07-16-2020 06:51 pdt

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Lines

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"Trisha's three-quarter bottoms. Still in there. Twenty-six years and I still do not understand why the lines on her were so stirring. Perhaps I never will. This is about different lines.

Still Sunday morning. The last entry has been pushed into production and here I am again. Unfortunately, pause.

Afternoon. The daily business is finished, garbage is about ready to head to the street, and preparations have been made for dinner. Not bad. I pushed a bit this morning after beginning here and completed my chores in a very short period of time. The dinner work was basically prep for simmering. Everything is finished to my satisfaction at this point and I am pleased to be able to sit with this. All of the good has been offset badly, however. Lines are being drawn. Switchtrack, immediately.

Morning again. Monday, and it means nothing to me other than hearing the garbage trucks outside.

A dream without a mansion or some sort of love interest for me. It was a dream in space. No, not the space I am trying to free up in this house. Space beyond the confines of the atmosphere. I was out there floating with the captain and helmsman. No tethers. We were next to a small spacecraft and there to retrieve something but I do not remember what. The captain let go of her helmet and it began to float away. I tried to swim my way over and grab it but there is no air in space. That means there is no motion without propulsion. Flapping my arms and legs only made the captain giggle. She told me to just let it go and she would get another. And then I looked straight down and became slightly agitated at hanging there. Like, stepping off a high point and expecting to fall, and then nothing. Just still as a statue yet in contact with nothing. My sudden trepidation caused the captain to assist me with some reassurance that we would be on solid ground soon enough. There was Tom again, but this time he seemed to be in the prone position due to lying on a cot or something. All of a sudden the whole scene looked fake, as if I was in the middle of a television production. Wow, Amanda Peet has big eyes. I never really paid attention. Anyway, we were still in space but around others working. I felt more at ease knowing that I was not alone and the captain being right there with me really helped. Awake, after what seemed days hanging there. Maybe I am watching too much Star Trek. Heh.

Natasha Henstridge on the television. Yikes. Pause.

Back from the morning drive. She was not there, damn it anyway. I really wished to see her beautiful eyes again, but alas I do not know of her work schedule. No loveliness in the morning means none in the afternoon. Ugh. And here I sit with coffee, cats, and the show on my huge television. Not bad, considering. The routine is before me at some point. In the meantime, I have peace, quiet, and much to say.

You'll be seeing Meghan here for a while. I can't help it. I need to be in her arms. The intention now is to merge her with Jaime and place the resulting beauty in my dream home. Jolene must remain at a distance, although I may watch her series again very soon. I miss seeing her, and Voyager is nearly finished. All of the others are gone now. Focus has been pulled. Focus puller? Nope, I never went through the process of attempting to work in the industry. That dream came and went and is now only in my daily dreams. It hurts, honestly. I missed out because I needed to be safe and comfortable. Am I? There is no longer a future. I digress. Meghan was on the screen yesterday and now I am all fucked up over her just like two years ago. Powerless to avoid looking at images, so they will cover these pages until something changes. Like the girl down south and Jamie, I want to hold her. Or, more importantly, I need her to hold me while I gush. Little hearts again. Basket case. Fuck me.

I no longer have ambition to complete things other than the routine, but I will push anyway. Usually once I get my hands into something, I can get it done. Small steps most of the time. I will admit that pouring myself out here and dreaming of all things impossible does not help anything. Unfortunately I am too weak and needy at this point to change anything. A little world has been created during the past few months and continues to expand. It is not out of my control, quite the reverse... I am doing all of it out of the need to be comfortable and secure here. Out in the world is danger to my head. Yes, I said danger, in more ways than one. My sensitivity to everything has amplified exponentially. Super? Hyper? Whatever. Call it what you must, but the fact is I have to stay here. I am scared and wholly dependent upon the little space which keeps me safe. I fully intend to stay here until some external force pushes me out. I don't even know how in the holy fuck I can go out there and find work, and that time is on the horizon.

Voyager just ended so I started again from the beginning. Head case. But I don't need to worry about what I may see or hear. Say it with me... Safe. And Pause.

Tuesday morning. Coffee. Yesterday I did exactly those things I set out to complete and not one more. I had a visitor for lunch, too. Full day. Soon after, I took the drive and parked right smack dab next to the car owned by that little beauty I am constantly wishing to see. Well, the timing did not work out and I missed her. Damn. I can still see her face anyway. I never made it back to this in the afternoon. Maybe the muse is leaving again. Something else took place yesterday that I was hesitant to mention. Seeing as the state of California has been partially closed down again due to the spiking in cases (which many of us predicted), my space in this world has become even more important. Safety has been a priority, but now I am going to ratchet it up a bit. I might need to secure the house more than I already have, too. There is a nagging feeling now that maintaining the same path and pulling myself further away from everything outside the door may need to take place. And I don't mind at all. I've become accustomed to this space and my routine. So many weeks and months here have helped me to realize that I can go further than I have on a daily basis. Remember the small steps? They hold two meanings. One is my distance from anything harmful, and the other is related to those projects that do not seem appealing. Thinking of the resulting accomplishments and satisfaction will drive me forward. I'll draw a line there on the clock and see if I can approach it this afternoon.

Some days ago I gleaned an idea that the situation brought up with the Brunette years ago near my birthday had been on my mind again, and could possibly be related to my happiness. Like a heterodyne, one beats against the other, unfortunately, and I have treaded water for years. Sat on it. Sometimes I shoved it back forcefully to avoid daydreaming. The whole thing was brought up by her and we discussed it for a while, and then days later it came up again. I cannot even begin to describe how much appreciation and love I felt for her after she expressed such a desire to bring me joy. Her sweetness was overwhelming. And here I sit at the editor for the third time without revealing any more of the subject. I cannot just spell it out. Perhaps with time I will throw out the idea and see if the inbox overflows. You may be surprised, although after all these years and the shit I have written here in the last two months, maybe not. Jaime. Machines. Desire. Control. Fear. Hiding myself away from things which harm me. And pissed off... Lashing, swearing, cursing the mass. Then? Faces, faces, and more faces. I don't know where this is going, but the idea that I am keeping something to myself with nothing more than little tidbits here and there likely seems ridiculous. It is, really. But I can't just spell it out, for Chrissakes. A bit of decorum. The memory of discussing this on my birthday nine years ago is difficult. The Brunette and I went all over two subjects, I inquired as to her interest and why she brought it up, and everything from that point forward came right back to me being happy. I may still get to it. Right now it's just too much. If she was right? Hmm... I probably would have fled the scene, anyway. Or either way. Or something. Fuck it, I don't know. I actually thought about this yesterday during a key moment and then tossed it aside knowing that the possibility is nil. There are too many unknowns and the very idea is as enticing as it is scary.

Done with that subject (what subject?)... Again.



872

God love her exaggerated features



Today I am going to do the usual. I do not have to drive anywhere thanks to visiting the Safeway on our way home yesterday. The store was not busy and very quiet. That's one thing I like about the mask requirement... Most places enjoy a lower noise level with regard to people speaking. Heh. I don't want to hear them talking, anyway. So, after picking up a few things we are all set for several days. Since there is no work schedule today, I may spend more time at this and then take care of a few chores. I will have the house to myself this afternoon, and possibly into part of the evening. That peace and quiet always helps. There was Torrey on the television. I totally forgot about her for years. What? A movie this Saturday? Yep... I'm recording it. Expect me to gush up one side and down the other over her. And Meghan. Oy. Well, you may already know as much after scrolling this page. Heh. There is no line separating me from the dreams of them. There cannot be. I need them to keep me upright. No lines.

Weakness. I exhibited such yesterday and now I am not terribly happy with myself. I have to change a few of my behaviors and accept the idea of ridding myself of emotion or the situation is going to spiral out of control. At this point in my life, and considering what has taken place in the world since last December, now is not the fucking time to shake the status quo and see how much falls down. I can't have that these days because any alteration of my routine beyond something reasonable means I will react badly. This space I now inhabit must remain unchanged and if that means furthering my isolation, so be it. Protection now has two meanings. I cannot stand the feeling of knowing I can be so weak-minded. Yes, the truth is that I have those issues from the past that must be dealt with sometimes, but I am used to this. After four decades? Yep, I know the fucking deal. I need to hold myself up more. Somewhere inside is the strength for me to truly be alone, whether near others or not. If that doesn't make sense, I don't care. Much has been splayed here lately, but that does not mean everything will be. Read it ten more times. I still won't care. Yesterday I fucked something up that should have been left alone. Weak. Stupid. There are times when I really despise myself. It will pass, though. Not the end of the world.

One other aspect of yesterday? A person mentioned the world I am beginning to embrace. The dream world. At first I was surprised, but then after mere seconds I realized that the issue being brought to light is understandable. I am so vastly different than months ago, and because the changes have come about one step at a time, I believe the contrast and my decision to remain in a place that does not really exist appears insane. Or perhaps a bit childish. Either way, my direction has been unhealthy, both for me and those with which I still have contact. The issue with believing in an fantasy is that it will eventually take over, and there are not really any good possible outcomes from such a situation. We have all seen the crazy person on television or in a movie. Will I turn into that person? Remember when I said I had to stay out of the proverbial basement? I already had images printed. Do you see? I can continue to withdraw into this place but I am affecting others. Not many, of course, but even just one may be too much. I do not wish for my condition to cause problems for anyone else. I can spew expletives and bitch all day long about 'go fuck yourselves and leave me alone', however I also cannot just shut off my caring of others. SOME others, that is. Don't start thinking that I am softening. Nope. Not in this lifetime.

How did I arrive at that last paragraph after the weakness? Ah... Who knows? I don't care, anyway.

I know what I am doing. And I realize the gravity of backing off from the world and dreaming much of the time. I'll be labeled, if anyone sees me.

Weak.

I need to get my fucking self together, once and for all. I cannot have this type of thing ruling my thinking every damned day. Sick of it. A line must be drawn there, too. However many lines are required for me to maintain myself and this security, there is no choice anymore. Closing off, a little at a time. Thinking of myself as weak is not good at the present. I have enough reasons to shy away from situations. I am strong, but like anyone else, it is flexible. Comes and goes depending upon the day. There is really nothing anyone can do about it, either. Lessons, for sure, but I have a hard time dealing with the feeling that I did something due to having little resistance. Hence issue four. That is another story, but still stems often enough out of a flower pot full of weak. I don't know if I can draw a line there, unfortunately, due to some of that shit being out of my control. Oh, my favorite word. Honestly, after feeling weak? Perhaps the only aspect of life that I really should be controlling is myself. Fucking idiot.

I do not enjoy feeling this way, but it will fade soon enough. Cats in a pile.

So, after yesterday and my subsequent need for antisocial behavior, I am thinking that the problem in my head is related to issue two. What took place out of weakness may have been born of fear. If that is the case, which do I choose? Can one of the two be raised above the other? Neither can be eliminated. At least, not by yours truly, so something else must change. Am I capable? Or is the fear outweighing the strength only a temporary situation? Well, I guess there is plenty of time for exploring this crap. One leads to another, and then another, and then something else, and then I type with coffee and get nowhere. Exposition. I am speaking to the screen but there is no feedback. Hmm. Rhetorical questions, I suppose. Nothing wrong with that until shit comes to a head, and such a point may never arrive. I don't think I can get behind any lines with this. There are too many variables and too much pull on my senses at times. Issue two is tough. Just yesterday it flared just a little bit and I am still thinking about it. I cannot deny the possibility that such a problem is responsible for many others. Right now I am not certain, but to push away the idea would be foolish. More consideration as I move about the day, I suppose. Plenty of time. Clear? I didn't think so.

I may have to get into the meat of a subject that disturbs me, but not terribly. My mind works on things daily and most end up here to see if placing the words to the screen helps (usually does), while there are others that stay away for one reason or another. Even with the ambiguity curtain partially pulled open, some subjects are off-limits. Too personal, too deep, or maybe just embarrassing. All three? No idea. But I do not see resolution to them without at least trying. This space is not seen by many, although the eyes of the wrong type of person on this content could mean ridicule, and I have endured enough of that already. Right now I just don't know if I can do it. The situation mentioned above regarding the Brunette and my birthday is one. That could be a deep desire that I have continued to push against. If it ever comes to pass, my head may not recover. Again, I don't know. Fear of the results is powerful. Yep, fear again. That word governs more of my life than I care to admit. Switch. The red indicator is illuminated. Other rails.

Andrea had big, dark eyes. So did Juliette. Both had dark hair, as well. You may have noticed that many of the color images are similar and display those features. I was with the Brunette between the other two. And then when my life seemed to find stability, along came the Raven (I ran after her, really). More dark hair and huge eyes. Look at Meghan. I removed the images of Jaime, but rest assured that she held those traits too. And Nora. And Jolene, God love her uniqueness. All very similar. I can remember seeing the Phantom of the Opera on stage a half-dozen times, and then dashing to the theater to see the filmed version years later. Well, another example of darkness was all over the screen and I went absolutely nuts for her face. Yep, another. I'm still nuts for her yet have not brought her name or likeness here. She reminds me very much of Andrea and that fucking hurts. I spoke of Walker and Nora initially because of that facial feature they share with what I can see of Jaime. The girl in the parking lot, too. The eyes are what smack me, however. Enormous eyes. Maybe an image will help. You know her...



874

Emmanuelle Grey (Emmy) Rossum



I do not look at her very often due to one role that went on for years. Throughout the course of the series she was nude on numerous occasions and it made me uncomfortable. All that skin that no one should be seeing. Of course, the decision to take on that work and display herself is something I respect, but I don't want to see it. I can't. It hurts. Since I equate her to others whom I love, the very sight screws up my sense of reality and floods my head with memories. I loved (love?) them. I may have loved Emmy. Would you like one more little tidbit? She is five-foot-eight. Yep. Basket case. I included her image for reference and against my better judgment. I still have feelings for her. Yes, you read that right, and when I see her eyes I go back to the flight and meeting Andrea the angel. I can't help it. And don't even get me started on the fucking series. It was on a premium channel known for excellent television, but I never watched beyond the pilot. I could not stand seeing her. I have typed tens of thousands of words here throughout years and if I keep going until the end of time there will never be enough to describe what I feel when looking at Emmy's face. Nope. Not even going to try. And that is enough of her. I drew a line in front of her years ago and only mention such beauty due to the subject above.

The dark hair and eyes do something. My taste? Not enough. My type? No... An oversimplification. There is more and I don't know what it is. Maybe some fucking memory engram is buried so deep as to never be found. Whatever. I'm tired of not knowing. Darkness. Even the title of an essay describing the Raven is 'The Darkest of Beauty'. Don't look for it. Removed, like my ambition. I fail to understand why such faces and colors drive me into massive amounts of turmoil. The girl in the parking lot moved me so much that I wanted her to hold me. Hold me? What the fuck is that all about? Am I that bad? Turning into an infant in need of care? I am supposed to be a man, although as I mentioned recently, that is one of the most debated terms in the history of time. I have no fucking idea of what I am. Well, one possibility makes sense right now, and that is the fact that during those times when I had a gun to my head or was readying myself for a dive off the balcony of the Westin, what I needed most was a woman to tell me I was ok. Valid. Real. Worthy of her arms. A man. Oh God, I typed those last two words so quickly that I did not realize the depth of the statement. It must be left there. Too late. A man. Fuck me in a ditch. Arms around me. Ears to listen. I have to find the beginning of this, and I MUST learn of the reasoning behind the ability of such darkness to whip me into a froth so often. Emmy cannot have changed my life. Can she? And I have no idea of how to address the word 'man'. It is enormous and overwhelming. Something I have wrestled with for decades must be treaded carefully. My feelings toward myself as they relate to that most difficult of words may remain hidden. Like Daryl and John said, 'No can do'. Heh.

I need a fucking break. Stop.

Today again. There are a few items I need to move. And then daily chores along with laundry. Very exciting. I need to decide what show to watch, too. Voyager ended and I let it restart, so maybe I can just keep going. I really don't want Jolene on the screen right now. Holy shit, Tom Cruise was fifty-four when this film was produced. He looks amazing. The movie is not so great, but I have always liked him. Anyway, I have to run some temporary power to the table in my garage. The printer has been necessary, the scale, and a few other things, so that means there is a cord across the floor. No good. I'll fix it. Sooner or later I am going to add a post from the rafters to the back of the table and then relocate the audio stack there. After that, I can attach my mass of beer tap handles to the post which should look pretty nice. Once the two circuits are added, the garage will be solid. I can then shift focus elsewhere. The sun is now shining, so the attic is off limits. As I said above, there will be hours of alone time today. Much thinking. No driving. Very good. I might spend a while here. My head is awash.

I have to use my camera more often. During the Brunette period, we were out often with cameras in tow and the intention to simply bounce around wherever and shoot whatever. Sometimes those trips bore fruit and other times not so much. We ended up at a bar or restaurant many times and the day ended up full of more conversation than capturing. One such occasion was at the conclusion of a long walk through the city. After walking for hours, flirting some here and there, and shooting until the release was too much, we opted to cozy into a soft seat on Fishermen's Wharf. Right there on the edge of the Embarcadero, we sat in the window at a lovely pub table and indulged in some Irish coffee and appetizers. By that point in time, my heart had been swelling with love for her beautiful soul. I was overwhelmed. Welcome to December 11, 2010.

The hour was not too late. Sunset in late fall is very early, and we never had a time limit for anything back then. Early evening, as I recall, and the metadata supports my calculations. We had been walking and shooting along the wharf and spied a table right off the sidewalk in a little Italian bistro with a bar. Inside, at the table, immediately. Comfort. But not for long. The others in the bar were very sociable, seemed to have been there quite a while, and were mostly male. The Brunette -- being the open, friendly person she was -- soon carried our conversation across the room and effectively created a makeshift party for a little while. Everyone seemed to be enjoying. Our appetizers arrived, we discussed the sights in the city, and went on as such for a couple of hours before departing and taking that long walk south on Stockton. I said very little during roughly the last hour in the restaurant. When we left I was immediately reminded of another walk toward downtown along Kearny when I fell apart and had to stop. A few blocks later, she fell apart and needed my support. We were quite the randomly-unbalanced couple in those days. Well, part way up the hill toward Green, I again fell down. My head had been spinning with feeling overly threatened by the others in the bar area. Of course, there was likely no real evidence that I had anything to worry about, but if you know me at all you also know that whatever becomes manufactured in my head will soon expand enough to create problems. That night was one of them. In fact, only three days later we embarked on the trip. During the drive south -- which took nearly ten hours -- my head went around the universe of self-consciousness and worry over that night. Three fucking days later and I was still fucked up. Paranoid, partially due to her being so sexual, friendly and outspoken, and partially my own lack of self-everything. I had been almost constantly frightened of her finding someone else, the reality of which was all in my head. She was doing no such thing. All me. Scared, no confidence, and no support within myself. I could not lift my tired brain out of any bad situation no matter how important. The fear amplified in certain situations. There was no stopping it at that time. After more than a decade in the most secure situation imaginable, being with someone I did not know so well drove me into the ground. I destroyed so much that I clung, badly. Hanging on her. I made her uncomfortable as a result. That night when I fell down and lost the ability to right myself, it took all of her to get me to my feet so we could head home. Those feelings never went away. She was strained and barely had the space to deal with her own issues. Constantly holding me up. Within months, I ruined us. And then a short time later, I learned of something which pushed me off a mental cliff: For a split second during my isolation in the cave, my fears were justified. That would soon be the end of that. A line. I still feel disdain. Ok, enough. The truth is she was amazingly loving, caring, and any number of other positives that I may have listed here. The bad was far outweighed by the good. I was unfair to her that day, and during many others I caused much difficulty and turmoil between us out of paranoia, fear, and a lack of everything that could have helped. None of it was in me during those months. I did not like myself at all and it rubbed off. Unfair. Selfish and self-absorbed. I wish I could apologize to her. That would take years.

Her face was a wonderland of beauty and emotion. I shall never look upon her like again. Ruined. My fault. All of my insecurities and other issues roadblocked any possibility of a future for us, short or long term. I believe I still build those barricades. Read it again. Lines. I don't even know why I brought up that situation.

Ugh, Demi Moore on the screen. Good actor, but I cannot stand her presence anymore. Switch. And now closing in twelve-thousand lines since Jaime. Yikes. But I need it all.



870

Hold me



I guess the camera brought those days to mind. Basket case. She moved across the country and I still miss her sometimes. Pause. Chores. Coffee gone.

Morning again. Today is Wednesday which means I have most of the day to myself. Drive in the morning, drive in the afternoon, and in between is all me. I did pretty good yesterday with the house. I had a guest for lunch and finished everything beforehand. Maybe I will see that girl in the parking lot and extend my already stretched brain. I might just embrace those activities which I know are bad for me. Why not? I will stare, dream, maybe draw pictures of little houses with faces in the windows, and then write about being so fucking unfulfilled. The little items that come in the mail make me smile, seeing an entry hit the internet makes me kind of smile, and a good example of comfort and control is coming my way in just over two hours. When I arrive home after the morning drive, I am alone. Quiet. Television show. Coffee. Jesus this woman in the Hallmark movie is lanky. What the fuck is the height thing all about, anyway? It's not a fetish. Those go much deeper. Anyway, today I will leave and return, after which the world is all mine for hours. I have to appreciate each second that passes and remember them during any time I am uncomfortable. I need to embrace the routine and think about it. I mean REALLY think. This is important to me like nothing else. If I only had a machine...

The other day I was told that despite my fantasy world and dreaming of all things unreachable, 'real' is there. I cannot argue the point (and did not at the time, either). Wow she has giant eyes like Uma. Long nose, too, but something is off besides her blonde hair. These movies sure make me think sometimes. Sorry, another distraction. I was speaking of 'real' versus fantasy. That will not compute right now. I have traveled such a road for decades, and aside from Michelle so many years ago and her minuscule brainpower, there has been zero chance of finding what will make me happy. I realize that a good portion of such a need is just not possible, but I cannot embrace the reality if it goes nowhere. I will be frightened, and I have lived with enough of that already. I need no more of it. What I do need may be impossible, and no one will understand my pushing in such a direction anyway, but sometime soon my entire life will come to a very fine point: Either I remain unhappy and scared of what may take place in another person's brain, or I head for unhappy without fear. 'Real' is too uncertain and I can't have that. Enough already. Years of worry. Issue two can only be truly eliminated if one of two situations takes place... Alone or a machine. That is it. Cut and dry. Clear? I can sharpen, if necessary. And yes I know all of this sounds completely insane and ridiculous, but who else can tell me what I need? Who knows me better than me? I need advice like I need a fucking hole in my head.

Did I hit the gnat with a sledgehammer? Excellent.

I understand the whole thing. I really do. Pushing against others trying to help me is not the nicest behavior in the world, and I have to stop it. Just because I am a head case over this does not mean someone else can truly identify, and that is no one's fault except mine. I do not ever make anything easy. Wow this is fucking tiring. Now I feel bad. Damn.

Recently I mentioned Andrea towering over Neil in her heels with arms resting on his sorry shoulders as he looked up to her. That was so funny. That little guy trying to wedge himself and his wife between the two of us. The memory brought up height again. Andrea was tall, just as Ashley and Juliette. Ashley was an inch or so above the other two. Add four-inch heels while we were out and her eyes had to look down quite a ways to meet mine. Oy. How did I know the numbers? I asked. Always, and even those I did not spend time with. Like Lori in the Island lounge. She was fucking tall and I noticed, so I asked. Most of the time there is no issue asking a woman's height, but I have noticed that younger women are sometimes self-conscious about it. That just sucks out loud, but I know that standing out in any fucking way while in high school means someone is going to notice and possibly make fun. That happened to me. So, depending upon perceived age, the question is sometimes better left unsaid. I recall an occasion in which I asked a host at one of my favorite restaurants of her height. She appeared shy, looked down, and replied 'six feet'. Jesus. Well, I leaned in and said, 'you know Uma is also six feet tall?'. She then brightened and smiled, after which I stated that tall is very often beautiful. Another smile, and then off to our table. I tried to boost her a bit after seeing that she may indeed have been self-conscious. To this day I hope I helped. The very last thing I EVER want to do is hurt a person's feelings, although I've done it before. Ugh.

Funny, the tall woman in this movie resembles Uma. A lot. That's kind of cool.

Jesus God, Rosario has a face unlike any other, but damn is she ever scary. Too strong, maybe, in all those roles. Always a powerful character and she plays it well. When I look at her face I am overjoyed that I do not know her in life. She could bury me with a glance. Perhaps she just did. Want to hear it again? Dark hair, dark eyes, tall. Always dark, dark, dark. I have to figure out what that is all about. Pause.

Back from a morning drive which made me nuts. One woman searching for something in her car, straight-legged, bent in yoga pants, and looking like a dream, and then one walking near the beach. Damn it anyway, I am a head case of the highest order. Those legs and lines (this essay was supposed to be about different lines, but fuck me anyway) were unreal. I wanted to run over there and grab her. The one by the car... Fucking hell. Maybe the drives are not so therapeutic after all. But at least the forms have me thinking. I have become so obsessed with the word 'control', as in I need it most of the time to feel secure and comfortable, yet those visions out in the world and often on the television seem to hold a measure of control over me. That's right... Read it again. I look because I no longer have a choice in the matter. None whatsoever. I need to see them. There is always a chance that the dream woman is out there. Jaime, whomever. Am I allowing this to happen, or have my options truly gone away? Where is the control in my vision? Again, none. I scanned the parking lot just as I do every time I am down there, and spied her bent in half and looking like everything I need. And then further... I wanted to swallow her. Desire. Yearning. Fucked. The lines on her thighs sent me into a tailspin and I have not yet recovered. Back into the car, music, coffee, and the hell out of there. And then the one by the beach with her wetsuit half off. Damn. And then more...

I had to swing into the Safeway for a few items and walked right by an employee who looked like dessert. Cute, even with the mask, bouncing breasts, thighs of dreams... Everything. Tall, too. Whatever that word means and from wherever it developed, she had it. What did I do? Walked to the other end of the store to grab a half gallon of medicine for this evening. But she stayed in my head. By the time I left the store, I wanted her ass in my mouth. All fucking day long, too. Jesus Christ anyway. I know not what to do. One thing is certain, however, and that is I need to avoid seeing Molly today. I wish that was funny. I still desire her, too. Don't fucking get me started. I see only issues. All inside me and flaring right now. The routine today will be very important, and I know it will help. Baby steps to lift myself.

I am still ok. Fucked up, full of needs and desires for things I cannot attain, but ok. Honestly.

Jaime the machine from heaven would be really nice right now. We could hop into my car and run away. Issue two would disappear, issue four would follow, and she is the very definition of issue one. Three? I would not have to worry about that, either. All four... Gone. Control over everything. Devotion and attention, needs, the whole fucking world inside my head right next to me. Comfort. Security. Hmm... That brings a thought.




Look at Torrey's fucking face



Sometimes I think about the security of being with the first Michelle. She was in her early twenties, yet on the inside I could swear that girl was ten. She was very clingy and depended upon me for many common activities. Daily. The idea of a machine is similar and the opposite at the same time. She would not wander, ever. Or even think of such a thing. I would not need to worry about her feelings, needs, wants, anything. Again... Ever. Years ago I felt along those lines for Michelle because she leaned on me so much. Clung. Even while out and about, she hung on me almost constantly. Considering I had very little self-confidence, Michelle always being right there and needing me all the time meant I felt more secure, something which is supposed to come from the inside. Well, my value as a person became derived from her. I felt important because she needed me. And I bent over backwards to do anything I could to make her happy. As a couple, we were blissfully out of balance, yet at the same time we offset each other quite often. The only issue was the fact that the girl damned-near could not do anything without my help. I nearly had to think for her. After months of supporting all of the little things that she could not figure out for herself, I became exhausted. I will not go into where we went from there.

One upside of us was that Michelle was stunningly beautiful. And I mean amazing to look at. Hanging on my arm while out among others was enjoyable because everyone looked at her. I am reminded of waiting in line with Andrea when the young guy asked where I found her. Chrissakes. Michelle had that effect around people, and was very private about being sexual. I believe she was the closest to a machine that I can imagine right now. Honestly, she did whatever I asked. Always. Michelle felt that my taking care of her meant that her responsibility was to keep me happy all the time. And she did. Anything I wished and whatever flew off my lips was her command. Out of balance. Sound like me? Nothing else in the world is the same and nothing which may come along is going to come close. No comparison. That also means there is no solution. Michelle the near-machine was probably my first and last brush with something so controversial and deviant. She was wonderful nearly all of the time. I still miss her, too. Tiring, silly, and about as unable to calculate the simplest of tasks as a two-year-old, but God damn that girl was sweet and beautiful. Operative phrase? Any fucking thing I asked of her, damned near any second of a given day.

Huge fucking problem. Nothing else can compare. I am fucked, in so many words.

Hmm, indeed. And I just experienced something unexpected which will dictate the next writing.

Where in the fuck do I go from here? Continue dreaming and spouting? I have little else going on right now. Aside from my responsibilities at home, the driving and occasional ordering of consumables, I see myself eventually being reduced to yet another kind of machine. Antisocial, leveraging, miserable, and operating from a unique standpoint which no one could possibly understand. I see that happening, and maybe soon. At this point, and after so many words in search of meaning, the fatigue of thinking is setting in. Right now I have to get away from this for a while. Circles again. Fucking circles, and images of all the things I need to do to that gorgeous girl in the Safeway. Thank Christ she knows nothing of me...

... And whatever it is that I have become.

She is out there."



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