July 27th, 2021 8:46am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Arina II read ( words) "I was not worried about so much back then, nor did I ever find myself concerned over what too many others were thinking. Not even the woman I was with, for the most part. Nice and early. 162. Yesterday I added the posters to the pantry doors and later hooked up the colored illumination above. After testing last night, I think it looks pretty nice. I also fabricated a mount for the color line that will sit above Emily and create that division which should prove pretty interesting. I may go out later this morning and grab some plywood for advancing some of my other projects, too. The work out there keeps my mind occupied and off the subject of Arina (mostly). The glow really slammed me this morning and sent my head to the past for the millionth time. I really don't need that piled on top of all the other shit. And there she is again. We are closing in on the end of the series and her face is a fucking universe. Where was I? Ah... The stuff I did in the garage yesterday while waiting for her return from the City. Anyway, the time was relaxing and enjoyable, much like sitting here right now while the coffee remains. 'He was just starting his life.' Cindy tilts her head to the left quite often. Heh. Once again I have an entire day to myself with Arina following at each step, meaning this continuation of the last entry will be much the same. Hopefully I can make something of myself without falling all over Cindy, Jamie's big eyes, or the idea that has formed into Arina. So far, the quiet is very nice and I am closed off from the world. And Cara looks fucking amazing with those huge Bloomingdale's sunglasses and her black dress. Ugh... Just another dream. Anyway, my routine awaits attention as I only have a small part of it finished thus far. The work in my garage from yesterday looks even better now than it did upon completion. That corner became inspiring once the cabinet was leveled. Now the posters have a home and everything looks really nice. I'll move away from this soon and get things done. I like to have everything in order for the evening. Memories of the glow are parts of Arina. And the next episode is not only the end-all be-all and last bastion of human endeavor, but also a part of her. Everything is rolling up as if there is the longest carpet runner in existence right on my heels and forcing me to move along a path as the meaning of life becomes a spiraling mess of imagery and recollections. Her nose was apparently altered during the long period between the pilot and second episodes being shot. I just noticed. Yes, that means I rolled the show back to the beginning again. This is what I am. There is always some combination of things going on inside and working on my mind. I can't get around it, ever. Today is no different. I took care of the usual routine and have some linens in the dryer, plus I finished the light bar over Emily's poster and straightened up the garage a bit. My head keeps moving toward assembling the four pieces of foam core for our poster but I can't seem to do it. The show is on, I had some lunch a while ago, and the weather is agreeable for just about any type of work. The combination is winning, though. I suppose the upside is having some chores finished and everything in the house in order, but honestly I don't know what else to do this afternoon. The dryer has a failing (if not already failed) moisture sensor which I need to research, but even that little project feels too large for my ambition right now. I finished the first Arina entry, hence this mess. On top of everything else, I keep seeing her eyes up there surrounded by stunning hair and any concentration goes right out the window. Much of my life has been spent dealing with the fallout from being distracted too often by beauty. It is still commanding me. I am still capable of completing work, too. This is good. The possibility of losing the last of my daily drive is frightening. The description of Arina seems to be half-assed after proofreading the previous essay. I don't know if the sum of all that crap is effective in conveying her power. The past, the years which had me simply floating from one event to the next with little appreciation for what took place between, and my endless gushing over whatever shine crosses my vision are all rolled up into a giant plate of braciole which is now being sliced by me in order to attempt an understanding. Make sense? Probably not. I am flailing in the wind these days. Fucking flailing. I'll have to give this subject very deep thought and see if I can codify what has already been put down. Such a pain in the ass, this shit. Trying to describe why I am the way I am is difficult, but I am far too compelled to cease the effort. There is actually a typographical error within the closing credits of an episode. Heh. Those dishes keep coming back. The little antennae on my truck, that short drive, and I am speaking of the trailing end of the glow. The CD changer girl, my family life at the time, that summer when all of the CB guys were everywhere, so many aspects of the era. In fact, just yesterday during the second show, I realized one of the episodes actually airing was originally broadcast during the infantile beginning of the real glow. Eighty-nine, the fall. And then we rolled into that first holiday season. Damn it. The CD changer girl was only toward the trailing end, perhaps two or three months before relocating to the Midwest. I can't remember her appearance. The beginning was magical and I only recall due to the episode yesterday pushing me to think about the actors and such at the time. The show's third season will be thirty-two years old in just a few months. The funny part is I did not watch it from the beginning, but by the end of the third season during the following spring, I believe we were watching new episodes together. One of the trips to Disneyland had us leaving the park early one day to dash back to our hotel and watch either the cliffhanger at the end of one season or the resolution at the beginning of the next. I'm not certain which it was, although I can probably go back and figure it out eventually. Everything was new and exciting. The differences between then and now are becoming not only brighter and more stark, but depressing as well. There is simply no way around the idea that all of the good, up, fun and hopeful looking forward are gone forever. The end was sometime in the past and I did not even realize at the time. I am seeing a 'big three' right now, but cannot be sure of more or less. The glow, the heritage, and the dream. Hmm... Maybe there are four. The industry? Or five... Children? My name? There could be huge piles of reasons right now, some larger and some smaller, yet I honestly believe that the first three are key. The glow came to mind some months ago for whatever reason and remained right behind my eyes. Seven months, I believe, as the first recognition took place on the last day of last year. Published, anyway. All those problems are rolled up into Arina and staring back at me as if I can alleviate the difficulty. Nope. I mentioned seven months since defining the glow, and to be completely honest I think about it more now than when that piece of information was published. A brighter glow? I don't know, but the fact is the memories continue to grow as the present shrinks. The house is all mine for the duration. I only have the usual things to care for and one part is finished already. Yesterday I completed the light bar and was able to check it last night after dark, but due to the color of Emily's poster I don't think it works well. I may put one of the Trek posters in her place to see if the coloration is more effective. No big deal. The upside is the one bulb above all the new posters up and down the pantry doors. That pretty much bridged the lighting between the back wall and east side. Now the color goes all the way from my tool box across to the door. Once I secure some more plywood I can add doors to the laundry shelves and put up some posters there along with another lamp. Along the way I am certain my head will continue to descend into that place created by the gradient. Now versus the glow, plus everything in between. All that crap is nothing more than one distraction after another. The overarching theme of this period has been defined by said gradient, and each day which passes forces a brighter glow. There was so much possibility during that period, whereas now I don't see any. Someone just told me there are always possibilities, and for the most part that is true, however I am not speaking of things to do or places to visit. I am speaking of the way the world now appears and the idea that anything new is no longer surprising. I have closed myself off from media and commercials (mostly, anyway), social media and the bullshit that emanates from other people's mouths regarding the same, and those actions have left me alone and sheltered by choice. I've gone over this before, though. I suppose the compulsion is born of my dissatisfaction with so many parts of life. The distractions come out of a need to simply bury my mind within things that are isolated from the mass and society. I've gone on at length about the kitchen, and as I sit here right now it awaits my attention, meaning I have become so skewed since being home that there is a large measure of warmth and excitement inherent in cleaning or cooking. The television, the idea that the activities are necessary for daily life, and the shows that keep me company all add to that room being my favorite in the house these days. I still don't know if the facts are pathetic or not. But they are me, nevertheless. In part one of this long saga, I stated that Arina is a representation of everything lost combined with everything which can never be. She is an idea I must better define, honestly. This must happen if I can wrench the words out of my tired brain. I'll get there. Give it time. I was searching for an image of Joseph Siravo and Rocco Sisto standing by a Cadillac from the show and just learned that Siravo passed away three months ago. God damn it all. So many people gone with nary a chance of me gushing what they have meant to my life. Fuck. Rest, Mr. Siravo, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for being who you were. Huge impact upon me. Huge. 1955-2021 Now all these images of Cindy seem nearly meaningless. Fuck me. The routine is finished and I have little motivation to proceed with other projects right now. As upset as I am about the loss of such a great talent, he is not the main reason. Everything else is, really. The only positive I am feeling at present is being here with the house to myself and left to my devices. Said devices seem to be malfunctioning, though. There have been many days in which I stood behind the sofa not knowing of a direction once the typical chores are completed, yet now I am stagnant and sitting. I allowed everything to pass right on by on so many occasions that my head is spinning. The glow and the industry were bad enough -- not to mention my deep connection to the most compelling aspect of the obsession disappearing -- but now I have the earlier part of the year and the discovery of my past slapping me in the face every fucking day. The show up there is a reminder in spades. When she and I watched the series I still felt as if I was a part of something special. Now? That's gone. I am a part of something better left alone. I don't like it one bit. You wanna talk about adding insult to injury? Fuck, don't get me started. This entire paragraph is a requiem for all of the dreams. Everything else current has become meaningless. Everything that mattered is gone. Jamie's nose is not the only part of the first season that is thin. The girl was not doing well. Thank Christ she recovered. Everything that mattered is gone. Arina recites the situations and dreams over and over inside my head. And now, as of this last weekend at the race, Arina has a new face... We moved toward the Toyota booth to register for a wheel spin. After my luck at the Seagram's 7 game, she decided to try whatever might win us some free goodies, so she filled out the paperwork while I waited. And then I saw one of their spokesmodels pulling up her pants and began to attempt to understand what I was seeing. Let's go back to first arriving at the race. I opted to pay for closer parking than last time, so we ended up just one hill from the entrance. All of the parking at the track is guided, so I followed the instructions and pulled up to a fence alongside the previous car, and not only did I have to take the dirt area slowly, but the couple who had just parked was exiting their car and I gazed at the woman with wonder. The protracted parking process meant I had plenty of time to take in yet another anomaly of the female form, and something which has not taken place much recently. This is where the interesting part begins because she was olive and resembled the other one with wavy hair, a very tall stance, and tons of skin on display in the warmth. Midriff, legs, shoulders, and then the hair swirling in the breeze. Breasts pushing at her white t-shirt and causing everything below to appear very slender. She was amazingly gorgeous from any angle. I tried to wrench her body out of my brain and parked the car. Within moments of us stepping out and getting our things ready, they disappeared. I only saw her once more in the grandstand as they walked to their seats. Even my partner took note of her chest but I missed the second sight due to being distracted by race preparations. I saw the rest, however. The problems came and went by the time the first pair of cars lit off (drag racing term, that one). After seeing such artwork in the parking lot and my subsequent partial fall in the stands, I was ready for some racing action in an attempt to extract all of the obsessive thinking from my head and get it back up where it needed to be. The race is generally accompanied by warm weather, which means lots of people wearing as little as possible, but for the most part I have not encountered much in many years. My mind is typically elsewhere. And to the model in question. One girl helped with the registration while her very tall partner strolled over to the prize wheel. I watched every step of her gait and found myself wondering why she was not on a runway rather than representing an auto manufacturer at a racetrack. No matter, because the mathematical and desire-filled processes going on inside me precluded any chance of following the simplest conversation about cars. We completed the signup process and headed for the wheel. There she stood, hair to her beltline and appearing stunning beyond comprehension. I did my best to remain upright for the spin. My partner went first, after which the goddess stated I could have a chance, too. I did just that, won nothing, and then she gave me a somewhat interesting expression as her eyes went up and down the tattoos. Goodbye, and we then continued elsewhere. The model's shape was stored away and I soon found myself distracted by the midway and racing. That girl did not enter my head again until arriving home some hours later, believe it or not. Now, the first quiet morning since driving all over the place through the weekend, I have to write some things down before she fades further. They all fade with time. Blonde hair. Yes, blonde, not dark brown or black. I was surprised at being so moved by her appearance after seeing a huge, beautiful mane of blonde hair because I generally gravitate toward dark hair and eyes. Her eyes were hazel. Aside from the interesting coloration which struck me very differently from many other examples of beauty in recent years, I will not attempt to describe the rest of her. There is no reason, but suffice to say that if I were to place numbers upon forms I have seen throughout the last many years, she would be one, believe it or not. Never before have I been so moved in so many different ways than I was just a day ago. I can still see her for the time being. Soon she will be gone like the rest as the sadness sets in. I do not believe I have ever seen a blonde woman so beautiful in my life. Read that again. I am not kidding. I will admit that seeing her in a pair of black stretch pants was a good portion of the initial draw, although once she turned toward us and I gazed upon her face, everything went to hell much more quickly than the curves below. One other tidbit is that I could not see her chest very much. Small, unlike the woman in the parking lot (she was a measure older). Don't crucify me for pointing to such an aspect, please. As I stated in the first descriptive essay more than fourteen years ago, the 'breasts are a very important section of the whole of the female physical appearance', and I will not back down from such an observation. Overall, the strike to my head upon seeing her moving around and performing duties was dramatic. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings, although after years of trying, I am quite certain that the need is not there. I've tried too much and the conclusion is such a description effectively conveying my feelings is impossible to build. Beauty is likely the most subjective term in existence. The bottom line is I felt every conceivable emotion and flashes of desire the power of which I cannot recall ever experiencing. Not to this degree. And after such a protracted sight, I don't know what to do. She derailed this entire essay in the worst possible way. Hmm... Two things just came to mind. One, I was wearing very dark sunglasses at the race (like most others who spent much time on the midway and in the pits), meaning I had the opportunity to stare to my heart's content. Two? The girl working at that display was more beautiful than Cindy. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. There are now more than 1.33 million words within this site and all of them would be required to convey my feelings for her. She is now the pinnacle and will be discussed as long as I am able to type. Eventually I will not be able to see her anymore and the perpetual loss and sadness will take over and change everything. I am going to do my damnedest to keep things in line here because that girl spun me more than any fucking female in many years and the fact that I will never see such beauty again is beginning to chip away any ambition in other directions. And there are even more problems. The desire was so strong (still is, really, while her image remains inside) that I am beginning to question my fitness to be involved with society. This is a very bad situation. There is no way to get this feeling to the screen. No fucking way. I have not the first clue as to what path or direction will help me get through the next several days while I still see her standing there like the entire vast universe of beauty rolled up and tied with a bow. Again... I just don't know what to do. 'She was a woman, taken all in all. I shall never gaze upon her like again.' I must digress from her now. Back to Saturday, two days ago, when I decided to actually attend the event south of here. Right up to the very last second I was still considering canceling and remaining home, afterward realizing that no matter where I drove, all I had to do was grab the wheel and veer off course for whatever reason, big or small. All the way down to the south bay with some of my favorite music and a great cup of coffee. I took an exit not far from the big freeway convergence and sat to consider the map. It instructed me clearly and I saw that the drive should be roughly twenty minutes, so I took off and finally decided that I would give the event a try for a little while. Up the hill, winding and winding, and then the map stated a right turn. Well, there was a gate and fencing all around, meaning I could not get to the street on the opposite side. I figured the best plan was to keep going and wait for a right turn. Fortunately, another truck pulled up in search of the same place so we cruised together the rest of the way. The road ended at a series of gates. To the left, the other guys opened and closed the gate for us to continue. Dirt road in my car. Yes, dirt and ruts, but I figured I was in for a penny, in for a pound, so I kept following through two more gates and eventually the ranch appeared. I parked so as to be able to slip out later if I felt uncomfortable. A bit of time for registration (prepaid two months earlier, most of the reason I went in the first place) and I wandered toward the main picnic area to get a sense of how those three chapters operated an initiation. Not once did the idea of having to drive back out of there leave my shoulders. It was not very comfortable a thought. A couple of hours went by as I followed along with some brothers and watched the process, every now and again breaking away to use the bathroom and think. Still the drive bothered me some. At one point a gentleman asked if I would partner with him in their horseshoe tournament. I hesitated at first but then agreed. Since the brotherhood tends to become and organizational cluster during any type of planning (very funny, that stuff), much time passed before the games could begin. I made the decision to flee the ranch and head toward home and mentioned I was going to mill around a while and return. Well, I made a beeline all the way back to the car -- which was very removed from the mass of people and hidden -- and took off out the first gate, nervous the entire time. The dirt road came and went and I only had to pass one small car. After reaching the last gate and finding pavement, I was overjoyed and much more comfortable. Not completely at ease, though. The ride down had me sipping coffee and listening to music, whereas the ride back -- the entire fucking trip -- had me talking to myself out loud as if I was addressing the cats here at home just like most weekdays. Yep, I was speaking out loud about what to do after arriving home, the idea that I felt I had missed several hours of security and peace due to leaving the house, and details about what may be the best route in avoiding some delays or traffic. While home, I tend to speak to the cats as if they are going to comment upon my thoughts. Well, I am so fucked up that I did the same thing all alone in the car for and hour and a half. This is not good, yet it did offer some comfort while being out in the world. The feeling of having left the ranch alone and without anyone's knowledge was a huge positive and nearly offset the discomfort of being there in the first place. The girl... I can never see her again nor do a fucking thing about it. Not good. Upon reaching home I wasted no time getting things in order to make up for the time away. It was not long before I fell back into my usual routine and sunk as far as possible. The outside world was once again far away, just how I needed it. And though a wrench was incoming in the form of her grandmother visiting for a short time a few hours after I arrived home, I was still secure in the knowledge that home was the best place for me. I suppose the adage I've employed here regarding the nature of being out and then feeling the warm reward of the house is as strong as ever. I need to be here almost constantly. The occasional outing is fine, so long as I know of the circumstances. The entire trip was almost worthwhile. Unfortunately, the following day cut me in half. I can never see her again. The most powerful force in the world to me... Gone forever, with the force still within. The force of Arina. I believe a part of the problem with the model from yesterday is the frightening woman who just graced the screen this afternoon. I've spoken of Annalisa before -- likely the last time this episode aired (gangsters) -- and she appears as the diametric opposite of the model at the race. Something about her facial expressions and the manner in which she carried herself and spoke stirred me and I somehow knew she was a gentle person. Sensitive, caring, and very possibly much more. I could read those wonderful traits from six feet away when she looked at me for mere seconds. Amazing. What is taking place inside me right now has developed through feelings of a deep sense of loss since arriving home and recalling the beauty and her eyes. Last year upon discovering those images from San Diego was something similar, yet the model was right there before me... Speaking to me, smiling and appearing as if she had been constructed out of every desire I have ever felt. This is bad and lending to the larger image of myself. And now she is combined and drowned into the idea of Arina. More of me missing, really, and more beauty added to the nature of the dreamy physical and emotional representation of the universe I am entering. All those problems, right down to the manner in which I conduct myself around the house while alone, are wrapped up in her. There is now so much going on inside me that I can barely carry the words to the screen in any decent order. Amazing, that girl. Nothing is enough... Adjectives, wording, nothing. I don't know what the fuck to do and am dying to repeat the visit to that fucking exhibit. I cannot. I can't do anything. Frustrated... The word is now much smaller and less significant than a single grain of sand in Glamis. I don't even know her name. The girl is taking over the inside of me one cell at a time and there is nothing there to identify with. Nothing I can do. Just nothing. Gone. No name. I am going to lose it. She has derailed everything so badly that I can barely think at all. Ok, before I continue sliding downward I need to get away from her again. This day is moving along with my chores finished and some dry cleaning rolling. I don't have a lot of drive to work around the house after last weekend, though. The rest of the day will most likely be spent trying to relax and think. My head is so fucked up today that the tiniest detail demands all of my concentration. I keep seeing her walk from the registration area to the prize wheel. Everyone she passed along the way was below the tip of her nose, meaning she likely stood at least my height. Such a fact only adds to her intrigue. I said I was going to veer from her, damn it. That hair... As I said, the remainder of the day will not be very productive. I do need to assemble some stew from beef in the fridge, though. Perhaps when I run out of words here I can get it started. The stew normally simmers and then cools, goes to the refrigerator and then sits for a day or two for melding. The preparation will not take long. One positive right now is the weather did not heat as much as expected. Mostly overcast out there and breezy, meaning the temperature inside can be either warm or cool depending upon my wishes. This is good. I overheard yesterday that the next week is to be very warm. I'll have to mentally prepare, I guess. Lots of this. I wish I knew her name. Very painful. Damn it, anyway. At this point, and after all of the crap in the first half of Arina's two essays, I really didn't need anything coming along so unexpectedly. The race normally has two types of partial visions. One such is the group of girls representing the track, and the other is the typical slew of fans strolling around the midway and pit areas. Most of those are nothing of note, honestly. The raceway girls are seldom anything special either -- except for those few years of seeing Vanessa up close -- and I don't pay much attention to them or the occasional strolling woman at the event. Most of the time? Not much there, meaning I enjoy whatever is going on. The Toyota model yesterday pretty well destroyed the limits of what I have seen out in the world, and she did it within seconds. I just wish I knew her name. This feels worse than even the walnut girl or thong sisters. The younger of the thongs was unreal, and I have gone around the world trying to understand how that situation developed so dramatically in my head. Now? It has been minimized somewhat due to the situation yesterday, although still a part of the representation of everything I am. They are currently dormant due to both the passage of time and my feelings regarding bringing up the subject too often. I've gone over that way too much. The current issue (and period of time) is swinging around like an eight-element beam from the seventies looming large over some suburban home. Swinging in favor of yesterday and the most stunning woman I have seen in recent memory. There were many others since moving to this side of the bay, yet all are now shoved into a small space to make room for levels of beauty I previously could not imagine. Her walk alone could be the subject of a dozen entries. I am scared to death of losing her image over time. Petrified. It will happen because I can never see her again, but that does not make any part of this time any easier. I believe when she disappears from my memory, part of me will equally disappear. Very bad. I have not had this strong a reaction to ANY woman, ever. There are little things here and there, the occasional artwork like that fucking nearly-nude goddess at the pool along with the fucking lines all over her tanned skin, and then some closer which spun me for a short time, but that's it. Yesterday I saw something that would have been better left unseen. And then she looked at me. And then she smiled and spoke. And then she looked at me again. Every fucking Goddamned ounce of strength was necessary for me to keep my gaping maw from flowing out of control. Well, I'm doing it now, but nothing will ever transmit the slightest bit of her thrall upon me. Never. And back to months ago... Never me. When I say 'this is bad', keep in mind it is much worse. I am changed. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Root the fucking thing. She follows every single thought in my head. Arina will soon grow out of control. Never me. It returns again and again. I don't know what to do. I guess I'll go through the fucking motions this evening (already under way) and then sit here in the morning for Christ-knows how long. Bad situation. The worst imaginable, and I can imagine quite a bit. Arina is supposed to be the subject, yet look how everything has been turned on its ear. Nice, huh? Tomorrow I may venture out in order to kill time, maybe heading to the nice, big hardware store down the peninsula. That place can keep me occupied for quite some time before I leave. I may also stop at the market on the way home for some goodies. After? Well, I have little things to work out here at home for taking baby steps toward a more organized house. Last week I assembled some foam core pieces into a large rectangle and added our map. I can hang it in the master bedroom and then begin to take measurements for my next plywood projects. Right now everything sounds good, but I'll have to revisit in the morning after my routine is finished. The drive may go away as it does quite often. I hope not. Considering the model and what has happened to my brain since last night? God knows what is going to take place tomorrow. There are always things to do, yet the motivation comes and goes. Her beauty will go at some point, too. Frightening. I'm glad there was no sadness in those big eyes yesterday. I would have lost my shit immediately. For many years I have had a weakness attached to peering into a woman's eyes when she is either sad or tearful. There can be so much raw emotion expressed through those windows that my brain and heart can't handle the beautiful strain. I've seen too many pairs of eyes right before mine which were full of emotion. The pair yesterday appeared far from sadness, thank the maker, yet there was more... I saw it from a few feet away as my heart stopped. Cat eyes. Oval. Sharp. Impeccable makeup. There was too much and I can't handle it. Her expression originated in another universe, one inhabited with more natural beauty than I could ever have fathomed. I didn't know the peak was never passed, and then there she was. When those scenes arise with Jamie's big, beautiful eyes expressing sadness? Oy God damn everything. It's bad. Take all of the love and appreciation for her character over which I have splayed tens of thousands of words here in this space and amplify all of it. Take it and expand to a degree the likes of which had previously seemed impossible. There you go. And don't fucking force me to defend the beauty or desire, damn it. There is more. I just can't explain it. The girl in the Toyota exhibit has surpassed whatever I dreamed for twenty fucking years. And she is gone. Gone. Arina has been fashioned as the culmination of what I have become, but I don't know what she TRULY is. I will never change, nor will I allow another human being inside this world. Don't even begin to ask. If Jesus himself flies down here fresh off the cross, he will also receive a resounding 'no'. She may have been an inch taller than me, and I am not exaggerating at all. Athletic shoes. Fingers from God. Hair... Today I will have to push a little harder. Yesterday was alright for the most part, but still the girl spun images which floated through me all afternoon and caused my concentration to diminish rapidly. I did not finish very many chores yesterday. She won't leave my head, nor will the idea that soon I will not be able to see her image any longer. Worse than last year. There is to be no end to this shit, so the chores are going to need a big fucking shove in order to keep me sane. There is an upside, and that may be the fact that I never sit here and wallow a bunch of 'oh I can't handle this or that, everything is unfair, the whole world is against me' bullshit. It was a chance encounter, and due to my having become so attuned to the tiniest details of the female form and their importance having skyrocketed for whatever reason, the issue remains inside me for a long time. I CAN handle it because I have before and I am sitting here right now, breathing. The problem is not easy to state because it makes me come across as very weak. And there is but one sentence involved: I miss her. That is pretty fucking bad at this point in my life. The girl just struck me and forced several other preoccupations from my brain in favor of her. Nothing which takes place inside is too much for me to take. On the outside is where the trouble begins, typically involving past situations which can repeat. The model standing there smiling at me is very different. I wish I could see her again. She has marked me for all time. The other face which tattooed herself to me was none other than the rollercoaster girl. Believe it or not, and though she graced the screen with her bright eyes more than fourteen years ago, I can still see her face. That is unusual. The CD changer girl faded long ago and I only vaguely recall that series of events. She was in ninety-three, believe it or not. The model from Sunday is but one of two now, and something unexpected. Holy shit... What a sight. Again... I need to stop talking about her. Today. I have the usual stuff (very enjoyable and heartwarming) and then whatever feels necessary in order to earn the evening. Sound familiar? Very soon I'll have to get up and care for the morning business before I can return to this and gush my squashed heart out again. Oy she moved me unlike anyone. Damn it, I was supposed to stop that. I am so glad to still be in this little house after so much time. The weekend really slammed me with the idea of being out there more than home during the daylight hours, and now I see the gradient clearly. If we had not gone to the race, there would be no model in my head, although I would need to know the difference in order to fully define. Not seeing her would have been one way of maintaining my stance here, whereas now I am at sixes and sevens all over again just like back years ago when that goddess' hair bounced all over the place and I became smitten with an image on the television. Being here all day means I have the time and space to explore the feelings and how these situations have shaped me into this current mess, plus the manner in which all of the troubling thoughts brought on the idea of Arina. Her all-encompassing image and overpowering pull can no longer be fully explained, but at least I can try to understand how she can represent both sex and failure; two completely unrelated aspects of life which are connected through her representative position as a symbol of everything I have become. She is both amazing and tormenting at the same time. She is me and I am her. Wait... What? Yes, I feel the same. I don't fucking get it, but as I said... I can be here with the tools I need for both survival and understanding. There is a very strong possibility that my weakness will not allow me to fully understand -- ever -- and I know this. Sunday afternoon was a prime example of me tripping up myself and falling into an addiction as a junkie with a wallet-full, and yet here I am at home all by myself and the comfort cannot be overstated right now. I need this almost as much as I need to see that highest order and most mysterious type of outer beauty and intrigue before my eyes once again. I would give anything. The house is all mine now. Nine hours ahead and wide open. The model is immediately behind my irises. My strongest wish in life now is to repeat what took place Sunday. Maybe a touch more. A small measure. Anything. I am going to lose myself in her and be a completely useless human being very soon. The other problem which has cropped up in the last two months or so is forcing me to realize I am different than just last year, and vastly different than when I first gazed at either of the other two, especially the CD changer beauty that was right there next to me and smelling like a dream of fruity flowers. I am very different, altered if you will, and had little choice in the matter. Think of happiness as being like puzzle pieces or a big container holding all of the reasons, and then some of them going missing, permanently. Parts have been removed -- some have been changed instead -- and I now have to deal with the loss. Seeing the model did not help me save for one very significant facet, and that was the physical sight bringing back my belief in the possibility of a woman being completely and ideally fused to my dreams. And then hence Arina expanding to encompass that girl with the beauty of a lifetime. And then go a little further and include the most recent problem I have been experiencing, and you can likely understand how this free time is critical to my not ending up in the hospital. That is not a joke. I've been there before through events tied to my inability to cope with anything seemingly overwhelming, just like that girl two days ago. I need this time at home like I need to breathe. Believe it. My words are soon going to become difficult for anyone else to understand." 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
July 27th, 2021 8:46am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning Arina II read ( words) "I was not worried about so much back then, nor did I ever find myself concerned over what too many others were thinking. Not even the woman I was with, for the most part. Nice and early. 162. Yesterday I added the posters to the pantry doors and later hooked up the colored illumination above. After testing last night, I think it looks pretty nice. I also fabricated a mount for the color line that will sit above Emily and create that division which should prove pretty interesting. I may go out later this morning and grab some plywood for advancing some of my other projects, too. The work out there keeps my mind occupied and off the subject of Arina (mostly). The glow really slammed me this morning and sent my head to the past for the millionth time. I really don't need that piled on top of all the other shit. And there she is again. We are closing in on the end of the series and her face is a fucking universe. Where was I? Ah... The stuff I did in the garage yesterday while waiting for her return from the City. Anyway, the time was relaxing and enjoyable, much like sitting here right now while the coffee remains. 'He was just starting his life.' Cindy tilts her head to the left quite often. Heh. Once again I have an entire day to myself with Arina following at each step, meaning this continuation of the last entry will be much the same. Hopefully I can make something of myself without falling all over Cindy, Jamie's big eyes, or the idea that has formed into Arina. So far, the quiet is very nice and I am closed off from the world. And Cara looks fucking amazing with those huge Bloomingdale's sunglasses and her black dress. Ugh... Just another dream. Anyway, my routine awaits attention as I only have a small part of it finished thus far. The work in my garage from yesterday looks even better now than it did upon completion. That corner became inspiring once the cabinet was leveled. Now the posters have a home and everything looks really nice. I'll move away from this soon and get things done. I like to have everything in order for the evening. Memories of the glow are parts of Arina. And the next episode is not only the end-all be-all and last bastion of human endeavor, but also a part of her. Everything is rolling up as if there is the longest carpet runner in existence right on my heels and forcing me to move along a path as the meaning of life becomes a spiraling mess of imagery and recollections. Her nose was apparently altered during the long period between the pilot and second episodes being shot. I just noticed. Yes, that means I rolled the show back to the beginning again. This is what I am. There is always some combination of things going on inside and working on my mind. I can't get around it, ever. Today is no different. I took care of the usual routine and have some linens in the dryer, plus I finished the light bar over Emily's poster and straightened up the garage a bit. My head keeps moving toward assembling the four pieces of foam core for our poster but I can't seem to do it. The show is on, I had some lunch a while ago, and the weather is agreeable for just about any type of work. The combination is winning, though. I suppose the upside is having some chores finished and everything in the house in order, but honestly I don't know what else to do this afternoon. The dryer has a failing (if not already failed) moisture sensor which I need to research, but even that little project feels too large for my ambition right now. I finished the first Arina entry, hence this mess. On top of everything else, I keep seeing her eyes up there surrounded by stunning hair and any concentration goes right out the window. Much of my life has been spent dealing with the fallout from being distracted too often by beauty. It is still commanding me. I am still capable of completing work, too. This is good. The possibility of losing the last of my daily drive is frightening. The description of Arina seems to be half-assed after proofreading the previous essay. I don't know if the sum of all that crap is effective in conveying her power. The past, the years which had me simply floating from one event to the next with little appreciation for what took place between, and my endless gushing over whatever shine crosses my vision are all rolled up into a giant plate of braciole which is now being sliced by me in order to attempt an understanding. Make sense? Probably not. I am flailing in the wind these days. Fucking flailing. I'll have to give this subject very deep thought and see if I can codify what has already been put down. Such a pain in the ass, this shit. Trying to describe why I am the way I am is difficult, but I am far too compelled to cease the effort. There is actually a typographical error within the closing credits of an episode. Heh. Those dishes keep coming back. The little antennae on my truck, that short drive, and I am speaking of the trailing end of the glow. The CD changer girl, my family life at the time, that summer when all of the CB guys were everywhere, so many aspects of the era. In fact, just yesterday during the second show, I realized one of the episodes actually airing was originally broadcast during the infantile beginning of the real glow. Eighty-nine, the fall. And then we rolled into that first holiday season. Damn it. The CD changer girl was only toward the trailing end, perhaps two or three months before relocating to the Midwest. I can't remember her appearance. The beginning was magical and I only recall due to the episode yesterday pushing me to think about the actors and such at the time. The show's third season will be thirty-two years old in just a few months. The funny part is I did not watch it from the beginning, but by the end of the third season during the following spring, I believe we were watching new episodes together. One of the trips to Disneyland had us leaving the park early one day to dash back to our hotel and watch either the cliffhanger at the end of one season or the resolution at the beginning of the next. I'm not certain which it was, although I can probably go back and figure it out eventually. Everything was new and exciting. The differences between then and now are becoming not only brighter and more stark, but depressing as well. There is simply no way around the idea that all of the good, up, fun and hopeful looking forward are gone forever. The end was sometime in the past and I did not even realize at the time. I am seeing a 'big three' right now, but cannot be sure of more or less. The glow, the heritage, and the dream. Hmm... Maybe there are four. The industry? Or five... Children? My name? There could be huge piles of reasons right now, some larger and some smaller, yet I honestly believe that the first three are key. The glow came to mind some months ago for whatever reason and remained right behind my eyes. Seven months, I believe, as the first recognition took place on the last day of last year. Published, anyway. All those problems are rolled up into Arina and staring back at me as if I can alleviate the difficulty. Nope. I mentioned seven months since defining the glow, and to be completely honest I think about it more now than when that piece of information was published. A brighter glow? I don't know, but the fact is the memories continue to grow as the present shrinks. The house is all mine for the duration. I only have the usual things to care for and one part is finished already. Yesterday I completed the light bar and was able to check it last night after dark, but due to the color of Emily's poster I don't think it works well. I may put one of the Trek posters in her place to see if the coloration is more effective. No big deal. The upside is the one bulb above all the new posters up and down the pantry doors. That pretty much bridged the lighting between the back wall and east side. Now the color goes all the way from my tool box across to the door. Once I secure some more plywood I can add doors to the laundry shelves and put up some posters there along with another lamp. Along the way I am certain my head will continue to descend into that place created by the gradient. Now versus the glow, plus everything in between. All that crap is nothing more than one distraction after another. The overarching theme of this period has been defined by said gradient, and each day which passes forces a brighter glow. There was so much possibility during that period, whereas now I don't see any. Someone just told me there are always possibilities, and for the most part that is true, however I am not speaking of things to do or places to visit. I am speaking of the way the world now appears and the idea that anything new is no longer surprising. I have closed myself off from media and commercials (mostly, anyway), social media and the bullshit that emanates from other people's mouths regarding the same, and those actions have left me alone and sheltered by choice. I've gone over this before, though. I suppose the compulsion is born of my dissatisfaction with so many parts of life. The distractions come out of a need to simply bury my mind within things that are isolated from the mass and society. I've gone on at length about the kitchen, and as I sit here right now it awaits my attention, meaning I have become so skewed since being home that there is a large measure of warmth and excitement inherent in cleaning or cooking. The television, the idea that the activities are necessary for daily life, and the shows that keep me company all add to that room being my favorite in the house these days. I still don't know if the facts are pathetic or not. But they are me, nevertheless. In part one of this long saga, I stated that Arina is a representation of everything lost combined with everything which can never be. She is an idea I must better define, honestly. This must happen if I can wrench the words out of my tired brain. I'll get there. Give it time. I was searching for an image of Joseph Siravo and Rocco Sisto standing by a Cadillac from the show and just learned that Siravo passed away three months ago. God damn it all. So many people gone with nary a chance of me gushing what they have meant to my life. Fuck. Rest, Mr. Siravo, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for being who you were. Huge impact upon me. Huge. 1955-2021 Now all these images of Cindy seem nearly meaningless. Fuck me. The routine is finished and I have little motivation to proceed with other projects right now. As upset as I am about the loss of such a great talent, he is not the main reason. Everything else is, really. The only positive I am feeling at present is being here with the house to myself and left to my devices. Said devices seem to be malfunctioning, though. There have been many days in which I stood behind the sofa not knowing of a direction once the typical chores are completed, yet now I am stagnant and sitting. I allowed everything to pass right on by on so many occasions that my head is spinning. The glow and the industry were bad enough -- not to mention my deep connection to the most compelling aspect of the obsession disappearing -- but now I have the earlier part of the year and the discovery of my past slapping me in the face every fucking day. The show up there is a reminder in spades. When she and I watched the series I still felt as if I was a part of something special. Now? That's gone. I am a part of something better left alone. I don't like it one bit. You wanna talk about adding insult to injury? Fuck, don't get me started. This entire paragraph is a requiem for all of the dreams. Everything else current has become meaningless. Everything that mattered is gone. Jamie's nose is not the only part of the first season that is thin. The girl was not doing well. Thank Christ she recovered. Everything that mattered is gone. Arina recites the situations and dreams over and over inside my head. And now, as of this last weekend at the race, Arina has a new face... We moved toward the Toyota booth to register for a wheel spin. After my luck at the Seagram's 7 game, she decided to try whatever might win us some free goodies, so she filled out the paperwork while I waited. And then I saw one of their spokesmodels pulling up her pants and began to attempt to understand what I was seeing. Let's go back to first arriving at the race. I opted to pay for closer parking than last time, so we ended up just one hill from the entrance. All of the parking at the track is guided, so I followed the instructions and pulled up to a fence alongside the previous car, and not only did I have to take the dirt area slowly, but the couple who had just parked was exiting their car and I gazed at the woman with wonder. The protracted parking process meant I had plenty of time to take in yet another anomaly of the female form, and something which has not taken place much recently. This is where the interesting part begins because she was olive and resembled the other one with wavy hair, a very tall stance, and tons of skin on display in the warmth. Midriff, legs, shoulders, and then the hair swirling in the breeze. Breasts pushing at her white t-shirt and causing everything below to appear very slender. She was amazingly gorgeous from any angle. I tried to wrench her body out of my brain and parked the car. Within moments of us stepping out and getting our things ready, they disappeared. I only saw her once more in the grandstand as they walked to their seats. Even my partner took note of her chest but I missed the second sight due to being distracted by race preparations. I saw the rest, however. The problems came and went by the time the first pair of cars lit off (drag racing term, that one). After seeing such artwork in the parking lot and my subsequent partial fall in the stands, I was ready for some racing action in an attempt to extract all of the obsessive thinking from my head and get it back up where it needed to be. The race is generally accompanied by warm weather, which means lots of people wearing as little as possible, but for the most part I have not encountered much in many years. My mind is typically elsewhere. And to the model in question. One girl helped with the registration while her very tall partner strolled over to the prize wheel. I watched every step of her gait and found myself wondering why she was not on a runway rather than representing an auto manufacturer at a racetrack. No matter, because the mathematical and desire-filled processes going on inside me precluded any chance of following the simplest conversation about cars. We completed the signup process and headed for the wheel. There she stood, hair to her beltline and appearing stunning beyond comprehension. I did my best to remain upright for the spin. My partner went first, after which the goddess stated I could have a chance, too. I did just that, won nothing, and then she gave me a somewhat interesting expression as her eyes went up and down the tattoos. Goodbye, and we then continued elsewhere. The model's shape was stored away and I soon found myself distracted by the midway and racing. That girl did not enter my head again until arriving home some hours later, believe it or not. Now, the first quiet morning since driving all over the place through the weekend, I have to write some things down before she fades further. They all fade with time. Blonde hair. Yes, blonde, not dark brown or black. I was surprised at being so moved by her appearance after seeing a huge, beautiful mane of blonde hair because I generally gravitate toward dark hair and eyes. Her eyes were hazel. Aside from the interesting coloration which struck me very differently from many other examples of beauty in recent years, I will not attempt to describe the rest of her. There is no reason, but suffice to say that if I were to place numbers upon forms I have seen throughout the last many years, she would be one, believe it or not. Never before have I been so moved in so many different ways than I was just a day ago. I can still see her for the time being. Soon she will be gone like the rest as the sadness sets in. I do not believe I have ever seen a blonde woman so beautiful in my life. Read that again. I am not kidding. I will admit that seeing her in a pair of black stretch pants was a good portion of the initial draw, although once she turned toward us and I gazed upon her face, everything went to hell much more quickly than the curves below. One other tidbit is that I could not see her chest very much. Small, unlike the woman in the parking lot (she was a measure older). Don't crucify me for pointing to such an aspect, please. As I stated in the first descriptive essay more than fourteen years ago, the 'breasts are a very important section of the whole of the female physical appearance', and I will not back down from such an observation. Overall, the strike to my head upon seeing her moving around and performing duties was dramatic. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings, although after years of trying, I am quite certain that the need is not there. I've tried too much and the conclusion is such a description effectively conveying my feelings is impossible to build. Beauty is likely the most subjective term in existence. The bottom line is I felt every conceivable emotion and flashes of desire the power of which I cannot recall ever experiencing. Not to this degree. And after such a protracted sight, I don't know what to do. She derailed this entire essay in the worst possible way. Hmm... Two things just came to mind. One, I was wearing very dark sunglasses at the race (like most others who spent much time on the midway and in the pits), meaning I had the opportunity to stare to my heart's content. Two? The girl working at that display was more beautiful than Cindy. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. There are now more than 1.33 million words within this site and all of them would be required to convey my feelings for her. She is now the pinnacle and will be discussed as long as I am able to type. Eventually I will not be able to see her anymore and the perpetual loss and sadness will take over and change everything. I am going to do my damnedest to keep things in line here because that girl spun me more than any fucking female in many years and the fact that I will never see such beauty again is beginning to chip away any ambition in other directions. And there are even more problems. The desire was so strong (still is, really, while her image remains inside) that I am beginning to question my fitness to be involved with society. This is a very bad situation. There is no way to get this feeling to the screen. No fucking way. I have not the first clue as to what path or direction will help me get through the next several days while I still see her standing there like the entire vast universe of beauty rolled up and tied with a bow. Again... I just don't know what to do. 'She was a woman, taken all in all. I shall never gaze upon her like again.' I must digress from her now. Back to Saturday, two days ago, when I decided to actually attend the event south of here. Right up to the very last second I was still considering canceling and remaining home, afterward realizing that no matter where I drove, all I had to do was grab the wheel and veer off course for whatever reason, big or small. All the way down to the south bay with some of my favorite music and a great cup of coffee. I took an exit not far from the big freeway convergence and sat to consider the map. It instructed me clearly and I saw that the drive should be roughly twenty minutes, so I took off and finally decided that I would give the event a try for a little while. Up the hill, winding and winding, and then the map stated a right turn. Well, there was a gate and fencing all around, meaning I could not get to the street on the opposite side. I figured the best plan was to keep going and wait for a right turn. Fortunately, another truck pulled up in search of the same place so we cruised together the rest of the way. The road ended at a series of gates. To the left, the other guys opened and closed the gate for us to continue. Dirt road in my car. Yes, dirt and ruts, but I figured I was in for a penny, in for a pound, so I kept following through two more gates and eventually the ranch appeared. I parked so as to be able to slip out later if I felt uncomfortable. A bit of time for registration (prepaid two months earlier, most of the reason I went in the first place) and I wandered toward the main picnic area to get a sense of how those three chapters operated an initiation. Not once did the idea of having to drive back out of there leave my shoulders. It was not very comfortable a thought. A couple of hours went by as I followed along with some brothers and watched the process, every now and again breaking away to use the bathroom and think. Still the drive bothered me some. At one point a gentleman asked if I would partner with him in their horseshoe tournament. I hesitated at first but then agreed. Since the brotherhood tends to become and organizational cluster during any type of planning (very funny, that stuff), much time passed before the games could begin. I made the decision to flee the ranch and head toward home and mentioned I was going to mill around a while and return. Well, I made a beeline all the way back to the car -- which was very removed from the mass of people and hidden -- and took off out the first gate, nervous the entire time. The dirt road came and went and I only had to pass one small car. After reaching the last gate and finding pavement, I was overjoyed and much more comfortable. Not completely at ease, though. The ride down had me sipping coffee and listening to music, whereas the ride back -- the entire fucking trip -- had me talking to myself out loud as if I was addressing the cats here at home just like most weekdays. Yep, I was speaking out loud about what to do after arriving home, the idea that I felt I had missed several hours of security and peace due to leaving the house, and details about what may be the best route in avoiding some delays or traffic. While home, I tend to speak to the cats as if they are going to comment upon my thoughts. Well, I am so fucked up that I did the same thing all alone in the car for and hour and a half. This is not good, yet it did offer some comfort while being out in the world. The feeling of having left the ranch alone and without anyone's knowledge was a huge positive and nearly offset the discomfort of being there in the first place. The girl... I can never see her again nor do a fucking thing about it. Not good. Upon reaching home I wasted no time getting things in order to make up for the time away. It was not long before I fell back into my usual routine and sunk as far as possible. The outside world was once again far away, just how I needed it. And though a wrench was incoming in the form of her grandmother visiting for a short time a few hours after I arrived home, I was still secure in the knowledge that home was the best place for me. I suppose the adage I've employed here regarding the nature of being out and then feeling the warm reward of the house is as strong as ever. I need to be here almost constantly. The occasional outing is fine, so long as I know of the circumstances. The entire trip was almost worthwhile. Unfortunately, the following day cut me in half. I can never see her again. The most powerful force in the world to me... Gone forever, with the force still within. The force of Arina. I believe a part of the problem with the model from yesterday is the frightening woman who just graced the screen this afternoon. I've spoken of Annalisa before -- likely the last time this episode aired (gangsters) -- and she appears as the diametric opposite of the model at the race. Something about her facial expressions and the manner in which she carried herself and spoke stirred me and I somehow knew she was a gentle person. Sensitive, caring, and very possibly much more. I could read those wonderful traits from six feet away when she looked at me for mere seconds. Amazing. What is taking place inside me right now has developed through feelings of a deep sense of loss since arriving home and recalling the beauty and her eyes. Last year upon discovering those images from San Diego was something similar, yet the model was right there before me... Speaking to me, smiling and appearing as if she had been constructed out of every desire I have ever felt. This is bad and lending to the larger image of myself. And now she is combined and drowned into the idea of Arina. More of me missing, really, and more beauty added to the nature of the dreamy physical and emotional representation of the universe I am entering. All those problems, right down to the manner in which I conduct myself around the house while alone, are wrapped up in her. There is now so much going on inside me that I can barely carry the words to the screen in any decent order. Amazing, that girl. Nothing is enough... Adjectives, wording, nothing. I don't know what the fuck to do and am dying to repeat the visit to that fucking exhibit. I cannot. I can't do anything. Frustrated... The word is now much smaller and less significant than a single grain of sand in Glamis. I don't even know her name. The girl is taking over the inside of me one cell at a time and there is nothing there to identify with. Nothing I can do. Just nothing. Gone. No name. I am going to lose it. She has derailed everything so badly that I can barely think at all. Ok, before I continue sliding downward I need to get away from her again. This day is moving along with my chores finished and some dry cleaning rolling. I don't have a lot of drive to work around the house after last weekend, though. The rest of the day will most likely be spent trying to relax and think. My head is so fucked up today that the tiniest detail demands all of my concentration. I keep seeing her walk from the registration area to the prize wheel. Everyone she passed along the way was below the tip of her nose, meaning she likely stood at least my height. Such a fact only adds to her intrigue. I said I was going to veer from her, damn it. That hair... As I said, the remainder of the day will not be very productive. I do need to assemble some stew from beef in the fridge, though. Perhaps when I run out of words here I can get it started. The stew normally simmers and then cools, goes to the refrigerator and then sits for a day or two for melding. The preparation will not take long. One positive right now is the weather did not heat as much as expected. Mostly overcast out there and breezy, meaning the temperature inside can be either warm or cool depending upon my wishes. This is good. I overheard yesterday that the next week is to be very warm. I'll have to mentally prepare, I guess. Lots of this. I wish I knew her name. Very painful. Damn it, anyway. At this point, and after all of the crap in the first half of Arina's two essays, I really didn't need anything coming along so unexpectedly. The race normally has two types of partial visions. One such is the group of girls representing the track, and the other is the typical slew of fans strolling around the midway and pit areas. Most of those are nothing of note, honestly. The raceway girls are seldom anything special either -- except for those few years of seeing Vanessa up close -- and I don't pay much attention to them or the occasional strolling woman at the event. Most of the time? Not much there, meaning I enjoy whatever is going on. The Toyota model yesterday pretty well destroyed the limits of what I have seen out in the world, and she did it within seconds. I just wish I knew her name. This feels worse than even the walnut girl or thong sisters. The younger of the thongs was unreal, and I have gone around the world trying to understand how that situation developed so dramatically in my head. Now? It has been minimized somewhat due to the situation yesterday, although still a part of the representation of everything I am. They are currently dormant due to both the passage of time and my feelings regarding bringing up the subject too often. I've gone over that way too much. The current issue (and period of time) is swinging around like an eight-element beam from the seventies looming large over some suburban home. Swinging in favor of yesterday and the most stunning woman I have seen in recent memory. There were many others since moving to this side of the bay, yet all are now shoved into a small space to make room for levels of beauty I previously could not imagine. Her walk alone could be the subject of a dozen entries. I am scared to death of losing her image over time. Petrified. It will happen because I can never see her again, but that does not make any part of this time any easier. I believe when she disappears from my memory, part of me will equally disappear. Very bad. I have not had this strong a reaction to ANY woman, ever. There are little things here and there, the occasional artwork like that fucking nearly-nude goddess at the pool along with the fucking lines all over her tanned skin, and then some closer which spun me for a short time, but that's it. Yesterday I saw something that would have been better left unseen. And then she looked at me. And then she smiled and spoke. And then she looked at me again. Every fucking Goddamned ounce of strength was necessary for me to keep my gaping maw from flowing out of control. Well, I'm doing it now, but nothing will ever transmit the slightest bit of her thrall upon me. Never. And back to months ago... Never me. When I say 'this is bad', keep in mind it is much worse. I am changed. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Root the fucking thing. She follows every single thought in my head. Arina will soon grow out of control. Never me. It returns again and again. I don't know what to do. I guess I'll go through the fucking motions this evening (already under way) and then sit here in the morning for Christ-knows how long. Bad situation. The worst imaginable, and I can imagine quite a bit. Arina is supposed to be the subject, yet look how everything has been turned on its ear. Nice, huh? Tomorrow I may venture out in order to kill time, maybe heading to the nice, big hardware store down the peninsula. That place can keep me occupied for quite some time before I leave. I may also stop at the market on the way home for some goodies. After? Well, I have little things to work out here at home for taking baby steps toward a more organized house. Last week I assembled some foam core pieces into a large rectangle and added our map. I can hang it in the master bedroom and then begin to take measurements for my next plywood projects. Right now everything sounds good, but I'll have to revisit in the morning after my routine is finished. The drive may go away as it does quite often. I hope not. Considering the model and what has happened to my brain since last night? God knows what is going to take place tomorrow. There are always things to do, yet the motivation comes and goes. Her beauty will go at some point, too. Frightening. I'm glad there was no sadness in those big eyes yesterday. I would have lost my shit immediately. For many years I have had a weakness attached to peering into a woman's eyes when she is either sad or tearful. There can be so much raw emotion expressed through those windows that my brain and heart can't handle the beautiful strain. I've seen too many pairs of eyes right before mine which were full of emotion. The pair yesterday appeared far from sadness, thank the maker, yet there was more... I saw it from a few feet away as my heart stopped. Cat eyes. Oval. Sharp. Impeccable makeup. There was too much and I can't handle it. Her expression originated in another universe, one inhabited with more natural beauty than I could ever have fathomed. I didn't know the peak was never passed, and then there she was. When those scenes arise with Jamie's big, beautiful eyes expressing sadness? Oy God damn everything. It's bad. Take all of the love and appreciation for her character over which I have splayed tens of thousands of words here in this space and amplify all of it. Take it and expand to a degree the likes of which had previously seemed impossible. There you go. And don't fucking force me to defend the beauty or desire, damn it. There is more. I just can't explain it. The girl in the Toyota exhibit has surpassed whatever I dreamed for twenty fucking years. And she is gone. Gone. Arina has been fashioned as the culmination of what I have become, but I don't know what she TRULY is. I will never change, nor will I allow another human being inside this world. Don't even begin to ask. If Jesus himself flies down here fresh off the cross, he will also receive a resounding 'no'. She may have been an inch taller than me, and I am not exaggerating at all. Athletic shoes. Fingers from God. Hair... Today I will have to push a little harder. Yesterday was alright for the most part, but still the girl spun images which floated through me all afternoon and caused my concentration to diminish rapidly. I did not finish very many chores yesterday. She won't leave my head, nor will the idea that soon I will not be able to see her image any longer. Worse than last year. There is to be no end to this shit, so the chores are going to need a big fucking shove in order to keep me sane. There is an upside, and that may be the fact that I never sit here and wallow a bunch of 'oh I can't handle this or that, everything is unfair, the whole world is against me' bullshit. It was a chance encounter, and due to my having become so attuned to the tiniest details of the female form and their importance having skyrocketed for whatever reason, the issue remains inside me for a long time. I CAN handle it because I have before and I am sitting here right now, breathing. The problem is not easy to state because it makes me come across as very weak. And there is but one sentence involved: I miss her. That is pretty fucking bad at this point in my life. The girl just struck me and forced several other preoccupations from my brain in favor of her. Nothing which takes place inside is too much for me to take. On the outside is where the trouble begins, typically involving past situations which can repeat. The model standing there smiling at me is very different. I wish I could see her again. She has marked me for all time. The other face which tattooed herself to me was none other than the rollercoaster girl. Believe it or not, and though she graced the screen with her bright eyes more than fourteen years ago, I can still see her face. That is unusual. The CD changer girl faded long ago and I only vaguely recall that series of events. She was in ninety-three, believe it or not. The model from Sunday is but one of two now, and something unexpected. Holy shit... What a sight. Again... I need to stop talking about her. Today. I have the usual stuff (very enjoyable and heartwarming) and then whatever feels necessary in order to earn the evening. Sound familiar? Very soon I'll have to get up and care for the morning business before I can return to this and gush my squashed heart out again. Oy she moved me unlike anyone. Damn it, I was supposed to stop that. I am so glad to still be in this little house after so much time. The weekend really slammed me with the idea of being out there more than home during the daylight hours, and now I see the gradient clearly. If we had not gone to the race, there would be no model in my head, although I would need to know the difference in order to fully define. Not seeing her would have been one way of maintaining my stance here, whereas now I am at sixes and sevens all over again just like back years ago when that goddess' hair bounced all over the place and I became smitten with an image on the television. Being here all day means I have the time and space to explore the feelings and how these situations have shaped me into this current mess, plus the manner in which all of the troubling thoughts brought on the idea of Arina. Her all-encompassing image and overpowering pull can no longer be fully explained, but at least I can try to understand how she can represent both sex and failure; two completely unrelated aspects of life which are connected through her representative position as a symbol of everything I have become. She is both amazing and tormenting at the same time. She is me and I am her. Wait... What? Yes, I feel the same. I don't fucking get it, but as I said... I can be here with the tools I need for both survival and understanding. There is a very strong possibility that my weakness will not allow me to fully understand -- ever -- and I know this. Sunday afternoon was a prime example of me tripping up myself and falling into an addiction as a junkie with a wallet-full, and yet here I am at home all by myself and the comfort cannot be overstated right now. I need this almost as much as I need to see that highest order and most mysterious type of outer beauty and intrigue before my eyes once again. I would give anything. The house is all mine now. Nine hours ahead and wide open. The model is immediately behind my irises. My strongest wish in life now is to repeat what took place Sunday. Maybe a touch more. A small measure. Anything. I am going to lose myself in her and be a completely useless human being very soon. The other problem which has cropped up in the last two months or so is forcing me to realize I am different than just last year, and vastly different than when I first gazed at either of the other two, especially the CD changer beauty that was right there next to me and smelling like a dream of fruity flowers. I am very different, altered if you will, and had little choice in the matter. Think of happiness as being like puzzle pieces or a big container holding all of the reasons, and then some of them going missing, permanently. Parts have been removed -- some have been changed instead -- and I now have to deal with the loss. Seeing the model did not help me save for one very significant facet, and that was the physical sight bringing back my belief in the possibility of a woman being completely and ideally fused to my dreams. And then hence Arina expanding to encompass that girl with the beauty of a lifetime. And then go a little further and include the most recent problem I have been experiencing, and you can likely understand how this free time is critical to my not ending up in the hospital. That is not a joke. I've been there before through events tied to my inability to cope with anything seemingly overwhelming, just like that girl two days ago. I need this time at home like I need to breathe. Believe it. My words are soon going to become difficult for anyone else to understand."
July 27th, 2021 8:46am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning
Arina II
read ( words)
"I was not worried about so much back then, nor did I ever find myself concerned over what too many others were thinking. Not even the woman I was with, for the most part. Nice and early. 162. Yesterday I added the posters to the pantry doors and later hooked up the colored illumination above. After testing last night, I think it looks pretty nice. I also fabricated a mount for the color line that will sit above Emily and create that division which should prove pretty interesting. I may go out later this morning and grab some plywood for advancing some of my other projects, too. The work out there keeps my mind occupied and off the subject of Arina (mostly). The glow really slammed me this morning and sent my head to the past for the millionth time. I really don't need that piled on top of all the other shit. And there she is again. We are closing in on the end of the series and her face is a fucking universe. Where was I? Ah... The stuff I did in the garage yesterday while waiting for her return from the City. Anyway, the time was relaxing and enjoyable, much like sitting here right now while the coffee remains. 'He was just starting his life.' Cindy tilts her head to the left quite often. Heh. Once again I have an entire day to myself with Arina following at each step, meaning this continuation of the last entry will be much the same. Hopefully I can make something of myself without falling all over Cindy, Jamie's big eyes, or the idea that has formed into Arina. So far, the quiet is very nice and I am closed off from the world. And Cara looks fucking amazing with those huge Bloomingdale's sunglasses and her black dress. Ugh... Just another dream. Anyway, my routine awaits attention as I only have a small part of it finished thus far. The work in my garage from yesterday looks even better now than it did upon completion. That corner became inspiring once the cabinet was leveled. Now the posters have a home and everything looks really nice. I'll move away from this soon and get things done. I like to have everything in order for the evening. Memories of the glow are parts of Arina. And the next episode is not only the end-all be-all and last bastion of human endeavor, but also a part of her. Everything is rolling up as if there is the longest carpet runner in existence right on my heels and forcing me to move along a path as the meaning of life becomes a spiraling mess of imagery and recollections. Her nose was apparently altered during the long period between the pilot and second episodes being shot. I just noticed. Yes, that means I rolled the show back to the beginning again. This is what I am. There is always some combination of things going on inside and working on my mind. I can't get around it, ever. Today is no different. I took care of the usual routine and have some linens in the dryer, plus I finished the light bar over Emily's poster and straightened up the garage a bit. My head keeps moving toward assembling the four pieces of foam core for our poster but I can't seem to do it. The show is on, I had some lunch a while ago, and the weather is agreeable for just about any type of work. The combination is winning, though. I suppose the upside is having some chores finished and everything in the house in order, but honestly I don't know what else to do this afternoon. The dryer has a failing (if not already failed) moisture sensor which I need to research, but even that little project feels too large for my ambition right now. I finished the first Arina entry, hence this mess. On top of everything else, I keep seeing her eyes up there surrounded by stunning hair and any concentration goes right out the window. Much of my life has been spent dealing with the fallout from being distracted too often by beauty. It is still commanding me. I am still capable of completing work, too. This is good. The possibility of losing the last of my daily drive is frightening. The description of Arina seems to be half-assed after proofreading the previous essay. I don't know if the sum of all that crap is effective in conveying her power. The past, the years which had me simply floating from one event to the next with little appreciation for what took place between, and my endless gushing over whatever shine crosses my vision are all rolled up into a giant plate of braciole which is now being sliced by me in order to attempt an understanding. Make sense? Probably not. I am flailing in the wind these days. Fucking flailing. I'll have to give this subject very deep thought and see if I can codify what has already been put down. Such a pain in the ass, this shit. Trying to describe why I am the way I am is difficult, but I am far too compelled to cease the effort. There is actually a typographical error within the closing credits of an episode. Heh. Those dishes keep coming back. The little antennae on my truck, that short drive, and I am speaking of the trailing end of the glow. The CD changer girl, my family life at the time, that summer when all of the CB guys were everywhere, so many aspects of the era. In fact, just yesterday during the second show, I realized one of the episodes actually airing was originally broadcast during the infantile beginning of the real glow. Eighty-nine, the fall. And then we rolled into that first holiday season. Damn it. The CD changer girl was only toward the trailing end, perhaps two or three months before relocating to the Midwest. I can't remember her appearance. The beginning was magical and I only recall due to the episode yesterday pushing me to think about the actors and such at the time. The show's third season will be thirty-two years old in just a few months. The funny part is I did not watch it from the beginning, but by the end of the third season during the following spring, I believe we were watching new episodes together. One of the trips to Disneyland had us leaving the park early one day to dash back to our hotel and watch either the cliffhanger at the end of one season or the resolution at the beginning of the next. I'm not certain which it was, although I can probably go back and figure it out eventually. Everything was new and exciting. The differences between then and now are becoming not only brighter and more stark, but depressing as well. There is simply no way around the idea that all of the good, up, fun and hopeful looking forward are gone forever. The end was sometime in the past and I did not even realize at the time. I am seeing a 'big three' right now, but cannot be sure of more or less. The glow, the heritage, and the dream. Hmm... Maybe there are four. The industry? Or five... Children? My name? There could be huge piles of reasons right now, some larger and some smaller, yet I honestly believe that the first three are key. The glow came to mind some months ago for whatever reason and remained right behind my eyes. Seven months, I believe, as the first recognition took place on the last day of last year. Published, anyway. All those problems are rolled up into Arina and staring back at me as if I can alleviate the difficulty. Nope. I mentioned seven months since defining the glow, and to be completely honest I think about it more now than when that piece of information was published. A brighter glow? I don't know, but the fact is the memories continue to grow as the present shrinks.
The house is all mine for the duration. I only have the usual things to care for and one part is finished already. Yesterday I completed the light bar and was able to check it last night after dark, but due to the color of Emily's poster I don't think it works well. I may put one of the Trek posters in her place to see if the coloration is more effective. No big deal. The upside is the one bulb above all the new posters up and down the pantry doors. That pretty much bridged the lighting between the back wall and east side. Now the color goes all the way from my tool box across to the door. Once I secure some more plywood I can add doors to the laundry shelves and put up some posters there along with another lamp. Along the way I am certain my head will continue to descend into that place created by the gradient. Now versus the glow, plus everything in between. All that crap is nothing more than one distraction after another. The overarching theme of this period has been defined by said gradient, and each day which passes forces a brighter glow. There was so much possibility during that period, whereas now I don't see any. Someone just told me there are always possibilities, and for the most part that is true, however I am not speaking of things to do or places to visit. I am speaking of the way the world now appears and the idea that anything new is no longer surprising. I have closed myself off from media and commercials (mostly, anyway), social media and the bullshit that emanates from other people's mouths regarding the same, and those actions have left me alone and sheltered by choice. I've gone over this before, though. I suppose the compulsion is born of my dissatisfaction with so many parts of life. The distractions come out of a need to simply bury my mind within things that are isolated from the mass and society. I've gone on at length about the kitchen, and as I sit here right now it awaits my attention, meaning I have become so skewed since being home that there is a large measure of warmth and excitement inherent in cleaning or cooking. The television, the idea that the activities are necessary for daily life, and the shows that keep me company all add to that room being my favorite in the house these days. I still don't know if the facts are pathetic or not. But they are me, nevertheless. In part one of this long saga, I stated that Arina is a representation of everything lost combined with everything which can never be. She is an idea I must better define, honestly. This must happen if I can wrench the words out of my tired brain. I'll get there. Give it time. I was searching for an image of Joseph Siravo and Rocco Sisto standing by a Cadillac from the show and just learned that Siravo passed away three months ago. God damn it all. So many people gone with nary a chance of me gushing what they have meant to my life. Fuck. Rest, Mr. Siravo, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for being who you were. Huge impact upon me. Huge.
1955-2021
Now all these images of Cindy seem nearly meaningless. Fuck me. The routine is finished and I have little motivation to proceed with other projects right now. As upset as I am about the loss of such a great talent, he is not the main reason. Everything else is, really. The only positive I am feeling at present is being here with the house to myself and left to my devices. Said devices seem to be malfunctioning, though. There have been many days in which I stood behind the sofa not knowing of a direction once the typical chores are completed, yet now I am stagnant and sitting. I allowed everything to pass right on by on so many occasions that my head is spinning. The glow and the industry were bad enough -- not to mention my deep connection to the most compelling aspect of the obsession disappearing -- but now I have the earlier part of the year and the discovery of my past slapping me in the face every fucking day. The show up there is a reminder in spades. When she and I watched the series I still felt as if I was a part of something special. Now? That's gone. I am a part of something better left alone. I don't like it one bit. You wanna talk about adding insult to injury? Fuck, don't get me started. This entire paragraph is a requiem for all of the dreams. Everything else current has become meaningless. Everything that mattered is gone. Jamie's nose is not the only part of the first season that is thin. The girl was not doing well. Thank Christ she recovered. Everything that mattered is gone. Arina recites the situations and dreams over and over inside my head. And now, as of this last weekend at the race, Arina has a new face... We moved toward the Toyota booth to register for a wheel spin. After my luck at the Seagram's 7 game, she decided to try whatever might win us some free goodies, so she filled out the paperwork while I waited. And then I saw one of their spokesmodels pulling up her pants and began to attempt to understand what I was seeing. Let's go back to first arriving at the race. I opted to pay for closer parking than last time, so we ended up just one hill from the entrance. All of the parking at the track is guided, so I followed the instructions and pulled up to a fence alongside the previous car, and not only did I have to take the dirt area slowly, but the couple who had just parked was exiting their car and I gazed at the woman with wonder. The protracted parking process meant I had plenty of time to take in yet another anomaly of the female form, and something which has not taken place much recently. This is where the interesting part begins because she was olive and resembled the other one with wavy hair, a very tall stance, and tons of skin on display in the warmth. Midriff, legs, shoulders, and then the hair swirling in the breeze. Breasts pushing at her white t-shirt and causing everything below to appear very slender. She was amazingly gorgeous from any angle. I tried to wrench her body out of my brain and parked the car. Within moments of us stepping out and getting our things ready, they disappeared. I only saw her once more in the grandstand as they walked to their seats. Even my partner took note of her chest but I missed the second sight due to being distracted by race preparations. I saw the rest, however. The problems came and went by the time the first pair of cars lit off (drag racing term, that one). After seeing such artwork in the parking lot and my subsequent partial fall in the stands, I was ready for some racing action in an attempt to extract all of the obsessive thinking from my head and get it back up where it needed to be. The race is generally accompanied by warm weather, which means lots of people wearing as little as possible, but for the most part I have not encountered much in many years. My mind is typically elsewhere. And to the model in question. One girl helped with the registration while her very tall partner strolled over to the prize wheel. I watched every step of her gait and found myself wondering why she was not on a runway rather than representing an auto manufacturer at a racetrack. No matter, because the mathematical and desire-filled processes going on inside me precluded any chance of following the simplest conversation about cars. We completed the signup process and headed for the wheel. There she stood, hair to her beltline and appearing stunning beyond comprehension. I did my best to remain upright for the spin. My partner went first, after which the goddess stated I could have a chance, too. I did just that, won nothing, and then she gave me a somewhat interesting expression as her eyes went up and down the tattoos. Goodbye, and we then continued elsewhere. The model's shape was stored away and I soon found myself distracted by the midway and racing. That girl did not enter my head again until arriving home some hours later, believe it or not. Now, the first quiet morning since driving all over the place through the weekend, I have to write some things down before she fades further. They all fade with time.
Blonde hair. Yes, blonde, not dark brown or black. I was surprised at being so moved by her appearance after seeing a huge, beautiful mane of blonde hair because I generally gravitate toward dark hair and eyes. Her eyes were hazel. Aside from the interesting coloration which struck me very differently from many other examples of beauty in recent years, I will not attempt to describe the rest of her. There is no reason, but suffice to say that if I were to place numbers upon forms I have seen throughout the last many years, she would be one, believe it or not. Never before have I been so moved in so many different ways than I was just a day ago. I can still see her for the time being. Soon she will be gone like the rest as the sadness sets in. I do not believe I have ever seen a blonde woman so beautiful in my life. Read that again. I am not kidding. I will admit that seeing her in a pair of black stretch pants was a good portion of the initial draw, although once she turned toward us and I gazed upon her face, everything went to hell much more quickly than the curves below. One other tidbit is that I could not see her chest very much. Small, unlike the woman in the parking lot (she was a measure older). Don't crucify me for pointing to such an aspect, please. As I stated in the first descriptive essay more than fourteen years ago, the 'breasts are a very important section of the whole of the female physical appearance', and I will not back down from such an observation. Overall, the strike to my head upon seeing her moving around and performing duties was dramatic. I cannot even begin to describe the feelings, although after years of trying, I am quite certain that the need is not there. I've tried too much and the conclusion is such a description effectively conveying my feelings is impossible to build. Beauty is likely the most subjective term in existence. The bottom line is I felt every conceivable emotion and flashes of desire the power of which I cannot recall ever experiencing. Not to this degree. And after such a protracted sight, I don't know what to do. She derailed this entire essay in the worst possible way. Hmm... Two things just came to mind. One, I was wearing very dark sunglasses at the race (like most others who spent much time on the midway and in the pits), meaning I had the opportunity to stare to my heart's content. Two? The girl working at that display was more beautiful than Cindy. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. There are now more than 1.33 million words within this site and all of them would be required to convey my feelings for her. She is now the pinnacle and will be discussed as long as I am able to type. Eventually I will not be able to see her anymore and the perpetual loss and sadness will take over and change everything. I am going to do my damnedest to keep things in line here because that girl spun me more than any fucking female in many years and the fact that I will never see such beauty again is beginning to chip away any ambition in other directions. And there are even more problems. The desire was so strong (still is, really, while her image remains inside) that I am beginning to question my fitness to be involved with society. This is a very bad situation. There is no way to get this feeling to the screen. No fucking way. I have not the first clue as to what path or direction will help me get through the next several days while I still see her standing there like the entire vast universe of beauty rolled up and tied with a bow. Again... I just don't know what to do. 'She was a woman, taken all in all. I shall never gaze upon her like again.' I must digress from her now. Back to Saturday, two days ago, when I decided to actually attend the event south of here. Right up to the very last second I was still considering canceling and remaining home, afterward realizing that no matter where I drove, all I had to do was grab the wheel and veer off course for whatever reason, big or small. All the way down to the south bay with some of my favorite music and a great cup of coffee. I took an exit not far from the big freeway convergence and sat to consider the map. It instructed me clearly and I saw that the drive should be roughly twenty minutes, so I took off and finally decided that I would give the event a try for a little while. Up the hill, winding and winding, and then the map stated a right turn. Well, there was a gate and fencing all around, meaning I could not get to the street on the opposite side. I figured the best plan was to keep going and wait for a right turn. Fortunately, another truck pulled up in search of the same place so we cruised together the rest of the way. The road ended at a series of gates. To the left, the other guys opened and closed the gate for us to continue. Dirt road in my car. Yes, dirt and ruts, but I figured I was in for a penny, in for a pound, so I kept following through two more gates and eventually the ranch appeared. I parked so as to be able to slip out later if I felt uncomfortable. A bit of time for registration (prepaid two months earlier, most of the reason I went in the first place) and I wandered toward the main picnic area to get a sense of how those three chapters operated an initiation. Not once did the idea of having to drive back out of there leave my shoulders. It was not very comfortable a thought. A couple of hours went by as I followed along with some brothers and watched the process, every now and again breaking away to use the bathroom and think. Still the drive bothered me some. At one point a gentleman asked if I would partner with him in their horseshoe tournament. I hesitated at first but then agreed. Since the brotherhood tends to become and organizational cluster during any type of planning (very funny, that stuff), much time passed before the games could begin. I made the decision to flee the ranch and head toward home and mentioned I was going to mill around a while and return. Well, I made a beeline all the way back to the car -- which was very removed from the mass of people and hidden -- and took off out the first gate, nervous the entire time. The dirt road came and went and I only had to pass one small car. After reaching the last gate and finding pavement, I was overjoyed and much more comfortable. Not completely at ease, though. The ride down had me sipping coffee and listening to music, whereas the ride back -- the entire fucking trip -- had me talking to myself out loud as if I was addressing the cats here at home just like most weekdays. Yep, I was speaking out loud about what to do after arriving home, the idea that I felt I had missed several hours of security and peace due to leaving the house, and details about what may be the best route in avoiding some delays or traffic. While home, I tend to speak to the cats as if they are going to comment upon my thoughts. Well, I am so fucked up that I did the same thing all alone in the car for and hour and a half. This is not good, yet it did offer some comfort while being out in the world. The feeling of having left the ranch alone and without anyone's knowledge was a huge positive and nearly offset the discomfort of being there in the first place. The girl... I can never see her again nor do a fucking thing about it. Not good. Upon reaching home I wasted no time getting things in order to make up for the time away. It was not long before I fell back into my usual routine and sunk as far as possible. The outside world was once again far away, just how I needed it. And though a wrench was incoming in the form of her grandmother visiting for a short time a few hours after I arrived home, I was still secure in the knowledge that home was the best place for me. I suppose the adage I've employed here regarding the nature of being out and then feeling the warm reward of the house is as strong as ever. I need to be here almost constantly. The occasional outing is fine, so long as I know of the circumstances. The entire trip was almost worthwhile. Unfortunately, the following day cut me in half. I can never see her again. The most powerful force in the world to me... Gone forever, with the force still within. The force of Arina.
I believe a part of the problem with the model from yesterday is the frightening woman who just graced the screen this afternoon. I've spoken of Annalisa before -- likely the last time this episode aired (gangsters) -- and she appears as the diametric opposite of the model at the race. Something about her facial expressions and the manner in which she carried herself and spoke stirred me and I somehow knew she was a gentle person. Sensitive, caring, and very possibly much more. I could read those wonderful traits from six feet away when she looked at me for mere seconds. Amazing. What is taking place inside me right now has developed through feelings of a deep sense of loss since arriving home and recalling the beauty and her eyes. Last year upon discovering those images from San Diego was something similar, yet the model was right there before me... Speaking to me, smiling and appearing as if she had been constructed out of every desire I have ever felt. This is bad and lending to the larger image of myself. And now she is combined and drowned into the idea of Arina. More of me missing, really, and more beauty added to the nature of the dreamy physical and emotional representation of the universe I am entering. All those problems, right down to the manner in which I conduct myself around the house while alone, are wrapped up in her. There is now so much going on inside me that I can barely carry the words to the screen in any decent order. Amazing, that girl. Nothing is enough... Adjectives, wording, nothing. I don't know what the fuck to do and am dying to repeat the visit to that fucking exhibit. I cannot. I can't do anything. Frustrated... The word is now much smaller and less significant than a single grain of sand in Glamis. I don't even know her name. The girl is taking over the inside of me one cell at a time and there is nothing there to identify with. Nothing I can do. Just nothing. Gone. No name. I am going to lose it. She has derailed everything so badly that I can barely think at all. Ok, before I continue sliding downward I need to get away from her again. This day is moving along with my chores finished and some dry cleaning rolling. I don't have a lot of drive to work around the house after last weekend, though. The rest of the day will most likely be spent trying to relax and think. My head is so fucked up today that the tiniest detail demands all of my concentration. I keep seeing her walk from the registration area to the prize wheel. Everyone she passed along the way was below the tip of her nose, meaning she likely stood at least my height. Such a fact only adds to her intrigue. I said I was going to veer from her, damn it. That hair... As I said, the remainder of the day will not be very productive. I do need to assemble some stew from beef in the fridge, though. Perhaps when I run out of words here I can get it started. The stew normally simmers and then cools, goes to the refrigerator and then sits for a day or two for melding. The preparation will not take long. One positive right now is the weather did not heat as much as expected. Mostly overcast out there and breezy, meaning the temperature inside can be either warm or cool depending upon my wishes. This is good. I overheard yesterday that the next week is to be very warm. I'll have to mentally prepare, I guess. Lots of this. I wish I knew her name. Very painful. Damn it, anyway. At this point, and after all of the crap in the first half of Arina's two essays, I really didn't need anything coming along so unexpectedly. The race normally has two types of partial visions. One such is the group of girls representing the track, and the other is the typical slew of fans strolling around the midway and pit areas. Most of those are nothing of note, honestly. The raceway girls are seldom anything special either -- except for those few years of seeing Vanessa up close -- and I don't pay much attention to them or the occasional strolling woman at the event. Most of the time? Not much there, meaning I enjoy whatever is going on. The Toyota model yesterday pretty well destroyed the limits of what I have seen out in the world, and she did it within seconds. I just wish I knew her name. This feels worse than even the walnut girl or thong sisters. The younger of the thongs was unreal, and I have gone around the world trying to understand how that situation developed so dramatically in my head. Now? It has been minimized somewhat due to the situation yesterday, although still a part of the representation of everything I am. They are currently dormant due to both the passage of time and my feelings regarding bringing up the subject too often. I've gone over that way too much. The current issue (and period of time) is swinging around like an eight-element beam from the seventies looming large over some suburban home. Swinging in favor of yesterday and the most stunning woman I have seen in recent memory. There were many others since moving to this side of the bay, yet all are now shoved into a small space to make room for levels of beauty I previously could not imagine. Her walk alone could be the subject of a dozen entries. I am scared to death of losing her image over time. Petrified. It will happen because I can never see her again, but that does not make any part of this time any easier. I believe when she disappears from my memory, part of me will equally disappear. Very bad. I have not had this strong a reaction to ANY woman, ever. There are little things here and there, the occasional artwork like that fucking nearly-nude goddess at the pool along with the fucking lines all over her tanned skin, and then some closer which spun me for a short time, but that's it. Yesterday I saw something that would have been better left unseen. And then she looked at me. And then she smiled and spoke. And then she looked at me again. Every fucking Goddamned ounce of strength was necessary for me to keep my gaping maw from flowing out of control. Well, I'm doing it now, but nothing will ever transmit the slightest bit of her thrall upon me. Never. And back to months ago... Never me. When I say 'this is bad', keep in mind it is much worse. I am changed. Change making changes. Put yourself to the ground. Root the fucking thing. She follows every single thought in my head. Arina will soon grow out of control. Never me. It returns again and again. I don't know what to do. I guess I'll go through the fucking motions this evening (already under way) and then sit here in the morning for Christ-knows how long. Bad situation. The worst imaginable, and I can imagine quite a bit. Arina is supposed to be the subject, yet look how everything has been turned on its ear. Nice, huh? Tomorrow I may venture out in order to kill time, maybe heading to the nice, big hardware store down the peninsula. That place can keep me occupied for quite some time before I leave. I may also stop at the market on the way home for some goodies. After? Well, I have little things to work out here at home for taking baby steps toward a more organized house. Last week I assembled some foam core pieces into a large rectangle and added our map. I can hang it in the master bedroom and then begin to take measurements for my next plywood projects. Right now everything sounds good, but I'll have to revisit in the morning after my routine is finished. The drive may go away as it does quite often. I hope not. Considering the model and what has happened to my brain since last night? God knows what is going to take place tomorrow. There are always things to do, yet the motivation comes and goes. Her beauty will go at some point, too. Frightening. I'm glad there was no sadness in those big eyes yesterday. I would have lost my shit immediately. For many years I have had a weakness attached to peering into a woman's eyes when she is either sad or tearful. There can be so much raw emotion expressed through those windows that my brain and heart can't handle the beautiful strain. I've seen too many pairs of eyes right before mine which were full of emotion. The pair yesterday appeared far from sadness, thank the maker, yet there was more... I saw it from a few feet away as my heart stopped. Cat eyes. Oval. Sharp. Impeccable makeup. There was too much and I can't handle it. Her expression originated in another universe, one inhabited with more natural beauty than I could ever have fathomed. I didn't know the peak was never passed, and then there she was.
When those scenes arise with Jamie's big, beautiful eyes expressing sadness? Oy God damn everything. It's bad. Take all of the love and appreciation for her character over which I have splayed tens of thousands of words here in this space and amplify all of it. Take it and expand to a degree the likes of which had previously seemed impossible. There you go. And don't fucking force me to defend the beauty or desire, damn it. There is more. I just can't explain it. The girl in the Toyota exhibit has surpassed whatever I dreamed for twenty fucking years. And she is gone. Gone. Arina has been fashioned as the culmination of what I have become, but I don't know what she TRULY is. I will never change, nor will I allow another human being inside this world. Don't even begin to ask. If Jesus himself flies down here fresh off the cross, he will also receive a resounding 'no'. She may have been an inch taller than me, and I am not exaggerating at all. Athletic shoes. Fingers from God. Hair... Today I will have to push a little harder. Yesterday was alright for the most part, but still the girl spun images which floated through me all afternoon and caused my concentration to diminish rapidly. I did not finish very many chores yesterday. She won't leave my head, nor will the idea that soon I will not be able to see her image any longer. Worse than last year. There is to be no end to this shit, so the chores are going to need a big fucking shove in order to keep me sane. There is an upside, and that may be the fact that I never sit here and wallow a bunch of 'oh I can't handle this or that, everything is unfair, the whole world is against me' bullshit. It was a chance encounter, and due to my having become so attuned to the tiniest details of the female form and their importance having skyrocketed for whatever reason, the issue remains inside me for a long time. I CAN handle it because I have before and I am sitting here right now, breathing. The problem is not easy to state because it makes me come across as very weak. And there is but one sentence involved: I miss her. That is pretty fucking bad at this point in my life. The girl just struck me and forced several other preoccupations from my brain in favor of her. Nothing which takes place inside is too much for me to take. On the outside is where the trouble begins, typically involving past situations which can repeat. The model standing there smiling at me is very different. I wish I could see her again. She has marked me for all time. The other face which tattooed herself to me was none other than the rollercoaster girl. Believe it or not, and though she graced the screen with her bright eyes more than fourteen years ago, I can still see her face. That is unusual. The CD changer girl faded long ago and I only vaguely recall that series of events. She was in ninety-three, believe it or not. The model from Sunday is but one of two now, and something unexpected. Holy shit... What a sight. Again... I need to stop talking about her. Today. I have the usual stuff (very enjoyable and heartwarming) and then whatever feels necessary in order to earn the evening. Sound familiar? Very soon I'll have to get up and care for the morning business before I can return to this and gush my squashed heart out again. Oy she moved me unlike anyone. Damn it, I was supposed to stop that. I am so glad to still be in this little house after so much time. The weekend really slammed me with the idea of being out there more than home during the daylight hours, and now I see the gradient clearly. If we had not gone to the race, there would be no model in my head, although I would need to know the difference in order to fully define. Not seeing her would have been one way of maintaining my stance here, whereas now I am at sixes and sevens all over again just like back years ago when that goddess' hair bounced all over the place and I became smitten with an image on the television. Being here all day means I have the time and space to explore the feelings and how these situations have shaped me into this current mess, plus the manner in which all of the troubling thoughts brought on the idea of Arina. Her all-encompassing image and overpowering pull can no longer be fully explained, but at least I can try to understand how she can represent both sex and failure; two completely unrelated aspects of life which are connected through her representative position as a symbol of everything I have become. She is both amazing and tormenting at the same time. She is me and I am her. Wait... What? Yes, I feel the same. I don't fucking get it, but as I said... I can be here with the tools I need for both survival and understanding. There is a very strong possibility that my weakness will not allow me to fully understand -- ever -- and I know this. Sunday afternoon was a prime example of me tripping up myself and falling into an addiction as a junkie with a wallet-full, and yet here I am at home all by myself and the comfort cannot be overstated right now. I need this almost as much as I need to see that highest order and most mysterious type of outer beauty and intrigue before my eyes once again. I would give anything. The house is all mine now. Nine hours ahead and wide open. The model is immediately behind my irises. My strongest wish in life now is to repeat what took place Sunday. Maybe a touch more. A small measure. Anything. I am going to lose myself in her and be a completely useless human being very soon. The other problem which has cropped up in the last two months or so is forcing me to realize I am different than just last year, and vastly different than when I first gazed at either of the other two, especially the CD changer beauty that was right there next to me and smelling like a dream of fruity flowers. I am very different, altered if you will, and had little choice in the matter. Think of happiness as being like puzzle pieces or a big container holding all of the reasons, and then some of them going missing, permanently. Parts have been removed -- some have been changed instead -- and I now have to deal with the loss. Seeing the model did not help me save for one very significant facet, and that was the physical sight bringing back my belief in the possibility of a woman being completely and ideally fused to my dreams. And then hence Arina expanding to encompass that girl with the beauty of a lifetime. And then go a little further and include the most recent problem I have been experiencing, and you can likely understand how this free time is critical to my not ending up in the hospital. That is not a joke. I've been there before through events tied to my inability to cope with anything seemingly overwhelming, just like that girl two days ago. I need this time at home like I need to breathe. Believe it. My words are soon going to become difficult for anyone else to understand."
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