09-11-2020 06:30 pdt

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053

In Remembrance






Interval Two

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"This is the second time I stated that the standard entries would end, and the second time I carried forward. Maybe I should cease the absolutes when it comes to the site and just type. There is always something going on which I can lay out here, be it the drives, visions, music, or whatever happens to be the issue du jour. Perhaps from one day to the next I will need to evaluate what I wish to do here. And despite often feeling that I am not accomplishing anything here, the compulsion to continue remains inside. I know not why. Maybe I need to express things here sometimes, or perhaps I am simply bored sometimes. I can push the fiction and it will be shit, or I can allow it to develop naturally. The latter is much slower -- as those have been creeping in here throughout months -- but at least seem more concise and organized. In the meantime, I have nothing else to do, so here we are.

One of these days I am going to begin capturing still images from the show because I am going nuts over many of the background (uncredited, damn it) characters. Just now in Quark's bar there was a girl who works for him -- I believe -- standing with her back to the bar and appearing in such a position that my head descended into that familiar territory of trying to attach numbers to her gorgeous body. I can’t fucking help it anymore. I still need to know, measure, draw, anything, just to satisfy my hunger for understanding the curves and lines. Jesus fucking hell did she look amazing, and no one of consequence. Like Vegas, she was there for appearance and nothing more. Just a figure unrelated to the story or main identity of the show. But the damage has been done one too many times for me to just let her go into memory. I have to see her as much as possible, like Marci from 'Our Man Bashir', and that means the only means is to frame her as well as I am able. God damn fuck me anyway. This happens too often for me to follow along with the conversation and let the sight float away as the story progresses. I had thought the obsession as no longer guiding or having some bearing upon my life. Wrong. Still there, strong, and pulling me to this very second.

I remember seeing this episode some weeks back while during my rewatch of the entire series while actually paying attention. I got so wrapped around TNG that the other four series seemed less somehow. Now I am realizing the adventure is no different. I can enjoy the characters and stories unlike in the past. All of the DS9 Bajoran prophet business, the doings around the station, and peripheral characters appear different now than they did while first airing. I like it, a lot. Unfortunately, that also means seeing the background beauties and Leeta, bless her goofy cuteness. The one in question from this morning is a pull, though. A pull that will result in nothing more than me obsessing over her appearance and falling down for the thousandth time. All of them lead exactly nowhere good. I just keep dreaming of that moment when the Raven stood before me in nothing more than a fucking tiny black thong with a bottle of wine in her hand. I was sitting on the floor with my eyes glued to her inner thighs as she whispered in no uncertain terms just how much she needed to jump me. Breasts pointing outward, hair all over the place, and the scent of her soap ripe in my nose. And then she turned her twenty-three year old self around and I continued to stare with the instinct to shove all of her into my mouth. I was not prepared to measure or capture her at all, though she stated I could do anything I wished. When I stood and remained behind her, the appearance of each breast pushing to the side of her slender back drove me beyond understanding. Again she turned and I lost my shit. Well, every single time I see one of those background women on the screen, the images flash and I fall down a steep hill, bouncing here and there with the images of a lifetime spinning in my head. The one this morning is no different. So beautiful that the words are not there at all. Such is me.

Cassidy is really boring. And I never realized Kira was so tall. Hmm.

I've noticed these last few weeks that my partial dyslexia while writing on paper is bleeding onto the keyboard. Sometimes I will perform the exact same keystroke over and over with the intention of backing up for a correction. Disheartening, but I can deal with it for the time being. A little slower and the connection between brain and hands is better. Somewhat. Ugh.



053



Yesterday I listened to the same two tracks on the return drive. One track from one film and one from another. Both are quite long yet radically different, as are the movies. The first is rather all over the place and goes through permeations of joy, terror, sadness. The second shows off more subtle power than I can describe here. Like a monstrous creature about to make its appearance and left breathing in the background, it lies there awaiting the right moment through multiple crescendos and wavering to and fro beautifully. The lower-ends come in behind the main melody and bend downward into an abyss of resonance and vibration, and fill the soul with depth as the hopeful tingles rise and drop over and over, creating a river of wavering notes. And then the drama of two chords, which progress only twice, but soar with meaning. I cannot adequately put the words down to describe what takes place in my heart during those moments. The chords are played on the most powerful and complex musical instrument ever conceived... A pipe organ. No matter where I go in life or what I do, the drive to reproduce it properly will always remain. I have not the resources for such a system, so the existing equipment must suffice. I will keep trying, though. The compulsion to do it justice is overpowering.

Thursday morning. I have to put my car somewhere else in the neighborhood today because the street will be sealed tomorrow. Oy.

Carmen is on the television from nineteen years ago. I used to speak to her in my writing during the MS period. Now? Not much going on there. Everything fades, I suppose.

Yesterday I actually asked about some aspects of two and received kindness, understanding (as much of it is possible, anyway), and big eyes. Helpful? Somewhat. Worrisome? Yes. And why the worry? Because as long as I sit right here and type, I am not really affecting anyone as this is far too unclear to be pointed toward anything specific. When I speak to a person directly, I can affect them and that may not be a very good idea. I am not an easy person with which to hold a conversation. The end result was fine, I believe, leaving the subject to the rear. Sometimes such a decision is necessary because if I keep going the descent will begin and not end for God-knows how long. Even sitting here now sixteen hours later I am still worried over what goes on inside. The vocalization yesterday was a mistake. I already know there is no certainty. I have to trust the thoughts and feelings, but alas I do not know if I will ever have the strength to take those words to heart and actually relax about the whole issue. If the past has taught me anything, it is to avoid much in favor of my own well-being.



055



Today is half mine, possibly more. I have a few things to do, and since the smoke is not as prevalent, I can get some things done which require me to visit the garage multiple times. Yesterday was dark and orange all day long, and actually darker just after noon than in the morning. The smoke came over the top of the entire Bay Area and reduced visibility dramatically. I was both frightened and amazed by the sight. It felt surreal, as if the world was burning. This morning the sky is yellow instead of orange, and not near as dark. The smell is acceptable, too. I will keep the ionizer going with the house closed up just in case.

The other day I had a frightening realization. After my morning drive I typically head into the kitchen, fire up my television and put one of the shows on to follow as I straighten. Well, the feeling of being in there with my friends keeping me company is joyful. More than it should be, I believe. I can clean everything and get the entire kitchen polished at whatever pace feels right. That usually means pretty slowly. I have no time constraints these days. The realization is that being in the kitchen to clean and organize each morning is becoming the best part of my day. Scary. If true, I am completely fucked. Cleaning the kitchen. Splendid. I don't know if it is being alone and having control over the environment, the routine having become so important to my peace of mind, or something else. The show probably has something to do with it, as well, but honestly, if this is really the one thing to which I look forward over all others, the situation in my head is not good, to say the least. Somewhere in 'Rust' I mentioned there had been a possible change and/or realization during one of the most important aspects of my life but failed to go into detail. I cannot because it is too personal, but I will say that my feelings toward that part of life are mixed, always. I want it, need it, and due to the past it has become larger in my head than I had ever thought possible. The very idea that the kitchen routine can overpower the other thing is ridiculous and means that I am one huge step closer to losing it completely. Nothing about this is good at all. I may discuss it with someone, too. I am having so much trouble that my mind is being driven toward asking for help. Surprising? Absolutely.

Jessica again, with Nicholas. Jesus, but her face is a study in geometry. I normally gravitate toward darker everything, but fuck me if she isn't very unique. Earlier I saw Allie on the news again (as well as yesterday's midday broadcast along with Sara) and her eyes are far more beautiful, but Jessica's face is extremely gorgeous. It pulls me but I cannot fully explain why. Whatever. Another beauty far away, just like all the rest. I cannot even mention her lips. Damage. I bring her up because of issue one. Seeing such a dramatic example of beauty is beginning to lead my head into two, and that is not good. Either is bad enough, but to learn that obsessing over a woman's appearance can drive me to feel threatened is just fucking bad. Worse than I can put into words right now. I will try, but don't expect much clarity at all. This is bothering me to the point of thinking that in the long run and for saving my own life, the only option may be to shut off the television unless one of the five shows is playing. Everything else seems to be a big fucking problem. Is the fault hers? Of course not. All me, as usual. I keep saying that I need to think but it never leads anywhere. I may never fucking change.



056



The day has been yellow from the start. Still dim and yellow-gray out there. The ionizer is working overtime these days. It's all we have aside from leaving the house closed up. Considering all of the moisture present due to the water table and being so close to the ocean, I have to crack a few windows eventually, otherwise a dehumidifier will be necessary. The smoke is ensuring the sun does not break through, meaning the temperature is low, but eventually the smoke will thin out and this place can heat up pretty quickly. I have to remain vigilant.

Daily chores finished, laundry going. I am not going in and out of the house unless necessary, though. I still wish to get things done but the outside air is heavy, just as those subjects in my head. Ugh.

Nothing seems to help, and no sooner do I believe that discussion can improve my head, the worry goes uphill fast as another concern enters... I am being difficult with which to deal. Damn, no matter which way I may turn, the brainpower works overtime and I worry that I am worrying too much. What did you say? Catch twenty-two again? Yep. Sometimes I think attempting to alleviate concern only creates more. Maybe I am going about things the wrong way. There is plenty of time to think.

All these hours alone today have shown me that the quiet is more important than ever for my comfort. While home, my mind often wanders toward all those elusive enjoyments. One of them has been mentioned, but as I said it is in jeopardy right now. I have to concentrate and learn of myself with regard to such a thing. If it goes south, two of the issues will become unbearable. There is no limit to my free time right now, and much of it will be dedicated to figuring out what happened the other day as well as two flaring yesterday and again this morning. Yep, a television character had me thinking, and while I was staring at Jessica. I have to figure it out, and soon. Hopefully between tomorrow and Saturday there will be time for some discussion. That is my only hope right now as I have nowhere else to turn. And yes, I realize that this entire paragraph is so fucking veiled that there may be no meaning at all to anyone aside from myself. Oh well, this is the way I must be. Much of what is inside me is just too stark.



066



The smoke is thickening outside. The closest hills are disappearing. Not good.

The ongoing, years-long situation which has nearly driven me to suicide or out of my mind on too many occasions carries forward like always, but somehow seems slightly different in the last few weeks. I do not know why. All of my wants and needs are still apparent each morning and early afternoon, but the drive to walk out the door and do what I wish is not so strong. Part of that change may be the fat that I am stuck here with narrowing options. After partially gushing over this subject in 'The Failing...', I now see the difference between that time and the current period, along with the manner in which I have grown to see things differently. I do not look ahead to find something missing, instead I am looking back at all that I have either lost or thrown away willingly. These days I need to hold each memory close so as to realize value, lest I create more regret in the future. I want no more of that. There is already enough weighing me down.

Some things organized and cleaned, the daily crap finished, and here I sit unable to compute my way out of a paper bag due to a physical problem that is passing very slowly. I'm not being impatient, but suffice to say it is related to that part of life I mentioned above. Often out of my control (like one other situation I must keep to myself), it brings me so much concern that I am preoccupied and cannot write well, no matter the subject. This situation is completely fucked. I feel as if I am speaking to a blind and deaf therapist. Why comment? I don't know.

The leaf blower next door is fucking killing me right now, but the man has to do his job. Heh, at least he's not sitting on the sofa like yours truly.

This entry will not end with any drivel about ceasing the endeavor. I will keep typing, for whatever it may be worth."



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