we have the property evaluated for proper drainage. I may try to create a small river on the right side of the yard with my shovel, but that’s all. It might allow some of the standing water to run off toward the front. I think it’s worth a shot.


Maybe I don’t care enough to put forth the effort. Ugh. I can’t really do anything until the yard is dry, so for now everything will flood again. I was outside for while trying to calculate modifications that may help, but the truth is I waited too fucking long to change the rain gutter system. I had all of last year to fix it, too. The whole year. Now I just have to live with the water standing in the yard because rain is coming very soon and will be much heavier tomorrow. I had a plan and did nothing. Splendid. My head has been fucked up for so long that I end up preoccupied too often to advance the projects that are necessary. The yard is going to flood tomorrow as a result of all this difficulty. My clear thinking has been slashed. At this point in the day, my routine is out of the way and half of the dry cleaning is finished. A disastrous situation developed prior to me beginning the housework, and now I feel like complete shit. I am so fucking sick of this situation that I can barely see straight. I’ve never felt so weak and powerless.

Am I still searching? Why? Hasn’t enough time passed to show me that there is nothing out there? I guess not. On the one hand, the idea is slowly killing me. On the other, it represents a sliver of hope that still remains. That fact is likely the reason I still seek the little enjoyments that often get me through the average day. Is that a positive? Or is it pathetic? YOU make the call. My heart has been slashed.

I already hate today. My time is all my own and wide-open, but at the same time I feel as if the world tossed me out of a moving vehicle and left me on the side of the road. Recently I was asked to consider all of the little things for which I should be thankful – and believe me when I say that I already am (as outlined here on too many occasions to count) – effectively putting the whole of life into perspective. Around a year ago, I was asked about living where I do and if I found the location and weather comfortable. The conversation took place in person, and with the wife of one of my friends. I answered in the positive and basically laid out everything that comes to mind each night when I rest my head on the pillow. Everything. Warmth, food, the availability of whatever I may need on a daily basis, health care, and the love I have for this particular neighborhood. I need not explain myself again. All of the positives add up to what can be defined as an overall appreciation for this living situation. I’ve gleaned the idea many times, and just because I remain focused upon the past and how it has damaged me so deeply does not mean that I don’t realize what I have. And? I am not the person to easily swallow a blast of information dictating that I constantly visualize the difference between my situation and some others elsewhere in this nation or the world. I already know all of it. The bottom line is that I am in so much pain that I must continue to analyze and search for reasons or anything else that can help me live until tomorrow. If I hate today, it’s because of all the slashing throughout decades, culminating in my desperate need to be even slightly at ease, ever. The rest? I already fucking know. Period. Hopefully, this is the last time I go into my living situation and the inherent positives. The next time will be far less than pleasant. Allow me to feel what I feel. I do not tell anyone else how they should live or think. That is that.

I should have finished my stuff earlier and sidled up to the bar at one of my favorite, cozy lunch destinations. Perhaps if I had followed that idea, the morning could have turned out better. There is a window, and I failed to make it through before the shit hit me in the head. Maybe I should head over there on Monday. The feeling of being perched in that beautiful restaurant with zero time restrictions always reminds me of running away. No one knows where I am during those visits. No one. All communication is terminated upon leaving the house. Reclaiming the emotional nature of my past trips is not always good, but it does have positive aspects, being alone notwithstanding. You don’t want to know how badly I’d like to pack a few things and hit the fucking highway RIGHT NOW. No, I don’t mean the restaurant on the other side of the hill. I am referring to another world. I am vastly different from the last time I dashed to the goblet, meaning if I were to find the means to do so, the only result would be disappointment. I already know the result. No, not death. I am referring to the fact that I would wander the halls of excess, eat and drink like a king, and during all of it I’d be completely alone, perhaps feeling more loneliness than I do at this very moment.

I can see the driveway from my vantage point at this table. A few minutes ago, the squareheads approached the house and knocked on the door. My cats do not enjoy the knocking or others’ voices, so they scatter. I went out there, cocktail in hand, and asked politely that they remain behind the line of the garage door (which was open). This visit was different from the rest in that I laid out a few reasons why my faith in everything has been waning of late. Naturally, the cutie (yes, the same woman who visits on Saturdays) tried to alleviate my lack of faith and negativity by quoting scripture and equating the words to the present state of the world. I can’t tell her everything, however, so I did my best to glean a handful of reasons why I am so far down. I also informed them that I’ve been feeling as if coming here and speaking to me is becoming a waste of their time. Nope. That went almost nowhere because they have faith coming out of their asses and can read that I am a good person with a shit ton of goodness inside. I will not argue that point, but at the same time my depression and torment seem to be worsening no matter how kind I am to other people. I also stated that my condition is the result of actions taken by people who are gone forever, basically pointing out that my lack of hope is due to a lack of answers. Nothing can dissuade their efforts, meaning they will be back again. I’ll have to ramp up the severity of my mood a little at a time until they completely give up.

The Sunday storm is here, yet not as heavy as I had thought. I was dreading the early drive because predictions indicated the wind would be gusting to fifty-plus and the rain very strong. The drive was fine thanks to not many cars on the road and a delay in the weather pattern. I believe this condition will worsen during the next several hours. My car is in the driveway to allow water flow to the storm drain without leaves piling up at my tires. I’ll move it when the other car needs to leave the garage in a few hours. The light level outside is very low this morning, and as such quite odd for nine o’clock. I’ll have to keep an eye on everything as the water builds up in the backyard. For now, relaxation is key.

We stopped at both markets on the return trip this morning to pick up a few breakfast items, and lo and behold was a gorgeous Latino beauty right there in the produce aisle. She smiled as we passed by and my heart skipped a beat. Her expression was demure, something that immediately presses me to wish to care for her and make her happy somehow. If she only knew of the gentle, loving nature of my personality, perhaps a connection could be formed, one which may put her mind at ease and cause lots of smiling. Her look was the type to hold me captive for days. Juliette showed off a similar posture when we first met, and that from a very strong, intelligent and forthright woman. When I see a facial expression reminding me of a wounded bird in need of care, my heart flips the fuck out and walking away becomes much more painful than the typical strike. There is something very unique and special about Latin women – most notably when they are young and have yet to be waylaid into family life with tons of children – and it comes out on their faces once in a while, albeit still being rarer than many other traits. This is very difficult to explain and has thrown me for a loop only twice in nearly a decade. Yes, the dark hair and eyes always grab me, but there is much more. Too bad I am at a loss as to conveying my feelings. I am going to say something that will come across as severely out of balance and weak, but I don’t give a flying fuck. The moment when I passed her closely as she moved aside to let us through sent a powerful emotion through me within the space of a split-second. I loved her for an instant. Shoot me. This is what I’ve become. I loved her, sure as hell. My feelings this morning are likely the most striking indication of just how fucked up I am after all these years. Oh, I felt quite a lot when I first saw the Raven, the goddess, and Christ knows how many others, yet what took place in the market would not have transpired in a similar fashion a number of years ago. Do you remember the server about whom I wrote roughly five years ago? The feelings at that time were all generated through my obsession with the mechanics of the female form. My heart was not involved, and as such, the situation was hardly dangerous. The way I feel right now is far worse in too many ways to list.

Today's housework and garbage business are going to be tough, and I'm not referring to the weather.


That girl slashed me to pieces. Broken again. Just a smile, a downward expression, and my heart exploded. This is not good. The vane does not let up.

I need to address the rain gutters in the back after this storm season. I’ve formulated a plan that should prove very effective, yet I can’t do much while the weather is crazy. I will gather materials and get things ready to modify the system and then hit it as soon as I have a chance. The issue of overall yard drainage is another story and something I can’t tackle alone. I may contact a local construction company (with whom I used to work) to pop over here and give me an idea of what is involved. Until the drainage issue is alleviated, there should not be a foundation or pad built for the upcoming shed. Horse before the cart, please. The rest of my work today will be fairly simple. In and around the usual chores, I’ll make sure all of the portable stuff is charged in case we lose power. So far, the storm does not seem to be as powerful as predicted yesterday. Patterns change, as does the jetstream. We are helpless.

I can still see her face and the way she looked slightly down upon seeing me smile at her. Ugh. Basket case of the highest order. This reminds me of more than three years ago when I was taking the drive south each weekday morning and returning in the afternoon. I saw that woman on the side of the road looking toward each passing driver as if she was in need of not only a ride somewhere, but possibly much more. Her expression was one of desperation, something I happen to know very well these days. My first thought was, ‘is that her?’, and I still feel fucking pathetic over the incident. I was searching for it... Something; someone. My brain went all the way back to Shilo over and over, to that time when life was scary and unsatisfying; when I manufactured a girl that could help me deal with everything. I needed her to make all of the bad go away. I did not feel the same this morning. The girl I saw was very different, yet there was an inkling inside me that she may have been able to help. If ever there was anything on this fucking site that clearly outlined just how fucked up my head has become, today’s venture to the market is it. Marvelous.

I need ‘her’, but who is ‘she’? Is she out there? I stated as much at the end of many entries. Hmm... Let’s seek the number, shall we? Ah, shit. The number of occasions is a whopping 1106. That is fucking pathetic. At least I am not ashamed to point out how fucked up I am, nor do I have any issue going on at length regarding weakness and desperation. Again... Time and circumstances have shaped the person sitting at this keyboard. There can be no going back. God damn, she was so fucking cute. I need ‘her’. Did I see ‘her’ this morning? There is no way to know. So sad. And I had thought the film industry was a problem. Heh. Not funny.

The clock is nearing ten. I may have to get away from this for a little while and complete some business. Next Sunday’s game is going to preclude much work around the house, but today is wide open. I’ll probably take care of my daily housework and garbage, and then see what I can to ensure the laundry is in order for the coming week. I already did some straightening in the office – the first since the trip more than a week ago – so maybe I can continue in here after the other crap is finished. One huge positive is that the gorgeous and stirring girl from this morning has derailed any disastrous thinking for today. I don’t feel nearly as bad on that front as I did one day ago. All the shit will return, I’m sure, and I’ll have to deal with it again, however in the meantime I am going to leave those thoughts alone as best I can and proceed with my usual Sunday business. Chris just sat on the dog, being the dipshit he was at this point in the series. What a rig. Anyway, the fact that I don’t have to feel the turmoil from yesterday is a good thing right now. I don’t like that shit one bit and appreciate any morning that comes and goes without it. She even pushed the purity and reference out of my head for a while. Very nice. Bless her. Maybe I’ll further damage myself by writing some fiction that includes the goddess from earlier. Should I? Does anything I do matter? YOU make the call. The office is especially comfortable this morning. I need to soak it up until the bad things return and slash my heart. Those days when I feel immobilized by a combination of the past and my broken heart come along more often now than a few years ago. I know why, too. The biggest problem with those days is my inability to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. I don’t need any more of it.

Albert’s jacket and shirt/tie combination in this scene are fucking stunning. The costume work reflects that lifestyle so well that I have to salute on occasion.

Goddess. Damn it, anyway. I really didn’t need to see that most stirring facial expression, especially now and attached to more fucking beauty than I can possibly describe. Oh, I’m always seeking the same thing, yet finding it causes more problems inside me than the whole of the film industry and my decades-long love for it. That’s a mouthful, believe me. She works there. Do you know what that means? Each time I visit that store in the morning I’ll be scanning the aisles like a crazy person and likely losing my way of shopping. My mind, as well. I feel so fucking weak right now that I should remain indoors for a while. A strong wind will carry me away. What a fucking goddess. Her face sent me into some odd, errant state of mind in which the importance of everything else in the world no longer existed. I used the word love for good reason. I am in pieces and more in need of ‘her’ than ever. This may be the beginning of a far worse dimension of mind.

Housework, indeed. There will be a fat cocktail following me around as I take care of business. I need it. I can still see her face.

I am part way through the day and the usual routine is finished. Once the car is out of the garage, I’ll get to the laundry and garbage business. For the time being, my head needs a bit of rest here at the control center. I am looking forward to having a number of hours to myself. Those are generally when I do my best thinking, although considering my current mental and emotional condition, it isn’t saying much. I keep picturing that girl and her expression because I am so fucked up. Stating that I may have loved her after seeing her beauty and mannerisms for mere seconds is so fucking pathetic that even I can barely believe it. Her gentle smile is still floating in my brain along with little hearts and flowers. Pathetic. I used to have massive issues with myself – most notably during the 1236 period – but not anymore. That was different. I do like myself, yet can’t help with the almost constant berating because I’ve turned into something that can’t be identified. The two shit situations again. Believe it. The way I viewed myself nearly twenty years ago is all but gone, only to be replaced with what has been said in the last few paragraphs. ‘She is out there’. Unbelievable. I can see myself spending lots of today sitting right here at this machine.

The wind is a bit crazy right now. I have to be careful opening the back garage door when the big one is up. The wind tries to rip it from my hands. I think the safest course regarding the garbage cans is to roll them to the curb as late as possible. I could do it in the morning when everything is much calmer, but if I overlook the task by even a minute, our pickup could be passed over (sound familiar?) and I can’t have everything sitting for another week. I’ll have to do it this evening. They are fairly heavy, which helps.

Isn’t that fucking thrilling? My life has been boiled and reduced to nearly nothing, yet remains cold. You’ll see, and soon."