February 18th, 2024 12:01pm pst

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The Blood Vane

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"I could use some fucking help here, damn it. Nope.

The cauliflower continues to enter my head, as does the period during which it first made an appearance. The damned thing just popped into my head, likely due to some ill-begotten plans a few years earlier when I was working at the parts house. Plans to leave, permanently. I worked out all sorts of details and then learned that my desire to rid myself of certain aspects of society did not matter to anyone else. And then the Midwest, and then the pickles, and eventually the cauliflower showed up before my eyes and had me thinking in dire terms. Considering more recent developments, the blood is on my mind more than ever. Hence this fucking vane. One of them is going to lop off my head at some point in the future and I probably can’t do anything about it.

This morning has been slightly more relaxed than yesterday at the same time. It’s possible that I haven’t pushed so hard today because I already know that everything will turn to shit regardless of the effort. All I can do is finish my coffee and then move into some housework. One might believe this type of thinking indicates that I’ve learned something. Unfortunately, the topic of the trouble is far from something I can repair. This is a one-way street. I know all about it. Trust me. Whatever the reason, the morning has been a tad better. Work time.

And... Done. My usual stuff is out of the way and I finally packaged an item that needs to be returned to the seller. I’ll have to drop it off later today without fail because I’ve hit the fucking deadline. No big deal. There is a lovely glass of very depressive liquid to my left. Big surprise. I don’t care about much anymore. I will drop off the package after lunch, but early enough to avoid afternoon clusterfucks on the highway. My destination is but two miles away. Not bad.

Desert? Heat? Sand? Hmm. The netherworld has been on my mind lately. I’m hoping this latest vane doesn’t drive me back to that place. As much as I’d like to see Julia and Julie again, now is just not the time. My mind also went back to Arina while I reorganized the images that are displayed within the nine essays. Arina. Not good. Not by a damned sight. I went through holy hell trying to describe how I felt about her name – most notably the combination of Arina and Shilo – and I have begun to see parallels between that period and the present. My feelings for Arina are not far from the netherworld, nor do they bring any joy or contentment. That was a very rough time, and lately I’ve been reaching out with more desperation than ever just to get through a typical day. Sitting here right now with the control center at my disposal and a drink to ease the difficulties is about as good as it gets anymore. Oh, there are the occasional meals or a nice movie (like last night), but for the most part I am barely clinging to anything that keeps me from that frightening last fall down the hill. Stretching my feelings and entering the netherworld was supposed to be a helpful analysis rife with productive conversations, lessons and the like. As of this very moment, I feel as if my condition is even worse than when I wrote those lengthy compositions. The reason may be apparent, yet it is nothing I can describe in detail. Not even a little bit. I have to keep all that shit hidden away for fear of being ridiculed, or worse. The cauliflower is bad enough, also in need of ambiguity, and the sum of shit I have to blur is becoming difficult to follow, even for me. At the outset of the series, Arina was supposed to be the culmination of everything inside me. The idea never really panned out, though. I tried, especially when connecting her and Shilo, but in the end I came out the other side no better for the effort. I tried to find direction with the door series, too. That was fucking tough. Again... I am worse now regardless of all that shit. Maybe nothing I attempt will change this situation. The clones were bad enough. That fucking story ended a long run of fiction that related (and included) actual memories from reality, and was supposed to head into wondrous, amazing territory. Like the rest, however, I ran out of gas due to feeling completely defeated. I am powerless to exercise control here, and I am the same in other places, be it a desert or whatever. The little scorpions should have stung me and saved all involved from a slough of wasted time. Desert, indeed. What a fucking joke.

Why did I keep trying? Why the other parables? Your guess is as good as mine, and may be exactly the same: Desperation. At least I tried. Better than nothing, I suppose.

Maybe I just enjoy typing.

The time is now ‘who gives a shit’ and I have no idea of what the rest of this day will involve. A trip to the UPS store – sure, because I have to – but the remaining hours are a mystery. One thing for sure is that I will do my best to avoid the fucking helllish pit I fell into two days ago. I simply can’t have that shit. It is (was) a waste of time and resources. Each occasion that finds me pissed off and lashing out accomplishes nothing more than me feeling very small, powerless and having burned the clock without purpose. The positive is that it also sets me back; snaps me out of such crap and forces me to relax and consider alternatives in case I end up that angry in the future. Right now, for example, I am pleased to be sitting in the quiet – there is no media running whatsoever – and thinking ahead rather than lamenting everything that has disappeared.

The weather for the next two days is going to be harsh again. I have yet to assemble and install an auxiliary downspout in the back because I’ve been focused upon other concerns, like my sanity. This will hopefully be the last time the yard is all fucked up and flooded. I need to visit the plumbing supply to pick up material and fittings either later today or next week and then complete the work. In addition to my own stuff, I received another call from the restaurant, the place I help every now and again. I’ll be heading over there tomorrow around eleven to patch a hole with some plywood in order to block some wildlife that has been entering during rainy days. I won’t go into detail, but suffice to say the repair is very straightforward and will not take much time. I have material, fasteners and any required tools for the job. I am always happy to help them when contacted. Good people. Old-fashioned good people, they are. After ten years of trying to save them money, the process has become old hat. I will also say that anything which pulls me off this chair and out of my little world for a while is most often a positive. I speak of distractions all the time. Well, the restaurant is one of them. A good one. Working over there helps them and me at the same time. As for the weather, I’ll just have to sit back and watch it happen. I can’t perform anything dramatic until the dry season. At least I already know what to expect when the next two storms hit.

Did anyone notice that I laid off the film industry for a while? It will return soon enough. Ugh.

‘Call extension 307 please. Three; zero; seven.’ I was in love with that voice, and any time I had to visit the office for paperwork related to an order – be it for the IG line or fabrication – I always saw Alicia and made sure to greet her loveliness with a smile. Fucking hell was that woman ever gorgeous. My coworkers always gave me a blast of shit for being so goo-ga over her. Um... Keep the word ‘blast’ in mind for a while. God damn did I have the fucking hots for her. I should mention that the workplace in question predates the phase-lock girl, but not by much. Roughly thirty fucking years. The past is my guide, journey and final destination. There was no blood at that time. The blood came later, and in force.



21

I am beginning to feel that an object lesson is in order today. I hope I can avoid it. Nothing can bring back the magic, nor can anything I do change the present. My world has been encapsulated within the devil’s own epoxy. Marvelous.

A flood watch has been issued for this area until Monday night. Today is Friday. Not good.

Saturday; post drive. I have most of the day ahead to myself except for a trip to the restaurant in about three hours. I need to put my eyes on the damned thing so I can have everything ready upon returning either Sunday or Monday. Other than that crap, the plan is to remain home all day. The rainy weather system is here, too. That means not much work outside today, if any. I’ll gather my thoughts for a while and then switch to my usual housework. Yesterday turned out to be very slow in terms of working around the house, so perhaps today I can get into something more and feel a bit better coming out the other side. I can’t be certain, but improvement would be nice. A few very difficult considerations have been crammed to the rear for the time being because there is often far too much for me to deal with on a daily basis and I succumb to pain and anger. I don’t want any of that right now. The shit situations and all that they birthed had to be forced back. This will all explode later, although the advantage is embraced now and worth the effort most of the time. I’ll just have to deal with the heartbreak at another time. This morning is peaceful so far and I’d like to relax and enjoy the time before anything comes along and derails my thinking.

I sometimes feel like I did during the cauliflower period after so many years. The visions came about through two sources and attached themselves to my societal views from a few years prior to moving to the Midwest. Lately, however, the visions have returned for several reasons, not the least of which is the way I’ve been viewed and treated by other people in recent years. Only one soul has actually leaned in my direction more often than the rest, and that person is not involved with this vane. My destructive side (thoughts and dreams) typically flares due to any number of external issues or when I am shoved aside, much like the other night. People don’t know I feel this way because I’ve never spoken of it at all. They have no idea of the processes at work that keep me from either opening myself to the future or listening to ‘reason’ from another person. One such process takes me back to the time when I walked through the tank yard to enter a production area, returning later to have lunch in my truck. The smell was both interesting and terrible at the same time. The production line is the exact location where all of this blood and cauliflower business first appeared inside my head. The blood never left, and lately has been speaking to me in a much louder voice than during the past. I see that even the vane has blood on it. I mentioned that one of the vanes may eventually lop off my head. Well, that’s not my fucking blood, so nothing has happened as of yet.

Alyssa’s nipples are again trying to cut holes in her blouse. Why did they shoot scenes with her dressed like that? Not enough male viewers at the time? The major downside is that she has been appearing like a hippie or a member of some odd faction with regard to clothing. Horrible skirts, UGGs often below them, and then some top that shows off her waist under a leather jacket. The entire image of her is hideous, and that being said about one of the most beautiful women of the time. I guess I just don’t understand the nipples or the strange clothing. Maybe I’m out of date in more ways than one. Interesting. The word ‘understanding’ is already at issue in life nearly more than anything else, so perhaps I should taper off my comments about not understanding a fucking fictional character’s outfit. Heh. There are more important concerns than Alyssa’s clothing.

My efforts yesterday in avoiding a horrible mood worked very well. The afternoon and evening were very mellow and peaceful. The plan is to repeat all of it today, and for as long as I can without slipping up. The tiny upside to me flipping out is the process almost always happens when I am completely alone. That is very good. I have to keep all this stuff in mind and maintain myself every day. The vane must be dealt with at the same time because it is trying to steer me into oblivion by way of a very bad situation. The blood is right there with it, too, and attempting to influence my thinking processes enough to make me question everyone just like I did all those years ago. The cauliflower was right alongside everything else, too. Very interesting. That shit is all gone from my life now, yet the blood vane continues to influence no matter what kind of guard I can fabricate and build. That means my view of the world from thirty years ago never faded. It only paused for a while. Oh, there were little patches during the 1236 period in which I reached for anything with the power to separate myself from society, but the truth is that prior to moving across the country, the mindset was far more severe. The shit came to a head on the cauliflower line just before I gave up that way of life and fled the tank yard. The year was ninety-four. I remember because of the films being released at the time. Fall of ninety-four. Regardless of how powerful all that stuff was, I am older and (hopefully) a bit wiser and fully equipped to control myself and rise above any kind of provocation. I really am. The blood vane must eventually either let up its pressure on me or simply go away for all time. The alternative is for me to bow to the force and become something better avoided. And yes, that relates to the cauliflower, too. Good luck. Anyway, the way I feel this morning is much more positive and I don’t see a rough road ahead today. The little things will not have a problem holding me up for a while, and the flip-out status is far away; far enough to where need not be concerned in the short term. Beyond that, however, all bets are up in the air. The blood never left. It hid itself for a while. That’s all.

Facet number two which has been foremost on my mind lately is more difficult than the blood vane. It’s a fucking siege getting through the hours of a single day, and even more difficult as the days pass. I can’t explain. My mind is in a constant battle between leaving the problem behind to try moving forward, and losing control for the last time and finally putting an end to the worst aspect of living. I am sitting here right now unable to influence either side; a balance is the best that can be expected for the time being. Every day, in fact, the battle comes to mind and I end up a clueless mess by mid-morning. After all this time, I am fucking exhausted. There is nothing I can do about any of the problems in my head right now, either. Not a fucking thing. So, I simply end up tired, sad and angry, and then go through the motions only to wait out the evening and ready myself to do it all over again. Seven days a fucking week. This facet is far worse than being concerned about some fucking blood, although had I been just a bit more serious thirty years ago, the vanes would not exist. Work that one out.

Alyssa’s nipples are once again concealed. Was that so difficult?

My coffee is waning. I suppose I’ll get to the daily routine pretty soon. Today looks pretty good from my view right now, and tomorrow actually looks even better because I’ll have some hours to myself while taking care of the garbage business and a few other things. When the car is out of my garage, I usually roll the cans inside from the back and spend some time out there organizing and ensuring I am tossing every conceivable thing possible. For me, that kind of work is akin to home improvement because I am trying to make space, maintaining proper separation for the trash, and looking around in order to plan for future reorganization of the garage. The process is rather enjoyable, although I believe I’m in the minority with such an opinion. No one I’ve known really enjoys working with the trash. Whatever. The point is that I have time to relax and think about everything. The devices will be along for the ride. I am still trying to pry some thoughts loose so they can be shelved for a little while, but the process is not easy by any stretch of the word. Pushing the most powerful imagery and memories in life out of my brain is likely one of the most difficult hurdles I’ve ever had to deal with. I don’t like it, hence all the flap about working around the house this weekend. My brain is partially cooked already, in fact.



22

I don’t play complex video games. My first console system was right around the year of eighty, I believe, and that was the only one that received much playing time. There were other games later, such as on the computers I’ve owned – most notably after my buddy and I built our first desktop machines just after the Midwest period – but since then, and as gaming grew out of control in terms of both visual technology and processing speed, my interest faded quickly. Others have embraced the newer stuff and gaming is to a point now that I barely understand it. So, I play word games and puzzles from time to time on the phone. Anything more complicated just doesn’t blow up my skirt anymore. I bring up the subject because a few minutes ago I took a break in the garage and updated my word game that is connected to others around the country, possibly further. Well, I noticed one opponent’s name is Andrea, and on the heels of being reminded of the angel that I love, another opponent played the word ‘Raven’. Isn’t that just fucking peachy? And just after I made the decision to take it easy today with regard to memories and issues? Unbelievable. I’m going to need to calm down after that shit. I realize they are nothing more than coincidences, but Jesus... What a fucking strike to my psyche. Anyway...

I need to get to the housework soon to get the blood and vanes out of my head for a while. Moreover, those names have to be pushed away if I am to be productive and avoid anything terrible happening this morning. I can’t have that shit right now because I’ve been successful (so far) in seeing the positives this weekend. I don’t want or need to fall into a fucking pit of despair. Soon.

I truly wish I could spell out a few thoughts here. Nope. Can’t do it. I’d be labeled, ridiculed, embarrassed, and Christ knows what else. I don’t need that shit. Regardless, the feeling and compulsion are the same... Strong. I can only wish. So sad. Everything is bottled, compressed and categorized. This is very unhealthy. ‘Strong compression...’

Later.

I didn’t go to the restaurant. The work has been postponed by yours truly because leaving the house right now feels very uncomfortable. Otherwise, the morning has been fine. I took care of the usual work and it’s cocktail time. What was once a luxury toward the beginning of the pandemic has now become a necessity, seven days a week. Marvelous. So long as no one important poses questions, the situation shall continue and be just fine. I need what I need, and the reasons are many. None of them are healthy or positive. Wonderful. At least my friends and extended family in the background of everything I do will not forsake me no matter the circumstances. Maybe I will visit the restaurant tomorrow.

Wow... Tony Todd is in this episode. He’s been one of my favorites for so long that I can barely recall. Perhaps his inaugural appearance during the second series was the catalyst. His acting, facial expressions and voice are absolutely amazing. I fucking love that guy.

The last few days have found me being inundated by memories – some very specific, others more general – that all relate to the same fucking situation. This is hurting me, even now, and I’m having trouble shoving everything aside in order to take care of the house and such. So far, the work has gone ok, but right there behind every fucking thing I do is a ledge that calls to me. The choice is to turn around, answer, and then fall, or keep fighting my way through this shit like I have for years. And though so much time has passed, the result continues to worsen; the condition of my head. The memories force their way in at the tiniest reference (no, not THAT reference) and then try to take over completely, leaving me flailing for control. I will say that there is no way to get rid of them or apply any other permanent solution to the situation. This continues to worsen, as well. Pushing myself up and doing what I need to do each day is a little bit more difficult than the previous occasion. Worse, every day. Worse. More difficult. Increasingly sad, too. Did I mention pathetic? Well, people don’t know that one because I don’t fucking say anything, ever. I desperately need someone to listen, though. It’s bad. The memories range from beautiful to troubling and everything in between, the former taking a worse toll than the latter. I don’t see a way out of this shit.

I will only remain like this for so long. The blood may win out (it is one of the troubling memories) at some point, and if so, I will no longer be available for comment. That feeling is pretty fucking strong, much like my desire to go back in time to a few predetermined points just to see myself happy.

I was there. Now I am here. How in the blue fuck did I let this happen? I was right there... More than once. Now I have nothing at all. Between the memories and my current condition, I have no clue as to how I continue to live. This may be ‘the way of things’, yet I still don’t understand why. I’ve made mistakes like many others. I know it. But... Is this to be all there is? Do I have to go through every day for the rest of my life filled with painful situations and beautiful memories with zero options? No answers. No one there. No one is listening. I need comfort and I need some fucking understanding or I will lose my shit for the billionth and final time, I swear to Christ. And no, that is not to say that I want to speak to the fucking squareheads. They need to give up on me.

The rest of the day is all mine. I have a few little items on the list for the next few hours, but that’s it. What will probably happen from here on in is I’ll have lunch and then descend into a pit until evening. There are a million things I could do today. Can I? Or is the pain too much? Time will tell. As of this very moment, I don’t see much happening. My drink is halfway consumed, too. Once it is gone, I’ll have even less drive than I do right now. This happens most of the time and I know it in advance, yet the numbing, ethereal feeling that the alcohol provides has proven to be one of very few aspects of life that I enjoy anymore. Whatever that fact makes me, I don’t care. Those who care for me are fortunate this shit hasn’t completely destroyed me yet.

Blah, blah, blah... Shootmeinthefacecakes. I don’t need this shit.

The blood pays no mind to my condition. Only the vane cares. Unfortunately, the vane is pulling the strings right now. As much as I’d like to go back in time and feel the blood as I did during the tank yard era, there is no going back. I fucking stood there at the line day after miserable backaching day and did my job, while on the inside there were plans being formed. None of it ever came to fruition, however. Nothing. I just worked and then went home at the end of each day. The tank yard was as difficult as the factory, the latter having become troubling due to a gorgeous woman on the other side of the line named Angela. And what was her last name? Love. Yep, that was her last name. Seeing such a gorgeous handle each morning likely kept the anger at bay. Seeing her smiling face did, as well. But there was that fateful day when my disdain peaked as those in charge transferred me out of the plant and over to the tank yard, far away from the one beauty that kept me sane and away from snapping my fucking cap. The tank yard was the nationwide home of cauliflower, and after spending time there and far from Angela, my nature as a nice person eventually took over and there was no trouble left. Soon after that, I was laid off and exited the yard and line forever. I was close, I tell you. Very close. The cauliflower line never stopped moving. The blood never flowed beyond the confines of its home. Shortly after leaving the plant and being instructed in the ways of the tank yard, I forgot Angela’s face. More anger grew at the same time. I didn’t love her, but I needed her. To think that I need ‘her’ right now – more than ever – and to look back thirty years ago when I felt a similar need presses me to believe that I am actually further out of balance and more fucked up than I may have believed. I did not push for the blood. I did not push for anything. I sat idle and watched everything play out far beyond my control. Sound familiar?



23

Sunday morning, and not a good one.

Pants on the drive. Twice... One in the city (lavender) and one here in town as I approached my street. The second was a frightening woman, though. I could see it on her face. I don’t mean any disrespect, of course, but her facial expression was one that I know very well and have learned over time to beware what personality traits come along with it. The woman was fucking gorgeous, though. Other than the pants, the drive came and went without issue. Now I have all sorts of time to care for my business, sit here and exposit, or whatever. I may go to the restaurant in a few hours, as well. The weather is holding out. I should not have any issues taking care of all my stuff today. Last night we gathered in the garage for a while and watched the storm pass by, but ended up a bit disappointed that there was not as much power as predicted. Oh, well. Later today everything should ramp up again. Maybe I can watch from the garage. The blood was not very apparent last night. I didn’t really think about it again until this morning while driving. The vane kept me in line. Kept vane? Nope. Blood this time. Put two and two together, although you will come up with the wrong answer, so never mind. Anyway, Sunday business, my show in the background, and some agreeable food should make for a nice morning and afternoon. I don’t want to fall off a cliff again. Like yesterday at this time, I feel positive about the hours ahead.

I had barely been near anyone like Her throughout my entire life. Oh, there was the bridesmaid from many years ago, but that was a little different. Mostly what I felt before and during the wedding was a strong attraction to certain features, such as dark hair and eyes, a slender nose and tapered face. At the time I did not realize that nearly thirty years later I would be upending my entire life to be near someone similar, the result coming very close to blood flowing in all directions and without control. This is a representation of a vane inside me that guides my thinking at times, eventually forcing me to make questionable decisions and insane rationalizations. No shit. I did it before and would do it again regardless of the outcome. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing right before my eyes, and all sense flew out of me in an instant. That was a very different situation from the first because of both the normal passage of time and my obsession with form peaking at the same time. I was out of my mind at the beginning of fifteen and wrote as much, some about Her and some regarding others. Once a line of communication was opened, the vane swung around and permanently altered the way I looked at work and home life, as well as the way I dealt with difficulties. Everything changed due to the vane that lives inside me. Reckless, uncaring behavior actually took a back seat to even more extreme ways of thinking, viewing other people and living from one day to the next. The behavior was no longer an option, meaning I had to deal with the vane by altering other aspects of my personality. After nine years of this shit – since I realized some parts of life came and went, never to return – I honestly felt that if I came across as selfish the only ‘wrong’ that could be related was that of ‘them’, not me. I felt my stance was justified through all of the shit plowed, heat taken and pain felt for forty fucking years. I went in whatever direction seemed able to provide me with comfort. I did it and would do it again, yet there is nothing out there for me, and certainly nothing that can relate to the past. Moreover, I am vastly different than just two years ago, and my condition cannot be ascribed to feeling positive, ever. As I said, She took me off my feet and the vane took its place in my brain. One led to the other, and I did not expect either of them. As much as I needed to be heard and understood by the right personality, in no way did I expect that person to be so fucking stunning, kind and caring. After waiting for so long, one might understand how and why I flipped a switch and allowed the inner blood vane to direct my life. I was desperate.

She rarely wore anything but jeans. I can’t even recall a pair of yoga pants or ‘leggings’ wrapped around those legs. If I recall correctly, there was nothing but the jeans. Well, a sundress on two occasions, but that’s all. I don’t know how I would have reacted to something along the ‘lines’ of what I saw this morning. One certainty is that the feeling inside me back then was radically different. I didn’t even know how to express myself. At least I had no reason to be fearful. During the eighties? Oy... That was a very different story. I lunged, and so did the bridesmaid. Ooh-fa. That never turned into a bad situation – thank the maker – but I did learn later on that my actions did not matter in the least. I felt bad and probably shouldn’t have. Sitting here right now? There would have been blood. The vane pays no mind, but it will pay the fucking tab right quick.

Cauliflower. Hmm. That was an interesting correlation for a very interesting time. I just hope I appreciated the era enough as it played out. I certainly do now, and I am not only speaking of the lovely Angela. Follow along. I saw her and felt butterflies, almost every day. When I saw the bridesmaid I felt desire, plain and simple. The other one? I felt everything at the same time. The vane left me the hell alone for a while before nearly cutting me in half some months later. My death would have limited this content, for sure, and once the subscription ran out, no one would ever have seen it again. Very interesting. Blood on the cauliflower would have meant this site would never have existed. Perhaps that could have been better in the long run. I don’t know. In any case, I can feel the vane trying to influence me even at this very moment... Pushing; pulling. I don’t know how to deal with it. There is no more beauty, so perhaps at some point the fucking thing will let up.

I tried very hard to connect with the long fingers some years later. I tried to be nice because I had no wish to cause discomfort. That situation could have been something. Maybe. It was wondrous and stirring unlike anything in years. Unfortunately, something went sideways and the possibility disappeared as quickly as it had come about. My disappointment hindered everything for days; work, meals... Everything. I was so fucking sad that I could barely work at all. Nothing seemed interesting. I just kept picturing hands and fingers. That could have been a wonderful, beautiful connection that stuck with two people for a very long time. I believe the vane pushed her away. I’d rather it cut me to ribbons than affect any other person in the world, and realizing that she disappeared likely forever nearly broke my heart. There is a strong possibility that the vane did end that situation. There is also a strong possibility that the blood on the vane means it did indeed originate inside me. God damn, that woman had the most beautiful fingers. Fuck. Maybe what I want and need really is as odd as I’ve been told (by a few people). If so, nothing can ever come of it. The woman with the long, slender fingers may have thought that I wanted to jump her. I couldn’t blame her, honestly, and you may agree after living in this stupid, backward society for some years. Just look around and watch the television for a while. You’ll understand, too. At least the end of the communication was not unpleasant. Better than nothing.

All this shit adds up to the fact that the blood vane has been involved in my life and decisions for so long that I wouldn’t know where to start if I needed help. There is nothing I can do about it but sit here and try to describe some feelings and situations, and then attempt to learn if this is nothing more than another facet of the two situations that I’ve grown to hate. I don’t know. The vane certainly didn’t come about because I had the hots for a fucking bridesmaid. That much is certain. Ugh.

At some point I am going to take care of a little business. I don’t really feel like it right now, though. I need to think while the processes are fresh, and then organize everything into some form that I can understand. Some of it, anyway. I still don’t believe I will, ever, but that is not to say that I need to stop trying. Once some of the work is finished, I’ll come back to this and think a bit more.

Maybe I didn’t appreciate being there. Or, perhaps not enough. I don’t know. Everything is gone and there does not seem to be a way to get any of it back. I was reminded yesterday when something wondrous happened. I can’t talk about it in detail, but suffice to say the entire shitaree came crashing into my head and left me sans the ability to form clear sentences. I saw plenty, believe me, but could not do anything about it, much like other circumstances these days. I am left to sit here and type in and around my daily responsibilities. The reminder hit me in the eyes and removed all ambition, positivity and hope (which had already been waning badly). I thought of being there, recalled the overwhelming comfort – I even went all the way back to Natalie and her endlessly calming nature when I was upset – and then fell off the edge of the world in the realization that I will probably never be there again. Did any of that stop me from trying to stare? Nope. Quite the reverse... It fucking drove me to see all I could before everything went away, again. I have all the words in the world, yet still not enough to convey the mass of desperation and desire that washed over me yesterday. Regardless of my feelings while being where I needed and despite questioning my appreciation, I sure as hell do now. Gone. So sad. This is all I have left.



24

I just wanted to stare. There was one angle that drove me out of my fucking mind, but a second of seeing it was not nearly enough for my distorted sense of beauty, so I fell down. My insides ended up in pain. I just wanted to see, damn it, and the rarity and circumstances are dictating the motions of the vane. That means I can’t just fucking stare. Oh, but I needed to so badly that words now fail me. God damn do I ever fucking hate this shit. The beauty will not leave me alone, ever. Neither will the blood vane. Nothing is ever enough. I saw some, yet can’t reconcile the information because the overarching situation is far too difficult. The number of occasions is mounting, however, and believe it or not I still have hope that one day I will see ‘enough’ and perhaps feel a bit better. I wish I could say more. I really do. I also wish EVERY FUCKING DAY that I could see more. This is so fucked up.

I still haven’t moved from this chair. I don’t know why. Compulsion? Laziness? No, not laziness. The evening is a lazy time and I’ve known it for many years. Compulsion, perhaps. I am driven to continue this analysis despite the disappointment and pitfalls of exploring so deeply. I just don’t know what else to do and the keyboard is my friend.

Yesterday’s vision reminded me of one of the most wondrous and beautiful meetings ever, which hours later became one of the worst, most damaging and uncomfortable nights of my entire life. I stared. I saw precisely what I expected (needed). I stared as long as I could. And then the vision was right up against me on the train – fingers all entwined and caressing just like while riding miles of the Monorail with Andrea – all the way to our destination, the first of three. By the last, I knew shit was going to go very sideways. I knew it full well and feared the outcome. There was nothing I could do because the vane of blood steered the ship of my brain to remain and take in all that I could, while I could. And then... All hell broke loose. I couldn’t believe it. That is what beauty did to my mind. It melted. I melted. And then I had a meltdown. From wonder and thrall on high, to blackness and near-death in a matter of hours. Horrible. I never want to put myself in such a situation again, yet there may be nothing I can do about it. I created the vane and it is directing me. The vane can spill blood in one direction or another. Targeting; seeking; destroying. All I have to do is let go. When I saw what I saw yesterday, the entire chain of events played out in my brain at breakneck speed and without remorse. Nine years have passed and I feel exactly the same. Given the right set of circumstances, I believe I am desperate enough to fucking do it again. I don’t want that shit in my life anymore, but the vane may disallow my wishes. Too weak. Too broken. Too fucking sad. I often muse that I may be on a ‘road with no turns’, but the truth is that I do have control over my mind and faculties. There would be no excuse, only reasons. Good ones, mind you, but still no fucking excuse. The phrase ‘I will not be responsible for my actions’ always sounds forthright and commanding. Unfortunately, the world just doesn’t work that way. As bad as my condition has become, I am still in my right mind. No excuse. Only reasons. Attach a list of names and stories here.

An hour has passed and I finished the routine for today. There is still garbage work and a few items that need to be tossed from the fridge. I will get to them soon enough. I wish I could ‘unsee’ the beauty from yesterday. All of my work would be much easier and my head would be more relaxed. As it is, I am barely hanging on. At least I have a nice, fat cocktail. Better than nothing.

I was able to shield my depression and shitty attitude last night, and the effort actually surprised me. As much as I spout about disregarding others and isolating myself via a very unpleasant demeanor, when the time comes the fucking ‘nice person’ inside pops out and I continue without the strength to do what needs to be done. On the one hand, I am proud of myself for the ability to blend and avoid causing undue attention because I’m fucked up inside. On the other, though, I am not fucking happy with myself. People need to understand that they have slighted me for too long. The only caveat is that I can’t hold those of the present responsible for the actions of those from the past. That would be unfair, and as I’ve said many times, I am a ‘nice person’. To be honest, the fucking scale is leaning so far away from what I need that I still can’t believe it. All that shit from the past (and some of it was very direct and very unkind) never caused me to lash, take issue gently, or confront another fucking person. Everything has built up over the years and I feel the need to unload all of it to whichever unfortunate soul happens to be standing before me, but I just can’t do it. That would be unfair. Well, ninety percent unfair, anyway. I am fucking sick and tired of being this way, too. I don’t like it, and my kind, caring and compassionate personality has left me completely fucked over so many times that I don’t know where to begin. All this shit continues to resolve into a single direction, and that is to head away from people. I just don’t see other options. Even when I’m angry and speak to someone with rancor, I end up feeling bad. What the fuck is that? Am I to be treated fairly? No? Yes? Why does this continue to happen? I need to decide if I’d rather be very unpleasant and alone or nice and surrounded by people to walk all over such a fact.

I contacted the restaurant and postponed my visit for another day. I don’t care, and I really don’t want to talk to people right now. The reasons should be obvious.

Maybe I ‘made nice’ yesterday because of what I saw. Hmm. Perhaps my mind was so wrapped around her pants that I didn’t care to put forth any effort in other directions. Does that make sense? The power of the beauty I saw overwhelmed everything else? It makes sense to me. After all these years, placing negative headspace on hold because my brain fills with raw, unrelenting desire would not be a surprise. The things that went through my head cannot be splayed here on the page, however. No fucking way. And no one wants to hear it, anyway. My little comments about various labia and whatnot have already caused problems, so leaving out detail is likely a slam-dunk at this point in time.

I can’t fucking do anything. The blood from the past is no longer viable. Only the vane hangs on.

My life has been paired down to near nothing partially by me, and some by other people. Past circumstances have damaged me so deeply that positive thought is now restricted to housework, meals and alcohol. My recent questionable behavior can be attributed to both shit situations, and that goes for the sheer level of desperation I feel each day for the right type of understanding. I have to know if such a thing exists, yet cannot. There do not seem to be any avenues toward what I need. Years have passed, I am very different than a few years ago, and the world appears so fucking screwed up that the process of maintaining this content might soon be my entire life. The outlook is bleak and I am exhausted. I am also angry, however such a fact does not seem to matter in the least.

The weather system has been either paused or it shifted course because I see plenty of sunshine outside right now. The wind is pretty strong, although it does not detract much from the warmth. I wish I could find another type of warmth. Ugh. Anyway, there will probably be a ton of rain later, perhaps into the late afternoon and evening. I’ll be able to roll the trash totes into the garage soon so that my work is out of the rain. I’m sure once everything is finished, I will be right back here to speak of another vane.

Silence has proven the most powerful weapon in my arsenal. Not the silent guns, though. They were part of another story, and one that rings more true right fucking now than back when I wrote it. The guns were amazing. I’m sure no one is aware of the power of that fucking entry. No one. Well, fuck off. Like a few drivers I witnessed on the freeways early this morning, you have no fucking idea of what you’re doing. Silence may need to be embraced again. At least until such time as I deem it unnecessary, that is. Just a thought.

The opposite of silence can often be a blast of pressure waves, otherwise known as audio. Blasting solves nothing but feels really good at times. There was no blasting last night. There was beauty, heartache, longing, and a blood-soaked vane that will not leave me alone."



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