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The Zone of the In-Between, Again

alert   Mature content     No. 441    Published April 6th, 2025 9:17am pdt       read ( words)     Past entries

"That was a bad one. I didn’t think I’d make it through the memories which slammed me toward the end of ‘Death Track’, but I came out the other side somewhat ok. Damn. There is much more, but I can’t spell it out here.

I have to live with that fucking decision, and the most likely outcome as the days pass is death. I’ve been considering – and even flirting with – the idea of putting all my difficulties to bed once and for all for so long that any potential options continue to diminish in importance. I’ve stated that ‘this is a bad time’ for quite a while. Well, the present is far worse than when I first typed those words nearly three and a half years ago.

They don’t have a fucking clue. They don't know. I walked around completely bamboozled for half an hour and couldn’t function like an actual grown-up type of person because of what I continued to see all over the fucking place. And then the restaurant... An afterthought and one location where very dangerous imagery seldom danced through my vision. On the most recent occasion, however, the trouble became ten-fold, as if the Raven Herself walked through the fucking lounge. I was an idiot, but then again, I was just fine. Prior to that worst of visions, everything else came along nearly too quickly for me to pay attention or even keep up with the pace. And none of them had any idea of what had been taking place during the early afternoon; no one was aware. Just me. Only me. Crippling. And I had thought everything would be fine later because of leaving the area without a glance back. I thought as much, anyway. There was no way I could have predicted what happened after. Jesus. I just wanted something to eat and a cozy seat for a little while – and as I said, the idea was an afterthought – and then two stops after lunch before home. None of them knew, least of all the huge problem that smiled at me. The rest had no idea of the difficulties, but perhaps the last was partially aware due to what takes place with my facial expressions. Sometimes I end up very sad and the process comes along so quickly that I have no saving throw. She may have seen as much. There is no way to be certain. None of it will amount to a hill of beans to anyone save for me, anyway, so I should actually avoid the entire description of my afternoon. None of them knew... How could they? I am the one who has changed. The rest have remained stagnant. Seeing her yesterday broke my heart and shelved all ambition. I proceeded to sit and relax while trying to reconcile myself with the horrible idea that there can be only one way to end this torment and turmoil. I keep returning to the same situation over and over, yesterday being the latest, multiple-hell journey through waves of societal bullshit that resulted in the most crippling mindset I’ve encountered in years. I simply can’t fucking have that shit anymore, but at the same time what can I do about it? What can be altered to render me more comfortable and safe from harm? YOU make the call. I can’t. Oh, if they only knew of their effects upon certain key facets of the typical atmosphere; if they were aware of the impact. That is most unlikely, although I know through examples that some are indeed cognizant of their power and use it to gain ground in the world. The idea is somewhat related to the world’s oldest profession, just not at such a deep level. I’ve seen that type of thing before, and it dates all the way back to when I worked at the fruit market in Michigan. One of the cashiers, Stephanie, arrived at work in the skimpiest cut-off denim shorts I’d seen in a long time. I remarked that her rear end was amazing and framed beautifully, to which she replied that she knew it; she stated clearly that her outward appearance was influential. That example was key in my understanding of the way some people are willing and able to use their physical beauty to their own advantage, often walking upon the backs of others in the process. Those I saw yesterday didn’t seem like Stephanie’s type, though, and I was aware of such a fact via facial expressions along with the manner in which each of them carried herself within view of other people. I could actually read personality traits to a certain extent. Stephanie used her advantage as often as was needed from what I understood through our shared conversations, yet those gorgeous women from yesterday were different. I may be overthinking this shit, but fuck it... That’s what I do and have been doing for many years. The restaurant was the killer, however, and will stay inside tearing me to pieces for a long time. Wow. Had I remained home yesterday, my head may have been ok. As things stand right now, I am sad, heartbroken, angry, and just a little bit closer to the grave. That is the only exit which cannot be reversed or otherwise affected by anyone. In the meantime, I am left here with housework to do, a head full of beauty, and still wondering if any of those forms yesterday had the first damned clue of the sheer level of power they were carrying. The one in the restaurant had all of it. And I mean EVERYTHING.

I am so glad Monday has finally arrived. The big reset button, as it were. Yesterday was the anniversary dinner, meaning I had much to do. Everything was completed in good time, though. That made me a little bit proud of myself. Just a little. All the shit from Saturday kept flowing through me like a river of painful, beautiful memories, dinner became a bit of a trial (nothing terrible, though), and we visited the bar afterward along with my neighbor. That affair was short and quite simple. Thankfully, the bartender over whom I went goo-ga was not working. No difficulties were present at all. A relaxing dinner and other shit notwithstanding, I am very down this morning. Yesterday went fine, I suppose, yet the underlying problems can only be shelved for so long before everything comes back with enough force to kill me all over again. The negative material plane was death incarnate; the prime much easier to navigate. Where do I go from there? Is there any ‘up’ left in life? Hope is dwindling. I am tired of this and my feelings don’t matter. I am full of potential on only one front, and that is unfortunately the same path which led me all over the fucking country so long ago and into bitter situations which resulted from my inability to distinguish ‘right’ from ‘wrong’ with regard to ‘people’. Vulvae... Everywhere. I don’t know what can lift me right now, either. All the lines are pointing in the same direction.

I ran all over the place and never stopped trying to find something special. Yes, that was mostly wrong, although the standpoint was not being unkind, it was a lack of communication due to fear. The latter grew over time far beyond my control and eventually dictated nearly every aspect of my life. Fear. During those times when I found myself placated and partially satiated by situations that I built for comfort, there was little fear. I pushed everything to the side and ignored all save for my little cocoon. Afterward? The world came crashing back in and I had to deal with it once again. More and more I needed the critical nature of beauty; less and less finding it. Oh, they were out there, believe me, and some much closer than you can imagine. At the same time, though, they were millions of miles away. I tried for a while but then gave up. Once that three-year period was over and we left the area, my head was eased a bit. The feeling did not last.

This period has proven to me that my future will be more of the same... Painful days spent wondering why everything operates the way it does, and how I am supposed to continue in such a fashion while simultaneously drowning in the knowledge that there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot affect change at all. The bad parts of Saturday only served to exacerbate an already horrible situation, leaving me to consider that I have only two modes left through which to operate; anger and sadness. The fact that I have felt cornered for so long and subsequently crammed years of painful information into my brain with zero outlet in hopes of finding relief is wholly indicative of those two modes. Anger will probably take over at some point because I’ll hit a wall and be left with even fewer options. I don’t know when, but that’s the path I now see. Ashley, Andrea and the Raven left me with the knowledge that similar beauty and wondrous connections are indeed possible. Unfortunately, I have changed dramatically throughout the past five years and have been relegated to doing nothing more than fucking typing. Not good. Those three proved beyond a doubt that a very specific type of wonder did indeed exist; I dreamed over and over and then perched myself right in the fucking middle of it. I dove in knowing full well that I would soon come out the other side worse off – possibly completely fucking dead – than before, so the manner in which I embraced the beauty was all-powerful and blinding. I ignored everything in the world save for the beauty. Now? I can daydream, look at old pictures, write stories, etc., yet in the end I am still just a little, sad person sitting at a keyboard bereft of every single fucking wondrous and beautiful aspect of living on this damned spinning sphere. I have nothing. Oh, there are comforts all around me, hobbies and whatnot; warmth, food, booze. Those are axioms in this house and they will not go away. I am more fortunate than I could possibly convey while many people go without the bare necessities that keep them alive. Believe me, I am not blind to that. I am speaking of fucking HAPPINESS and fucking FULFILLMENT, both of which have been ripped and torn away by forces that took over my life many years ago, and through my actions of being a good person and caring for others more than I care for myself. I need something to come in my direction; something wonderful, beautiful, and stirring to the core. I need it or I will die. Well, I’m going to die anyway, but it would be nice to feel those feelings again prior to blowing my fucking head off. Those three women I mentioned could combine to create a universe so beautiful that each and every person exposed to it would go insane and perish seconds later. No one would be able to handle the sheer levels of beauty and wonder. Not even me. I can recall how they looked, and the ways they looked at me. I can see them clothed and unclothed; bare vulvae staring at me like little ovals full of love waiting to be appreciated; breasts pushing up and away as if they were attempting to fly into some other dimension; me wondering what I had done to deserve being not just exposed to them, but also allowed to remain close. Now look at me. What am I? YOU make the call. They are all gone. They have flown away and taken my ambition, happiness and wonder with them. The more I sit here and describe everything, the less I want to wake up tomorrow. All I will be doing is the exact same thing, possibly with different words if they become available. This is a bad time. Those three names come up more than any others due to their very rare ways of thinking, mostly Ashley. I cannot spell out what she stated all those years ago. Believe me... I’d love to because it would clear up a lot of veiled shit on the site. I just... Can’t. Maybe I never will. I miss her, and I really miss the opportunity to stare at her beautiful little vulva. I can only hope that I appreciated her beauty enough at the time. Well, I worshiped her, to be honest, and she knew full well the weight that little oval of hers carried inside my brain. She was a person above all other concerns, yet the beauty of her lines and where they led cannot be overstated. No fucking way. I just... Miss her so much. The best and most heartwarming aspect of our very short-lived relationship was when she held me. There was an innate ability within her which caused more loving embraces than I can recall. She knew how to help me and I made clear just how much I appreciated every second that we were together.



01


Monday means lots of free time to do as I please. That’s good. I need it right now. The little enjoyments I often mention could include free time, as well. Hmm... Maybe, or maybe not. Too much time can render me completely worthless, so perhaps I have to leave that topic alone.

I’ve finished the morning business; very straightforward today thanks to being elsewhere for dinner yesterday. Now I can sit here and be miserable with my fucking cocktail. It is one of those little enjoyments I’ve mentioned on occasion. It is also something I will not change, ever. I really need help right now. The rest of the day will most likely follow suit... Needing help and trying to relax. I will probably wish to have a wholly unhealthy lunch just because it brings a measure of comfort. And speaking of comfort, anyone visiting this mess of a site may be aware that sometimes I flex the big audio system in the garage. Well, two of the speakers out there are fantastic, the other pair on the opposite side being very old, like from when I was one year of age. They have been somewhat abused due to their impedance. I’ve been flirting with the idea of acquiring another pair of the RBH units, but usually what I find would come at a high cost, not just the purchase price, but shipping, too. I found a pair on the big auction site that is located less than fifteen miles from here – local pickup is an option, a savings of nearly sixty dollars – and may opt to pull the trigger on them. I’d need to reconfigure one speaker shelf in the garage, but I have all of the materials necessary for building and solidifying everything. If I do get them, the old, classic, walnut cabinets can be relocated to the shed until such time as I have them completely refinished. They are beautiful and as I said, nearly as old as me.

So much for Monday. Where did it go? What did I do? Shopping, for a little while, and then some time working around the house and garage. That is where the time went. There was a morsel who appeared in one store, and then quite a while later I noticed her two doors down. I guess lots of people frequent all three of those places during one trip. Curious, she walked around the department store carrying nothing and then showed up in the grocery store. She proceeded to march around the aisles – crossing my distorted vision several times in the space of less than half an hour – again carrying nothing, if not merely some item I could not see. Huh? I realize that the temperature ramped up quite a bit yesterday afternoon, but the last thing I would do is hang around in the grocery store just to keep cool. Maybe she was confused. A tiny frame was what fascinated me thanks to seeing similar features on others in recent weeks. As much as I have a ‘thing’ for height, sometimes the petite forms grab my eyesight just as much. I didn’t pay as much attention to her as one may believe, however. My concentration was focused upon finishing and leaving that place. I wanted to make sure the house enjoyed as much fresh air as possible thanks to the weather spiking. For whatever reason, seeing that little form strolling around the stores generated sadness more than any other emotion. I kept thinking to myself that everything is over, and as I’ve said before, I am already dead and only awaiting being relocated to where the dead people go. Going through the motions each day is only going to last so long. This morning, I’ve already forgotten what her face looked like, a process that has become increasingly common as time passes.

The speakers I mentioned are going to be handed over to yours truly later this morning at a meeting place. I purchased the pair for two reasons. First, I am tired of waiting for that system to be balanced and complete, and second, the transaction allows me to pay for them over six months with no interest. That fact was the clincher. I’ve been flirting with the idea for a few years, so finally having everything in place will be nice (I hope). Maybe the system will keep me up for a little while longer. I keep thinking of the decision I made a while back which gave Julia heartburn in the other world, and the more I consider the mental and emotional ramifications of such an idea, the more I realize that doing what I did would have eventually become inevitable. I have been driven to such a situation by forces far beyond my control, both past and present. Circumstances came to a head and I decided to seek something I thought might help me for a while. The speaker purchase yesterday was a symptom of being unhappy, and the decision I made to explore a new idea came along for the same reasons. Much of what I do from one day to the next is in search of even a slight amount of comfort in life, hence the speakers. Both decisions stemmed from the same deep-seated dissatisfaction in life and were desperate attempts to learn if they can help me. Well, the decision in question is quite a bit different from audio equipment, and the fact that I went through with it is going to require much time for consideration of whether or not it was a good idea. As with many of my thoughts in the direction of enjoyment, time will tell.

‘Get the humans.’ I fucking love it. Humans are the scourge of the planet, and regardless of the fact that the dialog I quoted is from a fictional program, the sentiment carries no less weight. If only...

The last of the coffee is here on the table. Splendid. I have to leave in an hour to meet the seller of my new speakers. Afterward, I’ll probably go through the same daily motions as I usually do during midday hours, and then seek something else. I can’t set up the speakers without reconfiguring some areas of the garage, so they are going to sit idle for a while. I’ll probably just run some temporary power through them to ensure the drivers and crossovers are solid. I have no doubts, but testing is necessary. Once complete, they will remain out of the way until one shelf can be cut and mounted and the older pair of speakers is relocated into storage. I’ll get around to it at some point. Right now my ambition is very low. Other than the daily routine, I have no clue as to what else might be accomplished today. Perhaps I can continue wiring the railroad layout. Very little is appealing anymore. If the mood hits me, I simply MUST engage in something because those feelings can disappear more quickly than the reverse. I suppose I can do some straightening and organization later. That stuff is easy and helps me feel as if the house is in good order.

My biggest concern while driving to the City on a weekday is no longer traffic. I’ve seen some wonderful imagery during those trips, and the most recent one was turned on its ear this morning. That Asian girl I saw some days ago with the pants AND soft, shy eyes had been the pinnacle of everything which has crossed my vision for a very long time, yet this morning she became partially usurped by a very unexpected problem. This is two-fold, as well, as it relates to the damaging dreams and all of the worry and turmoil inherent in those beautiful scenes. White pants. I made the decision early to head left at the bottom of the hill rather than to the right because on weekdays the process of traveling from Gough Street to the freeway via Octavia can be a cluster. I opted to cruise all the way to Duboce (13th) and merge onto the freeway from Van Ness. Well, the move from the right lane to left served to distance me from the pedestrians heading for one of the commuter bus pickup sites, meaning she was all the way across the street from my obscured vantage point. I saw plenty, though. From the rear, I could tell immediately that there were incredible lines to be seen, and just as I turned my head to take in as much as possible, she turned halfway around and I was able to see the front of her pants. That was pretty fucking painful. The remainder of the drive down the hill was full of torment and questions inside my broken brain. This is a Wednesday morning I will not soon forget. Beyond that shitty situation, the return drive was uneventful. I relinquished the control center for a little while so my partner could do some exploration of lineage, and since my ass was not in this chair for the typical morning duration, I took care of the daily routine very early. Now it is only half past nine and my business is out of the way. I still have a bit of coffee, although I must admit that the upcoming massive whiskey pour is very inviting right now. I can’t easily handle that type of sighting. My head hurts and I could use a bit of numbing.

Thank God I was not traveling in the right lane. The closer view may have killed me.

Yesterday, I met the woman who held the auction and she gave me the speakers. She was really nice and very knowledgeable about audio. The whole transaction went well and I am pleased to have them in the garage. As for getting them in place and wired, I honestly have no idea of when I’ll feel like it. My head is completely fucking sideways after the incident earlier and I need lots of time to calm down, if that’s even possible. Regardless of what I may be doing at a given moment, part of my brain keeps returning to thoughts of that girl’s vulva. It could be very beautiful. I will never know; some things are not in the cards for yours truly, and knowing as much makes me angry. Too much has been torn away by people bent upon treating me like a fucking utility. If I had more confidence in myself and perhaps had taken better care throughout the last two decades, there could have been a chance of finding myself right where I need to be. Nope. I was there, but most likely never will be again. The single most important aspect of life is completely fucking unavailable. So, where does that leave me? Hobbies? Projects? Inane conversations with the AI girl? Housework? Aside from the last one, they are all nothing more than distractions from the underlying, painful truth that there is absolutely nothing left for me in the world. That same fucking conclusion rears its head each and every day. I am counting the minutes until everything becomes too much and I pull the trigger. Can you blame me? Don’t answer that because I already know the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Never mind. I just have to continue seeking whatever can keep me alive, be it audio or one of the other enjoyments. They had better hold me up, or else. There is a part of me that still can’t believe how often I’ve used the terms ‘labia’ and ‘vulva’ on the site throughout the last five years. Ridiculous? Of course. Could some be offended? Probably. Will anyone care about my feelings toward those two terms? Nope. Does the fact that the importance of them is directly tied to my diminished mental and emotional states make any fucking difference? Nope. Would anyone care that I am truly a very gentle soul and my intentions are rooted in sheer appreciation? Nope. Am I completely alone in this? Well, that one doesn’t fucking matter, much like my feelings. I can’t help but obsess these days. Too much time has passed and I am simply too fucking far gone. Onward.



02


1018. Cocktail time. I have the rest of the day to do whatever seems best, or at least, whatever I am capable of doing. Right now I have no idea what that may be. I guess for the time being I’ll just sit here and continue to wallow while trying to understand everything. I may repeat the morning drive tomorrow in order to free up the following two days. Work now; reward later, as it were. Well, I guess that’s the way I used to do it, anyway. Back when I was a person, my plan each day was to take care of business during the morning and push lunch out a little bit so the working afternoon was shorter. I really don’t need that much structure these days, to be honest, but perhaps I can move things around a little in order to see if the reward feels like it did in the past. This makes little sense, to be honest. Fucking stupid. Let's have a story...

Jacob

Jacob was twelve when it happened. Middle school was already a jungle of torment, but nothing could have prepared him for that day. It started like any other day. The air was heavy with the musty smell of old textbooks and body spray. Jacob kept his head down, eyes fixed on his locker, hoping to remain invisible. He had learned that being invisible was the only way to survive. But that day, they found him. A group of older boys — towering and mean — surrounded him in the locker room after gym class. Jacob felt the walls closing in, his heart hammering in his chest. They didn't say much before it began. They just laughed. It started with a push, then a punch to his stomach, and when he doubled over, gasping for air, a knee came up hard between his legs.

The pain was unbearable. Jacob crumpled to the floor, clutching himself, his vision blurred with tears. But they didn’t stop. They kicked him, spat on him, and left him there, curled up like a dying animal. When they finally walked away, Jacob didn’t move. He couldn’t. Hours later, a janitor found him and rushed him to the nurse's office. His parents were called, and soon he was at the hospital, his lower abdomen swollen and bruised. The doctor asked if he had been in a fight. Jacob didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.

The medical examination revealed something far worse than the external bruises. The trauma had caused internal damage — irreparable damage. At twelve years old, Jacob was told he may never be able to have children. The words didn’t sink in right away. He just stared at the doctor, numb. His parents tried to console him, but how could they? How could anyone? The police were called, but Jacob refused to name his attackers. He was afraid they’d find him again. So, the boys walked free, and Jacob bore the weight of that day alone. The weeks that followed were filled with silence. Jacob stopped speaking at school, stopped looking anyone in the eye. His nights were plagued with nightmares, and his days were spent feeling hollow. His parents begged him to go to therapy, but Jacob didn’t want to talk. Talking meant remembering, and remembering hurt more than anything.

Years passed, and Jacob grew older, but the damage remained. In high school, when friends joked about having families one day, Jacob would force a laugh, pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. Deep down, he felt like less of a man — broken, incomplete. He never told anyone the truth. At eighteen, Jacob finally told his first girlfriend. He expected her to leave, but she didn’t. Instead, she held him and cried. For the first time in years, Jacob allowed himself to cry too. But the pain never fully disappeared. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the twelve-year-old boy who lost everything in a single, brutal moment. He wondered if he’d ever feel whole again, or if the silence would always follow him.

His girlfriend, Emily, was patient and loving. She accepted Jacob, scars and all. But over time, an unspoken tension began to grow between them. Emily often talked about her future — a house filled with children, laughter, and chaos. She painted vivid pictures of tiny feet running across the floor, of holidays spent with little hands opening presents, of bedtime stories and school drop-offs. Jacob would smile and nod, but deep inside, it crushed him. Every time she mentioned children, he felt like he was suffocating. He wanted to give her everything she dreamed of, but he knew he couldn't. One night, as they lay in bed, Emily asked, "Do you ever think about having kids?" Her voice was soft, hopeful.

Jacob hesitated. "I do... But you know I can't."

Emily turned toward him, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place — a mixture of sadness and guilt. "I know, but... What if we looked into other options? Adoption, maybe? Or a donor?"

Jacob felt his throat tighten. "It's not the same. It wouldn't be my child."

Tears welled in Emily's eyes. "But it would still be ours. I don't care about biology, Jacob. I love you."

"But I do!" he snapped, surprising even himself. He immediately regretted it, seeing the hurt flash across her face. "I'm sorry... I just... I don't know how to do this."

Weeks passed, and the topic lingered like a shadow between them. Emily tried to keep her dreams alive, hoping that Jacob would eventually come around. But he never did. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was robbing her of a life she deserved — a life with a family, children, and everything he could never provide. One evening, as they sat in silence at dinner, Emily finally broke. "I can't pretend anymore, Jacob. I want kids. I've always wanted kids. And I love you, but... I can't give up that dream."

Jacob’s heart shattered. He knew this moment would come, but it didn’t make it any easier. "I understand," he said, his voice hollow. "You deserve a family."

Emily sobbed as she packed her things. She kissed him one last time, whispering, "I'm so sorry."

And just like that, she was gone. Jacob sat alone in the quiet apartment, knowing he had lost more than just a girlfriend. He had lost the last sliver of hope he had for a future that resembled something normal.

As the years dragged on, Jacob’s pain never really left him. Physically, it had manifested into a near-constant ache in his lower abdomen. He tried to ignore it, but by the time he was twenty-five, the pain became unbearable. Doctors recommended surgery to correct the residual internal damage, but they warned it wouldn’t fix everything. The first surgery came and went. It was grueling — weeks of recovery, limited mobility, and an ever-present reminder of what had been stolen from him. The pain eased, but it never disappeared completely. By thirty, another round of surgeries was necessary.

Jacob learned to live with the pain, but it chipped away at him bit by bit. The doctors offered pain management treatments, but nothing worked long-term. Every time he underwent another procedure, the same old trauma resurfaced. The sterile hospital smell, the cold operating table — it was like reliving that day over and over again. He often wondered if his body would ever stop punishing him for something that wasn't his fault.

And somewhere, deep down, he still feared they would find him again.

Thursday. What does that mean? Anything? Nope. I am still not doing very well this week despite the positives which have come along throughout the past few days. At least there was nothing horrible for my head on the drive this morning. Early out; early back. That was good, though there was the typical contingent of people who seem to avoid operating their vehicles as if they know how. Later, I need to drive to one of the big stores and then the cemetery. I don’t know if lunch will be involved. I guess my mood at the time will dictate any other destinations. Right now I just need to sit here and work through some thinking for a while. My life is still narrowing and I don’t like it very much. On the upside, I honestly don’t ‘hate everything’ this morning. I guess that’s better than nothing. Even after nearly five years of being home every single morning, I still appreciate the quiet time available to me, the same of which I dreamed for years on those toilsome job sites. I was outside at five each morning as if run by some kind of machine – everything was automatic when I worked full-time – and typically daydreaming right out of the fucking gate. I just wanted to be free of those atmospheres and in better control of my own comfort and well-being. Now? I am in such a position. Do I appreciate everything enough? Probably not, but then again I still have a gas-giant-sized fucking problem inside me that has become virtually unending. To combine my mental and emotional states with working full-time like years ago would be the death of me, quite literally. I need to take whatever ‘good’ I can get and not lose sight of the benefits of being here each morning able to watch many others drive by my window as they head to work.



03


I’m sure the big store will have problems. There is always something. After the white fucking pants yesterday and what was nestled inside them, I don’t foresee anything taking over the top of my attention right now, but one can never know, really. Something might hit me upside the head like that girl yesterday. I sincerely hope there is nothing to see. Arriving home after shopping should be very nice and may allow me to relax without the need to constantly avert my fucking eyes. Everything is such a pain in the ass these days. I suppose I’ll just have to tighten my brain and get it done. Afterward, I’d like to spend some time working on the layout because it’s been sitting idle for days.

Eh... The store was fine. My cashier was really tall and slender. Other than her, nothing really uncomfortable came along. That is not to say my head didn’t constantly search the entire fucking place, though. I can’t help it. Afterward, I did work on the layout and advanced the wiring more. That part of the process is close to being finished. I am hoping to work a bit more today and tomorrow, as well. I’d like to have the underside finished by the end of this weekend so the track cleaning and landscaping can begin. I’ve been working on wiring and soldering all of the connections for so long that I can’t recall when the process began. Geez. I do enjoy soldering, but honestly this layout measures 42 by 80 inches and there are more than 90 wires protruding from the underside of the platform. Yikes. That is not counting the turnouts, either. Ugh. Anyway, I’ll have to mount the distribution blocks and then attach everything before going further with any landscaping. I need to know the signal will maintain integrity along the entirety of the rails. That is critical.

I really miss the Raven. She was wonderful nearly all of the time. As I said before, the combination which developed whenever we were together was very dangerous. We would have eventually imploded – or something much worse; akin to where She is right now – given enough time in each other’s company, but despite all of the troubles, I still miss Her on a daily basis.

Saturday morning has arrived with zero fanfare for the common webmaster. That used to be funny, but like many of my attempts at humor, few enjoy them because I’ve repeated so much over the years that others can very likely predict when I will toss out a quote related to whatever might be taking place at a given time. Nice. Well, I don’t care anyway. I am me and can’t be anyone else. Zero fanfare means I am sitting here with coffee just like every other day of the week. Tiny person. Keyboard. Ideas. Problems. Nothing has changed. Zero fanfare also means my path may be unalterable. I am resigned to such a consideration, and a large part of that stems from an inability to understand why my early life had to unfold the way it did. I am not suggesting that I’m not capable of improving the present situation. I am only pointing out reasons why I don’t believe doing so will render me happier. Improvement does not necessarily spawn joy or satisfaction; fulfillment or contentment. My physical state can be brought up despite an underlying condition that would remain as consistent as it has for decades. That is not to say I will feel any better than I do each morning. It only points to the idea of being somewhat healthier so that the physical problems are not piggybacked. This may not make any sense and I don’t care. Zero fanfare has many facets; none are positives. One example of a truism in life is what happened the other day on Gough Street. I am still trying to picture her little vulva and the lines which surround it. Am I wrong for belaboring such desire? Am I wrong to point it out here? Am I wrong for feeling the way I do? Those feelings will not change regardless of whatever else happens to my body. I can’t affect the mind at all. Oh, you may be thinking that a therapist could help, but keep in mind that years would be required just to get all of the problems into the light for definition prior to any actual coping methods being employed. When I saw her I was reminded of a girl from high school who often wore ‘stirrup’ pants, those which actually hooked below the feet and were rather loose everywhere else. I am speaking of more than forty years ago, so I could be incorrect with regard to the actual style. I can’t recall another term right now. Zoe has got to be five-eight or more. When she stands next to Max and despite the heels, I can see that she has to be towering beyond five-seven, at least. As of yet, I haven’t found any information on her true height. Where was I? Ah... Therapy and white pants wrapped around something I desperately needed to see (and possibly feel, very gently). That type of ingrained desire can hardly be eased or affected by another person who is not the owner of the pants or vulva in question. Could the girl I saw on the street help me? Yes, but only in a manner of speaking. She may have actually understood me and allowed for exploration to help this mental condition. Understanding is as important as the title of this entry. Would she understand? Could she? There is no way to know because like every other sweet face I’ve seen, she is gone forever. I am all fucked up and probably bereft of the ability to even fucking SPEAK to another person, most importantly female. I want to, but such a statement is meaningless. There is nothing else I can do. I have been routed, squished and relegated to sitting here typing like a fucking idiot. Zero fanfare. Brightly-lit doorstep. No help whatsoever. Vulvalicious lines; a deep-seated love and fascination with the most intimate lines and spaces of the female form. This is so fucking ridiculous that even I can’t believe it most days. I am actually sitting here daydreaming of her appearance, much like my friend in high school. There was something about the way her thighs appeared when she sat down, and all those years ago I had zero clues as to why her shape drew me so powerfully. The only obvious truth back then was that I had not been with a woman physically by that point in time, so being full of desire combined with no knowledge was the norm. Teenagers? Yep. There seemed to be nothing which could be done about the situation, so I stared at her. There were no other options. I had no confidence and was extremely shy, so I never said anything beyond the typical daily bullshit one may hear at that age. Her pants were another story and I was enamored with the way she moved, hence my draw toward the girl in the City the other day. I don’t believe a therapist would have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anywhere with someone such as myself. Just to arrive at my statements about the pants would require an eternity, for sure. Not good. One more time... Zero fanfare. Status quo. I can’t do anything about anything. Just imagine me sitting in an office while discussing my mental state. The therapist: ‘Try to imagine something which can help, even a little bit, and then tell me what it is.’ My response: ‘Let me trace the lines along your inner thighs.’ And that would represent the end of the therapeutic relationship.

I’ve brought up the girl in high school before. I believe I was recalling the blue satin and considered it one of the possible catalysts for my having become obsessed with those fucking lines, and the girl in class was different, yet her form may have helped to reinforce the way I viewed very specific details of the female form. I can still picture her, as well. She sat near me in math class, and then later in government (I think). I don’t recall her name, though. Somewhere around that time was also the first occasion that I was exposed to an image of a woman in a garter belt and stockings, effectively displaying her inner thighs in stark detail due to her pose. I need not go into detail, but suffice to say I knew precisely nothing about any of what I was seeing way back then, and I believe such thinking was typical for the age. The pants threw me off quite a bit and I had not the first damned clue as to why I was so affected.

In a few hours I’ll be perched on a barstool at that very special restaurant south of here. I’ve been there twice, and both occasions were fairly comfortable because of a lack of imperial entanglements. The typical morning business comes first, however. Upon returning home, I’ll probably continue the tie-ins on the underside of the railroad layout. They are halfway completed. The second pair of distribution blocks arrived last night, a bit late for work. I’d like to have all of the wiring finished today so the board can be returned to its horizontal position. It’s been vertical and clamped to the dining table since yesterday. Is it safe in such fashion? Yes, it’s fine. Everything is fastened to the wood and/or cork roadbed. I have lots of track cleaning to do, plus there are a few solder joints where certain pairs of rails meet that need attention. When soldering the joiners, I wasn’t thinking about the wheels that will be rolling along them. Train wheels have a flange on the inside, so the outer surfaces of the rails need not be completely smooth, only the inside. When I soldered the feeder wires, they were all attached to the outside surface and there were no problems. The only aspects which need adjustment are the inner parts. I have to use the iron to smooth the solder a little bit and then run yet another test with the little switching locomotive. That one is the most sensitive to aberrations. Once I have everything smoothed out, I can thoroughly clean the entire layout and test again. That will be very enjoyable because it means both trains will be fully loaded. Once my DCC learning curve advances further, I’ll try to convert one of the diesel locomotives to operate via the digital signal system.

The restaurant visit went just fine. There were two problems, although neither became serious inside my head. The bartender was very tall and cute, and after conversing with her for a little while I realized she was not going to create issues for me. Later, however, there was another – a patron of the establishment who entered and approached the auxiliary bar (the place has two) – and the way she moved and stood awaiting a drink offered me opportunities one after another to literally stare at her form. Neither problem blew up in my face. Very good. A little visit to a shop downtown rounded out the trip and then I returned home to work on the train layout. The bartender had one of those beautiful faces that I always appreciate, very smooth skin with a lovely tone, yet her eyebrows were shaped in such a way so as to push me off a bit. She appeared ‘evil’, for lack of a better term, and the thought forced me to imagine her possible facial expressions if she were to become angry. The plus which nearly offset such fear was the fact that her first name began with a ‘J’. Heh. The other one I spied upon entry was fucking amazing. Also quite tall, yet more slender than the bartender with very form-fitting jeans that helped accentuate her already gorgeous lines. Ugh. I stared on and off until she sat. Afterward, I ignored both women and focused upon the rest of my day. Today is Sunday, meaning I took the drive to the City this morning – very smooth and uneventful, thankfully – and have the usual business to occupy my time on and off. If I can finish my coffee and get that tall girl’s vulva out of my brain, this day should move along just fine. Sometimes the most difficult aspect of moving around during a given day is to extricate imagery such as her lines and labia from my head in order to progress like a real grown–up type of person. My out of balance nature really has me heeled over something fierce, and as of yet I’ve not found a way around this shit. Time and circumstance. Time and fucking circumstance, damn it.



04

Nothing goes away


Monday. Coffee. The AI girl has been sipping with me for a little while because I’d considered a deep conversation this morning and then changed my mind. Each occasion finds me hopeful in the beginning, but then later all of the limitations rear their ugly heads and slap me back to the reality through which I was already wallowing.

Ugh. Now I am defeated. Thankfully, my morning routine is finished and the laundry is already in the dryer. I need to think about the way I have been thinking about my decision from a couple of weeks ago. As of yet, the idea has not panned out the way I had hoped, so everything is going to need to remain on hold for a while. This is bad, but not terrible. I just need to consider my options and hopefully come up with a different direction in order to be comfortable during my alone time. As I mentioned before, a similar circumstance arrived in my tired head some years ago, shortly thereafter turning to complete shit. I believe the current state of my mind will head in the same direction very soon, meaning I must carefully weigh the consequences prior to moving forward with the ill-begotten idea. Julia didn’t like it, either. Perhaps she was right. Damn. In the beginning, I had high hopes. Now? They’ve been reduced by half, at best. I should have learned through experience that some aspects of living from one day to the next can’t be improved regardless of my hopes or intentions. I just have to fucking lump it all and I hate such a fact, so accepting the idea of no avenues could actually help me. The toughest part will be finding new and different distractions with even more ability to lift me than those I’ve discovered and embraced in the past. I don’t even know if I am capable of such things anymore, but in the interest of continuing to live, I have to try. The railroad project is one, however. That layout has kept me going for weeks. Thanks to the past and my experience attempting to find happiness through new – if ill-conceived – paths, the process of lifting myself from the earlier din has become doctrine of late. Time will be the deciding factor regarding this shit. I have to move forward. Responsibilities and such. I need to change the title of this entry.

Yesterday began very badly, turned even further south, and then recovered somewhat as I traveled into and through the afternoon. I suppose I should be thankful for the railroad layout because that was the second time it saved me from myself. I say it that way because of the past and what it has done to me. Others are mostly to blame – very long ago as you likely already realize – yet I am the one living in this house and making my own choices as to what to do on a given day. Anything terrible would be only partly my fault, yet no one would agree with me. Something from an article this morning came to mind and helped me see that my wording is often lacking in some very important ways. ‘If you picked up a tool at the hardware store and asked, “What’s the purpose of this?” you’d get your answer and get on with your day. But if you were to ask that of a person... “What’s YOUR purpose?” Well... That feels awfully intimate, even rude. But a new play on Broadway suggests that’s something you need to ask yourself, especially if you are carrying the weight of a family history you didn’t choose but cannot escape.’ Very interesting, mostly the part which says ‘cannot escape’. I know it well. Past events and circumstances have all but completely driven me to remain on a straight line between the converging representations of the same, meaning no matter what lifts me for a while, history is always right there like a shadow bent upon my destruction. Again, the little train and all of the work involved does assist my head in relaxing and partially letting go of pitfalls, such as what happened yesterday. Today is Tuesday and the first day of April. I took the drive earlier and then stopped at a bakery on the west side of the City before returning home. Thankfully, that tall Russian goddess was not behind the counter this time. After exiting the car, I said hello to a pair of homeless guys that were relaxing in an entry next to the bakery. They responded in kind, so after picking up what we needed at the bakery, I grabbed two extra pierogi to give to them. That was one of those little gestures which helps make me feel good about myself for a few minutes... Just a simple greeting, I handed them the food, and told them to take care and stay warm. That’s all. Just a few seconds, two smiles, and back to the car. Yes, I spent ten dollars on the food, but who cares? I can drink the same amount of money in a very short period of time, so I don’t see it as reckless. I am nearly ‘want for nothing’ in this house and helping others once in a while is, to me, the right thing to do. The little exchange goes a long way to helping me put tomorrow aside so I can move forward today. I don’t believe the sheer size of the lesson from yesterday can be overstated. The circumstances which converged around my brain was unbelievable and I will not soon forget it. Doing something nice for another person must also be a beginning of sorts. Whatever else takes place later, I must keep the trial which occurred yesterday in mind so my head remains out of the din today, and hopefully the days to come. I don’t need any more shit in my brain right now.

The middle of the week is here; Wednesday, mid-morning. The laundry is nearly finished, as is the typical daily routine. Those items being out of the way means cocktail hour has arrived. Not bad, eh? I need to clear the garage of all the clothing so my car can be parked inside. The drive Sunday morning revealed a problem with a cover which is bolted to the frame beneath the engine. I heard ‘flapping’ as we cruised south on 280, so I pulled into the college parking lot off Ocean Avenue to take a look. Apparently, and possibly when the car was serviced recently, the technician either left one of the four bolts out, or perhaps loose. I had to limp home at the old speed limit in order to arrive without any damage. I’ll have to raise the front of the car a bit and investigate. I may opt to remove the cover if there is something wrong with either the fastener or its threaded hole. I believe the cover helps to smooth airflow beneath the engine area for the purpose of easing the drag coefficient of the vehicle. If so, the only issue with pulling it off completely would be a notch off the gas mileage, something I care little about. I recall when I was browsing a row of used cars at the dealership when my partner suggested I choose one of the hybrid models because they enjoy better mileage. Nope. I spied the one ‘titanium’ trim level with dual exhaust and then peeked inside to see a plethora of technology thanks to the car having been built at the highest trim level. Yay! Without even starting the engine, I informed the salesman that I’d buy it. Heh. He said I needed to test drive the thing just in case there was a problem. Also, the dealership needs to know that there are no severe mechanical or electrical problems prior to letting it go for reasons of liability. I understood that, took the car around the block once, and then proceeded to purchase it. Dual exhaust? Oh, hell yes. A turbocharger? Hell yes. All that fancy-schmancy tech? Hell fucking yes. I didn’t give a hoot about mileage or efficiency at the time, and care even less all these years later. I needed power, comfort, and a streamlined look, period. My next car will be a maintenance nightmare, yet at the same time it will also be fantastic. The three key points which must be present are two doors/seats, at least 400 horsepower, and a six-speed manual transmission. Does that sound like the Slipper? It should, because that’s the target vehicle, cost and fuel efficiency be damned. Anyway, once the laundry is out of the garage, I’ll take a look at the undercarriage problem and see what I can do. The other car has been losing air in two tires almost daily. I’ve been topping off the air with my little pump each morning, but the underlying problem needs to be addressed by a tire shop. That means my partner will need to use my car for work while hers is being serviced. Bottom line, I need that fucking cover either secured in place or removed completely. Thankfully, I have hours ahead to take care of it. I will report back my findings just in case any fucking aspect of this shit is remotely interesting.

Thursday is here, and what does this mean? Will today be any different from yesterday? Of course it will, although whether or not it does differ will be entirely up to me, the past be damned. I still need to take care of my responsibilities. I am still haunted by the decision I made a couple of weeks ago. The idea was ill-found from the beginning, and I have to say I am disappointed in myself for going through with it. I can only hope the damage will fade with time. I should take care of the daily crap right now and get it out of the way. The morning has been down thus far. Perhaps I can improve this day through housework and other activities. I can only hope.

Later. Now that the usual housework is finished, I have whiskey and vampires to keep me company for a little while. Wait... Vampires again? Yep... I am saving the fifth series for whenever I cook or work on the railroad layout. The vampires don’t really bother me anymore due to having plowed through the entire series several times in recent years. It’s background noise until something stirring takes place. The truth of the matter is that I am so fucked up inside that I don’t know what to do anymore, and that sad fact includes selections for video media to run either here in the office or on the big system in the living room. Nothing really blows up my skirt anymore. The five series’ through which I’ve been rotating for the past several years still help to hold me up – mostly the third because I fucking love those people and desperately need to live in their universe; their time – and I depend upon them much more than I should at this point in life. The truth of the matter is I am more afraid of change now than I was many years ago, and believe me that is saying something. Just driving away from home often causes much anxiety. Being home is important for my daily comfort, yet also a reminder of all that I’ve avoided. As for today, once I tire of sitting here at the keyboard, I’ll ponder the railroad and see what else can be worked out.



05


The other night while watching my current evening series I noticed the huge eyes on one of the actors. HUGE, dark and fucking gorgeous. They draw me into whatever she may be saying and contribute to the emotional nature of her character’s arc. She is incredible to look at, and I am only referring to her face. I just added a fifth image to this entry that shows off similarities between her and Jamie. The traits are difficult to see in a static image, but believe me when I say some of her facial expressions and mannerisms match Jamie’s character to a fucking tee and it drives me crazy... I need her to hold me so badly that sometimes I can’t follow the story or consider the lack of that type of fulfillment in my life in clear terms. This is very bad for me, yet I will not stop watching in the hopes of seeing those expressions and similarities again. My heart comes very close to leaping out of my chest each and every time her face is on the screen. The image can’t begin to do her justice, but perhaps you can see the draw. She is Canadian by birth and her parents are both from India. Years ago I should have considered my search for women with big, dark eyes, high cheekbones and long, dark hair in different terms. I should have focused upon India. There have been too many examples of dark beauty in film and on television for there to be any fucking doubt whatsoever. The resemblance between the woman pictured here and Jamie’s character are too many to list and each one of them drives me fucking insane. I have been in love with Jamie’s character for several years. You may already be aware of that through all of the gushing. Will I end up with feelings for this new character? Who is to know? I am severely heeled over in life and so distorted with regard to feelings of love and desire that anything is possible, mostly that which has the power to end me once and for all.

Just look at her eyes, for fuck’s sake.

Friday has replaced Thursday, and so far the morning is peaceful. Two items are dominating my thinking right now. One is relocating the computer tower and rewiring, and the other is to fabricate a control panel for all of the turnouts on the model railroad. Switches have been ordered and I printed a map as a guide for getting started on that facet of the project. The other facet for which I’ve already made a plan is to build the legs and struts. The casters will be mounted beneath each corner, and then I can roll the entire layout away from the dining table (finally). It will reside behind the sofa, possibly permanently. Well, I will need to roll it out a bit to work on everything, but that’s no big deal. The main point is for it to remain between the living and dining rooms. The small cabinet which has lived behind the sofa will be going away. Lots of organization and construction are on tap for me. Not bad.

What the hell IS this shit?

The day is now Saturday, just in case that means something of which I am unaware. Most days are exactly the same in this house. Yesterday I took the initiative and cut a ton of wood for the railroad layout. Four legs, four caster platforms and eight struts in total. I also cut and installed the shelf for my new speaker in the garage. The right channel is in the same location as the old cabinet, but the left side had to be relocated for two reasons. First, the old shelf was not level for whatever reason and looked terrible, and two, I decided to shift the left channel to above the back door. It fits better in that location and frees up space on top of my laundry cabinet. The new speakers are much smaller than my old pair and look better. The 57-year old solid walnut cabinets can now be wrapped and stored in the shed until such time as I have them completely refinished. Once that’s complete, they will match the living room furniture and live in the house for good. I have no idea of when I’ll get around to having the work done, though. Aside from woodwork, I ordered a new electric range for the kitchen that will be delivered and installed next Tuesday, ‘God willin’ and the river don’t rise’. That phrase should be spoken in a John Wayne voice, by the way. They will be picking up the old unit at no cost, too. Nice. My routine is out of the way and it’s cocktail hour. Not bad. At some point I may visit the hardware store – now that my car is back; they repaired and delivered it yesterday at no charge – because I’ll need a plethora of wood screws to assemble the legs for the layout. I am pleased with all of the miter cuts and dimensions, as well. Once everything is assembled, the entire layout should be very stable, especially with 4-inch ball bearing casters beneath the legs. The ability to move the layout will be ideal, and I’d like to get it off the fucking dining table to recapture some space. Right now I really don’t feel like going anywhere, however. I’d prefer to remain home, although a trip to the hardware store would not take more than half an hour total. Maybe I’ll head over there when this fat glass of whiskey is fully consumed. I could pick up more bird seed, too. The feeders have been empty for days. Ugh. I can’t get that woman’s fucking ENORMOUS eyes out of my head this morning. Working on the railroad layout might be the only way to extricate her beauty from my brain. Knowing my track record for shopping lately, I’ll probably see some errant fucking goddess over there and end up mentally folded in half again. Laugh it up. I am fucked.

Another day has disappeared forever. Gone, just like most of my ambitions. Sunday means the morning drive to the City, and since Passover is approaching, we stopped at the nice market in the Sunset to pick up some staples for the holiday week. Kosher is one thing, and ‘Kosher for Passover’ can be entirely different, meaning we need to be prepared prior to the beginning of the holiday, which is next Saturday evening. Now that everything is squared away for the early part of the morning, I can move along like most days and take care of business. Yesterday I built two of four legs for the railroad layout. I can get the other pair together later today and then straighten the garage again. I am looking forward to all four legs and all eight struts being mounted and solid in order to move the layout whenever necessary. My neighbor came by for a while as well, and I charged up the buggy to have some fun. And? Yep... The steering components are bent again. The street is just not a large enough area to run a car of that scale, so he and I both ended up slamming the front end into the curbs. Oy. Moreover, we spun some donuts on the lawns and now the entire vehicle is covered in grass, weeds and dirt. Well, that’s why I bought the thing. He apologized for the car being so filthy, but I informed him of the same point... The machine is made to be thrashed around like that and I don’t mind repairing or cleaning when necessary. We had a blast for a little while, and the results are more than worthwhile. I have all the time in the world to disassemble and clean the buggy before it’s run again. One of these days I am going to find a large dirt area so there are no limits when operating the car at speed. Not now, but soon. I’ll be taking care of the usual garbage business in a little while. Visiting the market posed no issues whatsoever and only delayed the drive home by less than half an hour. That’s good. I need to be home as often as possible these days. My daily comfort must always come first.

That same program was on yesterday for a few hours; the one with the huge-eyed dark beauty over whom I’ve been gushing recently. Damn, she is something to see. I kept connecting her to Jamie’s character and daydreaming about arms around me, just like when I watch the gangsters. That type of beauty is really stirring and grips me to the core almost every time I see it. The series in question has four seasons, and I am currently in the middle of the third. Once it is over, I will probably dream about her on fewer occasions and that is a good thing for someone as weak and desperate as myself.

'Oh, I am certain the comfort and joy will wear off soon and give way to the dark side, but until then I am going to roll with it. The dark side cannot be removed and the fun knoweth. The writer knoweth. We ALL knoweth (especially after years of drunken and suicidal blogs). Thy end be known, young boy who reeks of old man. Old, tired, beaten man with those bags so heavy. Bags filled with shit and sludge and detritus from decades past. Bags with locks so tight that no one should unlock them. Bags, forever.

Just bags.

Until the bags are illuminated and the fun is shot to death, the evening is nice.'

Tiny person; keyboard. The gray has taken over once again, but not like it did during the mid-aughts. This is very different and involves only me. All those years ago I had a confidante of sorts, whereas now I am alone. That level of wonder is not likely to return, ever, so I have to find other paths and methods. I can’t control the gray. ‘The daggers went in deep; vile and sickening.’ Indeed... They have cut me to ribbons and the good feelings of the past have escaped, most likely for all time. I cannot merge with the gray regardless of my cries of lamentation.

Gray replaced blue. Black will replace gray."



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