February 25th, 2024 4:50pm pst

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

The Blast Vane

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"Yesterday became a huge problem despite all of my work and such. Huge problem. Whatever this shit is that began a couple of years ago has become the most disheartening aspect of my days. I don’t fucking understand. And of all the facets that I’ve seen or experienced thus far, the worst is that I have to go back to the deadly fluid, and that means no one is going to understand this shit. Even I will have trouble following along. Another problem; another vane. Splendid. I have one foot in the ground. The other is most definitely not in the forest.

Monday. The garbage cans blew all over the place early this morning and I had to straighten everything – including a walk down the street to retrieve a small bag of trash from the garage – prior to the drive. Fortunately, all three cans had been emptied before I returned home. I was able to roll them up the driveway and out of the wind. The gusts were so strong that I had to lean forward quite a bit just to walk back home after grabbing the flying bag. I think this pattern is going to continue all day long. Yikes. In addition, I promised to visit the restaurant in two hours to try repairing a hole in hopes of eliminating the rodent issue. Ugh. I can’t wait to be back here and I haven’t even left yet. Double ugh. Whatever. I’ve made it this far and can get it done. My brain keeps going back to yesterday’s heartache. I can’t help it. There are still parts of life that are very important to me and one of them (that I still don’t understand) is overwhelming my sense of balance. This is very bad, especially considering the ‘failing’ and then ‘failed’ fantasies. Not good.

One more time for posterity...

‘As we say in Surrey, sod the fuck off you cunting twat!’ – Nora Gainesborough

I might replace one of the wristwatches that was sold a few years ago. It was a go-to whenever I had lunch or dinner out, and is missed more than almost all of the others. Ever since I performed the big sell-off, my collection has lacked a specific type of appearance and I don’t like it. I believe the watches I own right now – as well as some that I may acquire in the future – will stay with me for the duration. No more selling. There are a few models I used to have that were heartbreaking to let go. One can never return because of the circumstances of the original purchase and the serial number which has been immortalized on a wall hanging. That was a huge mistake that I can never repair. One other watch was a reminder of my years involved with aviation and extremely rare. Another may pop up in the future, and if so, I’ll snatch it right quick, purchase price be damned. Much like a discussion with my neighbor the other day regarding how important our televisions are, I told him that there is a standing order about the one in my living room. If it were to break down, I’d have a new unit in its place in less than two hours. The watches are more difficult and often costly, but my feelings cannot be qualified in such a manner. If I see the watch somewhere, it’s mine. Period. Ok, as of a few minutes later, I grabbed the first watch I mentioned. Good deal, brand new, very nice. I’m looking forward to when it arrives. I need something that can ride my wrist while visiting certain restaurants. That was always one of my favorites. Wonderful.

Speaking of restaurants, I need to head out within the hour. I have tools and materials in the car. Returning home is going to feel really good. Without some sort of reward (beyond knowing I helped them), I have a hell of a time leaving the house these days. Today is a national holiday – hence the drive early this morning – meaning I don’t need to go anywhere far away until next weekend. Very good. Sometimes working over there irritates me or I become otherwise uncomfortable because it’s a business and I don’t want any hindrances when they are open. I guess I’ll just do my best to get the hell in and out without issue.


The repair went just fine and I was there and back in under an hour. The feeling of arriving home can’t be easily described, but suffice to say that I immediately showered, kicked into the routine, finished it, poured myself a nice, fat drink, and relaxed my head. This feels better than I had anticipated before heading over there. They gave me two loaves of fresh bread that was baked this morning, so I donated one to my neighbor. That was nice. And now I have the rest of the day to think and work on whatever seems best (or nothing at all). And?

Good God in heaven, what I wouldn’t give to repeat a part of one fateful day from nine years ago. A song comes to mind. A scent, as well. Visions of beauty that remain unparalleled in my history. Oh, Andrea was very similar – taller and a touch thinner – but that fucking day was more wondrous, stirring and ethereal than almost anything in my life. And yes, I was right there. Right fucking there. My head and heart were so deep into what I needed that if I sat here for ten fucking years I would still fail to convey the feelings. A bit of conversation, and then the song at my request. There was strong and immediate love for it, too. Right away. Sometimes when that track plays on this machine, I am thrown back in time to one of the most beautiful afternoons imaginable. I remember almost everything. I had been on my way to work that morning with a head full of hellish longing, when something fucking struck me upside the head as I approached a split of the freeway, the choice being north or south. North was toward work and a place I loathed to be, and south was to anywhere else. Well, I took the right turn, headed several miles to a big parking lot to gather my thoughts, and then made the decision to have new tires installed on the car. Where that idea came from, I have few clues. Probably the road noise emanating from the tires while at speed. Whatever the case, I pulled into a good shop, told them of my needs, and was out of there in less than an hour riding on softer and much quieter ‘shoes’. From that place I drove directly home, showered and changed clothes, and then went on to a meeting. There had been an unplanned delay, so I slid onto a cozy barstool to wait in my typical fashion. A bit later, the meeting. Beautiful. Wondrous. A bit surprising, too, because I had been scheduled to work but bowed out so quickly that it seemed completely meaningless. Compared to how the afternoon played out, the work faded further into the background and my caring about it disappeared completely. I needed to be there so badly that nothing else mattered in the least. Right there. I was right fucking there and had zero intentions of ceasing my plans until such time as either something dramatic transpiring or my needs changing. In the parlance of poker, I was ‘all-in’. Nothing could have torn me away from being there. Nothing. The day went on, things changed a little bit here and there, and I ended up visiting four other cities prior to returning home. Four. Believe me, you don’t want to know. My memories of the last mile are stark even after nine years. I remember everything. I also remember learning that eventually my entire world would explode if I didn’t exercise a touch more clear thinking than I had in months. Shortly after returning to the scene of the crime, the night was blown wide-open, my head blasted to pieces, and I knew at some point that nothing in my future would yield the same type of freedom, comfort or excitement. Blasted by yet another vane.

Later, still.

I don’t know what to think anymore. Each day has a focus, or two, yet there is not much. Little things, such as sitting here with something to say, an agreeable meal or perhaps a movie, or sitting in the evening with a cocktail and my friends in the background. Not much at all. I do enjoy the quiet mornings at this machine with coffee, yet as soon as I sit here and think, my mind is already way past that point and considering the rest of the day. Nothing is appealing. Yes, the cabinets were nice additions and I built them, there is the occasional treat like the wristwatch, but inside me, none of that stuff changes anything. Tomorrow is a good example of what I’ve already said. That’s all I have anymore. The real aspects of life... The moving, stirring and wondrous parts are all gone. This is very depressing. I still need to go back to that meeting. Nope. Something in the future, perhaps? Nope. Memories? Pain.


I was thinking about the third series last night, most notably the original air dates of certain episodes. Some nearly coincided with pivotal events during the nineties. One particular air date was just a day after I returned to California. Those recollections led me to consider other periods, such as after I bought my first new car, which was likely the following year. Lots of things were going on at that time, in fact. I am going to try collecting memories and creating a timeline, as driven by the second and third shows that I watch. I miss those times pretty badly most days and would like to recall the order of the way events and changes took place. Sometimes I become overly sentimental about certain reminders and then I feel like building a story that covers more than I have in the past. Some information is very difficult to come by, however, such as the dates of employment for two particular jobs more than thirty years ago. One way or another I’ll try to get something together and then see how that sort of thing might come across. I have other timelines, as well, so perhaps I can extract a few details from them. A blast from the past, as it were. I go back in time so much already that one might think I know everything. Nope. This vane seems friendlier than the others, somehow. I could be wrong, though. Eh... Whatever. I will build a timeline in one of the other documents and see where it leads.

Tuesday is meaningless beyond the idea that I have the entire day to myself and nowhere to go. I envision lots of time right here at this machine. My mind never stops. After the last two days, I could use a break from all of the turmoil that has been plaguing me.

My questionable behavior continues, partially driven by the past and somewhat enhanced by the fact that I am still having damaging dreams. There was one early this morning in which I found myself with one hell of an opportunity to capture beauty with my camera, and the excitement inside drove me to scramble. I did not accomplish anything, though. Something got in the way and I can’t recall what it was. There are times when I become fearful of such thinking, too. The compulsion was right on the edge of pushing me to disregard what was right in favor of what I needed. I was very close, but as I mentioned, there was an interruption. I don’t know exactly what happened. The thoughts are in my head all the time, too. All of the fucking time. This is not good for me, although aside from housework and shopping, is there anything I do that is not unhealthy? Not really. I was so fucking excited to see her standing there that what remained of my common sense and decorum flew away at light speed. I just didn’t care because the reality is I do not see anything from the past repeating. Not a damned thing; not even a different situation but along similar lines. This is fucked up. Do you remember when I mentioned the basement? I am closer than ever even though I haven’t brought up the idea for quite some time. Just believe it. I already have prints of some digital images from more than twenty years ago (or thereabouts). That was a frightening step toward the basement and I know full well of the consequences. Others don’t know what I’ve done – be it in the past when I first point the big camera at ‘Jaime’, or many years later when I paid money to have her unique beauty printed for my deviant enjoyment – but inside my head is a vane that has been blasting me with disciplining remarks. I know my behavior is immoral. Believe me, I know plenty. Unfortunately, this is what time and circumstance have made me. I’ve become so fucking skewed that when I see something special, I can barely function and immediately try to create a way to see her again, over and over. Hence the photographs. Ugh. The basement may be my only possible destination in life.

Blasted. I am continually blasted with one fucking thing or another. This vane is not going to let up and it already knows how weak I’ve become. I can’t even search the Internet for information or help because someone will pick up on certain keywords (no, not THOSE keywords) and take notice of my intentions. I can’t have that shit. Not now.

Yesterday was fucked up, but not as bad as the day before. My Sunday got the best of me in a very uncomfortable way, and I still have not fully recovered. I am hoping that the peace and quiet today will help me reconcile myself with the overarching situation through which I’ve been forced to live. I don’t know if that is possible, however, and much of the reason is due to being blasted over and over with information from the past. I am partly to blame for so many reminders all the fucking time because I watch those programs which aired back then. You know... The glowing years. I can’t help it. Much of what is being created and run on the streaming channels – new programs – is not really my thing. There have been a few, yet sometimes when I find myself comfortable enough to follow a newer series, something comes along to cause pain and heartache, not to mention lots of anger. I did not feel as strongly during the glow. That shit grew over time as I began to realize just how insensitive and damaging certain media had become. At present, my tolerance level ebbs and flows as time passes because if I were to shut out everything that references the two shit situations, there would be very little left for entertainment. Everything came to a head and got the best of me yesterday, partly due to the nature of my physical condition, and I fell on my stupid face again. Perhaps one day I will be able to rise above the pain and work through whatever comes along. I don’t see such a situation coming to pass, but if I don’t consider the possibility, I’ll have little reason to do anything.

The morning is nearly gone. My routine is out of the way and I have some laundry running. I also mixed a marinade for the roast I’ll be cooking this evening. What does all this mean? Cocktail time. I’ve had the third series running in the kitchen and garage, but in here I opted for the gangsters, mostly to grab some beautiful images of Jamie and her endless eye-thrall on my heart. Yep... That love is still growing. I wish she would hold me like in that wonderful dream. Ugh. Nothing is on my horizon. The doorstep is very bright. At least I have things moving along today as I should. Rewarding myself with a drink and a quiet, pleasant evening will hopefully be enough to keep me going for another day. The blast does not seem to stop, ever, so I’ll have to work at this. Being tired all the time does not help in the least. Blast vane. Blasting.


When I was there, the underlying circumstances threatened to force my hand and create dissent almost every step of the way. There were times when my head let go of everything and the feelings took over, though. Those occasions were few, mind you, and almost never completely left my head. That meant I went back in time even while there and imagined a better, more relaxed situation. Along such lines, I’ve been writing an essay outlining my time there and what it meant to me, details and all. The entry will never be published and remains under lock and key. No one can see any fucking part of it or I will be dead. My thinking has changed so much in recent years that some of what I consider to be the ‘norm’ is likely far off the mark when it comes to the general population. I can’t know for sure, of course. I suspect, though. I can glean quite a bit from little tidbits of information that have been absorbed over the years, as well as simply observing others’ behavior. The damage that has taken place on and off throughout my history always had warning signs and I knew the shit would hit the fan eventually. I always knew, so the plan was to remain ‘there’ until it just didn’t work anymore. Threats came and went. My hand was always forced sooner or later. Always. I was blasted out of every situation by forces far beyond my control (or hopes). The main issue is that being ‘there’ was so fucking elusive and magical that I through everything away – or nearly did on a few occasions – in order to enter that beautiful place and try to relax. The reasons for the importance are many, but suffice to say that there were two situations that pretty much combined and dictated the way I viewed the world. I was blasted back then, too. Blast from the past? I wish it was funny. This vane is fucking killing me right now, partly due to how important it has become, and partly due to a dream earlier this morning that left me fallen. Wonderful. I have no control over what my subconscious does while I am sleeping. I just have to deal with it. In the dream, I thought I was ‘there’. Reality came along and hit me in the face, just like the blast vane. Even within the dream there was a fucking problem. Just peachy.

‘Obsession; threat; pervasion; death.’

Remember that one? Did you follow along?

The rain is falling pretty steadily right now. I knew it was forecasted, but after looking at the radar, this system is massive and I believe will be more powerful than the previous storm.

Another day has disappeared into the elusive past. I’ve been dwelling for days thanks to the programs of choice I nearly always have running on the television(s). And speaking of television, Jamie is all over the right-hand display this morning, sixth season and all. I’ve already captured her twice since refilling my coffee. I am pathetic, but I love her so much that sometimes the feelings take over and there is nothing I can do. The images are created out of thin air so quickly that I barely have time to consider what I am doing as well as the damage I am causing myself. She pulls me straight out of whatever mindset I’m in and then leaves me begging for comfort and understanding. Anyway, I guess the evening was fine. Dinner came out well and I have enough leftover roast to reuse tonight and tomorrow.


My brain hurts. So does my heart.

From here forward, I suppose I’ll finish my coffee, take care of half of the routine, and then venture to the smoke shop and market. Upon returning, I’ll be happier than a pig in shit, pour a fat cocktail, and get back into the housework. Well, not that happy. That’s about as good as it gets for me anymore. Sad, I know. At least the booze will calm my nerves after being out there within society for a little while. Better than nothing. Fuck, I sure wish I could outline the dream from earlier this morning. It is causing all sorts of issues when I try to think. Thankfully, the dream was not of the damaging variety like those that fuck up my head more than anthing else. It was a simple but confusing situation and I thought I was right where I’ve needed to be for years. Nope. Shit went downhill before I awakened. I have no idea of why certain aspects of that fictional situation were so troubling, either. I don’t get it. Eh... I am not meant to understand the world. I’m here to help other people, shop, and do housework. Period. Too much has either been torn away or otherwise disappeared for one reason or another. Oh, I just thought of a line from one of my favorite films, a la Harry Dean Stanton:

‘One way or another – for one reason or another – it’s all gone.’ I cannot disagree.

And? I am back from shopping. The second half of the routine is out of the way, as well. This is very good. Cocktail time. Good or bad, it has become an integral part of my daily life. Whatever that means, I do not care. There was nothing of note in the market, but the smoke shop cashier (whom I’ve seen there for a couple of years now) often drives me up the wall. She is super cute and quite curvy – not aligned with my obsession, but beauty is beauty – and has big, bright eyes when she greets customers, along with a very pleasant smile. Dark eyes, black hair, you know. Adorable. Her demeanor is courteous, professional and friendly. Ideal for service or sales work. As for the rest, the issues are not terribly dramatic after all this time. I know she will be there and anticipate the cuteness, yet nothing further. I’ve complimented her before and she smiled and thanked me. That is all. As for the market, most aisles were completely empty, a situation that works very well for both my mind and schedule. The rest of the day is up to me. I’d like to begin moving some of the canned and dry goods into the dining room, I need to modify one night stand (a five-minute operation), and I need to plan a method for attaching all three new cabinets to the walls for safety. Once they are all full, the weight could cause problems in the event of an earthquake. I can’t have that. At some point I will tire of this shit and do something else. My head has mellowed with regard to the dream, although a few days from now I will feel much worse; dire circumstances will ensue. I can’t do anything about it, so for the time being I will try to enjoy the ability to relax for as long as I can. Everything comes back and blasts me no matter what fucking day it is or whatever may be taking place at a given time. I can’t do shit. For now, my drink and quiet time will suffice. The vane is right behind me, waiting. It is shadowing me just like all of the others. Or maybe they are all together. I don’t fucking know. Jung had it all laid out and clear. I am not capable of his understanding of all this shit.

Every time I go to the garage for any reason, I return with some canned goods that will be stored in the dining room cabinets. I’m hoping to move everything into the house by tomorrow. Originally, the idea was to eliminate the old pantry cabinet – a homemade unit constructed from leftover fencing materials – and use the change to eliminate it. Well, yesterday I discovered that I’ve been overloading two of the drawers in the other pantry (also located in the garage), and the result was the side panels bowing and skewing the drawer slides. One of the drawers is now sitting on my workbench. I believe a better plan is to relocate the canned goods and then move the heavier stuff from the drawers to the old pantry. That will be step one. Two is again disassembling the oak dining table, storing it in the garage, and then moving this table to the dining room, after which I can roll my massive toolbox to where it was prior to last fall when I cleared out the center of the garage. By doing so, there will be more empty space out there, room on the back wall for my next mural, and better access to the old pantry. The unit is very solid after I repaired and mounted it two years ago, and I’d rather not take it down. This new plan should prove much better than the last time I moved everything around to park the car in the garage. I will update the plan here when I take significant steps. Storage and organization can be a pain in the ass, but I actually enjoy making better use of space. Living in a house for years leads many people to take the overflow and pay for an external storage unit somewhere. I’ve been able to avoid paying for that type of space and have been determined to ensure everything we own remains right here. Storage spaces are expensive, anyway, and there is enough to pay for already, such as my deep-seated need for video and audio entertainment at a decent level, along with necessary bandwidth. Heh. Not funny. I am a certifiable basket case.

Thursday has brought another blast. Yep. A dream, and one in which a wondrous, ethereal situation played out, albeit with a severe interruption. I don’t like it and knew full well of what happened as soon as I woke up early this morning. There was one very specific aspect to the situation that rarely plays out in my dreams, yet it was fucked up. I wish I could go into specifics with this shit, too, but I can’t. There was a moment when I realized everything would finally be ok, and then moments later the magic disappeared and I was left to deal with the aftermath. Considering all of the stupid shit I already have to plow, I really didn’t need something so beautiful to be disassembled and disseminated in that fashion. And the aftermath was not just in the dream; I am feeling it right now. Splendid. Another fucking clambake on a pile of the same. Some thoughts cannot be pushed away.

Yesterday I had to shop at two stores. Today I don’t need to go anywhere. The plan is to continue relocating items from the garage to the new cabinets in the dining room.

I finished the usual stuff and returned here to rip some music into the application. I had to switch profiles, though, meaning none of my material is present. Presently, only the bare minimum is operating, comprising the cloud and some media running on the right-hand display. At least I can sit here, think, and consider whatever else I wish to accomplish today. The cabinet process is going to take quite a while. I’d like everything organized when it’s complete. As much as I’m chomping at the bit to move furniture and reconfigure the garage, the house must take priority. Benny’s wife is fucking stunning. I don’t have a clue as to what drove him to mess around with the fucking scary woman from Montenegro. Oh, that one is fucking gorgeous, but nowhere near as genuine as his wife. Maybe I am not meant to understand everything, but one aspect of entertainment that is truly a mystery is how those dipshits continually seek something different when the woman with whom they’ve been sharing life is so Goddamned beautiful. Everyone is different, I suppose. And don’t give me a blast (blast vane?) of shit about me constantly searching. Not the same. I am a product of time and circumstance.


So... The music ripping is finished, I had some lunch and mounted the dining room cabinets to the wall. I also moved more canned and dry goods into the left unit. The project is moving along pretty well, I must say. All this work has also helped me separate myself from the dream and relax a little bit (the booze did its part, too). The clock is into the afternoon, meaning from here forward I will probably repeat yesterday’s kitchen work to have dinner preparations out of the way prior to close of business hours. That will make the evening feel more relaxed.

Why is there no death vane? Ugh.

Later, still. I have a load of laundry running, and for reasons of good form, moved a bunch more stuff into the dining room. Now I am tired and plan to spend the rest of the afternoon on the easy shift. Nothing major.



I wish I could understand why the world must be this way. There are still zero clues. I just don't fucking get it. I have stated for I have stated for years that my feelings don’t seem to matter, and now I am experiencing something akin to my feelings being removed. This is worse than I had thought at the outset of the year, too. Worse. But? I can’t talk about it. Just know that the changes that have unloaded themselves throughout the last few years are making me a very unpleasant person. I don’t need any more of that shit, either. My feelings are disappearing for some reason. Maybe I am still paying the fucking tab. If yesterday afternoon is any indication, there is probably nothing I can do anymore. I will probably continue to degrade into an angry, selfish, controlling fucking pain in the ass over time and then be pushed away by the precious few that still choose to communicate with me. I didn’t ask for this, nor did I have any clue as to the possibility that more of me could be taken away than all that shit I lost in the past. I thought that process was done for this life. I guess there is no limit to the difficulty I am being forced to endure. This is not good. If only I could go back... To hear her words again (as well as Hers); those that gave me hope that everything might eventually be ok and the bad could be tempered. I really thought I’d make it. Unfortunately, too many years have passed and I no longer see anything positive in my world. The blast vane has done a first-class job of fucking me over beyond belief. My feelings have been removed by the vane, and I don’t give a flying fuck who believes it. I know it so deeply that there can be zero doubt. Blasted for the umpteenth time. Blasted to pieces. What’s next? Eh... This is enough shit for one day. The blast vane is proving to be much more than I had thought at the beginning of this entry. Splendid.

Friday morning. My old ladder is on the driveway to be picked up by a recycling firm sometime this morning. This is good. They are not taking the old armoire, however, because the fee is far too high. I’ll have to schedule a bulky item pickup for the local garbage company. And there she is again... The girl who resembles my friend. Those facial traits are rare, yet both women share them in abundance. The resemblance and mannerisms are unreal. Too bad my friend is one of the scariest women I’ve ever known because the level of beauty is in the stratosphere. I’m not kidding, either. She looks amazing every fucking time. I digress. Today will be typical, I believe, unless I head over the hill to the wine store and plumbing supply. Right now I don’t know what I’ll be doing later. The usual stuff, some cleaning in the master bedroom, and then whatever might blow up my fucking skirt. My efforts in relocating canned and dry goods yesterday worked out very well and I am pleased with the results. I still need to fasten the kitchen unit to the wall. Perhaps I can get around to that one today.

Something took place during my program last night that is going to stick with me for the duration. As usual, I can’t go into specifics on this one. Suffice to say, some events seem small in the beginning and then blow up in my mind later. That is what happened, though the initial surprise overwhelmed me for a few minutes. I will say the topic is related to all sorts of shit in my head, from the time with Ashley so many years ago, all the way up to and including recent years and issues inside my head that continue to this very moment. The event was a negative reference to something that I think about almost all day, every day. I am not fucking kidding. I really didn’t need something so fucking horrible to be piled atop all the other crap I’ve been plowing lately. Yesterday’s realization was plenty enough to keep me questioning the ‘way of things’ for the rest of my life. I was blasted and didn’t even realize it until some time passed and the shit sunk in. This vane is going to hammer the point home. I know it.

The ladder was picked up already. Nice. That is one less item lingering in my precious garage. Now I need to get rid of the old cabinet and do some straightening out there.

This is a bad fucking time. I can’t get that shit off my mind today. Perhaps the housework will help me clear my head for a while. Alcohol, too. The morning has not been good by any stretch of the word. The vane is beginning to dictate my movements every day. Blasted to hell.

Saturday is here and for some reason I feel overly positive. Your guess is as good as mine. On the downside, I have yet to hear from the seller of the watch since the shipping label was created. According to the carrier, the package has not been picked up, meaning they could have created the label without a clear shipping date. I’ve seen that before. The larger issue is a lack of response to my message. I’m not worried about the payment because everything is guaranteed and the process is very safe. I just want to know what’s going on, if I am to receive a refund, or if something went wrong with the seller. Things happen; mistakes are made; items and procedures can be overlooked. It’s not the end of the world. All I want is information so I can decide whether or not I should pursue another watch. There is always one waiting in the wings when I have the cash. Heh.

Later, post-routine and a bit of phone synchronization. I finally received confirmation that there is an event at the bar in a few hours. Yesterday I tried to converse with two other members of the brotherhood and ended up more confused than prior to the contact. Unbelievable. This morning I tried again, but to no avail. So, I contacted the owner of the fucking place and he assured me that the event will take place between one and two this afternoon. I’ll have to make an appearance over there after lunch. I try to attend anything close to home to show my support, although most of the big events are across the bay due to the location of my home chapter. This should be very enjoyable and prove to be a boost to my day. The last event – honoring the emperor; a gathering held each year at the same saloon just after the first of January – was really nice. I may have mentioned it last month but can’t recall. In any case, today will be a reaffirmation of the bar being an ‘official watering hole’ for the organization. It was originally honored some years ago, and that was a blast. I plan to have all my shit in order to show up early. Very nice. Considering the downtrodden and sad nature of my days, the thought of attending a social gathering for the brotherhood so close to home is pretty damned cool. Anything with the power to help me get through a day is always welcomed, yet rare as hell. Along such lines, I learned that the big car show across the bay is to be held next month. No sooner did I get excited about traveling ‘into the lens’ with my big camera at that place when I was informed that the weekend in question is already unavailable. Shit. I guess I’ll wait until the second show, likely sometime in August. One up; one down. I’d say this sort of thing is the norm, yet the ups are rare.

My Sunday morning drive was uneventful, but visiting the market caused two different, very troubling issues. One was in the parking lot and the other inside the store. Ugh. I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in many months – possibly more than a year – and the same woman kept moving back and forth between the produce and first aisle. I can honestly say I have not seen that kind of shape in a very long time, the last being in the same parking lot wrapped in gray. I was trying to speak to my friend and keep myself in line, yet my eyes continued to wander across to the end cap so I could take in as much as possible. Well, that is always a bad idea. I’ve overcome such situations in the past by completely ignoring a woman no matter how close she might be. I’ve also simply turned on my heel and headed for the opposite end of the store. The situation of catching up a bit caused me to remain still and wait for her to disappear. Within a few moments, that is exactly what happened, after which we closed the conversation and went our separate ways. I did not see her again, and the torment was very strong (I can still feel the turmoil now, over an hour later), meaning I could not easily concentrate upon the shopping. I finally made it out of there, saw nothing else, and drove home feeling sad and angry, like always. This one was different, as I said, because I had an amazing vantage point and noticed that she aligned very well with the topic of my deep-seated and unending obsession with form. She was very rare, as well. Much like the gray in the parking lot some months ago, my heart instantly began to ache and I began to fruitlessly question the way of the world. In short, I looked, saw far too much, and then felt the blast vane knock me for a loop yet again. Can I help myself? Can I avoid seeing them? No. The pull is stronger than almost anything else in life. My imagination and dire need to have all possible information have become very painful of late. There is more, but I can’t discuss it here or anywhere else. I will say that I've not seen anything so amazing for a long time and the pain and difficulty are going to stick with me throughout the day. I already know because she hit a nerve inside me that is rarely touched, and one which tends to lead me further down (and much more quickly) than anything else in life. This fucking hurts and I wish I knew why. I'd say 'what a blast', but the context here is not a fucking picnic. All of the enjoyment from yesterday is gone. I keep seeing her turn the corner into the aisle over and over as if someone has connected me to a mental torture device. Over and over. I needed to see her so badly that everything else melted away in a microsecond. Blasted by the vane, yet again. Blasted. I was hoping to head in the direction of the 'gate' soon, but this shit is going to keep me from advancing the content for a while.


Sunday means business. After having attended the event yesterday – including lunch – and then making the decision to have dinner out at the restaurant I often mention here, my kitchen is nearly clean already. Moreover, dinner will be a very simple affair, meaning tomorrow’s work will be equally light. The weather is already warm and very sunny, so I can take care of a few lingering annoyances in the backyard while working on the garbage business today. The available free time is going to cause my head to return to the market and daydream, and that adds up to trouble. I don’t want to become any more angry than I am right now or the bulk of the day could end up in the fucking sewer. Michael, that lucky fuck, got to kiss Cara in this episode. Gawd fucking damn... Never me. Never... Me. Was it me? Or the two shit situations that continue to expand inside my head and heart? What caused this fucking situation? A combination? I still can’t fucking figure it out, and as time passes, those little fucking blasts catch me upside the head and derail whatever progress I may have made. Splendid. Anyway, all gorgeous Cara references aside, I’ll be moving away from this and into the work very soon if for no other reason than attempting to ‘right’ myself after this morning. And now there is Jamie, all sixth-season beauty apparent, along with everything else. This is fucked. I am in a very bad place right now. Lately I’ve been considering going through all of the radii images from many years ago – those that do not show faces – and editing both them and the code so they are displayed better. The framework of the site has widened and changed in recent years, and some of the older stuff is pixelated and/or otherwise distorted. I’d like to fix everything so the site entries are aligned, but inside I already know that scrutinizing the subjects of the images is going to hurt me. I’ve already been picturing the woman from the market and the way she matches several of the poses from years ago when I tried to convey my feelings on the subject. Re-editing may not be a good idea regardless of whether or not the site content can be improved. Once I leave the office and work around the house, the idea may fade. Hopefully anyway. I need this morning’s torment to leave my head, and I don’t even know if such a thing is possible. ‘Improvement’ is not a keyword these days.

Military fighters have flown along the coast from south to north this morning. Awesome. I wish this part of the country still held as much military presence as it did decades ago. Sometimes I feel like we are overly vulnerable over here by the ocean. Not good. My concerns over national security do have an upside, though, and that is they can often squash everything else through which I’ve been suffering. Better than nothing, I suppose.


The hour is later and I am part way into a fatass cocktail. I have the next several hours to take care of my remaining business, as well. The morning stuff is out of the way. All I have to do now is work on the garbage – to whatever extent seems appealing – and then make revolutions for cooking this evening. I am still seeing that woman’s shape in my head. It will not leave no matter what I am doing. And then Jamie again. I captured her big, beautiful, loving eyes AGAIN so I can always see them when I feel like shit. Well, that’s most of the time, so more images of her probably will not help me. Quite the reverse, actually, but I can’t fucking help it anymore. I need to see her as badly as I need to see more of the form from this morning. As Martina said, ‘shit me’. Heh. Maybe I should insert a [sic] in that quote for good measure. Ugh. I can barely think straight today.

My watch either does not exist (and never did) or is somewhere languishing within the shipping system, possibly overlooked or forgotten. I have to wait past a specific date before taking any action, although I am unconcerned because I’ve dealt with it before and the company is extremely helpful. They will resolve the situation quickly and efficiently. No worries there. Once I am refunded, I guess I’ll decide if I want to pursue another new one or simply let it go. Right now I don’t know. I keep thinking of thighs, radii, disparity and motion, and those aspects of my distorted sense of beauty have more power over me than anything in the world. Hmm... Maybe in an effort to offset all this negative shit, I’ll embrace one of the other wristwatches I used to own. They are expensive when in mint condition, but if the transaction helps my head relax, the price does not matter. Possessions, media, and projects are nothing more than distractions at this point in time. I may have mentioned that before.

Desperation has two sides. One has been outlined here in spades. The other is as follows: I desperately need to know why a woman such as the one I saw this morning causes so much fucking torment inside me. Why? Do you have the answer? Could the cause have been a combination of those two shit situations? Or is there more? The questions never end, nor does the pain I feel every single day over this shit. I will probably never be ‘there’ again, and I highly doubt that there is a soul on earth cognizant of the true meaning of ‘there’. The blast vane will not allow me to forget where I’ve been in the past, nor will it let up long enough for me to truly relax in life. I’ve been blasted on far too many occasions, the most recent being this very day. Wonderful.

I have to continue my Sunday business very soon or I’ll fall down and keep drinking. That kind of weak behavior will not end well for me or those who know me.

Later, still. Same Same Sunday. Very exciting.

Will building the precious 4355s make any difference? Will they remove all of the bad? The past? Anything? No. Of course not. So, why have I become so compelled to complete that fucking project? I have no clue. They are enticing, though. The whole shitaree would require months of work and I’d probably have to pick up a few more woodworking tools. It’s all so very costly, although to purchase a pair of originals from the seventies would be far more cost prohibitive. Trust me. Fifty grand? No fucking way; not when I have detailed plans, all necessary know-how and all of the components can be had for less than ten percent of the selling price. I just have yet to calculate why they have become so important to me. Perhaps I’m dreaming of resisting the blasts, like creating a blast of my own to ease the shit I’m getting from these damned vanes. I don’t know anymore. Your guess is as good as mine.

Jamie is unreal. I can’t believe what I’m seeing most of the time. Maybe she will come here and hold me.

The rest of this day is going to be very relaxing. I took care of everything that was envisioned this morning, and more. Unfortunately, I still can’t get that woman’s gait or appearance out of my fucking brain. The squareheads came by again Friday and I ignored them because acting like I am a complete person is so fucking exhausting that I am often right on the edge of gushing everything to that woman in the hopes that she will hold me. Yep, I said that. I will say it again, too. I really like her kind face and the fact that she related her own past depression with me when I was in a bad state some weeks ago. I know they will keep coming back, too. There have now been two notes left for me. Not good. I can’t be unkind, either. I want to push them away so I don’t slip up and cause a damaging situation because of my desperate feelings, but at the same time I don’t know how to change the situation without pushing in a negative way. The woman from this morning is a part of this, too. My emotional state hinges upon what I may or may not see because the past comes into play and I end up horribly distraught. My head gets distorted and challenges my ability to remain a good person.

There is a dark permanence to this mindset; the situation in my head. Very dark, to be sure. Every difficulty points in the same direction; every sight dims the lighting of my days. I have been and continue to be ill-equipped to deal with this type of feeling, the result always appearing the same. The other vanes have proven such, too. This one just happens to be the latest. The darkness is all around me, all the time. Day and night. I can feel it. The darkness permeated me when I least expected it, this morning. Blackness washed over me as I stood there realizing that all I have left is this keyboard, I will not achieve the dream that flirted with me nine years ago, and any little positives that crop up on a given day will darken and then disappear soon enough.

Another hour; another blast.

Where is the end of the line?