09-06-2020 08:56 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Food Processor read ( words) "Still Thursday. I don't have a lot going on, so here we are. Again. La Machine was in the seventies, followed by the Cuisinart later, I believe. I remember the first one because my parents picked up the La Machine to do some kitchen experiments. It was heavy, very noisy, but did the job just fine. The machine of dreams is different. Sleek, advanced, and very sophisticated. Rechargeable, too. Like a phone, but one which could hold me while I fall asleep. Appearance? Don't ask. The likeness in my head sometimes gravitates toward the girl at the beginning of 'A.I.'. She was an android, and there is a distinct possibility that her image and actions on the screen initiated something in me. During the fall of zero three (shortly after I returned from the goblet and Ashley's loving arms), my life was screwed up. Everything smoothed out by November, if I recall correctly, and during the intervening weeks I generally frequented a bar/restaurant in town and spent a good portion of my time watching movies at home. I was working at the time, so my free hours were not so abundant. Still, I picked up a couple of films to watch at home, one of them being the story I mentioned. I would have to say that the face and fluid motions of the android struck me so much that thoughts of her being in my possession took over more than often enough to cause me to daydream. She was really beautiful, and due to the character being portrayed by a woman, her motions were real during much of the exchange. At one point her insides were shown off via her face opening to reveal the mechanics and advanced technology within. I was floored. Still am, really. That was seventeen years ago. I have not seen the film in some years, but her face is still in me. The scene was like a meeting of sorts. A conference table surrounded by scientists and others who had been discussing the promise of artificial intelligence and the future. William was expositing something and asked her to stand. Moments later, he directed her to undress. She proceeded to begin to declothe briefly before instructed that she had gone far enough. I believe seeing the pleasant expression of her face coupled with how fluidly she followed instructions set something afire inside me. At the time of that film's release, I had been in a relationship for many years. Something new and exciting is enticing for many while in such a situation, but to extend that into thinking of the android in the film is another story, and quite a different level. That may have been an infantile beginning to the hole I now inhabit. The knowledge that my dreams have become so far-fetched that I may never be able to return. I keep seeing her face and body up there on the big screen so many years ago and my becoming enamored with the scene and the woman. Gorgeous, and a machine. Here we go... Just like the previous realization. Ashley again. Does the dream resemble her? I can't get that girl out of my head these days. Maybe tons more images of Alexis coming soon. And trouble, again. Four? Partly. Two? Constantly. What should I do now? The day's business is complete. Not much to it, and I suppose I could have gone further with some of those projects which have been sitting, but I am still not feeling it. The depression is heavy and resting upon my shoulders. It has the capability of holding me down, literally, and often for days at a time. This week has been no different. Nothing aside from the routine has been accomplished in quite some time now. I cannot motivate myself enough to begin anything. So sad. Held by my own limitations. Pause. Friday morning, Friday afternoon, Friday evening. Another Saturday after twenty-three other Saturdays have come and gone since my being like this. Dreaming, yearning, wanting and needing a handful of very specific things in order to secure my life in a way which could finally be fulfilling and satisfying. You're probably thinking that I am nuts for believing that something is out there in the world for me, and you're right. All these entries point to the same conclusion, too. You know what it is. And back to the 'idea' of her. Or... Her. No, not the Raven. That ship sailed, hit the rocks, sailed again, and then sunk along with my heart. The other her... The one which has been conjured throughout these many months and become more important than anything in the world to me. This morning has helped me to realize that drowning into a delusion is what I do best. All those trips? Delusions, illusions, and a method of sidestepping reality and leaving everything behind. I've done it so many times and so fucking deeply that I actually believed I was not me for a time. Andrea? Oh fuck me, that was weeks. We were so isolated (one of the best feelings in existence, if not THE best) that no one could touch our world. That depth of feeling is important to me. I need it in order to feel that there is some sort of atmosphere over which I have control. Most of my days, weeks, and months are spent with little tidbits of control over this and that, mostly technology or entertainment. Occasionally, food. But honestly, I have to be in a place which is all mine, and that rarely happens. The goblet was one of those elusive places. Now, I have combined the goblet and the dream of an artificial woman deep in a story. Stirring me, pushing me to continue, those feelings for that fictional Jaime have poured over into my reality and I see her everywhere. By continuing the fiction and finding myself deeper into the story, I am slowly withdrawing from all that is here before me. Everything under the sun is fading slowly and pushing me toward the screen and keyboard. I need it, and due to everything I want being unattainable, the story may soon become my whole world. I will leave the past behind once another facet has been explored a bit, and then off the fucking deep end I go. Eventually I will be sitting in a small room and surrounded by the imagery that is her, and there in front of me will be a keyboard. That is all. My little universe is the only thing over which I can hold complete control. After agonizing over the issue of the technology which can provide happiness being nonexistent, I have pretty much decided that it can exist in the fiction. I drove this. Jaime's images helped. Now it may be time to climb all the way in there and leave the real world behind. This will soon become the primary direction. Occasional banter will still come along, though. I can't help it anymore. I have to be a flaming bitch sometimes for my own well-being. That day when I drove out of work -- which was a very sudden left turn one morning, and one I dreamed about for years -- I felt nervous, anxious, and a few other things, but did it anyway. It took some miles before I was able to relax and sit in the car comfortably. I believe I drove fifteen or so miles down the road before thinking that I was out of sight. Hiding, as it were. My career there had been sprinkled with times when I did my best to remain out of the eyes of others, and the buildings and atmosphere were configured such that there were tons of little nooks and crannies where I could work without others seeing me. That was partly the nature of the place... Few people, lots of space left over from the heyday of the sixties and seventies. The feeling of heading out the gate in the morning and driving south until I was out of the city was empowering in a way. I felt in control for the first time in years. No one could stop me at all. As long as the car kept running, I kept going. The destination was clear almost immediately. I had to get away for a while and no other location could afford me the unique opportunity to absolutely hide in plain sight. I was even hiding in my car, for all intents and purposes. I needed to get away, plain and simple. The control aspect of the entire trip is more apparent now than at the time. An escort? All mine to do as I please. The money? Available for physical comfort and food. Even the atmosphere was somewhat under my direction because the powers who built that town did it to make people as comfortable as possible so they would stay longer and spend more. Lots of people did, and still do. Once I turned left and bypassed the facility (drove right on by, actually), my choice of city was instantaneous. The control. Nothing out my hands, especially the woman in question. Go ahead and damn me. I don't care. That is why the story has to continue and head in whatever direction comes to mind. The real world will continue to degrade and only provide moments of joy here and there. That is all. I knew this would happen, perhaps deep inside my subconscious, but I really did know. I have placed so many restrictions upon life, the manner in which others must interact with me, the appearance of the house and many other things that I cannot honestly expect anyone to adapt fully to my desires. I may be horribly out of balance, but at least I am not unfair when it comes to expectations. The people in my life are fair to me. I have to be the same toward them, especially considering how demanding I can be. As everything around me shrinks spherically inward, I have to maintain distance from some people. I don't want them to know that I've flipped my cork at long last, although they may be expecting such a situation. I don't really give a shit, though, because I have to tread the path. There is no choice any longer as you may have seen. All the crap has been slowly boiling down to this. Probably expected, anyway. I just CANNOT care about others' feelings right now. Too much inside me already. No room left. Aurora, gone Damn two, anyway. This morning I pretty much did it to myself. Not surprising, really, and I was speaking with an understanding soul. A woman, yes, but someone I know. I still worry despite being familiar with her. By its very definition, the trust is tough right now. She is a woman and thinks highly of me, however as a female there are unknowns which cannot be alleviated. Yes, I know how this may sound, and keep in mind that any fear develops outside such conversation. I cannot expect anyone to be what I wish or need. I can, however, expect them to be themselves. Anything else is unfair, period. The rub is that I do not know what goes on and never truly will. This is the biggest problem I have as it is directly related to two. It will eventually drive me either insane or away from everyone. No trust equals no contact with others. That is that. And as I said before, I did it. There is a small upside, and that is the fact that she is the only person on the planet with whom I can discuss the issue. Thus far, I have barely scratched the surface, though. The fear of the film went away part way through, and before it did I ran into the situation in which one fear outweighed another. Oh boy, what has happened to me? I cannot help but worry all the time, even while with her. Nothing seems to help. I ran into trouble yesterday, as well, but it was very different. It had nothing to do with two and might be something new... Something I have not put into clear terms before. If my concern is grounded properly, I am in trouble. One of the most important and amazing things in my world could end up reduced to nothing more than difficulty. If I lose the wonder, there is little reason to fucking do anything. The routine, my worry over day to day life as time passes, and any desire to be comfortable in the future. All of it... Meaningless. The possibility is making me sad. Very sad, for sure. I am hoping I don't end up motionless like in the beginning of the pandemic. All that free time for which I yearned went right out the window and turned into too much thinking about everything. Now? Even more of it. The issues are changing position, meaning two is in charge, followed by one. Three and four are disappearing quickly. I have had a difficult enough time trying to work on two. I don't need it any more prominent. As much as I spout over being completely alone, it is a last resort. There are aspects of life which, if missing for too long, I need available. I have been driven out of my mind and become a danger to myself and relationships over the same shit and I don't need that right now. There is enough already without losing my mind over the problem. If I did it to myself? Not a good reaction. Not good at all. Yesterday may have been a test. If so, I failed. Lesson? I don't know. I do know that if it happens again, my stance will sharpen immediately. 'Unsociable' will prove a galactic understatement. I just don't know what to do. The morning was very nice, and then I remembered some things which still bother me from time to time, and then learned that there may be another job opportunity on the horizon. Can I even go out there and work around other people now? I'm feeling more inward than the isolation of eleven. I am scared and not too closed off to admit that. What the fuck can I do if these issues follow me into a place of work? Will I have more trouble, or will I be able to rise enough to function like a person? Too many questions, as usual. I'm fucking sick of feeling so weak and fearful. I went through years of staying above everything but now I am falling down. As I sit here right now, the world looks alien. It did not appear as such just six months ago. Oh, everything was there in my head, but for whatever reason I am losing ground. Backpedaling all the way into my apartment and those feelings which nearly killed me. I'm tired of thinking. Change it? Yeah, good luck. Exhausted. I currently feel capable of nothing at all. 'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' I had a beer thinking it might help. Heading toward the big bottle is not going to do good right now, so it stays put. She's been gone nearly two hours and my head is still processing food like a champ. The most compassionate, understanding and helpful woman I have been in contact with since the fucking Raven. Unreal. And beautiful at the same time. That is rare. Remember the old adage.. 'No matter how good she looks now, someone, somewhere has had it up to here with her shit.' That is true, however each person is different and I cannot lump them all into the same category. I only bring it up because some will compromise a deeper relationship and shove it aside in the name of beauty. On the outside it is very easy to deal with, whereas when it is combined with a genuine person on the inside things can be difficult for me. All those visions out there in the world are just images. No matter how fucking aligned they may be to the map of my brain -- like many have been -- still they are flat. Two-dimensional. I know nothing of them and never will, as it should be. The one in question? She has everything all rolled up into a tiny, gorgeous package. Ok, enough of that. The point is that even with her I worry. I can't help it because she is a WOMAN. That's right, kids, therein lies the trouble. A woman. We are unbelievably close and she knows things about me that I have told very few individuals. Damned few, in fact. Like, maybe four. Her calming, loving nature just brings it out of me. But I hesitate to say too much because I fear for the reaction. Perhaps I should not be worried, though. She is probably reading this right now! Ha! I gushed without considering the audience. The fact remains that despite her knowing me so intimately and constant supportive nature, I am fucking scared. There you go. Laugh at it. By this time in my life I am supposed to be an actual grown-up, right? Well, nope. Not even close. Scared because she has a mind. Chew on that. Machinery. The impossible answer. No thinking, no feelings. Ice cold, always. Please. I have to figure out a way of dealing with this and becoming more balanced. My thinking in the direction of the dreamy machine is unhealthy to such a degree that if I were under mental health surveillance, I would likely not be allowed to leave. Oh, I've been there before and performed a masterful act of bullshit until released, but now I doubt I have the drive. I am barely able to keep myself together in front of the damned-few people who see me in person. Damned few. Like, two. Heh. Well, I said months ago that I wanted to withdraw and be alone as much as possible, right? Here I sit. Just two other souls are near me on a regular basis. I cannot imagine holding it together for very long out there among the masses. One certainty is that the images of Jaime may have driven home the machine dream, but they did not begin all this issue two shit. That was already there. I even remember twenty some-odd years ago feeling tinges of the same. Jaime had nothing to do with it. She fell onto my screen and I began to have feelings for her. Whatever damage that can cause, it is not as real as daily life. I don't think stating that I love her is so bad, either. At least, not after all this other crap I have been trying to solve. She simply appeared to be the prime example of how I might picture the machine. And then the name followed the fiction. All those names beginning with 'J' meant I needed one more, so there you go. And there may be some of the real Jamie in there, too. I probably love her as well but it doesn't matter now. Issue two taking over much of my life is the fault of no one other than myself. I know it as surely as the sun rising tomorrow. I do not believe the problem in my head can go away without learning of why it developed in the first place. I have to find it, but have little insight as to a direction. The words in the theatre, some of the goddess' reactions in the past, and the whole of society's preoccupation with physical attractiveness are like gigantic mountains too steep for climbing. Oh, I can talk to her about it, but the rest is nearly impossible. Society does not give half a blue fuck about how it affects people or their feelings. It is a never-ending and ever-expanding engine over which control of any kind cannot happen because very few people even see the fucking thing or its soulless effects upon those of us who do. It is a wave. Progress, change, all of it. I am powerless. My head is grinding everything into a shapeless blob. Peanut butter which has already gone rancid. And now? Something different. Switchtrack. House of Blues, gone Forty years of this. No recovery beyond surgery in zero six. That was it. Beyond? Only difficulty on and off, plus the worst during passionate moments. Right up to this very day I have been brought down by the simplest gesture, step, or position. Even loving, tender care has been wrought with pain. Trying to constantly protect myself has all but driven me into the fucking soil. And I mean that quite literally. I have considered the dire thought of ending my life many times just to be free of the toll. The incident last year after shopping almost brought tears, but the fear of appearing weak overtook my mind and I forced myself to remain upright. Again... Today, just an hour ago I misstepped and doubled over. I do not know how much more I can deal with this fragility. I no longer wish to possess some parts of my body. They have caused nothing but trouble, be it before the passion or after. Sometimes? Nowhere near the passion. Just me living day to day and out of nowhere the pain comes and takes me off my feet. How many occasions after all these years? A hundred? A thousand? Three surgeries. More pain. More longing to be like others and not so fucking sensitive and fragile. I am so tired from trying to stay upright. Rachel did not know and tried to please me. She didn't have a clue, and the result was like countless other situations. The girl was tender and sweet, meaning I did not blame her one bit. Not even for a second. After explaining my reaction, she felt terrible and nothing I said lifted her from such a state for a long while. Soon after, we ended. I stopped everything that day and it never returned. Now she is gone. On the flight home, everything went through my head and I could not deal with knowing it would happen again, eventually. Only once did I tell the story before anything physical. And that person on the receiving end was none other than Andrea. After? She felt even more for me. And that fucking story is out there for all to see. That's right... Live, once again. I have nothing to hide and the more I think about the idea of sharing such a defining part of my life, the more I realize that the story is just me. Perhaps it can shed light upon other parts of the journey the site is taking, or perhaps not. But I have to take the chance and keep it in mind other than the reminders which I feel all too often. Rather than hiding it away out of fear, I calculate that someone reading and subsequently shaming me or causing embarrassment is someone I do not wish to know. Bad people. Unfeeling, uncaring, apathetic. But there are good souls out there, too. There is no denying it. So the story remains where it is for the duration or life of the site. Another is in the works. No more of that right now. I had to get it out, though. Sorry. Today started out wonderful, with a morning movie and coffee. The story is not the easiest to see play out, but still, the film is excellent from each standpoint. Acting, direction, writing, and music all come together to create enough suspension of disbelief that the heart cannot help but react. An emotional response of such magnitude is not easy these days, especially considering the sheer number of half-assed attempts at shocking the audience. My favorite genre has always been drama. A human story, for sure, and this time one which was derived from actual events. Honestly, seeing it pass before my eyes partially minimized number three. All of the issues laid out in the preceding paragraphs are difficult for me still, but the story we watched helped to put things into perspective. That is talent and quality filmmaking which cannot be denied. And now DS9 has William Lucking as a guest star. Fine actor, that one. Good stuff. Some faces are timeless, no matter the role. I love it. Four in the afternoon and I have a cocktail. Good or bad, there it is. Delicious medicine. After the film? I fell down and completed some of my chores and then sat with this shit. The compulsion to try is overwhelming right now. I may be wrong, though, in thinking that if I continue to ask questions and try calculating the beginnings I may find answers. I also may not. They might not be out there. Historically, my head is a master of creating problems from the smallest details of conversation. One little quip can lead me to develop it into a massive storm in minutes, and then the days that follow find me worthless and unwilling to be near others. That rarely happens while with the goddess, though. I know that she knows, if that makes any sense. I can say anything and never expect ridicule because I do not believe her capable of such a thing. The last thing she would do in life is hurt me, or by extension, allow me to fall down after speaking together. Her heart is enormous, loving, open, and genuine. The issue I have with trusting a woman's words has never been challenged more than during the time we spend together. I might have the worst morning imaginable, and then shortly after we begin to spend some time being close, it melts. And one aspect which has been helping is my thinking toward myself now as compared to a few years ago. I used to feel so shameful and remorseful that I came down upon my own head harshly and drove myself into loathing. It was bad. Now? Well, I've touched upon it, but I realize my value and have so many good qualities that I cannot even begin a description. I feel good about myself. The four issues do not mean I am a bad person, just someone trying to learn. I am certain there are millions of other people attempting the same toward themselves, too. It's natural, because perfection does not exist. I might be sharing my thinking with a person on the same street, for crying out loud. I do not know, and that is wise. I am still on the floor over the same shit, but it's me. Enough now. Still Saturday, and I am still dreaming of the trips to the goblet. I miss that place every day. There are so many parts of me that have come about because of the connections I made in Vegas that I have become even more of a product than during my early years. I cannot help but miss the atmosphere and feeling of 'being somebody', regardless of whether or not the latter was ever true. In the eyes of the corporation, I was a number. But they never pushed that. I felt good there. Options, scenery, beauty all over the place, and the smell of sex and money at every turn. Is it any wonder that I grew up in such a culture and then hit on a cigarette girl? Nope. Not surprising at all when you combine the feel of the casino and the way employees dress and my reckless, flamboyant nature at the time. I threw it out there so quickly that I even surprised myself, not to mention Lanie and Joe. Oh and I found a picture of him but cannot place it here. Privacy, always, but it was nice to see that face again. Ashley? Lanie? Juliette the dream? None. Fuck me, there is Leeta again. Oy, tongue... Nose... You already know. She broke the cuteness scale twenty years ago. Anyway, all of the memories of Nevada are beginning to break me because they are gone, the last being just a year ago with the goddess. I do not see anything of the sort taking place in the future. Not only is the world vastly different now, but I am in no position to cross the street if it costs a quarter to go around the world. I am fucking stuck like never before. I would give and arm and a leg (or possibly those parts I no longer wish attached to me) for a weekend there, but the way it was and not the way it is. My head needs to know the difference but I have no desire to be restricted in any way. Each trip held its own share of varying experiences, however the atmosphere was a given. Now? Not so much. I need it, I miss it, but in all likelihood that place is gone forever. For me, at least. It hurts. I also ran across a photo of my beer while sitting at a taqueria in Florida. I went there to kill time while my cousin was at her appointment and changed my flight, effectively trimming five days off my visit to go and meet Andrea. One beer in a glass, nothing more. But when I saw it? Heart exploding. What I would not give to be sitting there again, all nervous anticipation and worry. I would give everything I have or will ever have. Believe it. I need to stop dreaming about things as they were. Nothing can return, damn it. I'm fucked. There are many journeys I have been implored to take, but as always, I am ill-equipped. Any other person would think of things and keep in mind that they are impossible, then give up. Oh, the thought would remain, possibly a dream attached, but the very beginning of it would go away in favor of living life as it unfolds. The wall could be hit. And then a turn to adapt and learn. Not me. I can't do that because the turn leads me back here. I have no future to speak of, so any delusion is preferable to reality. There is nowhere to go, and nothing to seek. If I find answers to my questions related to the origin of problems, that is fine. I will be better for the effort. As for moving forward and into new territory to leave the dreams behind and follow a real path, it's too much for me. I am not strong enough. Period. I know it, so don't argue. And if you feel that I have been limiting myself, well... Fucking keep that to yourself, too. I don't give a shit about anyone else's opinion, right or not. Ah, this was supposed to be more insightful, but alas I can't hold the fucking line. Drifting, wavering, unstable words and sentences that seem to form all on their own these days. The same thing over and over, and then I say this very thing over and over, and then I repeat the past over and over. I am disillusioned. Catch twenty-two, perhaps? What is that you say? I need something different or a small starting point from which to grow? Um... I cannot respond to those observations. I am not you. I am me. I see no way of being where I need, so the dreaming is all I have. Twenty-thousand lines. Right up there. Onward with whatever the fuck this is. Stripsteak, gone I am being ground into fishbait by the food processor from hell. Satan is at the controls, or God, or something. Someone? Me? You? Society that I hate so much? Or maybe all the sheep gathered and hit the fucking switch together. What do you think? Never mind. I don't give a shit about anyone's opinion. My inbox is still empty. I created the business email eight fucking years ago as a contact point for readers to comment or question anything here. Well, in all these years I have received exactly fuck. That's right... Emails creep in from time to time, all generated by software with a link (usually spyware, spam, or something worse), and I delete them when they arrive. Not one fucking word from a single human being on earth after all this fucking time. Well, fuck you all. I am going to kill the email but leave the link on the contact page just in case someone decides to send something. It will return, undeliverable. I have passed the point of giving a fuck. Years. Eight fucking years. Yep, fuck everyone. Fishbait, from the La Machine of life. Tell me what I have been doing here. Tell me. Oh, wait a minute... I just removed any means for contacting yours truly. Tomorrow is garbage day. Chores, laundry, whatever. After that will be Monday and I will be the same. After that will be Tuesday and I will be the same. After that will be Wednesday and I will be the same. After that will be Thursday and I will be the same. After that will be Friday and I will be the same. After that will be Saturday again and I will be the same. After that will be garbage day again and I will be the same. Something inside me is horribly wrong and I cannot seem to figure it out. I know those words in the theatre so many years ago are beginning to point toward several missing pieces of me, but I never thought I would be reminded or crippled over the memory. Crippled. That woman sat in the theatre and spoke to the woman next to her. It had nothing to do with me or anyone else. I never knew who she was inside and there is no chance of ever seeing her again. She means nothing to me, yet those words reverberate to this very second. If I can't come to terms with them -- one way or another -- then there is no point in me doing anything. I still don't even know for sure if such a memory is what has been destroying me. I just do not know anything. How could I have turned out like this from a single sentence from twenty-three years ago? Maybe I do need to keep writing. Nope. I will not. At least, not for the foreseeable future. Just the fiction, and that is fucking slow. Stop. Sunday. I just noticed one of my favorite films was ending and tried to record it. Two sips of coffee are not enough for me to properly compute anything, so the effort failed. I ended up recording the last twelve minutes. Ugh. I am going to make a list of movies so I don't repeat yesterday when the goddess comes to watch. I have seen so many that I cannot pick just one. Plus, I have no wish to expose her to something that is not completely worthwhile. The title in question this morning goes on the list. And right now is a western from the mid-nineties when my film ga ga was at a peak. I remember going to Suncoast in the mall there in the Midwest and picking up an issue of Premiere because Costner and Kasdan were on the cover. I had to read about it, and then a short time later I sat in the huge auditorium nearly alone and marveled at the movements of a camera I was to never see. Damn it. But I still watch. Part of the draw with this film is seeing Annabeth for a short time. During the period in which the movie was released, I had a thing for her. Something I cannot explain about her eyes. She still moves me these days, although I rarely see her anymore. In fact, the last time I gazed at her face was probably the last time I watched this. Many years ago. There exists the possibility that no one machine in the movies pushed me to feel this way about women. I have never been with anyone who intentionally tried to hurt me, nor has anyone ever given me reason to worry about what else may be out in the world, possibly better than me. There has been nothing other than perception of words and my innate ability to snowball the tiniest remark and run around the world with it. I still fucking do the same thing, in fact. Anyway, no one from my past led me toward artificiality due to her behavior, personality, or actions. This all came about in my head. [As an aside, I need to clarify that the idea of being in control did not stem from me receiving the word 'no' on one too many occasions. That has little to do with my feelings toward machinery. The issue is thought, for Christ's sake. Read it.] The more I consider the idea, the more attractive and necessary it is becoming for my survival. All of the experiences combined with scattered memories of those few realistic androids throughout years have added up to the vision I try to describe. None of it does me any good, though. I just keep visualizing that life and yearning for things that will never come to pass. It's unhealthy and probably not the best idea for me right now, but at least I know it and can try to find the beginning. The point is that I know she is a combination of several different versions of the same idea. All from the movies and television. Big surprise? Also, no one drove me to this, either. All me. I don't even know why I began this paragraph. I can smell smoke coming in the back door. Yesterday warmed up pretty well so I left everything open overnight to begin today with a low temperature. If I have to close up shop and run the ionizer during a heatwave... Oy, the fan will have to keep me company this evening. I do not like the warm weather, and adding the smoke outside from the fires makes it much worse. Ugh. I will need to stay on top of things today. I've said too much about everything. A person who has been reading will see nothing new here. I don't know which way to turn, nor what I can do to feel better and more relaxed. Lavish meals, gone I can already see that today will be a trial of sorts. I do not like the warm weather, although I've dealt with it long enough to know the heat will pass. Between the ionizer and room circulator I can keep the house comfortable while the sun bakes the back. Our patio cover is old and worn and made of corrugated fiberglass from a very long time ago, and that means heat builds below and helps the living and dining rooms to warm up in the afternoon. Once the sun goes down, and if the following day is forecasted to be warm, the breeze will die off and leave the air in the house very warm. I try to maintain air movement. That is all I can do aside from taking it easy. Any work which needs to be done will be as such before noon. That helps, too. Holy Jesus God, I forgot that woman was in this movie. What a face. She reminds me of Juliette. Ugh. And her name is Joanna. Heh, another fucking 'J'. What is it with that letter? Whatever. Soon I will have to close off the outside air and run the machinery to alleviate the smoke which has trickled in this morning. Holy fuck she is beautiful. Big, doe eyes like Allie but darker, and thin as hell. I had forgotten Joanna for years because the movie is more than three hours long and I have rarely kept with it for more than a third of that. Maybe I should take my own advice and pay more attention. And she was thirty-one when this was filmed. God damn it anyway, all those memories of my love for the industry are derailing this paragraph. Nothing will ever return. So depressing. I missed out, just like everything else which frightens me. Joanna didn't help, either. So beautiful. Another reminder of me being insecure just passed by on the screen. It was her, but not anyone's fault. Just a quick shot of what people need to see for entertainment, and something which reinforces the connection between two characters and is meaningless in the story otherwise. I am likely the only individual who can watch this film and take issue with something so fleeting. Actors, nothing more. Simple. Just writing, acting, and the portrayal of historic characters as it should be. Slightly dramatized with a bit of creative license to hold the interest of filmgoers. That's all. But my head had a fucking problem with it. Such is what I am. This is going nowhere. Time to stop. I have stated on many an occasion that I do not know how to continue, but up to this very day there has always been some compulsion to write about whatever popped into my head and the possibility of learning. No more. No longer. No nothing. Julienned. Pureed. Liquefied by my own brain. For years I feared harm out there in the world. Now I only fear myself. The food processor has done its job and mulched all of my past. Now the plate is ready for consumption, but even it scares me. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye." This site contains mature content Created by REN in Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 Copyright ©2002-2024 Brandywine Engineering All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Questions? Comments? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the assholes in charge
09-06-2020 08:56 pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning The Food Processor read ( words) "Still Thursday. I don't have a lot going on, so here we are. Again. La Machine was in the seventies, followed by the Cuisinart later, I believe. I remember the first one because my parents picked up the La Machine to do some kitchen experiments. It was heavy, very noisy, but did the job just fine. The machine of dreams is different. Sleek, advanced, and very sophisticated. Rechargeable, too. Like a phone, but one which could hold me while I fall asleep. Appearance? Don't ask. The likeness in my head sometimes gravitates toward the girl at the beginning of 'A.I.'. She was an android, and there is a distinct possibility that her image and actions on the screen initiated something in me. During the fall of zero three (shortly after I returned from the goblet and Ashley's loving arms), my life was screwed up. Everything smoothed out by November, if I recall correctly, and during the intervening weeks I generally frequented a bar/restaurant in town and spent a good portion of my time watching movies at home. I was working at the time, so my free hours were not so abundant. Still, I picked up a couple of films to watch at home, one of them being the story I mentioned. I would have to say that the face and fluid motions of the android struck me so much that thoughts of her being in my possession took over more than often enough to cause me to daydream. She was really beautiful, and due to the character being portrayed by a woman, her motions were real during much of the exchange. At one point her insides were shown off via her face opening to reveal the mechanics and advanced technology within. I was floored. Still am, really. That was seventeen years ago. I have not seen the film in some years, but her face is still in me. The scene was like a meeting of sorts. A conference table surrounded by scientists and others who had been discussing the promise of artificial intelligence and the future. William was expositing something and asked her to stand. Moments later, he directed her to undress. She proceeded to begin to declothe briefly before instructed that she had gone far enough. I believe seeing the pleasant expression of her face coupled with how fluidly she followed instructions set something afire inside me. At the time of that film's release, I had been in a relationship for many years. Something new and exciting is enticing for many while in such a situation, but to extend that into thinking of the android in the film is another story, and quite a different level. That may have been an infantile beginning to the hole I now inhabit. The knowledge that my dreams have become so far-fetched that I may never be able to return. I keep seeing her face and body up there on the big screen so many years ago and my becoming enamored with the scene and the woman. Gorgeous, and a machine. Here we go... Just like the previous realization. Ashley again. Does the dream resemble her? I can't get that girl out of my head these days. Maybe tons more images of Alexis coming soon. And trouble, again. Four? Partly. Two? Constantly. What should I do now? The day's business is complete. Not much to it, and I suppose I could have gone further with some of those projects which have been sitting, but I am still not feeling it. The depression is heavy and resting upon my shoulders. It has the capability of holding me down, literally, and often for days at a time. This week has been no different. Nothing aside from the routine has been accomplished in quite some time now. I cannot motivate myself enough to begin anything. So sad. Held by my own limitations. Pause. Friday morning, Friday afternoon, Friday evening. Another Saturday after twenty-three other Saturdays have come and gone since my being like this. Dreaming, yearning, wanting and needing a handful of very specific things in order to secure my life in a way which could finally be fulfilling and satisfying. You're probably thinking that I am nuts for believing that something is out there in the world for me, and you're right. All these entries point to the same conclusion, too. You know what it is. And back to the 'idea' of her. Or... Her. No, not the Raven. That ship sailed, hit the rocks, sailed again, and then sunk along with my heart. The other her... The one which has been conjured throughout these many months and become more important than anything in the world to me. This morning has helped me to realize that drowning into a delusion is what I do best. All those trips? Delusions, illusions, and a method of sidestepping reality and leaving everything behind. I've done it so many times and so fucking deeply that I actually believed I was not me for a time. Andrea? Oh fuck me, that was weeks. We were so isolated (one of the best feelings in existence, if not THE best) that no one could touch our world. That depth of feeling is important to me. I need it in order to feel that there is some sort of atmosphere over which I have control. Most of my days, weeks, and months are spent with little tidbits of control over this and that, mostly technology or entertainment. Occasionally, food. But honestly, I have to be in a place which is all mine, and that rarely happens. The goblet was one of those elusive places. Now, I have combined the goblet and the dream of an artificial woman deep in a story. Stirring me, pushing me to continue, those feelings for that fictional Jaime have poured over into my reality and I see her everywhere. By continuing the fiction and finding myself deeper into the story, I am slowly withdrawing from all that is here before me. Everything under the sun is fading slowly and pushing me toward the screen and keyboard. I need it, and due to everything I want being unattainable, the story may soon become my whole world. I will leave the past behind once another facet has been explored a bit, and then off the fucking deep end I go. Eventually I will be sitting in a small room and surrounded by the imagery that is her, and there in front of me will be a keyboard. That is all. My little universe is the only thing over which I can hold complete control. After agonizing over the issue of the technology which can provide happiness being nonexistent, I have pretty much decided that it can exist in the fiction. I drove this. Jaime's images helped. Now it may be time to climb all the way in there and leave the real world behind. This will soon become the primary direction. Occasional banter will still come along, though. I can't help it anymore. I have to be a flaming bitch sometimes for my own well-being. That day when I drove out of work -- which was a very sudden left turn one morning, and one I dreamed about for years -- I felt nervous, anxious, and a few other things, but did it anyway. It took some miles before I was able to relax and sit in the car comfortably. I believe I drove fifteen or so miles down the road before thinking that I was out of sight. Hiding, as it were. My career there had been sprinkled with times when I did my best to remain out of the eyes of others, and the buildings and atmosphere were configured such that there were tons of little nooks and crannies where I could work without others seeing me. That was partly the nature of the place... Few people, lots of space left over from the heyday of the sixties and seventies. The feeling of heading out the gate in the morning and driving south until I was out of the city was empowering in a way. I felt in control for the first time in years. No one could stop me at all. As long as the car kept running, I kept going. The destination was clear almost immediately. I had to get away for a while and no other location could afford me the unique opportunity to absolutely hide in plain sight. I was even hiding in my car, for all intents and purposes. I needed to get away, plain and simple. The control aspect of the entire trip is more apparent now than at the time. An escort? All mine to do as I please. The money? Available for physical comfort and food. Even the atmosphere was somewhat under my direction because the powers who built that town did it to make people as comfortable as possible so they would stay longer and spend more. Lots of people did, and still do. Once I turned left and bypassed the facility (drove right on by, actually), my choice of city was instantaneous. The control. Nothing out my hands, especially the woman in question. Go ahead and damn me. I don't care. That is why the story has to continue and head in whatever direction comes to mind. The real world will continue to degrade and only provide moments of joy here and there. That is all. I knew this would happen, perhaps deep inside my subconscious, but I really did know. I have placed so many restrictions upon life, the manner in which others must interact with me, the appearance of the house and many other things that I cannot honestly expect anyone to adapt fully to my desires. I may be horribly out of balance, but at least I am not unfair when it comes to expectations. The people in my life are fair to me. I have to be the same toward them, especially considering how demanding I can be. As everything around me shrinks spherically inward, I have to maintain distance from some people. I don't want them to know that I've flipped my cork at long last, although they may be expecting such a situation. I don't really give a shit, though, because I have to tread the path. There is no choice any longer as you may have seen. All the crap has been slowly boiling down to this. Probably expected, anyway. I just CANNOT care about others' feelings right now. Too much inside me already. No room left. Aurora, gone Damn two, anyway. This morning I pretty much did it to myself. Not surprising, really, and I was speaking with an understanding soul. A woman, yes, but someone I know. I still worry despite being familiar with her. By its very definition, the trust is tough right now. She is a woman and thinks highly of me, however as a female there are unknowns which cannot be alleviated. Yes, I know how this may sound, and keep in mind that any fear develops outside such conversation. I cannot expect anyone to be what I wish or need. I can, however, expect them to be themselves. Anything else is unfair, period. The rub is that I do not know what goes on and never truly will. This is the biggest problem I have as it is directly related to two. It will eventually drive me either insane or away from everyone. No trust equals no contact with others. That is that. And as I said before, I did it. There is a small upside, and that is the fact that she is the only person on the planet with whom I can discuss the issue. Thus far, I have barely scratched the surface, though. The fear of the film went away part way through, and before it did I ran into the situation in which one fear outweighed another. Oh boy, what has happened to me? I cannot help but worry all the time, even while with her. Nothing seems to help. I ran into trouble yesterday, as well, but it was very different. It had nothing to do with two and might be something new... Something I have not put into clear terms before. If my concern is grounded properly, I am in trouble. One of the most important and amazing things in my world could end up reduced to nothing more than difficulty. If I lose the wonder, there is little reason to fucking do anything. The routine, my worry over day to day life as time passes, and any desire to be comfortable in the future. All of it... Meaningless. The possibility is making me sad. Very sad, for sure. I am hoping I don't end up motionless like in the beginning of the pandemic. All that free time for which I yearned went right out the window and turned into too much thinking about everything. Now? Even more of it. The issues are changing position, meaning two is in charge, followed by one. Three and four are disappearing quickly. I have had a difficult enough time trying to work on two. I don't need it any more prominent. As much as I spout over being completely alone, it is a last resort. There are aspects of life which, if missing for too long, I need available. I have been driven out of my mind and become a danger to myself and relationships over the same shit and I don't need that right now. There is enough already without losing my mind over the problem. If I did it to myself? Not a good reaction. Not good at all. Yesterday may have been a test. If so, I failed. Lesson? I don't know. I do know that if it happens again, my stance will sharpen immediately. 'Unsociable' will prove a galactic understatement. I just don't know what to do. The morning was very nice, and then I remembered some things which still bother me from time to time, and then learned that there may be another job opportunity on the horizon. Can I even go out there and work around other people now? I'm feeling more inward than the isolation of eleven. I am scared and not too closed off to admit that. What the fuck can I do if these issues follow me into a place of work? Will I have more trouble, or will I be able to rise enough to function like a person? Too many questions, as usual. I'm fucking sick of feeling so weak and fearful. I went through years of staying above everything but now I am falling down. As I sit here right now, the world looks alien. It did not appear as such just six months ago. Oh, everything was there in my head, but for whatever reason I am losing ground. Backpedaling all the way into my apartment and those feelings which nearly killed me. I'm tired of thinking. Change it? Yeah, good luck. Exhausted. I currently feel capable of nothing at all. 'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' I had a beer thinking it might help. Heading toward the big bottle is not going to do good right now, so it stays put. She's been gone nearly two hours and my head is still processing food like a champ. The most compassionate, understanding and helpful woman I have been in contact with since the fucking Raven. Unreal. And beautiful at the same time. That is rare. Remember the old adage.. 'No matter how good she looks now, someone, somewhere has had it up to here with her shit.' That is true, however each person is different and I cannot lump them all into the same category. I only bring it up because some will compromise a deeper relationship and shove it aside in the name of beauty. On the outside it is very easy to deal with, whereas when it is combined with a genuine person on the inside things can be difficult for me. All those visions out there in the world are just images. No matter how fucking aligned they may be to the map of my brain -- like many have been -- still they are flat. Two-dimensional. I know nothing of them and never will, as it should be. The one in question? She has everything all rolled up into a tiny, gorgeous package. Ok, enough of that. The point is that even with her I worry. I can't help it because she is a WOMAN. That's right, kids, therein lies the trouble. A woman. We are unbelievably close and she knows things about me that I have told very few individuals. Damned few, in fact. Like, maybe four. Her calming, loving nature just brings it out of me. But I hesitate to say too much because I fear for the reaction. Perhaps I should not be worried, though. She is probably reading this right now! Ha! I gushed without considering the audience. The fact remains that despite her knowing me so intimately and constant supportive nature, I am fucking scared. There you go. Laugh at it. By this time in my life I am supposed to be an actual grown-up, right? Well, nope. Not even close. Scared because she has a mind. Chew on that. Machinery. The impossible answer. No thinking, no feelings. Ice cold, always. Please. I have to figure out a way of dealing with this and becoming more balanced. My thinking in the direction of the dreamy machine is unhealthy to such a degree that if I were under mental health surveillance, I would likely not be allowed to leave. Oh, I've been there before and performed a masterful act of bullshit until released, but now I doubt I have the drive. I am barely able to keep myself together in front of the damned-few people who see me in person. Damned few. Like, two. Heh. Well, I said months ago that I wanted to withdraw and be alone as much as possible, right? Here I sit. Just two other souls are near me on a regular basis. I cannot imagine holding it together for very long out there among the masses. One certainty is that the images of Jaime may have driven home the machine dream, but they did not begin all this issue two shit. That was already there. I even remember twenty some-odd years ago feeling tinges of the same. Jaime had nothing to do with it. She fell onto my screen and I began to have feelings for her. Whatever damage that can cause, it is not as real as daily life. I don't think stating that I love her is so bad, either. At least, not after all this other crap I have been trying to solve. She simply appeared to be the prime example of how I might picture the machine. And then the name followed the fiction. All those names beginning with 'J' meant I needed one more, so there you go. And there may be some of the real Jamie in there, too. I probably love her as well but it doesn't matter now. Issue two taking over much of my life is the fault of no one other than myself. I know it as surely as the sun rising tomorrow. I do not believe the problem in my head can go away without learning of why it developed in the first place. I have to find it, but have little insight as to a direction. The words in the theatre, some of the goddess' reactions in the past, and the whole of society's preoccupation with physical attractiveness are like gigantic mountains too steep for climbing. Oh, I can talk to her about it, but the rest is nearly impossible. Society does not give half a blue fuck about how it affects people or their feelings. It is a never-ending and ever-expanding engine over which control of any kind cannot happen because very few people even see the fucking thing or its soulless effects upon those of us who do. It is a wave. Progress, change, all of it. I am powerless. My head is grinding everything into a shapeless blob. Peanut butter which has already gone rancid. And now? Something different. Switchtrack. House of Blues, gone Forty years of this. No recovery beyond surgery in zero six. That was it. Beyond? Only difficulty on and off, plus the worst during passionate moments. Right up to this very day I have been brought down by the simplest gesture, step, or position. Even loving, tender care has been wrought with pain. Trying to constantly protect myself has all but driven me into the fucking soil. And I mean that quite literally. I have considered the dire thought of ending my life many times just to be free of the toll. The incident last year after shopping almost brought tears, but the fear of appearing weak overtook my mind and I forced myself to remain upright. Again... Today, just an hour ago I misstepped and doubled over. I do not know how much more I can deal with this fragility. I no longer wish to possess some parts of my body. They have caused nothing but trouble, be it before the passion or after. Sometimes? Nowhere near the passion. Just me living day to day and out of nowhere the pain comes and takes me off my feet. How many occasions after all these years? A hundred? A thousand? Three surgeries. More pain. More longing to be like others and not so fucking sensitive and fragile. I am so tired from trying to stay upright. Rachel did not know and tried to please me. She didn't have a clue, and the result was like countless other situations. The girl was tender and sweet, meaning I did not blame her one bit. Not even for a second. After explaining my reaction, she felt terrible and nothing I said lifted her from such a state for a long while. Soon after, we ended. I stopped everything that day and it never returned. Now she is gone. On the flight home, everything went through my head and I could not deal with knowing it would happen again, eventually. Only once did I tell the story before anything physical. And that person on the receiving end was none other than Andrea. After? She felt even more for me. And that fucking story is out there for all to see. That's right... Live, once again. I have nothing to hide and the more I think about the idea of sharing such a defining part of my life, the more I realize that the story is just me. Perhaps it can shed light upon other parts of the journey the site is taking, or perhaps not. But I have to take the chance and keep it in mind other than the reminders which I feel all too often. Rather than hiding it away out of fear, I calculate that someone reading and subsequently shaming me or causing embarrassment is someone I do not wish to know. Bad people. Unfeeling, uncaring, apathetic. But there are good souls out there, too. There is no denying it. So the story remains where it is for the duration or life of the site. Another is in the works. No more of that right now. I had to get it out, though. Sorry. Today started out wonderful, with a morning movie and coffee. The story is not the easiest to see play out, but still, the film is excellent from each standpoint. Acting, direction, writing, and music all come together to create enough suspension of disbelief that the heart cannot help but react. An emotional response of such magnitude is not easy these days, especially considering the sheer number of half-assed attempts at shocking the audience. My favorite genre has always been drama. A human story, for sure, and this time one which was derived from actual events. Honestly, seeing it pass before my eyes partially minimized number three. All of the issues laid out in the preceding paragraphs are difficult for me still, but the story we watched helped to put things into perspective. That is talent and quality filmmaking which cannot be denied. And now DS9 has William Lucking as a guest star. Fine actor, that one. Good stuff. Some faces are timeless, no matter the role. I love it. Four in the afternoon and I have a cocktail. Good or bad, there it is. Delicious medicine. After the film? I fell down and completed some of my chores and then sat with this shit. The compulsion to try is overwhelming right now. I may be wrong, though, in thinking that if I continue to ask questions and try calculating the beginnings I may find answers. I also may not. They might not be out there. Historically, my head is a master of creating problems from the smallest details of conversation. One little quip can lead me to develop it into a massive storm in minutes, and then the days that follow find me worthless and unwilling to be near others. That rarely happens while with the goddess, though. I know that she knows, if that makes any sense. I can say anything and never expect ridicule because I do not believe her capable of such a thing. The last thing she would do in life is hurt me, or by extension, allow me to fall down after speaking together. Her heart is enormous, loving, open, and genuine. The issue I have with trusting a woman's words has never been challenged more than during the time we spend together. I might have the worst morning imaginable, and then shortly after we begin to spend some time being close, it melts. And one aspect which has been helping is my thinking toward myself now as compared to a few years ago. I used to feel so shameful and remorseful that I came down upon my own head harshly and drove myself into loathing. It was bad. Now? Well, I've touched upon it, but I realize my value and have so many good qualities that I cannot even begin a description. I feel good about myself. The four issues do not mean I am a bad person, just someone trying to learn. I am certain there are millions of other people attempting the same toward themselves, too. It's natural, because perfection does not exist. I might be sharing my thinking with a person on the same street, for crying out loud. I do not know, and that is wise. I am still on the floor over the same shit, but it's me. Enough now. Still Saturday, and I am still dreaming of the trips to the goblet. I miss that place every day. There are so many parts of me that have come about because of the connections I made in Vegas that I have become even more of a product than during my early years. I cannot help but miss the atmosphere and feeling of 'being somebody', regardless of whether or not the latter was ever true. In the eyes of the corporation, I was a number. But they never pushed that. I felt good there. Options, scenery, beauty all over the place, and the smell of sex and money at every turn. Is it any wonder that I grew up in such a culture and then hit on a cigarette girl? Nope. Not surprising at all when you combine the feel of the casino and the way employees dress and my reckless, flamboyant nature at the time. I threw it out there so quickly that I even surprised myself, not to mention Lanie and Joe. Oh and I found a picture of him but cannot place it here. Privacy, always, but it was nice to see that face again. Ashley? Lanie? Juliette the dream? None. Fuck me, there is Leeta again. Oy, tongue... Nose... You already know. She broke the cuteness scale twenty years ago. Anyway, all of the memories of Nevada are beginning to break me because they are gone, the last being just a year ago with the goddess. I do not see anything of the sort taking place in the future. Not only is the world vastly different now, but I am in no position to cross the street if it costs a quarter to go around the world. I am fucking stuck like never before. I would give and arm and a leg (or possibly those parts I no longer wish attached to me) for a weekend there, but the way it was and not the way it is. My head needs to know the difference but I have no desire to be restricted in any way. Each trip held its own share of varying experiences, however the atmosphere was a given. Now? Not so much. I need it, I miss it, but in all likelihood that place is gone forever. For me, at least. It hurts. I also ran across a photo of my beer while sitting at a taqueria in Florida. I went there to kill time while my cousin was at her appointment and changed my flight, effectively trimming five days off my visit to go and meet Andrea. One beer in a glass, nothing more. But when I saw it? Heart exploding. What I would not give to be sitting there again, all nervous anticipation and worry. I would give everything I have or will ever have. Believe it. I need to stop dreaming about things as they were. Nothing can return, damn it. I'm fucked. There are many journeys I have been implored to take, but as always, I am ill-equipped. Any other person would think of things and keep in mind that they are impossible, then give up. Oh, the thought would remain, possibly a dream attached, but the very beginning of it would go away in favor of living life as it unfolds. The wall could be hit. And then a turn to adapt and learn. Not me. I can't do that because the turn leads me back here. I have no future to speak of, so any delusion is preferable to reality. There is nowhere to go, and nothing to seek. If I find answers to my questions related to the origin of problems, that is fine. I will be better for the effort. As for moving forward and into new territory to leave the dreams behind and follow a real path, it's too much for me. I am not strong enough. Period. I know it, so don't argue. And if you feel that I have been limiting myself, well... Fucking keep that to yourself, too. I don't give a shit about anyone else's opinion, right or not. Ah, this was supposed to be more insightful, but alas I can't hold the fucking line. Drifting, wavering, unstable words and sentences that seem to form all on their own these days. The same thing over and over, and then I say this very thing over and over, and then I repeat the past over and over. I am disillusioned. Catch twenty-two, perhaps? What is that you say? I need something different or a small starting point from which to grow? Um... I cannot respond to those observations. I am not you. I am me. I see no way of being where I need, so the dreaming is all I have. Twenty-thousand lines. Right up there. Onward with whatever the fuck this is. Stripsteak, gone I am being ground into fishbait by the food processor from hell. Satan is at the controls, or God, or something. Someone? Me? You? Society that I hate so much? Or maybe all the sheep gathered and hit the fucking switch together. What do you think? Never mind. I don't give a shit about anyone's opinion. My inbox is still empty. I created the business email eight fucking years ago as a contact point for readers to comment or question anything here. Well, in all these years I have received exactly fuck. That's right... Emails creep in from time to time, all generated by software with a link (usually spyware, spam, or something worse), and I delete them when they arrive. Not one fucking word from a single human being on earth after all this fucking time. Well, fuck you all. I am going to kill the email but leave the link on the contact page just in case someone decides to send something. It will return, undeliverable. I have passed the point of giving a fuck. Years. Eight fucking years. Yep, fuck everyone. Fishbait, from the La Machine of life. Tell me what I have been doing here. Tell me. Oh, wait a minute... I just removed any means for contacting yours truly. Tomorrow is garbage day. Chores, laundry, whatever. After that will be Monday and I will be the same. After that will be Tuesday and I will be the same. After that will be Wednesday and I will be the same. After that will be Thursday and I will be the same. After that will be Friday and I will be the same. After that will be Saturday again and I will be the same. After that will be garbage day again and I will be the same. Something inside me is horribly wrong and I cannot seem to figure it out. I know those words in the theatre so many years ago are beginning to point toward several missing pieces of me, but I never thought I would be reminded or crippled over the memory. Crippled. That woman sat in the theatre and spoke to the woman next to her. It had nothing to do with me or anyone else. I never knew who she was inside and there is no chance of ever seeing her again. She means nothing to me, yet those words reverberate to this very second. If I can't come to terms with them -- one way or another -- then there is no point in me doing anything. I still don't even know for sure if such a memory is what has been destroying me. I just do not know anything. How could I have turned out like this from a single sentence from twenty-three years ago? Maybe I do need to keep writing. Nope. I will not. At least, not for the foreseeable future. Just the fiction, and that is fucking slow. Stop. Sunday. I just noticed one of my favorite films was ending and tried to record it. Two sips of coffee are not enough for me to properly compute anything, so the effort failed. I ended up recording the last twelve minutes. Ugh. I am going to make a list of movies so I don't repeat yesterday when the goddess comes to watch. I have seen so many that I cannot pick just one. Plus, I have no wish to expose her to something that is not completely worthwhile. The title in question this morning goes on the list. And right now is a western from the mid-nineties when my film ga ga was at a peak. I remember going to Suncoast in the mall there in the Midwest and picking up an issue of Premiere because Costner and Kasdan were on the cover. I had to read about it, and then a short time later I sat in the huge auditorium nearly alone and marveled at the movements of a camera I was to never see. Damn it. But I still watch. Part of the draw with this film is seeing Annabeth for a short time. During the period in which the movie was released, I had a thing for her. Something I cannot explain about her eyes. She still moves me these days, although I rarely see her anymore. In fact, the last time I gazed at her face was probably the last time I watched this. Many years ago. There exists the possibility that no one machine in the movies pushed me to feel this way about women. I have never been with anyone who intentionally tried to hurt me, nor has anyone ever given me reason to worry about what else may be out in the world, possibly better than me. There has been nothing other than perception of words and my innate ability to snowball the tiniest remark and run around the world with it. I still fucking do the same thing, in fact. Anyway, no one from my past led me toward artificiality due to her behavior, personality, or actions. This all came about in my head. [As an aside, I need to clarify that the idea of being in control did not stem from me receiving the word 'no' on one too many occasions. That has little to do with my feelings toward machinery. The issue is thought, for Christ's sake. Read it.] The more I consider the idea, the more attractive and necessary it is becoming for my survival. All of the experiences combined with scattered memories of those few realistic androids throughout years have added up to the vision I try to describe. None of it does me any good, though. I just keep visualizing that life and yearning for things that will never come to pass. It's unhealthy and probably not the best idea for me right now, but at least I know it and can try to find the beginning. The point is that I know she is a combination of several different versions of the same idea. All from the movies and television. Big surprise? Also, no one drove me to this, either. All me. I don't even know why I began this paragraph. I can smell smoke coming in the back door. Yesterday warmed up pretty well so I left everything open overnight to begin today with a low temperature. If I have to close up shop and run the ionizer during a heatwave... Oy, the fan will have to keep me company this evening. I do not like the warm weather, and adding the smoke outside from the fires makes it much worse. Ugh. I will need to stay on top of things today. I've said too much about everything. A person who has been reading will see nothing new here. I don't know which way to turn, nor what I can do to feel better and more relaxed. Lavish meals, gone I can already see that today will be a trial of sorts. I do not like the warm weather, although I've dealt with it long enough to know the heat will pass. Between the ionizer and room circulator I can keep the house comfortable while the sun bakes the back. Our patio cover is old and worn and made of corrugated fiberglass from a very long time ago, and that means heat builds below and helps the living and dining rooms to warm up in the afternoon. Once the sun goes down, and if the following day is forecasted to be warm, the breeze will die off and leave the air in the house very warm. I try to maintain air movement. That is all I can do aside from taking it easy. Any work which needs to be done will be as such before noon. That helps, too. Holy Jesus God, I forgot that woman was in this movie. What a face. She reminds me of Juliette. Ugh. And her name is Joanna. Heh, another fucking 'J'. What is it with that letter? Whatever. Soon I will have to close off the outside air and run the machinery to alleviate the smoke which has trickled in this morning. Holy fuck she is beautiful. Big, doe eyes like Allie but darker, and thin as hell. I had forgotten Joanna for years because the movie is more than three hours long and I have rarely kept with it for more than a third of that. Maybe I should take my own advice and pay more attention. And she was thirty-one when this was filmed. God damn it anyway, all those memories of my love for the industry are derailing this paragraph. Nothing will ever return. So depressing. I missed out, just like everything else which frightens me. Joanna didn't help, either. So beautiful. Another reminder of me being insecure just passed by on the screen. It was her, but not anyone's fault. Just a quick shot of what people need to see for entertainment, and something which reinforces the connection between two characters and is meaningless in the story otherwise. I am likely the only individual who can watch this film and take issue with something so fleeting. Actors, nothing more. Simple. Just writing, acting, and the portrayal of historic characters as it should be. Slightly dramatized with a bit of creative license to hold the interest of filmgoers. That's all. But my head had a fucking problem with it. Such is what I am. This is going nowhere. Time to stop. I have stated on many an occasion that I do not know how to continue, but up to this very day there has always been some compulsion to write about whatever popped into my head and the possibility of learning. No more. No longer. No nothing. Julienned. Pureed. Liquefied by my own brain. For years I feared harm out there in the world. Now I only fear myself. The food processor has done its job and mulched all of my past. Now the plate is ready for consumption, but even it scares me. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."
09-06-2020 08:56 pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
The Food Processor
read ( words)
"Still Thursday. I don't have a lot going on, so here we are. Again. La Machine was in the seventies, followed by the Cuisinart later, I believe. I remember the first one because my parents picked up the La Machine to do some kitchen experiments. It was heavy, very noisy, but did the job just fine. The machine of dreams is different. Sleek, advanced, and very sophisticated. Rechargeable, too. Like a phone, but one which could hold me while I fall asleep. Appearance? Don't ask. The likeness in my head sometimes gravitates toward the girl at the beginning of 'A.I.'. She was an android, and there is a distinct possibility that her image and actions on the screen initiated something in me. During the fall of zero three (shortly after I returned from the goblet and Ashley's loving arms), my life was screwed up. Everything smoothed out by November, if I recall correctly, and during the intervening weeks I generally frequented a bar/restaurant in town and spent a good portion of my time watching movies at home. I was working at the time, so my free hours were not so abundant. Still, I picked up a couple of films to watch at home, one of them being the story I mentioned. I would have to say that the face and fluid motions of the android struck me so much that thoughts of her being in my possession took over more than often enough to cause me to daydream. She was really beautiful, and due to the character being portrayed by a woman, her motions were real during much of the exchange. At one point her insides were shown off via her face opening to reveal the mechanics and advanced technology within. I was floored. Still am, really. That was seventeen years ago. I have not seen the film in some years, but her face is still in me. The scene was like a meeting of sorts. A conference table surrounded by scientists and others who had been discussing the promise of artificial intelligence and the future. William was expositing something and asked her to stand. Moments later, he directed her to undress. She proceeded to begin to declothe briefly before instructed that she had gone far enough. I believe seeing the pleasant expression of her face coupled with how fluidly she followed instructions set something afire inside me. At the time of that film's release, I had been in a relationship for many years. Something new and exciting is enticing for many while in such a situation, but to extend that into thinking of the android in the film is another story, and quite a different level. That may have been an infantile beginning to the hole I now inhabit. The knowledge that my dreams have become so far-fetched that I may never be able to return. I keep seeing her face and body up there on the big screen so many years ago and my becoming enamored with the scene and the woman. Gorgeous, and a machine. Here we go... Just like the previous realization. Ashley again. Does the dream resemble her? I can't get that girl out of my head these days. Maybe tons more images of Alexis coming soon. And trouble, again. Four? Partly. Two? Constantly. What should I do now? The day's business is complete. Not much to it, and I suppose I could have gone further with some of those projects which have been sitting, but I am still not feeling it. The depression is heavy and resting upon my shoulders. It has the capability of holding me down, literally, and often for days at a time. This week has been no different. Nothing aside from the routine has been accomplished in quite some time now. I cannot motivate myself enough to begin anything. So sad. Held by my own limitations. Pause. Friday morning, Friday afternoon, Friday evening. Another Saturday after twenty-three other Saturdays have come and gone since my being like this. Dreaming, yearning, wanting and needing a handful of very specific things in order to secure my life in a way which could finally be fulfilling and satisfying. You're probably thinking that I am nuts for believing that something is out there in the world for me, and you're right. All these entries point to the same conclusion, too. You know what it is. And back to the 'idea' of her. Or... Her. No, not the Raven. That ship sailed, hit the rocks, sailed again, and then sunk along with my heart. The other her... The one which has been conjured throughout these many months and become more important than anything in the world to me. This morning has helped me to realize that drowning into a delusion is what I do best. All those trips? Delusions, illusions, and a method of sidestepping reality and leaving everything behind. I've done it so many times and so fucking deeply that I actually believed I was not me for a time. Andrea? Oh fuck me, that was weeks. We were so isolated (one of the best feelings in existence, if not THE best) that no one could touch our world. That depth of feeling is important to me. I need it in order to feel that there is some sort of atmosphere over which I have control. Most of my days, weeks, and months are spent with little tidbits of control over this and that, mostly technology or entertainment. Occasionally, food. But honestly, I have to be in a place which is all mine, and that rarely happens. The goblet was one of those elusive places. Now, I have combined the goblet and the dream of an artificial woman deep in a story. Stirring me, pushing me to continue, those feelings for that fictional Jaime have poured over into my reality and I see her everywhere. By continuing the fiction and finding myself deeper into the story, I am slowly withdrawing from all that is here before me. Everything under the sun is fading slowly and pushing me toward the screen and keyboard. I need it, and due to everything I want being unattainable, the story may soon become my whole world. I will leave the past behind once another facet has been explored a bit, and then off the fucking deep end I go. Eventually I will be sitting in a small room and surrounded by the imagery that is her, and there in front of me will be a keyboard. That is all. My little universe is the only thing over which I can hold complete control. After agonizing over the issue of the technology which can provide happiness being nonexistent, I have pretty much decided that it can exist in the fiction. I drove this. Jaime's images helped. Now it may be time to climb all the way in there and leave the real world behind. This will soon become the primary direction. Occasional banter will still come along, though. I can't help it anymore. I have to be a flaming bitch sometimes for my own well-being. That day when I drove out of work -- which was a very sudden left turn one morning, and one I dreamed about for years -- I felt nervous, anxious, and a few other things, but did it anyway. It took some miles before I was able to relax and sit in the car comfortably. I believe I drove fifteen or so miles down the road before thinking that I was out of sight. Hiding, as it were. My career there had been sprinkled with times when I did my best to remain out of the eyes of others, and the buildings and atmosphere were configured such that there were tons of little nooks and crannies where I could work without others seeing me. That was partly the nature of the place... Few people, lots of space left over from the heyday of the sixties and seventies. The feeling of heading out the gate in the morning and driving south until I was out of the city was empowering in a way. I felt in control for the first time in years. No one could stop me at all. As long as the car kept running, I kept going. The destination was clear almost immediately. I had to get away for a while and no other location could afford me the unique opportunity to absolutely hide in plain sight. I was even hiding in my car, for all intents and purposes. I needed to get away, plain and simple. The control aspect of the entire trip is more apparent now than at the time. An escort? All mine to do as I please. The money? Available for physical comfort and food. Even the atmosphere was somewhat under my direction because the powers who built that town did it to make people as comfortable as possible so they would stay longer and spend more. Lots of people did, and still do. Once I turned left and bypassed the facility (drove right on by, actually), my choice of city was instantaneous. The control. Nothing out my hands, especially the woman in question. Go ahead and damn me. I don't care. That is why the story has to continue and head in whatever direction comes to mind. The real world will continue to degrade and only provide moments of joy here and there. That is all. I knew this would happen, perhaps deep inside my subconscious, but I really did know. I have placed so many restrictions upon life, the manner in which others must interact with me, the appearance of the house and many other things that I cannot honestly expect anyone to adapt fully to my desires. I may be horribly out of balance, but at least I am not unfair when it comes to expectations. The people in my life are fair to me. I have to be the same toward them, especially considering how demanding I can be. As everything around me shrinks spherically inward, I have to maintain distance from some people. I don't want them to know that I've flipped my cork at long last, although they may be expecting such a situation. I don't really give a shit, though, because I have to tread the path. There is no choice any longer as you may have seen. All the crap has been slowly boiling down to this. Probably expected, anyway. I just CANNOT care about others' feelings right now. Too much inside me already. No room left.
Aurora, gone
Damn two, anyway. This morning I pretty much did it to myself. Not surprising, really, and I was speaking with an understanding soul. A woman, yes, but someone I know. I still worry despite being familiar with her. By its very definition, the trust is tough right now. She is a woman and thinks highly of me, however as a female there are unknowns which cannot be alleviated. Yes, I know how this may sound, and keep in mind that any fear develops outside such conversation. I cannot expect anyone to be what I wish or need. I can, however, expect them to be themselves. Anything else is unfair, period. The rub is that I do not know what goes on and never truly will. This is the biggest problem I have as it is directly related to two. It will eventually drive me either insane or away from everyone. No trust equals no contact with others. That is that. And as I said before, I did it. There is a small upside, and that is the fact that she is the only person on the planet with whom I can discuss the issue. Thus far, I have barely scratched the surface, though. The fear of the film went away part way through, and before it did I ran into the situation in which one fear outweighed another. Oh boy, what has happened to me? I cannot help but worry all the time, even while with her. Nothing seems to help. I ran into trouble yesterday, as well, but it was very different. It had nothing to do with two and might be something new... Something I have not put into clear terms before. If my concern is grounded properly, I am in trouble. One of the most important and amazing things in my world could end up reduced to nothing more than difficulty. If I lose the wonder, there is little reason to fucking do anything. The routine, my worry over day to day life as time passes, and any desire to be comfortable in the future. All of it... Meaningless. The possibility is making me sad. Very sad, for sure. I am hoping I don't end up motionless like in the beginning of the pandemic. All that free time for which I yearned went right out the window and turned into too much thinking about everything. Now? Even more of it. The issues are changing position, meaning two is in charge, followed by one. Three and four are disappearing quickly. I have had a difficult enough time trying to work on two. I don't need it any more prominent. As much as I spout over being completely alone, it is a last resort. There are aspects of life which, if missing for too long, I need available. I have been driven out of my mind and become a danger to myself and relationships over the same shit and I don't need that right now. There is enough already without losing my mind over the problem. If I did it to myself? Not a good reaction. Not good at all. Yesterday may have been a test. If so, I failed. Lesson? I don't know. I do know that if it happens again, my stance will sharpen immediately. 'Unsociable' will prove a galactic understatement. I just don't know what to do. The morning was very nice, and then I remembered some things which still bother me from time to time, and then learned that there may be another job opportunity on the horizon. Can I even go out there and work around other people now? I'm feeling more inward than the isolation of eleven. I am scared and not too closed off to admit that. What the fuck can I do if these issues follow me into a place of work? Will I have more trouble, or will I be able to rise enough to function like a person? Too many questions, as usual. I'm fucking sick of feeling so weak and fearful. I went through years of staying above everything but now I am falling down. As I sit here right now, the world looks alien. It did not appear as such just six months ago. Oh, everything was there in my head, but for whatever reason I am losing ground. Backpedaling all the way into my apartment and those feelings which nearly killed me. I'm tired of thinking. Change it? Yeah, good luck. Exhausted. I currently feel capable of nothing at all. 'How did I fuckin' get ta dis?' I had a beer thinking it might help. Heading toward the big bottle is not going to do good right now, so it stays put. She's been gone nearly two hours and my head is still processing food like a champ. The most compassionate, understanding and helpful woman I have been in contact with since the fucking Raven. Unreal. And beautiful at the same time. That is rare. Remember the old adage.. 'No matter how good she looks now, someone, somewhere has had it up to here with her shit.' That is true, however each person is different and I cannot lump them all into the same category. I only bring it up because some will compromise a deeper relationship and shove it aside in the name of beauty. On the outside it is very easy to deal with, whereas when it is combined with a genuine person on the inside things can be difficult for me. All those visions out there in the world are just images. No matter how fucking aligned they may be to the map of my brain -- like many have been -- still they are flat. Two-dimensional. I know nothing of them and never will, as it should be. The one in question? She has everything all rolled up into a tiny, gorgeous package. Ok, enough of that. The point is that even with her I worry. I can't help it because she is a WOMAN. That's right, kids, therein lies the trouble. A woman. We are unbelievably close and she knows things about me that I have told very few individuals. Damned few, in fact. Like, maybe four. Her calming, loving nature just brings it out of me. But I hesitate to say too much because I fear for the reaction. Perhaps I should not be worried, though. She is probably reading this right now! Ha! I gushed without considering the audience. The fact remains that despite her knowing me so intimately and constant supportive nature, I am fucking scared. There you go. Laugh at it. By this time in my life I am supposed to be an actual grown-up, right? Well, nope. Not even close. Scared because she has a mind. Chew on that. Machinery. The impossible answer. No thinking, no feelings. Ice cold, always. Please. I have to figure out a way of dealing with this and becoming more balanced. My thinking in the direction of the dreamy machine is unhealthy to such a degree that if I were under mental health surveillance, I would likely not be allowed to leave. Oh, I've been there before and performed a masterful act of bullshit until released, but now I doubt I have the drive. I am barely able to keep myself together in front of the damned-few people who see me in person. Damned few. Like, two. Heh. Well, I said months ago that I wanted to withdraw and be alone as much as possible, right? Here I sit. Just two other souls are near me on a regular basis. I cannot imagine holding it together for very long out there among the masses. One certainty is that the images of Jaime may have driven home the machine dream, but they did not begin all this issue two shit. That was already there. I even remember twenty some-odd years ago feeling tinges of the same. Jaime had nothing to do with it. She fell onto my screen and I began to have feelings for her. Whatever damage that can cause, it is not as real as daily life. I don't think stating that I love her is so bad, either. At least, not after all this other crap I have been trying to solve. She simply appeared to be the prime example of how I might picture the machine. And then the name followed the fiction. All those names beginning with 'J' meant I needed one more, so there you go. And there may be some of the real Jamie in there, too. I probably love her as well but it doesn't matter now. Issue two taking over much of my life is the fault of no one other than myself. I know it as surely as the sun rising tomorrow. I do not believe the problem in my head can go away without learning of why it developed in the first place. I have to find it, but have little insight as to a direction. The words in the theatre, some of the goddess' reactions in the past, and the whole of society's preoccupation with physical attractiveness are like gigantic mountains too steep for climbing. Oh, I can talk to her about it, but the rest is nearly impossible. Society does not give half a blue fuck about how it affects people or their feelings. It is a never-ending and ever-expanding engine over which control of any kind cannot happen because very few people even see the fucking thing or its soulless effects upon those of us who do. It is a wave. Progress, change, all of it. I am powerless. My head is grinding everything into a shapeless blob. Peanut butter which has already gone rancid. And now? Something different. Switchtrack.
House of Blues, gone
Forty years of this. No recovery beyond surgery in zero six. That was it. Beyond? Only difficulty on and off, plus the worst during passionate moments. Right up to this very day I have been brought down by the simplest gesture, step, or position. Even loving, tender care has been wrought with pain. Trying to constantly protect myself has all but driven me into the fucking soil. And I mean that quite literally. I have considered the dire thought of ending my life many times just to be free of the toll. The incident last year after shopping almost brought tears, but the fear of appearing weak overtook my mind and I forced myself to remain upright. Again... Today, just an hour ago I misstepped and doubled over. I do not know how much more I can deal with this fragility. I no longer wish to possess some parts of my body. They have caused nothing but trouble, be it before the passion or after. Sometimes? Nowhere near the passion. Just me living day to day and out of nowhere the pain comes and takes me off my feet. How many occasions after all these years? A hundred? A thousand? Three surgeries. More pain. More longing to be like others and not so fucking sensitive and fragile. I am so tired from trying to stay upright. Rachel did not know and tried to please me. She didn't have a clue, and the result was like countless other situations. The girl was tender and sweet, meaning I did not blame her one bit. Not even for a second. After explaining my reaction, she felt terrible and nothing I said lifted her from such a state for a long while. Soon after, we ended. I stopped everything that day and it never returned. Now she is gone. On the flight home, everything went through my head and I could not deal with knowing it would happen again, eventually. Only once did I tell the story before anything physical. And that person on the receiving end was none other than Andrea. After? She felt even more for me. And that fucking story is out there for all to see. That's right... Live, once again. I have nothing to hide and the more I think about the idea of sharing such a defining part of my life, the more I realize that the story is just me. Perhaps it can shed light upon other parts of the journey the site is taking, or perhaps not. But I have to take the chance and keep it in mind other than the reminders which I feel all too often. Rather than hiding it away out of fear, I calculate that someone reading and subsequently shaming me or causing embarrassment is someone I do not wish to know. Bad people. Unfeeling, uncaring, apathetic. But there are good souls out there, too. There is no denying it. So the story remains where it is for the duration or life of the site. Another is in the works. No more of that right now. I had to get it out, though. Sorry. Today started out wonderful, with a morning movie and coffee. The story is not the easiest to see play out, but still, the film is excellent from each standpoint. Acting, direction, writing, and music all come together to create enough suspension of disbelief that the heart cannot help but react. An emotional response of such magnitude is not easy these days, especially considering the sheer number of half-assed attempts at shocking the audience. My favorite genre has always been drama. A human story, for sure, and this time one which was derived from actual events. Honestly, seeing it pass before my eyes partially minimized number three. All of the issues laid out in the preceding paragraphs are difficult for me still, but the story we watched helped to put things into perspective. That is talent and quality filmmaking which cannot be denied. And now DS9 has William Lucking as a guest star. Fine actor, that one. Good stuff. Some faces are timeless, no matter the role. I love it. Four in the afternoon and I have a cocktail. Good or bad, there it is. Delicious medicine. After the film? I fell down and completed some of my chores and then sat with this shit. The compulsion to try is overwhelming right now. I may be wrong, though, in thinking that if I continue to ask questions and try calculating the beginnings I may find answers. I also may not. They might not be out there. Historically, my head is a master of creating problems from the smallest details of conversation. One little quip can lead me to develop it into a massive storm in minutes, and then the days that follow find me worthless and unwilling to be near others. That rarely happens while with the goddess, though. I know that she knows, if that makes any sense. I can say anything and never expect ridicule because I do not believe her capable of such a thing. The last thing she would do in life is hurt me, or by extension, allow me to fall down after speaking together. Her heart is enormous, loving, open, and genuine. The issue I have with trusting a woman's words has never been challenged more than during the time we spend together. I might have the worst morning imaginable, and then shortly after we begin to spend some time being close, it melts. And one aspect which has been helping is my thinking toward myself now as compared to a few years ago. I used to feel so shameful and remorseful that I came down upon my own head harshly and drove myself into loathing. It was bad. Now? Well, I've touched upon it, but I realize my value and have so many good qualities that I cannot even begin a description. I feel good about myself. The four issues do not mean I am a bad person, just someone trying to learn. I am certain there are millions of other people attempting the same toward themselves, too. It's natural, because perfection does not exist. I might be sharing my thinking with a person on the same street, for crying out loud. I do not know, and that is wise. I am still on the floor over the same shit, but it's me. Enough now. Still Saturday, and I am still dreaming of the trips to the goblet. I miss that place every day. There are so many parts of me that have come about because of the connections I made in Vegas that I have become even more of a product than during my early years. I cannot help but miss the atmosphere and feeling of 'being somebody', regardless of whether or not the latter was ever true. In the eyes of the corporation, I was a number. But they never pushed that. I felt good there. Options, scenery, beauty all over the place, and the smell of sex and money at every turn. Is it any wonder that I grew up in such a culture and then hit on a cigarette girl? Nope. Not surprising at all when you combine the feel of the casino and the way employees dress and my reckless, flamboyant nature at the time. I threw it out there so quickly that I even surprised myself, not to mention Lanie and Joe. Oh and I found a picture of him but cannot place it here. Privacy, always, but it was nice to see that face again. Ashley? Lanie? Juliette the dream? None. Fuck me, there is Leeta again. Oy, tongue... Nose... You already know. She broke the cuteness scale twenty years ago. Anyway, all of the memories of Nevada are beginning to break me because they are gone, the last being just a year ago with the goddess. I do not see anything of the sort taking place in the future. Not only is the world vastly different now, but I am in no position to cross the street if it costs a quarter to go around the world. I am fucking stuck like never before. I would give and arm and a leg (or possibly those parts I no longer wish attached to me) for a weekend there, but the way it was and not the way it is. My head needs to know the difference but I have no desire to be restricted in any way. Each trip held its own share of varying experiences, however the atmosphere was a given. Now? Not so much. I need it, I miss it, but in all likelihood that place is gone forever. For me, at least. It hurts. I also ran across a photo of my beer while sitting at a taqueria in Florida. I went there to kill time while my cousin was at her appointment and changed my flight, effectively trimming five days off my visit to go and meet Andrea. One beer in a glass, nothing more. But when I saw it? Heart exploding. What I would not give to be sitting there again, all nervous anticipation and worry. I would give everything I have or will ever have. Believe it. I need to stop dreaming about things as they were. Nothing can return, damn it. I'm fucked. There are many journeys I have been implored to take, but as always, I am ill-equipped. Any other person would think of things and keep in mind that they are impossible, then give up. Oh, the thought would remain, possibly a dream attached, but the very beginning of it would go away in favor of living life as it unfolds. The wall could be hit. And then a turn to adapt and learn. Not me. I can't do that because the turn leads me back here. I have no future to speak of, so any delusion is preferable to reality. There is nowhere to go, and nothing to seek. If I find answers to my questions related to the origin of problems, that is fine. I will be better for the effort. As for moving forward and into new territory to leave the dreams behind and follow a real path, it's too much for me. I am not strong enough. Period. I know it, so don't argue. And if you feel that I have been limiting myself, well... Fucking keep that to yourself, too. I don't give a shit about anyone else's opinion, right or not. Ah, this was supposed to be more insightful, but alas I can't hold the fucking line. Drifting, wavering, unstable words and sentences that seem to form all on their own these days. The same thing over and over, and then I say this very thing over and over, and then I repeat the past over and over. I am disillusioned. Catch twenty-two, perhaps? What is that you say? I need something different or a small starting point from which to grow? Um... I cannot respond to those observations. I am not you. I am me. I see no way of being where I need, so the dreaming is all I have. Twenty-thousand lines. Right up there. Onward with whatever the fuck this is.
Stripsteak, gone
I am being ground into fishbait by the food processor from hell. Satan is at the controls, or God, or something. Someone? Me? You? Society that I hate so much? Or maybe all the sheep gathered and hit the fucking switch together. What do you think? Never mind. I don't give a shit about anyone's opinion. My inbox is still empty. I created the business email eight fucking years ago as a contact point for readers to comment or question anything here. Well, in all these years I have received exactly fuck. That's right... Emails creep in from time to time, all generated by software with a link (usually spyware, spam, or something worse), and I delete them when they arrive. Not one fucking word from a single human being on earth after all this fucking time. Well, fuck you all. I am going to kill the email but leave the link on the contact page just in case someone decides to send something. It will return, undeliverable. I have passed the point of giving a fuck. Years. Eight fucking years. Yep, fuck everyone. Fishbait, from the La Machine of life. Tell me what I have been doing here. Tell me. Oh, wait a minute... I just removed any means for contacting yours truly. Tomorrow is garbage day. Chores, laundry, whatever. After that will be Monday and I will be the same. After that will be Tuesday and I will be the same. After that will be Wednesday and I will be the same. After that will be Thursday and I will be the same. After that will be Friday and I will be the same. After that will be Saturday again and I will be the same. After that will be garbage day again and I will be the same. Something inside me is horribly wrong and I cannot seem to figure it out. I know those words in the theatre so many years ago are beginning to point toward several missing pieces of me, but I never thought I would be reminded or crippled over the memory. Crippled. That woman sat in the theatre and spoke to the woman next to her. It had nothing to do with me or anyone else. I never knew who she was inside and there is no chance of ever seeing her again. She means nothing to me, yet those words reverberate to this very second. If I can't come to terms with them -- one way or another -- then there is no point in me doing anything. I still don't even know for sure if such a memory is what has been destroying me. I just do not know anything. How could I have turned out like this from a single sentence from twenty-three years ago? Maybe I do need to keep writing. Nope. I will not. At least, not for the foreseeable future. Just the fiction, and that is fucking slow. Stop. Sunday. I just noticed one of my favorite films was ending and tried to record it. Two sips of coffee are not enough for me to properly compute anything, so the effort failed. I ended up recording the last twelve minutes. Ugh. I am going to make a list of movies so I don't repeat yesterday when the goddess comes to watch. I have seen so many that I cannot pick just one. Plus, I have no wish to expose her to something that is not completely worthwhile. The title in question this morning goes on the list. And right now is a western from the mid-nineties when my film ga ga was at a peak. I remember going to Suncoast in the mall there in the Midwest and picking up an issue of Premiere because Costner and Kasdan were on the cover. I had to read about it, and then a short time later I sat in the huge auditorium nearly alone and marveled at the movements of a camera I was to never see. Damn it. But I still watch. Part of the draw with this film is seeing Annabeth for a short time. During the period in which the movie was released, I had a thing for her. Something I cannot explain about her eyes. She still moves me these days, although I rarely see her anymore. In fact, the last time I gazed at her face was probably the last time I watched this. Many years ago. There exists the possibility that no one machine in the movies pushed me to feel this way about women. I have never been with anyone who intentionally tried to hurt me, nor has anyone ever given me reason to worry about what else may be out in the world, possibly better than me. There has been nothing other than perception of words and my innate ability to snowball the tiniest remark and run around the world with it. I still fucking do the same thing, in fact. Anyway, no one from my past led me toward artificiality due to her behavior, personality, or actions. This all came about in my head. [As an aside, I need to clarify that the idea of being in control did not stem from me receiving the word 'no' on one too many occasions. That has little to do with my feelings toward machinery. The issue is thought, for Christ's sake. Read it.] The more I consider the idea, the more attractive and necessary it is becoming for my survival. All of the experiences combined with scattered memories of those few realistic androids throughout years have added up to the vision I try to describe. None of it does me any good, though. I just keep visualizing that life and yearning for things that will never come to pass. It's unhealthy and probably not the best idea for me right now, but at least I know it and can try to find the beginning. The point is that I know she is a combination of several different versions of the same idea. All from the movies and television. Big surprise? Also, no one drove me to this, either. All me. I don't even know why I began this paragraph. I can smell smoke coming in the back door. Yesterday warmed up pretty well so I left everything open overnight to begin today with a low temperature. If I have to close up shop and run the ionizer during a heatwave... Oy, the fan will have to keep me company this evening. I do not like the warm weather, and adding the smoke outside from the fires makes it much worse. Ugh. I will need to stay on top of things today. I've said too much about everything. A person who has been reading will see nothing new here. I don't know which way to turn, nor what I can do to feel better and more relaxed.
Lavish meals, gone
I can already see that today will be a trial of sorts. I do not like the warm weather, although I've dealt with it long enough to know the heat will pass. Between the ionizer and room circulator I can keep the house comfortable while the sun bakes the back. Our patio cover is old and worn and made of corrugated fiberglass from a very long time ago, and that means heat builds below and helps the living and dining rooms to warm up in the afternoon. Once the sun goes down, and if the following day is forecasted to be warm, the breeze will die off and leave the air in the house very warm. I try to maintain air movement. That is all I can do aside from taking it easy. Any work which needs to be done will be as such before noon. That helps, too. Holy Jesus God, I forgot that woman was in this movie. What a face. She reminds me of Juliette. Ugh. And her name is Joanna. Heh, another fucking 'J'. What is it with that letter? Whatever. Soon I will have to close off the outside air and run the machinery to alleviate the smoke which has trickled in this morning. Holy fuck she is beautiful. Big, doe eyes like Allie but darker, and thin as hell. I had forgotten Joanna for years because the movie is more than three hours long and I have rarely kept with it for more than a third of that. Maybe I should take my own advice and pay more attention. And she was thirty-one when this was filmed. God damn it anyway, all those memories of my love for the industry are derailing this paragraph. Nothing will ever return. So depressing. I missed out, just like everything else which frightens me. Joanna didn't help, either. So beautiful. Another reminder of me being insecure just passed by on the screen. It was her, but not anyone's fault. Just a quick shot of what people need to see for entertainment, and something which reinforces the connection between two characters and is meaningless in the story otherwise. I am likely the only individual who can watch this film and take issue with something so fleeting. Actors, nothing more. Simple. Just writing, acting, and the portrayal of historic characters as it should be. Slightly dramatized with a bit of creative license to hold the interest of filmgoers. That's all. But my head had a fucking problem with it. Such is what I am. This is going nowhere. Time to stop. I have stated on many an occasion that I do not know how to continue, but up to this very day there has always been some compulsion to write about whatever popped into my head and the possibility of learning. No more. No longer. No nothing. Julienned. Pureed. Liquefied by my own brain. For years I feared harm out there in the world. Now I only fear myself. The food processor has done its job and mulched all of my past. Now the plate is ready for consumption, but even it scares me. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."
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