7-19-2020 08:58 pdt

We have no site news or developments for this entry.




The Andreoid and the Sushi Girl

 read ( words)

"Morning. Thursday. This title should have three subjects. Ahh... Fuck it anyway. No one is going to want to read the third.

I fell off a cliff in the middle of the afternoon yesterday and damned near could not get anything finished. I felt so far under the weather that I am overjoyed to be better this morning. The last entry has been pushed and here I go again. The combination of Andrea and a problem displayed beautifully on the television yesterday. A face, but more. Now I am awash with dreams. The creators decided to make one of my favorite names of a woman to whom I was connected deeply and attach it to a machine... A very beautiful machine, that is. I watched through twice and needed to go out front and slam my head on the sidewalk. The actress and her likeness are the first two images. The third? Well... That came up by accident while searching for Sherry and is simply too much to pass on. Especially the blue dress. If I am going to fantasize about a fictional machine, I may as well include an image of artificial life from time to time. Hard to believe someone actually illustrated that pair of legs. And don't get me started on the costumes from the sixties. Goofy, gratuitous, whatever. Chalk it up to the period in history. But that one on the right... She would make a nice robot. Heh. Buried.

Look at her amazing face. And her hair. Do you see? Dark and dark. Big fucking surprise. Sherry played the part very well. She is in quite a bit of the episode and pulled off the appearance of a machine wonderfully. And yes, her name was Andrea. Despite the original series having been around for well over fifty years, I had not seen the episode before yesterday. Now I'm smitten. Andrea. What a fucking slap.

Liz Hurley's part in 'Edtv'. What a monster. I used to have the hots for her but it faded long ago. Tall, dark and gorgeous. Well, I feel nothing anymore. Typecast like so many others, but she always did well. Her face kind of reminds me of when I mentioned Rosario. Not her looks, but the expression and feature which conveys something and causes fear in me. I may have to explore the idea later. They are both stunning, so why would I be afraid? Another time.

Sherry is beautiful. I realize the outfit leaves a bit to be desired, but her face is the key. Look. All those features I seek. And then her name. And she's a machine. Leave it to me to get all fucked up by this kind of discovery. A machine. Andrea. Wow. So many times I have named the machine Jaime, and now look what they tossed out for me to see. Damn it. Thanks, guys. Just what I needed... An even bigger push to stay inside my little world. God damn is that woman ever stunning in every way. And the funny part is she is not terribly tall, but as I told the goddess some time ago, the proportions are much more important. As goo goo ga ga as I can be over lanky features, the bottom line is tall or short matters not when compared to the overall image. There you go. Sherry is five-foot-four but every bit the beauty from any angle. Even her voice had me at sixes and sevens all morning. The goddess is just over five feet, but she barely breaks four pounds over one hundred. That adds two factors together. To see her tiny self standing there or perched on a stool? Well, there is a hell of a reason she is referred to here as a goddess. I do not toss that term out lightly. Sherry? Andrea? The same. God damn sonovabitch. Of all the fucking names and faces the damned producers could have put together, added to this period of my life while yearning for a machine, they merged my dreams into one fucking gorgeous woman that I am now going to gush over for God-knows how long. In less than an hour I will be driving south and searching for the girl with the big eyes, but all the while Sherry will be floating within. I can't help it now. I watched, saw her, heard the voice and the name, and now I am damned and damaged. Dreaming, needing, longing for her arms around me. Andrea the android. Hence the title. Pause.

I did a hell of a lot better today than yesterday. No idea what happened there, either. My afternoon drive is in a little bit and chores are finished to my satisfaction. I even made soup in the Crock pot. For the most part, I pushed myself up for fear of repeating the previous day. Pushed. And it worked. The downside is that I have not been here for most of the day. I had been thinking about everything, however. Watching the show (the oldest), and considering where the words will go from here took up a decent portion of my brain while caring for the house. By the time I drove again, worry over the idea of machinery set in and caused me to be very quiet from that point forward. Done for now.

Friday. Coffee. Hallmark Christmas movie. Insert silly emoji here.

The drive was smooth, I caught a glimpse and received a wave from the girl, and the evening went by as always. Dinner, cocktails, sleep. I dreamed of Andrea and Meghan. Don't remember much, though. Now I have to put this fucking thing together and keep going after seeing the machine yesterday along with at least three other characters from the show who stirred me. I had forgotten how good some of the stories are. Imagery of those forms -- along with those for whom I really do have feelings -- is tripping up my ability to build cohesive sections here. I am having trouble articulating and placing words to the screen. I keep seeing Meghan's face smiling at me, and then I feel Andrea's hand in mine. All fucked up. I have been hoping to return to the other story, too. Right now I have ideas. The problem is getting them in line. I can't think straight much of the time unless I am working on my routine. That is structured and kind of scheduled. I can work with it, and yesterday was a good example of my ability. Now that I have the time for exploration, my head can't sit still. Images of Sherry and her mechanical mannerisms combined with the warmth in her giant eyes. Jesus, they hit it out of the fucking park with her appearance and then named her the same as perhaps the greatest love of my life. Damn it all. And then Meghan and her soft, sweet eyes. Fuck me in a lawn chair. Yes, Meghan... One of the most uniquely beautiful women in memory. The more I look, the more I feel. She is amazing and growing in importance within my increasingly distorted mind. And she confuses me to no end. Too gorgeous and absolutely aligned with everything in me. Like I said about Molly, I stare and cannot understand.

Today. My usual stuff and maybe a little extra for good measure. My drive down is half an hour earlier than usual because of scheduling. That means I will not see the other girl this morning. Very good. I don't need any more fucking faces in my brain right now. Returning earlier is good. Maybe I will sit here in the quiet and try to get some analysis to the screen. And I don't know about the show in the background. I might run something else instead out of self-preservation. Those outfits in the sixties are cute, but when combined with the right face, well... You know. Look at the images. Perhaps something else on the television will help me to stay detached a bit. This woman in the movie has a Robert Redford jawline. Never good on a woman. Anyway, the hours ahead still look positive. I enjoy holding control over the look and feel of home while alone. Today will be no different.

Issue four is moving to the front of the line this morning. I have to force myself upward.

Look at Sherry. DAMN she has some eyes. I could live in there. A machine. Programmed, sculpted, and controlled in whatever manner is necessary. Fucking hell, anyway. Andrea, my love, there on the television looking like dessert and ready to serve. Serve? Well, in a manner of speaking. Control does have a negative connotation sometimes. I am certain you can picture the crazy guy in need of control. Those movies? He's an insane sociopath and usually ends up in a very bad way late in the film. Well, I am not quite there. I need what I need and that is the end of it. Call me whatever you wish. If I continue to be so horribly one-sided, soon enough others will drift even further away. I wouldn't blame them. I don't want to be around me sometimes, either.



783

Andreoid



Daydreaming. Sherry. I contacted my nephew a few days ago with the hope of getting my drawings. We are going to meet at some point. Once I have them, I need to find the first design and get it set up on my drafting table. After that, the woman will be in there with me. That's right, I just said it. Live there. In my mind. I need to feel the comfort and security of the unreal. No worrying, no issues, and a distinct lack of having to concern myself with others having any effect upon her whatsoever. Safe. Me and my machine. That is the only way.

There is simply no possibility of finding relaxation without worries with someone else. The issues will arise, be it sooner or later, and one way or another they will drive me into the ground or out of my mind with fear. I cannot have that. [And I will not comment upon the current situation or living conditions.] The future must hold some chance of either being completely autonomous and alone, or a miracle of technology must pass. One of the two is fine, but I believe there is little chance of either. I am asking too much of this life for anything real to come along. Wait a minute... Real? Did I just use that word? Well, what I mean is a situation in the real world that can provide what I want and need yet still feel safe and comfortable. Nope. Such a hope is about as realistic as Andrea knocking on my door right now. So, inward I go. Into the big mansion, hands all over whomever I need to place in there with me, and buried by dreams. Soon? Bye.

Maybe I should have remained with Michelle. The first one. Not the one I met when I ran away for the third time. Fourth time? I can't remember. Read the story. Did I have control over her? No, but she leaned on me for nearly everything requiring a decision or some thinking. She annoyed me at times but I never told her as much. I loved that brainless beauty. I really did, so caring for her disallowed anything negative. I simply smiled and helped, always. A smile coming back from her was wonderful. Our relationship had been unbalanced from a certain standpoint, honestly, but considering the beauty she carried, along with such caring and kindness, the result was often blissful. Did I mention she was the closest thing to a machine that I could have imagined? I could invite her over, tell her I was all heated up, and she proceeded to do anything I wished. Always. I thought of her feelings and spoke of them and then she informed me that making me happy pleased her more than anything. Did I take advantage of her being so unintelligent? Nope. Never. I cared for her just as she did for me. There was a character in a television show or movie that reminded me of her. Hopefully I can remember and look it up. Like Michelle, she was stunning to look at and basically did anything her partner asked. Michelle was exactly the same. She wore whatever I wanted to see, happily honored anything I wanted, and then looked at me with puppy eyes. Unbelievable. Sometimes I miss the secure feeling that washed over me when we were together. I worried over nothing. Issue two? Nada. Pause... Drive.

And here I am. I saw her walk from her place of work over to the coffee house and back, polished heels clicking like always. Damn, her gait is so fucking cute. Home now, earlier than usual, and with the day in front of me. I may have a guest for lunch. Time will tell. Other than the usual, I have a few reminders to locate some things and repair a garage door opener. My routine will be short, too. There is not much to do and that means I may be able to get into projects. For now, I need this.

I believe I made the point with Michelle. My need for that type of situation is overwhelming at times. And aside from seeking someone like Michelle (not fucking likely), I do not see it happening. Dealing with the desire for impossibility -- or close enough -- is going to become more difficult as the days roll by. I will continue to dream, though. There is no stopping visions. Do I have hope? I honestly do not know. The very beginning of this was quite a ways back, weeks ago. I went around the world with the machines and Jaime, and then discovered you-know-who and gushed my heart out. Don't worry, I still love her and wish to find her. As long as these entries end with that same statement, I am looking. That will not stop. Mixing her up with robots, Jolene, Michelle, Andrea... Well, I am fucked up anyway, so why not just create the machine out of thin air? I can do that. Don't fucking get me started. I just don't see any other way of finding that which I need. And said need is crippling. My weakness the other day floored me. I thought I was stronger than that. All of the visions, androids, dreams of Trisha and Michelle... It all came together and left me a yearning mess. I have to keep the situation in mind or it will happen again. That is a step down which I do not need right now. In fact, I did not put the original series on after arriving home this morning. Avoidance right now. The imagery is just too fucking powerful and I feel weak. Like a child, the difficulty in separating reality from fantasy is blurred inside me. It is troubling. I am supposed to be a real grown-up type of person by this point in life, yet have not achieved such a state like others. Well, maybe they haven't either and I don't know. Whatever. I can't be worried about all those assholes anyway. I have enough to deal with. Maybe someday I will find my dreams. The tallest fucking order imaginable, and I can imagine quite a bit.

Wow, that profound quote from Deanna Troi... 'Fathers continue to treat their sons as children, and sons continue to chafe against what they perceive as their fathers' expectations of them.' Holy shit, sweetheart. And from a science fiction show. Sometimes the writers are amazing. I hope they realize what was created all those years ago and how it has touched millions. Just... Wow. Maybe I will leave this series on for the duration. Good stuff. Safe television, too. Although, some of the commercials are killing my eyes. Damn, where do they find those gorgeous women? Out of my mind again, or whatever is left of it. And speaking of crazy, read on.

Sushi girl. Not the song (which I adore, God bless Fee Waybill's fucking voice), the girl who bantered with me three years ago at a local restaurant. Four of us chose that place for a birthday dinner and I had been in top form. We sat, she approached. Asian, possibly Japanese, VERY long black hair, likely standing five three, and with a face I can still see. Cute beyond words, like Molly but much more Asian. She spoke clear English, and I no sooner gave her a quip when she shot right back at me. The expression on her endlessly-beautiful face was immediately playful while being confident in her ability to belittle me with humor. I fucking loved it right away and tried to formulate a way of sparring with her without gushing. I was sitting with three women and they laughed right along with me. The sushi girl did not crack a smile for some time. She could have controlled a warehouse full of people with a glance. All at once I respected her work and the manner in which she put us at ease from the word go. Throughout dinner I pictured her all over me and could not stop no matter the conversation. I wanted to devour her ass like the first swallow of water after a desert crossing on foot. I actually felt pain in not being able to lunge across the table. It was that bad. I failed to remember such desire at one word, or a single glance. By the time we paid the check I was insane. Overwhelmed with need. The situation in life was such that anything beyond words was impossible. That in itself was difficult. I swear to fucking God, I still want her. Three years. Crazy person. Out of balance. Remember the yachts? I am heeled. Listed. Rudderless. Jibe? Tack this, motherfuckers.

Like the red dress at the car dealership so many years ago, the feeling was immediate. Had I been alone, I am certain some different words would have surfaced, and quickly. Years spent in the gaming culture had showed me step by step instructions on how to speak with someone out of the clear blue sky and hold interest. I cannot count the number of occasions which found me with a woman on my arm that I did not know of an hour before. Well, you may have read about it. The sushi girl brought all of that to mind right away and had me angling for words. I wanted to tell her how uniquely beautiful she was standing there in tight, black pants and a button-down shirt which had her breasts pressing slightly against the center. Those little pulls to the side between buttons (like Juliette's heaving chest stretching her blouse, holy fucking God in heaven above) displayed her shape clearly enough for me to dream of surfing all over it with my tongue. And I mean immediately, everything. A toy, and an exotic one at that. She had me at her mercy with three steps. Fuck.

I want to live on the Enterprise 'D', damn it. Someone hurry the fuck up and make that happen. Please. I have to abuse the fucking holodeck like you would not believe. Heh. I think they called it 'holoaddiction'. Put me in there. I'll show you addiction. The sushi girl would be in there, too. Maybe a few dozen others.

Over twelve thousand lines now.



800

Fucking look at her



Another relaxing Saturday morning and hours ahead to do as I wish. I will be alone for most of the day, too. That means everything is up to me. The afternoon yesterday proved smooth. I saw her in the parking lot again but she did not look as cute. Do you know what that means? The process has operated this way before. She may already be fading from me. Her gait still throws me off balance, though. I love it. Her knees are slightly inward as she steps and it is so fucking cute that I have to see her again. Her face is changing, though. The same happened with the server at the restaurant last year (and she has now seem to become a reference point for some of my problems). A few visits after nearly doubling over when seeing her and she appeared much different than my initial reaction. She was not a flash in the pan, however. The obsession pushed more and lasted longer. The girl in the Safeway was a flash. I cannot see her now. The fact could be that my spotting her was just too quick, and supporting such a thought is the idea that the girl in the parking lot is there in my eyes quite often, and for slightly more time. Maybe. Every one of those I see for mere seconds goes to the back of my mind in the space of hours, sometimes less. They go away if I fail to gaze again soon. This is very good.

Those who remain in my head are another story.

I will not be driving for a couple of days which means the girl in the parking lot will fade slightly in the meantime. Not much. As I said, her walk is too cute for words. Soft eyes. You know. But the fact that I have this time without need to go anywhere is very good. I can tie up some loose ends at home. My daily chores will be very quick today. The gentleman is coming to take his motorcycle, too. That means space to do a little work in the new office. I need to put up the shelf for my truck. That will hold the display box which is on a very slow boat from Russia. Lighting above should prove nice. The truck off my table means empty space. The other nagging item is power. I still have a cord across the floor. I may run temporary MC up and over with a receptacle on the underside of the table. After that, the surge protector can be mounted. No more cord. I don't need to be out there with the door open until after nine, so for the time being I fully intend to explore here as much as I can. There are so many different things floating in my head now that finding enough clarity for analysis is proving difficult. And yesterday's mistakes. The Andreoid, too. So much now. Damn it.

This is the second title in which I created a portmanteau out of two words which should not work together, and I don't give a shit.

No Hallmark this morning. I don't want to see all that beautiful hair. Yesterday was enough. By the time I left to drive south, my head was full of things I did not want in there. None of it. Too much, again. I cannot adequately explain this problem. Perhaps gushing about the machine will help. None of it would be in my head right now if the machine existed. The Jaime-robot, or Jolaimora, or the Andreoid. Fuck, I don't really care which. The bottom line is that right now all that turmoil could be absent. The fucking machine solves everything and I cannot believe that after all of the analysis and attempts to learn, I am still able to be reduced to a lump of nothingness with a few simple words. Now? I have to keep myself away from such things. Safety. If I can't have the machine, I have to at least care for myself as much as possible and push the bad things away. No Hallmark right now. Too much beauty will be splayed. Maybe a commercial, too. I don't need it. Well, I changed my mind and there is Brooke fucking killing me with her exaggerated facial features and thigh gap. Even in fairly loose pants, she is displaying the lines of my dreams. Like, Andrea lines. Holy Christ on a cross. I saw her in a movie recently and lost my shit for an hour. Now? Oy. I'll have to remain busy to keep issue four from becoming inflamed like my brain. God damn, that woman is amazing to see. Better as a brunette, although any color is fine. Fucking hell, anyway. The things that come to mind...

The morning has progressed, still early, and I have plans in mind. The kitchen will not take long at all and the new office will take shape a bit more. I went out there and scoped the power situation. I am going to attach a few short sections of PVC to run power and signal lines overhead to the table, and then move the audio stack there. Everything will be powered with nothing across the floor. Right now it's sloppy, albeit temporary. I can address the inside of the house after the weather warms a bit. Excellent. By late afternoon I am hoping to have everything in order and then return here. Maybe I need an image of Brooke for reference. Five foot eight and all curvy, yet thin. Jesus. I added one. Look at her.

Yesterday fucked me up. I am not proud of myself. The whole fucking thing goes back to control and the machine. Such a situation cannot possibly exist, so I lunged. Damn it anyway. Not happy. I simply have to avoid the mindset in the first place by keeping myself away from those thoughts. I feel weaker than ever now. Today should not be a problem, but waiting and knowing nothing is out there can be very tough. I have to push it back. Push hard enough and far enough to remain distracted or there will be consequences, none of which are pleasant. Believe me when I say that I am ok and do not have many bad thoughts of myself, however I am not happy with being so weak at times. Push. Hard. And the imagery in my head did not help, either. I really did not need that kind of crap, especially when I am dreaming. It is upsetting and has to stop. I must stay safe, and I am not speaking of the fucking virus. Safe from harm. Some of that harm is caused by me and I know full well what I am doing. Just fucking stop it, dipshit.

I need to surf across her lips for days. Maybe I should move to Canada. That is where all these damned movies are made. Not funny. Twins now, and both of them are Candace. Nope... Switch.

Almost time to get off my ass and work. Sitting here is nice sometimes, even considering the difficulties in translating issues and going around the world about all the beauty. More will come along, I will fall flat on my face at times, and then gush like always. I have no doubts. I will see the girl in the parking lot soon enough and figure out if she is truly fading, but rest assured something else will come along eventually and trip me up like it has a million fucking times. That will never change. A good example is Brooke. I forgot about her in that movie after so many months passed from the holiday season. One glimpse and I am all mushy and need to slather my tongue all over the parts not seen on television. Basket case. I am quite certain there are many others that see her and want to lunge, but I can only articulate my feelings. I do not know why the urge becomes so strong, so quickly, and then I feel tormented by the sight, as if any true fulfillment is impossible. Well, it probably is, considering the level at which I have placed such ideas. None of it is surprising, really. I should have known this would happen as soon as I dedicated days to crafting an essay about the girl at the car wash. I should have fucking known. Now look at me. Goo goo, little hearts floating for some, and that endless need to swallow others. Is it the walnut cutie again? I thought she was gone. What about the nearly-nude goddess at the pool? I cannot see her anymore. Almost a year has elapsed and my memory is unclear. Stirred, but still faded. I don't understand. Still. Damn it anyway.

After falling down over imagery yesterday, I steeled myself and took care of business. This is good. I failed to allow those thoughts to maintain power over me, although there is still a tinge inside. But I can work with it. I mentioned issue two may be beyond my control due being raised by others, yet I can still pull up somewhat and right myself. My sensitivity is ever-present and cannot be diminished, no matter what I may be told. Hyper-sensitive. As soon as I try to relax, something comes up the road and partially destroys what little confidence I have left inside. A piece at a time, falling away like wet cake. What took place forty years ago has had lasting repercussions and all but ruined my ability to feel joy. Chronic depression, rampant self-consciousness, fear, pain, and perhaps enough sensitivity to the smallest detail to keep me away from everything and everyone... For the rest of my life. This is becoming too tiring right now. Maybe a pizza later can help. Go ahead and laugh. I can't. Pause, for fuck's sake. Just fucking pause, please.



801

That is some amazing digital illustrating



Ok. I finished some of the daily tasks and things look good so far. I also have a better plan for the office. Simpler, less involved work, and neater. The power should be fairly straightforward now. Stop, again.

The power for the table is finished and heated. Done. The entire area is much clearer and there is no longer a cord across the floor. Excellent. I also completed daily business and reconfigured the freezers after more food arrived. The owner of the motorcycle was here for quite a while. We discussed everything from climate to road trips to the pandemic and all over the place. Nice visit. On top of that, my large knife with walnut scales showed up in today's mail. It is beautiful and came with a matching leather sheath. That one is definitely a keeper. Unfortunately, even with such positives today and my business being finished, the area between my ears is not well. The flare yesterday is worsening in my head. I did not know it would grow. This morning it was difficult yet manageable. Now? Awful. I cannot stand feeling this way. And there is no one here except me. The thinking is more than enough to drive me into a hole.

The Brunette may have been the beginning of this. Or, at least that period. I cannot blame her at all. The fact is we were together when first noticing that the problem was causing me distress. She inflamed it often, though. Still... Not her fault. The trouble was all inside me and sometimes manufactured out of thin air. All it took was a word, phrase, or image to send me down a steep slope and into a pile of worry. I was glued to her much of the time and became wholly dependent upon her love and attention. When I felt that wavered even slightly, my brain ran away with it and I quickly ended up a complete wreck. Some of the early months in my cave were spent full of the same. Sitting here right now I can feel it. Safe, familiar television, comfortable on the sofa, accomplishments today, yet still there is a storm inside. I fucking loved that woman to no end. Living so out of balance and full of dysfunction meant I clung to her all the time, eventually smothering her and spouting too often of my fears and paranoia. Well, give that a little time and you can imagine what resulted. No more us. And that was nearly all me. Other aspects of our relationship had been troubled, however my part in the destruction of us cannot be denied. These days I am honest to a fault, especially about feelings. I loved her and ruined us due to shit inside not being present. After these recent entries and the subsequent pain in the ass I have become to myself, I am realizing the tools I need to maintain composure around others and deal with issue two are to remain permanently out of reach. Such a journey is too far for me. I am weak and frightened, and I will no longer try. From limitless options so many fucking years ago, I am reduced to one: Stay the fuck away from everything. Nice, huh? Cocktail hour cannot come soon enough.

I have dealt with this far too long. Telling everyone (women) to take a flying leap years ago and making the decision to remain alone would have likely saved me a lifetime of worry. I am fucking sick of it. My fault? Very much so. Have I worked on it? Hell yes, every fucking day. Does anyone seem to help? I cannot answer that right now because I ask of no one. I will not, ever. Fuck that. My head is too difficult with which to work anyway. Some have tried and I shoved them away. So, you may be asking why I am still bitching about it. Well, I do not have many options in life, and owning this place means I can do whatever I need. And here it is. The fiction has GOT to return or I fear there will be nothing left to say. Too much already. To hell with it.

No more of that for now.

Tomorrow. Sunday. My usual business along with garbage. The other projects are starting to diminish in importance as I search for answers. For the time being, I have no choice and continuing here is still compelling. The space is mine, there is no limit to it, and even after all of the shit spewed since discovering those incredible images of Jaime, I still believe there is help here. And that is very good when the realization that others cannot assist me in any way is becoming cemented. Fused. I don't even want anyone trying. Tomorrow will be much like today... Coffee, television and cats, followed by the routine, and then some relaxing before the sun gets too far off center. Safety, security, comfort. That is all. Oh, I forgot 'torment'.

The sushi girl spun me sideways three years ago. Bad. Like, I was so nuts for her that the image of her defiant expression when addressing me stayed in my head for a very long time. Longer than most others. It wasn't necessarily the Asian thing as that faded before I ever moved to the coast (mostly). The key was her face. Yep, again with the face. I cannot deny that she was unique for being Asian, and coupled with her shape and that long, long hair, well... I had not seen anyone so stirring in years. Of course, there was the big three, but they were spread out over the course of eight years or so. I won't even mention the other one as she needs to be put away for good. The sushi girl had me up in arms after mere seconds. I was crazy for her. The entire dinner felt as if it flew by in seconds, all the while with me forcing myself to keep quiet. I had to maintain composure for the others. Three gorgeous women at my table, and I was more than ready to toss them into the trash and breast feed off the girl. Just a touch of recklessness -- the type which had Andrea and me flying first fucking class all over the nation -- and I would have done just that. I've said it many times, and began more than one written essay with it: She was the type of woman that a man would destroy himself to be with for one moment. Right now? No fucking way. The threat would appear and then I'd lose everything. Myself, the drive, the image of the world. All of it would go away. The more beautiful and compelling the woman, the more harsh and powerful is the issue. Oops... I said I was done with that. Eh. Doesn't matter. At least the gravity of the problem is apparent. Fuck it. One truth is that I am no stronger now than I was at that table. In my head I had her clothes flying off and me all over her skin for hours. One of the strongest fucking pulls ever. She was something else, I tell you. Lines, lips, and everything in between. Devoured, but only in my dreams. The alternative likely would have destroyed me.

Sushi girl. Oy God in heaven. My fucking tongue would have come out her nose.

I know what she represents now. I really do, and it is nothing bad. Just desire. Thinking of her standing there or walking away with my eyes watching her cheeks gyrate reminds me of what I felt every time I saw Andrea strolling and clicking her way along the sidewalks. And the one at the pool. She was an excellent example of the obsession. I do not use the word 'perfect' because there is no such thing. Subjective, to the last. But I will say that she was all of it. HAD all of it. And then no feelings whatsoever for more than half a year. Remember? Walnuts. That is the same thing as the sushi girl. Impulse desire. I think it's natural and the only difference between me and your average other person is the fact that I often spell it out here in graphic terms. But the very idea of why I needed to lunge at her is still within me. It still happens from time to time and drives me up the wall. Sometimes issue four, other times pain and depression, and yet often I simply become saddened because the need is overpowering and I can do nothing about it. Issue four? Solves nothing. A short time later I feel the same. Still want her, to this very second. She only faded for a time, and I don't know what it means. Maybe I have two obsessions. Or, more likely, maybe I just have to stop typing words about unsolvable problems. And dinner was excellent, if that is any consolation. No more sushi girl right now. Her image is hazy but still pulls at me.

Last night I was contacted by one of those who seemed to have left me by the wayside more than a month ago. I was surprised, although he was texting by voice, pretty well drunk, and silly. Honestly? I know he was sincere when stating in no uncertain terms that nothing had changed. No one feels differently about me. They were thinking that I felt unsafe due to my close connection with three individuals who are high-risk right now. The work thing came up, and that part I do understand. There may yet be a resolution to this, and one that is helpful for both them and me. If true, that will remove some of the worry and all of my disdain. I will be unfair to exactly no one. Ever. Whatever may have taken place, they are people with feelings and souls. No more lashing, no matter what transpires. I have cooled over it. We shall see where it goes from here.

Sushi girl. What? Enough of her. Geez. Shut up.

I mentioned tomorrow. There will be much time to myself. No schedule other than daily crap. Maybe I will line up on the sofa for most of the day and eat pizza. Hmm. That sounds pretty nice. I cannot remember the last time I took an entire day and did nothing productive. No accomplishing anything. A lazy pile of shit on the sofa with three remotes, a computer, a phone, and a shitload of my favorite foods. That sort of sounds like a football Sunday. Heh. Too bad, but I am glad the goddess and I enjoyed tons of football games together. God only knows when there will be anything like that on television. If it happens, I'll be there with every fucking frozen, shitty food choice imaginable. Tacos, French fries, taquitos, pizza, bagel bites... All of it. And ranch. And salsa. Ugh, maybe I'm just hungry. The breeze coming in behind me smells of barbecue. Yikes, but funny I guess. At least I found a reason to smile, if only for a second.



799

Notice a theme? Ugh



Sunday. Here I sit with coffee and an old movie. And this, for however long it lasts. I will probably push this live soon. But there is always more waiting. As I said above, I may take it easy today. The routine is very light and garbage will not take long. Finishing the table power yesterday was quite a step. I can complete more organization today. Other than the office, there are a few things inside that should be addressed before sitting on my ass with this machine. The entire period since late March feels surreal, as if it either went by in seconds or has lasted years. How many entries have had information about my daily activities? I did not speak of such things in the past. Of course, much of this year was dedicated to fiction, so that takes any daily crap out of the equation. Now? I can barely think of the story. I know where it was heading, but the muse is just out of reach, still. I tried the other day and stared at the screen. And then I thought of the girl in the parking lot and began to feel as if I should not be looking at her. And then I dreamed of the way Jaime's hair looks in those images and that brought me to Meghan with her gorgeous, thick mane. She led me to the long, black hair all over the sushi girl, and then issue four flared because I dreamed of shoving my tongue into her ass. See? All over the place. No wonder I can't continue the story. Three months now. Damn. I'll get there, and I am hoping that as my life becomes even more truncated and I withdraw further, the situation doesn't intrude. The fiction stood on its own and must stay as such. Going forward will be difficult but I believe I can get there. One sentence at a time. All I have to do is keep my head out of the pants of others. Tall order, yes, but I have succeeded in the past. Again... Baby steps. Maybe crawling. Heh. Sorry about the ass comment.

And back to today. I actually feel hopeful about the hours ahead. Last night after dinner (we eat fairly late most of the time), my head and stomach felt uncomfortable and I know not why. Wow, Barbara Hershey's hair in this movie is wondrous. Geez. Forty years ago. Anyway, I gave up on the evening and went to bed. This morning I feel much better and that will translate to the rest of the day if I care for myself. I don't know what happened last night -- maybe some stress like a couple of months ago -- but I am glad it is gone. I'll have to be careful today and drink lots of water. That is good for almost anything. As I said, the hours ahead look open. I am hopeful about the work and whatever else I wish to do. The inside of my head will not stop unless I get busy with things. Sushi labia, Meghan hair, Jolene lips, someone else's fucking breasts, whatever-the-fuck else... I have to keep it all at a distance or I will fall down. Right now I am ok, but it's always there, waiting for weakness. Like two days ago. Weak. Fallen. Stupid. Juvenile. Just another aspect of me that I need to shove the fuck back into the darkness of the past. Otherwise I will drive myself crazy over it. Nope. Bye. More coffee. Cats are taking up the entire sofa which relegates me to the loveseat. Heh.

Much discussion of issue two here. I can't help it. That one item has the ability to destroy me at a time when I am feeling fairly up. Even when I have been on top of the world, one exchange and I fall all the way down. That one is not going anywhere and is a good portion of my dreaming. If I had to line them all up in order of how they affect me? Two, four, one, and three. Honestly, three is avoidable. It hurts sometimes, I still don't understand people and how they operate with such a lack of feeling, but maintaining distance is possible. Plus, I do know that the gradient pushes me to feel as if I am a better person for dealing with it. Two is the bad one. It really is. And that subject will likely be here a while this year.

All over the place, like always. Some of this, a little of that, my day, and then I gush over one of those women (sushi). Where is this going? Can there be any joy now? Happiness? Or do I need to focus on the pizza? I wish I could learn why all this happened. The images of Jaime tucked away for a decade could not have caused so much distress in more than one direction. It does not make sense. But there is an inkling developing right now. Seeing her again after years caused a dreamy state, one in which I am yearning to see her face and know it is out there somewhere, yet all but impossible to locate. So, the other faces begin to cause distress as some share features with what I can see of Jaime. And now? The dreamy state has taken over and begun to usurp the reality that is not really blowing my skirt up anymore. There is more.

Jaime now feels like a representation of everything unattainable. She is impossible, for all intents and purposes, so she stands as the symbol of all I cannot have. No machine, sushi, Meghan, nor any of the others. I see her there in the images and she causes me to yearn badly, after which I must accept where and when I exist and try to swallow the idea that I will never be happy. And I thought dreaming of a machine was bad. Jaime became the machine. Features as I desire, complete control, and nothing ever changing. I am beginning to see what she really is, and the picture is not something with which I can easily deal. Not right now. That would mean the end of everything. Not yet. I need to keep going, so the thought has to stay back for a while. Just not yet. But I may not have a choice in the matter, only a choice as to when I reveal this. She has changed in my head and heart. I am scared of it. I love her, but I hope she doesn't ruin me for all time. I will analyze such a realization in the next entry. I don't want the current writing to become overly long.

Everything stemmed from the idea of control, and the only way of alleviating all of the difficulty in my head. Removing it, really. I have not the strength nor constitution to change myself, so adapting a woman to my needs seems the only way, and that in itself is not possible. And then dreaming. Trying to craft something from my head that became an amalgamation of several looks and personalities, all of which stand on their own as completely unique and beautiful. The adaptation to me would fulfill everything, as there is no other way. Hence, going outside myself to fix me. That is wrong, ill-advised, and dangerous. I did it anyway. All the way back to the Cherry 2000, fast-forward to Gemma, expansion into the dramatic superiority of Ex Machina, and then images of Jaime, the woman of my dreams that I do not even know, nor ever can. Wow, no wonder I have to stay at home all the time. I am pretty fucked up now. I created the most beautiful woman imaginable and then made her into the most advanced machine imaginable. Does that sound like something a well-rounded and balanced individual would concoct? Nope. An even larger issue is looking at the real world after spending time in the dream. Everything is crap. People are ridiculously simple. The world is filthy. All fucked up. One thing, however, is that I am seeing how I arrived in this place. Need. Basic need, and some dissatisfaction with where I am right now.

Consider this scenario:

I would not have to worry about what is going on in her head. There could be no threat in anything external. Her thinking would be governed, constantly. Restricted. Software-driven, like the fictional Jaime. Mechanical. Gorgeous, forever. My desire would not drift away toward others. Anything, anytime, permanently. Removing issue two is enormous, and would lift one of the most difficult weights in existence off my shoulders. She would represent the fulfillment of issue one. Issue three would still exist but I would be able to avoid it, just as I have been for weeks by keeping myself away from others and safe from harm. Issue four would become unnecessary and fade away because of her caring. Long term, short term, whatever-the-fuck term, I would ask and she would do. The machine. The dream. Now you can see what I have become and all of the shit required for me to find comfort, fulfillment, and security. Simple, right?

Tell me that I am wrong for dreaming and I will shove my car up your fucking ass. Suck the words off the screen and realize there is no other possible way. Don't like it? Go fuck off somewhere else.

One more tidbit: There is a strong possibility that I represent the largest limiting factor in my life, and I am beginning to question my ability to survive within this society. Damn it all. Powerless to change myself, unwilling to adapt to societal guidelines, and further gone with each passing day.

She is out there. In a few days I will publish who 'she' is."



top

coma

Creative Commons License