February 8th, 2024 9:51am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Follow Vane read ( words) "Even the implication drives me up the fucking wall sometimes. I know what’s going on, and I know why. I’ve seen it, heard it, and have obsessed over the fucking thing since the eighties. Just like having knowledge of the ‘inside’ information (referencing the damaging dreams and the like), even when it is only implied, I go out of my mind and fall off a cliff every damned time. This has taken place too many times for me to just pass off the experience as trivial or otherwise unimportant. This issue is right behind me at every step... Following like the shadow of hell. I will say that the aforementioned (and written) trips all over the fucking country took place out of my desperate, horrible need for the same damned thing... When the implication comes across via the media, conversation or some other source, I go back in time to attempt to understand why such a situation became of dire importance to me. There are clues, yet the veiled nature of this content must remain as it has been for years. The key to those trips to the goblet and beyond lies in changes that took place so long ago that I can only recall them in pieces. A few are still very specific in nature, but most are foggy. A few years ago this topic came up in a conversation and I ended up regretting sharing the information. The only positive result is a statement I drafted that remains completely under my control. That paragraph has followed me throughout the intervening years and stands as the worst vane yet. It is following me, likely bent upon forcing the realization that my life has been over for God-knows how long. Marvelous. The weather is frightfully cold right now. The sun is shining, but unless one is standing directly in the path of the light, the feeling is as icy as the previous vane. Any work in the garage or yard will come in short bursts as I must remain indoors to keep warm. I am again reminded of the day I left my cousin’s home and met Andrea at the airport. Coming from California, I did not see the need for much warm clothing when my destination was Florida. Little did I know prior to arriving, the cold pattern from New England had swung south and frozen much of the Florida Panhandle. Ugh. Just stepping out to their front yard for a smoke was a trial. At least Andrea kept me warm, as did those gas heaters above our favorite lounge... The outdoor House of Blues in Downtown Disney. Andrea is yet another memory following me. The vane is specific... The implication general. We did what we did and I remember all of it. Andrea understood. I did not. I spent a good portion of our weeks together in pain. Not from the cold, mind you, but the vane. The 'pain vane’? No. Maybe later. My daily crap is finished. Cocktail time. Sitting here at the table during the mid-morning with my drink is almost as comfortable as I get these days. The evening is similar. Father Intintola should have kept the goatee. Just a thought. Anyway, from here to the close of business hours, I have no idea what to do. I mentioned that I might sit here for the duration – including lunch – because I need to think, and this chair almost never fails in helping with such a process. Right now, I just don’t know. I always feel the need to improve something inside the house, typically driving me to care for some cleaning or organization. Finding the ambition to do anything, though... Not easy. I’ve become a slave to memories and needs. Combined, they have the power to render me completely fucking useless. All of a sudden, Liza is on the screen, all dark and exotic. I need to demonstrate my appreciation for her unique beauty. Well, she is another pipe dream in a world that does not exist and nothing can come of it. Nothing. My favorite word. Anyway, this machine may take up the lion’s share of my time. I have to continue trying to consider options in life, the way those shit situations have shaped me into an unidentifiable mass, and if there is or is not any future possibility of me actually finding some fucking understanding. I’m trying to avoid becoming pissed off again. I don’t need any more of that shit. I suppose I’ll enjoy feeling at least a bit accomplished and relax for a while. My options have been truncated by forces beyond my control. The basics are done. Anything else can remain optional. And now? Back to Ashley... AGAIN. She listened to me; actually listened, rather than going through the motions and not really hearing my voice. She listened to everything in the space of days, and damned-near right out of the fucking gate. That situation happened again, too. Not to the same extent, mind you, but part way. At the time, part way was welcomed and heartwarming. The information came out seldom, slowly, yet transmitted my hellish point just fine, or so I had thought. Ashley has become the reference standard for this shit, too. I still love that living doll to this very second, and for good reason. I never thought I’d run into someone like her, especially considering how frightened I was about sharing myself on the deepest possible level. Did she humiliate me? Nope. Did she ridicule me (like others did)? Nope. Did she go out of her way to understand every word? Yes. She was unique that way, and mostly due to her viewpoints on the state of how relationships develop and change over time combined with the vast differences between the sexes. Even right at the beginning when everything is wine and roses, she already knew about future pitfalls and the way they can jade people who have become very comfortable together. The understanding was key, and she told me as much. There has not been another with similar opinions. Close, but not quite. I discussed Ashley’s beliefs with Ellie, Natalie, and a few others, the end result always being the same... Ashley was literally a gem of a girl, and possibly one without equal. Memories of our time together have been following me for days, the vane remaining poised and ready to strike. As much as I don’t need another vane bent upon harming me, there is no choice in the matter. The vanes are going to win this fight. Do you know what that means? That’s right... I am going to continue to be beaten by the follow vane. Beaten. I have little left in the world. I have little left that can hold me up. The other one heard me at times. She really did. In the end, however, I knew the understanding was not the same. I fucking knew it, and should have felt as such from the beginning. I reached and reached, found somewhere to land after years of suffering, and then embraced whatever semblance of comfort was available at the time. That was years ago. Now I am further down than I could have imagined at the time. The more I go back in time, the more pain I feel. Therapy may be my only option, yet I don’t see a positive outcome because the root causes cannot be eliminated after decades of living as I have. Sometimes I see something wondrous, such as the girl at the market the other day or the race girl from long ago, but the truth is my feelings of desperation have been – and will continue to – manufacturing dreamy connections that cannot be found. I’ve already connected for the last time. I am pleased to be able to stay home all day today. I had thought of heading to the hardware store for a few reinforcements, but the last time I was there I held the door for a woman leaving the place and ended up in the same stupid fucking mindset as was described above. All it takes is a fleeting glance and stirring expression and I am fucking dead inside. At some point I’ll have to go over there and pick up some items. Today may not be the time. Memories are following me. I can’t do anything about it. I am empty. I always remember the transition from Junior singing to our first shot of JT. Maybe it’s the clapping. I wish there was a group similar to the NA that is shown in this episode, something akin to ‘memories anonymous’. What do you think? Is there a way of removing them? A way of surviving the knowledge that everything good is in the past? YOU make the call. I feel like drinking myself into the grave. The trip is short, but could be rewarding. Tell me otherwise. Let’s go elsewhere, shall we? One great and terrible day in the year of fifteen... I drove over the hill and remained at my destination for several hours. It was the day of the big game... You know; the culmination of the entire pro football season. Think about it. I arrived to see a woman clad in a very thin, short sundress. She was both bright and dark at the same time, all flowing hair and lotion apparent. I was immediately captivated by Her appearance and the case of real life was burned away in the course of microseconds. I no longer cared about the world around me, any life circumstances, or other people. The scent of Latin food wafted through the house as the scent of Her hair wafted and controlled my brain. I knew that if I died after our meeting, I would have had no regrets. Not a fucking one. From the moment She opened the door and invited me inside, I knew the evening would turn into one of the defining periods of my entire existence. I was not wrong. Two months after our first conversation, there She stood, immediately ready to pounce. Conversation was only going to go so far, I figured, because that girl was one hundred percent in charge of everything... Food, atmosphere, wine, all of it. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when She walked to the kitchen. I could literally see my entire obsession lit from behind and outlined through the dress. My head was in a constant battle between asking Her to pose for me and leaving the topic completely out of my visit. Part of me calculated that I may never have the opportunity to take in a form such as Hers – the most amazing I’d seen in years, and all of it right there in front of me – so the question would need to come out of me at some point. I fought myself over and over and tried to avoid staring, yet somewhere inside me was the dire need to put my entire life off to one side and allow the evening to develop depending upon our feelings and nothing external. This will continue later, maybe. I can only think about Her so much before I become sad. Friday. What does that mean? Not much. My head is all fucked up due to going over the subject matter above, further fucked up due to the girl from the other day, and finally blown wide-open in the knowledge that this is all I have left in my life... Typing, coffee, housework, and the like. This is not a very good morning thus far. I have the house to myself, the time and space to do nearly anything I wish, a bar full of booze and plenty of good food, yet all of it would be traded in a cold minute for five fucking seconds of comfort and understanding. Maybe I am not meant to find anything I need. Not anymore. Maybe I am meant to just fucking sit here for the rest of my life, looking out the window at people who are going about their lives and doing whatever they do. Are they happy? There is no way to know. Some, I’m sure, but everyone? That doesn’t seem very likely. Whatever the case, I don’t want to affect them in certain ways; I don’t want to cause harm. The previous sentence is much of the reason I am still sitting here in the first place. I can’t cause harm. After a storm and flooded backyard, I often see earthworms that have been displaced by the deluge. I will always gently relocate each one to the lawn so they do not perish. What the fuck does that mean? I hold them in slightly higher regard than human beings because they operate entirely via instinct, the alternative being the way society has developed. Ugh. Off the track I went. Anyway, I can’t cause harm to other people even if I don’t like them. I don’t know why. Though this is the worst I’ve ever felt, harming myself equals harming others, and I can’t have that. They are the reason. As I sip the coffee and then go about my business of the day, I’ll be thinking about whatever can be done to allow me some comfort. I have the usual work, some laundry to care for, and a trip to the smoke shop and market afterward. That’s all. I’m going to avoid the produce department entirely because if I see her face again I’m going to fall off a fucking cliff. Any kind of strike upside my head that is caused by a face equals emotional trouble rather than physical desire. The torment is similar, but ends up hurting my heart more than my head. That is what happened the other day and very similar to the race girl. Most of the time I am struck by a form that clearly aligns with my obsession, and then I become upset because nothing can be explored or embraced. The faces are far worse. The plan is to get the hell in and out of the market quickly in order to avoid potential disaster. I don’t need what happened the other day to repeat. It still hurts. ‘They flutter behind you, your possible pants...’ I may have modified that lyric for my own purposes. Too bad nothing is really funny anymore. Jamie’s eyes are fucking huge during the beginning of this scene. God damn... I’m going to lose my mind. Last night I began watching a film for the second time in as many weeks, including staring and dreaming of one of the most unique and beautiful women ever to grace the screen (or anything else in the world). She still holds the title for having the largest eyes I’ve ever seen. I will try to avoid gushing about her six-foot stance and the most beautiful hands in the world. Anyway, seeing that woman last night sent me back in time – much like most of the video media that I choose to watch these days – and I ended up very sad and yearning for the past again. I have to be careful, yet most of the time the films are simply too meaningful to me on several levels and there is no avoiding them once the mood strikes. If anyone cares, the correct word at the end of the quote above is ‘pasts’. I guess both apply to yours truly. I am a basket case, through and through. That night at Her house turned out to be one of the most stressful and difficult of my life. There was another adventure a few months later that took the prize for the biggest shit storm; I am referring to a complete disaster. The night at Her house was partly beautiful and partly worrisome; the second that I mentioned nearly caused the end of my life and forced me to realize that had we spent much more time together, there would have been no avoiding disaster. When I think about Her and look back on those days, I feel fortunate to have spent the time together despite all of the problems we caused for others (read: family). There was an equal measure of problems that we inflicted upon ourselves, yet other people have to take precedence because we knowingly fucked up over and over, whereas the rest were simply victims. Coming out the other side of that era, I should have learned something, to be honest. Whenever I fell down during the ensuing years, my head should have known in advance that chasing my dreams would only result in pain and suffering, much like the aforementioned trips all over the fucking country and the mass of associated fallout from every one of them. The night I’ve brought up will most likely be the first and last opportunity in my life of being that close to such vast and unique beauty. I was told She was all mine to do whatever I wanted or needed, and She meant much more than simply dimensional study. Everything. I can still see the way Her hips and waist appeared when She gently and slowly pulled the sundress over Her head and tossed it aside. I can see all of the disparity that was inches from my hungry, desperate eyes. I can see the tiny black thong as it disappeared toward the back. I can see the radii awaiting my obsessive need. I can still see Her looking down at me with eyes that spoke volumes. I could smell Her skin, yet that one has faded away. Nine years is a very long time. That evening was a massive lesson and a watershed event in my life, one which taught me that despite how far out of balance I felt I was at a given time, none of it would compare to the way my mind would develop in the future. Part of me wishes each day to go back to the moment when She opened the door; another part of me is glad that night did not kill me and I sit here and wish to never find myself in such a situation again. I’ve seen comparable forms to the Raven and Her ‘reference’, and each one carries with it a measure of fear that one day I will end up lunging at someone out of sheer desperation, fall on my face in the worst possible way, and destroy everything that touches my entire world. Every single fucking woman that I have desired... Any one of them could be the bitter, painful end of me. I still love Her and always will. The Raven is following me through life. Later on the same day; my shit is out of the way and I have some depressive liquid sitting here on the table. My trip to the smoke shop and market was nearly without issue until I drove out of the latter’s parking lot. Yep. An unbelievably well-formed genetic fluke in low-rise jeans with a massive, bouncing mane of hair crafted by the gods. I could not believe my fucking eyes, yet I could believe that something came along to strike me again. I am constantly scanning and searching all the way to the fucking horizon every time I leave this house, and that means the statistics involved dictate that there will be beauty out there waiting my desperate eyes. I immediately needed to run my hands all over her form. Yes, I said that. The latest incarnation of this fucking condition – as I spelled out nearly four years ago – is that I see the shape and gait from a distance, scrutinize all that I can in the short period of time, and then wish myself to be allowed, once and for all, to embrace all that I’ve needed for far too long. God damn was that woman ever gorgeous. And here I sit, as always, in pain. I am fallen, again. At least I avoided the fucking produce department like the plague. That’s better than nothing, I suppose. There is still a bit of self-protection left inside me. It has been diminishing for a long time, but some remains. Ugh. And now Jamie is on the screen. Splendid. I wonder how long this shit will go on before something bad happens. I can see it... Off in the distance and waiting, but I don’t know of the timeline. Eventually force will win. I know it. Living life as I have for so many years – not to mention actually, truly being in love with a fictional television character from the past (or more than one) – is about as unhealthy as I can imagine, and there will be an end to everything. I can still see the Raven looking down at me as I admired her curves. Her eyes transmitted more desire than I can possibly describe here. She held a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other resting on the top of my head. I will refrain from repeating what She told me at that very moment. I still can’t believe I made it out of there, or the other situation some months later, alive. I separated the 400 some-odd essays and grouped them into years so they are better organized, and now I have nearly 1700 images that are all massed between just two folders. Perhaps I’ll work at grouping the images along similar lines. Hmm. That will take time, although time is the only thing I have in abundance anymore. Well, I have other things, but I hesitate to describe them right now. Whatever. ‘Roadies?!’ 'Oh... You don’t wanna know!’ Just... Trust me. Onward. Upward? No... Not even close. I am completely fucked up inside, like most days. The woman in the parking lot this morning is merely a symptom, and nowhere near her fault. She is a person, nothing more. I don’t know her, nor will I ever. All this shit is inside me and the fault of very few others who are still alive. I don’t think going further speaking of my time with the Raven is a good idea right now. The memories of Her are beginning to affect me in a negative manner, much like two of the five programs I choose to follow each day. They are perpetually attached to the glowing years, another period that haunts me, following along at each step I take some days. The vane behind me has many different eras attached to it, honestly. It is the vane of memories, and as you may well know, memories cause nothing but pain anymore. The glow is something that can never return, whereas my obsession and the Raven’s role in the same is an aspect of my personality that could actually come to pass in the future, God willing and ‘the river don’t rise’. I would be in much better shape right now if I was strong enough to completely let go of the glowing years. Maybe with some help I could find such a place, but when it comes to the Raven, there is more there related to the future and my survival than regarding the former. The glow was much less related to pain. I see it every day via my television programs and the healthy choice would be to cease watching them in order to avoid the reminders and subsequent depressed mood. Watching those programs and going back in time to the glow is a choice and I make it every day, consciously. On the other hand, most of the time I can push Her away because there are not as many reminders. I have no choice in the matter, though. I think of the Raven mostly due to feeling broken, empty and alone. I am losing my train of thought. You might think I’d be sharper when it comes to anything related to trains, but that is not the case. I’m losing it. That much is certain. Lunch time. I still have to take care of one load of laundry, but at least I am defrosting some ground beef for spaghetti later. I like to make some kind of pasta sauce whenever we have fresh herbs. They make quite a difference when it comes to flavor and texture. I’ll begin the process in a few hours so the sauce has time to combine and normalize. This is one of my favorite meals because I can take care of prep work, get everything in the pot cooking, clean up the entire kitchen, and then relax until it’s time to boil pasta. Part of me is pleased that dinner will be a simple affair, requiring very little work after the close of business hours, and another part of me is pleased that there will be time available to work in the garage and swing the hammer for a little while (for all the good it may do). Tomorrow is going to involve a drive to the nice mall down the peninsula in order to return a few items, and perhaps have lunch. As of yet, I am unsure. That place can be quite the flytrap for beauty, so avoiding one of my favorite restaurants might be the only way to ensure I am ok for the rest of the day. I love that place – especially how comfortable the bar is – yet almost every time I’ve been there, problems arise at one point or another. This evening needs to be pretty damned comfortable. Off to the garage for a while. ‘Look at me now... A man who won't let himself be.’ Man? I feel that way, but is that what I am after all this time? A man? Does a man think the way I do? What defines that word? The keyword? Is the answer raising children? I haven’t done that. Providing? Working? I don’t fucking know. Do you? Or is everyone going to have a different answer? Maybe it’s the housework. I’ll come back to this another time. My mood is pretty shitty right now. Sometimes being in the garage to organize stuff takes me far enough away from the problems to relax for a little while and think clearly. The only issue that arises from time to time is seeing something beyond the garage door, and today was no different. It figures that I head out there in a crappy mood and then insult is added to injury. Big fucking surprise. Saturday morning is here and the drive is behind me. There were no problems, thankfully. Last night was a different story, unfortunately, thanks to something I did – perhaps a movement or step – that is still haunting me. I was having a lot of trouble walking. This sort of thing takes place from time to time, although I can’t immediately recall the last incident. It’s been a while, I guess. During dinner, the cabinet was dropped off most of the way up the driveway with a very pronounced ‘thud’. I took a peek out there and saw that the dipshit who delivered the box dragged it up the driveway and then simply dropped it wherever he or she wished (probably a he). Considering how much pain I was experiencing, the idea of moving a large, heavy box into the garage was less than appealing. We ended up moving it together after dinner. That was a convergence of events I could have done without, to be completely honest. Lifting or otherwise using my back and legs is not easy right now. This shit goes back decades, too. I could use some actual understanding or compassion, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t really felt either of those for some years. Anyway, I’m going to sit and enjoy the coffee and quiet for a little while before deciding whether or not to visit the restaurant. The drive to that mall will be in just under two hours. I will be very pleased to return regardless of having lunch down there or not. This little house is the only place I am comfortable anymore. It’s not all that I need, but better than nothing. Speaking of need, I’d love to know how long this condition is going to last. Hours? Days? Ugh. Out the door. Today’s housework will have to be split in half. There is merchandise that needs to be returned in person (and within a time window), hence the necessity of going to the mall today. I hope there aren’t any problems. And... Home. Lunch was excellent, as always. That’s one of my favorites, and my choice menu item was in order. Steak and scampi... Oh, boy. Not too heavy, though. More like a lunch sized portion. A couple of drinks and outstanding service rounded out the visit. That place never disappoints. And yes, there was a shapely little hostess in there that drove me up the wall for a few minutes upon arrival, a server with an indescribably cute face, and then the capper... A form on the walk back to the car. I thought my eyes were going to fly out of my head. A form, but not just any. She was unreal, to be honest. Everything I saw was ideally aligned with my obsession and the way my head operates these days. Ugh. Whatever. As I’ve said a million times, there will always be something, especially considering today is the first day of the Lunar New Year and the mall was busy. There will always be something. The girl may as well reside on another planet because she will never know how I feel. Eh... My feelings don’t matter anyway. The second half of my routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of medicine next to me. At some point I will move the cars and get the big box set up so I can evaluate the materials for possible damage. The seller sent an email requisition that I rate the delivery process. I am going to be honest, but if there is no damage, I’ll salute the fucking packaging. From what I’ve seen so far, nothing inside has been harmed. The other two cabinets’ boxes looked pretty rough and they came out fine. I can still see her walking past my position, and the resemblance to the Raven’s lines was uncanny. The girl in the mall was likely around the same age, as well. Dark, flowing hair; olive skin; everything. There was not a smidgen out of place, nor did she carry any of the physical cues which can disallow a flowing gait. She was incredible and I immediately wanted (needed!) to tell her as much. I needed it badly. As usual, I am forced to go on with my day and fucking lump it. I am so sick and tired of feeling this way that I see myself snapping one day very soon. At least I am home and surrounded by my waning devices. The cabinet is damaged enough that I will not build it. I’ve notified the seller and must await a response. Ugh. Today is ideal for assembly, too. I was really looking forward to the addition. Oh, well. Like the girl from earlier, I am left with zero choice. Live with it. That’s all I ever do. I end up completely fucking screwed over so often that disappointment is second nature, almost as if there is a preview to feeling lost before anything takes place. Everything I saw today has faded over the last few hours, mostly due to the fucking cabinet. I straightened the kitchen, so reheating some dinner will be simple. I’m glad the girl’s gait and appearance left my head. I don’t need any more of that shit considering how far down I am at this point in time. By the time I reached the car to drive home, I was picturing her on all fours for the sole purpose of my full appreciation. I don’t even know if such a statement can be understood by anyone. Figures. I’ve become so weakened that the slightest glance can ruin several days with ease. There is no good left on my horizon. If ever I needed... Tomorrow will be tough. I have the usual Sunday business and then the game. Ooh-fa. Everything is now up in the air. Whatever happened the other night to put me in pain happened again in the middle of the night. It’s been following me all morning – my drive to the City included – and hangs on at this very moment. I need to find a way to be more comfortable. As for today’s activities, everything will become severely truncated if this shit doesn’t change over the next few hours, and that means I will remain home for the duration. I really hate this because I can’t lash out at those responsible, nor can I simply talk to someone. Every time I’ve tried to describe this condition, the result is nothing. Nada. Just a glance. Isn’t that splendid? I’ve been trivialized too many times to reach out again. If I indeed go to a professional, I may have to glean the subject but that’s it. References make me angry. All I can do is sit here. Maybe a painkiller will help if I can eat something soon. Today is Super Bowl Sunday and this is the condition I’ve been forced to deal with. Impeccable timing. There are not many days in the year that I wish to be at least somewhat comfortable, and today is one of them. I never thought I was asking too much. What the fuck do I know? This is completely unfair and could have been avoided. Think about that one. Not a good time for physical issues. This is not a good time, but is there ever? Maybe just an average weekday? No. Never. I suppose I should be thankful that I was able to attend all of the recent affairs without issue. I certainly appreciate them right now. The bottom line is I’ve been affected deeply, yet again, by something that has been following me for more than four decades. I suppose it could be labeled the ‘pain vane’, but the last feeling inside me this morning is humor. There was a party up the street last night – high school age people – and some hijinks. I spent a little time out there to see if the police were going to show up like last time. Nope. Whatever. All the event did was make me tired and further solidify my belief that society is fucking doomed. At least there was no pain at that time. I guess today is going to be slower than originally planned, rather like me doing the minimum to get by rather than as much as I can. Moving around is very difficult and painful, so I need to spend time off my feet or otherwise motionless from the waist down. If this does not change in the next few hours, I won’t survive spending time at the bar for the game. Pain follows me every day. Thankfully, sometimes it fails to catch up to me. As I said, I need to appreciate those days when everything was fine. I have to keep it in mind. One positive right now is when I feel this way everything else quickly melts away, such as those girls I saw yesterday or the other shit from days earlier. Desire is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Maybe one leads to the other... Too much desperate dreaming and yearning causes my head to shut me the fuck down for a while. Could that be true? I have no idea. Whatever the case, I am out of fucking commission today. Another positive is the fact that I contacted the people about my damaged cabinet and I believe they are going to replace any part that is unusable. That’s good. If I had to ship it back, the process would be extremely difficult. Going through all of the wood and other materials is going to be plenty tough considering the way I feel today. I can still do it, though. Slowly, I suppose. Part of me is actually pleased that I have a reason to avoid visiting the bar. The energy there is unmatched in my experience, and makes the game that much more fun to watch (if my team is doing well), but my health must take precedence. I can’t help it. The situation sucks, but at least there is a bit of an upside, I guess. Just the fact that the beauty from yesterday has been minimized inside my brain is plenty. Remaining home may help, too. I have to focus on those little positives today. The alternative is giving up, and I don’t do that easily anymore. Some time has passed. I finished my routine (very slowly) and have a little bit of garbage business out of the way. I also organized the cabinet components (very slowly) and determined that six panels need to be replaced. I sent the information to the manufacturer and am awaiting their response. I also shot a few more images just in case they need to see everything. Cocktail hour is here, as well, God bless the booze. Like Carmela said to Meadow, ‘We all could use it.’ Heh. Something very special and stirring took place last night while outside. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. If only... From here forward I am going to take it easy (and very slow). I am on the fence regarding the bar. My condition has faded some – likely due to my (very slow) movements around the house, but I don’t know how I am going to feel in a few hours. For the time being, there will be no decision. If this feeling continues into the afternoon, I’ll make an appearance over there and do my best to relax. Unfortunately, nothing really sounds appealing right now aside from sitting here with my glass of depressant. The follow vane is apparent, still, yet addressing it has become foggy. This entry might turn into a pile of worthless shit. Whatever. Tomorrow is Monday, meaning I’ll be overjoyed (very slowly) to be home all day with few responsibilities. Words with four of the letter ‘i’ are confusing to type sometimes. Hmm... I mentioned this latest vane is apparent. The pain has followed me for a very long time, sometimes dormant and other times overwhelming, and I have survived the years. Perhaps I can survive this situation. I may be suicidal on a daily basis, but that does not mean I wish to be in pain all the fucking time. At least it would disappear in such a case, along with the Goddamned obsession. No more problems. Very interesting. I switched from the gangsters back to the other show with the witches, and right out of the fucking gate Alyssa came running into a room – breasts bouncing all over the place and nipples on display – and my brain melted a little bit. I really don’t need to see that shit right now. Desire often leads to excitement, and the latter leads to increased pain. Time to change the media again. Ugh. The pain having faded is really nice right now. I needed some help and typically there is nothing anyone or anything can do to alleviate the feelings because I am far too sensitive. As such, when I consider where I am today the fucking keywords come to mind and I become very down. I don’t feel effective as a person, nor do I experience any strength as I once did. The trouble is two-fold at present; both the pain and my view of myself have me questioning my viability as a man (again... I don’t even know what that fucking word means). I’m not old enough to be categorized as a person experiencing ‘age related’ issues, but I am no longer young enough to recover from most problems. My life is floating somewhere between the two and I don’t fucking like it. One of my biggest worries right now is others knowing what has been happening and then showering me with platitudes and half-assed placation out of a sense of ‘goodwill’. I really don’t need that kind of shit. I am slowly recovering physically (and I pray that it continues), yet on the inside I am being torn to pieces. The feelings are much more difficult to overcome. As much as I fucking hate the keywords, they come to mind every single day without fail. At this point in my life, there is nothing I can do about those words. I will also say that I’ve had equal difficulty in dealing with the physical nature of this condition and the keywords, mostly during the last four years. I’ve also gleaned much and detailed very little. The bottom line is that sitting here – even after the pain has diminished somewhat – has me considering my place in the world and all of the bullshit conjecture along with it. Perhaps waking up in the middle of the night nearly doubled over is a good catalyst for generating better ways of dealing with other people. Moreover, the fact that I feel a little better than earlier means I can better plan my demonstrations of dissatisfaction with what the world has become. Anger often produces better results on a daily basis than any kind of ambition. I’ve decided that if my condition remains stable, I will meet the guys over there and try to enjoy myself. As I said, the energy is wonderful, powerful, and all-encompassing in that kind of crowd, and seeing that this is the last game until September, I believe I would regret not being there. That is that. I’m hoping, anyway. I have little faith in anything these days, but pro football is entirely different. My support of the home team dates back fifty fucking years. I think tomorrow I will separate the images by years, just as I did with the entries. Those files are much easier to access in separate folders; I need not scroll for days in order to find a single title. The images should follow suit. I’ll have plenty of time to spend on the project, plus if I need to take it easy physically, reorganizing everything will be a good way to pass the time. Monday. Coffee. Media. Organization. Lots of peace and quiet, too. I needed this. Right out of the gate... Pause. Hours have passed this morning as I sat here and went through all of the titled images and moved them into separate folders, by year. Everything is finished and has been transferred to the production environment. As of a few minutes ago, the entries and images all display properly. I have amassed and included more than two thousand images throughout the years and they simply had to be better organized. From here forward, anything created will be in the right place from the beginning. Very nice. I finished the typical routine and the laundry is part way complete. My garage will probably remain closed other than when I pull the garbage cans up the driveway. I need to be alone for a while, perhaps days. As for the damaged cabinet, the manufacturer offered a hefty discount if I am willing to try gluing the panels. I evaluated everything and decided that I can make four of them work, but two still need to be replaced. I am awaiting their response. Other than what I’ve already done today, not much else is going to be addressed. I might clean the bathroom, though. The gangsters are gracing the right-hand display because I can’t take any more of Alyssa’s fucking breasts being prominently featured on the other program. I am already out of my mind. More shit on top is not going to help matters. The bar was fine yesterday. Only a smidgen of beauty was present – sitting at my table, of course – although I’ve grown accustomed to seeing her when the big games are on. I’ve already seen her for the last couple of seasons. Other than that girl and her adorable face, there was nothing else causing any trouble in my head. The difficult morning melted away to the point of me relaxing more than I had originally anticipated. And here comes Jamie. Ugh. I need her like never before. My mind is in a very unhealthy place right now. Yesterday morning was very difficult. I’ve not been in such bad shape for many years and did not expect something so painful to arrive out of thin fucking air. I was told to remain mindful of that type of problem, too. According to the last surgeon, the condition will never completely subside unless I opt to have the entire problem removed, and that has never felt like a viable option. I believe the damage to my heart and mind would be too much to bear and leave me considering ending everything even more than I already do. The pain has been following me for so long that one might think I would always be prepared. Well, part of me still tries to wish it away. Video media has been optioned out in favor of some music from the roots of the latent 1236 period. I need to organize all of the songs and albums, but in the meantime it does a nice job of summing up my mood no matter the track order. There are far too many past situations following me for an effective saving throw. I can’t do anything about this vane. I think my best course right now is to continue going through the motions from one day to the next and formulate contingencies in the background (out of the sight of others, of course). The housework is not difficult at all, I have plenty of time for other endeavors, and being home alone most of the time holds its own share of advantages. Planning is one of my strong suits, as well. As the ‘follow’ vane continues to throw troubles at me like a high-speed pitching machine bent upon my destruction, I need to find a way of dealing with the ‘follow’ and all possible pitfalls; mostly those which have either been veiled or otherwise eluded my attention. I know they will return whenever my guard is down. No matter how positive a day might feel, the back of my mind is always filled with terrors that only the vane can supply. Right now, the top of the list is being populated by the glowing years and memories of any period that found me actually happy. There is an overbearing, harsh ‘old forest’ element to this music. I’ve not heard much of it since the 1236 period due to becoming distracted by the availability of so many different bands from the same era. I was overwhelmed and barely kept track of the different artists. Now, however, I have all the alone time in the world to look back and embrace the compositions of life. Not bad. Every single aspect of life has a window of time attached to it, and I’d be remiss in overlooking the fact that I have sought this most important music over the years, mostly due to my need to reside in the actual forest. Well, I probably never will, but at least the score of life can accompany me as I sit here and wonder why everything had to turn out this way. I am still nothing more than a tiny person with a fucking keyboard, yet the music often helps me feel significant, even after all these years of being squished, disregarded and passed over for importance. This has become just another fucking situation to follow along as I try to live. The vane pays no mind. I hope the vanes don’t combine at some point. This shit is already plenty tough. Ugh. The site has become just another clambake. ther than dinner preparations, the rest of this day will not amount to much. I may head to the garage and begin assembling whatever I can on the cabinet regardless of a reply from the manufacturer. I asked for two panels to be replaced, but one way or another, I’ll be dealing with most of what is in the garage. I may as well get the hardware in order and begin the process. The space out there will be neater, for sure, and I should be able to more fully imagine how the slightly damaged panels can be remedied. Not bad. The process will be another dive into the cold realization that even when ordering items to be shipped here, I end up passed the fuck over. Follow, indeed." This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
February 8th, 2024 9:51am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Follow Vane read ( words) "Even the implication drives me up the fucking wall sometimes. I know what’s going on, and I know why. I’ve seen it, heard it, and have obsessed over the fucking thing since the eighties. Just like having knowledge of the ‘inside’ information (referencing the damaging dreams and the like), even when it is only implied, I go out of my mind and fall off a cliff every damned time. This has taken place too many times for me to just pass off the experience as trivial or otherwise unimportant. This issue is right behind me at every step... Following like the shadow of hell. I will say that the aforementioned (and written) trips all over the fucking country took place out of my desperate, horrible need for the same damned thing... When the implication comes across via the media, conversation or some other source, I go back in time to attempt to understand why such a situation became of dire importance to me. There are clues, yet the veiled nature of this content must remain as it has been for years. The key to those trips to the goblet and beyond lies in changes that took place so long ago that I can only recall them in pieces. A few are still very specific in nature, but most are foggy. A few years ago this topic came up in a conversation and I ended up regretting sharing the information. The only positive result is a statement I drafted that remains completely under my control. That paragraph has followed me throughout the intervening years and stands as the worst vane yet. It is following me, likely bent upon forcing the realization that my life has been over for God-knows how long. Marvelous. The weather is frightfully cold right now. The sun is shining, but unless one is standing directly in the path of the light, the feeling is as icy as the previous vane. Any work in the garage or yard will come in short bursts as I must remain indoors to keep warm. I am again reminded of the day I left my cousin’s home and met Andrea at the airport. Coming from California, I did not see the need for much warm clothing when my destination was Florida. Little did I know prior to arriving, the cold pattern from New England had swung south and frozen much of the Florida Panhandle. Ugh. Just stepping out to their front yard for a smoke was a trial. At least Andrea kept me warm, as did those gas heaters above our favorite lounge... The outdoor House of Blues in Downtown Disney. Andrea is yet another memory following me. The vane is specific... The implication general. We did what we did and I remember all of it. Andrea understood. I did not. I spent a good portion of our weeks together in pain. Not from the cold, mind you, but the vane. The 'pain vane’? No. Maybe later. My daily crap is finished. Cocktail time. Sitting here at the table during the mid-morning with my drink is almost as comfortable as I get these days. The evening is similar. Father Intintola should have kept the goatee. Just a thought. Anyway, from here to the close of business hours, I have no idea what to do. I mentioned that I might sit here for the duration – including lunch – because I need to think, and this chair almost never fails in helping with such a process. Right now, I just don’t know. I always feel the need to improve something inside the house, typically driving me to care for some cleaning or organization. Finding the ambition to do anything, though... Not easy. I’ve become a slave to memories and needs. Combined, they have the power to render me completely fucking useless. All of a sudden, Liza is on the screen, all dark and exotic. I need to demonstrate my appreciation for her unique beauty. Well, she is another pipe dream in a world that does not exist and nothing can come of it. Nothing. My favorite word. Anyway, this machine may take up the lion’s share of my time. I have to continue trying to consider options in life, the way those shit situations have shaped me into an unidentifiable mass, and if there is or is not any future possibility of me actually finding some fucking understanding. I’m trying to avoid becoming pissed off again. I don’t need any more of that shit. I suppose I’ll enjoy feeling at least a bit accomplished and relax for a while. My options have been truncated by forces beyond my control. The basics are done. Anything else can remain optional. And now? Back to Ashley... AGAIN. She listened to me; actually listened, rather than going through the motions and not really hearing my voice. She listened to everything in the space of days, and damned-near right out of the fucking gate. That situation happened again, too. Not to the same extent, mind you, but part way. At the time, part way was welcomed and heartwarming. The information came out seldom, slowly, yet transmitted my hellish point just fine, or so I had thought. Ashley has become the reference standard for this shit, too. I still love that living doll to this very second, and for good reason. I never thought I’d run into someone like her, especially considering how frightened I was about sharing myself on the deepest possible level. Did she humiliate me? Nope. Did she ridicule me (like others did)? Nope. Did she go out of her way to understand every word? Yes. She was unique that way, and mostly due to her viewpoints on the state of how relationships develop and change over time combined with the vast differences between the sexes. Even right at the beginning when everything is wine and roses, she already knew about future pitfalls and the way they can jade people who have become very comfortable together. The understanding was key, and she told me as much. There has not been another with similar opinions. Close, but not quite. I discussed Ashley’s beliefs with Ellie, Natalie, and a few others, the end result always being the same... Ashley was literally a gem of a girl, and possibly one without equal. Memories of our time together have been following me for days, the vane remaining poised and ready to strike. As much as I don’t need another vane bent upon harming me, there is no choice in the matter. The vanes are going to win this fight. Do you know what that means? That’s right... I am going to continue to be beaten by the follow vane. Beaten. I have little left in the world. I have little left that can hold me up. The other one heard me at times. She really did. In the end, however, I knew the understanding was not the same. I fucking knew it, and should have felt as such from the beginning. I reached and reached, found somewhere to land after years of suffering, and then embraced whatever semblance of comfort was available at the time. That was years ago. Now I am further down than I could have imagined at the time. The more I go back in time, the more pain I feel. Therapy may be my only option, yet I don’t see a positive outcome because the root causes cannot be eliminated after decades of living as I have. Sometimes I see something wondrous, such as the girl at the market the other day or the race girl from long ago, but the truth is my feelings of desperation have been – and will continue to – manufacturing dreamy connections that cannot be found. I’ve already connected for the last time. I am pleased to be able to stay home all day today. I had thought of heading to the hardware store for a few reinforcements, but the last time I was there I held the door for a woman leaving the place and ended up in the same stupid fucking mindset as was described above. All it takes is a fleeting glance and stirring expression and I am fucking dead inside. At some point I’ll have to go over there and pick up some items. Today may not be the time. Memories are following me. I can’t do anything about it. I am empty. I always remember the transition from Junior singing to our first shot of JT. Maybe it’s the clapping. I wish there was a group similar to the NA that is shown in this episode, something akin to ‘memories anonymous’. What do you think? Is there a way of removing them? A way of surviving the knowledge that everything good is in the past? YOU make the call. I feel like drinking myself into the grave. The trip is short, but could be rewarding. Tell me otherwise. Let’s go elsewhere, shall we? One great and terrible day in the year of fifteen... I drove over the hill and remained at my destination for several hours. It was the day of the big game... You know; the culmination of the entire pro football season. Think about it. I arrived to see a woman clad in a very thin, short sundress. She was both bright and dark at the same time, all flowing hair and lotion apparent. I was immediately captivated by Her appearance and the case of real life was burned away in the course of microseconds. I no longer cared about the world around me, any life circumstances, or other people. The scent of Latin food wafted through the house as the scent of Her hair wafted and controlled my brain. I knew that if I died after our meeting, I would have had no regrets. Not a fucking one. From the moment She opened the door and invited me inside, I knew the evening would turn into one of the defining periods of my entire existence. I was not wrong. Two months after our first conversation, there She stood, immediately ready to pounce. Conversation was only going to go so far, I figured, because that girl was one hundred percent in charge of everything... Food, atmosphere, wine, all of it. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when She walked to the kitchen. I could literally see my entire obsession lit from behind and outlined through the dress. My head was in a constant battle between asking Her to pose for me and leaving the topic completely out of my visit. Part of me calculated that I may never have the opportunity to take in a form such as Hers – the most amazing I’d seen in years, and all of it right there in front of me – so the question would need to come out of me at some point. I fought myself over and over and tried to avoid staring, yet somewhere inside me was the dire need to put my entire life off to one side and allow the evening to develop depending upon our feelings and nothing external. This will continue later, maybe. I can only think about Her so much before I become sad. Friday. What does that mean? Not much. My head is all fucked up due to going over the subject matter above, further fucked up due to the girl from the other day, and finally blown wide-open in the knowledge that this is all I have left in my life... Typing, coffee, housework, and the like. This is not a very good morning thus far. I have the house to myself, the time and space to do nearly anything I wish, a bar full of booze and plenty of good food, yet all of it would be traded in a cold minute for five fucking seconds of comfort and understanding. Maybe I am not meant to find anything I need. Not anymore. Maybe I am meant to just fucking sit here for the rest of my life, looking out the window at people who are going about their lives and doing whatever they do. Are they happy? There is no way to know. Some, I’m sure, but everyone? That doesn’t seem very likely. Whatever the case, I don’t want to affect them in certain ways; I don’t want to cause harm. The previous sentence is much of the reason I am still sitting here in the first place. I can’t cause harm. After a storm and flooded backyard, I often see earthworms that have been displaced by the deluge. I will always gently relocate each one to the lawn so they do not perish. What the fuck does that mean? I hold them in slightly higher regard than human beings because they operate entirely via instinct, the alternative being the way society has developed. Ugh. Off the track I went. Anyway, I can’t cause harm to other people even if I don’t like them. I don’t know why. Though this is the worst I’ve ever felt, harming myself equals harming others, and I can’t have that. They are the reason. As I sip the coffee and then go about my business of the day, I’ll be thinking about whatever can be done to allow me some comfort. I have the usual work, some laundry to care for, and a trip to the smoke shop and market afterward. That’s all. I’m going to avoid the produce department entirely because if I see her face again I’m going to fall off a fucking cliff. Any kind of strike upside my head that is caused by a face equals emotional trouble rather than physical desire. The torment is similar, but ends up hurting my heart more than my head. That is what happened the other day and very similar to the race girl. Most of the time I am struck by a form that clearly aligns with my obsession, and then I become upset because nothing can be explored or embraced. The faces are far worse. The plan is to get the hell in and out of the market quickly in order to avoid potential disaster. I don’t need what happened the other day to repeat. It still hurts. ‘They flutter behind you, your possible pants...’ I may have modified that lyric for my own purposes. Too bad nothing is really funny anymore. Jamie’s eyes are fucking huge during the beginning of this scene. God damn... I’m going to lose my mind. Last night I began watching a film for the second time in as many weeks, including staring and dreaming of one of the most unique and beautiful women ever to grace the screen (or anything else in the world). She still holds the title for having the largest eyes I’ve ever seen. I will try to avoid gushing about her six-foot stance and the most beautiful hands in the world. Anyway, seeing that woman last night sent me back in time – much like most of the video media that I choose to watch these days – and I ended up very sad and yearning for the past again. I have to be careful, yet most of the time the films are simply too meaningful to me on several levels and there is no avoiding them once the mood strikes. If anyone cares, the correct word at the end of the quote above is ‘pasts’. I guess both apply to yours truly. I am a basket case, through and through. That night at Her house turned out to be one of the most stressful and difficult of my life. There was another adventure a few months later that took the prize for the biggest shit storm; I am referring to a complete disaster. The night at Her house was partly beautiful and partly worrisome; the second that I mentioned nearly caused the end of my life and forced me to realize that had we spent much more time together, there would have been no avoiding disaster. When I think about Her and look back on those days, I feel fortunate to have spent the time together despite all of the problems we caused for others (read: family). There was an equal measure of problems that we inflicted upon ourselves, yet other people have to take precedence because we knowingly fucked up over and over, whereas the rest were simply victims. Coming out the other side of that era, I should have learned something, to be honest. Whenever I fell down during the ensuing years, my head should have known in advance that chasing my dreams would only result in pain and suffering, much like the aforementioned trips all over the fucking country and the mass of associated fallout from every one of them. The night I’ve brought up will most likely be the first and last opportunity in my life of being that close to such vast and unique beauty. I was told She was all mine to do whatever I wanted or needed, and She meant much more than simply dimensional study. Everything. I can still see the way Her hips and waist appeared when She gently and slowly pulled the sundress over Her head and tossed it aside. I can see all of the disparity that was inches from my hungry, desperate eyes. I can see the tiny black thong as it disappeared toward the back. I can see the radii awaiting my obsessive need. I can still see Her looking down at me with eyes that spoke volumes. I could smell Her skin, yet that one has faded away. Nine years is a very long time. That evening was a massive lesson and a watershed event in my life, one which taught me that despite how far out of balance I felt I was at a given time, none of it would compare to the way my mind would develop in the future. Part of me wishes each day to go back to the moment when She opened the door; another part of me is glad that night did not kill me and I sit here and wish to never find myself in such a situation again. I’ve seen comparable forms to the Raven and Her ‘reference’, and each one carries with it a measure of fear that one day I will end up lunging at someone out of sheer desperation, fall on my face in the worst possible way, and destroy everything that touches my entire world. Every single fucking woman that I have desired... Any one of them could be the bitter, painful end of me. I still love Her and always will. The Raven is following me through life. Later on the same day; my shit is out of the way and I have some depressive liquid sitting here on the table. My trip to the smoke shop and market was nearly without issue until I drove out of the latter’s parking lot. Yep. An unbelievably well-formed genetic fluke in low-rise jeans with a massive, bouncing mane of hair crafted by the gods. I could not believe my fucking eyes, yet I could believe that something came along to strike me again. I am constantly scanning and searching all the way to the fucking horizon every time I leave this house, and that means the statistics involved dictate that there will be beauty out there waiting my desperate eyes. I immediately needed to run my hands all over her form. Yes, I said that. The latest incarnation of this fucking condition – as I spelled out nearly four years ago – is that I see the shape and gait from a distance, scrutinize all that I can in the short period of time, and then wish myself to be allowed, once and for all, to embrace all that I’ve needed for far too long. God damn was that woman ever gorgeous. And here I sit, as always, in pain. I am fallen, again. At least I avoided the fucking produce department like the plague. That’s better than nothing, I suppose. There is still a bit of self-protection left inside me. It has been diminishing for a long time, but some remains. Ugh. And now Jamie is on the screen. Splendid. I wonder how long this shit will go on before something bad happens. I can see it... Off in the distance and waiting, but I don’t know of the timeline. Eventually force will win. I know it. Living life as I have for so many years – not to mention actually, truly being in love with a fictional television character from the past (or more than one) – is about as unhealthy as I can imagine, and there will be an end to everything. I can still see the Raven looking down at me as I admired her curves. Her eyes transmitted more desire than I can possibly describe here. She held a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other resting on the top of my head. I will refrain from repeating what She told me at that very moment. I still can’t believe I made it out of there, or the other situation some months later, alive. I separated the 400 some-odd essays and grouped them into years so they are better organized, and now I have nearly 1700 images that are all massed between just two folders. Perhaps I’ll work at grouping the images along similar lines. Hmm. That will take time, although time is the only thing I have in abundance anymore. Well, I have other things, but I hesitate to describe them right now. Whatever. ‘Roadies?!’ 'Oh... You don’t wanna know!’ Just... Trust me. Onward. Upward? No... Not even close. I am completely fucked up inside, like most days. The woman in the parking lot this morning is merely a symptom, and nowhere near her fault. She is a person, nothing more. I don’t know her, nor will I ever. All this shit is inside me and the fault of very few others who are still alive. I don’t think going further speaking of my time with the Raven is a good idea right now. The memories of Her are beginning to affect me in a negative manner, much like two of the five programs I choose to follow each day. They are perpetually attached to the glowing years, another period that haunts me, following along at each step I take some days. The vane behind me has many different eras attached to it, honestly. It is the vane of memories, and as you may well know, memories cause nothing but pain anymore. The glow is something that can never return, whereas my obsession and the Raven’s role in the same is an aspect of my personality that could actually come to pass in the future, God willing and ‘the river don’t rise’. I would be in much better shape right now if I was strong enough to completely let go of the glowing years. Maybe with some help I could find such a place, but when it comes to the Raven, there is more there related to the future and my survival than regarding the former. The glow was much less related to pain. I see it every day via my television programs and the healthy choice would be to cease watching them in order to avoid the reminders and subsequent depressed mood. Watching those programs and going back in time to the glow is a choice and I make it every day, consciously. On the other hand, most of the time I can push Her away because there are not as many reminders. I have no choice in the matter, though. I think of the Raven mostly due to feeling broken, empty and alone. I am losing my train of thought. You might think I’d be sharper when it comes to anything related to trains, but that is not the case. I’m losing it. That much is certain. Lunch time. I still have to take care of one load of laundry, but at least I am defrosting some ground beef for spaghetti later. I like to make some kind of pasta sauce whenever we have fresh herbs. They make quite a difference when it comes to flavor and texture. I’ll begin the process in a few hours so the sauce has time to combine and normalize. This is one of my favorite meals because I can take care of prep work, get everything in the pot cooking, clean up the entire kitchen, and then relax until it’s time to boil pasta. Part of me is pleased that dinner will be a simple affair, requiring very little work after the close of business hours, and another part of me is pleased that there will be time available to work in the garage and swing the hammer for a little while (for all the good it may do). Tomorrow is going to involve a drive to the nice mall down the peninsula in order to return a few items, and perhaps have lunch. As of yet, I am unsure. That place can be quite the flytrap for beauty, so avoiding one of my favorite restaurants might be the only way to ensure I am ok for the rest of the day. I love that place – especially how comfortable the bar is – yet almost every time I’ve been there, problems arise at one point or another. This evening needs to be pretty damned comfortable. Off to the garage for a while. ‘Look at me now... A man who won't let himself be.’ Man? I feel that way, but is that what I am after all this time? A man? Does a man think the way I do? What defines that word? The keyword? Is the answer raising children? I haven’t done that. Providing? Working? I don’t fucking know. Do you? Or is everyone going to have a different answer? Maybe it’s the housework. I’ll come back to this another time. My mood is pretty shitty right now. Sometimes being in the garage to organize stuff takes me far enough away from the problems to relax for a little while and think clearly. The only issue that arises from time to time is seeing something beyond the garage door, and today was no different. It figures that I head out there in a crappy mood and then insult is added to injury. Big fucking surprise. Saturday morning is here and the drive is behind me. There were no problems, thankfully. Last night was a different story, unfortunately, thanks to something I did – perhaps a movement or step – that is still haunting me. I was having a lot of trouble walking. This sort of thing takes place from time to time, although I can’t immediately recall the last incident. It’s been a while, I guess. During dinner, the cabinet was dropped off most of the way up the driveway with a very pronounced ‘thud’. I took a peek out there and saw that the dipshit who delivered the box dragged it up the driveway and then simply dropped it wherever he or she wished (probably a he). Considering how much pain I was experiencing, the idea of moving a large, heavy box into the garage was less than appealing. We ended up moving it together after dinner. That was a convergence of events I could have done without, to be completely honest. Lifting or otherwise using my back and legs is not easy right now. This shit goes back decades, too. I could use some actual understanding or compassion, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t really felt either of those for some years. Anyway, I’m going to sit and enjoy the coffee and quiet for a little while before deciding whether or not to visit the restaurant. The drive to that mall will be in just under two hours. I will be very pleased to return regardless of having lunch down there or not. This little house is the only place I am comfortable anymore. It’s not all that I need, but better than nothing. Speaking of need, I’d love to know how long this condition is going to last. Hours? Days? Ugh. Out the door. Today’s housework will have to be split in half. There is merchandise that needs to be returned in person (and within a time window), hence the necessity of going to the mall today. I hope there aren’t any problems. And... Home. Lunch was excellent, as always. That’s one of my favorites, and my choice menu item was in order. Steak and scampi... Oh, boy. Not too heavy, though. More like a lunch sized portion. A couple of drinks and outstanding service rounded out the visit. That place never disappoints. And yes, there was a shapely little hostess in there that drove me up the wall for a few minutes upon arrival, a server with an indescribably cute face, and then the capper... A form on the walk back to the car. I thought my eyes were going to fly out of my head. A form, but not just any. She was unreal, to be honest. Everything I saw was ideally aligned with my obsession and the way my head operates these days. Ugh. Whatever. As I’ve said a million times, there will always be something, especially considering today is the first day of the Lunar New Year and the mall was busy. There will always be something. The girl may as well reside on another planet because she will never know how I feel. Eh... My feelings don’t matter anyway. The second half of my routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of medicine next to me. At some point I will move the cars and get the big box set up so I can evaluate the materials for possible damage. The seller sent an email requisition that I rate the delivery process. I am going to be honest, but if there is no damage, I’ll salute the fucking packaging. From what I’ve seen so far, nothing inside has been harmed. The other two cabinets’ boxes looked pretty rough and they came out fine. I can still see her walking past my position, and the resemblance to the Raven’s lines was uncanny. The girl in the mall was likely around the same age, as well. Dark, flowing hair; olive skin; everything. There was not a smidgen out of place, nor did she carry any of the physical cues which can disallow a flowing gait. She was incredible and I immediately wanted (needed!) to tell her as much. I needed it badly. As usual, I am forced to go on with my day and fucking lump it. I am so sick and tired of feeling this way that I see myself snapping one day very soon. At least I am home and surrounded by my waning devices. The cabinet is damaged enough that I will not build it. I’ve notified the seller and must await a response. Ugh. Today is ideal for assembly, too. I was really looking forward to the addition. Oh, well. Like the girl from earlier, I am left with zero choice. Live with it. That’s all I ever do. I end up completely fucking screwed over so often that disappointment is second nature, almost as if there is a preview to feeling lost before anything takes place. Everything I saw today has faded over the last few hours, mostly due to the fucking cabinet. I straightened the kitchen, so reheating some dinner will be simple. I’m glad the girl’s gait and appearance left my head. I don’t need any more of that shit considering how far down I am at this point in time. By the time I reached the car to drive home, I was picturing her on all fours for the sole purpose of my full appreciation. I don’t even know if such a statement can be understood by anyone. Figures. I’ve become so weakened that the slightest glance can ruin several days with ease. There is no good left on my horizon. If ever I needed... Tomorrow will be tough. I have the usual Sunday business and then the game. Ooh-fa. Everything is now up in the air. Whatever happened the other night to put me in pain happened again in the middle of the night. It’s been following me all morning – my drive to the City included – and hangs on at this very moment. I need to find a way to be more comfortable. As for today’s activities, everything will become severely truncated if this shit doesn’t change over the next few hours, and that means I will remain home for the duration. I really hate this because I can’t lash out at those responsible, nor can I simply talk to someone. Every time I’ve tried to describe this condition, the result is nothing. Nada. Just a glance. Isn’t that splendid? I’ve been trivialized too many times to reach out again. If I indeed go to a professional, I may have to glean the subject but that’s it. References make me angry. All I can do is sit here. Maybe a painkiller will help if I can eat something soon. Today is Super Bowl Sunday and this is the condition I’ve been forced to deal with. Impeccable timing. There are not many days in the year that I wish to be at least somewhat comfortable, and today is one of them. I never thought I was asking too much. What the fuck do I know? This is completely unfair and could have been avoided. Think about that one. Not a good time for physical issues. This is not a good time, but is there ever? Maybe just an average weekday? No. Never. I suppose I should be thankful that I was able to attend all of the recent affairs without issue. I certainly appreciate them right now. The bottom line is I’ve been affected deeply, yet again, by something that has been following me for more than four decades. I suppose it could be labeled the ‘pain vane’, but the last feeling inside me this morning is humor. There was a party up the street last night – high school age people – and some hijinks. I spent a little time out there to see if the police were going to show up like last time. Nope. Whatever. All the event did was make me tired and further solidify my belief that society is fucking doomed. At least there was no pain at that time. I guess today is going to be slower than originally planned, rather like me doing the minimum to get by rather than as much as I can. Moving around is very difficult and painful, so I need to spend time off my feet or otherwise motionless from the waist down. If this does not change in the next few hours, I won’t survive spending time at the bar for the game. Pain follows me every day. Thankfully, sometimes it fails to catch up to me. As I said, I need to appreciate those days when everything was fine. I have to keep it in mind. One positive right now is when I feel this way everything else quickly melts away, such as those girls I saw yesterday or the other shit from days earlier. Desire is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Maybe one leads to the other... Too much desperate dreaming and yearning causes my head to shut me the fuck down for a while. Could that be true? I have no idea. Whatever the case, I am out of fucking commission today. Another positive is the fact that I contacted the people about my damaged cabinet and I believe they are going to replace any part that is unusable. That’s good. If I had to ship it back, the process would be extremely difficult. Going through all of the wood and other materials is going to be plenty tough considering the way I feel today. I can still do it, though. Slowly, I suppose. Part of me is actually pleased that I have a reason to avoid visiting the bar. The energy there is unmatched in my experience, and makes the game that much more fun to watch (if my team is doing well), but my health must take precedence. I can’t help it. The situation sucks, but at least there is a bit of an upside, I guess. Just the fact that the beauty from yesterday has been minimized inside my brain is plenty. Remaining home may help, too. I have to focus on those little positives today. The alternative is giving up, and I don’t do that easily anymore. Some time has passed. I finished my routine (very slowly) and have a little bit of garbage business out of the way. I also organized the cabinet components (very slowly) and determined that six panels need to be replaced. I sent the information to the manufacturer and am awaiting their response. I also shot a few more images just in case they need to see everything. Cocktail hour is here, as well, God bless the booze. Like Carmela said to Meadow, ‘We all could use it.’ Heh. Something very special and stirring took place last night while outside. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. If only... From here forward I am going to take it easy (and very slow). I am on the fence regarding the bar. My condition has faded some – likely due to my (very slow) movements around the house, but I don’t know how I am going to feel in a few hours. For the time being, there will be no decision. If this feeling continues into the afternoon, I’ll make an appearance over there and do my best to relax. Unfortunately, nothing really sounds appealing right now aside from sitting here with my glass of depressant. The follow vane is apparent, still, yet addressing it has become foggy. This entry might turn into a pile of worthless shit. Whatever. Tomorrow is Monday, meaning I’ll be overjoyed (very slowly) to be home all day with few responsibilities. Words with four of the letter ‘i’ are confusing to type sometimes. Hmm... I mentioned this latest vane is apparent. The pain has followed me for a very long time, sometimes dormant and other times overwhelming, and I have survived the years. Perhaps I can survive this situation. I may be suicidal on a daily basis, but that does not mean I wish to be in pain all the fucking time. At least it would disappear in such a case, along with the Goddamned obsession. No more problems. Very interesting. I switched from the gangsters back to the other show with the witches, and right out of the fucking gate Alyssa came running into a room – breasts bouncing all over the place and nipples on display – and my brain melted a little bit. I really don’t need to see that shit right now. Desire often leads to excitement, and the latter leads to increased pain. Time to change the media again. Ugh. The pain having faded is really nice right now. I needed some help and typically there is nothing anyone or anything can do to alleviate the feelings because I am far too sensitive. As such, when I consider where I am today the fucking keywords come to mind and I become very down. I don’t feel effective as a person, nor do I experience any strength as I once did. The trouble is two-fold at present; both the pain and my view of myself have me questioning my viability as a man (again... I don’t even know what that fucking word means). I’m not old enough to be categorized as a person experiencing ‘age related’ issues, but I am no longer young enough to recover from most problems. My life is floating somewhere between the two and I don’t fucking like it. One of my biggest worries right now is others knowing what has been happening and then showering me with platitudes and half-assed placation out of a sense of ‘goodwill’. I really don’t need that kind of shit. I am slowly recovering physically (and I pray that it continues), yet on the inside I am being torn to pieces. The feelings are much more difficult to overcome. As much as I fucking hate the keywords, they come to mind every single day without fail. At this point in my life, there is nothing I can do about those words. I will also say that I’ve had equal difficulty in dealing with the physical nature of this condition and the keywords, mostly during the last four years. I’ve also gleaned much and detailed very little. The bottom line is that sitting here – even after the pain has diminished somewhat – has me considering my place in the world and all of the bullshit conjecture along with it. Perhaps waking up in the middle of the night nearly doubled over is a good catalyst for generating better ways of dealing with other people. Moreover, the fact that I feel a little better than earlier means I can better plan my demonstrations of dissatisfaction with what the world has become. Anger often produces better results on a daily basis than any kind of ambition. I’ve decided that if my condition remains stable, I will meet the guys over there and try to enjoy myself. As I said, the energy is wonderful, powerful, and all-encompassing in that kind of crowd, and seeing that this is the last game until September, I believe I would regret not being there. That is that. I’m hoping, anyway. I have little faith in anything these days, but pro football is entirely different. My support of the home team dates back fifty fucking years. I think tomorrow I will separate the images by years, just as I did with the entries. Those files are much easier to access in separate folders; I need not scroll for days in order to find a single title. The images should follow suit. I’ll have plenty of time to spend on the project, plus if I need to take it easy physically, reorganizing everything will be a good way to pass the time. Monday. Coffee. Media. Organization. Lots of peace and quiet, too. I needed this. Right out of the gate... Pause. Hours have passed this morning as I sat here and went through all of the titled images and moved them into separate folders, by year. Everything is finished and has been transferred to the production environment. As of a few minutes ago, the entries and images all display properly. I have amassed and included more than two thousand images throughout the years and they simply had to be better organized. From here forward, anything created will be in the right place from the beginning. Very nice. I finished the typical routine and the laundry is part way complete. My garage will probably remain closed other than when I pull the garbage cans up the driveway. I need to be alone for a while, perhaps days. As for the damaged cabinet, the manufacturer offered a hefty discount if I am willing to try gluing the panels. I evaluated everything and decided that I can make four of them work, but two still need to be replaced. I am awaiting their response. Other than what I’ve already done today, not much else is going to be addressed. I might clean the bathroom, though. The gangsters are gracing the right-hand display because I can’t take any more of Alyssa’s fucking breasts being prominently featured on the other program. I am already out of my mind. More shit on top is not going to help matters. The bar was fine yesterday. Only a smidgen of beauty was present – sitting at my table, of course – although I’ve grown accustomed to seeing her when the big games are on. I’ve already seen her for the last couple of seasons. Other than that girl and her adorable face, there was nothing else causing any trouble in my head. The difficult morning melted away to the point of me relaxing more than I had originally anticipated. And here comes Jamie. Ugh. I need her like never before. My mind is in a very unhealthy place right now. Yesterday morning was very difficult. I’ve not been in such bad shape for many years and did not expect something so painful to arrive out of thin fucking air. I was told to remain mindful of that type of problem, too. According to the last surgeon, the condition will never completely subside unless I opt to have the entire problem removed, and that has never felt like a viable option. I believe the damage to my heart and mind would be too much to bear and leave me considering ending everything even more than I already do. The pain has been following me for so long that one might think I would always be prepared. Well, part of me still tries to wish it away. Video media has been optioned out in favor of some music from the roots of the latent 1236 period. I need to organize all of the songs and albums, but in the meantime it does a nice job of summing up my mood no matter the track order. There are far too many past situations following me for an effective saving throw. I can’t do anything about this vane. I think my best course right now is to continue going through the motions from one day to the next and formulate contingencies in the background (out of the sight of others, of course). The housework is not difficult at all, I have plenty of time for other endeavors, and being home alone most of the time holds its own share of advantages. Planning is one of my strong suits, as well. As the ‘follow’ vane continues to throw troubles at me like a high-speed pitching machine bent upon my destruction, I need to find a way of dealing with the ‘follow’ and all possible pitfalls; mostly those which have either been veiled or otherwise eluded my attention. I know they will return whenever my guard is down. No matter how positive a day might feel, the back of my mind is always filled with terrors that only the vane can supply. Right now, the top of the list is being populated by the glowing years and memories of any period that found me actually happy. There is an overbearing, harsh ‘old forest’ element to this music. I’ve not heard much of it since the 1236 period due to becoming distracted by the availability of so many different bands from the same era. I was overwhelmed and barely kept track of the different artists. Now, however, I have all the alone time in the world to look back and embrace the compositions of life. Not bad. Every single aspect of life has a window of time attached to it, and I’d be remiss in overlooking the fact that I have sought this most important music over the years, mostly due to my need to reside in the actual forest. Well, I probably never will, but at least the score of life can accompany me as I sit here and wonder why everything had to turn out this way. I am still nothing more than a tiny person with a fucking keyboard, yet the music often helps me feel significant, even after all these years of being squished, disregarded and passed over for importance. This has become just another fucking situation to follow along as I try to live. The vane pays no mind. I hope the vanes don’t combine at some point. This shit is already plenty tough. Ugh. The site has become just another clambake. ther than dinner preparations, the rest of this day will not amount to much. I may head to the garage and begin assembling whatever I can on the cabinet regardless of a reply from the manufacturer. I asked for two panels to be replaced, but one way or another, I’ll be dealing with most of what is in the garage. I may as well get the hardware in order and begin the process. The space out there will be neater, for sure, and I should be able to more fully imagine how the slightly damaged panels can be remedied. Not bad. The process will be another dive into the cold realization that even when ordering items to be shipped here, I end up passed the fuck over. Follow, indeed."
February 8th, 2024 9:51am pst
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
The Follow Vane
read ( words)
"Even the implication drives me up the fucking wall sometimes. I know what’s going on, and I know why. I’ve seen it, heard it, and have obsessed over the fucking thing since the eighties. Just like having knowledge of the ‘inside’ information (referencing the damaging dreams and the like), even when it is only implied, I go out of my mind and fall off a cliff every damned time. This has taken place too many times for me to just pass off the experience as trivial or otherwise unimportant. This issue is right behind me at every step... Following like the shadow of hell. I will say that the aforementioned (and written) trips all over the fucking country took place out of my desperate, horrible need for the same damned thing... When the implication comes across via the media, conversation or some other source, I go back in time to attempt to understand why such a situation became of dire importance to me. There are clues, yet the veiled nature of this content must remain as it has been for years. The key to those trips to the goblet and beyond lies in changes that took place so long ago that I can only recall them in pieces. A few are still very specific in nature, but most are foggy. A few years ago this topic came up in a conversation and I ended up regretting sharing the information. The only positive result is a statement I drafted that remains completely under my control. That paragraph has followed me throughout the intervening years and stands as the worst vane yet. It is following me, likely bent upon forcing the realization that my life has been over for God-knows how long. Marvelous. The weather is frightfully cold right now. The sun is shining, but unless one is standing directly in the path of the light, the feeling is as icy as the previous vane. Any work in the garage or yard will come in short bursts as I must remain indoors to keep warm. I am again reminded of the day I left my cousin’s home and met Andrea at the airport. Coming from California, I did not see the need for much warm clothing when my destination was Florida. Little did I know prior to arriving, the cold pattern from New England had swung south and frozen much of the Florida Panhandle. Ugh. Just stepping out to their front yard for a smoke was a trial. At least Andrea kept me warm, as did those gas heaters above our favorite lounge... The outdoor House of Blues in Downtown Disney. Andrea is yet another memory following me. The vane is specific... The implication general. We did what we did and I remember all of it. Andrea understood. I did not. I spent a good portion of our weeks together in pain. Not from the cold, mind you, but the vane. The 'pain vane’? No. Maybe later. My daily crap is finished. Cocktail time. Sitting here at the table during the mid-morning with my drink is almost as comfortable as I get these days. The evening is similar. Father Intintola should have kept the goatee. Just a thought. Anyway, from here to the close of business hours, I have no idea what to do. I mentioned that I might sit here for the duration – including lunch – because I need to think, and this chair almost never fails in helping with such a process. Right now, I just don’t know. I always feel the need to improve something inside the house, typically driving me to care for some cleaning or organization. Finding the ambition to do anything, though... Not easy. I’ve become a slave to memories and needs. Combined, they have the power to render me completely fucking useless. All of a sudden, Liza is on the screen, all dark and exotic. I need to demonstrate my appreciation for her unique beauty. Well, she is another pipe dream in a world that does not exist and nothing can come of it. Nothing. My favorite word. Anyway, this machine may take up the lion’s share of my time. I have to continue trying to consider options in life, the way those shit situations have shaped me into an unidentifiable mass, and if there is or is not any future possibility of me actually finding some fucking understanding. I’m trying to avoid becoming pissed off again. I don’t need any more of that shit. I suppose I’ll enjoy feeling at least a bit accomplished and relax for a while. My options have been truncated by forces beyond my control. The basics are done. Anything else can remain optional. And now? Back to Ashley... AGAIN. She listened to me; actually listened, rather than going through the motions and not really hearing my voice. She listened to everything in the space of days, and damned-near right out of the fucking gate. That situation happened again, too. Not to the same extent, mind you, but part way. At the time, part way was welcomed and heartwarming. The information came out seldom, slowly, yet transmitted my hellish point just fine, or so I had thought. Ashley has become the reference standard for this shit, too. I still love that living doll to this very second, and for good reason. I never thought I’d run into someone like her, especially considering how frightened I was about sharing myself on the deepest possible level. Did she humiliate me? Nope. Did she ridicule me (like others did)? Nope. Did she go out of her way to understand every word? Yes. She was unique that way, and mostly due to her viewpoints on the state of how relationships develop and change over time combined with the vast differences between the sexes. Even right at the beginning when everything is wine and roses, she already knew about future pitfalls and the way they can jade people who have become very comfortable together. The understanding was key, and she told me as much. There has not been another with similar opinions. Close, but not quite. I discussed Ashley’s beliefs with Ellie, Natalie, and a few others, the end result always being the same... Ashley was literally a gem of a girl, and possibly one without equal. Memories of our time together have been following me for days, the vane remaining poised and ready to strike. As much as I don’t need another vane bent upon harming me, there is no choice in the matter. The vanes are going to win this fight. Do you know what that means? That’s right... I am going to continue to be beaten by the follow vane. Beaten. I have little left in the world. I have little left that can hold me up. The other one heard me at times. She really did. In the end, however, I knew the understanding was not the same. I fucking knew it, and should have felt as such from the beginning. I reached and reached, found somewhere to land after years of suffering, and then embraced whatever semblance of comfort was available at the time. That was years ago. Now I am further down than I could have imagined at the time. The more I go back in time, the more pain I feel. Therapy may be my only option, yet I don’t see a positive outcome because the root causes cannot be eliminated after decades of living as I have. Sometimes I see something wondrous, such as the girl at the market the other day or the race girl from long ago, but the truth is my feelings of desperation have been – and will continue to – manufacturing dreamy connections that cannot be found. I’ve already connected for the last time. I am pleased to be able to stay home all day today. I had thought of heading to the hardware store for a few reinforcements, but the last time I was there I held the door for a woman leaving the place and ended up in the same stupid fucking mindset as was described above. All it takes is a fleeting glance and stirring expression and I am fucking dead inside. At some point I’ll have to go over there and pick up some items. Today may not be the time. Memories are following me. I can’t do anything about it. I am empty. I always remember the transition from Junior singing to our first shot of JT. Maybe it’s the clapping. I wish there was a group similar to the NA that is shown in this episode, something akin to ‘memories anonymous’. What do you think? Is there a way of removing them? A way of surviving the knowledge that everything good is in the past? YOU make the call. I feel like drinking myself into the grave. The trip is short, but could be rewarding. Tell me otherwise. Let’s go elsewhere, shall we? One great and terrible day in the year of fifteen... I drove over the hill and remained at my destination for several hours. It was the day of the big game... You know; the culmination of the entire pro football season. Think about it. I arrived to see a woman clad in a very thin, short sundress. She was both bright and dark at the same time, all flowing hair and lotion apparent. I was immediately captivated by Her appearance and the case of real life was burned away in the course of microseconds. I no longer cared about the world around me, any life circumstances, or other people. The scent of Latin food wafted through the house as the scent of Her hair wafted and controlled my brain. I knew that if I died after our meeting, I would have had no regrets. Not a fucking one. From the moment She opened the door and invited me inside, I knew the evening would turn into one of the defining periods of my entire existence. I was not wrong.
Two months after our first conversation, there She stood, immediately ready to pounce. Conversation was only going to go so far, I figured, because that girl was one hundred percent in charge of everything... Food, atmosphere, wine, all of it. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when She walked to the kitchen. I could literally see my entire obsession lit from behind and outlined through the dress. My head was in a constant battle between asking Her to pose for me and leaving the topic completely out of my visit. Part of me calculated that I may never have the opportunity to take in a form such as Hers – the most amazing I’d seen in years, and all of it right there in front of me – so the question would need to come out of me at some point. I fought myself over and over and tried to avoid staring, yet somewhere inside me was the dire need to put my entire life off to one side and allow the evening to develop depending upon our feelings and nothing external. This will continue later, maybe. I can only think about Her so much before I become sad. Friday. What does that mean? Not much. My head is all fucked up due to going over the subject matter above, further fucked up due to the girl from the other day, and finally blown wide-open in the knowledge that this is all I have left in my life... Typing, coffee, housework, and the like. This is not a very good morning thus far. I have the house to myself, the time and space to do nearly anything I wish, a bar full of booze and plenty of good food, yet all of it would be traded in a cold minute for five fucking seconds of comfort and understanding. Maybe I am not meant to find anything I need. Not anymore. Maybe I am meant to just fucking sit here for the rest of my life, looking out the window at people who are going about their lives and doing whatever they do. Are they happy? There is no way to know. Some, I’m sure, but everyone? That doesn’t seem very likely. Whatever the case, I don’t want to affect them in certain ways; I don’t want to cause harm. The previous sentence is much of the reason I am still sitting here in the first place. I can’t cause harm. After a storm and flooded backyard, I often see earthworms that have been displaced by the deluge. I will always gently relocate each one to the lawn so they do not perish. What the fuck does that mean? I hold them in slightly higher regard than human beings because they operate entirely via instinct, the alternative being the way society has developed. Ugh. Off the track I went. Anyway, I can’t cause harm to other people even if I don’t like them. I don’t know why. Though this is the worst I’ve ever felt, harming myself equals harming others, and I can’t have that. They are the reason. As I sip the coffee and then go about my business of the day, I’ll be thinking about whatever can be done to allow me some comfort. I have the usual work, some laundry to care for, and a trip to the smoke shop and market afterward. That’s all. I’m going to avoid the produce department entirely because if I see her face again I’m going to fall off a fucking cliff. Any kind of strike upside my head that is caused by a face equals emotional trouble rather than physical desire. The torment is similar, but ends up hurting my heart more than my head. That is what happened the other day and very similar to the race girl. Most of the time I am struck by a form that clearly aligns with my obsession, and then I become upset because nothing can be explored or embraced. The faces are far worse. The plan is to get the hell in and out of the market quickly in order to avoid potential disaster. I don’t need what happened the other day to repeat. It still hurts. ‘They flutter behind you, your possible pants...’ I may have modified that lyric for my own purposes. Too bad nothing is really funny anymore. Jamie’s eyes are fucking huge during the beginning of this scene. God damn... I’m going to lose my mind. Last night I began watching a film for the second time in as many weeks, including staring and dreaming of one of the most unique and beautiful women ever to grace the screen (or anything else in the world). She still holds the title for having the largest eyes I’ve ever seen. I will try to avoid gushing about her six-foot stance and the most beautiful hands in the world. Anyway, seeing that woman last night sent me back in time – much like most of the video media that I choose to watch these days – and I ended up very sad and yearning for the past again. I have to be careful, yet most of the time the films are simply too meaningful to me on several levels and there is no avoiding them once the mood strikes. If anyone cares, the correct word at the end of the quote above is ‘pasts’. I guess both apply to yours truly. I am a basket case, through and through. That night at Her house turned out to be one of the most stressful and difficult of my life. There was another adventure a few months later that took the prize for the biggest shit storm; I am referring to a complete disaster. The night at Her house was partly beautiful and partly worrisome; the second that I mentioned nearly caused the end of my life and forced me to realize that had we spent much more time together, there would have been no avoiding disaster. When I think about Her and look back on those days, I feel fortunate to have spent the time together despite all of the problems we caused for others (read: family). There was an equal measure of problems that we inflicted upon ourselves, yet other people have to take precedence because we knowingly fucked up over and over, whereas the rest were simply victims. Coming out the other side of that era, I should have learned something, to be honest. Whenever I fell down during the ensuing years, my head should have known in advance that chasing my dreams would only result in pain and suffering, much like the aforementioned trips all over the fucking country and the mass of associated fallout from every one of them. The night I’ve brought up will most likely be the first and last opportunity in my life of being that close to such vast and unique beauty. I was told She was all mine to do whatever I wanted or needed, and She meant much more than simply dimensional study. Everything. I can still see the way Her hips and waist appeared when She gently and slowly pulled the sundress over Her head and tossed it aside. I can see all of the disparity that was inches from my hungry, desperate eyes. I can see the tiny black thong as it disappeared toward the back. I can see the radii awaiting my obsessive need. I can still see Her looking down at me with eyes that spoke volumes. I could smell Her skin, yet that one has faded away. Nine years is a very long time. That evening was a massive lesson and a watershed event in my life, one which taught me that despite how far out of balance I felt I was at a given time, none of it would compare to the way my mind would develop in the future. Part of me wishes each day to go back to the moment when She opened the door; another part of me is glad that night did not kill me and I sit here and wish to never find myself in such a situation again. I’ve seen comparable forms to the Raven and Her ‘reference’, and each one carries with it a measure of fear that one day I will end up lunging at someone out of sheer desperation, fall on my face in the worst possible way, and destroy everything that touches my entire world. Every single fucking woman that I have desired... Any one of them could be the bitter, painful end of me. I still love Her and always will. The Raven is following me through life. Later on the same day; my shit is out of the way and I have some depressive liquid sitting here on the table. My trip to the smoke shop and market was nearly without issue until I drove out of the latter’s parking lot. Yep. An unbelievably well-formed genetic fluke in low-rise jeans with a massive, bouncing mane of hair crafted by the gods. I could not believe my fucking eyes, yet I could believe that something came along to strike me again. I am constantly scanning and searching all the way to the fucking horizon every time I leave this house, and that means the statistics involved dictate that there will be beauty out there waiting my desperate eyes. I immediately needed to run my hands all over her form. Yes, I said that. The latest incarnation of this fucking condition – as I spelled out nearly four years ago – is that I see the shape and gait from a distance, scrutinize all that I can in the short period of time, and then wish myself to be allowed, once and for all, to embrace all that I’ve needed for far too long. God damn was that woman ever gorgeous. And here I sit, as always, in pain. I am fallen, again. At least I avoided the fucking produce department like the plague. That’s better than nothing, I suppose. There is still a bit of self-protection left inside me. It has been diminishing for a long time, but some remains. Ugh. And now Jamie is on the screen. Splendid. I wonder how long this shit will go on before something bad happens. I can see it... Off in the distance and waiting, but I don’t know of the timeline. Eventually force will win. I know it. Living life as I have for so many years – not to mention actually, truly being in love with a fictional television character from the past (or more than one) – is about as unhealthy as I can imagine, and there will be an end to everything.
I can still see the Raven looking down at me as I admired her curves. Her eyes transmitted more desire than I can possibly describe here. She held a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other resting on the top of my head. I will refrain from repeating what She told me at that very moment. I still can’t believe I made it out of there, or the other situation some months later, alive. I separated the 400 some-odd essays and grouped them into years so they are better organized, and now I have nearly 1700 images that are all massed between just two folders. Perhaps I’ll work at grouping the images along similar lines. Hmm. That will take time, although time is the only thing I have in abundance anymore. Well, I have other things, but I hesitate to describe them right now. Whatever. ‘Roadies?!’ 'Oh... You don’t wanna know!’ Just... Trust me. Onward. Upward? No... Not even close. I am completely fucked up inside, like most days. The woman in the parking lot this morning is merely a symptom, and nowhere near her fault. She is a person, nothing more. I don’t know her, nor will I ever. All this shit is inside me and the fault of very few others who are still alive. I don’t think going further speaking of my time with the Raven is a good idea right now. The memories of Her are beginning to affect me in a negative manner, much like two of the five programs I choose to follow each day. They are perpetually attached to the glowing years, another period that haunts me, following along at each step I take some days. The vane behind me has many different eras attached to it, honestly. It is the vane of memories, and as you may well know, memories cause nothing but pain anymore. The glow is something that can never return, whereas my obsession and the Raven’s role in the same is an aspect of my personality that could actually come to pass in the future, God willing and ‘the river don’t rise’. I would be in much better shape right now if I was strong enough to completely let go of the glowing years. Maybe with some help I could find such a place, but when it comes to the Raven, there is more there related to the future and my survival than regarding the former. The glow was much less related to pain. I see it every day via my television programs and the healthy choice would be to cease watching them in order to avoid the reminders and subsequent depressed mood. Watching those programs and going back in time to the glow is a choice and I make it every day, consciously. On the other hand, most of the time I can push Her away because there are not as many reminders. I have no choice in the matter, though. I think of the Raven mostly due to feeling broken, empty and alone. I am losing my train of thought. You might think I’d be sharper when it comes to anything related to trains, but that is not the case. I’m losing it. That much is certain. Lunch time. I still have to take care of one load of laundry, but at least I am defrosting some ground beef for spaghetti later. I like to make some kind of pasta sauce whenever we have fresh herbs. They make quite a difference when it comes to flavor and texture. I’ll begin the process in a few hours so the sauce has time to combine and normalize. This is one of my favorite meals because I can take care of prep work, get everything in the pot cooking, clean up the entire kitchen, and then relax until it’s time to boil pasta. Part of me is pleased that dinner will be a simple affair, requiring very little work after the close of business hours, and another part of me is pleased that there will be time available to work in the garage and swing the hammer for a little while (for all the good it may do). Tomorrow is going to involve a drive to the nice mall down the peninsula in order to return a few items, and perhaps have lunch. As of yet, I am unsure. That place can be quite the flytrap for beauty, so avoiding one of my favorite restaurants might be the only way to ensure I am ok for the rest of the day. I love that place – especially how comfortable the bar is – yet almost every time I’ve been there, problems arise at one point or another. This evening needs to be pretty damned comfortable. Off to the garage for a while. ‘Look at me now... A man who won't let himself be.’ Man? I feel that way, but is that what I am after all this time? A man? Does a man think the way I do? What defines that word? The keyword? Is the answer raising children? I haven’t done that. Providing? Working? I don’t fucking know. Do you? Or is everyone going to have a different answer? Maybe it’s the housework. I’ll come back to this another time. My mood is pretty shitty right now. Sometimes being in the garage to organize stuff takes me far enough away from the problems to relax for a little while and think clearly. The only issue that arises from time to time is seeing something beyond the garage door, and today was no different. It figures that I head out there in a crappy mood and then insult is added to injury. Big fucking surprise. Saturday morning is here and the drive is behind me. There were no problems, thankfully. Last night was a different story, unfortunately, thanks to something I did – perhaps a movement or step – that is still haunting me. I was having a lot of trouble walking. This sort of thing takes place from time to time, although I can’t immediately recall the last incident. It’s been a while, I guess. During dinner, the cabinet was dropped off most of the way up the driveway with a very pronounced ‘thud’. I took a peek out there and saw that the dipshit who delivered the box dragged it up the driveway and then simply dropped it wherever he or she wished (probably a he). Considering how much pain I was experiencing, the idea of moving a large, heavy box into the garage was less than appealing. We ended up moving it together after dinner. That was a convergence of events I could have done without, to be completely honest. Lifting or otherwise using my back and legs is not easy right now. This shit goes back decades, too. I could use some actual understanding or compassion, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t really felt either of those for some years. Anyway, I’m going to sit and enjoy the coffee and quiet for a little while before deciding whether or not to visit the restaurant. The drive to that mall will be in just under two hours. I will be very pleased to return regardless of having lunch down there or not. This little house is the only place I am comfortable anymore. It’s not all that I need, but better than nothing. Speaking of need, I’d love to know how long this condition is going to last. Hours? Days? Ugh. Out the door. Today’s housework will have to be split in half. There is merchandise that needs to be returned in person (and within a time window), hence the necessity of going to the mall today. I hope there aren’t any problems. And... Home. Lunch was excellent, as always. That’s one of my favorites, and my choice menu item was in order. Steak and scampi... Oh, boy. Not too heavy, though. More like a lunch sized portion. A couple of drinks and outstanding service rounded out the visit. That place never disappoints. And yes, there was a shapely little hostess in there that drove me up the wall for a few minutes upon arrival, a server with an indescribably cute face, and then the capper... A form on the walk back to the car. I thought my eyes were going to fly out of my head. A form, but not just any. She was unreal, to be honest. Everything I saw was ideally aligned with my obsession and the way my head operates these days. Ugh. Whatever. As I’ve said a million times, there will always be something, especially considering today is the first day of the Lunar New Year and the mall was busy. There will always be something. The girl may as well reside on another planet because she will never know how I feel. Eh... My feelings don’t matter anyway. The second half of my routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of medicine next to me. At some point I will move the cars and get the big box set up so I can evaluate the materials for possible damage. The seller sent an email requisition that I rate the delivery process. I am going to be honest, but if there is no damage, I’ll salute the fucking packaging. From what I’ve seen so far, nothing inside has been harmed. The other two cabinets’ boxes looked pretty rough and they came out fine.
I can still see her walking past my position, and the resemblance to the Raven’s lines was uncanny. The girl in the mall was likely around the same age, as well. Dark, flowing hair; olive skin; everything. There was not a smidgen out of place, nor did she carry any of the physical cues which can disallow a flowing gait. She was incredible and I immediately wanted (needed!) to tell her as much. I needed it badly. As usual, I am forced to go on with my day and fucking lump it. I am so sick and tired of feeling this way that I see myself snapping one day very soon. At least I am home and surrounded by my waning devices. The cabinet is damaged enough that I will not build it. I’ve notified the seller and must await a response. Ugh. Today is ideal for assembly, too. I was really looking forward to the addition. Oh, well. Like the girl from earlier, I am left with zero choice. Live with it. That’s all I ever do. I end up completely fucking screwed over so often that disappointment is second nature, almost as if there is a preview to feeling lost before anything takes place. Everything I saw today has faded over the last few hours, mostly due to the fucking cabinet. I straightened the kitchen, so reheating some dinner will be simple. I’m glad the girl’s gait and appearance left my head. I don’t need any more of that shit considering how far down I am at this point in time. By the time I reached the car to drive home, I was picturing her on all fours for the sole purpose of my full appreciation. I don’t even know if such a statement can be understood by anyone. Figures. I’ve become so weakened that the slightest glance can ruin several days with ease. There is no good left on my horizon. If ever I needed... Tomorrow will be tough. I have the usual Sunday business and then the game. Ooh-fa. Everything is now up in the air. Whatever happened the other night to put me in pain happened again in the middle of the night. It’s been following me all morning – my drive to the City included – and hangs on at this very moment. I need to find a way to be more comfortable. As for today’s activities, everything will become severely truncated if this shit doesn’t change over the next few hours, and that means I will remain home for the duration. I really hate this because I can’t lash out at those responsible, nor can I simply talk to someone. Every time I’ve tried to describe this condition, the result is nothing. Nada. Just a glance. Isn’t that splendid? I’ve been trivialized too many times to reach out again. If I indeed go to a professional, I may have to glean the subject but that’s it. References make me angry. All I can do is sit here. Maybe a painkiller will help if I can eat something soon. Today is Super Bowl Sunday and this is the condition I’ve been forced to deal with. Impeccable timing. There are not many days in the year that I wish to be at least somewhat comfortable, and today is one of them. I never thought I was asking too much. What the fuck do I know? This is completely unfair and could have been avoided. Think about that one. Not a good time for physical issues. This is not a good time, but is there ever? Maybe just an average weekday? No. Never. I suppose I should be thankful that I was able to attend all of the recent affairs without issue. I certainly appreciate them right now. The bottom line is I’ve been affected deeply, yet again, by something that has been following me for more than four decades. I suppose it could be labeled the ‘pain vane’, but the last feeling inside me this morning is humor. There was a party up the street last night – high school age people – and some hijinks. I spent a little time out there to see if the police were going to show up like last time. Nope. Whatever. All the event did was make me tired and further solidify my belief that society is fucking doomed. At least there was no pain at that time. I guess today is going to be slower than originally planned, rather like me doing the minimum to get by rather than as much as I can. Moving around is very difficult and painful, so I need to spend time off my feet or otherwise motionless from the waist down. If this does not change in the next few hours, I won’t survive spending time at the bar for the game. Pain follows me every day. Thankfully, sometimes it fails to catch up to me. As I said, I need to appreciate those days when everything was fine. I have to keep it in mind. One positive right now is when I feel this way everything else quickly melts away, such as those girls I saw yesterday or the other shit from days earlier. Desire is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Maybe one leads to the other... Too much desperate dreaming and yearning causes my head to shut me the fuck down for a while. Could that be true? I have no idea. Whatever the case, I am out of fucking commission today. Another positive is the fact that I contacted the people about my damaged cabinet and I believe they are going to replace any part that is unusable. That’s good. If I had to ship it back, the process would be extremely difficult. Going through all of the wood and other materials is going to be plenty tough considering the way I feel today. I can still do it, though. Slowly, I suppose. Part of me is actually pleased that I have a reason to avoid visiting the bar. The energy there is unmatched in my experience, and makes the game that much more fun to watch (if my team is doing well), but my health must take precedence. I can’t help it. The situation sucks, but at least there is a bit of an upside, I guess. Just the fact that the beauty from yesterday has been minimized inside my brain is plenty. Remaining home may help, too. I have to focus on those little positives today. The alternative is giving up, and I don’t do that easily anymore. Some time has passed. I finished my routine (very slowly) and have a little bit of garbage business out of the way. I also organized the cabinet components (very slowly) and determined that six panels need to be replaced. I sent the information to the manufacturer and am awaiting their response. I also shot a few more images just in case they need to see everything. Cocktail hour is here, as well, God bless the booze. Like Carmela said to Meadow, ‘We all could use it.’ Heh. Something very special and stirring took place last night while outside. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. If only... From here forward I am going to take it easy (and very slow). I am on the fence regarding the bar. My condition has faded some – likely due to my (very slow) movements around the house, but I don’t know how I am going to feel in a few hours. For the time being, there will be no decision. If this feeling continues into the afternoon, I’ll make an appearance over there and do my best to relax. Unfortunately, nothing really sounds appealing right now aside from sitting here with my glass of depressant. The follow vane is apparent, still, yet addressing it has become foggy. This entry might turn into a pile of worthless shit. Whatever. Tomorrow is Monday, meaning I’ll be overjoyed (very slowly) to be home all day with few responsibilities. Words with four of the letter ‘i’ are confusing to type sometimes. Hmm... I mentioned this latest vane is apparent. The pain has followed me for a very long time, sometimes dormant and other times overwhelming, and I have survived the years. Perhaps I can survive this situation. I may be suicidal on a daily basis, but that does not mean I wish to be in pain all the fucking time. At least it would disappear in such a case, along with the Goddamned obsession. No more problems. Very interesting. I switched from the gangsters back to the other show with the witches, and right out of the fucking gate Alyssa came running into a room – breasts bouncing all over the place and nipples on display – and my brain melted a little bit. I really don’t need to see that shit right now. Desire often leads to excitement, and the latter leads to increased pain. Time to change the media again. Ugh.
The pain having faded is really nice right now. I needed some help and typically there is nothing anyone or anything can do to alleviate the feelings because I am far too sensitive. As such, when I consider where I am today the fucking keywords come to mind and I become very down. I don’t feel effective as a person, nor do I experience any strength as I once did. The trouble is two-fold at present; both the pain and my view of myself have me questioning my viability as a man (again... I don’t even know what that fucking word means). I’m not old enough to be categorized as a person experiencing ‘age related’ issues, but I am no longer young enough to recover from most problems. My life is floating somewhere between the two and I don’t fucking like it. One of my biggest worries right now is others knowing what has been happening and then showering me with platitudes and half-assed placation out of a sense of ‘goodwill’. I really don’t need that kind of shit. I am slowly recovering physically (and I pray that it continues), yet on the inside I am being torn to pieces. The feelings are much more difficult to overcome. As much as I fucking hate the keywords, they come to mind every single day without fail. At this point in my life, there is nothing I can do about those words. I will also say that I’ve had equal difficulty in dealing with the physical nature of this condition and the keywords, mostly during the last four years. I’ve also gleaned much and detailed very little. The bottom line is that sitting here – even after the pain has diminished somewhat – has me considering my place in the world and all of the bullshit conjecture along with it. Perhaps waking up in the middle of the night nearly doubled over is a good catalyst for generating better ways of dealing with other people. Moreover, the fact that I feel a little better than earlier means I can better plan my demonstrations of dissatisfaction with what the world has become. Anger often produces better results on a daily basis than any kind of ambition. I’ve decided that if my condition remains stable, I will meet the guys over there and try to enjoy myself. As I said, the energy is wonderful, powerful, and all-encompassing in that kind of crowd, and seeing that this is the last game until September, I believe I would regret not being there. That is that. I’m hoping, anyway. I have little faith in anything these days, but pro football is entirely different. My support of the home team dates back fifty fucking years. I think tomorrow I will separate the images by years, just as I did with the entries. Those files are much easier to access in separate folders; I need not scroll for days in order to find a single title. The images should follow suit. I’ll have plenty of time to spend on the project, plus if I need to take it easy physically, reorganizing everything will be a good way to pass the time. Monday. Coffee. Media. Organization. Lots of peace and quiet, too. I needed this. Right out of the gate... Pause. Hours have passed this morning as I sat here and went through all of the titled images and moved them into separate folders, by year. Everything is finished and has been transferred to the production environment. As of a few minutes ago, the entries and images all display properly. I have amassed and included more than two thousand images throughout the years and they simply had to be better organized. From here forward, anything created will be in the right place from the beginning. Very nice. I finished the typical routine and the laundry is part way complete. My garage will probably remain closed other than when I pull the garbage cans up the driveway. I need to be alone for a while, perhaps days. As for the damaged cabinet, the manufacturer offered a hefty discount if I am willing to try gluing the panels. I evaluated everything and decided that I can make four of them work, but two still need to be replaced. I am awaiting their response. Other than what I’ve already done today, not much else is going to be addressed. I might clean the bathroom, though. The gangsters are gracing the right-hand display because I can’t take any more of Alyssa’s fucking breasts being prominently featured on the other program. I am already out of my mind. More shit on top is not going to help matters. The bar was fine yesterday. Only a smidgen of beauty was present – sitting at my table, of course – although I’ve grown accustomed to seeing her when the big games are on. I’ve already seen her for the last couple of seasons. Other than that girl and her adorable face, there was nothing else causing any trouble in my head. The difficult morning melted away to the point of me relaxing more than I had originally anticipated. And here comes Jamie. Ugh. I need her like never before. My mind is in a very unhealthy place right now. Yesterday morning was very difficult. I’ve not been in such bad shape for many years and did not expect something so painful to arrive out of thin fucking air. I was told to remain mindful of that type of problem, too. According to the last surgeon, the condition will never completely subside unless I opt to have the entire problem removed, and that has never felt like a viable option. I believe the damage to my heart and mind would be too much to bear and leave me considering ending everything even more than I already do. The pain has been following me for so long that one might think I would always be prepared. Well, part of me still tries to wish it away. Video media has been optioned out in favor of some music from the roots of the latent 1236 period. I need to organize all of the songs and albums, but in the meantime it does a nice job of summing up my mood no matter the track order. There are far too many past situations following me for an effective saving throw. I can’t do anything about this vane. I think my best course right now is to continue going through the motions from one day to the next and formulate contingencies in the background (out of the sight of others, of course). The housework is not difficult at all, I have plenty of time for other endeavors, and being home alone most of the time holds its own share of advantages. Planning is one of my strong suits, as well. As the ‘follow’ vane continues to throw troubles at me like a high-speed pitching machine bent upon my destruction, I need to find a way of dealing with the ‘follow’ and all possible pitfalls; mostly those which have either been veiled or otherwise eluded my attention. I know they will return whenever my guard is down. No matter how positive a day might feel, the back of my mind is always filled with terrors that only the vane can supply. Right now, the top of the list is being populated by the glowing years and memories of any period that found me actually happy. There is an overbearing, harsh ‘old forest’ element to this music. I’ve not heard much of it since the 1236 period due to becoming distracted by the availability of so many different bands from the same era. I was overwhelmed and barely kept track of the different artists. Now, however, I have all the alone time in the world to look back and embrace the compositions of life. Not bad. Every single aspect of life has a window of time attached to it, and I’d be remiss in overlooking the fact that I have sought this most important music over the years, mostly due to my need to reside in the actual forest. Well, I probably never will, but at least the score of life can accompany me as I sit here and wonder why everything had to turn out this way. I am still nothing more than a tiny person with a fucking keyboard, yet the music often helps me feel significant, even after all these years of being squished, disregarded and passed over for importance. This has become just another fucking situation to follow along as I try to live. The vane pays no mind. I hope the vanes don’t combine at some point. This shit is already plenty tough. Ugh. The site has become just another clambake. ther than dinner preparations, the rest of this day will not amount to much. I may head to the garage and begin assembling whatever I can on the cabinet regardless of a reply from the manufacturer. I asked for two panels to be replaced, but one way or another, I’ll be dealing with most of what is in the garage. I may as well get the hardware in order and begin the process. The space out there will be neater, for sure, and I should be able to more fully imagine how the slightly damaged panels can be remedied. Not bad. The process will be another dive into the cold realization that even when ordering items to be shipped here, I end up passed the fuck over. Follow, indeed."
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