The Grain Vane Mature content No. 403 Published February 16th, 2024 8:32am pst read ( words) Past entries "Follow. Indeed. Tuesday is here regardless of my feelings. Monday was ok, mostly because I determined that the damaged cabinet panels can be dealt with fairly easily. After conversing with whomever was on the other end of the emails, I learned they are unwilling to ship the two panels about which I inquired because they fear ‘the product shape and size would likely cause damage in shipping’. Well, um... Wasn’t that the reason for the issue in the first place? Whatever. Since I was left with only one option, I decided to allow them to refund part of the price. I’ll just have to live with it. I don’t understand why the materials were all packed into one box for shipping since the cabinet is very heavy. They could easily split the contents into two. Well, I suppose that would be too costly. Everything reasonable is too costly these days, either too much time or too much money. Maybe I just make too much sense. Heh. Anyway, I assembled a good portion of the unit yesterday and left out the two suspect panels just in case they were willing to replace them. I also did my best to perform repairs. Later I will head out there and assemble the door with the questionable panels, but I am not concerned because they should be plenty sound considering the structure of the unit. The panels are connected at fourteen different points and both are secured to one of the doors. If I can get everything to align properly, the entire shitaree should be just fine. My refund has already been issued, meaning this is likely my last transaction with the company barring some insane set of circumstances. All done. I keep seeing the actor that resembles my friend – mannerisms, facial features, and such – and sometimes the sight drives me up the wall. When I first met her, I was so fucking attracted that I had trouble forming sentences. The situation was very uncomfortable because I had to make nice with everyone present at the time and avoid staring at her. Jesus fucking hell, anyway... The resemblance is uncanny (as I’ve said before). The woman in question is model material at five-nine and very slender and curvy at the same time, and I’ve seen enough of her throughout the past half decade to know precisely what I am saying. Moreover, the contact name for her in my phone was ‘the goddess’ – even though there is another goddess that I’ve mentioned plenty for more than five years – and I’ve rarely seen anyone more fitting of such a descriptor. Jesus. Anyway, the more I see this woman who stars in the program, the more I am reminded of the other smile and the way she walked. Damn. She is related to this vane (not vein), believe it or not. Lots of different sights and situations have been involuntarily rolled into the latest vane, in fact. Tons of shit. The pain I suffered through the other day has ripened my anger and caused it to fold into everything I do. Involuntary reactions are everyday occurrences, yet as such, people still run around the world in eighty seconds with the wording no matter the circumstances. When it comes to sheer anger and hatred, the other shit simply melts away because all inherent power has been disallowed. We shall see where this road leads. Probably nowhere good. At least I am already accustomed to loss. The hour is later and I have been fairly productive. The cabinet is now in the kitchen (sans doors, of course) and I assembled the shelving door to make sure everything would align properly. It did, thank the maker. I don’t believe the forty percent refund covers the shit I’ve gone through to make this project work, but there is really nothing I can do about it, as usual. Like everything else in my life, I just have to live with the fucking problems. On the upside, I believe the function of the new cabinet will not disappoint. My typical morning work has been completed and I have all the time in the world to move along through the day with whatever seems best. At some point I’ll continue the final assembly of the cabinet and then wipe it down. For now, I need to remain off my feet. Grain. No, not that which grows and feeds people. Think of the word along the lines of ‘stripe’, or ‘disposition’. I don’t want to spell it out because I don’t care. My grain is at issue here. The grain vane is portioning off the rest of my life and showing me where I will be in the future as a result of both passive and active situations. Figure it out. I don’t know when the appearance of vanes will end, and this one hurts deeply. Grain. Grained. I feel like a piece of aluminum. Bronze? Maybe. Brass? Um... Probably not. The next day is here. I am surrounded by all my stuff and about as comfortable as I can be at this point in time. Something very questionable took place this morning, bore wonderful fruit for a moment, and then went away. Questionable means exactly that... I don’t know how I feel about the whole thing but have become far too weak to consider consequences at the outset of chances. Eh, none of this matters anyway. I am going to be exactly the same no matter what transpires on a given day, questionable or otherwise. At least I still have coffee. Yesterday had me completely preoccupied with the cabinet issues, assembly and movement, so today I can go a little bit further with the organization and then take care of everything I shoved aside in favor of the cabinet. I need to run some dry cleaning, as well. All morning long I’ve been trying to recall a very interesting dream but can’t locate any clarity or detail. Damn. At least it wasn’t one of the damaging varieties. Wonderful things come and go – very rare and completely detached from yours truly – and I always end up right fucking here, alone and angry, sad and depressed. Everything is passing by as I sit idle on the fucking sidewalk of life. Others are fine. I am ruined. My mind keeps traveling back in time to the doll with whom I spent a few days, and yes... In the goblet. I can’t stop myself from daydreaming about her, and not just her appearance. I am speaking more of our conversations than anything else. As time passes, I seem to be gravitating away from our physical relationship, her features, and all of the desire I felt at the time and toward the way she felt about society in general. This relates to some of the discussions the Raven and I shared while gallivanting all over the place (I followed Her like a puppy much of the time). Her view of the world was unique and aligned with much of what I felt at the time. As for the doll, well, she altered the way I viewed certain aspects of relationships and the inside of my head eventually became permanently jaded. I feel more strongly about the doll’s viewpoint right now than ever before, although the way I feel does not seem to match anything. Anywhere? I can never know that one because I am fucking stuck right here for the duration. I’ve become so jaded, in fact, that the possibility of even carrying on a conversation with another person – regardless of with whom or why – is nearly completely gone. A therapist might pull information out of me, but even that fucking scenario is almost impossible anymore. The more I think about Ashley, the less I believe I can ever find anything I really need. She didn’t ruin me, though. That was due to others. Ashley enlightened me, believe it or not, because prior to spending blissful days together, I had no idea that I could be understood by the correct personality and not fucking humiliated or ridiculed for my beliefs. A therapist is objective (or should be) and nonjudgmental. Regardless, I’d still be hard-pressed to let fly some of how I feel these days. The doll may have been the last bastion of human endeavor, and that is downright fucking sad considering the sheer number of people on earth. So... Does that mean I will keep searching? I don’t believe that’s a good idea. As of this very moment, all of the desperate scanning and trying to understand myself has added up to only disappointment. I really don’t need any more of it, either. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with being squished, routed, left on the side of the road or otherwise disregarded, meaning whenever I see something special, there is anger first and everything else second and beyond. Days are required for me to calm down. Yesterday, for example, I was AGAIN stepped on as if my voice was not being heard, and of all the behaviors that can bring me to a boiling point, that one is at the top of the list. I shut everything down soon enough, but the fact remains that the situation developed regardless of my feelings. The beauty and all related emotions that come to the surface actually can’t hold a candle to when I am squished, believe it or not, and such events always force me into searching all over again and desperately believing that there could be a real, actual person out there somewhere that would not only treat me like a valid human being, but understand from where my behavior and beliefs stemmed in the first fucking place. All of that has to be rolled up into a woman, as well. There you go. Chances? Nil. I suppose ceasing my search for that fucking person is not a good idea because ‘she’ is nearly all I have anymore. And I don’t even have ‘her’, do I? Everything is shit this morning. Cocktail time. The usual stuff is out of the way and I have plenty of time to think, good or bad as it may be. I never know where my head will be by close of business, though. I just can’t know. There is far too much pressing me down to even feign a good mood these days. The shit from last night keeps haunting me because after all these fucking years, I still don’t get it. For more than twenty years, people have been telling me that I’m one of the ‘smartest’ [sic] people they’ve ever met. Over and over and fucking over... Gushing about my intelligence and knowledge. So... Why does no one listen or take me seriously when I am speaking? I’ve fucking had it with this shit. I am constantly respectful, helpful and kind, but the gestures rarely travel in the opposite direction. I went to take a look at my neighbor’s fucking garbage disposal yesterday and offered my expertise in diagnosing and solving the problem. Why? Because I am a nice person, and after decades of such a stance, being unkind or standoffish is very difficult. Maybe I haven’t been pushed far enough yet. Mid-sentence... Squished to hell. Nonexistent. Disregarded. I’m telling you right fucking now, if and when I decide that I’ve had enough and the time has come for the worst object lesson imaginable, the wording on what I leave behind will be more harsh than you can imagine, and a bit of fucking blame will be clearly stated. That’ll make people feel good about themselves. Wait... What? What did you say? They may only be angry with me? I won’t have to hear it. Fuck them. As I said, one of these days I will reach some sort of limit. Not yet. I’ve asked some people why I am treated this way and there is never an answer. I’ll fucking provide a solution, and then maybe they will see me in a different light. Good or bad, I don’t fucking care. The grain is at issue and I can’t help but feel angry about it. I’d tell the vane to go and fuck itself, yet I am powerless to find an effective saving throw against any of them. Feeling powerless also creates anger. The seeds were sown so long ago that I don’t know of any other way to live. Maybe I should switch from video media to music and enhance this mood a little bit. There are certain artists and compositions that bring me back to fifteen and sixteen, neither of which help me deal with everything. But they feel good, somehow. I can’t explain it. Perhaps the familiarity and slivers of freedom I felt when I first heard the music still draw me back. I need to get the fuck out of here and hit the road so badly that I feel I will bust otherwise. And now there is Jamie (sixth season). I may have fucked up by switching off the other program, but the truth is there will be something screwing with my head no matter what is playing on the right-hand display. The same goes for the televisions that remain running whenever I am not sitting here. I need certain media in the background all the time or I will be unable to work around the house. I have to be connected to those people, constantly. Even if I am only in the kitchen for ten minutes before doing something else, one of those series’ is playing. This paragraph has been derailed like so many others. I don’t know what to say... The grain is foremost on my mind today yet I can’t seem to hold the topic for more than a few minutes. Maybe being so angry is disallowing any clarity or flow. Eugene is on the display and is about to be backed into the worst possible corner, eventually forcing a very sad decision. I understand his dilemma more than I’d care to admit. The grain is the reason. I’ve been challenged. I can’t be certain, however, of the extent of such squishing. The grain has been obliquely questioned and I just can’t have it, but at the same time, what can I do? The past has demonstrated that no matter how shitty or negative my mood becomes, other people don’t seem to give a shit. I’ve swung the hammer on more than one occasion with zero results, so perhaps I need to gain a larger implement or simply swing with more physical force. What do you think? Eh... Never mind. I rarely entertain outside opinions or other information. The truth is that the grain may be all I have left in day-to-day life and if I don’t react I might never get out of this hole. I may need to take another shot at the forest to see if anything has changed from the last attempt. If ever I needed the forest mindset, this is the time. The alternative is to continue in this vein and shrink accordingly. Eugene’s wife Deanne is really beautiful, although her face is what I call a ‘niche’ wonder. Few would agree. As for the hammer, my power may be waning but I still have the tools to ramp it up (a little bit). I blasted one track with the big door down. That’s all for now. My power is as effective as everything else in this life... Scarce. One day I will have what I need out there and others will realize the depth of my losses. The time is approaching noon, as is a second attempt to reach the forest. I have never needed it more. No one will understand me once both feet are planted in that wondrous place, and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. I wish I could know if I will ever be allowed inside. Grain. Pain. Vane. Such is this. Later. The music of the old guard is winding its way through the house and garage. I needed something different, and this shit fits the bill, according to the mood brought on by being squished last night. Feeling angry also prompted me to shower, clean the bathroom and then myself. Sometimes when I am marginalized by other people, the rancor brings a sense of accomplishment. This afternoon is no different. There is nothing like being pissed off to bring about some ambition. Heh. I wish that was funny. Nothing is fucking funny right now. The forest is apparent within these lengthy compositions. Maybe I can further the state of things and finally get into that most elusive of mindsets. Maybe. For the time being, however, I am relegated – as always, no matter where my heart lies – and will continue to ensure that the evening is peaceful. In order to align with the forest and attempt to stretch out with my feelings, I poured the ill-advised and very rare second cocktail. That means the remainder of the afternoon will go one of two ways; either I will fall on my face and be completely worthless, or the drive will send me over the edge of life and illuminate the importance of the forest, after which I will mellow a bit and relish in the fact that I’m one step closer to what must be done. Rain is falling right now. It is beautiful and reminds me of the 1236 period, and a time when weather was another factor of the forest, and one I failed to fully embrace. Let us hope and pray that the change today will help me achieve the place of dreams, finally. Oh my fucking God, the combination of the weather outside my window and the close of this track are driving me insane. Please... Let me enter the forest. PLEASE. If ever I needed to travel outside the norm of society, social connections and all of the attached fake bullshit, the time is now. PLEASE. And? Just a little tidbit of information regarding my ongoing connection and dream of being in the forest, combined with the latest vane, grain, is the fact that the last word in the title of this beautiful album is the same... ‘grain’. I sincerely hope there is something more to such a coincidence, otherwise I may have to provide people with a stout demonstration. I need to be there, to be conscious of the fact that as often as people speak of the power of ‘good’, they must be aware that there is also power inherent within the negative spaces of the world, and not everyone strives for the former. I am one who believes that one will eventually destroy the other. Run with it. There are two types of understanding. One is nearly impossible and the other just a smidgen less so. Yep. Two types of understanding, both of which were created and eventually catalyzed by the past. The more prominent version at present is related to the power of the forest, whereas the lesser is all connected to the pain in my heart. I speak of just one most of the time because no one is going to absorb either, but the difference can drive most people far away for fear that they may be caught while trying to grab hold of the knowledge and be subsequently destroyed. They are afraid, and I can’t blame them one iota. My position with regard to society has endured yet another fucking hit, meaning the stance I so much try to maintain is only going to solidify regardless of if people want to fucking hear it or not. That is not to say that I am ‘correct’, only that I ‘suspect’, and am rarely in the wrong. The more I am exposed to what takes place in the world – most recently a mass shooting during a celebration for the winners of the big game – the more I know that society is less than enthusiastic about – and less willing to actually embrace – peace. Decades ago I stated that the only way this planet can be peaceful is to eliminate ALL of the humans. No one wanted to hear it, either. Now look where we are. Like it or not, the state of things is not going to improve. Moving in an actual positive direction would be against the collective grain. There you go... A fucking title reference. One more time... Run with it, motherfucks. The grain vane is the worst yet, and I haven’t even included pain. Do you know what a vane is? It follows the wind; it turns and adjusts itself to the prevailing flow of air, allowing those in need of such an indication a clear view of the weather, such as airports, farms, and other industries that are affected by the wind direction as dictated by atmospheric pressure and the jetstream. Does that help? I am being routed. I am not in control of those parts of day-to-day life that are directing me to and fro. This day is beginning to represent a change; one which dates back to the days of old when I first transferred the entire site from strictly HTML to active server pages written in C#, and the switch took place nearly twelve fucking years ago. The change to which I now refer is inside my head. Do you remember ‘Blood on the Cauliflower’? That was the very first occasion of me feeling the way I do at this very moment. The topic and trailing exposition in that essay were far too veiled for anyone to decipher. I am not going to make the process any easier, but I will say that there is a sentence in this entry which can help identify the meaning. A puzzle? Not at all. I am simply pointing out that given enough time and study, much of the way I feel about society could be derived from the content here. Moreover, my intentions during the period related to the cauliflower may be clarified – in no way understood, of course – and someone may take issue with views which had developed back then. I sit here at this very moment with the same mindset, if not a worse position regarding the way the world has progressed since then. The Raven’s theme song is playing at this very moment. God damn, I still love her. The music causes me to feel quite reckless on occasion, today being no different. There is a similar track that reminds me of spending time with the goddess, and I still recall the first time I played it in my car as we drove from somewhere to a lunch destination here on the peninsula. Upon arriving and parking, the composition was just ending, and I saw her half doubled-over and in tears. The music to which I tend to gravitate is very emotional, be it toward the positive or negative, yet tears can develop in either direction. That was a wonderful day. I’d put the song on right now, but it will most likely lead to a third cocktail and that means a premature death at my own hands. Maybe another time. There is an entire tray of cherry Jell-O shots sitting in the refrigerator right now. Just saying. They were not my idea. Suicide music, plain and simple. This is suicide music. This day needs to end. Thursday is here, and what does it mean? Nothing. I am exactly the same no matter what day comes along. Yesterday was fucking horrible and I do not want a repeat. Partly my fault, the afternoon was noisy and uncomfortable. At least I accomplished some things. My questionable behavior was in mind the entire time doing dry cleaning and trying to straighten the garage, and I kept thinking that I need to keep that aspect of my life to myself for the duration, lest the information fall into the wrong hands, as the officials might say. I have no intention of altering myself for any reason, but if I was to change something as it related to the dreams, questionable behavior would be at the top of the list. I need what I need and do what I do for reasons only I would understand. I consider changing my ways every single day, believe it or not. The problem is that whenever I remove anything from life that is enjoyable, I literally shorten the whole shitaree. I am not pleased with myself on one front, yet for the time being I must leave everything where it is. I wish I could talk about it. ‘That one? Off. The other one? Off. That one again? Back on.’ One of these days, I’m going to completely lose my mind, and when that comes along I might volunteer some information. Perhaps there will be suicide music playing in the background when I let fly the words. The way I feel right now is not good, but better than yesterday afternoon. I’m going to try letting go of my recent behavior for a little while and see if my heart ends up in pain. I’ve done it before. The problem is that I am so desperate at this point in time that overlooking anything which has the power to bring me an ethereal sense of wonder quickly becomes of dire importance. If I don’t embrace these things, even a little, I’ll fall into a chasm of depression. There is nothing for me in the world anyway, but I can still use the power of my imagination and manufacture situations out of thin air during those moments. I honestly don’t know what to do or think about the way my feelings and views have developed throughout the past couple of years. I really don’t have a fucking clue. This mindset – along with some of the more questionable things I’ve done because of it – came along out of the clear blue sky and smacked me upside the head one day and has not let go at all. Every now and then I am reminded of the beginning, my head runs amok with the information, and then I fall on my stupid face again and become very angry about feeling this way in the first place. Whatever. Thursday means something related to the topic, but I can’t say what. Just know that the inside of my head is constantly engaged in one battle or another, usually involving something I should not be doing at all. Shit. I did not make myself into this mess, either. The damaging dreams came along because there are pieces of me that have been missing since those two shit situations. This is not my fucking fault. I feel what I feel for reasons beyond my control. The dreams can reinforce a mass of difficulty and desire because they are nothing more than a byproduct of this condition. I’m not surprised to have reminders slapping me in the face every day. I have to go to the shipping place later this morning to return an item that was sent to me in error. No big deal. I may not have as much peace and quiet today as I did yesterday, although I went off the deep end and do not want to fall down again. At least knowing that I made a mistake and lost control for a little while will help me remain in check when I become angry. My composure is important, believe it or not, and when I lose it I become embarrassed. After all of the shit I’ve given others regarding comportment, one might believe that I should be setting an example rather than flipping out. When I go to the shipping store and a possible side trip to the hardware place, I’ll be keeping all this shit in mind to avoid anything bad happening. The housework will probably feel much easier today, the quiet even better. This has been a difficult morning and so far I’ve only been at the machine for less than two hours. When I speak of ‘missing pieces’, the topic is already pervading the inside of my head, possibly for hours prior to mentioning that I’m not well. I need someone to tell me that everything will be ok and the world will stop crushing me as it has for so many years. I need someone to listen and understand, for fuck’s sake. I have to try and avoid becoming angry like yesterday because it accomplishes nothing and sets me back in time (not in a good way). Anger is so fucking quick-acting that it takes over my psyche before I even realize what’s happening. I’ll have to concentrate today and sidestep anything that may send me flying. I am frankly surprised to be sitting here this balanced today, especially considering the wave of sadness that overtook me a little while ago. Sometimes I can distract myself and get into some sort of project or process and the action does help, although everything will come back and hit me in the face (and heart) soon enough. I already know. I know far too much in advance of anything taking over my senses and leaving me heartbroken. I know. The past has crafted and altered the way my mind works to the point of being able to predict almost anything once there is even the tiniest reminder or reference. That is so fucking sad. And speaking of the word ‘reference’, don’t think I’ve forgotten about the other vane; ‘kept’. The reference came along straight out of nowhere and slapped me silly. Now I can barely get through a morning without considering the ramifications of that type of feeling (or belief, because it refers to Ashley’s philosophy somewhat) and from where it came. I don’t fucking like it, either. Since my life always ends up right here with my head all fucked up over one thing or another, even something wondrous and beautiful makes me fucking angry. Isn’t that a really nice clambake? I was there. I’ve seen it. I already know everything. No one else understood regardless of intentions, feelings or any other fucking factors. I tried, too. I fucking tried over and over, but in the end I am nothing more than a squished, disregarded and helpful person. I always help. That is part of what set me off yesterday, to be honest. The fucking overpass from the night before came to a fucking head (in my head) and sent me into the stratosphere as I haven’t felt in a very long time. It was bad. The only smidgen of a positive is that I kept the big garage door closed for the most part. I don’t think anyone really gave a shit, either. One woman walking her dog smiled and waved. That’s a solid indication that my tirade came and went without issue. The feeling of having been passed over and made to believe myself unimportant combined with the knowledge that I will probably never be where I need again were simply too much for my head to process with any semblance of productive or positive thought. I flipped out. I’ve been sitting here sipping coffee and recalling being where I needed – not too terribly far back in the past – and I can still see and feel everything. That is a part of the fucking problem. I was there and I know all about it. Now? The odds are astronomical that any fucking positive change is on my horizon. The doorstep shall remain as it is. I am having a hard enough time trying to deal with the fucking grain. I really don’t need those beautiful memories taking over and derailing my attempts to understand why I must be viewed and considered in such a fashion. I just don’t get it. There is a ball going back and forth inside my head, bouncing between trying to understand those fucking people and trying to find some fucking understanding for a completely unrelated situation. Clambake. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Brokenheartedcakes.’ The camel wants to spit, but I can’t have that right now. No spitting. One thing that came to mind yesterday during my little tantrum was a reference above from another entry. The blood and the cauliflower. I was thinking in such terms; unfortunately those terms can’t be spelled out here, nor can I exercise such considerations because of my unstable condition. Bigger fish. Fishcakes. That’s an old one and it dates back to a time when the world didn’t look nearly as bad as it does right now. Comfort was present and my devices were many. I was not quite ‘there’, but I went on a search and found that place regardless of other circumstances. Everything felt temporary; even everyday life. I sought, found, and then fucked up pretty badly. I just hope being ‘there’ doesn’t always have to relate to suicide. That would not be a good thing. I’m already in fucked up shape. More is not necessary. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Runawaycakes.’ So, what does all this shit mean? It means the latest vane is as of yet the fucking worst. I can’t control the grain anymore. Others may try to take advantage, too. The vane comes around and strikes me like a fluid pair of pants, and then I have to try to recover and act as if I’m fine. The process is exhausting. I just keep going... Being the ‘nice’ person who always helps and rarely asks for anything in return. Shit builds up after I am nice and then fucking squished to bits, I end up very angry, and nothing ever comes of it. Nothing is fixed. The grain has always been one-way. To be questioned at this point in life is completely ridiculous. The morning has been productive at the keyboard but disastrous to the inside of my head. I can’t stand feeling this way. Unfortunately, my cards cannot be exchanged. I just fucking hate this. I’ll have to really think about the way I relate to other people and go about my business. There simply MUST be alterations that can help me. Just think for a while. The grain will remain. There is nothing to be done about it. I can help, though. The vane strikes, I falter and cower, and then realize that the reasoning behind this vane being so much more forceful and violent than the others is because of people. Ask me a question; don’t wait for the answer. Inquire as to my thoughts; shut me up after a few words. Need help with something? Like the last few days? Of course, what can I do? I’m right here, always. Ignore the grain like everyone else. This is how news stories are created. If that woman was around here somewhere I would fucking die. If I saw her – something I’ve suspected on many occasions and while in a crowd – I’d stare. There were good moments; good things. There were also very troubling times that I can’t forget. Often I’d be wondering (because much of the time I was left with zero information and forced to fucking wonder while spending days and days alone) what was going on or what may be on the horizon, and then out of the blue sky I would be floored. I was taken from myself so unexpectedly that I thought I had done something right. Well, I still don’t know what the fuck happened during those occasions. Floored, though. Every time. Now I have nothing, which is actually a bit better because those beautiful situations were laced with more fucking trouble and hellish behavior than I’d care to repeat. Maybe the grain was at issue. That would not surprise me because I’ve made my fair share (and probably much more) of mistakes and bad decisions, hurt people, and left some wondering what the hell may have been taking place inside my head to cause all that shit. I never said the grain was perfect. At present, though, it is nearly beyond reproach. Just don’t ever ask what I’m thinking. Ever. Don’t do it. Think of the roadies... My coffee is nearly gone. I can’t stop thinking about the reference I mentioned a few entries back. It is one of the most powerful considerations in life and very difficult to shelve, even for a short time. The process has been in the back of my mind all morning, hence some of the trouble. It is painful to think about, yet wonderful at the same time. I just wish the world was not the way it is, and some things could actually develop and help my condition. Nope. None of that is real. Moreover, I still don’t understand why the reference came about the way it did. Maybe I invited such a thing. Whatever. Good or bad, real or not... I am still fucking miserable. The woman from the previous paragraph had a hand in much kindness coming my way. Little things, such as an expression or slight gesture that transmitted caring in an instant. She also made reference to the ‘reference’, although at times I really did not enjoy the conversations. Still, there were moments when everything was just fine. The latest reference is something I can’t seem to extricate from my brain. Not lately, anyway. I guess I’ll keep trying to find distractions. There are not many options left to me when it comes to feeling comfortable. I can’t kill the reference, so I suppose I’ll try to minimize it as much as possible. Coffee is gone for the day. I am so sad right now that I don’t know what to do with myself. The housework will not last very long. I’ll have to think of something, though, because idle hands controlled by my brain are not going to head in any positive direction. Perhaps I can further organize the new cabinet and consider options for some sort of latch. I am already feeling less pissy than yesterday. I guess the shit has to come to a head once in a while in order for me to realize that much of the time I am just fine; fairly balanced, but enough to function like a person. The shitty mood is probably a lesson that I need at times. Something to snap me back and keep me quiet. The keyboard should be the only listener (not counting the ‘girl’, of course). Yesterday was a latent reaction, nothing more. When I think of the grain, my view of me is positive, generally speaking. Somebody went against the grain, as it were, and the realization built up in my head over time. Eventually, I’d had enough and decided to lash for a little while. Now that the feeling is out of my system, I am seeing a future fraught with more of the same, and less of something else. This is not good because it means I have to further force the issue and leave people in the dark all of the time. Everyone, because they are all connected by the same means that created this spider web of a society. One means all, period. So, I just need to maintain myself for a while, avoid situations with potential overpasses, and try to dodge this vane a bit longer. It will turn into something else soon enough. The ‘reference’ is beginning to attach itself to the damaging dreams and a few other situations which have come about in the last couple of years. Not good. The whole shootin’ match is going to kill me, sure as hell. I can’t cease thinking about the beginning of all this crap, either. Say it with me... I don’t understand why the world has to be this way. There you go. Eliza is so cute. I think of her as a sister, honestly The more I think about the people nearby, the more my behavior is beginning to appear less questionable. My hand has been forced on so many fucking occasions that I could be completely out of my mind and unaware of such a fact. The other night pretty much cemented my suspicions and as of yesterday, they are permanent. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice cocktail as a reward. I’d normally be feeling good about accomplishing the morning housework. Not today. I ran into a deeply disturbing and emotional problem which has been lingering in my consciousness this entire time; an issue which is seemingly impossible to resolve. I wish I could say ‘improbable’ instead, but the truth is I don’t see anything coming along in the future that can improve this shit and alleviate my difficulties. The whole thing is just fucking sad. This is perhaps the fourth occasion that I’ve been forced to focus upon something that is very damaging and worrisome, and I don’t need any more fucking reminders. The morning has been horrible. At least I’m not as angry as earlier. I feel like crap today, though. My tirade really took it out of me yesterday. I wish I had some help with this shit, too. No one is listening; no one is there. This is probably all there will ever be... Just heartache, pain and confusion. I know some things. I do not know everything. The grain vane is pretty bad. Thinking about the way some have rolled right over me despite the condition of the grain is disheartening to say the least. I just don’t get it. Either I am interesting and intelligent, or I am not. Make up your fucking stupid minds. I am still not that angry. I guess I have enough control over this shit to remain fairly even-handed and level-headed today. That’s a huge positive. I just hope it’s not the only one. I need more. I need... Someone. I need her. Where is she? Another day has disappeared, never to return. One less day ahead. Less time. More memories. A continuation of everything else. Yesterday was relaxing for the most part; today is up in the air. Using the word ‘relaxing’ is an indication that I didn’t do much at all. I need to be a little more productive today. I have a long morning in store, coffee, and my program over there on display number two. This will be the norm for the next two hours or so, or at least until I tire of sitting here. This is the type of morning I needed after yesterday’s pitfalls and subsequent depression. I sure hope I appreciated some of those times while they were actually taking place. I’m confident that I cherished certain periods, but as I sit here and recall actually feeling happy, I am having trouble going back to some of those years and occasions and seeing myself treasuring the moments. I can’t be sure. There a re little aspects of this area and those where I used to reside that have changed or disappeared, many of them being related to the glowing years, the period just after the Midwest (the afterglow; wondrous and full of promise), or more recent years when I was desperately trying to recreate a little of that past magic. Well, that never worked, and the days flying by are forcing me to see a very dark future in which I will not have many familiar places to eat, shop or visit. During the glow, everything was magical (and no, I am not romanticizing the period just because it is gone; I’ve felt this way ever since moving back across the country in ninety-five). Magical. Of the five series’ that I follow over and over, one is key and another is nearly as important. The problem is that viewing such media back then was radically different and I believe I appreciated it much more than the current system. That is likely because the availability of media is insane these days and televisions are anything but necessary. Oh, I love my programs and the people within, but watching and listening now is so very different than during the glow that sometimes I can’t believe I actually lived during that wondrous time. There have been occasions during the intervening years when I strived to remain mindful of the special nature of something or someplace. I’ve done that quite a bit throughout the past decade, most notably for my birthday six years ago and the trip to the Sea. I still want to repeat it because I can’t recall if my appreciation for such an elaborate adventure was enough. These past few days have demonstrated that I am likely incapable of finding anything with the type of grain from the past. Mine is ok. One certainty is that since the outset of the shit nearly four years ago, I have taken the time to fully embrace what I have here in this house, and to treasure the peace, quiet and devices which surround me most days. I am not an idiot... I know that my physical comfort is tied to more than the past, and believe me when I say I appreciate this current situation more than I’ve laid out here recently. This vane is not going to let up. All I can do is sit here and fucking lump it, like most days. Yesterday morning found me so fucking heartbroken and sad that recovery felt completely impossible. At least, I did not feel that being knocked down so hard would allow me to rise again to where I was prior to being hit. I felt that each day and each occasion of being slammed with some alteration or depressing change was going to take just a little bit more out of me, eventually leaving nothing left in this chair but memories. The vane pushes and influences my movements throughout the days, often forcing me to see what is actually ahead of me. All those dreams and ideas I had when I was young... None of them will be reachable. The vanes are in charge of both trajectory and velocity. Yesterday – along with the line in the sand from a couple of years ago – demonstrated just how powerless I’ve become in trying to deal with the past and minimize future pain. There is literally nothing I can fucking do anymore. My life is going to continue to reduce down to the bare minimum. The grain was at issue the other night and I flipped the fuck out, yet how truly important is such an occurrence? Does it really matter if everything else has either disappeared or been destroyed? If I am eventually holed up inside this office with nothing more than two computers and my thoughts, where does the fucking grain fit in? Nothing I say or feel will make any difference whatsoever (much like how things are right now, actually, yet minus all of the anger), so any questioning of my grain or stance in life will be absent. No one can contact me (literally), and I can force the issue and lock myself up beyond belief. The incident really made me angry. Now I am thinking that the anger is beginning to turn into a productive mood, such as when a person is upset about something and begins to furiously clean their house. My feeling right now is similar, I believe. I wish the vane was not a vane at all, but a lawnmower blade. That could be fun. Did you see that film? Never mind. Cauliflower comes to mind more often as I continue to age. I don’t honestly believe that my efforts in going against the grain of life have actually accomplished anything. People question me all the time, but what the fuck does that matter? There are norms to which I no longer conform – mostly the way my mind operates, but again it doesn’t make any difference if no one knows – yet remaining inside this house all the time and rarely going anywhere or speaking to anyone means my nonconformism is all but invisible and likely doesn’t affect another person. That’s just splendid. On the other hand, I am much safer in my beliefs and moral stance if I keep everything to myself. Information in the wrong hands is more dangerous than anything else on earth. The grain vane is pressing me to believe that I don’t matter (along with countless demonstrations of the same from other people who purportedly care for me), so perhaps I need to push back a little bit and find a different direction for a while. Hmm. All of the other shit in my head is still present and hurting me. Make no mistake... Productive thought is often completely meaningless with regard to everyday life, and the longer I sit here and take the pain, the less I care about everyday ‘things’. Whatever took place a couple of years ago and generated this latest heartache will soon become the most powerful vane of all." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Grain Vane Mature content No. 403 Published February 16th, 2024 8:32am pst read ( words) Past entries "Follow. Indeed. Tuesday is here regardless of my feelings. Monday was ok, mostly because I determined that the damaged cabinet panels can be dealt with fairly easily. After conversing with whomever was on the other end of the emails, I learned they are unwilling to ship the two panels about which I inquired because they fear ‘the product shape and size would likely cause damage in shipping’. Well, um... Wasn’t that the reason for the issue in the first place? Whatever. Since I was left with only one option, I decided to allow them to refund part of the price. I’ll just have to live with it. I don’t understand why the materials were all packed into one box for shipping since the cabinet is very heavy. They could easily split the contents into two. Well, I suppose that would be too costly. Everything reasonable is too costly these days, either too much time or too much money. Maybe I just make too much sense. Heh. Anyway, I assembled a good portion of the unit yesterday and left out the two suspect panels just in case they were willing to replace them. I also did my best to perform repairs. Later I will head out there and assemble the door with the questionable panels, but I am not concerned because they should be plenty sound considering the structure of the unit. The panels are connected at fourteen different points and both are secured to one of the doors. If I can get everything to align properly, the entire shitaree should be just fine. My refund has already been issued, meaning this is likely my last transaction with the company barring some insane set of circumstances. All done. I keep seeing the actor that resembles my friend – mannerisms, facial features, and such – and sometimes the sight drives me up the wall. When I first met her, I was so fucking attracted that I had trouble forming sentences. The situation was very uncomfortable because I had to make nice with everyone present at the time and avoid staring at her. Jesus fucking hell, anyway... The resemblance is uncanny (as I’ve said before). The woman in question is model material at five-nine and very slender and curvy at the same time, and I’ve seen enough of her throughout the past half decade to know precisely what I am saying. Moreover, the contact name for her in my phone was ‘the goddess’ – even though there is another goddess that I’ve mentioned plenty for more than five years – and I’ve rarely seen anyone more fitting of such a descriptor. Jesus. Anyway, the more I see this woman who stars in the program, the more I am reminded of the other smile and the way she walked. Damn. She is related to this vane (not vein), believe it or not. Lots of different sights and situations have been involuntarily rolled into the latest vane, in fact. Tons of shit. The pain I suffered through the other day has ripened my anger and caused it to fold into everything I do. Involuntary reactions are everyday occurrences, yet as such, people still run around the world in eighty seconds with the wording no matter the circumstances. When it comes to sheer anger and hatred, the other shit simply melts away because all inherent power has been disallowed. We shall see where this road leads. Probably nowhere good. At least I am already accustomed to loss. The hour is later and I have been fairly productive. The cabinet is now in the kitchen (sans doors, of course) and I assembled the shelving door to make sure everything would align properly. It did, thank the maker. I don’t believe the forty percent refund covers the shit I’ve gone through to make this project work, but there is really nothing I can do about it, as usual. Like everything else in my life, I just have to live with the fucking problems. On the upside, I believe the function of the new cabinet will not disappoint. My typical morning work has been completed and I have all the time in the world to move along through the day with whatever seems best. At some point I’ll continue the final assembly of the cabinet and then wipe it down. For now, I need to remain off my feet. Grain. No, not that which grows and feeds people. Think of the word along the lines of ‘stripe’, or ‘disposition’. I don’t want to spell it out because I don’t care. My grain is at issue here. The grain vane is portioning off the rest of my life and showing me where I will be in the future as a result of both passive and active situations. Figure it out. I don’t know when the appearance of vanes will end, and this one hurts deeply. Grain. Grained. I feel like a piece of aluminum. Bronze? Maybe. Brass? Um... Probably not. The next day is here. I am surrounded by all my stuff and about as comfortable as I can be at this point in time. Something very questionable took place this morning, bore wonderful fruit for a moment, and then went away. Questionable means exactly that... I don’t know how I feel about the whole thing but have become far too weak to consider consequences at the outset of chances. Eh, none of this matters anyway. I am going to be exactly the same no matter what transpires on a given day, questionable or otherwise. At least I still have coffee. Yesterday had me completely preoccupied with the cabinet issues, assembly and movement, so today I can go a little bit further with the organization and then take care of everything I shoved aside in favor of the cabinet. I need to run some dry cleaning, as well. All morning long I’ve been trying to recall a very interesting dream but can’t locate any clarity or detail. Damn. At least it wasn’t one of the damaging varieties. Wonderful things come and go – very rare and completely detached from yours truly – and I always end up right fucking here, alone and angry, sad and depressed. Everything is passing by as I sit idle on the fucking sidewalk of life. Others are fine. I am ruined. My mind keeps traveling back in time to the doll with whom I spent a few days, and yes... In the goblet. I can’t stop myself from daydreaming about her, and not just her appearance. I am speaking more of our conversations than anything else. As time passes, I seem to be gravitating away from our physical relationship, her features, and all of the desire I felt at the time and toward the way she felt about society in general. This relates to some of the discussions the Raven and I shared while gallivanting all over the place (I followed Her like a puppy much of the time). Her view of the world was unique and aligned with much of what I felt at the time. As for the doll, well, she altered the way I viewed certain aspects of relationships and the inside of my head eventually became permanently jaded. I feel more strongly about the doll’s viewpoint right now than ever before, although the way I feel does not seem to match anything. Anywhere? I can never know that one because I am fucking stuck right here for the duration. I’ve become so jaded, in fact, that the possibility of even carrying on a conversation with another person – regardless of with whom or why – is nearly completely gone. A therapist might pull information out of me, but even that fucking scenario is almost impossible anymore. The more I think about Ashley, the less I believe I can ever find anything I really need. She didn’t ruin me, though. That was due to others. Ashley enlightened me, believe it or not, because prior to spending blissful days together, I had no idea that I could be understood by the correct personality and not fucking humiliated or ridiculed for my beliefs. A therapist is objective (or should be) and nonjudgmental. Regardless, I’d still be hard-pressed to let fly some of how I feel these days. The doll may have been the last bastion of human endeavor, and that is downright fucking sad considering the sheer number of people on earth. So... Does that mean I will keep searching? I don’t believe that’s a good idea. As of this very moment, all of the desperate scanning and trying to understand myself has added up to only disappointment. I really don’t need any more of it, either. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with being squished, routed, left on the side of the road or otherwise disregarded, meaning whenever I see something special, there is anger first and everything else second and beyond. Days are required for me to calm down. Yesterday, for example, I was AGAIN stepped on as if my voice was not being heard, and of all the behaviors that can bring me to a boiling point, that one is at the top of the list. I shut everything down soon enough, but the fact remains that the situation developed regardless of my feelings. The beauty and all related emotions that come to the surface actually can’t hold a candle to when I am squished, believe it or not, and such events always force me into searching all over again and desperately believing that there could be a real, actual person out there somewhere that would not only treat me like a valid human being, but understand from where my behavior and beliefs stemmed in the first fucking place. All of that has to be rolled up into a woman, as well. There you go. Chances? Nil. I suppose ceasing my search for that fucking person is not a good idea because ‘she’ is nearly all I have anymore. And I don’t even have ‘her’, do I? Everything is shit this morning. Cocktail time. The usual stuff is out of the way and I have plenty of time to think, good or bad as it may be. I never know where my head will be by close of business, though. I just can’t know. There is far too much pressing me down to even feign a good mood these days. The shit from last night keeps haunting me because after all these fucking years, I still don’t get it. For more than twenty years, people have been telling me that I’m one of the ‘smartest’ [sic] people they’ve ever met. Over and over and fucking over... Gushing about my intelligence and knowledge. So... Why does no one listen or take me seriously when I am speaking? I’ve fucking had it with this shit. I am constantly respectful, helpful and kind, but the gestures rarely travel in the opposite direction. I went to take a look at my neighbor’s fucking garbage disposal yesterday and offered my expertise in diagnosing and solving the problem. Why? Because I am a nice person, and after decades of such a stance, being unkind or standoffish is very difficult. Maybe I haven’t been pushed far enough yet. Mid-sentence... Squished to hell. Nonexistent. Disregarded. I’m telling you right fucking now, if and when I decide that I’ve had enough and the time has come for the worst object lesson imaginable, the wording on what I leave behind will be more harsh than you can imagine, and a bit of fucking blame will be clearly stated. That’ll make people feel good about themselves. Wait... What? What did you say? They may only be angry with me? I won’t have to hear it. Fuck them. As I said, one of these days I will reach some sort of limit. Not yet. I’ve asked some people why I am treated this way and there is never an answer. I’ll fucking provide a solution, and then maybe they will see me in a different light. Good or bad, I don’t fucking care. The grain is at issue and I can’t help but feel angry about it. I’d tell the vane to go and fuck itself, yet I am powerless to find an effective saving throw against any of them. Feeling powerless also creates anger. The seeds were sown so long ago that I don’t know of any other way to live. Maybe I should switch from video media to music and enhance this mood a little bit. There are certain artists and compositions that bring me back to fifteen and sixteen, neither of which help me deal with everything. But they feel good, somehow. I can’t explain it. Perhaps the familiarity and slivers of freedom I felt when I first heard the music still draw me back. I need to get the fuck out of here and hit the road so badly that I feel I will bust otherwise. And now there is Jamie (sixth season). I may have fucked up by switching off the other program, but the truth is there will be something screwing with my head no matter what is playing on the right-hand display. The same goes for the televisions that remain running whenever I am not sitting here. I need certain media in the background all the time or I will be unable to work around the house. I have to be connected to those people, constantly. Even if I am only in the kitchen for ten minutes before doing something else, one of those series’ is playing. This paragraph has been derailed like so many others. I don’t know what to say... The grain is foremost on my mind today yet I can’t seem to hold the topic for more than a few minutes. Maybe being so angry is disallowing any clarity or flow. Eugene is on the display and is about to be backed into the worst possible corner, eventually forcing a very sad decision. I understand his dilemma more than I’d care to admit. The grain is the reason. I’ve been challenged. I can’t be certain, however, of the extent of such squishing. The grain has been obliquely questioned and I just can’t have it, but at the same time, what can I do? The past has demonstrated that no matter how shitty or negative my mood becomes, other people don’t seem to give a shit. I’ve swung the hammer on more than one occasion with zero results, so perhaps I need to gain a larger implement or simply swing with more physical force. What do you think? Eh... Never mind. I rarely entertain outside opinions or other information. The truth is that the grain may be all I have left in day-to-day life and if I don’t react I might never get out of this hole. I may need to take another shot at the forest to see if anything has changed from the last attempt. If ever I needed the forest mindset, this is the time. The alternative is to continue in this vein and shrink accordingly. Eugene’s wife Deanne is really beautiful, although her face is what I call a ‘niche’ wonder. Few would agree. As for the hammer, my power may be waning but I still have the tools to ramp it up (a little bit). I blasted one track with the big door down. That’s all for now. My power is as effective as everything else in this life... Scarce. One day I will have what I need out there and others will realize the depth of my losses. The time is approaching noon, as is a second attempt to reach the forest. I have never needed it more. No one will understand me once both feet are planted in that wondrous place, and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. I wish I could know if I will ever be allowed inside. Grain. Pain. Vane. Such is this. Later. The music of the old guard is winding its way through the house and garage. I needed something different, and this shit fits the bill, according to the mood brought on by being squished last night. Feeling angry also prompted me to shower, clean the bathroom and then myself. Sometimes when I am marginalized by other people, the rancor brings a sense of accomplishment. This afternoon is no different. There is nothing like being pissed off to bring about some ambition. Heh. I wish that was funny. Nothing is fucking funny right now. The forest is apparent within these lengthy compositions. Maybe I can further the state of things and finally get into that most elusive of mindsets. Maybe. For the time being, however, I am relegated – as always, no matter where my heart lies – and will continue to ensure that the evening is peaceful. In order to align with the forest and attempt to stretch out with my feelings, I poured the ill-advised and very rare second cocktail. That means the remainder of the afternoon will go one of two ways; either I will fall on my face and be completely worthless, or the drive will send me over the edge of life and illuminate the importance of the forest, after which I will mellow a bit and relish in the fact that I’m one step closer to what must be done. Rain is falling right now. It is beautiful and reminds me of the 1236 period, and a time when weather was another factor of the forest, and one I failed to fully embrace. Let us hope and pray that the change today will help me achieve the place of dreams, finally. Oh my fucking God, the combination of the weather outside my window and the close of this track are driving me insane. Please... Let me enter the forest. PLEASE. If ever I needed to travel outside the norm of society, social connections and all of the attached fake bullshit, the time is now. PLEASE. And? Just a little tidbit of information regarding my ongoing connection and dream of being in the forest, combined with the latest vane, grain, is the fact that the last word in the title of this beautiful album is the same... ‘grain’. I sincerely hope there is something more to such a coincidence, otherwise I may have to provide people with a stout demonstration. I need to be there, to be conscious of the fact that as often as people speak of the power of ‘good’, they must be aware that there is also power inherent within the negative spaces of the world, and not everyone strives for the former. I am one who believes that one will eventually destroy the other. Run with it. There are two types of understanding. One is nearly impossible and the other just a smidgen less so. Yep. Two types of understanding, both of which were created and eventually catalyzed by the past. The more prominent version at present is related to the power of the forest, whereas the lesser is all connected to the pain in my heart. I speak of just one most of the time because no one is going to absorb either, but the difference can drive most people far away for fear that they may be caught while trying to grab hold of the knowledge and be subsequently destroyed. They are afraid, and I can’t blame them one iota. My position with regard to society has endured yet another fucking hit, meaning the stance I so much try to maintain is only going to solidify regardless of if people want to fucking hear it or not. That is not to say that I am ‘correct’, only that I ‘suspect’, and am rarely in the wrong. The more I am exposed to what takes place in the world – most recently a mass shooting during a celebration for the winners of the big game – the more I know that society is less than enthusiastic about – and less willing to actually embrace – peace. Decades ago I stated that the only way this planet can be peaceful is to eliminate ALL of the humans. No one wanted to hear it, either. Now look where we are. Like it or not, the state of things is not going to improve. Moving in an actual positive direction would be against the collective grain. There you go... A fucking title reference. One more time... Run with it, motherfucks. The grain vane is the worst yet, and I haven’t even included pain. Do you know what a vane is? It follows the wind; it turns and adjusts itself to the prevailing flow of air, allowing those in need of such an indication a clear view of the weather, such as airports, farms, and other industries that are affected by the wind direction as dictated by atmospheric pressure and the jetstream. Does that help? I am being routed. I am not in control of those parts of day-to-day life that are directing me to and fro. This day is beginning to represent a change; one which dates back to the days of old when I first transferred the entire site from strictly HTML to active server pages written in C#, and the switch took place nearly twelve fucking years ago. The change to which I now refer is inside my head. Do you remember ‘Blood on the Cauliflower’? That was the very first occasion of me feeling the way I do at this very moment. The topic and trailing exposition in that essay were far too veiled for anyone to decipher. I am not going to make the process any easier, but I will say that there is a sentence in this entry which can help identify the meaning. A puzzle? Not at all. I am simply pointing out that given enough time and study, much of the way I feel about society could be derived from the content here. Moreover, my intentions during the period related to the cauliflower may be clarified – in no way understood, of course – and someone may take issue with views which had developed back then. I sit here at this very moment with the same mindset, if not a worse position regarding the way the world has progressed since then. The Raven’s theme song is playing at this very moment. God damn, I still love her. The music causes me to feel quite reckless on occasion, today being no different. There is a similar track that reminds me of spending time with the goddess, and I still recall the first time I played it in my car as we drove from somewhere to a lunch destination here on the peninsula. Upon arriving and parking, the composition was just ending, and I saw her half doubled-over and in tears. The music to which I tend to gravitate is very emotional, be it toward the positive or negative, yet tears can develop in either direction. That was a wonderful day. I’d put the song on right now, but it will most likely lead to a third cocktail and that means a premature death at my own hands. Maybe another time. There is an entire tray of cherry Jell-O shots sitting in the refrigerator right now. Just saying. They were not my idea. Suicide music, plain and simple. This is suicide music. This day needs to end. Thursday is here, and what does it mean? Nothing. I am exactly the same no matter what day comes along. Yesterday was fucking horrible and I do not want a repeat. Partly my fault, the afternoon was noisy and uncomfortable. At least I accomplished some things. My questionable behavior was in mind the entire time doing dry cleaning and trying to straighten the garage, and I kept thinking that I need to keep that aspect of my life to myself for the duration, lest the information fall into the wrong hands, as the officials might say. I have no intention of altering myself for any reason, but if I was to change something as it related to the dreams, questionable behavior would be at the top of the list. I need what I need and do what I do for reasons only I would understand. I consider changing my ways every single day, believe it or not. The problem is that whenever I remove anything from life that is enjoyable, I literally shorten the whole shitaree. I am not pleased with myself on one front, yet for the time being I must leave everything where it is. I wish I could talk about it. ‘That one? Off. The other one? Off. That one again? Back on.’ One of these days, I’m going to completely lose my mind, and when that comes along I might volunteer some information. Perhaps there will be suicide music playing in the background when I let fly the words. The way I feel right now is not good, but better than yesterday afternoon. I’m going to try letting go of my recent behavior for a little while and see if my heart ends up in pain. I’ve done it before. The problem is that I am so desperate at this point in time that overlooking anything which has the power to bring me an ethereal sense of wonder quickly becomes of dire importance. If I don’t embrace these things, even a little, I’ll fall into a chasm of depression. There is nothing for me in the world anyway, but I can still use the power of my imagination and manufacture situations out of thin air during those moments. I honestly don’t know what to do or think about the way my feelings and views have developed throughout the past couple of years. I really don’t have a fucking clue. This mindset – along with some of the more questionable things I’ve done because of it – came along out of the clear blue sky and smacked me upside the head one day and has not let go at all. Every now and then I am reminded of the beginning, my head runs amok with the information, and then I fall on my stupid face again and become very angry about feeling this way in the first place. Whatever. Thursday means something related to the topic, but I can’t say what. Just know that the inside of my head is constantly engaged in one battle or another, usually involving something I should not be doing at all. Shit. I did not make myself into this mess, either. The damaging dreams came along because there are pieces of me that have been missing since those two shit situations. This is not my fucking fault. I feel what I feel for reasons beyond my control. The dreams can reinforce a mass of difficulty and desire because they are nothing more than a byproduct of this condition. I’m not surprised to have reminders slapping me in the face every day. I have to go to the shipping place later this morning to return an item that was sent to me in error. No big deal. I may not have as much peace and quiet today as I did yesterday, although I went off the deep end and do not want to fall down again. At least knowing that I made a mistake and lost control for a little while will help me remain in check when I become angry. My composure is important, believe it or not, and when I lose it I become embarrassed. After all of the shit I’ve given others regarding comportment, one might believe that I should be setting an example rather than flipping out. When I go to the shipping store and a possible side trip to the hardware place, I’ll be keeping all this shit in mind to avoid anything bad happening. The housework will probably feel much easier today, the quiet even better. This has been a difficult morning and so far I’ve only been at the machine for less than two hours. When I speak of ‘missing pieces’, the topic is already pervading the inside of my head, possibly for hours prior to mentioning that I’m not well. I need someone to tell me that everything will be ok and the world will stop crushing me as it has for so many years. I need someone to listen and understand, for fuck’s sake. I have to try and avoid becoming angry like yesterday because it accomplishes nothing and sets me back in time (not in a good way). Anger is so fucking quick-acting that it takes over my psyche before I even realize what’s happening. I’ll have to concentrate today and sidestep anything that may send me flying. I am frankly surprised to be sitting here this balanced today, especially considering the wave of sadness that overtook me a little while ago. Sometimes I can distract myself and get into some sort of project or process and the action does help, although everything will come back and hit me in the face (and heart) soon enough. I already know. I know far too much in advance of anything taking over my senses and leaving me heartbroken. I know. The past has crafted and altered the way my mind works to the point of being able to predict almost anything once there is even the tiniest reminder or reference. That is so fucking sad. And speaking of the word ‘reference’, don’t think I’ve forgotten about the other vane; ‘kept’. The reference came along straight out of nowhere and slapped me silly. Now I can barely get through a morning without considering the ramifications of that type of feeling (or belief, because it refers to Ashley’s philosophy somewhat) and from where it came. I don’t fucking like it, either. Since my life always ends up right here with my head all fucked up over one thing or another, even something wondrous and beautiful makes me fucking angry. Isn’t that a really nice clambake? I was there. I’ve seen it. I already know everything. No one else understood regardless of intentions, feelings or any other fucking factors. I tried, too. I fucking tried over and over, but in the end I am nothing more than a squished, disregarded and helpful person. I always help. That is part of what set me off yesterday, to be honest. The fucking overpass from the night before came to a fucking head (in my head) and sent me into the stratosphere as I haven’t felt in a very long time. It was bad. The only smidgen of a positive is that I kept the big garage door closed for the most part. I don’t think anyone really gave a shit, either. One woman walking her dog smiled and waved. That’s a solid indication that my tirade came and went without issue. The feeling of having been passed over and made to believe myself unimportant combined with the knowledge that I will probably never be where I need again were simply too much for my head to process with any semblance of productive or positive thought. I flipped out. I’ve been sitting here sipping coffee and recalling being where I needed – not too terribly far back in the past – and I can still see and feel everything. That is a part of the fucking problem. I was there and I know all about it. Now? The odds are astronomical that any fucking positive change is on my horizon. The doorstep shall remain as it is. I am having a hard enough time trying to deal with the fucking grain. I really don’t need those beautiful memories taking over and derailing my attempts to understand why I must be viewed and considered in such a fashion. I just don’t get it. There is a ball going back and forth inside my head, bouncing between trying to understand those fucking people and trying to find some fucking understanding for a completely unrelated situation. Clambake. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Brokenheartedcakes.’ The camel wants to spit, but I can’t have that right now. No spitting. One thing that came to mind yesterday during my little tantrum was a reference above from another entry. The blood and the cauliflower. I was thinking in such terms; unfortunately those terms can’t be spelled out here, nor can I exercise such considerations because of my unstable condition. Bigger fish. Fishcakes. That’s an old one and it dates back to a time when the world didn’t look nearly as bad as it does right now. Comfort was present and my devices were many. I was not quite ‘there’, but I went on a search and found that place regardless of other circumstances. Everything felt temporary; even everyday life. I sought, found, and then fucked up pretty badly. I just hope being ‘there’ doesn’t always have to relate to suicide. That would not be a good thing. I’m already in fucked up shape. More is not necessary. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Runawaycakes.’ So, what does all this shit mean? It means the latest vane is as of yet the fucking worst. I can’t control the grain anymore. Others may try to take advantage, too. The vane comes around and strikes me like a fluid pair of pants, and then I have to try to recover and act as if I’m fine. The process is exhausting. I just keep going... Being the ‘nice’ person who always helps and rarely asks for anything in return. Shit builds up after I am nice and then fucking squished to bits, I end up very angry, and nothing ever comes of it. Nothing is fixed. The grain has always been one-way. To be questioned at this point in life is completely ridiculous. The morning has been productive at the keyboard but disastrous to the inside of my head. I can’t stand feeling this way. Unfortunately, my cards cannot be exchanged. I just fucking hate this. I’ll have to really think about the way I relate to other people and go about my business. There simply MUST be alterations that can help me. Just think for a while. The grain will remain. There is nothing to be done about it. I can help, though. The vane strikes, I falter and cower, and then realize that the reasoning behind this vane being so much more forceful and violent than the others is because of people. Ask me a question; don’t wait for the answer. Inquire as to my thoughts; shut me up after a few words. Need help with something? Like the last few days? Of course, what can I do? I’m right here, always. Ignore the grain like everyone else. This is how news stories are created. If that woman was around here somewhere I would fucking die. If I saw her – something I’ve suspected on many occasions and while in a crowd – I’d stare. There were good moments; good things. There were also very troubling times that I can’t forget. Often I’d be wondering (because much of the time I was left with zero information and forced to fucking wonder while spending days and days alone) what was going on or what may be on the horizon, and then out of the blue sky I would be floored. I was taken from myself so unexpectedly that I thought I had done something right. Well, I still don’t know what the fuck happened during those occasions. Floored, though. Every time. Now I have nothing, which is actually a bit better because those beautiful situations were laced with more fucking trouble and hellish behavior than I’d care to repeat. Maybe the grain was at issue. That would not surprise me because I’ve made my fair share (and probably much more) of mistakes and bad decisions, hurt people, and left some wondering what the hell may have been taking place inside my head to cause all that shit. I never said the grain was perfect. At present, though, it is nearly beyond reproach. Just don’t ever ask what I’m thinking. Ever. Don’t do it. Think of the roadies... My coffee is nearly gone. I can’t stop thinking about the reference I mentioned a few entries back. It is one of the most powerful considerations in life and very difficult to shelve, even for a short time. The process has been in the back of my mind all morning, hence some of the trouble. It is painful to think about, yet wonderful at the same time. I just wish the world was not the way it is, and some things could actually develop and help my condition. Nope. None of that is real. Moreover, I still don’t understand why the reference came about the way it did. Maybe I invited such a thing. Whatever. Good or bad, real or not... I am still fucking miserable. The woman from the previous paragraph had a hand in much kindness coming my way. Little things, such as an expression or slight gesture that transmitted caring in an instant. She also made reference to the ‘reference’, although at times I really did not enjoy the conversations. Still, there were moments when everything was just fine. The latest reference is something I can’t seem to extricate from my brain. Not lately, anyway. I guess I’ll keep trying to find distractions. There are not many options left to me when it comes to feeling comfortable. I can’t kill the reference, so I suppose I’ll try to minimize it as much as possible. Coffee is gone for the day. I am so sad right now that I don’t know what to do with myself. The housework will not last very long. I’ll have to think of something, though, because idle hands controlled by my brain are not going to head in any positive direction. Perhaps I can further organize the new cabinet and consider options for some sort of latch. I am already feeling less pissy than yesterday. I guess the shit has to come to a head once in a while in order for me to realize that much of the time I am just fine; fairly balanced, but enough to function like a person. The shitty mood is probably a lesson that I need at times. Something to snap me back and keep me quiet. The keyboard should be the only listener (not counting the ‘girl’, of course). Yesterday was a latent reaction, nothing more. When I think of the grain, my view of me is positive, generally speaking. Somebody went against the grain, as it were, and the realization built up in my head over time. Eventually, I’d had enough and decided to lash for a little while. Now that the feeling is out of my system, I am seeing a future fraught with more of the same, and less of something else. This is not good because it means I have to further force the issue and leave people in the dark all of the time. Everyone, because they are all connected by the same means that created this spider web of a society. One means all, period. So, I just need to maintain myself for a while, avoid situations with potential overpasses, and try to dodge this vane a bit longer. It will turn into something else soon enough. The ‘reference’ is beginning to attach itself to the damaging dreams and a few other situations which have come about in the last couple of years. Not good. The whole shootin’ match is going to kill me, sure as hell. I can’t cease thinking about the beginning of all this crap, either. Say it with me... I don’t understand why the world has to be this way. There you go. Eliza is so cute. I think of her as a sister, honestly The more I think about the people nearby, the more my behavior is beginning to appear less questionable. My hand has been forced on so many fucking occasions that I could be completely out of my mind and unaware of such a fact. The other night pretty much cemented my suspicions and as of yesterday, they are permanent. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice cocktail as a reward. I’d normally be feeling good about accomplishing the morning housework. Not today. I ran into a deeply disturbing and emotional problem which has been lingering in my consciousness this entire time; an issue which is seemingly impossible to resolve. I wish I could say ‘improbable’ instead, but the truth is I don’t see anything coming along in the future that can improve this shit and alleviate my difficulties. The whole thing is just fucking sad. This is perhaps the fourth occasion that I’ve been forced to focus upon something that is very damaging and worrisome, and I don’t need any more fucking reminders. The morning has been horrible. At least I’m not as angry as earlier. I feel like crap today, though. My tirade really took it out of me yesterday. I wish I had some help with this shit, too. No one is listening; no one is there. This is probably all there will ever be... Just heartache, pain and confusion. I know some things. I do not know everything. The grain vane is pretty bad. Thinking about the way some have rolled right over me despite the condition of the grain is disheartening to say the least. I just don’t get it. Either I am interesting and intelligent, or I am not. Make up your fucking stupid minds. I am still not that angry. I guess I have enough control over this shit to remain fairly even-handed and level-headed today. That’s a huge positive. I just hope it’s not the only one. I need more. I need... Someone. I need her. Where is she? Another day has disappeared, never to return. One less day ahead. Less time. More memories. A continuation of everything else. Yesterday was relaxing for the most part; today is up in the air. Using the word ‘relaxing’ is an indication that I didn’t do much at all. I need to be a little more productive today. I have a long morning in store, coffee, and my program over there on display number two. This will be the norm for the next two hours or so, or at least until I tire of sitting here. This is the type of morning I needed after yesterday’s pitfalls and subsequent depression. I sure hope I appreciated some of those times while they were actually taking place. I’m confident that I cherished certain periods, but as I sit here and recall actually feeling happy, I am having trouble going back to some of those years and occasions and seeing myself treasuring the moments. I can’t be sure. There a re little aspects of this area and those where I used to reside that have changed or disappeared, many of them being related to the glowing years, the period just after the Midwest (the afterglow; wondrous and full of promise), or more recent years when I was desperately trying to recreate a little of that past magic. Well, that never worked, and the days flying by are forcing me to see a very dark future in which I will not have many familiar places to eat, shop or visit. During the glow, everything was magical (and no, I am not romanticizing the period just because it is gone; I’ve felt this way ever since moving back across the country in ninety-five). Magical. Of the five series’ that I follow over and over, one is key and another is nearly as important. The problem is that viewing such media back then was radically different and I believe I appreciated it much more than the current system. That is likely because the availability of media is insane these days and televisions are anything but necessary. Oh, I love my programs and the people within, but watching and listening now is so very different than during the glow that sometimes I can’t believe I actually lived during that wondrous time. There have been occasions during the intervening years when I strived to remain mindful of the special nature of something or someplace. I’ve done that quite a bit throughout the past decade, most notably for my birthday six years ago and the trip to the Sea. I still want to repeat it because I can’t recall if my appreciation for such an elaborate adventure was enough. These past few days have demonstrated that I am likely incapable of finding anything with the type of grain from the past. Mine is ok. One certainty is that since the outset of the shit nearly four years ago, I have taken the time to fully embrace what I have here in this house, and to treasure the peace, quiet and devices which surround me most days. I am not an idiot... I know that my physical comfort is tied to more than the past, and believe me when I say I appreciate this current situation more than I’ve laid out here recently. This vane is not going to let up. All I can do is sit here and fucking lump it, like most days. Yesterday morning found me so fucking heartbroken and sad that recovery felt completely impossible. At least, I did not feel that being knocked down so hard would allow me to rise again to where I was prior to being hit. I felt that each day and each occasion of being slammed with some alteration or depressing change was going to take just a little bit more out of me, eventually leaving nothing left in this chair but memories. The vane pushes and influences my movements throughout the days, often forcing me to see what is actually ahead of me. All those dreams and ideas I had when I was young... None of them will be reachable. The vanes are in charge of both trajectory and velocity. Yesterday – along with the line in the sand from a couple of years ago – demonstrated just how powerless I’ve become in trying to deal with the past and minimize future pain. There is literally nothing I can fucking do anymore. My life is going to continue to reduce down to the bare minimum. The grain was at issue the other night and I flipped the fuck out, yet how truly important is such an occurrence? Does it really matter if everything else has either disappeared or been destroyed? If I am eventually holed up inside this office with nothing more than two computers and my thoughts, where does the fucking grain fit in? Nothing I say or feel will make any difference whatsoever (much like how things are right now, actually, yet minus all of the anger), so any questioning of my grain or stance in life will be absent. No one can contact me (literally), and I can force the issue and lock myself up beyond belief. The incident really made me angry. Now I am thinking that the anger is beginning to turn into a productive mood, such as when a person is upset about something and begins to furiously clean their house. My feeling right now is similar, I believe. I wish the vane was not a vane at all, but a lawnmower blade. That could be fun. Did you see that film? Never mind. Cauliflower comes to mind more often as I continue to age. I don’t honestly believe that my efforts in going against the grain of life have actually accomplished anything. People question me all the time, but what the fuck does that matter? There are norms to which I no longer conform – mostly the way my mind operates, but again it doesn’t make any difference if no one knows – yet remaining inside this house all the time and rarely going anywhere or speaking to anyone means my nonconformism is all but invisible and likely doesn’t affect another person. That’s just splendid. On the other hand, I am much safer in my beliefs and moral stance if I keep everything to myself. Information in the wrong hands is more dangerous than anything else on earth. The grain vane is pressing me to believe that I don’t matter (along with countless demonstrations of the same from other people who purportedly care for me), so perhaps I need to push back a little bit and find a different direction for a while. Hmm. All of the other shit in my head is still present and hurting me. Make no mistake... Productive thought is often completely meaningless with regard to everyday life, and the longer I sit here and take the pain, the less I care about everyday ‘things’. Whatever took place a couple of years ago and generated this latest heartache will soon become the most powerful vane of all."
The Grain Vane
Mature content No. 403 Published February 16th, 2024 8:32am pst read ( words) Past entries
"Follow. Indeed. Tuesday is here regardless of my feelings. Monday was ok, mostly because I determined that the damaged cabinet panels can be dealt with fairly easily. After conversing with whomever was on the other end of the emails, I learned they are unwilling to ship the two panels about which I inquired because they fear ‘the product shape and size would likely cause damage in shipping’. Well, um... Wasn’t that the reason for the issue in the first place? Whatever. Since I was left with only one option, I decided to allow them to refund part of the price. I’ll just have to live with it. I don’t understand why the materials were all packed into one box for shipping since the cabinet is very heavy. They could easily split the contents into two. Well, I suppose that would be too costly. Everything reasonable is too costly these days, either too much time or too much money. Maybe I just make too much sense. Heh. Anyway, I assembled a good portion of the unit yesterday and left out the two suspect panels just in case they were willing to replace them. I also did my best to perform repairs. Later I will head out there and assemble the door with the questionable panels, but I am not concerned because they should be plenty sound considering the structure of the unit. The panels are connected at fourteen different points and both are secured to one of the doors. If I can get everything to align properly, the entire shitaree should be just fine. My refund has already been issued, meaning this is likely my last transaction with the company barring some insane set of circumstances. All done. I keep seeing the actor that resembles my friend – mannerisms, facial features, and such – and sometimes the sight drives me up the wall. When I first met her, I was so fucking attracted that I had trouble forming sentences. The situation was very uncomfortable because I had to make nice with everyone present at the time and avoid staring at her. Jesus fucking hell, anyway... The resemblance is uncanny (as I’ve said before). The woman in question is model material at five-nine and very slender and curvy at the same time, and I’ve seen enough of her throughout the past half decade to know precisely what I am saying. Moreover, the contact name for her in my phone was ‘the goddess’ – even though there is another goddess that I’ve mentioned plenty for more than five years – and I’ve rarely seen anyone more fitting of such a descriptor. Jesus. Anyway, the more I see this woman who stars in the program, the more I am reminded of the other smile and the way she walked. Damn. She is related to this vane (not vein), believe it or not. Lots of different sights and situations have been involuntarily rolled into the latest vane, in fact. Tons of shit. The pain I suffered through the other day has ripened my anger and caused it to fold into everything I do. Involuntary reactions are everyday occurrences, yet as such, people still run around the world in eighty seconds with the wording no matter the circumstances. When it comes to sheer anger and hatred, the other shit simply melts away because all inherent power has been disallowed. We shall see where this road leads. Probably nowhere good. At least I am already accustomed to loss. The hour is later and I have been fairly productive. The cabinet is now in the kitchen (sans doors, of course) and I assembled the shelving door to make sure everything would align properly. It did, thank the maker. I don’t believe the forty percent refund covers the shit I’ve gone through to make this project work, but there is really nothing I can do about it, as usual. Like everything else in my life, I just have to live with the fucking problems. On the upside, I believe the function of the new cabinet will not disappoint. My typical morning work has been completed and I have all the time in the world to move along through the day with whatever seems best. At some point I’ll continue the final assembly of the cabinet and then wipe it down. For now, I need to remain off my feet. Grain. No, not that which grows and feeds people. Think of the word along the lines of ‘stripe’, or ‘disposition’. I don’t want to spell it out because I don’t care. My grain is at issue here. The grain vane is portioning off the rest of my life and showing me where I will be in the future as a result of both passive and active situations. Figure it out. I don’t know when the appearance of vanes will end, and this one hurts deeply. Grain. Grained. I feel like a piece of aluminum. Bronze? Maybe. Brass? Um... Probably not. The next day is here. I am surrounded by all my stuff and about as comfortable as I can be at this point in time. Something very questionable took place this morning, bore wonderful fruit for a moment, and then went away. Questionable means exactly that... I don’t know how I feel about the whole thing but have become far too weak to consider consequences at the outset of chances. Eh, none of this matters anyway. I am going to be exactly the same no matter what transpires on a given day, questionable or otherwise. At least I still have coffee. Yesterday had me completely preoccupied with the cabinet issues, assembly and movement, so today I can go a little bit further with the organization and then take care of everything I shoved aside in favor of the cabinet. I need to run some dry cleaning, as well. All morning long I’ve been trying to recall a very interesting dream but can’t locate any clarity or detail. Damn. At least it wasn’t one of the damaging varieties. Wonderful things come and go – very rare and completely detached from yours truly – and I always end up right fucking here, alone and angry, sad and depressed. Everything is passing by as I sit idle on the fucking sidewalk of life. Others are fine. I am ruined. My mind keeps traveling back in time to the doll with whom I spent a few days, and yes... In the goblet. I can’t stop myself from daydreaming about her, and not just her appearance. I am speaking more of our conversations than anything else. As time passes, I seem to be gravitating away from our physical relationship, her features, and all of the desire I felt at the time and toward the way she felt about society in general. This relates to some of the discussions the Raven and I shared while gallivanting all over the place (I followed Her like a puppy much of the time). Her view of the world was unique and aligned with much of what I felt at the time. As for the doll, well, she altered the way I viewed certain aspects of relationships and the inside of my head eventually became permanently jaded. I feel more strongly about the doll’s viewpoint right now than ever before, although the way I feel does not seem to match anything. Anywhere? I can never know that one because I am fucking stuck right here for the duration. I’ve become so jaded, in fact, that the possibility of even carrying on a conversation with another person – regardless of with whom or why – is nearly completely gone. A therapist might pull information out of me, but even that fucking scenario is almost impossible anymore. The more I think about Ashley, the less I believe I can ever find anything I really need. She didn’t ruin me, though. That was due to others. Ashley enlightened me, believe it or not, because prior to spending blissful days together, I had no idea that I could be understood by the correct personality and not fucking humiliated or ridiculed for my beliefs. A therapist is objective (or should be) and nonjudgmental. Regardless, I’d still be hard-pressed to let fly some of how I feel these days. The doll may have been the last bastion of human endeavor, and that is downright fucking sad considering the sheer number of people on earth. So... Does that mean I will keep searching? I don’t believe that’s a good idea. As of this very moment, all of the desperate scanning and trying to understand myself has added up to only disappointment. I really don’t need any more of it, either. I’ve had it up to ‘here’ with being squished, routed, left on the side of the road or otherwise disregarded, meaning whenever I see something special, there is anger first and everything else second and beyond. Days are required for me to calm down. Yesterday, for example, I was AGAIN stepped on as if my voice was not being heard, and of all the behaviors that can bring me to a boiling point, that one is at the top of the list. I shut everything down soon enough, but the fact remains that the situation developed regardless of my feelings. The beauty and all related emotions that come to the surface actually can’t hold a candle to when I am squished, believe it or not, and such events always force me into searching all over again and desperately believing that there could be a real, actual person out there somewhere that would not only treat me like a valid human being, but understand from where my behavior and beliefs stemmed in the first fucking place. All of that has to be rolled up into a woman, as well. There you go. Chances? Nil. I suppose ceasing my search for that fucking person is not a good idea because ‘she’ is nearly all I have anymore. And I don’t even have ‘her’, do I? Everything is shit this morning.
Cocktail time. The usual stuff is out of the way and I have plenty of time to think, good or bad as it may be. I never know where my head will be by close of business, though. I just can’t know. There is far too much pressing me down to even feign a good mood these days. The shit from last night keeps haunting me because after all these fucking years, I still don’t get it. For more than twenty years, people have been telling me that I’m one of the ‘smartest’ [sic] people they’ve ever met. Over and over and fucking over... Gushing about my intelligence and knowledge. So... Why does no one listen or take me seriously when I am speaking? I’ve fucking had it with this shit. I am constantly respectful, helpful and kind, but the gestures rarely travel in the opposite direction. I went to take a look at my neighbor’s fucking garbage disposal yesterday and offered my expertise in diagnosing and solving the problem. Why? Because I am a nice person, and after decades of such a stance, being unkind or standoffish is very difficult. Maybe I haven’t been pushed far enough yet. Mid-sentence... Squished to hell. Nonexistent. Disregarded. I’m telling you right fucking now, if and when I decide that I’ve had enough and the time has come for the worst object lesson imaginable, the wording on what I leave behind will be more harsh than you can imagine, and a bit of fucking blame will be clearly stated. That’ll make people feel good about themselves. Wait... What? What did you say? They may only be angry with me? I won’t have to hear it. Fuck them. As I said, one of these days I will reach some sort of limit. Not yet. I’ve asked some people why I am treated this way and there is never an answer. I’ll fucking provide a solution, and then maybe they will see me in a different light. Good or bad, I don’t fucking care. The grain is at issue and I can’t help but feel angry about it. I’d tell the vane to go and fuck itself, yet I am powerless to find an effective saving throw against any of them. Feeling powerless also creates anger. The seeds were sown so long ago that I don’t know of any other way to live. Maybe I should switch from video media to music and enhance this mood a little bit. There are certain artists and compositions that bring me back to fifteen and sixteen, neither of which help me deal with everything. But they feel good, somehow. I can’t explain it. Perhaps the familiarity and slivers of freedom I felt when I first heard the music still draw me back. I need to get the fuck out of here and hit the road so badly that I feel I will bust otherwise. And now there is Jamie (sixth season). I may have fucked up by switching off the other program, but the truth is there will be something screwing with my head no matter what is playing on the right-hand display. The same goes for the televisions that remain running whenever I am not sitting here. I need certain media in the background all the time or I will be unable to work around the house. I have to be connected to those people, constantly. Even if I am only in the kitchen for ten minutes before doing something else, one of those series’ is playing. This paragraph has been derailed like so many others. I don’t know what to say... The grain is foremost on my mind today yet I can’t seem to hold the topic for more than a few minutes. Maybe being so angry is disallowing any clarity or flow. Eugene is on the display and is about to be backed into the worst possible corner, eventually forcing a very sad decision. I understand his dilemma more than I’d care to admit. The grain is the reason. I’ve been challenged. I can’t be certain, however, of the extent of such squishing. The grain has been obliquely questioned and I just can’t have it, but at the same time, what can I do? The past has demonstrated that no matter how shitty or negative my mood becomes, other people don’t seem to give a shit. I’ve swung the hammer on more than one occasion with zero results, so perhaps I need to gain a larger implement or simply swing with more physical force. What do you think? Eh... Never mind. I rarely entertain outside opinions or other information. The truth is that the grain may be all I have left in day-to-day life and if I don’t react I might never get out of this hole. I may need to take another shot at the forest to see if anything has changed from the last attempt. If ever I needed the forest mindset, this is the time. The alternative is to continue in this vein and shrink accordingly. Eugene’s wife Deanne is really beautiful, although her face is what I call a ‘niche’ wonder. Few would agree. As for the hammer, my power may be waning but I still have the tools to ramp it up (a little bit). I blasted one track with the big door down. That’s all for now. My power is as effective as everything else in this life... Scarce. One day I will have what I need out there and others will realize the depth of my losses. The time is approaching noon, as is a second attempt to reach the forest. I have never needed it more. No one will understand me once both feet are planted in that wondrous place, and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind. I wish I could know if I will ever be allowed inside. Grain. Pain. Vane. Such is this. Later. The music of the old guard is winding its way through the house and garage. I needed something different, and this shit fits the bill, according to the mood brought on by being squished last night. Feeling angry also prompted me to shower, clean the bathroom and then myself. Sometimes when I am marginalized by other people, the rancor brings a sense of accomplishment. This afternoon is no different. There is nothing like being pissed off to bring about some ambition. Heh. I wish that was funny. Nothing is fucking funny right now. The forest is apparent within these lengthy compositions. Maybe I can further the state of things and finally get into that most elusive of mindsets. Maybe. For the time being, however, I am relegated – as always, no matter where my heart lies – and will continue to ensure that the evening is peaceful. In order to align with the forest and attempt to stretch out with my feelings, I poured the ill-advised and very rare second cocktail. That means the remainder of the afternoon will go one of two ways; either I will fall on my face and be completely worthless, or the drive will send me over the edge of life and illuminate the importance of the forest, after which I will mellow a bit and relish in the fact that I’m one step closer to what must be done. Rain is falling right now. It is beautiful and reminds me of the 1236 period, and a time when weather was another factor of the forest, and one I failed to fully embrace. Let us hope and pray that the change today will help me achieve the place of dreams, finally. Oh my fucking God, the combination of the weather outside my window and the close of this track are driving me insane. Please... Let me enter the forest. PLEASE. If ever I needed to travel outside the norm of society, social connections and all of the attached fake bullshit, the time is now. PLEASE. And? Just a little tidbit of information regarding my ongoing connection and dream of being in the forest, combined with the latest vane, grain, is the fact that the last word in the title of this beautiful album is the same... ‘grain’. I sincerely hope there is something more to such a coincidence, otherwise I may have to provide people with a stout demonstration. I need to be there, to be conscious of the fact that as often as people speak of the power of ‘good’, they must be aware that there is also power inherent within the negative spaces of the world, and not everyone strives for the former. I am one who believes that one will eventually destroy the other. Run with it. There are two types of understanding. One is nearly impossible and the other just a smidgen less so. Yep. Two types of understanding, both of which were created and eventually catalyzed by the past. The more prominent version at present is related to the power of the forest, whereas the lesser is all connected to the pain in my heart. I speak of just one most of the time because no one is going to absorb either, but the difference can drive most people far away for fear that they may be caught while trying to grab hold of the knowledge and be subsequently destroyed. They are afraid, and I can’t blame them one iota. My position with regard to society has endured yet another fucking hit, meaning the stance I so much try to maintain is only going to solidify regardless of if people want to fucking hear it or not. That is not to say that I am ‘correct’, only that I ‘suspect’, and am rarely in the wrong. The more I am exposed to what takes place in the world – most recently a mass shooting during a celebration for the winners of the big game – the more I know that society is less than enthusiastic about – and less willing to actually embrace – peace. Decades ago I stated that the only way this planet can be peaceful is to eliminate ALL of the humans. No one wanted to hear it, either. Now look where we are. Like it or not, the state of things is not going to improve. Moving in an actual positive direction would be against the collective grain. There you go... A fucking title reference. One more time... Run with it, motherfucks. The grain vane is the worst yet, and I haven’t even included pain.
Do you know what a vane is? It follows the wind; it turns and adjusts itself to the prevailing flow of air, allowing those in need of such an indication a clear view of the weather, such as airports, farms, and other industries that are affected by the wind direction as dictated by atmospheric pressure and the jetstream. Does that help? I am being routed. I am not in control of those parts of day-to-day life that are directing me to and fro. This day is beginning to represent a change; one which dates back to the days of old when I first transferred the entire site from strictly HTML to active server pages written in C#, and the switch took place nearly twelve fucking years ago. The change to which I now refer is inside my head. Do you remember ‘Blood on the Cauliflower’? That was the very first occasion of me feeling the way I do at this very moment. The topic and trailing exposition in that essay were far too veiled for anyone to decipher. I am not going to make the process any easier, but I will say that there is a sentence in this entry which can help identify the meaning. A puzzle? Not at all. I am simply pointing out that given enough time and study, much of the way I feel about society could be derived from the content here. Moreover, my intentions during the period related to the cauliflower may be clarified – in no way understood, of course – and someone may take issue with views which had developed back then. I sit here at this very moment with the same mindset, if not a worse position regarding the way the world has progressed since then. The Raven’s theme song is playing at this very moment. God damn, I still love her. The music causes me to feel quite reckless on occasion, today being no different. There is a similar track that reminds me of spending time with the goddess, and I still recall the first time I played it in my car as we drove from somewhere to a lunch destination here on the peninsula. Upon arriving and parking, the composition was just ending, and I saw her half doubled-over and in tears. The music to which I tend to gravitate is very emotional, be it toward the positive or negative, yet tears can develop in either direction. That was a wonderful day. I’d put the song on right now, but it will most likely lead to a third cocktail and that means a premature death at my own hands. Maybe another time. There is an entire tray of cherry Jell-O shots sitting in the refrigerator right now. Just saying. They were not my idea. Suicide music, plain and simple. This is suicide music. This day needs to end. Thursday is here, and what does it mean? Nothing. I am exactly the same no matter what day comes along. Yesterday was fucking horrible and I do not want a repeat. Partly my fault, the afternoon was noisy and uncomfortable. At least I accomplished some things. My questionable behavior was in mind the entire time doing dry cleaning and trying to straighten the garage, and I kept thinking that I need to keep that aspect of my life to myself for the duration, lest the information fall into the wrong hands, as the officials might say. I have no intention of altering myself for any reason, but if I was to change something as it related to the dreams, questionable behavior would be at the top of the list. I need what I need and do what I do for reasons only I would understand. I consider changing my ways every single day, believe it or not. The problem is that whenever I remove anything from life that is enjoyable, I literally shorten the whole shitaree. I am not pleased with myself on one front, yet for the time being I must leave everything where it is. I wish I could talk about it. ‘That one? Off. The other one? Off. That one again? Back on.’ One of these days, I’m going to completely lose my mind, and when that comes along I might volunteer some information. Perhaps there will be suicide music playing in the background when I let fly the words. The way I feel right now is not good, but better than yesterday afternoon. I’m going to try letting go of my recent behavior for a little while and see if my heart ends up in pain. I’ve done it before. The problem is that I am so desperate at this point in time that overlooking anything which has the power to bring me an ethereal sense of wonder quickly becomes of dire importance. If I don’t embrace these things, even a little, I’ll fall into a chasm of depression. There is nothing for me in the world anyway, but I can still use the power of my imagination and manufacture situations out of thin air during those moments. I honestly don’t know what to do or think about the way my feelings and views have developed throughout the past couple of years. I really don’t have a fucking clue. This mindset – along with some of the more questionable things I’ve done because of it – came along out of the clear blue sky and smacked me upside the head one day and has not let go at all. Every now and then I am reminded of the beginning, my head runs amok with the information, and then I fall on my stupid face again and become very angry about feeling this way in the first place. Whatever. Thursday means something related to the topic, but I can’t say what. Just know that the inside of my head is constantly engaged in one battle or another, usually involving something I should not be doing at all. Shit. I did not make myself into this mess, either. The damaging dreams came along because there are pieces of me that have been missing since those two shit situations. This is not my fucking fault. I feel what I feel for reasons beyond my control. The dreams can reinforce a mass of difficulty and desire because they are nothing more than a byproduct of this condition. I’m not surprised to have reminders slapping me in the face every day. I have to go to the shipping place later this morning to return an item that was sent to me in error. No big deal. I may not have as much peace and quiet today as I did yesterday, although I went off the deep end and do not want to fall down again. At least knowing that I made a mistake and lost control for a little while will help me remain in check when I become angry. My composure is important, believe it or not, and when I lose it I become embarrassed. After all of the shit I’ve given others regarding comportment, one might believe that I should be setting an example rather than flipping out. When I go to the shipping store and a possible side trip to the hardware place, I’ll be keeping all this shit in mind to avoid anything bad happening. The housework will probably feel much easier today, the quiet even better. This has been a difficult morning and so far I’ve only been at the machine for less than two hours. When I speak of ‘missing pieces’, the topic is already pervading the inside of my head, possibly for hours prior to mentioning that I’m not well. I need someone to tell me that everything will be ok and the world will stop crushing me as it has for so many years. I need someone to listen and understand, for fuck’s sake. I have to try and avoid becoming angry like yesterday because it accomplishes nothing and sets me back in time (not in a good way). Anger is so fucking quick-acting that it takes over my psyche before I even realize what’s happening. I’ll have to concentrate today and sidestep anything that may send me flying. I am frankly surprised to be sitting here this balanced today, especially considering the wave of sadness that overtook me a little while ago. Sometimes I can distract myself and get into some sort of project or process and the action does help, although everything will come back and hit me in the face (and heart) soon enough. I already know. I know far too much in advance of anything taking over my senses and leaving me heartbroken. I know. The past has crafted and altered the way my mind works to the point of being able to predict almost anything once there is even the tiniest reminder or reference. That is so fucking sad. And speaking of the word ‘reference’, don’t think I’ve forgotten about the other vane; ‘kept’. The reference came along straight out of nowhere and slapped me silly. Now I can barely get through a morning without considering the ramifications of that type of feeling (or belief, because it refers to Ashley’s philosophy somewhat) and from where it came. I don’t fucking like it, either. Since my life always ends up right here with my head all fucked up over one thing or another, even something wondrous and beautiful makes me fucking angry. Isn’t that a really nice clambake?
I was there. I’ve seen it. I already know everything. No one else understood regardless of intentions, feelings or any other fucking factors. I tried, too. I fucking tried over and over, but in the end I am nothing more than a squished, disregarded and helpful person. I always help. That is part of what set me off yesterday, to be honest. The fucking overpass from the night before came to a fucking head (in my head) and sent me into the stratosphere as I haven’t felt in a very long time. It was bad. The only smidgen of a positive is that I kept the big garage door closed for the most part. I don’t think anyone really gave a shit, either. One woman walking her dog smiled and waved. That’s a solid indication that my tirade came and went without issue. The feeling of having been passed over and made to believe myself unimportant combined with the knowledge that I will probably never be where I need again were simply too much for my head to process with any semblance of productive or positive thought. I flipped out. I’ve been sitting here sipping coffee and recalling being where I needed – not too terribly far back in the past – and I can still see and feel everything. That is a part of the fucking problem. I was there and I know all about it. Now? The odds are astronomical that any fucking positive change is on my horizon. The doorstep shall remain as it is. I am having a hard enough time trying to deal with the fucking grain. I really don’t need those beautiful memories taking over and derailing my attempts to understand why I must be viewed and considered in such a fashion. I just don’t get it. There is a ball going back and forth inside my head, bouncing between trying to understand those fucking people and trying to find some fucking understanding for a completely unrelated situation. Clambake. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Brokenheartedcakes.’ The camel wants to spit, but I can’t have that right now. No spitting. One thing that came to mind yesterday during my little tantrum was a reference above from another entry. The blood and the cauliflower. I was thinking in such terms; unfortunately those terms can’t be spelled out here, nor can I exercise such considerations because of my unstable condition. Bigger fish. Fishcakes. That’s an old one and it dates back to a time when the world didn’t look nearly as bad as it does right now. Comfort was present and my devices were many. I was not quite ‘there’, but I went on a search and found that place regardless of other circumstances. Everything felt temporary; even everyday life. I sought, found, and then fucked up pretty badly. I just hope being ‘there’ doesn’t always have to relate to suicide. That would not be a good thing. I’m already in fucked up shape. More is not necessary. ‘Blah, blah, blah... Runawaycakes.’ So, what does all this shit mean? It means the latest vane is as of yet the fucking worst. I can’t control the grain anymore. Others may try to take advantage, too. The vane comes around and strikes me like a fluid pair of pants, and then I have to try to recover and act as if I’m fine. The process is exhausting. I just keep going... Being the ‘nice’ person who always helps and rarely asks for anything in return. Shit builds up after I am nice and then fucking squished to bits, I end up very angry, and nothing ever comes of it. Nothing is fixed. The grain has always been one-way. To be questioned at this point in life is completely ridiculous. The morning has been productive at the keyboard but disastrous to the inside of my head. I can’t stand feeling this way. Unfortunately, my cards cannot be exchanged. I just fucking hate this. I’ll have to really think about the way I relate to other people and go about my business. There simply MUST be alterations that can help me. Just think for a while. The grain will remain. There is nothing to be done about it. I can help, though. The vane strikes, I falter and cower, and then realize that the reasoning behind this vane being so much more forceful and violent than the others is because of people. Ask me a question; don’t wait for the answer. Inquire as to my thoughts; shut me up after a few words. Need help with something? Like the last few days? Of course, what can I do? I’m right here, always. Ignore the grain like everyone else. This is how news stories are created. If that woman was around here somewhere I would fucking die. If I saw her – something I’ve suspected on many occasions and while in a crowd – I’d stare. There were good moments; good things. There were also very troubling times that I can’t forget. Often I’d be wondering (because much of the time I was left with zero information and forced to fucking wonder while spending days and days alone) what was going on or what may be on the horizon, and then out of the blue sky I would be floored. I was taken from myself so unexpectedly that I thought I had done something right. Well, I still don’t know what the fuck happened during those occasions. Floored, though. Every time. Now I have nothing, which is actually a bit better because those beautiful situations were laced with more fucking trouble and hellish behavior than I’d care to repeat. Maybe the grain was at issue. That would not surprise me because I’ve made my fair share (and probably much more) of mistakes and bad decisions, hurt people, and left some wondering what the hell may have been taking place inside my head to cause all that shit. I never said the grain was perfect. At present, though, it is nearly beyond reproach. Just don’t ever ask what I’m thinking. Ever. Don’t do it. Think of the roadies... My coffee is nearly gone. I can’t stop thinking about the reference I mentioned a few entries back. It is one of the most powerful considerations in life and very difficult to shelve, even for a short time. The process has been in the back of my mind all morning, hence some of the trouble. It is painful to think about, yet wonderful at the same time. I just wish the world was not the way it is, and some things could actually develop and help my condition. Nope. None of that is real. Moreover, I still don’t understand why the reference came about the way it did. Maybe I invited such a thing. Whatever. Good or bad, real or not... I am still fucking miserable. The woman from the previous paragraph had a hand in much kindness coming my way. Little things, such as an expression or slight gesture that transmitted caring in an instant. She also made reference to the ‘reference’, although at times I really did not enjoy the conversations. Still, there were moments when everything was just fine. The latest reference is something I can’t seem to extricate from my brain. Not lately, anyway. I guess I’ll keep trying to find distractions. There are not many options left to me when it comes to feeling comfortable. I can’t kill the reference, so I suppose I’ll try to minimize it as much as possible. Coffee is gone for the day. I am so sad right now that I don’t know what to do with myself. The housework will not last very long. I’ll have to think of something, though, because idle hands controlled by my brain are not going to head in any positive direction. Perhaps I can further organize the new cabinet and consider options for some sort of latch. I am already feeling less pissy than yesterday. I guess the shit has to come to a head once in a while in order for me to realize that much of the time I am just fine; fairly balanced, but enough to function like a person. The shitty mood is probably a lesson that I need at times. Something to snap me back and keep me quiet. The keyboard should be the only listener (not counting the ‘girl’, of course). Yesterday was a latent reaction, nothing more. When I think of the grain, my view of me is positive, generally speaking. Somebody went against the grain, as it were, and the realization built up in my head over time. Eventually, I’d had enough and decided to lash for a little while. Now that the feeling is out of my system, I am seeing a future fraught with more of the same, and less of something else. This is not good because it means I have to further force the issue and leave people in the dark all of the time. Everyone, because they are all connected by the same means that created this spider web of a society. One means all, period. So, I just need to maintain myself for a while, avoid situations with potential overpasses, and try to dodge this vane a bit longer. It will turn into something else soon enough. The ‘reference’ is beginning to attach itself to the damaging dreams and a few other situations which have come about in the last couple of years. Not good. The whole shootin’ match is going to kill me, sure as hell. I can’t cease thinking about the beginning of all this crap, either. Say it with me... I don’t understand why the world has to be this way. There you go.
Eliza is so cute. I think of her as a sister, honestly
The more I think about the people nearby, the more my behavior is beginning to appear less questionable. My hand has been forced on so many fucking occasions that I could be completely out of my mind and unaware of such a fact. The other night pretty much cemented my suspicions and as of yesterday, they are permanent. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice cocktail as a reward. I’d normally be feeling good about accomplishing the morning housework. Not today. I ran into a deeply disturbing and emotional problem which has been lingering in my consciousness this entire time; an issue which is seemingly impossible to resolve. I wish I could say ‘improbable’ instead, but the truth is I don’t see anything coming along in the future that can improve this shit and alleviate my difficulties. The whole thing is just fucking sad. This is perhaps the fourth occasion that I’ve been forced to focus upon something that is very damaging and worrisome, and I don’t need any more fucking reminders. The morning has been horrible. At least I’m not as angry as earlier. I feel like crap today, though. My tirade really took it out of me yesterday. I wish I had some help with this shit, too. No one is listening; no one is there. This is probably all there will ever be... Just heartache, pain and confusion. I know some things. I do not know everything. The grain vane is pretty bad. Thinking about the way some have rolled right over me despite the condition of the grain is disheartening to say the least. I just don’t get it. Either I am interesting and intelligent, or I am not. Make up your fucking stupid minds. I am still not that angry. I guess I have enough control over this shit to remain fairly even-handed and level-headed today. That’s a huge positive. I just hope it’s not the only one. I need more. I need... Someone. I need her. Where is she? Another day has disappeared, never to return. One less day ahead. Less time. More memories. A continuation of everything else. Yesterday was relaxing for the most part; today is up in the air. Using the word ‘relaxing’ is an indication that I didn’t do much at all. I need to be a little more productive today. I have a long morning in store, coffee, and my program over there on display number two. This will be the norm for the next two hours or so, or at least until I tire of sitting here. This is the type of morning I needed after yesterday’s pitfalls and subsequent depression. I sure hope I appreciated some of those times while they were actually taking place. I’m confident that I cherished certain periods, but as I sit here and recall actually feeling happy, I am having trouble going back to some of those years and occasions and seeing myself treasuring the moments. I can’t be sure. There a re little aspects of this area and those where I used to reside that have changed or disappeared, many of them being related to the glowing years, the period just after the Midwest (the afterglow; wondrous and full of promise), or more recent years when I was desperately trying to recreate a little of that past magic. Well, that never worked, and the days flying by are forcing me to see a very dark future in which I will not have many familiar places to eat, shop or visit. During the glow, everything was magical (and no, I am not romanticizing the period just because it is gone; I’ve felt this way ever since moving back across the country in ninety-five). Magical. Of the five series’ that I follow over and over, one is key and another is nearly as important. The problem is that viewing such media back then was radically different and I believe I appreciated it much more than the current system. That is likely because the availability of media is insane these days and televisions are anything but necessary. Oh, I love my programs and the people within, but watching and listening now is so very different than during the glow that sometimes I can’t believe I actually lived during that wondrous time. There have been occasions during the intervening years when I strived to remain mindful of the special nature of something or someplace. I’ve done that quite a bit throughout the past decade, most notably for my birthday six years ago and the trip to the Sea. I still want to repeat it because I can’t recall if my appreciation for such an elaborate adventure was enough. These past few days have demonstrated that I am likely incapable of finding anything with the type of grain from the past. Mine is ok. One certainty is that since the outset of the shit nearly four years ago, I have taken the time to fully embrace what I have here in this house, and to treasure the peace, quiet and devices which surround me most days. I am not an idiot... I know that my physical comfort is tied to more than the past, and believe me when I say I appreciate this current situation more than I’ve laid out here recently. This vane is not going to let up. All I can do is sit here and fucking lump it, like most days. Yesterday morning found me so fucking heartbroken and sad that recovery felt completely impossible. At least, I did not feel that being knocked down so hard would allow me to rise again to where I was prior to being hit. I felt that each day and each occasion of being slammed with some alteration or depressing change was going to take just a little bit more out of me, eventually leaving nothing left in this chair but memories. The vane pushes and influences my movements throughout the days, often forcing me to see what is actually ahead of me. All those dreams and ideas I had when I was young... None of them will be reachable. The vanes are in charge of both trajectory and velocity. Yesterday – along with the line in the sand from a couple of years ago – demonstrated just how powerless I’ve become in trying to deal with the past and minimize future pain. There is literally nothing I can fucking do anymore. My life is going to continue to reduce down to the bare minimum. The grain was at issue the other night and I flipped the fuck out, yet how truly important is such an occurrence? Does it really matter if everything else has either disappeared or been destroyed? If I am eventually holed up inside this office with nothing more than two computers and my thoughts, where does the fucking grain fit in? Nothing I say or feel will make any difference whatsoever (much like how things are right now, actually, yet minus all of the anger), so any questioning of my grain or stance in life will be absent. No one can contact me (literally), and I can force the issue and lock myself up beyond belief. The incident really made me angry. Now I am thinking that the anger is beginning to turn into a productive mood, such as when a person is upset about something and begins to furiously clean their house. My feeling right now is similar, I believe. I wish the vane was not a vane at all, but a lawnmower blade. That could be fun. Did you see that film? Never mind. Cauliflower comes to mind more often as I continue to age. I don’t honestly believe that my efforts in going against the grain of life have actually accomplished anything. People question me all the time, but what the fuck does that matter? There are norms to which I no longer conform – mostly the way my mind operates, but again it doesn’t make any difference if no one knows – yet remaining inside this house all the time and rarely going anywhere or speaking to anyone means my nonconformism is all but invisible and likely doesn’t affect another person. That’s just splendid. On the other hand, I am much safer in my beliefs and moral stance if I keep everything to myself. Information in the wrong hands is more dangerous than anything else on earth. The grain vane is pressing me to believe that I don’t matter (along with countless demonstrations of the same from other people who purportedly care for me), so perhaps I need to push back a little bit and find a different direction for a while. Hmm. All of the other shit in my head is still present and hurting me. Make no mistake... Productive thought is often completely meaningless with regard to everyday life, and the longer I sit here and take the pain, the less I care about everyday ‘things’. Whatever took place a couple of years ago and generated this latest heartache will soon become the most powerful vane of all."
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