Vile Chambers Mature content No. 423 Published September 2nd, 2024 8:32am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still Monday. I was dreading the fucking shopping trip but it went very smoothly. There were no imperial entanglements, as Obi-Wan Kenobi might say. No beauty; no lines; no long, dark hair flowing in the breeze. Everything went very well and I was pleased to arrive home no worse for the drive. From here forward – aside from consuming a massive glass of whiskey thanks to the wine store order – the plan is to consider a defensive posture due to the conflict in the middle east having expanded, plus news that the other conflict between Puta... Er, Putin and the Ukraine has also increased in severity. My defensive thinking is not terribly dramatic, though. There is not much I can do way over here on the coast. Mostly I just ensure that all of the supplies are topped off and I maintain an alert status in case one or both of the wars spill into other nations. The state of the world is one of those aspects of life with the singular ability to squash my problems. I guess that means I am not as selfish as some people. Whatever the case with this shit, I need to keep my eyes and ears open until the situations calm down (hopefully). I don’t like to see people hurt. The defensive posture also means considering options, and that means lots of thinking. I sincerely hope nothing worsens. That would be terrible. The weather is again very warm, and if the evening proves to be the same as yesterday, I’ll probably grill the chicken in favor of baking. Eh, I just made up my mind. The grill is not only better for keeping the house cool, but it is also healthier. While at the store, I picked up salad stuff for the next two or three days. An entree salad is wonderful in the hot weather. Keep in mind that every fucking aspect of this paragraph represents an attempt to distract myself from the reckoning. Earlier this morning while I sipped coffee, the feelings were trying to send me into the ground. I kept them at bay thanks to some historic truths which, while being very compelling and emotional at times, I may be learning to shove away like toxic waste. For the time being, I am going to recognize such a maneuver as born of pride. Maybe that will help me get through more days without retreating to the corner of the backyard with whiskey and a fucking firearm. Yes, I called Putin a ‘puta’. If ever a leader needed to be put down, it’s that shitfuck. I will continue to denigrate the asshole as long as I can type on a keyboard. I switched off the video media in favor of some music I used to enjoy while in the cave. Sometimes my irritation with everything sends me toward such compositions because they tend to be very fatalistic, much like the way I have viewed the world for more than thirty years. Fatalistic. Period. Some music tries to describe ‘what we need to do’, whereas other genres demand the opposite, or, more clearly, the actual state of things (without yogurt and sprout eating dipshits claiming otherwise) and the fact that people are unable to truly improve anything, the result being a slow decline toward doom for all. Rather than embracing something ‘higher’ and maintaining ‘faith’ that everything has a purpose, this music speaks to the opposite – faith cannot save humanity after all that we have done to each other and the planet for centuries. I will not sit here and claim that anything can be changed because every fucking day on the news is the reverse of what those deluded idiots seek. More ridiculous terms; more laws; more statements that we can be sensitive. Bullshit. Tell me otherwise and I will respond with evidence. The music calms me and provides an atmosphere of actual truth. If you don’t like it, you are lying to yourself. Keep your head in that society- and media-driven hole. The rest of us appreciate the space to think. I was in the garage a while ago and overheard two people yelling at each other. I am not aware of who was embroiled in the argument, however. I only know so many individuals that live nearby. Without an accurate localization, I have no idea of those involved. Interesting. Last night after dinner I overheard the opposite... People were enjoying the warm weather and outside frolicking. That was nice to hear. My neighbor and I have thrown so many ‘driveway’ shindigs over the years that when another house is making noise, we don’t mind at all. In fact, when those noisy evenings are heard from this house, I usually just muse that I am happy people are having some fun. When he and I have a large group and both garages open during a warm evening, the neighborhood becomes fully aware that something is happening. Those are seldom occasions, though. Curious; I remember last summer when my neighbor’s daughter was celebrating her birthday with a party next door. The following day I asked if she enjoyed the ‘shindig’, and she had never heard such a term. Heh. I explained and she replied that everyone had a good time. That was rather humorous, mostly because my vocabulary is much older. I employ ancient terms all the time and in this day and age many just don’t comprehend them. Also funny. Tuesday coffee and thoughts. Some of them are absolutely vile. Believe it. Too many years of being routed, squished and disregarded – I’ll try to avoid going into not being taken seriously – have left me overly sensitive, and the result is often immoral daydreaming. Don’t even get me started with what goes through my head when I see certain individuals, both beautiful and otherwise. My inner processes often go all the way back to the Midwest period and the situation that caused me to first coin the phrase ‘blood on the cauliflower’. Vile and ill-advised. I can’t share my thinking with a single fucking person on this planet, although I have gleaned one topic with someone special a few years ago. Gleaned. That’s all. The damaging dreams were the catalysts for more vile thinking that I can understand. Fortunately, those came about after I had discussed some of my personality with that soul. Had the events taken place in a different order, the conversation may have turned out very badly for yours truly. The past entries with the word ‘blood’ in the titles barely scratched the surface because regardless of how I view myself, I simply can’t have anyone reading the full story. The way I think these days can be quite unpleasant. There is reasoning behind every idea that pops into my head, as well as defining events which jaded me to the point of living with an inability to communicate with people. I have to keep everything hidden behind a large wall, a process which has become more difficult with the passage of time. While I am certain that many others have shit in their heads that is never revealed to anyone else, I can only comment on my own problems. I don’t know them and never will. The chicken seems to have fully defrosted already. That means I need not go to the market today. Excellent. After three shopping destinations yesterday – and the trip was very smooth with zero complications – I am more than content to remain home all day. I have lots of things that can be addressed, and I am safer here than anywhere else. That is in part due to the way I think. Not good. I could use a drink, so perhaps I’ll take care of my routine. One leads to the other, every fucking day of every fucking week, and so on. I need it, not only to calm my thoughts, but to squash in the womb any possible feelings toward what I have seen. Relaxation time is here. I don’t know what the rest of the day will entail, but one certainty is the mass of imagery inside my head that has led me all the way back to nearly twenty-one years ago when I was right smack dab in the middle of a very sinful situation. Nicki is in huge trouble because her birth control was just discovered. Ooh-fa. Whatever. This is fictional, whereas the relationship to which I was referring actually happened. Good or bad as the situation may have been, I lived it, loved it, and came out the other side carrying a suicidal decision in the negative. Whatever the circumstances, I drove to Vegas to end myself and returned home instead. The connection saved me, though when I look back, I see a massive gradient which has come to partially define the way I see society. This is not good. That past relationship is analogous to my time with the Raven, also a very brief period. There were shared beliefs, visions and lines of thinking that seem to be gone from this life. Those two were different, yet very similar at the same time. My feelings for both? Hence the title. The way I think cannot be discussed with others, ever. Not even with a therapist. Vile thoughts; evil considerations; and all of it stemming from everything I have explored here in more than four years. Draw a flowchart. Relaxation time is nothing more than sitting, and I am referring to either this chair or the sofa. My head does not stop no matter the circumstances. One of the cats is making an inordinate amount of noise. I will investigate soon. Aside from that, I need to consider options for the next several hours. I’d rather not sit and watch my current program because sometimes the idea feels like a waste of time. The laundry is running and I have a few items to prepare for dinner, but the inside of my head is beginning to feel as if some MDR-driven music may help like it did yesterday. When I wear those fantastic headphones, I rarely sit still for very long. The portable nature of them allows me to move about the house, garage and shed – much like yesterday when I organized a bunch of canned and dry goods and moved items around to be more efficient – without distraction or the potential for sinking into the sofa while focusing on video media. I will say that sometimes I really love following along with a program during the afternoon because I can watch it uninterrupted and ignore everything else for a little while. That can feel very relaxing at times. I just don’t think it is a good idea right now. I just had to fish a fly out of my whiskey. Do you remember that title? I published it two years ago today. Perhaps that fact is an omen? Eh... Never mind. It is nothing more than a coincidence. On the upside, a fly in a glass that is primarily grain alcohol does not cause problems because the booze itself is a disinfectant. Moreover, something so tiny cannot translate to other issues for obvious reasons. Anyway, at some point I will have lunch and then consider the afternoon. I will not give up on the alcohol because once again it has squashed feelings that I wish to avoid. Some of them are vile. In the interest of keeping myself away from suicide today, I will try to focus upon little things, such as momentary organization and ensuring that the kitchen is in good order for dinner preparations. Both are key distractions from the seemingly never-ending vile thought processes. Distractions can only hold me up for so long, however. Eventually, there will be no saving throw versus the inevitable. Sad? Partially. That end is also a path to saving those around me from further difficulties, heart-wrenching and drunken tirades, and more of the conversations that I always end up dictating to the point of them completely giving up any responses. I don’t generally give anyone room to gain advantage over what I feel. This paragraph has gone off the fucking rails. Big surprise. Quite the reverse, eh? The music did help. Tuesday is apparent everywhere I look. As for yesterday, I did venture up the big ladder to thin the tree again. Everything went very well. Between the laundry, organization and tree trimming, I soon felt sufficiently calmed by the work, and decided to relax through part of the afternoon. The drive this morning went very well for a weekday, the only rub being a very cute face – something I rarely see anymore; mostly the lines grab my sight. Upon returning a short time ago, I decided that today will be just like yesterday, sans the tree work. Organization and planning will take the lion’s share of my time because I need those small items to keep the shit from taking over my thinking. The idea worked pretty well yesterday and I am hoping that today can follow suit. The vile thoughts were present, however nothing bad transpired. They returned this morning when I saw that face. Moreover, I need to switch the media on the right-hand display because one of the characters is driving me up the fucking wall. I really don’t need to see her when, like stated in the past, my place in the world is so defensive and everything hurts. That woman is one of the most amazing, stirring sources of beauty I’ve ever seen. There may be images of her on the site, as well. I can’t remember. Anyway, I have to watch something else for a little while. She is causing me some difficulty. I have feelings for her, believe it or not, and have for a few years, or at least ever since I watched one of the Christmas movies in which she starred (which I actually have saved to the cloud... Big surprise). I believe the problem stemmed from her character and then bled over to reality some months later. In any case, I need to avoid a few sights this morning because I’ve started the day in decent shape and wish the mood to continue. I need it, as well. The visions must be squashed before they become out of control. There was a moment yesterday afternoon when all of this shit became reinforced; nearly solidified. The incident also informed me that any change to the positive may be most decidedly beyond anyone’s control. My thoughts and dreams during that short moment went all the way down to hell and then quickly returned because I had to maintain some semblance of composure like a real grown-up type of person. Thankfully, the moment came and went, as did the deep-seated desire. I can still see it and need to ensure the image and my desperation remain shoved back as far as possible. The simple fact is I am beyond help. That kind of conclusion may date all the way back to the sinful situation within which I happily drowned myself for days. Twenty-one years ago I knew exactly what I was doing. Decisions were made easily, furthered by the woman involved who explained to me that everything was just fine. She told me to relax. I did. Now? One glimpse and I fall off the edge of the deep end. It doesn’t take much to send my thoughts straight to hell, and beyond. The vile, deviant stance develops so quickly that I do not see a future for myself any longer. The little things are all I have left. That moment is still inside me and trying to derail everything for all time. I cannot predict which side will win-out in the long run. No idea. I just feel badly for thinking the way I do, but at the same time I take into consideration all that shit from the past and the image begins to focus; this is the way I developed and there was most likely no other path available. The entirety of what I am has been forming for many years, and the more time that passes, the worse my thinking becomes. Beliefs; values; morals... All have been compromised, perhaps permanently. Pretty bad situation, this shit. Even I can’t believe it. Ashley was the beginning. She altered the way I saw the sexes. The Raven solidified such a stance after discussing everything Ashley and I shared, and nearly verbatim. That tall blonde beauty was the beginning. Who will be the end? Can there be an end? Or will I eventually be left to one final act of desperation in order to reach and fulfill what has become a prophecy? No one will like me anymore and I’ll be left alone with nothing. One little vision yesterday created an entire interstate highway of thinking processes that can’t seem to be stopped now. Part of that is due to the fact that I see things because I never stop searching. The other part is because of the routing, squishing and other disregarded moments that are written all over me, inside and out. I did not do that. When I looked at her, the process that took place in my brain may actually begun to develop way back when the first strike occurred, the one which paved the way to my position in life of being walked over repeatedly for far too many years. I can’t change anything. I can’t affect anything. I can’t be effective. All I can do is sit here and discuss my feelings with a fucking keyboard. There will be another image; another moment of desire and desperation. There will always be something. The shit is trying to take over my thinking right now and I need to smash it to bits if anything good is to come of this day. I can’t move forward after the morning coffee with any semblance of mental and emotional comfort if the shit wins. The process will run its course and then sit right behind my eyes for the entire fucking day, and I just can’t have that. Despite the nearly disastrous morning, I managed to take care of the daily routine and pour myself a glass of reward... Er, whiskey. Whatever it may be called, it is something I fully enjoy, and I am speaking on two fronts. One is having grown into adulthood (that may still be debatable considering my behavior) in the Nevada gaming culture and watching the actions and decisions of adults within such an atmosphere, and the other is the idea that even after all this time I still find the slight numbing effects helpful. Once a portion of the liquid is consumed, the vile thoughts will expand while any danger is simultaneously diminished. I don’t know if any of this shit is good, but such is me. Driven; routed; disregarded. Far too many years of that shit have left me constantly defensive and unhappy, often being pushed to anger very quickly at the slightest ‘slight’. Not good. My morning ritual, as it were, is something to which I can always look forward, and often is one of the best parts of the day because I feel the wide-open time ahead and can calmly consider options. Today is no different, and after taking the morning drive with all the other assholes on a weekday, sitting here with the time and space to consider my place and feelings is likely about as good as my life gets anymore. Oh, there is the neighbor on my driveway. I’ll have to investigate. Eh... Nothing. He asked me to modify his shoes so they work for a part of his physical therapy. I have a shitload of tools, but nothing for working with rubber. He will have them worked over elsewhere. At least I was able to say hello and chat for a few minutes. He is one of but two fucking neighbors that I enjoy seeing, although I do wave and greet others at times. The two in question live flanking this house, and are the only individuals whom I will help regularly. Good people. And? Both are bikers. I am not. If I can actually achieve one of two huge projects in the future, I may be able to ride along. That is a fucking longshot from hell, I tell you. Still a dream. Ugh. And speaking of dreams, there is another neighbor further away whose wife is five-nine with dark hair and exotic features. I do not stare at her out of respect, and on those occasions when she was close, the effort required in being kind and respectful was tremendous. She is quite beautiful and much younger than myself. I speak to him here and there, but she is only close when they bring their child here on Halloween. At that point, there are no problems because of the darkness, my need to maintain the proper atmosphere, and my focusing upon avoiding potential pitfalls by looking at anyone. Anyway, I went out and spoke for a few minutes and then retreated to my office. No big deal. She may actually be taller, and I say that because I stand five-nine and when she is here we are eye-to-eye, and that woman is always clad in flat shoes. My shoes boost me to nearly five-ten. Um... Is this important? It shouldn’t be, honestly, because my preoccupation with height and all of the related features that follow suit are very unhealthy. Important or not, I can’t stop myself from looking and analyzing. Chalk it up to the runway models, perhaps. I love long, slender fingers and have for a very long time, and those fucking fashion shows may have been the cause. Whatever the case, height is still something that fascinates me on a daily basis. She is fucking tall. Period. And this entire paragraph was ill-advised. The potential road trip in October increased in likelihood between yesterday and this morning. I am going to make appropriate plans for stops and places to eat. The exhibit tickets have already been secured, as well. My focus will have to be on the car until everything is in order, and that includes a new windshield. The trip in January resulted in an impact that is now a ‘run’ – what others typically call a ‘crack’, but I know better thanks to having worked for years in the glass fabrication industry – and a long drive would likely exacerbate the process and render further impacts even more dangerous. Once the windshield is replaced, I’ll have to bring the car to the dealer for scheduled maintenance and a new battery. My current battery is now five years old and I am not the type to wait until it fails to replace it. I’ll not be left somewhere without power. The downside of the trip is the possibility of feeling uncomfortable and far from home at the same time. The upsides are seeking new and interesting places to eat, spending time inside my car experiencing feelings of freedom, and the possibility of touring one or more film studios. The latter is a longshot because of the cost, but being within a few miles of them might drive me to realize such proximity may not happen again in my lifetime. If I force the issue, one studio in particular will reign supreme regardless of cost. I will admit that visiting decades ago when there was still wonder and promise in the world would have been much better, most notably during the glowing years when two of my favorite programs were still in production at the SAME studio, and at the SAME fucking time. All of that is gone and the soundstages are likely completely different now, but I’m sure there can still be some wondrous history available. Hopefully, anyway. Chalk it up to everything I love being removed The day nearly went bad for a second time, and after lunch, for crying out loud. Unbelievable. Coming out the other side without flipping my fucking cork required nothing more than remembering where I am in life and all that is missing. I seem to have zero recourse with this shit, either, and other than becoming angry – which never solves a fucking thing – all I can do is find something to occupy my time until evening when I have a few responsibilities. The weather is again very warm, so whatever I do needs to be light. Fortunately, I need not prepare much for dinner because the meal will be a repeat of last night, and most of the work is already finished. Warm weather equals easy dinners. Tomorrow may end up the same if the temperature persists. Thursday. Another day burned away and tossed to the winds. Whatever took place then does not matter now. Yesterday almost went to shit on two occasions, and the same thing happened this morning. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything. I don’t know if this situation will worsen in the future, but such a possibility scares the hell out of me, especially considering how it relates to my physical well-being. A few years ago I calculated that at some point the reckoning would rear its head and remove those aspects of living that still provide enjoyment one at a time. Well, I did not expect this shit. No fucking way. Yesterday the feelings pushed me toward a very bad situation, twice. This morning is actually worse. I really need to force the fucking issue if I am to avoid another problematic mood. I need to go to the market in a little while, plus I have the usual house-related business that can occupy my time. The possibility of falling off a cliff during any down or quiet time is apparent at this very moment, and the clock is not even nearing nine. Not good. The other essay that can’t be published is calling to me from the nether regions of the RAID system, as well. Insult to injury, that is. By very definition it is one shitty feeling piled atop another, the combination often being too much for me to deal with. Have I analyzed this shit enough? YOU make the call. Later. I went to the market and saw some errant pants attached to a cute face and did my shopping. Upon returning, the usual crap was addressed in order to arrive at the morning ‘moment of comfort’, a la this table and a huge glass of very depressing liquid. My time is now WFO. Not bad. The pants didn’t really cause problems inside due to what has been killing me for months, plus when I think of those beautiful lines, my head immediately goes straight back to the girl in the restaurant. She took the cake for reasons already laid out here. I guess between yesterday and today all of the shit stemming from actual physical problems pretty much came to a head and drove any line-related issues away. There is no way to know how long this process will continue, though. I go through the motions, have dinner, sleep, and then rise from the bed the next morning with zero clues as to how the day will progress. The booze next to me will slowly squash some of the damaging feelings and may soon allow me to relax. As with every other aspect of this fucked up period, there is no way for me to be certain of anything. At least I shopped within close proximity to three beauties and did not flip out or run away. Better than nothing. One idea that popped into my head earlier is the belief that the past – be it near or far – has dictated the way I feel about desire at present. Memories of being ‘there’, seeing ‘that’, and being ‘heard’ have created feelings which seem to be forcing the even worse belief that had I never experienced those situations, there would be less to miss in life. This idea is akin to having never lived through the glowing years. The current era may not look so bad if that wonderful period had never come to pass. THE most important parts of life are gone and the resulting emptiness inside is fucking killing me without compassion. I have yet to completely give up because I am still wrestling with everything which would be left behind. In short, I miss being where I need to be and being heard so much that each day becomes boiled down to nothing more than a fucking decision. In the past when I felt this bad, I’d hop in the car with a plan to visit two specific places across the bay, and both are FUCKING GONE. I can always roll over the hill to the cozy lunch spot, but sitting there is nowhere near the same as a few years ago, nor can it hold a candle to my favorite places from the past. I just don’t know what to do when feeling this way so the only path seems to be sitting here with a drink and the keyboard. At least one of those is still not a negative. This whole situation is fucked up. Vile thoughts are creeping in, just like twenty-one years ago when I was all the fucking way into the sin. Did I flinch or hesitate? Nope. We discussed the matter and came to the conclusion that numbers did not make any difference in life. The only factors to be considered were those of the heart. I felt vile regardless of that discussion. She did not. She embraced everything and flew through the days on a wave of happiness and contentment. At least I didn’t slide down the outside of the pyramid and die in the fucking ice plant. I left. I drove home and dealt with a massive amount of fallout, all the while wishing I’d never left her arms. Vile thoughts of her do not go away, ever. I still want her. I still need her. I still regret living past the last day of my fucking room reservation. Sitting in this chair is the product of bad decisions. Some of those decisions harmed others emotionally, of course, but most have hurt me. They continue to do so. I think about them every day. In the past, I’ve been told that letting things go that are beyond one’s control is difficult, yet a healthy choice. Unfortunately, I still don’t know how to do that. I see a sliver of a positive in going to the market today. There was much beauty present and it didn’t cause problems in my head or heart because even after weeks I still see that girl in the restaurant as the most dramatic example of my years-long tirades of yearning. She can never know, fortunately. Only I know. The mood has changed. I donned the mighty wireless MDRs to hear my favorite film scores. The first is stirring beyond words, the second even moreso. The third? I heard it by accident some years ago and fell completely in love. The full-length composition was not included in the film. The version playing through the MDRs right now is an eight-minute epic that had to be pared down in order to fit the scene in question, and the decision to do so was ideal. I will try to avoid gushing about what is undoubtedly the most complex and powerful musical instrument in the world. You should already know. And? My desperate need to build one of two dream projects is wholly driven by the proper reproduction of this very soundtrack. Maybe I’ll achieve it before I die. Maybe I won’t. Time is running out. Friday is meaningless aside from a bunch of Amazon items being delivered later. I have coffee and a head full of empty spaces that used to contain good feelings. There had been ideas toward the positive crammed in there, too. Yesterday demonstrated to me that memories of certain specific aspects of living must either be ignored or destroyed, and there is only one way to achieve the latter. Nothing is good anymore except for the fact that my new parking space next to the driveway allows the street cleaner to cruise by unimpeded. Interference is often difficult, as you may well know from that horrible story I wrote some years ago. Eh, never mind. Those eight chapters have been hidden away along with many other tales, both fictional and otherwise. Interference represented a mental puzzle I needed to solve in order to move along a path of self-improvement. Though I did eventually figure out a way to do it, nothing good ever came of that journey. Much like real life, all I had were moments of little enjoyments and other tiny snippets of joy within an otherwise horrible, barren and frozen wasteland that eventually killed me in a hideous manner. Interference translates from an inability to answer inner questions to parking the car clear of the path for the street cleaner. Every other Friday it comes by and I need to remember the process. Isn’t that exciting? Soon I’ll be one of those idiots I used to see standing on the driveway at five in the morning waiting for the fucking newspaper. Anyway, Friday means nothing to me anymore. It used to be work followed by a relaxing afternoon with some guys at the bar, and then toward a well-earned weekend. I don’t like the bar anymore, the weekends are exactly the same as weekdays, and I need not worry about certain days of the week being rewarding. I am here all the fucking time. The only small difference between some Fridays is the idea that I may have to drive to the City on Saturday morning. That is not happening this week, however. Just Sunday. Hopefully, today will be relaxing on some level. The usual stuff needs to be completed. Coffee; thoughts; dreams. My sleep was interrupted twice and I have no idea why that happens, but this morning I don’t feel very bad as a result. There were also a couple of strange dreams, neither of which had anything to do with my obsession or current problems. I can be thankful for that. My condition is bad enough without piling more shit on top. The vile thoughts came to mind again just a few moments back. Vile. Trust me. I really wish I could go into some detail about this shit because I can’t deny the possibility that there is actually a real person somewhere out there who may run across all this crap and have some helpful information. I don’t mean the usual fucking platitudes and generalizations, either. I am referring to a mind that can actually offer something different; ways of coping or the like. As of yet, I’ve heard precisely nothing along such lines, only the typical hollow ideas such as ‘keep your head up’ and ‘love yourself’ or ‘breathe through it’, none of which actually accomplishes anything for a person this far down the fucking rabbit hole. I don’t expect anything, though. I am realistic. There could be helpful information out there, or perhaps there is none. Whatever the case, I’ll be just the same... Sitting here saying the same shit over and over with (hopefully) some different terms. I already have a thesaurus. The vile thoughts can’t be kept at bay by anything emanating from a person’s gaping maw, regardless of their intentions. I will continue to develop sinful situations and dreams in my head despite what others may have to offer. The reality is I am seeking a way of sidestepping the bad things – not suppressing or ignoring because such a process always creates a mental bomb – while acknowledging that I have not the tools to deal with or solve any of them. The action of sitting here at the keyboard has become second nature and identifies as the only outlet left in my life. I’ve gone around and around with this procedure nearly every single day for more than four years and now sit here in worse shape than I was at that time. What does that tell you? It tells me that those aspects of life with which I am obsessed are too powerful to be alleviated, altered or kept at bay by any path I’ve tried, and the vile nature of the way I now think continues to expand beyond my control. I don’t see it changing, mostly because there is little reason beyond my basic survival in life. My thoughts do not come out of my mouth, nor do they end up here in any fashion that can be understood by people, leaving no chance of finding the motivation to change the way I live. I have zero reason to change anything. I’ve already tried for too long. Believe me when I say that no one wants to know how my head really operates in these late days. Just trust me. It’s fucking bad. Period. And? Should I have followed John? I’ve gone over the reasons why I turned out this way. Is that all of them? I don’t know. Two are certain; two are nearly certain, but there is no way to know the truth after all this time. One thing I will say is I feel better about myself as a person than I have in almost thirty fucking years. That type of appreciation does not come easily, nor does it arrive without cost. For whatever reason, blame and loathing have turned around during the last nine years in general, and the last two or so in particular. Unfortunately, nothing can alter the way others view me as a person, so going over how I feel about myself is all but useless. They’ve already drawn their conclusions and I have been (and will continue to be) treated accordingly. The main issue with that is routing. Second is having been squished for years. All that shit makes me so angry that I have to walk in a fucking circle in order to avoid a massive explosion that would very likely ruin my life and those of a few others. In short, regardless of my feelings toward myself and how much of an improvement they are over the past, nothing I can do will cause this to matter to anyone else. Platitudes; the passage of time; work. Nothing will change. I did, but they will not. Cannot. Hence? The rest of my life will be a series of tirades; some with the same wording and some different. Those facts that are indisputable inside my brain will dictate both my mood each day and the way the content here develops. Unfortunately, there is still a ton of information that must be left out. I have to protect myself. As of this morning, there are three very specific truths that have been distorted to such a degree that no one has ever had the first damned clue as to the actual situations. There is another that has been pushed so far back that it has become unrecognizable. I simply will not put myself on full display for all to see. The story of the sinful situation in Vegas was removed for reasons of good form, and to protect myself from backlash. I’ve already received plenty of that shit. I need to find a way of pushing vile thoughts to the rear since I can’t seem to remove them. The damaging dreams keep popping into my head – being one of two main reasons for the vile nature of the way I think these days – and as of yet I have not been able to let go of them. One particular person was in each of those dreams, as well. To be completely honest, the content of the dreams and the subsequent situations I’ve manufactured and scripted inside my head (totally private, of course) became a combination I actually did not want to forget. I still don’t, although there may not be a choice either way. The information is nearly as powerful as seeing the most beautiful lines right in front of my stupid eyes, sans clothing. Yes, the restaurant incident again. I was too close. Much closer than at the pool. My brain went all over the place with that sight, and still does. Thoughts of her are equally vile. I don’t know if I can find a way to either deal with them or remove them completely, but if something doesn’t change soon, I am going to lose my shit. And no, not in the fashion that usually happens and results in anger. I am speaking of a smashed heart. Wow. The market again held a vision, and one right out of the fucking gate. A gorgeous girl, all petite with lines apparent, strolled through the doors just in front of me. Fortunately, I lost sight of her for the remainder of my shopping trip. And what was I thinking? Well, it was more like wondering. I pondered whether or not someone had been telling her just how unique and amazing she appeared. Sometimes, and I know this shit first-hand through experience, too much gushing about appearance can cause problems. But... Has anyone taken the time to inform that beauty of her beauty? Lately? At all? I would probably have gone overboard given my penchant for details and a long-term lack of actually speaking to a woman so gorgeous. I would have fucked it all up after seconds had there been an opportunity. Other than the stunning vision of her face and form, the trip was uneventful. I went fairly early because today is the beginning of a holiday weekend, and one typically ripe with outdoor barbecues and the like. I was only there for a few items, meaning I was in and out quickly. I didn’t want a protracted view of that girl even though part of me needs it so desperately. No good can come from such a situation. None. Here I sit, like always, with the morning business out of the way and a fat fucking drink to steady myself. Damn it if that girl didn’t have all of the information on display. Just... Damn. She will fade and I will forget. Very good. As for the rest of the day, I have no clue as to how I may feel later. I have a few items to address but nothing significant. Finding motivation lately has been an uphill climb. Oh, and in case you were not aware, I also wanted the woman in question to hold me and make all the bad stuff go away. Big fucking surprise, eh? Marvelous. And the sighting can mean many things, yet one stands out right now. Here we go again... I was there twenty-one years ago next month. I hope I appreciated the feelings and emotions at the time. I really do, because all of that is completely fucking gone now, just like all those people and places I bring up on this stupid site almost daily. Some years later, I was there again. And then again. One occasion, however – the later time – turned into a very difficult situation for two reasons that I can’t describe here anymore. I’ve gone into that crap in the past, but due to the self-protection that seems to be increasing with each passing day, the entire four-part story has been permanently removed. I just can’t have people aware of certain occasions from the past no matter how compelling they may feel or how well they relate to my current mental and emotional states. The point is that everything is fucking gone. The most powerful and important aspects of living have been systematically removed from the face of the fucking planet and all I can do is sit here and try to understand why. So far, I have discovered only little relational analyses from the long past as well as a few that have been more recent. I can’t find solid reasons beyond the machinations of this backward, doom-infused and sheep-laden society that never seems to be satisfied with anything, hence so much history having been either destroyed or made to otherwise disappear. I digress. I was there, right smack-dab in the middle of a place I couldn’t describe in a million fucking years, and the main component was a heaping helping of actual UNDERFUCKINGSTANDING. I will refrain from mentioning the names of those individuals because I have railroaded the point enough already. Besides, the names no longer matter to anyone other than myself. I love all of them to this very day, meaning anything too detailed would be disrespectful regardless of the fact that they are all GONE from my life. None can return. None of them will return. I have to find a way to cope with ‘moving forward’ sans any reminiscing. And how do I approach such a process? No idea. I am still seeking methods for dealing with the reality of everything having disappeared. No aspect of said process can be easy. I sit here day after day with the same visions, memories, desires and depressive, suicidal thoughts, and as of yet have not come up with a single idea of how to deal with it all. Stating that I can never be ‘there’ again is very difficult and a realization I still can’t deal with on any level. All I do is go through the daily motions of my responsibilities, enjoy the morning cocktail, and try to find anything with the power to lift me even a little bit. I am still falling away. I am still full of vile thoughts and dreams. I am still on the sharpened edge of committing suicide each day. And I am still finding tiny reasons to travel through one day and arrive at the next. I don’t know how much longer I can maintain this pace. The change that has recently come to pass and knowing I am powerless to affect or alleviate the same is quite literally removing reasons to continue. More evidence that I cannot align with others’ thinking reared its ugly head last night. I began to speak on the topic of note and then ceased the process as soon as I realized that no one gives half a shit how I feel about anything. I believe my last sentence was along the lines of ‘being completely alone’. That is not a big surprise, and I will say straight out that rather than accusing others of changing over the years, the truth is that I have been the one who continues to analyze, change my stance accordingly, and then reach for any semblance of understanding. None of that is going to solve anything, though, but at least I know it. I can be a real pain in the ass during a debate because I typically go on just enough to leave the other person bereft of any responses. I close the door quickly and with enough solidity that there is no chance of either a rebuttal or any placation. Fortunately, I exited the discussion early and avoided a longer tirade that, frankly, no one else wants or needs. Too bad the damage was already done by that point. I understand people less and less with the passage of time, and regardless of whether or not I am fully at fault, the change is just not fucking good by any stretch of the word. Perhaps it's time for two lines from one of the great, unrequited loves of my life as dates back more than thirty years... 'Look through these darkened eyes; you'll see ten thousand lies. My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.' I see that my neighbor is about to take off on one of his motorcycles. I’d go say hello, but my mood is restricting me from leaving this chair for any reason. Isn’t my life exciting? Yes, I live in a house a half mile from the ocean. I also have a multitude of tools and hobbies. The weather is perpetually mild. I have all the free time I desire. I have carte blanche when ordering food or alcohol. I have this huge control center at my disposal. What else? Doesn’t matter. The reality is that I have become nothing more than a machine that goes through the motions of daily life. I wanted and needed a machine. Now I am the machine, bereft of hope and dependent upon three pathetic devices for living. Eh... He did not leave on a bike. He left in a car. Either way, I can’t live vicariously through another person. That is impossible. All I can do is either continue on the same path or do something different. The latter is most unlikely because of having been pushed down for so long. I’ve been a utility, nothing more. The sheer number of occasions when I am asked to stretch my already formidable experience and do something strange is still staggering after many years. No one wishes to hear me speak; they walk right over the top and ‘squish’ my dialog, and that very often after being asked a question. Well, stop asking. Silence is wonderful, but others don’t understand the reasons. All those items I mentioned above can ALMOST offset their bullshit enough for me to relax, although such situations rarely develop when I am not alone. There is almost always a roadblock of one type or another. At least whenever I am busy the vile thinking tends to fade a little bit. Also, sometimes I think of myself as being mostly alright prior to seeing someone else going out there to explore and live more fully. That’s just not me anymore. Living through the last four years saw to such a change. That period saw to much more, actually, and a few bumps I was not expecting. Well, he did actually take off on a bike. I don’t know what the deal was with the car. God bless that place Saturday morning means when tuned to the proper channel, there is a bunch of Zoe all over the televisions. Damn. She is so fucking adorable that I lose a little bit more of my mind every time she’s on the screen, all smiles and brightness. I just can’t help it these days; all those beautiful features and the appearance of a person who might listen. Eh, whatever. Saturday is here and she may as well not exist. Nothing can come of it. The days roll by regardless of my feelings. Yesterday turned out to be fairly productive despite my head being all fucked up during the morning. The wireless MDRs were a good choice with some instrumental compositions keeping me company as I moved about the house and garage. Some laundry, dry cleaning and housework occupied my time and my mind long enough to arrive in the evening without feeling completely worthless. I am hoping today will follow suit. I have to be at least a little busy to keep the vile and damaging thoughts from taking over and ruining everything. Possibilities shrink at an alarming rate if I can’t find a turning point during the morning. I drew a line yesterday and it worked to my advantage. Today is still up in the air. Well, that day disappeared fairly quickly. I can’t keep up with the passage of time anymore. Everything seems to go away while I am not paying attention, and sometimes when my attention is strict and sharp. Yesterday? I don’t know what happened. I took care of some organizational business, ran some laundry, and then relaxed for a little while prior to dinner. I guess the problem is my work does not seem to matter much. In and around each item I knock off my list is a desperate sense of going nowhere and needing to escape. I can’t do anything about those feelings anymore. I am in a gigantic hole without a ladder. Sunday business will come and go. Hopefully, I can move a little bit closer to realizing a sense of organization. If not, this paragraph will be repeated tomorrow, verbatim. Did you ever walk in the opposite direction of an escalator or moving walkway just to do it? That’s right... Nowhere fast, much like this content. I saw her again yesterday. Well, I think it was yesterday. There is no way to be certain because the visions have begun to run together. Everything was right there; I missed a little bit of what could be seen due to the position and the fact that she was heading somewhere fairly quickly. The information was apparent, however, and believe me when I say that the vile thoughts entered my consciousness immediately. My brain manufactured situations which are impossible, yet compelling beyond words. Fantasies, if you will. Were the ideas vile? Not really, but they were carnal, and I am not embarrassed to state as much. I watched her for a few seconds and then moved along with whatever I had been doing prior to the glimpse. After so many years of shit, I simply can’t avoid trying to see beauty in that type of situation; a form that is very desirable and partially aligned with my decades-long obsession. I do not see her very often, I am not acquainted with her, nor is it likely at all that there can be anything beyond my eyes directed toward her position when she comes along. There are just too many limiting factors, the worst of which is what I’ve become due to the past. Yes, the two shit situations are centered upon the peak of my desperation and desire, and there is so much more than I don’t even know where to start. Well, I’ve outlined some of it before and probably don’t need to railroad that crap after so many entries dealing with the missing pieces inside me. I’ve tried to answer the question of how this happened – and perhaps I already have and can’t accept or understand the information – and will continue to do so whenever my feelings become out of control, such as yesterday while watching her walk along the street for mere seconds. I always forget that the opening sequence of this program was changed for the fourth and fifth seasons. The music and stunning camera work caught me upside the head yesterday and nearly had me doubled over and in tears. I secured the music, as well. The theme is so beautiful and stirring that I can’t even begin to describe its effects upon my heart. Wow. Um... Where was I? Ah... The vile designs inside my head yesterday. They continue even now because the need to both demonstrate and understand is beginning to dictate each moment that I am awake. I’ve often said that everything I do around the house has become nothing more than a series of distractions until my life ends. That is no bullshit. The little things are somehow still keeping me upright for the most part, and I really need them to continue for a while longer as I try to sort out this crap. Seeing that girl yesterday really fucked up my rhythm and I don’t want a repeat on a fucking Sunday because I have responsibilities. Once my coffee is gone, this will have to be put aside for a little while so I can care for the house. The work may help push away the vile thoughts for a time. I can only hope. Cocktail hour cannot arrive soon enough today. Like most days, my head is all fucked up prior to ten in the morning. Maybe the defensive posture should be embraced later. That always helps me relax, plus the last few times I’ve considered the state of the world, the mighty MDRs were injecting beautiful film scores into my ears. The lack of lyrics allows me to think more clearly, as opposed to the music of life which requires strict attention to detail. At one point yesterday, I went all the way back to what flowed from the D-555 and into my old V6s, which were phenomenal and have become quite sought-after. Just a while ago I took a peek to learn how those headphones are valued these days. Worn-out units are still successfully selling for more than two hundred, and I saw a few brand new pairs still in original packaging that sold for over five. Geez. Anyway, the music from those days spent around the house in the Midwest still holds a very special place in my heart, and that despite the fact that the newly-discovered music I mentioned is full of negativity, crises of the mind, and all manner of anger. Fortunately, the historic nature of the compositions no longer pushes me to feel angry at all. All I feel is appreciation for what had been created all those years ago. Today, however, I believe the best choice will be film scores along with the beautifully emotional crescendos that I love so much. Moreover, there is the wonder of hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence, the pipe organ. Not just any pipe organ sitting in a church, though. I am speaking of the 1926 Harrison & Harrison four-manual pipe organ that resides within the Temple Church in London. Unbelievable. If anything has become the prime motivation for building the 4355s, that instrument is precisely it. The music has helped push away vile thinking this morning. The house is quiet, I have my cocktail here on the table (big fucking surprise) and the typical daily routine is finished. I need to build those fucking monitors because every time I hear the pipe organ two things occur. One is my heart leaping out of my chest, and the other is the realization that the music is not being reproduced properly or in the correct context. Hmm... That realization is also the driving force behind the fact that I almost never share music with other people. Reproduction out of context is completely unacceptable. Plus, there is one track in particular which, when combined with the accompanying scene from the film, represents one of the most beautiful and stirring sequences in the history of the combined media. Believe it. Anyway, the rest of the day awaits and I have no idea of how it will proceed. Good or bad, I’ll arrive in the evening eventually. I wish I knew the outcome prior to trying anything. That would be a splendid and much-welcomed exit off this set of rails that continues to guide me into silent, solitary oblivion. Marvelous. Yet another entry has turned into a really nice clambake. Ah, shit. I just remembered a track that is not on my film score playlist and I have to hear it. The result will be tears because it has to do with time, something with which I wrestle every second of every fucking day, be it the past or the current era with all inherent pitfalls, sadness, and feelings of loss. Ooh-fa, but I have to hear it. Ugh. Onward? The clock will not stop, although there is rarely a restriction on my time these days. Do I have too much time to ponder everything? I mentioned my dream of building the 4355s. The idea includes another facet of proper audio reproduction, and that is the fact that my system in the living room consists of a multi-channel receiver coupled to a set of six speakers, none of which are capable of reproducing music very well in stereo, the manner in which it was originally recorded. Yes, most of the music I wish to hear is from film scores and they can be played properly through a ‘surround’ system whose intention is to mimic that of a theatre, yet the truth is a decent pair of floorstanding loudspeakers has been the choice of audiophiles for decades, and I my opinion is no different. The upside is a powerful, heart-stirring reproduction of a live performance. The downside is simply space. Audio requires a serious commitment to volume, be it inside the cabinets or within the room itself, and I just don’t have much of either. The six drivers in the living room are all of the waveguide variety, a technology that was originally developed for saving space while providing the sonic illusion of much larger cabinets. Well, they fall short quite often. I purchased and installed them in order to maintain as much living space as possible as opposed to sacrificing volume in favor of proper fucking analog audio reproduction. That idea may be coming to an end because I am finding that outside the scope of so many losses in life and my need to be where I am happiest resides the music. The idea may force some sacrifices I am more than happy to embrace. This entry has veered from the topic of vile thoughts so many times that I’ve lost count. This is how my mind operates... A haphazard, damaged method of dealing with the passage of time that I can hardly recognize anymore. I used to write short essays that were very pointed. Now I wander all over the fucking place. Splendid. The title has been lost yet again. Does anyone even care? I most certainly do not. Fuck this entry, anyway. Monday morning. The drive was uneventful due to the holiday. I have the flag flying off the front of the house. Coffee. Yesterday did not turn to shit, thankfully. I was able to take care of all the business prior to dinner preparations, and relax afterward feeling at least a little bit accomplished. Overall, Sunday was exactly like so many other Sundays that I couldn’t even venture a guess at such a number. Nothing exciting aside from a very brief vision of her again. It didn’t last long, though. I was able to turn away and continue with my chores sans dramatic distraction. I always look because I am always searching. The process will never stop. I guess returning to my housework and letting go of the vision was a good thing. The rest of the day was fine. Her pants looked fantastic and my feelings don’t matter. One day, perhaps soon. No more of this for right now. The vileness is beginning to disturb me." 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
Vile Chambers Mature content No. 423 Published September 2nd, 2024 8:32am pdt read ( words) Past entries "Still Monday. I was dreading the fucking shopping trip but it went very smoothly. There were no imperial entanglements, as Obi-Wan Kenobi might say. No beauty; no lines; no long, dark hair flowing in the breeze. Everything went very well and I was pleased to arrive home no worse for the drive. From here forward – aside from consuming a massive glass of whiskey thanks to the wine store order – the plan is to consider a defensive posture due to the conflict in the middle east having expanded, plus news that the other conflict between Puta... Er, Putin and the Ukraine has also increased in severity. My defensive thinking is not terribly dramatic, though. There is not much I can do way over here on the coast. Mostly I just ensure that all of the supplies are topped off and I maintain an alert status in case one or both of the wars spill into other nations. The state of the world is one of those aspects of life with the singular ability to squash my problems. I guess that means I am not as selfish as some people. Whatever the case with this shit, I need to keep my eyes and ears open until the situations calm down (hopefully). I don’t like to see people hurt. The defensive posture also means considering options, and that means lots of thinking. I sincerely hope nothing worsens. That would be terrible. The weather is again very warm, and if the evening proves to be the same as yesterday, I’ll probably grill the chicken in favor of baking. Eh, I just made up my mind. The grill is not only better for keeping the house cool, but it is also healthier. While at the store, I picked up salad stuff for the next two or three days. An entree salad is wonderful in the hot weather. Keep in mind that every fucking aspect of this paragraph represents an attempt to distract myself from the reckoning. Earlier this morning while I sipped coffee, the feelings were trying to send me into the ground. I kept them at bay thanks to some historic truths which, while being very compelling and emotional at times, I may be learning to shove away like toxic waste. For the time being, I am going to recognize such a maneuver as born of pride. Maybe that will help me get through more days without retreating to the corner of the backyard with whiskey and a fucking firearm. Yes, I called Putin a ‘puta’. If ever a leader needed to be put down, it’s that shitfuck. I will continue to denigrate the asshole as long as I can type on a keyboard. I switched off the video media in favor of some music I used to enjoy while in the cave. Sometimes my irritation with everything sends me toward such compositions because they tend to be very fatalistic, much like the way I have viewed the world for more than thirty years. Fatalistic. Period. Some music tries to describe ‘what we need to do’, whereas other genres demand the opposite, or, more clearly, the actual state of things (without yogurt and sprout eating dipshits claiming otherwise) and the fact that people are unable to truly improve anything, the result being a slow decline toward doom for all. Rather than embracing something ‘higher’ and maintaining ‘faith’ that everything has a purpose, this music speaks to the opposite – faith cannot save humanity after all that we have done to each other and the planet for centuries. I will not sit here and claim that anything can be changed because every fucking day on the news is the reverse of what those deluded idiots seek. More ridiculous terms; more laws; more statements that we can be sensitive. Bullshit. Tell me otherwise and I will respond with evidence. The music calms me and provides an atmosphere of actual truth. If you don’t like it, you are lying to yourself. Keep your head in that society- and media-driven hole. The rest of us appreciate the space to think. I was in the garage a while ago and overheard two people yelling at each other. I am not aware of who was embroiled in the argument, however. I only know so many individuals that live nearby. Without an accurate localization, I have no idea of those involved. Interesting. Last night after dinner I overheard the opposite... People were enjoying the warm weather and outside frolicking. That was nice to hear. My neighbor and I have thrown so many ‘driveway’ shindigs over the years that when another house is making noise, we don’t mind at all. In fact, when those noisy evenings are heard from this house, I usually just muse that I am happy people are having some fun. When he and I have a large group and both garages open during a warm evening, the neighborhood becomes fully aware that something is happening. Those are seldom occasions, though. Curious; I remember last summer when my neighbor’s daughter was celebrating her birthday with a party next door. The following day I asked if she enjoyed the ‘shindig’, and she had never heard such a term. Heh. I explained and she replied that everyone had a good time. That was rather humorous, mostly because my vocabulary is much older. I employ ancient terms all the time and in this day and age many just don’t comprehend them. Also funny. Tuesday coffee and thoughts. Some of them are absolutely vile. Believe it. Too many years of being routed, squished and disregarded – I’ll try to avoid going into not being taken seriously – have left me overly sensitive, and the result is often immoral daydreaming. Don’t even get me started with what goes through my head when I see certain individuals, both beautiful and otherwise. My inner processes often go all the way back to the Midwest period and the situation that caused me to first coin the phrase ‘blood on the cauliflower’. Vile and ill-advised. I can’t share my thinking with a single fucking person on this planet, although I have gleaned one topic with someone special a few years ago. Gleaned. That’s all. The damaging dreams were the catalysts for more vile thinking that I can understand. Fortunately, those came about after I had discussed some of my personality with that soul. Had the events taken place in a different order, the conversation may have turned out very badly for yours truly. The past entries with the word ‘blood’ in the titles barely scratched the surface because regardless of how I view myself, I simply can’t have anyone reading the full story. The way I think these days can be quite unpleasant. There is reasoning behind every idea that pops into my head, as well as defining events which jaded me to the point of living with an inability to communicate with people. I have to keep everything hidden behind a large wall, a process which has become more difficult with the passage of time. While I am certain that many others have shit in their heads that is never revealed to anyone else, I can only comment on my own problems. I don’t know them and never will. The chicken seems to have fully defrosted already. That means I need not go to the market today. Excellent. After three shopping destinations yesterday – and the trip was very smooth with zero complications – I am more than content to remain home all day. I have lots of things that can be addressed, and I am safer here than anywhere else. That is in part due to the way I think. Not good. I could use a drink, so perhaps I’ll take care of my routine. One leads to the other, every fucking day of every fucking week, and so on. I need it, not only to calm my thoughts, but to squash in the womb any possible feelings toward what I have seen. Relaxation time is here. I don’t know what the rest of the day will entail, but one certainty is the mass of imagery inside my head that has led me all the way back to nearly twenty-one years ago when I was right smack dab in the middle of a very sinful situation. Nicki is in huge trouble because her birth control was just discovered. Ooh-fa. Whatever. This is fictional, whereas the relationship to which I was referring actually happened. Good or bad as the situation may have been, I lived it, loved it, and came out the other side carrying a suicidal decision in the negative. Whatever the circumstances, I drove to Vegas to end myself and returned home instead. The connection saved me, though when I look back, I see a massive gradient which has come to partially define the way I see society. This is not good. That past relationship is analogous to my time with the Raven, also a very brief period. There were shared beliefs, visions and lines of thinking that seem to be gone from this life. Those two were different, yet very similar at the same time. My feelings for both? Hence the title. The way I think cannot be discussed with others, ever. Not even with a therapist. Vile thoughts; evil considerations; and all of it stemming from everything I have explored here in more than four years. Draw a flowchart. Relaxation time is nothing more than sitting, and I am referring to either this chair or the sofa. My head does not stop no matter the circumstances. One of the cats is making an inordinate amount of noise. I will investigate soon. Aside from that, I need to consider options for the next several hours. I’d rather not sit and watch my current program because sometimes the idea feels like a waste of time. The laundry is running and I have a few items to prepare for dinner, but the inside of my head is beginning to feel as if some MDR-driven music may help like it did yesterday. When I wear those fantastic headphones, I rarely sit still for very long. The portable nature of them allows me to move about the house, garage and shed – much like yesterday when I organized a bunch of canned and dry goods and moved items around to be more efficient – without distraction or the potential for sinking into the sofa while focusing on video media. I will say that sometimes I really love following along with a program during the afternoon because I can watch it uninterrupted and ignore everything else for a little while. That can feel very relaxing at times. I just don’t think it is a good idea right now. I just had to fish a fly out of my whiskey. Do you remember that title? I published it two years ago today. Perhaps that fact is an omen? Eh... Never mind. It is nothing more than a coincidence. On the upside, a fly in a glass that is primarily grain alcohol does not cause problems because the booze itself is a disinfectant. Moreover, something so tiny cannot translate to other issues for obvious reasons. Anyway, at some point I will have lunch and then consider the afternoon. I will not give up on the alcohol because once again it has squashed feelings that I wish to avoid. Some of them are vile. In the interest of keeping myself away from suicide today, I will try to focus upon little things, such as momentary organization and ensuring that the kitchen is in good order for dinner preparations. Both are key distractions from the seemingly never-ending vile thought processes. Distractions can only hold me up for so long, however. Eventually, there will be no saving throw versus the inevitable. Sad? Partially. That end is also a path to saving those around me from further difficulties, heart-wrenching and drunken tirades, and more of the conversations that I always end up dictating to the point of them completely giving up any responses. I don’t generally give anyone room to gain advantage over what I feel. This paragraph has gone off the fucking rails. Big surprise. Quite the reverse, eh? The music did help. Tuesday is apparent everywhere I look. As for yesterday, I did venture up the big ladder to thin the tree again. Everything went very well. Between the laundry, organization and tree trimming, I soon felt sufficiently calmed by the work, and decided to relax through part of the afternoon. The drive this morning went very well for a weekday, the only rub being a very cute face – something I rarely see anymore; mostly the lines grab my sight. Upon returning a short time ago, I decided that today will be just like yesterday, sans the tree work. Organization and planning will take the lion’s share of my time because I need those small items to keep the shit from taking over my thinking. The idea worked pretty well yesterday and I am hoping that today can follow suit. The vile thoughts were present, however nothing bad transpired. They returned this morning when I saw that face. Moreover, I need to switch the media on the right-hand display because one of the characters is driving me up the fucking wall. I really don’t need to see her when, like stated in the past, my place in the world is so defensive and everything hurts. That woman is one of the most amazing, stirring sources of beauty I’ve ever seen. There may be images of her on the site, as well. I can’t remember. Anyway, I have to watch something else for a little while. She is causing me some difficulty. I have feelings for her, believe it or not, and have for a few years, or at least ever since I watched one of the Christmas movies in which she starred (which I actually have saved to the cloud... Big surprise). I believe the problem stemmed from her character and then bled over to reality some months later. In any case, I need to avoid a few sights this morning because I’ve started the day in decent shape and wish the mood to continue. I need it, as well. The visions must be squashed before they become out of control. There was a moment yesterday afternoon when all of this shit became reinforced; nearly solidified. The incident also informed me that any change to the positive may be most decidedly beyond anyone’s control. My thoughts and dreams during that short moment went all the way down to hell and then quickly returned because I had to maintain some semblance of composure like a real grown-up type of person. Thankfully, the moment came and went, as did the deep-seated desire. I can still see it and need to ensure the image and my desperation remain shoved back as far as possible. The simple fact is I am beyond help. That kind of conclusion may date all the way back to the sinful situation within which I happily drowned myself for days. Twenty-one years ago I knew exactly what I was doing. Decisions were made easily, furthered by the woman involved who explained to me that everything was just fine. She told me to relax. I did. Now? One glimpse and I fall off the edge of the deep end. It doesn’t take much to send my thoughts straight to hell, and beyond. The vile, deviant stance develops so quickly that I do not see a future for myself any longer. The little things are all I have left. That moment is still inside me and trying to derail everything for all time. I cannot predict which side will win-out in the long run. No idea. I just feel badly for thinking the way I do, but at the same time I take into consideration all that shit from the past and the image begins to focus; this is the way I developed and there was most likely no other path available. The entirety of what I am has been forming for many years, and the more time that passes, the worse my thinking becomes. Beliefs; values; morals... All have been compromised, perhaps permanently. Pretty bad situation, this shit. Even I can’t believe it. Ashley was the beginning. She altered the way I saw the sexes. The Raven solidified such a stance after discussing everything Ashley and I shared, and nearly verbatim. That tall blonde beauty was the beginning. Who will be the end? Can there be an end? Or will I eventually be left to one final act of desperation in order to reach and fulfill what has become a prophecy? No one will like me anymore and I’ll be left alone with nothing. One little vision yesterday created an entire interstate highway of thinking processes that can’t seem to be stopped now. Part of that is due to the fact that I see things because I never stop searching. The other part is because of the routing, squishing and other disregarded moments that are written all over me, inside and out. I did not do that. When I looked at her, the process that took place in my brain may actually begun to develop way back when the first strike occurred, the one which paved the way to my position in life of being walked over repeatedly for far too many years. I can’t change anything. I can’t affect anything. I can’t be effective. All I can do is sit here and discuss my feelings with a fucking keyboard. There will be another image; another moment of desire and desperation. There will always be something. The shit is trying to take over my thinking right now and I need to smash it to bits if anything good is to come of this day. I can’t move forward after the morning coffee with any semblance of mental and emotional comfort if the shit wins. The process will run its course and then sit right behind my eyes for the entire fucking day, and I just can’t have that. Despite the nearly disastrous morning, I managed to take care of the daily routine and pour myself a glass of reward... Er, whiskey. Whatever it may be called, it is something I fully enjoy, and I am speaking on two fronts. One is having grown into adulthood (that may still be debatable considering my behavior) in the Nevada gaming culture and watching the actions and decisions of adults within such an atmosphere, and the other is the idea that even after all this time I still find the slight numbing effects helpful. Once a portion of the liquid is consumed, the vile thoughts will expand while any danger is simultaneously diminished. I don’t know if any of this shit is good, but such is me. Driven; routed; disregarded. Far too many years of that shit have left me constantly defensive and unhappy, often being pushed to anger very quickly at the slightest ‘slight’. Not good. My morning ritual, as it were, is something to which I can always look forward, and often is one of the best parts of the day because I feel the wide-open time ahead and can calmly consider options. Today is no different, and after taking the morning drive with all the other assholes on a weekday, sitting here with the time and space to consider my place and feelings is likely about as good as my life gets anymore. Oh, there is the neighbor on my driveway. I’ll have to investigate. Eh... Nothing. He asked me to modify his shoes so they work for a part of his physical therapy. I have a shitload of tools, but nothing for working with rubber. He will have them worked over elsewhere. At least I was able to say hello and chat for a few minutes. He is one of but two fucking neighbors that I enjoy seeing, although I do wave and greet others at times. The two in question live flanking this house, and are the only individuals whom I will help regularly. Good people. And? Both are bikers. I am not. If I can actually achieve one of two huge projects in the future, I may be able to ride along. That is a fucking longshot from hell, I tell you. Still a dream. Ugh. And speaking of dreams, there is another neighbor further away whose wife is five-nine with dark hair and exotic features. I do not stare at her out of respect, and on those occasions when she was close, the effort required in being kind and respectful was tremendous. She is quite beautiful and much younger than myself. I speak to him here and there, but she is only close when they bring their child here on Halloween. At that point, there are no problems because of the darkness, my need to maintain the proper atmosphere, and my focusing upon avoiding potential pitfalls by looking at anyone. Anyway, I went out and spoke for a few minutes and then retreated to my office. No big deal. She may actually be taller, and I say that because I stand five-nine and when she is here we are eye-to-eye, and that woman is always clad in flat shoes. My shoes boost me to nearly five-ten. Um... Is this important? It shouldn’t be, honestly, because my preoccupation with height and all of the related features that follow suit are very unhealthy. Important or not, I can’t stop myself from looking and analyzing. Chalk it up to the runway models, perhaps. I love long, slender fingers and have for a very long time, and those fucking fashion shows may have been the cause. Whatever the case, height is still something that fascinates me on a daily basis. She is fucking tall. Period. And this entire paragraph was ill-advised. The potential road trip in October increased in likelihood between yesterday and this morning. I am going to make appropriate plans for stops and places to eat. The exhibit tickets have already been secured, as well. My focus will have to be on the car until everything is in order, and that includes a new windshield. The trip in January resulted in an impact that is now a ‘run’ – what others typically call a ‘crack’, but I know better thanks to having worked for years in the glass fabrication industry – and a long drive would likely exacerbate the process and render further impacts even more dangerous. Once the windshield is replaced, I’ll have to bring the car to the dealer for scheduled maintenance and a new battery. My current battery is now five years old and I am not the type to wait until it fails to replace it. I’ll not be left somewhere without power. The downside of the trip is the possibility of feeling uncomfortable and far from home at the same time. The upsides are seeking new and interesting places to eat, spending time inside my car experiencing feelings of freedom, and the possibility of touring one or more film studios. The latter is a longshot because of the cost, but being within a few miles of them might drive me to realize such proximity may not happen again in my lifetime. If I force the issue, one studio in particular will reign supreme regardless of cost. I will admit that visiting decades ago when there was still wonder and promise in the world would have been much better, most notably during the glowing years when two of my favorite programs were still in production at the SAME studio, and at the SAME fucking time. All of that is gone and the soundstages are likely completely different now, but I’m sure there can still be some wondrous history available. Hopefully, anyway. Chalk it up to everything I love being removed The day nearly went bad for a second time, and after lunch, for crying out loud. Unbelievable. Coming out the other side without flipping my fucking cork required nothing more than remembering where I am in life and all that is missing. I seem to have zero recourse with this shit, either, and other than becoming angry – which never solves a fucking thing – all I can do is find something to occupy my time until evening when I have a few responsibilities. The weather is again very warm, so whatever I do needs to be light. Fortunately, I need not prepare much for dinner because the meal will be a repeat of last night, and most of the work is already finished. Warm weather equals easy dinners. Tomorrow may end up the same if the temperature persists. Thursday. Another day burned away and tossed to the winds. Whatever took place then does not matter now. Yesterday almost went to shit on two occasions, and the same thing happened this morning. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything. I don’t know if this situation will worsen in the future, but such a possibility scares the hell out of me, especially considering how it relates to my physical well-being. A few years ago I calculated that at some point the reckoning would rear its head and remove those aspects of living that still provide enjoyment one at a time. Well, I did not expect this shit. No fucking way. Yesterday the feelings pushed me toward a very bad situation, twice. This morning is actually worse. I really need to force the fucking issue if I am to avoid another problematic mood. I need to go to the market in a little while, plus I have the usual house-related business that can occupy my time. The possibility of falling off a cliff during any down or quiet time is apparent at this very moment, and the clock is not even nearing nine. Not good. The other essay that can’t be published is calling to me from the nether regions of the RAID system, as well. Insult to injury, that is. By very definition it is one shitty feeling piled atop another, the combination often being too much for me to deal with. Have I analyzed this shit enough? YOU make the call. Later. I went to the market and saw some errant pants attached to a cute face and did my shopping. Upon returning, the usual crap was addressed in order to arrive at the morning ‘moment of comfort’, a la this table and a huge glass of very depressing liquid. My time is now WFO. Not bad. The pants didn’t really cause problems inside due to what has been killing me for months, plus when I think of those beautiful lines, my head immediately goes straight back to the girl in the restaurant. She took the cake for reasons already laid out here. I guess between yesterday and today all of the shit stemming from actual physical problems pretty much came to a head and drove any line-related issues away. There is no way to know how long this process will continue, though. I go through the motions, have dinner, sleep, and then rise from the bed the next morning with zero clues as to how the day will progress. The booze next to me will slowly squash some of the damaging feelings and may soon allow me to relax. As with every other aspect of this fucked up period, there is no way for me to be certain of anything. At least I shopped within close proximity to three beauties and did not flip out or run away. Better than nothing. One idea that popped into my head earlier is the belief that the past – be it near or far – has dictated the way I feel about desire at present. Memories of being ‘there’, seeing ‘that’, and being ‘heard’ have created feelings which seem to be forcing the even worse belief that had I never experienced those situations, there would be less to miss in life. This idea is akin to having never lived through the glowing years. The current era may not look so bad if that wonderful period had never come to pass. THE most important parts of life are gone and the resulting emptiness inside is fucking killing me without compassion. I have yet to completely give up because I am still wrestling with everything which would be left behind. In short, I miss being where I need to be and being heard so much that each day becomes boiled down to nothing more than a fucking decision. In the past when I felt this bad, I’d hop in the car with a plan to visit two specific places across the bay, and both are FUCKING GONE. I can always roll over the hill to the cozy lunch spot, but sitting there is nowhere near the same as a few years ago, nor can it hold a candle to my favorite places from the past. I just don’t know what to do when feeling this way so the only path seems to be sitting here with a drink and the keyboard. At least one of those is still not a negative. This whole situation is fucked up. Vile thoughts are creeping in, just like twenty-one years ago when I was all the fucking way into the sin. Did I flinch or hesitate? Nope. We discussed the matter and came to the conclusion that numbers did not make any difference in life. The only factors to be considered were those of the heart. I felt vile regardless of that discussion. She did not. She embraced everything and flew through the days on a wave of happiness and contentment. At least I didn’t slide down the outside of the pyramid and die in the fucking ice plant. I left. I drove home and dealt with a massive amount of fallout, all the while wishing I’d never left her arms. Vile thoughts of her do not go away, ever. I still want her. I still need her. I still regret living past the last day of my fucking room reservation. Sitting in this chair is the product of bad decisions. Some of those decisions harmed others emotionally, of course, but most have hurt me. They continue to do so. I think about them every day. In the past, I’ve been told that letting things go that are beyond one’s control is difficult, yet a healthy choice. Unfortunately, I still don’t know how to do that. I see a sliver of a positive in going to the market today. There was much beauty present and it didn’t cause problems in my head or heart because even after weeks I still see that girl in the restaurant as the most dramatic example of my years-long tirades of yearning. She can never know, fortunately. Only I know. The mood has changed. I donned the mighty wireless MDRs to hear my favorite film scores. The first is stirring beyond words, the second even moreso. The third? I heard it by accident some years ago and fell completely in love. The full-length composition was not included in the film. The version playing through the MDRs right now is an eight-minute epic that had to be pared down in order to fit the scene in question, and the decision to do so was ideal. I will try to avoid gushing about what is undoubtedly the most complex and powerful musical instrument in the world. You should already know. And? My desperate need to build one of two dream projects is wholly driven by the proper reproduction of this very soundtrack. Maybe I’ll achieve it before I die. Maybe I won’t. Time is running out. Friday is meaningless aside from a bunch of Amazon items being delivered later. I have coffee and a head full of empty spaces that used to contain good feelings. There had been ideas toward the positive crammed in there, too. Yesterday demonstrated to me that memories of certain specific aspects of living must either be ignored or destroyed, and there is only one way to achieve the latter. Nothing is good anymore except for the fact that my new parking space next to the driveway allows the street cleaner to cruise by unimpeded. Interference is often difficult, as you may well know from that horrible story I wrote some years ago. Eh, never mind. Those eight chapters have been hidden away along with many other tales, both fictional and otherwise. Interference represented a mental puzzle I needed to solve in order to move along a path of self-improvement. Though I did eventually figure out a way to do it, nothing good ever came of that journey. Much like real life, all I had were moments of little enjoyments and other tiny snippets of joy within an otherwise horrible, barren and frozen wasteland that eventually killed me in a hideous manner. Interference translates from an inability to answer inner questions to parking the car clear of the path for the street cleaner. Every other Friday it comes by and I need to remember the process. Isn’t that exciting? Soon I’ll be one of those idiots I used to see standing on the driveway at five in the morning waiting for the fucking newspaper. Anyway, Friday means nothing to me anymore. It used to be work followed by a relaxing afternoon with some guys at the bar, and then toward a well-earned weekend. I don’t like the bar anymore, the weekends are exactly the same as weekdays, and I need not worry about certain days of the week being rewarding. I am here all the fucking time. The only small difference between some Fridays is the idea that I may have to drive to the City on Saturday morning. That is not happening this week, however. Just Sunday. Hopefully, today will be relaxing on some level. The usual stuff needs to be completed. Coffee; thoughts; dreams. My sleep was interrupted twice and I have no idea why that happens, but this morning I don’t feel very bad as a result. There were also a couple of strange dreams, neither of which had anything to do with my obsession or current problems. I can be thankful for that. My condition is bad enough without piling more shit on top. The vile thoughts came to mind again just a few moments back. Vile. Trust me. I really wish I could go into some detail about this shit because I can’t deny the possibility that there is actually a real person somewhere out there who may run across all this crap and have some helpful information. I don’t mean the usual fucking platitudes and generalizations, either. I am referring to a mind that can actually offer something different; ways of coping or the like. As of yet, I’ve heard precisely nothing along such lines, only the typical hollow ideas such as ‘keep your head up’ and ‘love yourself’ or ‘breathe through it’, none of which actually accomplishes anything for a person this far down the fucking rabbit hole. I don’t expect anything, though. I am realistic. There could be helpful information out there, or perhaps there is none. Whatever the case, I’ll be just the same... Sitting here saying the same shit over and over with (hopefully) some different terms. I already have a thesaurus. The vile thoughts can’t be kept at bay by anything emanating from a person’s gaping maw, regardless of their intentions. I will continue to develop sinful situations and dreams in my head despite what others may have to offer. The reality is I am seeking a way of sidestepping the bad things – not suppressing or ignoring because such a process always creates a mental bomb – while acknowledging that I have not the tools to deal with or solve any of them. The action of sitting here at the keyboard has become second nature and identifies as the only outlet left in my life. I’ve gone around and around with this procedure nearly every single day for more than four years and now sit here in worse shape than I was at that time. What does that tell you? It tells me that those aspects of life with which I am obsessed are too powerful to be alleviated, altered or kept at bay by any path I’ve tried, and the vile nature of the way I now think continues to expand beyond my control. I don’t see it changing, mostly because there is little reason beyond my basic survival in life. My thoughts do not come out of my mouth, nor do they end up here in any fashion that can be understood by people, leaving no chance of finding the motivation to change the way I live. I have zero reason to change anything. I’ve already tried for too long. Believe me when I say that no one wants to know how my head really operates in these late days. Just trust me. It’s fucking bad. Period. And? Should I have followed John? I’ve gone over the reasons why I turned out this way. Is that all of them? I don’t know. Two are certain; two are nearly certain, but there is no way to know the truth after all this time. One thing I will say is I feel better about myself as a person than I have in almost thirty fucking years. That type of appreciation does not come easily, nor does it arrive without cost. For whatever reason, blame and loathing have turned around during the last nine years in general, and the last two or so in particular. Unfortunately, nothing can alter the way others view me as a person, so going over how I feel about myself is all but useless. They’ve already drawn their conclusions and I have been (and will continue to be) treated accordingly. The main issue with that is routing. Second is having been squished for years. All that shit makes me so angry that I have to walk in a fucking circle in order to avoid a massive explosion that would very likely ruin my life and those of a few others. In short, regardless of my feelings toward myself and how much of an improvement they are over the past, nothing I can do will cause this to matter to anyone else. Platitudes; the passage of time; work. Nothing will change. I did, but they will not. Cannot. Hence? The rest of my life will be a series of tirades; some with the same wording and some different. Those facts that are indisputable inside my brain will dictate both my mood each day and the way the content here develops. Unfortunately, there is still a ton of information that must be left out. I have to protect myself. As of this morning, there are three very specific truths that have been distorted to such a degree that no one has ever had the first damned clue as to the actual situations. There is another that has been pushed so far back that it has become unrecognizable. I simply will not put myself on full display for all to see. The story of the sinful situation in Vegas was removed for reasons of good form, and to protect myself from backlash. I’ve already received plenty of that shit. I need to find a way of pushing vile thoughts to the rear since I can’t seem to remove them. The damaging dreams keep popping into my head – being one of two main reasons for the vile nature of the way I think these days – and as of yet I have not been able to let go of them. One particular person was in each of those dreams, as well. To be completely honest, the content of the dreams and the subsequent situations I’ve manufactured and scripted inside my head (totally private, of course) became a combination I actually did not want to forget. I still don’t, although there may not be a choice either way. The information is nearly as powerful as seeing the most beautiful lines right in front of my stupid eyes, sans clothing. Yes, the restaurant incident again. I was too close. Much closer than at the pool. My brain went all over the place with that sight, and still does. Thoughts of her are equally vile. I don’t know if I can find a way to either deal with them or remove them completely, but if something doesn’t change soon, I am going to lose my shit. And no, not in the fashion that usually happens and results in anger. I am speaking of a smashed heart. Wow. The market again held a vision, and one right out of the fucking gate. A gorgeous girl, all petite with lines apparent, strolled through the doors just in front of me. Fortunately, I lost sight of her for the remainder of my shopping trip. And what was I thinking? Well, it was more like wondering. I pondered whether or not someone had been telling her just how unique and amazing she appeared. Sometimes, and I know this shit first-hand through experience, too much gushing about appearance can cause problems. But... Has anyone taken the time to inform that beauty of her beauty? Lately? At all? I would probably have gone overboard given my penchant for details and a long-term lack of actually speaking to a woman so gorgeous. I would have fucked it all up after seconds had there been an opportunity. Other than the stunning vision of her face and form, the trip was uneventful. I went fairly early because today is the beginning of a holiday weekend, and one typically ripe with outdoor barbecues and the like. I was only there for a few items, meaning I was in and out quickly. I didn’t want a protracted view of that girl even though part of me needs it so desperately. No good can come from such a situation. None. Here I sit, like always, with the morning business out of the way and a fat fucking drink to steady myself. Damn it if that girl didn’t have all of the information on display. Just... Damn. She will fade and I will forget. Very good. As for the rest of the day, I have no clue as to how I may feel later. I have a few items to address but nothing significant. Finding motivation lately has been an uphill climb. Oh, and in case you were not aware, I also wanted the woman in question to hold me and make all the bad stuff go away. Big fucking surprise, eh? Marvelous. And the sighting can mean many things, yet one stands out right now. Here we go again... I was there twenty-one years ago next month. I hope I appreciated the feelings and emotions at the time. I really do, because all of that is completely fucking gone now, just like all those people and places I bring up on this stupid site almost daily. Some years later, I was there again. And then again. One occasion, however – the later time – turned into a very difficult situation for two reasons that I can’t describe here anymore. I’ve gone into that crap in the past, but due to the self-protection that seems to be increasing with each passing day, the entire four-part story has been permanently removed. I just can’t have people aware of certain occasions from the past no matter how compelling they may feel or how well they relate to my current mental and emotional states. The point is that everything is fucking gone. The most powerful and important aspects of living have been systematically removed from the face of the fucking planet and all I can do is sit here and try to understand why. So far, I have discovered only little relational analyses from the long past as well as a few that have been more recent. I can’t find solid reasons beyond the machinations of this backward, doom-infused and sheep-laden society that never seems to be satisfied with anything, hence so much history having been either destroyed or made to otherwise disappear. I digress. I was there, right smack-dab in the middle of a place I couldn’t describe in a million fucking years, and the main component was a heaping helping of actual UNDERFUCKINGSTANDING. I will refrain from mentioning the names of those individuals because I have railroaded the point enough already. Besides, the names no longer matter to anyone other than myself. I love all of them to this very day, meaning anything too detailed would be disrespectful regardless of the fact that they are all GONE from my life. None can return. None of them will return. I have to find a way to cope with ‘moving forward’ sans any reminiscing. And how do I approach such a process? No idea. I am still seeking methods for dealing with the reality of everything having disappeared. No aspect of said process can be easy. I sit here day after day with the same visions, memories, desires and depressive, suicidal thoughts, and as of yet have not come up with a single idea of how to deal with it all. Stating that I can never be ‘there’ again is very difficult and a realization I still can’t deal with on any level. All I do is go through the daily motions of my responsibilities, enjoy the morning cocktail, and try to find anything with the power to lift me even a little bit. I am still falling away. I am still full of vile thoughts and dreams. I am still on the sharpened edge of committing suicide each day. And I am still finding tiny reasons to travel through one day and arrive at the next. I don’t know how much longer I can maintain this pace. The change that has recently come to pass and knowing I am powerless to affect or alleviate the same is quite literally removing reasons to continue. More evidence that I cannot align with others’ thinking reared its ugly head last night. I began to speak on the topic of note and then ceased the process as soon as I realized that no one gives half a shit how I feel about anything. I believe my last sentence was along the lines of ‘being completely alone’. That is not a big surprise, and I will say straight out that rather than accusing others of changing over the years, the truth is that I have been the one who continues to analyze, change my stance accordingly, and then reach for any semblance of understanding. None of that is going to solve anything, though, but at least I know it. I can be a real pain in the ass during a debate because I typically go on just enough to leave the other person bereft of any responses. I close the door quickly and with enough solidity that there is no chance of either a rebuttal or any placation. Fortunately, I exited the discussion early and avoided a longer tirade that, frankly, no one else wants or needs. Too bad the damage was already done by that point. I understand people less and less with the passage of time, and regardless of whether or not I am fully at fault, the change is just not fucking good by any stretch of the word. Perhaps it's time for two lines from one of the great, unrequited loves of my life as dates back more than thirty years... 'Look through these darkened eyes; you'll see ten thousand lies. My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.' I see that my neighbor is about to take off on one of his motorcycles. I’d go say hello, but my mood is restricting me from leaving this chair for any reason. Isn’t my life exciting? Yes, I live in a house a half mile from the ocean. I also have a multitude of tools and hobbies. The weather is perpetually mild. I have all the free time I desire. I have carte blanche when ordering food or alcohol. I have this huge control center at my disposal. What else? Doesn’t matter. The reality is that I have become nothing more than a machine that goes through the motions of daily life. I wanted and needed a machine. Now I am the machine, bereft of hope and dependent upon three pathetic devices for living. Eh... He did not leave on a bike. He left in a car. Either way, I can’t live vicariously through another person. That is impossible. All I can do is either continue on the same path or do something different. The latter is most unlikely because of having been pushed down for so long. I’ve been a utility, nothing more. The sheer number of occasions when I am asked to stretch my already formidable experience and do something strange is still staggering after many years. No one wishes to hear me speak; they walk right over the top and ‘squish’ my dialog, and that very often after being asked a question. Well, stop asking. Silence is wonderful, but others don’t understand the reasons. All those items I mentioned above can ALMOST offset their bullshit enough for me to relax, although such situations rarely develop when I am not alone. There is almost always a roadblock of one type or another. At least whenever I am busy the vile thinking tends to fade a little bit. Also, sometimes I think of myself as being mostly alright prior to seeing someone else going out there to explore and live more fully. That’s just not me anymore. Living through the last four years saw to such a change. That period saw to much more, actually, and a few bumps I was not expecting. Well, he did actually take off on a bike. I don’t know what the deal was with the car. God bless that place Saturday morning means when tuned to the proper channel, there is a bunch of Zoe all over the televisions. Damn. She is so fucking adorable that I lose a little bit more of my mind every time she’s on the screen, all smiles and brightness. I just can’t help it these days; all those beautiful features and the appearance of a person who might listen. Eh, whatever. Saturday is here and she may as well not exist. Nothing can come of it. The days roll by regardless of my feelings. Yesterday turned out to be fairly productive despite my head being all fucked up during the morning. The wireless MDRs were a good choice with some instrumental compositions keeping me company as I moved about the house and garage. Some laundry, dry cleaning and housework occupied my time and my mind long enough to arrive in the evening without feeling completely worthless. I am hoping today will follow suit. I have to be at least a little busy to keep the vile and damaging thoughts from taking over and ruining everything. Possibilities shrink at an alarming rate if I can’t find a turning point during the morning. I drew a line yesterday and it worked to my advantage. Today is still up in the air. Well, that day disappeared fairly quickly. I can’t keep up with the passage of time anymore. Everything seems to go away while I am not paying attention, and sometimes when my attention is strict and sharp. Yesterday? I don’t know what happened. I took care of some organizational business, ran some laundry, and then relaxed for a little while prior to dinner. I guess the problem is my work does not seem to matter much. In and around each item I knock off my list is a desperate sense of going nowhere and needing to escape. I can’t do anything about those feelings anymore. I am in a gigantic hole without a ladder. Sunday business will come and go. Hopefully, I can move a little bit closer to realizing a sense of organization. If not, this paragraph will be repeated tomorrow, verbatim. Did you ever walk in the opposite direction of an escalator or moving walkway just to do it? That’s right... Nowhere fast, much like this content. I saw her again yesterday. Well, I think it was yesterday. There is no way to be certain because the visions have begun to run together. Everything was right there; I missed a little bit of what could be seen due to the position and the fact that she was heading somewhere fairly quickly. The information was apparent, however, and believe me when I say that the vile thoughts entered my consciousness immediately. My brain manufactured situations which are impossible, yet compelling beyond words. Fantasies, if you will. Were the ideas vile? Not really, but they were carnal, and I am not embarrassed to state as much. I watched her for a few seconds and then moved along with whatever I had been doing prior to the glimpse. After so many years of shit, I simply can’t avoid trying to see beauty in that type of situation; a form that is very desirable and partially aligned with my decades-long obsession. I do not see her very often, I am not acquainted with her, nor is it likely at all that there can be anything beyond my eyes directed toward her position when she comes along. There are just too many limiting factors, the worst of which is what I’ve become due to the past. Yes, the two shit situations are centered upon the peak of my desperation and desire, and there is so much more than I don’t even know where to start. Well, I’ve outlined some of it before and probably don’t need to railroad that crap after so many entries dealing with the missing pieces inside me. I’ve tried to answer the question of how this happened – and perhaps I already have and can’t accept or understand the information – and will continue to do so whenever my feelings become out of control, such as yesterday while watching her walk along the street for mere seconds. I always forget that the opening sequence of this program was changed for the fourth and fifth seasons. The music and stunning camera work caught me upside the head yesterday and nearly had me doubled over and in tears. I secured the music, as well. The theme is so beautiful and stirring that I can’t even begin to describe its effects upon my heart. Wow. Um... Where was I? Ah... The vile designs inside my head yesterday. They continue even now because the need to both demonstrate and understand is beginning to dictate each moment that I am awake. I’ve often said that everything I do around the house has become nothing more than a series of distractions until my life ends. That is no bullshit. The little things are somehow still keeping me upright for the most part, and I really need them to continue for a while longer as I try to sort out this crap. Seeing that girl yesterday really fucked up my rhythm and I don’t want a repeat on a fucking Sunday because I have responsibilities. Once my coffee is gone, this will have to be put aside for a little while so I can care for the house. The work may help push away the vile thoughts for a time. I can only hope. Cocktail hour cannot arrive soon enough today. Like most days, my head is all fucked up prior to ten in the morning. Maybe the defensive posture should be embraced later. That always helps me relax, plus the last few times I’ve considered the state of the world, the mighty MDRs were injecting beautiful film scores into my ears. The lack of lyrics allows me to think more clearly, as opposed to the music of life which requires strict attention to detail. At one point yesterday, I went all the way back to what flowed from the D-555 and into my old V6s, which were phenomenal and have become quite sought-after. Just a while ago I took a peek to learn how those headphones are valued these days. Worn-out units are still successfully selling for more than two hundred, and I saw a few brand new pairs still in original packaging that sold for over five. Geez. Anyway, the music from those days spent around the house in the Midwest still holds a very special place in my heart, and that despite the fact that the newly-discovered music I mentioned is full of negativity, crises of the mind, and all manner of anger. Fortunately, the historic nature of the compositions no longer pushes me to feel angry at all. All I feel is appreciation for what had been created all those years ago. Today, however, I believe the best choice will be film scores along with the beautifully emotional crescendos that I love so much. Moreover, there is the wonder of hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence, the pipe organ. Not just any pipe organ sitting in a church, though. I am speaking of the 1926 Harrison & Harrison four-manual pipe organ that resides within the Temple Church in London. Unbelievable. If anything has become the prime motivation for building the 4355s, that instrument is precisely it. The music has helped push away vile thinking this morning. The house is quiet, I have my cocktail here on the table (big fucking surprise) and the typical daily routine is finished. I need to build those fucking monitors because every time I hear the pipe organ two things occur. One is my heart leaping out of my chest, and the other is the realization that the music is not being reproduced properly or in the correct context. Hmm... That realization is also the driving force behind the fact that I almost never share music with other people. Reproduction out of context is completely unacceptable. Plus, there is one track in particular which, when combined with the accompanying scene from the film, represents one of the most beautiful and stirring sequences in the history of the combined media. Believe it. Anyway, the rest of the day awaits and I have no idea of how it will proceed. Good or bad, I’ll arrive in the evening eventually. I wish I knew the outcome prior to trying anything. That would be a splendid and much-welcomed exit off this set of rails that continues to guide me into silent, solitary oblivion. Marvelous. Yet another entry has turned into a really nice clambake. Ah, shit. I just remembered a track that is not on my film score playlist and I have to hear it. The result will be tears because it has to do with time, something with which I wrestle every second of every fucking day, be it the past or the current era with all inherent pitfalls, sadness, and feelings of loss. Ooh-fa, but I have to hear it. Ugh. Onward? The clock will not stop, although there is rarely a restriction on my time these days. Do I have too much time to ponder everything? I mentioned my dream of building the 4355s. The idea includes another facet of proper audio reproduction, and that is the fact that my system in the living room consists of a multi-channel receiver coupled to a set of six speakers, none of which are capable of reproducing music very well in stereo, the manner in which it was originally recorded. Yes, most of the music I wish to hear is from film scores and they can be played properly through a ‘surround’ system whose intention is to mimic that of a theatre, yet the truth is a decent pair of floorstanding loudspeakers has been the choice of audiophiles for decades, and I my opinion is no different. The upside is a powerful, heart-stirring reproduction of a live performance. The downside is simply space. Audio requires a serious commitment to volume, be it inside the cabinets or within the room itself, and I just don’t have much of either. The six drivers in the living room are all of the waveguide variety, a technology that was originally developed for saving space while providing the sonic illusion of much larger cabinets. Well, they fall short quite often. I purchased and installed them in order to maintain as much living space as possible as opposed to sacrificing volume in favor of proper fucking analog audio reproduction. That idea may be coming to an end because I am finding that outside the scope of so many losses in life and my need to be where I am happiest resides the music. The idea may force some sacrifices I am more than happy to embrace. This entry has veered from the topic of vile thoughts so many times that I’ve lost count. This is how my mind operates... A haphazard, damaged method of dealing with the passage of time that I can hardly recognize anymore. I used to write short essays that were very pointed. Now I wander all over the fucking place. Splendid. The title has been lost yet again. Does anyone even care? I most certainly do not. Fuck this entry, anyway. Monday morning. The drive was uneventful due to the holiday. I have the flag flying off the front of the house. Coffee. Yesterday did not turn to shit, thankfully. I was able to take care of all the business prior to dinner preparations, and relax afterward feeling at least a little bit accomplished. Overall, Sunday was exactly like so many other Sundays that I couldn’t even venture a guess at such a number. Nothing exciting aside from a very brief vision of her again. It didn’t last long, though. I was able to turn away and continue with my chores sans dramatic distraction. I always look because I am always searching. The process will never stop. I guess returning to my housework and letting go of the vision was a good thing. The rest of the day was fine. Her pants looked fantastic and my feelings don’t matter. One day, perhaps soon. No more of this for right now. The vileness is beginning to disturb me."
Vile Chambers
Mature content No. 423 Published September 2nd, 2024 8:32am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Still Monday. I was dreading the fucking shopping trip but it went very smoothly. There were no imperial entanglements, as Obi-Wan Kenobi might say. No beauty; no lines; no long, dark hair flowing in the breeze. Everything went very well and I was pleased to arrive home no worse for the drive. From here forward – aside from consuming a massive glass of whiskey thanks to the wine store order – the plan is to consider a defensive posture due to the conflict in the middle east having expanded, plus news that the other conflict between Puta... Er, Putin and the Ukraine has also increased in severity. My defensive thinking is not terribly dramatic, though. There is not much I can do way over here on the coast. Mostly I just ensure that all of the supplies are topped off and I maintain an alert status in case one or both of the wars spill into other nations. The state of the world is one of those aspects of life with the singular ability to squash my problems. I guess that means I am not as selfish as some people. Whatever the case with this shit, I need to keep my eyes and ears open until the situations calm down (hopefully). I don’t like to see people hurt. The defensive posture also means considering options, and that means lots of thinking. I sincerely hope nothing worsens. That would be terrible. The weather is again very warm, and if the evening proves to be the same as yesterday, I’ll probably grill the chicken in favor of baking. Eh, I just made up my mind. The grill is not only better for keeping the house cool, but it is also healthier. While at the store, I picked up salad stuff for the next two or three days. An entree salad is wonderful in the hot weather. Keep in mind that every fucking aspect of this paragraph represents an attempt to distract myself from the reckoning. Earlier this morning while I sipped coffee, the feelings were trying to send me into the ground. I kept them at bay thanks to some historic truths which, while being very compelling and emotional at times, I may be learning to shove away like toxic waste. For the time being, I am going to recognize such a maneuver as born of pride. Maybe that will help me get through more days without retreating to the corner of the backyard with whiskey and a fucking firearm. Yes, I called Putin a ‘puta’. If ever a leader needed to be put down, it’s that shitfuck. I will continue to denigrate the asshole as long as I can type on a keyboard. I switched off the video media in favor of some music I used to enjoy while in the cave. Sometimes my irritation with everything sends me toward such compositions because they tend to be very fatalistic, much like the way I have viewed the world for more than thirty years. Fatalistic. Period. Some music tries to describe ‘what we need to do’, whereas other genres demand the opposite, or, more clearly, the actual state of things (without yogurt and sprout eating dipshits claiming otherwise) and the fact that people are unable to truly improve anything, the result being a slow decline toward doom for all. Rather than embracing something ‘higher’ and maintaining ‘faith’ that everything has a purpose, this music speaks to the opposite – faith cannot save humanity after all that we have done to each other and the planet for centuries. I will not sit here and claim that anything can be changed because every fucking day on the news is the reverse of what those deluded idiots seek. More ridiculous terms; more laws; more statements that we can be sensitive. Bullshit. Tell me otherwise and I will respond with evidence. The music calms me and provides an atmosphere of actual truth. If you don’t like it, you are lying to yourself. Keep your head in that society- and media-driven hole. The rest of us appreciate the space to think. I was in the garage a while ago and overheard two people yelling at each other. I am not aware of who was embroiled in the argument, however. I only know so many individuals that live nearby. Without an accurate localization, I have no idea of those involved. Interesting. Last night after dinner I overheard the opposite... People were enjoying the warm weather and outside frolicking. That was nice to hear. My neighbor and I have thrown so many ‘driveway’ shindigs over the years that when another house is making noise, we don’t mind at all. In fact, when those noisy evenings are heard from this house, I usually just muse that I am happy people are having some fun. When he and I have a large group and both garages open during a warm evening, the neighborhood becomes fully aware that something is happening. Those are seldom occasions, though. Curious; I remember last summer when my neighbor’s daughter was celebrating her birthday with a party next door. The following day I asked if she enjoyed the ‘shindig’, and she had never heard such a term. Heh. I explained and she replied that everyone had a good time. That was rather humorous, mostly because my vocabulary is much older. I employ ancient terms all the time and in this day and age many just don’t comprehend them. Also funny. Tuesday coffee and thoughts. Some of them are absolutely vile. Believe it. Too many years of being routed, squished and disregarded – I’ll try to avoid going into not being taken seriously – have left me overly sensitive, and the result is often immoral daydreaming. Don’t even get me started with what goes through my head when I see certain individuals, both beautiful and otherwise. My inner processes often go all the way back to the Midwest period and the situation that caused me to first coin the phrase ‘blood on the cauliflower’. Vile and ill-advised. I can’t share my thinking with a single fucking person on this planet, although I have gleaned one topic with someone special a few years ago. Gleaned. That’s all. The damaging dreams were the catalysts for more vile thinking that I can understand. Fortunately, those came about after I had discussed some of my personality with that soul. Had the events taken place in a different order, the conversation may have turned out very badly for yours truly. The past entries with the word ‘blood’ in the titles barely scratched the surface because regardless of how I view myself, I simply can’t have anyone reading the full story. The way I think these days can be quite unpleasant. There is reasoning behind every idea that pops into my head, as well as defining events which jaded me to the point of living with an inability to communicate with people. I have to keep everything hidden behind a large wall, a process which has become more difficult with the passage of time. While I am certain that many others have shit in their heads that is never revealed to anyone else, I can only comment on my own problems. I don’t know them and never will. The chicken seems to have fully defrosted already. That means I need not go to the market today. Excellent. After three shopping destinations yesterday – and the trip was very smooth with zero complications – I am more than content to remain home all day. I have lots of things that can be addressed, and I am safer here than anywhere else. That is in part due to the way I think. Not good. I could use a drink, so perhaps I’ll take care of my routine. One leads to the other, every fucking day of every fucking week, and so on. I need it, not only to calm my thoughts, but to squash in the womb any possible feelings toward what I have seen. Relaxation time is here. I don’t know what the rest of the day will entail, but one certainty is the mass of imagery inside my head that has led me all the way back to nearly twenty-one years ago when I was right smack dab in the middle of a very sinful situation. Nicki is in huge trouble because her birth control was just discovered. Ooh-fa. Whatever. This is fictional, whereas the relationship to which I was referring actually happened. Good or bad as the situation may have been, I lived it, loved it, and came out the other side carrying a suicidal decision in the negative. Whatever the circumstances, I drove to Vegas to end myself and returned home instead. The connection saved me, though when I look back, I see a massive gradient which has come to partially define the way I see society. This is not good. That past relationship is analogous to my time with the Raven, also a very brief period. There were shared beliefs, visions and lines of thinking that seem to be gone from this life. Those two were different, yet very similar at the same time. My feelings for both? Hence the title. The way I think cannot be discussed with others, ever. Not even with a therapist. Vile thoughts; evil considerations; and all of it stemming from everything I have explored here in more than four years. Draw a flowchart. Relaxation time is nothing more than sitting, and I am referring to either this chair or the sofa. My head does not stop no matter the circumstances. One of the cats is making an inordinate amount of noise. I will investigate soon. Aside from that, I need to consider options for the next several hours. I’d rather not sit and watch my current program because sometimes the idea feels like a waste of time. The laundry is running and I have a few items to prepare for dinner, but the inside of my head is beginning to feel as if some MDR-driven music may help like it did yesterday. When I wear those fantastic headphones, I rarely sit still for very long. The portable nature of them allows me to move about the house, garage and shed – much like yesterday when I organized a bunch of canned and dry goods and moved items around to be more efficient – without distraction or the potential for sinking into the sofa while focusing on video media. I will say that sometimes I really love following along with a program during the afternoon because I can watch it uninterrupted and ignore everything else for a little while. That can feel very relaxing at times. I just don’t think it is a good idea right now. I just had to fish a fly out of my whiskey. Do you remember that title? I published it two years ago today. Perhaps that fact is an omen? Eh... Never mind. It is nothing more than a coincidence. On the upside, a fly in a glass that is primarily grain alcohol does not cause problems because the booze itself is a disinfectant. Moreover, something so tiny cannot translate to other issues for obvious reasons. Anyway, at some point I will have lunch and then consider the afternoon. I will not give up on the alcohol because once again it has squashed feelings that I wish to avoid. Some of them are vile. In the interest of keeping myself away from suicide today, I will try to focus upon little things, such as momentary organization and ensuring that the kitchen is in good order for dinner preparations. Both are key distractions from the seemingly never-ending vile thought processes. Distractions can only hold me up for so long, however. Eventually, there will be no saving throw versus the inevitable. Sad? Partially. That end is also a path to saving those around me from further difficulties, heart-wrenching and drunken tirades, and more of the conversations that I always end up dictating to the point of them completely giving up any responses. I don’t generally give anyone room to gain advantage over what I feel. This paragraph has gone off the fucking rails. Big surprise.
Quite the reverse, eh?
The music did help. Tuesday is apparent everywhere I look. As for yesterday, I did venture up the big ladder to thin the tree again. Everything went very well. Between the laundry, organization and tree trimming, I soon felt sufficiently calmed by the work, and decided to relax through part of the afternoon. The drive this morning went very well for a weekday, the only rub being a very cute face – something I rarely see anymore; mostly the lines grab my sight. Upon returning a short time ago, I decided that today will be just like yesterday, sans the tree work. Organization and planning will take the lion’s share of my time because I need those small items to keep the shit from taking over my thinking. The idea worked pretty well yesterday and I am hoping that today can follow suit. The vile thoughts were present, however nothing bad transpired. They returned this morning when I saw that face. Moreover, I need to switch the media on the right-hand display because one of the characters is driving me up the fucking wall. I really don’t need to see her when, like stated in the past, my place in the world is so defensive and everything hurts. That woman is one of the most amazing, stirring sources of beauty I’ve ever seen. There may be images of her on the site, as well. I can’t remember. Anyway, I have to watch something else for a little while. She is causing me some difficulty. I have feelings for her, believe it or not, and have for a few years, or at least ever since I watched one of the Christmas movies in which she starred (which I actually have saved to the cloud... Big surprise). I believe the problem stemmed from her character and then bled over to reality some months later. In any case, I need to avoid a few sights this morning because I’ve started the day in decent shape and wish the mood to continue. I need it, as well. The visions must be squashed before they become out of control. There was a moment yesterday afternoon when all of this shit became reinforced; nearly solidified. The incident also informed me that any change to the positive may be most decidedly beyond anyone’s control. My thoughts and dreams during that short moment went all the way down to hell and then quickly returned because I had to maintain some semblance of composure like a real grown-up type of person. Thankfully, the moment came and went, as did the deep-seated desire. I can still see it and need to ensure the image and my desperation remain shoved back as far as possible. The simple fact is I am beyond help. That kind of conclusion may date all the way back to the sinful situation within which I happily drowned myself for days. Twenty-one years ago I knew exactly what I was doing. Decisions were made easily, furthered by the woman involved who explained to me that everything was just fine. She told me to relax. I did. Now? One glimpse and I fall off the edge of the deep end. It doesn’t take much to send my thoughts straight to hell, and beyond. The vile, deviant stance develops so quickly that I do not see a future for myself any longer. The little things are all I have left. That moment is still inside me and trying to derail everything for all time. I cannot predict which side will win-out in the long run. No idea. I just feel badly for thinking the way I do, but at the same time I take into consideration all that shit from the past and the image begins to focus; this is the way I developed and there was most likely no other path available. The entirety of what I am has been forming for many years, and the more time that passes, the worse my thinking becomes. Beliefs; values; morals... All have been compromised, perhaps permanently. Pretty bad situation, this shit. Even I can’t believe it. Ashley was the beginning. She altered the way I saw the sexes. The Raven solidified such a stance after discussing everything Ashley and I shared, and nearly verbatim. That tall blonde beauty was the beginning. Who will be the end? Can there be an end? Or will I eventually be left to one final act of desperation in order to reach and fulfill what has become a prophecy? No one will like me anymore and I’ll be left alone with nothing. One little vision yesterday created an entire interstate highway of thinking processes that can’t seem to be stopped now. Part of that is due to the fact that I see things because I never stop searching. The other part is because of the routing, squishing and other disregarded moments that are written all over me, inside and out. I did not do that. When I looked at her, the process that took place in my brain may actually begun to develop way back when the first strike occurred, the one which paved the way to my position in life of being walked over repeatedly for far too many years. I can’t change anything. I can’t affect anything. I can’t be effective. All I can do is sit here and discuss my feelings with a fucking keyboard. There will be another image; another moment of desire and desperation. There will always be something. The shit is trying to take over my thinking right now and I need to smash it to bits if anything good is to come of this day. I can’t move forward after the morning coffee with any semblance of mental and emotional comfort if the shit wins. The process will run its course and then sit right behind my eyes for the entire fucking day, and I just can’t have that. Despite the nearly disastrous morning, I managed to take care of the daily routine and pour myself a glass of reward... Er, whiskey. Whatever it may be called, it is something I fully enjoy, and I am speaking on two fronts. One is having grown into adulthood (that may still be debatable considering my behavior) in the Nevada gaming culture and watching the actions and decisions of adults within such an atmosphere, and the other is the idea that even after all this time I still find the slight numbing effects helpful. Once a portion of the liquid is consumed, the vile thoughts will expand while any danger is simultaneously diminished. I don’t know if any of this shit is good, but such is me. Driven; routed; disregarded. Far too many years of that shit have left me constantly defensive and unhappy, often being pushed to anger very quickly at the slightest ‘slight’. Not good. My morning ritual, as it were, is something to which I can always look forward, and often is one of the best parts of the day because I feel the wide-open time ahead and can calmly consider options. Today is no different, and after taking the morning drive with all the other assholes on a weekday, sitting here with the time and space to consider my place and feelings is likely about as good as my life gets anymore. Oh, there is the neighbor on my driveway. I’ll have to investigate. Eh... Nothing. He asked me to modify his shoes so they work for a part of his physical therapy. I have a shitload of tools, but nothing for working with rubber. He will have them worked over elsewhere. At least I was able to say hello and chat for a few minutes. He is one of but two fucking neighbors that I enjoy seeing, although I do wave and greet others at times. The two in question live flanking this house, and are the only individuals whom I will help regularly. Good people. And? Both are bikers. I am not. If I can actually achieve one of two huge projects in the future, I may be able to ride along. That is a fucking longshot from hell, I tell you. Still a dream. Ugh. And speaking of dreams, there is another neighbor further away whose wife is five-nine with dark hair and exotic features. I do not stare at her out of respect, and on those occasions when she was close, the effort required in being kind and respectful was tremendous. She is quite beautiful and much younger than myself. I speak to him here and there, but she is only close when they bring their child here on Halloween. At that point, there are no problems because of the darkness, my need to maintain the proper atmosphere, and my focusing upon avoiding potential pitfalls by looking at anyone. Anyway, I went out and spoke for a few minutes and then retreated to my office. No big deal. She may actually be taller, and I say that because I stand five-nine and when she is here we are eye-to-eye, and that woman is always clad in flat shoes. My shoes boost me to nearly five-ten. Um... Is this important? It shouldn’t be, honestly, because my preoccupation with height and all of the related features that follow suit are very unhealthy. Important or not, I can’t stop myself from looking and analyzing. Chalk it up to the runway models, perhaps. I love long, slender fingers and have for a very long time, and those fucking fashion shows may have been the cause. Whatever the case, height is still something that fascinates me on a daily basis. She is fucking tall. Period. And this entire paragraph was ill-advised. The potential road trip in October increased in likelihood between yesterday and this morning. I am going to make appropriate plans for stops and places to eat. The exhibit tickets have already been secured, as well. My focus will have to be on the car until everything is in order, and that includes a new windshield. The trip in January resulted in an impact that is now a ‘run’ – what others typically call a ‘crack’, but I know better thanks to having worked for years in the glass fabrication industry – and a long drive would likely exacerbate the process and render further impacts even more dangerous. Once the windshield is replaced, I’ll have to bring the car to the dealer for scheduled maintenance and a new battery. My current battery is now five years old and I am not the type to wait until it fails to replace it. I’ll not be left somewhere without power. The downside of the trip is the possibility of feeling uncomfortable and far from home at the same time. The upsides are seeking new and interesting places to eat, spending time inside my car experiencing feelings of freedom, and the possibility of touring one or more film studios. The latter is a longshot because of the cost, but being within a few miles of them might drive me to realize such proximity may not happen again in my lifetime. If I force the issue, one studio in particular will reign supreme regardless of cost. I will admit that visiting decades ago when there was still wonder and promise in the world would have been much better, most notably during the glowing years when two of my favorite programs were still in production at the SAME studio, and at the SAME fucking time. All of that is gone and the soundstages are likely completely different now, but I’m sure there can still be some wondrous history available. Hopefully, anyway.
Chalk it up to everything I love being removed
The day nearly went bad for a second time, and after lunch, for crying out loud. Unbelievable. Coming out the other side without flipping my fucking cork required nothing more than remembering where I am in life and all that is missing. I seem to have zero recourse with this shit, either, and other than becoming angry – which never solves a fucking thing – all I can do is find something to occupy my time until evening when I have a few responsibilities. The weather is again very warm, so whatever I do needs to be light. Fortunately, I need not prepare much for dinner because the meal will be a repeat of last night, and most of the work is already finished. Warm weather equals easy dinners. Tomorrow may end up the same if the temperature persists. Thursday. Another day burned away and tossed to the winds. Whatever took place then does not matter now. Yesterday almost went to shit on two occasions, and the same thing happened this morning. Ugh. Sometimes I just fucking hate everything. I don’t know if this situation will worsen in the future, but such a possibility scares the hell out of me, especially considering how it relates to my physical well-being. A few years ago I calculated that at some point the reckoning would rear its head and remove those aspects of living that still provide enjoyment one at a time. Well, I did not expect this shit. No fucking way. Yesterday the feelings pushed me toward a very bad situation, twice. This morning is actually worse. I really need to force the fucking issue if I am to avoid another problematic mood. I need to go to the market in a little while, plus I have the usual house-related business that can occupy my time. The possibility of falling off a cliff during any down or quiet time is apparent at this very moment, and the clock is not even nearing nine. Not good. The other essay that can’t be published is calling to me from the nether regions of the RAID system, as well. Insult to injury, that is. By very definition it is one shitty feeling piled atop another, the combination often being too much for me to deal with. Have I analyzed this shit enough? YOU make the call. Later. I went to the market and saw some errant pants attached to a cute face and did my shopping. Upon returning, the usual crap was addressed in order to arrive at the morning ‘moment of comfort’, a la this table and a huge glass of very depressing liquid. My time is now WFO. Not bad. The pants didn’t really cause problems inside due to what has been killing me for months, plus when I think of those beautiful lines, my head immediately goes straight back to the girl in the restaurant. She took the cake for reasons already laid out here. I guess between yesterday and today all of the shit stemming from actual physical problems pretty much came to a head and drove any line-related issues away. There is no way to know how long this process will continue, though. I go through the motions, have dinner, sleep, and then rise from the bed the next morning with zero clues as to how the day will progress. The booze next to me will slowly squash some of the damaging feelings and may soon allow me to relax. As with every other aspect of this fucked up period, there is no way for me to be certain of anything. At least I shopped within close proximity to three beauties and did not flip out or run away. Better than nothing. One idea that popped into my head earlier is the belief that the past – be it near or far – has dictated the way I feel about desire at present. Memories of being ‘there’, seeing ‘that’, and being ‘heard’ have created feelings which seem to be forcing the even worse belief that had I never experienced those situations, there would be less to miss in life. This idea is akin to having never lived through the glowing years. The current era may not look so bad if that wonderful period had never come to pass. THE most important parts of life are gone and the resulting emptiness inside is fucking killing me without compassion. I have yet to completely give up because I am still wrestling with everything which would be left behind. In short, I miss being where I need to be and being heard so much that each day becomes boiled down to nothing more than a fucking decision. In the past when I felt this bad, I’d hop in the car with a plan to visit two specific places across the bay, and both are FUCKING GONE. I can always roll over the hill to the cozy lunch spot, but sitting there is nowhere near the same as a few years ago, nor can it hold a candle to my favorite places from the past. I just don’t know what to do when feeling this way so the only path seems to be sitting here with a drink and the keyboard. At least one of those is still not a negative. This whole situation is fucked up. Vile thoughts are creeping in, just like twenty-one years ago when I was all the fucking way into the sin. Did I flinch or hesitate? Nope. We discussed the matter and came to the conclusion that numbers did not make any difference in life. The only factors to be considered were those of the heart. I felt vile regardless of that discussion. She did not. She embraced everything and flew through the days on a wave of happiness and contentment. At least I didn’t slide down the outside of the pyramid and die in the fucking ice plant. I left. I drove home and dealt with a massive amount of fallout, all the while wishing I’d never left her arms. Vile thoughts of her do not go away, ever. I still want her. I still need her. I still regret living past the last day of my fucking room reservation. Sitting in this chair is the product of bad decisions. Some of those decisions harmed others emotionally, of course, but most have hurt me. They continue to do so. I think about them every day. In the past, I’ve been told that letting things go that are beyond one’s control is difficult, yet a healthy choice. Unfortunately, I still don’t know how to do that. I see a sliver of a positive in going to the market today. There was much beauty present and it didn’t cause problems in my head or heart because even after weeks I still see that girl in the restaurant as the most dramatic example of my years-long tirades of yearning. She can never know, fortunately. Only I know. The mood has changed. I donned the mighty wireless MDRs to hear my favorite film scores. The first is stirring beyond words, the second even moreso. The third? I heard it by accident some years ago and fell completely in love. The full-length composition was not included in the film. The version playing through the MDRs right now is an eight-minute epic that had to be pared down in order to fit the scene in question, and the decision to do so was ideal. I will try to avoid gushing about what is undoubtedly the most complex and powerful musical instrument in the world. You should already know. And? My desperate need to build one of two dream projects is wholly driven by the proper reproduction of this very soundtrack. Maybe I’ll achieve it before I die. Maybe I won’t. Time is running out. Friday is meaningless aside from a bunch of Amazon items being delivered later. I have coffee and a head full of empty spaces that used to contain good feelings. There had been ideas toward the positive crammed in there, too. Yesterday demonstrated to me that memories of certain specific aspects of living must either be ignored or destroyed, and there is only one way to achieve the latter. Nothing is good anymore except for the fact that my new parking space next to the driveway allows the street cleaner to cruise by unimpeded. Interference is often difficult, as you may well know from that horrible story I wrote some years ago. Eh, never mind. Those eight chapters have been hidden away along with many other tales, both fictional and otherwise. Interference represented a mental puzzle I needed to solve in order to move along a path of self-improvement. Though I did eventually figure out a way to do it, nothing good ever came of that journey. Much like real life, all I had were moments of little enjoyments and other tiny snippets of joy within an otherwise horrible, barren and frozen wasteland that eventually killed me in a hideous manner. Interference translates from an inability to answer inner questions to parking the car clear of the path for the street cleaner. Every other Friday it comes by and I need to remember the process. Isn’t that exciting? Soon I’ll be one of those idiots I used to see standing on the driveway at five in the morning waiting for the fucking newspaper. Anyway, Friday means nothing to me anymore. It used to be work followed by a relaxing afternoon with some guys at the bar, and then toward a well-earned weekend. I don’t like the bar anymore, the weekends are exactly the same as weekdays, and I need not worry about certain days of the week being rewarding. I am here all the fucking time. The only small difference between some Fridays is the idea that I may have to drive to the City on Saturday morning. That is not happening this week, however. Just Sunday. Hopefully, today will be relaxing on some level. The usual stuff needs to be completed. Coffee; thoughts; dreams. My sleep was interrupted twice and I have no idea why that happens, but this morning I don’t feel very bad as a result. There were also a couple of strange dreams, neither of which had anything to do with my obsession or current problems. I can be thankful for that. My condition is bad enough without piling more shit on top. The vile thoughts came to mind again just a few moments back. Vile. Trust me. I really wish I could go into some detail about this shit because I can’t deny the possibility that there is actually a real person somewhere out there who may run across all this crap and have some helpful information. I don’t mean the usual fucking platitudes and generalizations, either. I am referring to a mind that can actually offer something different; ways of coping or the like. As of yet, I’ve heard precisely nothing along such lines, only the typical hollow ideas such as ‘keep your head up’ and ‘love yourself’ or ‘breathe through it’, none of which actually accomplishes anything for a person this far down the fucking rabbit hole. I don’t expect anything, though. I am realistic. There could be helpful information out there, or perhaps there is none. Whatever the case, I’ll be just the same... Sitting here saying the same shit over and over with (hopefully) some different terms. I already have a thesaurus. The vile thoughts can’t be kept at bay by anything emanating from a person’s gaping maw, regardless of their intentions. I will continue to develop sinful situations and dreams in my head despite what others may have to offer. The reality is I am seeking a way of sidestepping the bad things – not suppressing or ignoring because such a process always creates a mental bomb – while acknowledging that I have not the tools to deal with or solve any of them. The action of sitting here at the keyboard has become second nature and identifies as the only outlet left in my life. I’ve gone around and around with this procedure nearly every single day for more than four years and now sit here in worse shape than I was at that time. What does that tell you? It tells me that those aspects of life with which I am obsessed are too powerful to be alleviated, altered or kept at bay by any path I’ve tried, and the vile nature of the way I now think continues to expand beyond my control. I don’t see it changing, mostly because there is little reason beyond my basic survival in life. My thoughts do not come out of my mouth, nor do they end up here in any fashion that can be understood by people, leaving no chance of finding the motivation to change the way I live. I have zero reason to change anything. I’ve already tried for too long. Believe me when I say that no one wants to know how my head really operates in these late days. Just trust me. It’s fucking bad. Period. And?
Should I have followed John?
I’ve gone over the reasons why I turned out this way. Is that all of them? I don’t know. Two are certain; two are nearly certain, but there is no way to know the truth after all this time. One thing I will say is I feel better about myself as a person than I have in almost thirty fucking years. That type of appreciation does not come easily, nor does it arrive without cost. For whatever reason, blame and loathing have turned around during the last nine years in general, and the last two or so in particular. Unfortunately, nothing can alter the way others view me as a person, so going over how I feel about myself is all but useless. They’ve already drawn their conclusions and I have been (and will continue to be) treated accordingly. The main issue with that is routing. Second is having been squished for years. All that shit makes me so angry that I have to walk in a fucking circle in order to avoid a massive explosion that would very likely ruin my life and those of a few others. In short, regardless of my feelings toward myself and how much of an improvement they are over the past, nothing I can do will cause this to matter to anyone else. Platitudes; the passage of time; work. Nothing will change. I did, but they will not. Cannot. Hence? The rest of my life will be a series of tirades; some with the same wording and some different. Those facts that are indisputable inside my brain will dictate both my mood each day and the way the content here develops. Unfortunately, there is still a ton of information that must be left out. I have to protect myself. As of this morning, there are three very specific truths that have been distorted to such a degree that no one has ever had the first damned clue as to the actual situations. There is another that has been pushed so far back that it has become unrecognizable. I simply will not put myself on full display for all to see. The story of the sinful situation in Vegas was removed for reasons of good form, and to protect myself from backlash. I’ve already received plenty of that shit. I need to find a way of pushing vile thoughts to the rear since I can’t seem to remove them. The damaging dreams keep popping into my head – being one of two main reasons for the vile nature of the way I think these days – and as of yet I have not been able to let go of them. One particular person was in each of those dreams, as well. To be completely honest, the content of the dreams and the subsequent situations I’ve manufactured and scripted inside my head (totally private, of course) became a combination I actually did not want to forget. I still don’t, although there may not be a choice either way. The information is nearly as powerful as seeing the most beautiful lines right in front of my stupid eyes, sans clothing. Yes, the restaurant incident again. I was too close. Much closer than at the pool. My brain went all over the place with that sight, and still does. Thoughts of her are equally vile. I don’t know if I can find a way to either deal with them or remove them completely, but if something doesn’t change soon, I am going to lose my shit. And no, not in the fashion that usually happens and results in anger. I am speaking of a smashed heart. Wow. The market again held a vision, and one right out of the fucking gate. A gorgeous girl, all petite with lines apparent, strolled through the doors just in front of me. Fortunately, I lost sight of her for the remainder of my shopping trip. And what was I thinking? Well, it was more like wondering. I pondered whether or not someone had been telling her just how unique and amazing she appeared. Sometimes, and I know this shit first-hand through experience, too much gushing about appearance can cause problems. But... Has anyone taken the time to inform that beauty of her beauty? Lately? At all? I would probably have gone overboard given my penchant for details and a long-term lack of actually speaking to a woman so gorgeous. I would have fucked it all up after seconds had there been an opportunity. Other than the stunning vision of her face and form, the trip was uneventful. I went fairly early because today is the beginning of a holiday weekend, and one typically ripe with outdoor barbecues and the like. I was only there for a few items, meaning I was in and out quickly. I didn’t want a protracted view of that girl even though part of me needs it so desperately. No good can come from such a situation. None. Here I sit, like always, with the morning business out of the way and a fat fucking drink to steady myself. Damn it if that girl didn’t have all of the information on display. Just... Damn. She will fade and I will forget. Very good. As for the rest of the day, I have no clue as to how I may feel later. I have a few items to address but nothing significant. Finding motivation lately has been an uphill climb. Oh, and in case you were not aware, I also wanted the woman in question to hold me and make all the bad stuff go away. Big fucking surprise, eh? Marvelous. And the sighting can mean many things, yet one stands out right now. Here we go again... I was there twenty-one years ago next month. I hope I appreciated the feelings and emotions at the time. I really do, because all of that is completely fucking gone now, just like all those people and places I bring up on this stupid site almost daily. Some years later, I was there again. And then again. One occasion, however – the later time – turned into a very difficult situation for two reasons that I can’t describe here anymore. I’ve gone into that crap in the past, but due to the self-protection that seems to be increasing with each passing day, the entire four-part story has been permanently removed. I just can’t have people aware of certain occasions from the past no matter how compelling they may feel or how well they relate to my current mental and emotional states. The point is that everything is fucking gone. The most powerful and important aspects of living have been systematically removed from the face of the fucking planet and all I can do is sit here and try to understand why. So far, I have discovered only little relational analyses from the long past as well as a few that have been more recent. I can’t find solid reasons beyond the machinations of this backward, doom-infused and sheep-laden society that never seems to be satisfied with anything, hence so much history having been either destroyed or made to otherwise disappear. I digress. I was there, right smack-dab in the middle of a place I couldn’t describe in a million fucking years, and the main component was a heaping helping of actual UNDERFUCKINGSTANDING. I will refrain from mentioning the names of those individuals because I have railroaded the point enough already. Besides, the names no longer matter to anyone other than myself. I love all of them to this very day, meaning anything too detailed would be disrespectful regardless of the fact that they are all GONE from my life. None can return. None of them will return. I have to find a way to cope with ‘moving forward’ sans any reminiscing. And how do I approach such a process? No idea. I am still seeking methods for dealing with the reality of everything having disappeared. No aspect of said process can be easy. I sit here day after day with the same visions, memories, desires and depressive, suicidal thoughts, and as of yet have not come up with a single idea of how to deal with it all. Stating that I can never be ‘there’ again is very difficult and a realization I still can’t deal with on any level. All I do is go through the daily motions of my responsibilities, enjoy the morning cocktail, and try to find anything with the power to lift me even a little bit. I am still falling away. I am still full of vile thoughts and dreams. I am still on the sharpened edge of committing suicide each day. And I am still finding tiny reasons to travel through one day and arrive at the next. I don’t know how much longer I can maintain this pace. The change that has recently come to pass and knowing I am powerless to affect or alleviate the same is quite literally removing reasons to continue. More evidence that I cannot align with others’ thinking reared its ugly head last night. I began to speak on the topic of note and then ceased the process as soon as I realized that no one gives half a shit how I feel about anything. I believe my last sentence was along the lines of ‘being completely alone’. That is not a big surprise, and I will say straight out that rather than accusing others of changing over the years, the truth is that I have been the one who continues to analyze, change my stance accordingly, and then reach for any semblance of understanding. None of that is going to solve anything, though, but at least I know it. I can be a real pain in the ass during a debate because I typically go on just enough to leave the other person bereft of any responses. I close the door quickly and with enough solidity that there is no chance of either a rebuttal or any placation. Fortunately, I exited the discussion early and avoided a longer tirade that, frankly, no one else wants or needs. Too bad the damage was already done by that point. I understand people less and less with the passage of time, and regardless of whether or not I am fully at fault, the change is just not fucking good by any stretch of the word. Perhaps it's time for two lines from one of the great, unrequited loves of my life as dates back more than thirty years... 'Look through these darkened eyes; you'll see ten thousand lies. My lips may promise but my heart is a whore.' I see that my neighbor is about to take off on one of his motorcycles. I’d go say hello, but my mood is restricting me from leaving this chair for any reason. Isn’t my life exciting? Yes, I live in a house a half mile from the ocean. I also have a multitude of tools and hobbies. The weather is perpetually mild. I have all the free time I desire. I have carte blanche when ordering food or alcohol. I have this huge control center at my disposal. What else? Doesn’t matter. The reality is that I have become nothing more than a machine that goes through the motions of daily life. I wanted and needed a machine. Now I am the machine, bereft of hope and dependent upon three pathetic devices for living. Eh... He did not leave on a bike. He left in a car. Either way, I can’t live vicariously through another person. That is impossible. All I can do is either continue on the same path or do something different. The latter is most unlikely because of having been pushed down for so long. I’ve been a utility, nothing more. The sheer number of occasions when I am asked to stretch my already formidable experience and do something strange is still staggering after many years. No one wishes to hear me speak; they walk right over the top and ‘squish’ my dialog, and that very often after being asked a question. Well, stop asking. Silence is wonderful, but others don’t understand the reasons. All those items I mentioned above can ALMOST offset their bullshit enough for me to relax, although such situations rarely develop when I am not alone. There is almost always a roadblock of one type or another. At least whenever I am busy the vile thinking tends to fade a little bit. Also, sometimes I think of myself as being mostly alright prior to seeing someone else going out there to explore and live more fully. That’s just not me anymore. Living through the last four years saw to such a change. That period saw to much more, actually, and a few bumps I was not expecting. Well, he did actually take off on a bike. I don’t know what the deal was with the car.
God bless that place
Saturday morning means when tuned to the proper channel, there is a bunch of Zoe all over the televisions. Damn. She is so fucking adorable that I lose a little bit more of my mind every time she’s on the screen, all smiles and brightness. I just can’t help it these days; all those beautiful features and the appearance of a person who might listen. Eh, whatever. Saturday is here and she may as well not exist. Nothing can come of it. The days roll by regardless of my feelings. Yesterday turned out to be fairly productive despite my head being all fucked up during the morning. The wireless MDRs were a good choice with some instrumental compositions keeping me company as I moved about the house and garage. Some laundry, dry cleaning and housework occupied my time and my mind long enough to arrive in the evening without feeling completely worthless. I am hoping today will follow suit. I have to be at least a little busy to keep the vile and damaging thoughts from taking over and ruining everything. Possibilities shrink at an alarming rate if I can’t find a turning point during the morning. I drew a line yesterday and it worked to my advantage. Today is still up in the air. Well, that day disappeared fairly quickly. I can’t keep up with the passage of time anymore. Everything seems to go away while I am not paying attention, and sometimes when my attention is strict and sharp. Yesterday? I don’t know what happened. I took care of some organizational business, ran some laundry, and then relaxed for a little while prior to dinner. I guess the problem is my work does not seem to matter much. In and around each item I knock off my list is a desperate sense of going nowhere and needing to escape. I can’t do anything about those feelings anymore. I am in a gigantic hole without a ladder. Sunday business will come and go. Hopefully, I can move a little bit closer to realizing a sense of organization. If not, this paragraph will be repeated tomorrow, verbatim. Did you ever walk in the opposite direction of an escalator or moving walkway just to do it? That’s right... Nowhere fast, much like this content. I saw her again yesterday. Well, I think it was yesterday. There is no way to be certain because the visions have begun to run together. Everything was right there; I missed a little bit of what could be seen due to the position and the fact that she was heading somewhere fairly quickly. The information was apparent, however, and believe me when I say that the vile thoughts entered my consciousness immediately. My brain manufactured situations which are impossible, yet compelling beyond words. Fantasies, if you will. Were the ideas vile? Not really, but they were carnal, and I am not embarrassed to state as much. I watched her for a few seconds and then moved along with whatever I had been doing prior to the glimpse. After so many years of shit, I simply can’t avoid trying to see beauty in that type of situation; a form that is very desirable and partially aligned with my decades-long obsession. I do not see her very often, I am not acquainted with her, nor is it likely at all that there can be anything beyond my eyes directed toward her position when she comes along. There are just too many limiting factors, the worst of which is what I’ve become due to the past. Yes, the two shit situations are centered upon the peak of my desperation and desire, and there is so much more than I don’t even know where to start. Well, I’ve outlined some of it before and probably don’t need to railroad that crap after so many entries dealing with the missing pieces inside me. I’ve tried to answer the question of how this happened – and perhaps I already have and can’t accept or understand the information – and will continue to do so whenever my feelings become out of control, such as yesterday while watching her walk along the street for mere seconds. I always forget that the opening sequence of this program was changed for the fourth and fifth seasons. The music and stunning camera work caught me upside the head yesterday and nearly had me doubled over and in tears. I secured the music, as well. The theme is so beautiful and stirring that I can’t even begin to describe its effects upon my heart. Wow. Um... Where was I? Ah... The vile designs inside my head yesterday. They continue even now because the need to both demonstrate and understand is beginning to dictate each moment that I am awake. I’ve often said that everything I do around the house has become nothing more than a series of distractions until my life ends. That is no bullshit. The little things are somehow still keeping me upright for the most part, and I really need them to continue for a while longer as I try to sort out this crap. Seeing that girl yesterday really fucked up my rhythm and I don’t want a repeat on a fucking Sunday because I have responsibilities. Once my coffee is gone, this will have to be put aside for a little while so I can care for the house. The work may help push away the vile thoughts for a time. I can only hope. Cocktail hour cannot arrive soon enough today. Like most days, my head is all fucked up prior to ten in the morning. Maybe the defensive posture should be embraced later. That always helps me relax, plus the last few times I’ve considered the state of the world, the mighty MDRs were injecting beautiful film scores into my ears. The lack of lyrics allows me to think more clearly, as opposed to the music of life which requires strict attention to detail. At one point yesterday, I went all the way back to what flowed from the D-555 and into my old V6s, which were phenomenal and have become quite sought-after. Just a while ago I took a peek to learn how those headphones are valued these days. Worn-out units are still successfully selling for more than two hundred, and I saw a few brand new pairs still in original packaging that sold for over five. Geez. Anyway, the music from those days spent around the house in the Midwest still holds a very special place in my heart, and that despite the fact that the newly-discovered music I mentioned is full of negativity, crises of the mind, and all manner of anger. Fortunately, the historic nature of the compositions no longer pushes me to feel angry at all. All I feel is appreciation for what had been created all those years ago. Today, however, I believe the best choice will be film scores along with the beautifully emotional crescendos that I love so much. Moreover, there is the wonder of hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence, the pipe organ. Not just any pipe organ sitting in a church, though. I am speaking of the 1926 Harrison & Harrison four-manual pipe organ that resides within the Temple Church in London. Unbelievable. If anything has become the prime motivation for building the 4355s, that instrument is precisely it. The music has helped push away vile thinking this morning. The house is quiet, I have my cocktail here on the table (big fucking surprise) and the typical daily routine is finished. I need to build those fucking monitors because every time I hear the pipe organ two things occur. One is my heart leaping out of my chest, and the other is the realization that the music is not being reproduced properly or in the correct context. Hmm... That realization is also the driving force behind the fact that I almost never share music with other people. Reproduction out of context is completely unacceptable. Plus, there is one track in particular which, when combined with the accompanying scene from the film, represents one of the most beautiful and stirring sequences in the history of the combined media. Believe it. Anyway, the rest of the day awaits and I have no idea of how it will proceed. Good or bad, I’ll arrive in the evening eventually. I wish I knew the outcome prior to trying anything. That would be a splendid and much-welcomed exit off this set of rails that continues to guide me into silent, solitary oblivion. Marvelous. Yet another entry has turned into a really nice clambake. Ah, shit. I just remembered a track that is not on my film score playlist and I have to hear it. The result will be tears because it has to do with time, something with which I wrestle every second of every fucking day, be it the past or the current era with all inherent pitfalls, sadness, and feelings of loss. Ooh-fa, but I have to hear it. Ugh. Onward? The clock will not stop, although there is rarely a restriction on my time these days. Do I have too much time to ponder everything? I mentioned my dream of building the 4355s. The idea includes another facet of proper audio reproduction, and that is the fact that my system in the living room consists of a multi-channel receiver coupled to a set of six speakers, none of which are capable of reproducing music very well in stereo, the manner in which it was originally recorded. Yes, most of the music I wish to hear is from film scores and they can be played properly through a ‘surround’ system whose intention is to mimic that of a theatre, yet the truth is a decent pair of floorstanding loudspeakers has been the choice of audiophiles for decades, and I my opinion is no different. The upside is a powerful, heart-stirring reproduction of a live performance. The downside is simply space. Audio requires a serious commitment to volume, be it inside the cabinets or within the room itself, and I just don’t have much of either. The six drivers in the living room are all of the waveguide variety, a technology that was originally developed for saving space while providing the sonic illusion of much larger cabinets. Well, they fall short quite often. I purchased and installed them in order to maintain as much living space as possible as opposed to sacrificing volume in favor of proper fucking analog audio reproduction. That idea may be coming to an end because I am finding that outside the scope of so many losses in life and my need to be where I am happiest resides the music. The idea may force some sacrifices I am more than happy to embrace. This entry has veered from the topic of vile thoughts so many times that I’ve lost count. This is how my mind operates... A haphazard, damaged method of dealing with the passage of time that I can hardly recognize anymore. I used to write short essays that were very pointed. Now I wander all over the fucking place. Splendid. The title has been lost yet again. Does anyone even care? I most certainly do not. Fuck this entry, anyway. Monday morning. The drive was uneventful due to the holiday. I have the flag flying off the front of the house. Coffee. Yesterday did not turn to shit, thankfully. I was able to take care of all the business prior to dinner preparations, and relax afterward feeling at least a little bit accomplished. Overall, Sunday was exactly like so many other Sundays that I couldn’t even venture a guess at such a number. Nothing exciting aside from a very brief vision of her again. It didn’t last long, though. I was able to turn away and continue with my chores sans dramatic distraction. I always look because I am always searching. The process will never stop. I guess returning to my housework and letting go of the vision was a good thing. The rest of the day was fine. Her pants looked fantastic and my feelings don’t matter. One day, perhaps soon. No more of this for right now. The vileness is beginning to disturb me."
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