February 6th, 2021 7:15am pst

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Amok Everlasting

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"Just... Wow.

2-5.

Sometimes I just can't believe how fucked everything really is. All of my gushing over the glow has come to a bit of a head between last night and tonight. Unbelievable. I do not think anything in the current period can compare to that time. I really don't. The very idea that I continue to reach back there daily is a good indication that the present is a pile of shit, and while some of this is my own doing, much is not. Those past events which crippled me and provided decades of difficulty are also in there. The glow is becoming brighter, to put it simply and clearly. Even right now relaxing on the loveseat with my drink, new Bluetooth keyboard and the phone to my right, I feel that pull... Those days sitting isolated in the house with her next to me and the show on. And it was new at that time. New. Right now? One of the other shows is on -- a good one -- and the feeling is almost completely different. Yes, I have my drink next to me and my feet up in the warmth of the house, but the processes within me have gone awry due to the massive gradient between then and now. Some of it can be chalked up to age, of course, but the meat of the shit is actually the disappearance of promise, possibility, and the likelihood that everything has been discovered and is finished. Not a good thought at all, especially considering my other issues which do not let up, even for a second. Another stab in the heart is the fact that we discovered the stories as they unfolded, as opposed to now and the feeling that those people keep me company during the days when I feel otherwise alone. They never make fun, change for the worse, or would ever ridicule me for living this way. They are my family. Soon I will illustrate the extent to which my head has traveled into those places.

This is all so very bad. I plan to spend a good portion of tomorrow (hopefully alone) trying to reason out exactly when the line became so blurred. And? Those things which used to cause wonder and then vanished for all time. I am going to attempt to avoid the shopping trips and those stores that held the new and exciting. Going into that again is going to make me cry.

The lights are white again, the tree and all associated decorations have been put away, and the room now feels very stale, as if the life of this space has been sucked out and replaced by generically-fashioned materials. The decor is barely blah, to say the least.

I need... Something.

Life sucked out of life.

What to do now? After realizing the value of that period, I do not see a way to deal with the future or going forward even months from now. Nothing will be surprising or otherwise exciting. Our trips to the high country came to an end, we cashed in all of the valuable points knowing we could not venture back anytime soon, and anything in such a direction is now so fucking truncated that the very idea makes me angry. Too much has changed, like the rest of life. Just too fucking much. Sad. Everything is sad now. The little things like evening cocktails and the occasional pizza are going to be on overload now. And they are just that... LITTLE enjoyments. Very small and insignificant when held against the wonder and beautiful outlook of the glow. Years thrown into the incinerator of time.

Time. The seemingly unending progression of events beyond human control. Bad. All bad.

The morning preparations are now out of the way, leaving me to my devices for the duration. I have things to do today in the interest of furthering my isolation and simplifying my footprint while here. For two hours I have been trying to recall an early dream, too. Only little bits remain and I cannot make sense of them. Something regarding being out in the world without a mask (second time I've dreamed in such a direction), and then shopping, but that's all I have at present. I wish I could remember more.

Anyway, today is all mine now. The show is on, coffee is still left, and I am here to do my daily business before the evening relaxation. How much of it is anyone's guess. The motivation to break out a massive oar and stir up shit is pressing me today. I don't often feel like shaking the status quo, but right now it sounds really good. Satisfying, somehow. Hmm.

We are going back eighteen months to the young, tanned and nearly-nude artwork at the pool. Yes, her again. Fucking live with it. I can still see images of her lying there with knees up and feet apart. Such a position lends to hiding much of the swimsuit material and provides a wonderful symmetry for the eyes. In the last entry, there was a crop of the model displaying a similar image. The heroin at the pool was the clincher, though, because she was right there before my eyes. I brought her up here today due to the idea that the pose of the model and the pool girl have pretty much slammed me with the fact that such a specific pose is the most desirable and revealing from the standpoint of radii. Much of the time when a model is standing and facing away from the camera's eye, her rear is exaggerated and unnatural due to being pushed as her back is arched slightly. That type of image likely appeals to the modern appreciation for the rear being larger than what has been displayed here for years. Out of proportion, if you will. Well, the girl at the pool was ideally suited (no pun intended) for the research which took over my life years ago. She is still prominent in my head, although I have to admit that her face is now a mystery. Too much time has burned away, like the statement up this page a ways. Burned, ash, gone. I can imagine her curviness, however. Somewhat, anyway. The face is the most critical part of a person insofar as attractiveness, and hers is most decidedly gone forever.



957

Older and it doesn't matter


I believe the delayed reaction to losing my mind over that girl is causing more harm than good now. Remember, though... Not her fault. Mine. She is fortunate. None of 'me' in her life. Out there living -- somewhere -- and I honestly hope she is happy. Delayed reaction, indeed. I still want to shove her into my mouth. Ugh. Sometimes I wish I had actually shot images of her. Damn it all, anyway. There were two reactions, really. The first was last spring when I realized the desire took over my head after nearly a year had passed since being there, and now the other is dreaming of her in the most amazing position imaginable. My brain went into her swimsuit yet again. All the way. Now I am crazy over it. Thank the fucking maker she is gone forever.

Fucking switch... Please.

Peace and quiet right now, yet my head is a violent storm. Some days at home are difficult because I don't know what to do, while others have me driven to advance everything. Today feels as the latter. Good for my mind and good for the house. Not necessarily angry, just unhinged somewhat. And that -- combined with the thongs and appearance of those forms -- drives me insane.

I have to get that fucking girl out of my head this morning. I said switch and did not. Now I must.

Yesterday I solidified the washer drain and picked up a couple of fittings to ensure it's in good shape for the possible long haul. I have yet to hear back from the city regarding the lateral, so the laundry must continue as it has since last week. No more problems with the line means the issue could be gone. I do not wish to flood the thing, though. If we can move along like this for weeks, two good aspects are apparent. One is the lowered water bill and the other is allowing the city time for consideration with regard to the rebate. Both are important. Time will tell. Yep... Again with the 'time'.

Back in time.

That blonde beauty donned a mint green set of lingerie -- the bottom being an incredible three-quarter cut which we do not see much of anymore -- and came at me like a tiger about to pounce upon dinner. I could not believe the sight of her breasts pushing up and out of the cups right in front of my face. She often indulged me because she knew I loved the appearance of fairly exotic underthings, and went as far as a body stocking when we were visiting Nevada some time later. The sweetness in her eyes and bright expression at my excitement over her beauty really whipped me into a froth. Right in the middle of the fucking glow. I certainly hope I made her happy during that period. I really tried.

And I ruined the whole thing just a few short years later. I fucked it up beyond repair, packed my shit and moved into town to be close to work. She remained in her dad's house while I rented a room from a gentleman just a few miles away. A few weeks of that and I returned to the house, grabbed a few more belongings and drove back to California. The amazing feeling of the period in the Midwest remained in my head for some months before everything spun halfway from where it had been. The special feeling drifted away, along with wasted time and futile effort. I learned sometime later that she married and settled not far from where we lived together. That is the only good thing to come out of the entire situation. Free of me, she was open to have children and did just that. My inability to reproduce was something we discussed often. In the end, she went where she needed and I ended up bouncing both physically and mentally for many years, culminating in what you see here. This is not good. Something reminded me of her sweet nature and I will stop now.

Ugh some of these mornings are not fun. I can't fucking stand the feelings, dreams, and everything rolled up to push me into a hole. So tired of it that I nearly cannot find the words anymore. No one understands. I tried to go into this on many an occasion, but alas I am not heard. And then I go in a direction I will not describe due to the futility. The machine is the only way.

Lunch out of the way and I am back at square one with regard to daily activities. That feeling while standing behind the sofa and wondering how to proceed nearly had me hitting the hooch far too early. I almost did not make it out of there. So many things to do yet I cannot find enough motivation to walk across the room at times. I either end up sitting still and heading further downward, or pop into the editor to supply a slew of words about which no one is ever going to give a shit. Well, a little of both, too. This happens all too often. Lost my way, lost the drive, losing my fucking mind. Crazy. Amok, but not all the way yet.

I look up the page and cannot believe I went into the fucking girl at the pool again. What am I?

Switch again.



958

Mercedes, still in my heart


'The two' is far worse than I had thought months ago. Even the entry bearing that title did not scratch the surface. I cannot go through a single day lately in which there is not some damning trouble due to that fucking issue. I do not know what the future may hold for me, although I do realize that this is not going to get any better or easier regardless of how I interact. Each occasion holds something difficult and slowly diminishes my ability to cope with being near other people. So far this week the exposure has been minimal, yet still I am deep in a hole at this moment. A combination of the past, words more recently, and the direction of society with regard to the sexes and how they are viewed by each opposite have shaped me into a ball of worry and discomfort. I am constantly threatened these days, no matter the source. Something simple or more complex matters not. I am still at the mercy of everything.

There is no conclusion. I just keep living from one day to the next in hope that a situation will arise to either send me away for good or offer some help. Either is fine, really, and at times I do actually hope. I really do. Hope. A word not generally seen here unless postured toward the negative. The only fucking saving throw has been my alone time. The worry still permeates my days, however while home alone I need not be concerned with a person next to me, also meaning the facade can drop. The world is more comfortable without it. Unfortunately, I cannot always do that. It must remain in place for the long haul just in case I am indeed near people. For the time being, vigilance is the key.

This day has moved along well despite all of my underlying and endless issues. The routine is complete, I have some things to attend which are much more enjoyable, and there is a possibility of watching another half movie this afternoon. I would prefer the whole thing at once, but four hours in a row are difficult to plan. I also have the washer drain worked out which will make laundry more straightforward. I have no idea of how long I need to keep that setup in place. So far, our lateral has not been troubling for many days. This is excellent and inspiring. At least there are still small positives.

The game on Sunday is already pressing on my head. The last pair of games two weeks ago was a trial, to say the least. I see everything, interpret what I can, and then remember for days and days. The good stuff often flies away while the bad remains inside to haunt me and cause the two to flare. I see nothing different taking place this coming weekend. And this is not all me, either. Other forces have taken their toll throughout many years and left me unable to cope. Period. The only thing I can do these days is hope that the issue will flare only slightly and try to look toward the little daily things which still make me smile.

I have the second-oldest show on, and within the canon are references to the past and imagery which causes me to fall down. I can't help it, though. Not anymore. I have to have something there which provides comfort. Come to think of it, a situation arose in my head earlier this week (possibly even earlier than that but I can't recall) which stabbed me in the heart. There were clues... And as I said before, I have a pretty good fucking idea of what is going on there. I can't fucking say it, though. But I know, and it makes me very uncomfortable. Words float, fly and fall all over the place, some of which were never spoken. My imagination is one thing, but I must say intuition is another problem entirely. The situation in question took place due to this show.

I have a pretty good Goddamned idea of what is going on in there but I will avail myself to the situation anyway. Making nice and enjoying what I can is very important, lest I end up under a fucking bridge.



959

Linda, too


Grace has not been here in a while. I had to shelve that girl for the time being due to the overwhelming sense that I was doing something wrong in gazing at her beauty. She is young, but not that young, thank Christ. I just turned my head in another direction for a while. I may come back to her, as well. Too much there as related to the obsession. Others have drifted onto the pages but nothing serious. The fish fry continues. Amok?

The movie afternoon may not happen. Not enough time.

Considering this has been a day of difficulty right from the start, I am feeling pretty damned good for completing business and keeping my head clear. Most of the time I do not unless busy with important work or anything pressing, like the clock. Today has been wide open for the most part, meaning my own will and strength have kept my brain out of the wrong places. This is very good and will hopefully lead to more of the same. Those times when I cannot find direction or don't feel like accomplishing much are the worst. Nothing is easy anymore. Not even free time.

This entry is all over the map. Again. How many have begun with a subject and then wandered to and fro for the duration? I can't keep my line of thinking straight anymore. Perhaps it doesn't matter. I guess the important avenue is simply placing thoughts here in the first place, no matter the order. I don't fucking know.

I am a crazy person. Stop.

2-6.

And the morning arrives without fanfare, like always. Every single day for the last 326 days has found me up in the morning to turn on the coffee pot, grab my favorite mug, feed the cats, boot this machine and the television, and then line up here for a little while and explore whatever happens to be floating in my head. The same thing over and over. 326 days. Well, subtract four due to driving to the high country during November. Anyway, the point is nothing has changed. I am exactly the same as all those months ago. Going on again about the thong girl, whoever happens to be on the television screen at a given moment, or some form gliding across the parking lot down south when I was driving each day seem to have driven a good portion of this content since last spring. The issues? Shit, I don't know anymore. Maybe too much of this.

No aspect of this routine -- be it daily, weekly or otherwise -- is going to change anytime soon. I do have a couple of oars in the water at this moment, but the likelihood is nil right now. Aside from those possibilities, this crap is going to remain the same for a while. Part of me still needs it, too. I will try to avoid going on about being here all the time. Sometimes I just feel it during the early morning when all is quiet.

Another dream earlier, but thank God not too fucking early. Often if I am awake prior to four, the chances of my falling asleep again are slim. This morning was not too bad. The dream was bad, however. Similar to the other I recently mentioned with tons of discomfort. Sitting here right now three hours later I can still sense the feelings. Very bad. I would prefer to go back to the mansion dreams. At least they held fascination and not just fear. Wow, Madonna was so young in this film. Sean, too. Too bad it's a pile of shit. Heh.

Today we are going to watch the third and final installment of the trilogy which began days ago. Three days back we viewed the entire second film comprising of four hours. Seeing the story play out all at once like that creates an atmosphere I will never be able to describe, but suffice to say we were transported out of this living room and into another world for a time. That will likely take place again today. Maybe some snacks along the way, too.

Sunday's game concern seems a touch minimized after a visit yesterday afternoon. I had mentioned recently of an older film in which the camera shot right between Ashley's feet and followed her to her knees as she arose from the deck of a boat and onto all fours, eventually standing. Well, that film is one I have never seen all the way through in one sitting. I was not interested, and fifteen years ago when it premiered I was not thinking of forms the way I do now. Another tidbit is I was not as worried about the other side of the fence in the matter. I just didn't care. At present, I do. We sat here as I tried to describe the gorgeous visuals and locations and decided to turn on the film for a bit since it was right there. And then the wonder... I don't know the cost of production, yet the cinematography leads me to believe it was a lot. Anyway, I've seen that shit on and off for a decade and a half, meaning none of it is new to me. I knew Jessica was younger and barely clothed through much of the story, Ashley was going to be strolling all over the place and gyrating underwater in her tall glory, and after so much time has passed since first seeing the thing, I feel nothing anymore. Yes, they look amazing, but for some reason none of it matters now. I just don't care. I can see anything, anytime on my big television.



960

Look at her fucking cheeks


The visuals of Jessica and Ashley were not the problem. I was. And now the concern has amplified. Thank Christ the film later is a fantasy. Well, the afternoon burned away like everything else in the world, so I don't even know why I brought it up. I suppose the entry regarding the two is still pretty damned fresh. But I can't talk about it.

Unclear, to the last.

Today is new and wide open. I am going to hook up the newly-improved washer drain and get some things done around the house, most notably finally listing two items for auction. I still haven't fucking done that. Also, I may have to venture to the hardware so I can rebuild the damned kitchen trap. I inadvertently glued the disposal arm into the trap adapter, meaning all this time since doing the bathroom remodel it's been hanging by a thread. Well, after using a bucket for draining and then trying to hook it up again, I cannot get things lined up properly now. Rebuild time. I also need to move a few more things around in the new office before I begin to let it get out of control again. And then the film. And then the evening. Hmm. Sounds like every other fucking day.

I'm going to lose my shit over the discussion of desire. Lose. It.

I know I am unfair and very one-sided, but that ship sailed way the fuck back in fifteen when I was told a few things by someone wise and special. The hour is too late for me to go back in the other direction, too. There will be none of that. This is the way I am and will remain for the next 328 days. Unfair, pretty damned selfish, and all those other negatives other people wish to pile on top and I don't give half a blue fuck in the wind. I really don't. This is it. There are no plans in place for me to lighten the importance of what I want and need, and others are going to have to live with the decision. No changing. Not now. I have to keep going on the path laid out by my past and the manner in which I developed as a result.

So sick of everything. And there is no end to it, either. That basement I mentioned some time ago is getting closer to my craziness. I'll be in there soon with photos and a television. Notepad? Maybe. I don't know. But it's coming because I'm losing it. Crazy. There is no improvement even if there is an exit.

328.

She is out there."



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