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11-09-2019 05:15 pst

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Black

read ( words)

"The hand is winning.

'Here we are. The same place as always, as if there are rails below which curve into a circle (no, not that circle) and we just roll along endlessly knowing what is ahead. Each year. Every day. The same slight curve in front. No matter the motion or speed. There it is... Just around the bend... The Black.'

The issue remains. Every commercial, every sporting event, every trip out the door, and each occasion watching something on television. Day after day after miserable fucking day. One began a little while ago and there will be no comfort or clarity until this afternoon. The commercial was broadcast shortly after getting started earlier. That ad makes me feel old and weak. No help. Society pulls its strings and the public follows what they newly believe is a standard. Don't hold up to that? You're ostracized. Or maybe just a target for jokes. Or perhaps both. Either way, there is nothing you can do to rise in the view of others. Labeled, less than, fucked. As I stated a few times in the past, people are going to push you down in order to lift themselves. Now the television commercials are doing it. I see them and attempt to analyze the product or message, but in the end I only feel more of the threat. Everything throughout a given day seems to be pointing right back to the threat and I am getting pissed off. I will isolate and lash. I attempt to understand but cannot. There are aspects that I do know, of course, although they seem to be fading away in favor of sharper knives trying to gut me over the new. Two days ago I fell down hard, yesterday I fell further before finally coming back up for air (with the assistance of a loving heart), and now today things are dropping yet again. They are out of control as of this morning, and as slow as the descent seems to be as the day burns, the acid remains in there and eventually takes over. I am fucking powerless in the long run. I have nothing.

I have a decent idea of the root cause, but that will not be discussed here in this lifetime. Some things need to stay at arm's length for protection. The past -- that fucking cloaked figure carrying the Jungian shadows from hell -- has been written, and what took place there will never be undone. It can be dealt with, worked with, even worked over for answers, and the continuing study of the early days sometimes can help. My situation is no more or less difficult than that of another. The main difference is that I have to try and deal with the shit as it affects my day-to-day living. Right now said living is at a low. Very low. The threat is exactly the same as thirty fucking years ago and I do not know why it remains. The Brunette forced the most stark example of such a situation years ago and I did my best to learn from her. Cut to much time later when the Raven took misery away and landed me on the pillow of Herself. The same threat began to nudge but did not become overwhelming until long after She was lost. In the present, I am out of practice as to dealing with something like this flying at me with terminal speed. The other day, my first thought was to push against it with all that I am, but had that taken place I would not be sitting here comfortably at this moment.



659



The subject in question and the section of 'Drop' which stands out is continuing. In fact, that fucking issue seems to be snowballing just since yesterday when I published. As if my head was not twisted enough already, today sees everything amplified like a fucking Van Halen PA system. I cannot turn it off or ignore at all. I did my best to make nice and get through the hours before being slammed by the fucking routine. By the time this morning rolled around I felt quite a measure improved. Hours later? I am screwed up beyond yesterday and worried of the future. I do not see a way out of this type of thing. The more I attempt to think and even my headspace, the more the threat slams me. Right now I am completely overwhelmed by the fucking memories of all the damage and worry which took place time and time again as I tried to climb out of the hole created out of said fear. There may be no up.

As a matter of fact, I can see no up at all. The more I look around and take care of my afternoon business, the more the fucking worry intercedes and leaves me angry. All of the past run-ins with this feeling are mounting and my only option seems to be the worst type of alienation I could have imagined. At this very moment I am sitting in front of the gas fire in warmth and angling for my next push. I need to show others that I am not the individual to be taken lightly. Other than leaving a bloody mess in a public place, the options are narrow and require deep thinking. I cannot be viewed as just another head case in need of professional help. The facade be damned, I must maintain enough of the front to appear as the intelligent person I have proven to be throughout decades. I also need to slam home the point that said intelligence should not be pushed aside as trivial. The final solution can be applied when necessary.

Close. Don't push. The black is right there.

As I sit bundled up in flannel and thick robe, I see the path which brought me here. It is dark and brooding. It is the only path I could have tread given the past. I am alone in my beliefs and position. I am yearning for a branch but none such can exist. I am fallen. The years of exploration, exposition and writing have brought me insight like never before, but have also led me to this dark place. They have ruined me. Years. The site began happily more than seventeen years ago with the intention of embracing a freedom of thought along with the exciting promise and possibility of the Internet. I was younger, hopeful, and as wide-eyed as those looking to the future as a place unlearned and open. I wrote, edited, developed, learned and saw the electronic frontier as something which might bring promise. All of that is gone. The advancements that sped alongside Moore's Law of computing ended up leaving me by the wayside. Years of college helped me to believe that I could make a mark here on a global scale. No. Just... Fuck no. Nothing of the sort. Numbers perpetually residing in the basement.

The black. Cold. Miserable. Dark.

At the outset I had no idea what I was doing. Time passed and the worry developed, but nothing really came of it until recently. Yes, I had been confused at times and followed a path that I calculated would at some point cause difficulty. I did not know for certain. And the trouble was of a clear type. Now? Things are different. The threat mounts daily in one fashion or another and causes a drop of proportions I have not experienced in years. I am mired within said drop at this moment. This was unexpected and has forced me to curl up into a ball and push myself to focus upon the positives. Unfortunately, they are shrinking at a dramatic rate and causing any distractions to equally diminish. The routine flew by yesterday, I am at the early beginning of it today, and the only saving throw against isolating is the end of the week. If I survive that long, that is. Maintaining a distance began weeks ago -- even before realizing that this type of issue was possible -- and thus far has helped me to keep at least some clear thoughts and relaxing moments. Few, but some. Better than nothing. The drop will not cease at all. I must do my best to stay afloat until such time as others can be forced away for good. Time will tell.



660



Disbelief is paramount. At my age? To be thrown so far like this? And with all of the other problems being graded aside like dirt? What are the odds? And the big question... Why? Am I that weak of mind?

The fact is I am the same as I was forty years ago. There is no difference other than time. Nothing. When a situation such as this arises I am at the mercy of my head. And things become worse when I must hold up that massive facade and attempt to meld with others. I do not relate to them. A while back someone pointed out that no one knows what type of things are going on in others' heads. Well, I have no time to be concerned with them. There is enough going on within me to take my time and destroy it. The worry ruins everything. When I get those few moments alone to organize and consider what is happening, there ends up being such a mass of information that I am continually left without any solutions or understanding. Soon after? Back into the machine with a bit more piled on top. The vast mountain of shit is compressing and things at the bottom are beginning to take a set. Yes, that means little chance of unraveling and working through any of it. It is slowly becoming hardened. Solidified. That is happening in my brain right now. Further down, darker, less accessible, and eventually the mess will be blackened. As of yet, I have not been able to deal with this newest of threats, and after being free of such a thing for years I am no longer equipped. This may become the new me. Splendid.

Do not push or I will fall away.

These fucking male-enhancement ads are an indication of what we have become as a society. Big, manly men. Wow. Fuck you too.

The routine is in partial swing this morning and all I can do is yearn to be home. Will that help? The physical comfort and a bit of space is always nice, however without being busy I have lots of things flying through my psyche. They are always there. The editor awaits my attention, and the keys are going to fly. Those last two sentences raise the question (for the hundredth time) of 'is this helpful'? No. This is very simply all I have control over in the world. Nothing else. Had the threat not materialized a while back, you would likely be reading something radically different. A story, perhaps. My past, one of the many trips, or maybe fiction. Unfortunately, all of that has been shoved so far back that I have not clue one as to if and when the norm will return here. Norm? Whatever. Maybe I'll watch more episodes of 'Cheers' and see the other Norm.

I am going to shrink down to a worn out pile of a person as the cool weather rolls along.

The threat raises a question that I do not wish to address. It may be necessary, though. The years-long obsession has plateaued lately. I believe the early part of this year was the worst of it, and as time passed my interest seemed to calm for whatever reason. The visions still pop up, and to think that the threat is bad enough to push my main issue away is unreal. Nothing has cooled that torment for a very long time. The current worry could be overpowering my need to explore, but if it is not, I have no fucking idea what else may be at work here. To the question… Is this my fault? Did I drive the vehicle of obsession and form into and through a fork? I do not know. What I do know is while out in society or watching television, it becomes bright enough to draw me from worrying about my own sanity while near those visions. There are other visions, but nothing that has the power to pull me other than their threatening manner. Last night is a good example. I (sort of) watched television while sitting at the editor. I had forgotten about the football game for a while, and that led me to watch whatever could be in the background as I worked. After a while, I became uninterested in what was on, so I switched to Star Trek. That went bad so I then surfed the guide for something. I then remembered the game. Switch. A few minutes and it was halftime. Surf the guide again. Aquaman since I had not seen it. Well, that went bad so I ignored the tube until halftime ended, went back to the game and realized that was damaging, too. I focused upon the keyboard while swilling my third cocktail and spiraled into a very bad hole. Is all this really my fault? Maybe? Was it the obsession and those million occasions when I broke down over some form on the street or elsewhere? A few minutes ago as we approached the job site I saw a woman crossing the street, and without going into detail, she tossed my brain into the blender that I know so well. Could things like that be operating the threat? One led to the other?



661



I have no fucking answers. Just the feeling of darkness. Blackness. Nothingness. What a dream.

Cold.

Almost time for the routine and my daily yearning to be home. The woman who we passed likely has no idea of the level of her beauty, either. I do. I know it all too well these days. Seconds of seeing her move across the street and I have pages of information. The lack of outlet or exploration will soon bring me to my knees. Yes, that bad. The tiny upside right now is that the threat is absent here, thank the maker, but within my head and heart the pain continues to twist. Today is already wretched to the nth degree. Multiplied. Advancing with cold steel in me. Pressing. Hurting me. The railroad tracks are close by and calling to me. I already know that by the time we exit this city and I arrive home any options of what to accomplish will be severely truncated by my mindset. I know. Hopefully I can remain standing and do something other than fall through the fucking floor. I don't know right now. No confidence. No nothing. Just pain. I made it this far, but only recently has the massive threat begun its press on my heart. Will I make it further? Or will my favorite time of year be destroyed by two issues with no resolution?

Too many fucking questions and damned little insight.

Threat. Black. Obsession. Fuck it all.

A new day. The routine again. Early, and that means so far nothing has taken place to push me down. The goddess near the job yesterday has faded a bit and I completely forgot about her for several hours. Now she is too far back for a description. Seeing her was amazing. The vision soon became tempered, though. Her bouncing hair and breasts nearly disappeared upon diving into the work. As the day went along, the occasional artwork strolled by and helped me maintain a very down frame of mind. Mired in the shit, dreaming, yearning, and feeling pressure from two fronts. The day did end, however. It did.

I would love to see her again. Or maybe not. Do you see? Months ago I would be on the floor over a woman of such appearance. I am not there. The vision is difficult, of course, but if anyone recalls the yoga pants on California Street or the little enigma outside our job who nearly walked into me, you can see that the torment has been lessened. I know not why, and perhaps the situation and threat are taking over my thinking so severely that my breakdowns over the older issues are on hold. Maybe. The woman yesterday was unreal from head to toe. Everything, each angle, all those aspects which drive me insane with need went walking right on by. Naturally, I fell down for a short time before the other problems took over my thinking. I always initially drop to a certain degree. There is no getting around it. The threat was there, too. Upon getting into my work and the fact that we were on a deadline, everything left me for a long while. We took care of business, the goddess returned to my brain, and I finally reached home with that daily confusion and concern over where I may be headed with so much working against my happiness. I became darkened as the previous afternoon, but not to the same degree. Now I see her bright, beautiful eyes again. The very idea that I am thrown by such a sight is beginning to bring a third, darker realization.



662



Another black place. The issues feed upon each other.

Or do they? Is that part of the problem? The threat is external and I can do nothing about it. I have tried to avoid situations which bring it to the forefront, but that is rarely up to me. The obsession is internal and should be a path I can alter when feeling strong enough to do so. Most times I am fine until a catalyst out in the world or in media comes along, and that is when the strength becomes necessary. I usually cannot find any due to the threat weakening my resolve. Once it is illuminated, I fall in a similar manner to seeing a vision out in the world. I become quiet, unfriendly, and coldly analytical. Others move away from trying to reason with me after years of being buried by my tremendous negativity and words which leave no pathway out of the black. I push hard out of anger and then no one wishes to speak with me. That is fine. I have tons to work through. As for the obsession and threat being related? Well, I cannot go into much detail there. You're going to have to figure it out through these cryptic paragraphs.

The possibility comes and goes. Sometimes I feel that the threat was born years earlier than my main issue, other times it is seemingly simpler and younger. Trying to work this out is not easy. One day I feel hopeful and the next things seem dire, as if I do not have the time to find answers before something terrible takes place. I have no idea what that may be. It just feels close.

The routine again, but in an area where there is little concern. My mornings are beginning to look like an alien landscape that I must flee for comfort. I do not know what to do. As the days pile up, those little moments come and go like grains of sand being blown across the Great Highway in October. I realize that there is space for a time, and then it disappears. Perhaps a better analogy might be the way the sand pulls from under my feet when an ocean wave runs away. Everything is falling away, or fallen. I cannot tell right now. The early morning is my clear thinking time but lately those thoughts are disfigured. The threat rises and faces me, leaving my body tired. The woman near the job faded back in, I knew I would not see her again, and at the same time there is a threat I cannot avoid. Double. When will it be tripled? Today? Tomorrow? Compounded issues are going to make me even more angry than imaginable. When the tough examples have arisen (several times now, one directly in front of me), the issue and concern are brought in, squashed, and then the day carries forward. The ideas thin out. On the inside, however, bad things are happening because I know there is no end to it. Still in there. Still fresh. Still available. And there is me, still ruined. More will happen until I ultimately will not have the strength to deal with them any longer. I will force a stop. That stop is going to be harsh, to put it mildly. Count on it.

Black. Lash. Backlash? Incoming.

I have already taken steps to avoid completely removing people from sight. That is not a pleasant situation, but if it becomes necessary I will preserve myself and throw them away. My internal need can be dealt with alone. The threat cannot. None of that is up to me. More steps may need to be carried out and no one will like them. I keep trying to figure out this shit, and even knowing that only some of the cause is my head, the rest is most decidedly not. I cannot control others. Just when I believe I have identified a cause, it slips away and there I sit filled with anger and confusion. Anything external is tough. People are there, seeing. I have to be careful.

Hence this mess.



663



I am reminded of an entry from months ago which involved a gathering for the big game. I ran out of that situation without speaking to anyone. Days later they wished to know why I disappeared so quickly before the second half. Well, such a disaster in my brain has already been covered here, albeit there was not much detail regarding the direct flame which sent me over the edge. Yes, there was the woman in the camel-hair coat, but no... She was not the flip. She was difficult, but not the one. I will not state it right out, so here is a clue: A threat of large proportions. I could not stay and be mired within the crowd any longer. Everything changed in a flash, people morphed into aliens, and the sounds were scratching the cells in my head. I ran. A threat did that, and since then (February), the issue has grown ten-fold. Currently I am feeling all of it, the less direct along with the direct. This morning I began to see that the idea of dropping into the obsession seems to be fading due to much anger. A lack of understanding is natural at this point and I can't assume that it should be there before me. I am very tired of trying to work out the beginnings. Just fucking tired of all the small pieces being sliced off of the whole of my willingness to try. If I have placed myself here, so be it. If not, the cause has to be destroyed, and soon. I cannot live with the combined shit for much longer.

Question the black. Go ahead. And good luck.

Just like one of my favorite people said, every day is exactly the same. One bleeds into the next. The routine begins, my head goes all over the fucking map, and then I go home with far too much to work with. There are not enough hours in a Goddamned year to make sense of the issues which pile up during a single day. Those precious weekends and extra days here and there end up too short. They fly by, and by the time I get myself together enough to do something there is no time left. I cannot focus. Ahead of me are two and a half days to myself, which means hopefully some things can be organized. Hopefully, but so far no clear plan. Other than moving this from development to production, I only have a few things on the list. They are very simple and none too time consuming. That means my head will carry on with its degradation without tempering or slowing. Tomorrow will prove to be a turning point after going on about the fucking threat. I will be analyzing and considering every syllable from the television as well as others' mouths. We shall see if anything changes or pushes me to lash. And I will, I swear as I sit here in these flannel pajamas. I will throw the whole of my anger out toward people and make them frown. Fuck it.

Carmela Soprano is stunningly beautiful in the third season.

Saturday again. Early. Cool. Overcast. The desert will visit soon, but for now I am loving the weather. Inside is another story. Everything is the same, all of the shit just sits there awaiting my attention but there is little motivation other than spewing words here. The threat is now in the fucking driver's seat and will likely inflame the day tomorrow along with Monday night. Unless I slam the catalyst, that will not soon change. I have to do it, and with unrelenting force and anger. The inside has to come out to the light of day and be realized by the mass. There is no other way to deal with something which has the ability to destroy me. Out of self-preservation the words will cut like a scalpel into the hearts and minds of the people close to me. They will not like it, but I am not really liking them anyway. Where is the loss in that? Nope... There is none such. Nothing. Just the black, and the black is going to come out of left field and cause trouble.

I will make noise. Visit next weekend when the end of all things begins."



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