09-20-2020 06:32 pdt

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992

 read ( words)

"Look at Marisa. Now look again. Zoom in. Eyes. Just fucking look at her.

Jamie and Marisa have the same eyes. Just a thought. I'm living in the past a good portion of the time and those two are following along. As I move through time and space, there are flashes of sitting at the dining table in Michigan with my pencils and paper, and there to my left off in the distance is the show. Just like my days here. The show is there. It's always there in one incarnation or another. Sitting comfortably at the dining table with all my stuff and hearing the fans circulating cool air is an acute memory. I know that this period since March is going to stick with me, too. Years from now I will picture myself working around the house with the show in the background. I will see myself sitting with this computer and typing. Maybe I should have avoided this film so early in the morning.

So many have passed away since the beginning of my film industry dream. It died, too. And there is very little film left now. Everything is so different... From the loss of nearly all my family and a lack of any gatherings which used to be commonplace, on to the living conditions which I constantly adjusted to my comfort, and straight to several pairs of eyes which took me from myself. The only fucking positive is the idea that the eyes will always be the same no matter how much time passes. This morning? I turned on the television and tuned to one of the premiums to have something in the background, and there were Marisa's big eyes. All at once I became flooded with memories of the period in which I saw this film for the first time. Not to go into another film/theatre tirade, but a person such as myself places much importance upon the conditions of viewing a movie for the first time. And that was actually right in the middle of the Midwest period. Ninety-four. I went and watched by myself, the typical popcorn and soda next to me, and sat with wide eyes. Film, thrown across the auditorium and onto the screen with the brightness matched only by my gaze. Right out of the gate, there she was. Eyes, five feet high on the huge screen. And then this morning... Those eyes took me back and a realization hit me in the heart.

The Cherry 2000 was in the eighties, Marisa was in the nineties, and Jamie the following decade. Now? Thirteen years after realizing that I cannot go a week without seeing Jamie's eyes? Gazing at Marisa? Dreaming of machinery? Each of those time periods has pushed me to understand something this morning which I did not see until those giant doe eyes made my heart leap. The eighties, I was happy... The nineties, there were bumps but I was pretty happy, and then later, after seeing Jamie and feeling that I had settled in for the long haul, I was comfortable and rather happy. This may sound ridiculous and be a little hard to follow, but hear me out. A ways back, I mentioned the memory of me and my buddy riding our bikes up Parkmeadow Drive and seeing that big dream house. At the time everything was before me... All of it, and whatever came along. A woman next to me, some sort of work that I could enjoy, a house perhaps, and some of those things about which I dreamed. A big drum kit, some audio equipment, a nice car from the sixties. There was plenty of time. Move into the nineties during a time when I was dreaming of being anywhere else, and hopefully someplace cooler and less humid. Plenty of time ahead for me to plan and do something. Marisa's eyes were right there with me as a reminder of the Cherry 2000 and her endless beauty. Marisa's eyes represent the nineties and the feeling that I would eventually be where I wished. And then Jamie's big eyes carried me into a time when I felt part way there, I knew that many hurdles had been jumped and I went through much difficulty, but was in a place which seemed to be along the path to where I dreamed of living. Cherry 2000. Simple, yet ridiculous. Marisa? Jamie? All three are reminders of where I was and where I dreamed of being.

I am not in that place. There was plenty of time laid out before me. Plenty.

The film this morning is a toughie. Ninety-four, and right in the middle of everything. Five years earlier was the beginning of a period in which I learned how important film was to me. The big domes, outings to that area and the mall nearby, the electronics store where I kept seeing all the new technology and gazed like a child through a toy store window. I figured later in life I would have the means to acquire some of those things. Everything was amazing. New products popped up here and there. Technology kept me interested, constantly. Oy, pause a second.

A memory just flashed from just under ten years ago. Eric Bana is in this movie and I recall a discussion related to him. I overheard and ended up cut to ribbons. That is all.

The early to mid nineties had been more pivotal than I could have imagined at the time. Sitting here this morning I can see the differences in everything. All of the wonder is gone. Nothing is surprising. Everything moves too quickly and goes around the world in seconds. The planet is smaller. When something new appears, it is expected instead of wondrous. I understand how things work. From the issues in the world and all the way down to the simplicity of the kitchen drain, I understand. I used to feel that there would always be discoveries. No more. All of it is gone, I am not anywhere near where I had hoped, and the only path I see in front of me is the one I've been treading for the last five years. Marisa still has those beautiful eyes and I had thought I loved her in some way. Now I know otherwise. She is a manifestation of my failures. Jamie, too. And the other one, the machine? Ah... Fuck the eighties anyway. They hurt me too much. I have no fucking idea of what to do from this point forward. I see little reason to do anything. Everything which seemed to be out in front of me does not exist any longer.

How's that for a beginning?

Up there I typed instructions for looking at Marisa. Well, after the opening part of this entry, I don't really give a shit how she appears. The images will stay, though. I have no reason to remove her.

Seeing Eric in this movie is tough, but Jennifer is there, too. That makes it ok, I suppose. I used to want nothing more than to see her declothe. Now? Respect, admiration, and smitten with her eyes. Years ago it was her breasts. They no longer matter. Eyes. Just like the others. Problems.

Where now? The beginning of this pretty much summed me up.

I do not need to drive today. I have the whole day to myself. After sitting here a while I will probably try to get some things organized. We keep receiving stuff from a family member and I have to maintain the workings of the house, so that means ensuring everything goes somewhere. I just hope we don't run out of room. The usual stuff is awaiting my attention as well. And I already know that the section above is going to influence how my day progresses. It is a certainty. I have not thought in such terms until just this morning. I feel the urge to get Marisa or Ron Howard on the phone and express my appreciation for the assistance with my past. Yes, that is supposed to be funny, and at a time when I don't believe anything will be funny again. I plan to do my best today in spite of the down feelings. Little steps, I'm thinking. I'll take care of business a bite at a time.



113



This actually feels like a weight has been lifted off my head. I had not put those eyes in such terms. Maybe this morning was late enough in my life to figure out a few things which previously nagged at me. I can't be sure. Here I am, however. I see it all now. Going back to the nineties to my film beginnings is sometimes enjoyable, like recalling the way I used to covet the boxes that video tapes came in. Or the start of my appreciation for what laserdiscs accomplished before being prematurely usurped by the disruptive technology that soon after would take over the world and destroy the infinite and elusive wonder of the filmmaking process. Everything back then had a place in my heart. Even the silly subwoofer cabinet I built to stand behind the television and reinforce the lower end of movie sound. I still can't believe I did that. Now another little item popped into my brain. I used to gather movie posters from the theatres in town and had quite a collection upon returning to California. Most of them are gone now and I can't remember what I did with them. Well, one was from a video store (not the actual one-sheet which would be displayed in a theatre's light box) and the film was the very same as I was watching earlier. Yes, Marisa and her eyes. Whenever I take a break from this I intend to secure a poster from the studio, frame it, and place it on the wall to my left as a reminder of everything which has passed.

Famke is in this film and I know that the height thingy is alive and flourishing. Despite my past comments to the contrary, the height of a woman is still driving me much of the time. Maybe it began with models, or possibly something else, but I cannot deny the draw. It's either way up the scale or way down. The only difference from years ago is a fascination with both taller and shorter. I don't know how to explain it. The goddess is a good example, though. She looks amazing at just one inch over five feet. Amazing. Perhaps I am not meant to understand everything. Whatever. Famke is a person, first and foremost. I will not turn any woman into an object. Ever. And keep in mind all of the features take a far-back seat to the eyes.

I have no idea of where to go from here. This morning will be on my mental calendar for a very long time.

One certainty is glaring right now, and that is the idea that I need to stop (or at least slow) gushing about machinery because nothing of the sort will exist in my lifetime. I have to find other ways of being happy, or content anyway. Obsessing over the female form is one thing, but to do the same over nonexistent technology will not help me head into the future. I keep saying that all this time can assist with my issues but I have to actually work on them as I make my way through the days. I can't just sit here and complain about everything. Regardless of realizations or difficulty, I am still a very capable person when I put my mind to something. A project, for example. It's hard, though. Most days find me standing idle and without direction because I have so much to deal with on the inside. There are options, too. Choices.

Yesterday I very nearly revealed what took place in the therapist's office years ago. I do not believe that story has even been told to anyone, although the goddess seems to think otherwise. She can't remember, though. That may be good or bad, because even if discussing the matter can help me, the overarching embarrassment may cause me to fall further over something I feel I can't control. And believe it or not, there is much more. Everything remains inside me due to the worry over being viewed differently, and in a way which can hurt. One thing, however, and that is the fact that the words will never be here. Count on it. Too personal. Assumptions will arise and I cannot have that. I have tons of worry over what is in just one person's head, so you can imagine the effects of laying down the story and not knowing who may be reading. If I do indeed tell her, I have to know it will go no further. Trust is the word, but I don't know if I have any of it lying around. Leaving out details here after gleaning a subject or event is likely a pain in the ass for some to read. I'm starting to think that if there is a subject brought to this site and I feel the need to withhold some of it, I should avoid the beginning. It is unfair. I do realize that my exploration here is for me and no one else, but the fact remains that I am placing my thoughts where anyone can see them. Good or bad, I am beginning to believe that sometimes I am unfair. I just don't know, though. I need this.

God damn that woman is beautiful. Eh... Doesn't matter. A weight may have been lifted, but there are still plenty more remaining. She is a half inch shy of six feet. Amazing, but I know not why. Weight, as I said. I have to stop commenting upon actors.

One possibility of discussing the therapist and our session may turn out to be nothing at all. I know that once in my head things can amplify out of control until the matter is bigger than life, when in reality it is nothing more than a tiny issue which can be alleviated by way of the right type of ears. I don't know, though. I am afraid. There are assumptions which simply cannot take place or I will react badly and remain quiet for years. Such things have happened in the past and driven me to shut some out of my life completely. I do not miss them, and the act of clamming up over something sensitive means I STILL worry over what they may be thinking. Damn, it's just a circle from hell that I have not grown to break. Some very wise individuals have told me to stop worrying about what may be in someone else's head. Ashley was one of them after I told her some stories. The Raven, too. Wisdom from those two combined could alter the earth's orbit, honestly, so why have I not listened? The idea that fear may be the most powerful force in my life means I've learned nothing. Ashley was seventeen years ago, and the Raven just over five. Still, here I am no better off. I have limited myself out of fear. There is a woman who is right next to me often, and one who knows more about me than anyone else in my life, yet still I am afraid. Constant reassurance is unhealthy, to say the least. I do not want her burdened, nor do I wish for her to alter her behavior while near me for the purpose of lifting my broken insides. That is not good. Not even a little, yet I have seen it beginning. Ugh. The 'T' word again. You know.

Let's go back to the beginning of this and the eyes which pushed me around.

The Cherry 2000. The actor's name is Pamela Gidley. The movie is not great, and she is featured for only a short time at the beginning, but the idea stuck in my head. She was very beautiful in that role. To be honest, I don't think I really dreamed of a machine very much at the time, but my affinity for video games and science fiction material drove the idea anyway. As years rolled by, I mostly remembered the sweetness in her eyes. She looked amazing, and at that age I was completely introverted with little chance of connecting with an actual woman. When I finally did, it was much different than I had hoped. Not bad, just different. I still saw her eyes and every now and then pictured a mechanized woman. None of it went very far. The period in question was full of wonder over the future, rife with family events and holiday gatherings, and I had little worry of being happy. Nineteen eighty seven. She faded, I moved ahead whichever way I did for whatever reason, and then the film industry dream pulled me into a world I loved so much. Enter the film I saw this morning.



118



Marisa and her endlessly-gorgeous eyes. All these years later and I still get butterflies when I see her on the screen. I can't help it. The years in question are later, and I spent them in the Midwest after getting the idea to move to where my girlfriend originally hailed. Well, I loved it there but never made much of myself. And then I fucked everything up, moved to a rental room in town (that is story in and of itself), and soon after packed my shit and drove home. I have written about the drawings of homes and my dreams of escape, but the film thingy was king. I loved it, from watching rented tapes at home to sitting in the big auditorium and seeing the actual film roll along. The sight, smells, everything. I walked in, picked up my snacks, and then cozied to watch. I went inside the story as it played out and yearned to be a part of that world. Not the fiction, the industry. I almost needed it. Henceforth I scoured everything to learn all I could. Upon returning to California, I ended up working in a glass plant before transitioning into a more technical position. The dream of film was at an all-time high. That period was again sprinkled with family gatherings and the like. Flying with my grandfather in his plane, trips to Nevada, big holiday parties, the whole shootin' match. The future was still ahead and I saw it as nothing but possibilities and promise.

And then Jamie.

Static for years. By the time I became enamored with Jamie's big, beautiful eyes I was deep into a career and life was stable. House, work, friends, outings, and still all of the family stuff, except by that late year there were two families involved. We had huge parties with both sides invited, camping trips several times a year, and the occasional vacation to someplace comfortable and enjoyable. Life moved along despite my insides becoming more and more obsessed with the female form and all that went along with such an interest. I wrote here and there but nothing substantial at the time. There were expressions of boredom, dreams of running away, and plenty of ambiguity back then. I kept everything inside my head. Upon realizing that seeing Jamie there on the screen week after week was causing feelings inside my heart, I began to vocalize everything. The forms were becoming more difficult to see on a daily basis, yet the living was good. Even though I had troubles, day to day operations brought me satisfaction. Still, the future appeared bright and with possibility. For the third time, I was fine and still looking forward.

And then the coast. Family members lost, career thrown away, finances wrecked with nary a thought of the future, and as the darkness began to surround my heart, the future started appearing bleak and uncertain. All those years flew by and left me feeling as if much more time was behind than ahead. All the while I still stared at the eyes. They never changed.

Machine... Reentered. I know that is the way to where I need to be. I really do.

Switchtrack to something I am compelled to blurt...

I know what happened. The media made it funny, as if the way to a person's sense of humor is dependent upon seeing a man hurt. Well, the reality is not what is on the fucking screen, idiots. Pull your head out of your ass -- if that is even possible -- and realize the damage can be extensive. A man gets hit or kicked, and then seconds later is completely recovered and fine? Impossible. And therein lies one of the biggest problems with the manner in which society has desensitized people. It is shown over and over during television shows and movies, and much of the time has zero or near-zero consequences to the act. The whole fucking thing is so unrealistic that I do not have the words. Well, here are a few... There are more nerve endings related than I can begin to describe, and believe me when I say that I have had more than my share of education in the matter. The nerves go all around, front to back, and way up the middle. I have read extensively on the subject, and the conclusion is depending upon the severity of what takes place, the pain can be associated with childbirth. Yes, I said that, because some very educated people have done studies which revealed the extent of what can happen. So, the more I see these films and television shows go into such a thing as a punch line, the more society believes that the result is funny. No. Fuck no. But the damage is already done and no one has the power to change anything. People will continue to laugh and feel the same. I wish I could wipe the whole of the earth right out into space and watch everything die off. This subject has forced me to change in so many ways that I cannot imagine scratching the surface. Go on laughing. I will not comment upon this again because there is little point to it. Sometimes I am compelled, the words end up here, and then I feel weak for the effort. I can't change anything. No one can, nor can I feel that anyone cares at all. The fact is I am powerless, damaged, and it keeps coming back. In the last entry (I think, but will not look it up) I stated that more than once I have drifted toward suicide as the only avenue available to rest my body and mind. You can fucking believe I still do. There is the effect of the society you helped to build. As I said, this is the end of it. I will not bring it up again. I promise.

But I will not apologize. Ever. I can't even believe I went into it. I feel strongly, I guess. Most sensitive subjects remain behind a mask here. This one is too much, though. Fuck it. No one gives a shit anyway. I mean, really... Who the fuck am I and what the fuck do I know? There is no fighting the mass... Just stop making it funny.



122



As I said up the page somewhere, life is so radically different now than in the past. Change is to be expected, though, to some extent, and to suggest otherwise is ignorant. I knew things would be different as years passed, but now the gradient is driving me into the ground. Family, holidays, expectations (not a good word, ever), and the whole of what I feel inside on a given day are now so truncated that it hurts. Nothing can ever come back, no matter the effort or compulsion. In fact, thinking of the past and where I was at the time is pushing all four issues to the rear. The caring I felt just two days ago is diminishing rapidly. I can't continue to waste my precious time and effort worrying about subjects and problems that may not even be real. I know that I create some of them in my head when threatened or hurt, and the reaction tells me that much of it cannot be true. Jesus fucking Christ, who was that on the screen a few seconds ago? Damn. Anyway, I am beginning to believe -- honestly -- that there is more control present than I had previously thought possible. The big four have varying levels, to be clear, and two often outshines the others. It's in my head, but has been managed up until this point, so going further is important. While I have to admit that gushing here does help, the truth is speaking with another person (so long as I do not push against someone trying to help me as in the past) accomplishes more in a few minutes than five thousand lines of this ANALysis. Heh. Worry over my future is taking priority as of realizing those eyes all represent sections of my life which I need to accept. Prior to the Cherry 2000 was the shit that changed me, but it must remain to the side as I try to go further with where I am in life. It is isolated and likely has less to do with my perception of the future than I had originally thought. The other one mentioned in 'Send in the Clones' still makes me angry because it was reckless and unfeeling, but again, I can work with it. Time will tell, although I already know as of this entry I can do myself good. Part of that will involve telling some to take a flying leap because I must put my own well-being first.

Those three time periods and the eyes over which I gushed have defined the way I see everything now. There is no more of the wide-eyed wonder, and as I have said before, this feels as if the road has straightened for all time and the turns removed. I am helpless and left without options or uplifting possibilities due to myself. I see Pamela every now and again and dream of where I was and how the world appeared then. And then I watch something else and Marisa's face stares back at me as if to scold me for looking. Lastly, Jamie strikes my heart like the largest hammer in creation and leaves me a mushy, babbling pile of goo. A depressed realization, nothing more. There are no longer images of the future and things unknown, only gray. No surprises or dreams now. Not even the massive and overpowering draw of the machine can maintain its stance any longer. It is weakening, just as I am losing the will to believe there will exist any up in the future. I just don't see it anymore. The differences are too much now. I used to look out and ahead to see many things, but now I am in a world made up of very little. I am closed, withdrawn, and see only the tiny universe which has been created to keep me safe.

Yesterday I really pushed myself for a while. The feeling that nothing had been accomplished kind of stuck me like a needle and I took care of a little organization for a while before the evening began. As the day went along prior to getting off my ass, I felt the words here forming but hesitated to put some of the material down. I fear that backlash, always. Aside from the tirade up above, I was about to go into another as I consider the therapists of the past. Most noteworthy was Dr. Bob from just after I drove my sorry ass home from Ashley's loving arms. He was a good person and never wavered from professionalism. Somehow his eyes put me at ease and I gushed. The six months spent in his office -- twice a week -- were mandated by the hospital. I had to see someone in the sphere of my benefits package, and only wished to speak with a woman due to my ongoing disdain for men. Well, that was not possible at the time, so he was the only choice. After a mere two hours, however, the idea of which sex I needed for opening up melted away. The psychologist I have mentioned and her unbelievable wording were years earlier, if I recall. I think of her now and realize that what had been spoken was commonplace, and despite me holding her to a higher standard, I again need to fall back to the position of allowing the mistake. She did not know me, and though I feel that speaking in such a manner was out of line due to a therapist's need to come across as 'generic' in the beginning, still I am not that upset over it now. The event likely caused ongoing issues which come up from time to time, but I don't think it's entirely her fault anymore. I believe the problem was partly me. She was wrong for sure, but my expectations were fallen and I never saw her again. I went elsewhere and located much more sensitivity. I lost track of what I was trying to say. I'm still not terribly happy with what took place in her office. Today I am actually going to tell another human being about it.

The weather is ridiculous right now. Each morning has been very humid because of a fucking storm left over from the tropics. Remnants have made landfall and now we are full of moisture as a result of the proximity. Ugh, it's too warm in the morning now. Whatever. I'm not generally happy with the weather anyway so I don't even know why I bring it up.

What is it with the Ashleys and being so tall? The one who wrapped herself around me was my height, and Ashley Scott -- the one I mentioned prior to this crap -- is taller. Maybe one of those genetic thingys which come to pass here and there. I don't know. Sitting here wracking my brain to figure if I still know any woman named Ashley. The one I recall is a person I have not seen for some years, and is the daughter of a friend of mine. She was a tad shorter than her sister (whom I have written about here) and I recall being at several events here in town in which she was involved, too. Beautiful, that girl. Oy, a little too beautiful, honestly. She was a problem sometimes. She was just a touch below Jennifer, who stood five-eight. Interesting.

Morning drive and daily routine completed by just after ten is a good thing. I have the day in front of me. Oy Leeta. Fly off the screen please. Where was I? Ah... I have a lunch guest coming at noon so having things finished early helps quite a bit. Anyone in my space requires me to consider my comfort level at all times. Today should prove just fine, although the discussion may be uncomfortable. The morning has been very peaceful and that is just the way I need it. I failed to mention yesterday was the six month mark since the first shelter order. That means aside from a few days at the end of March, I have been here at home equally long. At times the days flew, while the tough days seemed to last forever. The upside is that I haven't found the need to flip the fuck out since the first time back in April. That was a very bad day which led me to believe that being here in control of my environment was critical to my survival. I made it through the period and flourished shortly thereafter. Still I have a difficult time finding the motivation to go beyond the daily routine, however. I'll get it back, but when is a mystery. Since yesterday I have felt better about being here, believe it or not, and toward the end of the year I am certain the cooler weather and shortened days will help even more. Plus there is football. The season brings me back to those days of Marisa and Jamie, along with family and holidays. All of it is gone and only the football remains. It is up to me to find what I need during this time of year. The memories cut me deeply right now. The eyes are still there and will be forever, but I do not have the positive outlook which was with me daily during those years. Just the eyes.



123



Leeta again. I don't understand why, but her cuteness pulls me more than almost anyone else. It could be the fact that she is fairly brainless on the show, and that reminds me of the closest woman to a machine in memory, and that would be Michelle. The more I think of her, the more I believe Leeta exhibits her behavior. The only other woman near such a level is Molly, and I almost can't talk about her anymore. The things which come to mind are just fucking yikes, so mentioning her must be limited these days. My head will come apart. Leeta will be on my television from time to time and likely for years. Like Marci, she has been encapsulated within a temporal bubble, meaning frozen in time for my viewing pleasure. All of them are as such, really, due to the technology involved. I will look sometimes, dream of a machine version of Leeta and some of the others, and then do my typical fall off the edge of the world. Such is me.

Excuse my language, but I would fuck her in half. Which? Take your pick.

Marisa's eyes. That entire period was enjoyable, from where I was living to my relationship at the time, and on to the idea that there was so much more yet to be discovered. I miss it all so much that my heart aches. All of the family stuff, the connection to her family and inherent benefits, and then the holiday season which was amplified to the nth degree due to her and her mother. Both were nuts for Christmas and it made my holiday seasons that much better. There is nothing even close to the same now. Nothing. Oh, we go across town several times per year for birthdays and the New Year, and I must say I enjoy every second of each, however missing my family is something which cannot return. I remember my ex telling me to embrace those big family dinners in Nevada because my niece and nephew were so young at the time, and passing on the appreciation of each moment was important to the future. They would carry that to their own families when the time came. Well, that's all fucking gone, too. Everything. All I have is what goes on in this little house. Everything is so different now that I can barely comprehend the changes.

Did I even appreciate those events enough at the time? I do recall the desperation in each moment while Andrea and I were in Florida, along with all of the flights. I maintained a stance in which every detail was burned into my brain because I knew the aftermath would be horrible. I had to consider the tiniest moments and simplest little gestures constantly. Even watching her cut the corners of her lovely mouth with a napkin after a sip of coffee. Everything. All of it, all the time. The end would approach, so there was no choice in the matter. I believe my appreciation for our time together stemmed from the speech by my ex regarding the big dinners. Little did I know, but those trips to Nevada would end up defining me. Ugh.

Marisa's eyes may have been the most important period in my life. That is fucking depressing.

Something had better happen, and soon. The memories are killing me, and that is no euphemism."



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