December 19th, 2021 8:09am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Sick, Twisted Logic read ( words) "This is a bad time. Dire, reckless, drastic. I don't know what the fuck to do aside from continuing to sit here and let the same words flow over and over and fucking OVER. There is little else. Right now the time is 1147 on the same Friday which began in the previous entry, the routine is finished along with a few other chores, yet my head is worse off regardless of anything feeling accomplished. I installed the new keyboard and noticed it is not the same. I must have gotten the part number slightly wrong. The keys operate flawlessly but they do not click like the backlit unit. And the lack of key light is going to cause a touch of heartache in the morning. Whatever. The keyboard is new and will likely enjoy a long life. Unfortunately, the space bar issue having been eliminated does not right my head enough to function like a real grown-up type of person. I am still withdrawn, sad, and weaker than ever. One term not employed in the previous entry is 'scared'. I am more fearful of the future than I can recall in years. Maybe ever. Fuck everyone and everything. There you go. Look at the pretty girls and their middle fingers. I hate this shit. I HATE THIS FUCKING SHIT. I know what screwed me up yesterday. It was lunch. Pasta, made the way my mom used to do it for a snack when we had company during the holidays. A finger food, really, yet some years ago I turned it into a meal for whatever reason. All evening long I was uncomfortable due to the plate of pasta combined with the fucking huge strike the day before. On the heels of the strike was something about which I cannot speak in detail, but suffice to say that one after the other affected me badly. My logic allowed me to indulge in one way but not in the other. An operational failure, if you will. And I know the fucking words drove me down far enough to realize that alcohol did not cause a malfunction. I can't even get started with that shit because of other people, the whole of society, and its never-ending phrasing with regard to any fucking issue whatsoever. This is all very unclear aside from the fucking pasta for good reason. I must avoid other people's twisted thinking. My own is plenty enough to drive me insane. At least the cause is clear to me now. Nothing I can do. Nothing. I am far worse now than even a year ago after being home and performing that stupid fucking search for what cannot exist. The little enjoyments are still helping, though. They really are. Being alone and having complete control over the house during the weekdays still lifts me a bit. On the inside is an altogether different process, however. I am falling down the same hill over and over. Part of the problem is the fact that I forget nothing -- rather like holding a grudge, yet without a clear target -- and several times each day I am reminded of one or more issues caused by other people. I don't have a clue as to why I began to branch out weeks ago, either. Maybe I though it would be good to sit within an atmosphere of zero responsibility due to focusing upon the same and little else for more than a year. Well, that may have been wrong because those problems which were a point of focus one year back continue to work on my head no matter who I am around. I have not the presence of mind to avoid some situations because there is that fucking false hope that I can actually relax for once in my fucking life. Nope. And here I sit, two keyboards and much alcohol later, a product of no less than what affected me prior to any seemingly positive ideas. I am worse. Period. And I am fucking scared to death. Turn on the sick logic. Turn it on right fucking now. Turn on ME. Turn away. I am hurt and it is partially my fault for turning out this way. I could have been elsewhere. Turn your stupid head. A machine would not have the ability to hurt me at all. Look up Isaac Asimov's three laws of robotics. 0611 on Saturday morning with coffee and my friends. Strange dreams, one of which I remembered around 0400 upon waking, but now all are mostly gone. Nothing juicy, either. Odd, post-apocalyptic shit sprinkled with people I know and scenery from the past. I don't understand that crap. Most of the time it only leaves me completely confused and often worse off than when I laid my head to the pillow the night before. That is not happening now, though, because yesterday was terrible. I did my best to accomplish some things before the typical drop during the early afternoon, yet still I began to feel worthless again despite actually getting things done. A visit, and then I hauled ass over the hill to pick up a friend and deposit him at the bar. Shortly thereafter, trouble began on two fronts. One was the obsession and the other was realizing I will never improve in any way whatsoever. This is all I have left and all I will ever be... Very similar build to the frightening woman, so much so that I thought it was her coming through the entry. Soon I corrected my stance and realized she was someone I had not met before. Tall, lovely, slender, long legs, booties, long flowing hair, and long fingers. Jeans tight enough to attract most of the bar patrons which wrapped just above the booties. A button-down blouse tucked and a leather belt. Overall she looked like a match to her partner because their clothes related through color. I was introduced a few minutes later, they turned and began to shoot pool. That was that, and thanks to my position facing the door I did not look at her very much. One occasion had my eyes following a potential issue down the back hall and force my head around far enough to see her setting to take a shot on the pool table and bent in half. Much like the girl on the main index right now, her shape was amazing and very striking to a person such as myself. I pulled away and returned my gaze to the front of the bar. Within thirty minutes of seeing her legs in such a position, I fled down and out the auxiliary back door. She faded, yet the reason why she was important has not. Ah shit there is Jeannie again. All those traits, all dark. Sometimes I wish I could have crawled inside her fucking blouse. There is not as much turmoil as in past years, like those trips to the city when I was a complete fucking basket case over seeing something special. The problem was different back then, as if I was so desperate that I could have run after one of them given the correct circumstances. Now? I have seen a different facet, meaning everything fades more quickly. The weak nature of my mind still causes problems and questions, yet I seem to be more able to turn away from anything bad before I begin to use the most dangerous aspects of imagination. The woman bent over the pool table brought up more memories of playing that game when I was young than it did of her position. I had a straight-on view of the gap between her upper thighs and the exaggeration of her hip-to-waist when she took that shot from the short end. It was amazing. Her jeans left nothing out and looked soft rather than restricting. I could not believe it, but rather than running outside to calm myself, I simply moved away. Turned. It was easy to pull my eyes from the sight of her form. Easy. I believe this is a huge step because I have learned that nothing good can come from the situation so I protect myself instead of allowing the pain to flow as I stare. Overall, I did not feel terrible leaving that place a little while later. Her ass remained in my head for a bit and then faded. There is Jeannie's prominent chest again. Damn, that woman was gorgeous during this show. Big, dark eyes, too. Fuck. And just goofy enough to attract someone as weak as yours truly. Anyway... The trouble at the bar was three-fold. Career also entered my head as I sat and watched basketball along with a bit of conversation. I recall seeing a few individuals who relate to a remark I made about John's character on this show and the nature of his facial expressions and voice. I saw both, in a manner of speaking, yesterday right nearby and thought quite a bit about the relational analysis I could have been performing had I not witnessed those long legs by the pool table. Well, it's happening now. I can't do anything about it aside from avoiding everything in the world even remotely defined by such a look. A bit of discussion the other day helped me to see just how ridiculous all this shit may sound, yet there is enough fear to keep it at the forefront all too often. Whether or not this places me further out of balance is of no one's concern but my own, however if I do need to interact with people it will surface quickly and possibly send me out the fucking back door on each occasion. Safety and security cannot be remarked upon negatively if no one sees me engage in such a pursuit. Yesterday was fine, though. There were plenty of others milling around and the nature of the mood in that place was pretty mellow. I only thought of the worry because of one other person at my table. Once I began to analyze, the gorgeous, flowing woman shooting pool melted almost completely. One fear outweighed another. Remember that shit? I do. Of the three problems I sat there and swallowed over and over, only career was on the back burner before leaving. Other occasions have had me all up in arms over the subject, too. Yesterday the bigger fish jumped into the skillet and were beyond my control. The twisted nature of the way my brain operates began almost immediately after realizing just how many problems were present in that fucking room. Wrung out. The worst thinking may be of the woman. Consideration of the subject is best left sans detail. This is not the first time, either. All the way back to the car dealer (salesperson), too. And then forward to others, not the least of which is a slew of cocktail servers all over the state of Nevada. None of that can reside in this space regardless of what it may help. Twisted. I have been actively seeking a television episode from a series without a name. I watched it years ago and knew of one of the principal actors, but now I have found that the name was incorrect. I no longer have a title or name related to the episode in question, nor have I been able to learn of the series name. The storyline is mostly absent aside from a key scene which changed some of my thinking at the time it aired. I still remember seeing it but cannot recall anything else. Just like the rollercoaster girl, this one may well elude me forever. The one certainty is the episode's story put thoughts into my brain which would be better left out of this content for fear of backlash. I remember the women involved. I remember how I felt. Think of machinery. And then go further. I need to find that story and watch it again. There is Paulie's girlfriend again, all exaggerated accent and dark eyes. Her thought processes are without issue, honestly, even considering she is female. A character, not a real person. But the character carries with her a type of understanding rarely gleaned in any form of media. It's always in my head, though, sure as hell. I love it and hate it. My logic has been built up and streamlined throughout the course of years and I cannot go backwards. This is the way I think. Again... Machinery. I don't know how I abandoned the subject months back, or maybe it was nothing more than self-preservation, but the truth remains that I think about it every fucking day. I will not sit here and deny that I am very strange and carrying more than one person's share of pent-up shit from many years ago. Just since the outset of the pandemic, for example, my consideration for the fairer sex has gone through multiple reversals. One day they are Satan's own little, horned girls, and the next day they are the only beauty in this sordid world. I don't know what to think, but the fact remains I cannot wholly blame any group for this shit. I have to pick and choose. The time passed since being home has altered my view of everything, really, and not just the other half of the populace. I have become more critical, more concerned over where I am going, and much more controlling than in the past. Those three facts are going to affect every fucking thing I say or do, not to mention interactions with people. My brain goes in directions I cannot even mention here or someone will take note in the worst way. I already know that. So much has been left out, in fact, that even after nearly three hundred entries anyone reading still cannot know what goes on inside me. Impossible. My logic and thinking has become so twisted around in recent years that I honestly don't even WANT anyone to know because they will likely label me, tell someone else (or more) and then flee. No blame there, either. I am fucked up for sure and know full well the weight of everything. Paulie's comare again. Damn her big eyes, anyway. There is little doubt I need help. Unfortunately, I will not accept anything. Today. 0746 and I see possibilities. I'm certain none of them will appear attractive later, though. I just don't give a shit these days and pretty much do the bare minimum. For the time being, I need to say some things before anything else happens today. I'll get around to the usual. I always do. Twisted, yes, but sick? Not my logic or thinking. I just feel physically under the weather a good portion of the time and my thinking remains constant. Twisted thoughts, just like that girl at the market some time ago. Remember that one? The midriff and eyes. I spoke to her, she responded very kindly, and I strolled out the door with my head spinning. Within seconds my head was wrapped around her thighs. After that? It went north. Don't ask. The point is I have been so bereft of anything real for so long that my beliefs and the manner in which I see other people have been permanently altered. I cannot go back to whatever I was before this realization, either. One-way trip, this shit. And there is no fucking end to it, honestly. No matter where I go or what I may see in the future, the same situation will form inside me as the dire thinking combines with weakness and desperation to leave me yearning for that person in my sight. Yesterday, for example. When she bent to shoot pool, my head sketched and entire notebook of sexual positions in a matter of seconds. I wanted (needed) to see how she would appear right there before me. That kind of thinking is FUCKING WRONG, but I did it anyway. The fact that I just typed those words right here on this page should be a screaming clue as to the state of my tired mind today. I am twisted inside. Shit is missing, broken, or otherwise nonfunctional. At least I don't feel that my thinking is 'sick'. I just rarely feel good anymore. Twisted logic? No fucking doubt there. Do not even BEGIN to get me started on some of the others. I mentioned all that guff about the forest, outlined the feelings involved in knowing every aspect of life is now represented by figurative guns, and then tossed out a ton of threatening words while pissed off. Do you know what all that shit accomplished? Nothing. I am still exactly the same -- if not somewhat further down -- and still sitting here spouting a bunch of words which may as well not exist. Guff. Flap. Shit. Nothing I say or do seems to make a difference, hence the admission of the way I think much of the time. Oh, sure... There were other problems lit up like a fucking Christmas tree yesterday, but the two I mentioned seem minimized by the first. No matter what may be going on during a given moment, something can cross my vision and completely derail my entire life for a time. And then when I get my shit together and back on track, I exist as less of a person and with one more form clogging up the works and keeping me from untwisting my fucking brain. I may not know what to do today. At some point I need to get all the crap together and organized for donation in three days. Maybe that will be a Monday project. I made the appointment in the first place to motivate myself into getting it done. I want that crap out of the garage so I can actually move stuff around and improve the space I worked so much to make presentable. There are any number of other projects or chores which can be addressed any day, but honestly I just don't feel like it. I feel somewhat sick this morning. It is happening more and more often and could be catalyzed by stress. That makes sense. Unfortunately, this feeling is not so simple. The other shit can be pushed aside for a time in order to work around the house. Physical problems are worse much of the time. I don't know what to do. This is very uncomfortable. 0903. Everything is worsening in my brain. The forms, the worry, the weakness. I don't know what the fuck to do and cannot even take a tiny step in any damned direction. My stomach is uncomfortable too this morning, as if there has not been enough going on. I hope I can at least get something accomplished today. In a little while I will not have this machine with which to work. She is going to study again. That means my media must be portable as I do whatever I can around the house. Yesterday's trip to the bar is getting heavier. Career. Children. Sex. Too fucking much, all at the same fucking time. All I need right now is to open the garage, see those bouncing breasts again, and then feel a heritage slam. That would be a misery superfecta. Not funny. Maybe I'll never understand anything and allow the twisted thinking to force my logic into the ground. Why the fuck not? Do I expect anything good to happen? Nope. This is a bad fucking time. 0614, Sunday morning, December 19th and the clock and calendar are moving a bit too quickly for my taste. About five minutes ago it was October. There was a dream in space. I was with some agency. Awakened before three, I recalled much detail and was hoping it would carry over until this morning. Part of the feeling was apprehension, but I must admit the storyline had been very intriguing. Floating outside. There were animals near a stairway. There was a monster of some sort threatening our facility and I was outside directly in the path. I had some sort of protection and was not worried about the monster. There was also a view of some large body of water nearby that glistened. Then we were all inside in uniform. Some kind of meal or class or something. I can't remember detail anymore and I miss it. The feeling harks back to the beginning of my work at the center and how important and special I felt over most of the time. I was doing something to assist the entire nation and its future. There was a similar mindset or feeling in the dream. Very cool. I felt right at home being a part of an organization trying to help the whole world. Upon awakening, I remembered much. Now I miss it badly. There is John again, although not the same episode as the title I had been watching when I drafted a paragraph about his appearance and related it to my upbringing. Actually, it still relates because I was thinking about the entire idea while at the bar the other day. Some of the people near me brought the subject to mind (I think I mentioned all this shit up the page) and I recalled another entry regarding John. Oh boy, there is the woman teaching tennis again. She is rather disgusting, and I only mention her now because of when her character is introduced the name comes across as 'beer-gut', yet her name is actually Birgit. German. Still funny, though. Anyway, the subject of John's voice and demeanor comes to mind almost every time I visit the bar on a given day, or even the big party last week when I stared at that tall woman and caused myself problems. I was thinking about a few key scenes in this show while standing at the little table that night. And Jeannie again, breasts apparent and big eyes cutting through the screen. She is a tad dopey, too. I don't know how to describe much of the way she speaks, but the mannerisms drive my brain into her blouse and pants. Yep, right down there with the twisted imagery and yearning. The most powerful force in the universe and one which has served to shape the existence of humanity. Wait... Wasn't I speaking of John and his amazing acting ability? Eh... Fuck it all anyway. Not me, never me, nothing is good. That old line from either last year or early this year. 'Never me'. Jesus, does that ever apply these days. Too many aspects of life to mention. Too many reasons. Too much of a pile. Today is football day. I'll be heading to her house again because I want to avoid the bar. This is the opposite of earlier in the season when I almost completely swore off watching here with one or both. Now? I don't know what the fuck to think anymore. I can care for some stuff prior to leaving so that the evening is mellow. I did a bunch of laundry yesterday to free up the time today. Good God in Heaven and a t-shirt, Jamie comes across as so fucking cute sometimes that I cannot even begin to understand. Anyway, I need to have a smidgen of control over the day, too. That is tough when I'm not home, yet pretty easy while watching football at the bar with other people. None of them are connected to me aside from being acquaintances, meaning I can float away whenever I wish or ignore conversation on a whim and need not answer to anyone. Sometimes that is very nice, and perhaps I will be there again before the season is over. For the time being, watching over at her house is very comfortable and I feel detached from this place for a while. I can avoid sitting here and thinking about all the shit I need to do. Still nothing on the front end except for a hell of an ass bent over a pool table and some gibberish. I really do not wish to publish anything for a while. My brain has become worse and further descended into the darkness I felt when I first ran to the goblet in zero two. That was bad, yet I accomplished everything I set out to do and returned relatively unscathed. The following year was not as positive, though. Returning was bad. The idea of leaving in the first place and seeking a very specific type of comfort was key... I am feeling that way now. This is a bad time. Not as sick as the last couple of days but still not great. Twisted, though. My thought processes are bad now. Very bad. The vehicle of my life is being driven by twin thieves, robbing me of clarity and comfort. Weakness and desperation force me into dreams better avoided, yet they take over. Nothing happens. I sit here and sip coffee. The situation worsens. Still, nothing happens. I did not do this, I swear to everything holy. I did not fucking do this to myself. I am so fucking twisted up that the dire nature of dreaming may need to be dealt with through violent outlets. Right now I don't know what to do. Angry. This is a bad time. This day had better show me something good or tomorrow -- the wondrous and open beginning of the week -- will find me slamming the issues in the face in a bad way. I'm fucking sick of feeling like this. My head is twisted like never before. Thinking is dire, but I will not say dangerous. I threw that out there many times in the last year-plus. The truth is my thinking is not cause for worry because there is literally nothing I can do in any fucking direction to alleviate any issue in my head. Anger doesn't matter because people see me as very gentle (and they say it's a good thing though my life has shown me otherwise) and they expect it to remain unchanged, even though my needs should matter. My brain will not be into anything which seems obvious today. That is not possible anymore. Going through the motions and nothing more because I am too twisted up to be fucking capable of anything good. This brings up that thing the other day. I can't be specific, so just sit there and live with it. Oh my God... Finally put a fine point on why Nicole is so fucking beautiful... There is a sadness in her eyes all the time and no matter what the mood of a given scene shows the audience. I may have mentioned her sad eyes before, but since I can't remember shit these days I'll just throw it out there again. She is beyond beautiful at present. That may change as time passes, yet right now I am overwhelmed. And then the flip side the other day. Still in there. I can't help it because even when sickened and twisted by everything good and bad in life, I have pieces missing which may have allowed me to deal with this type of shit and take remarks in stride. Nope. It hurts, deeply, yet in reality has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me. Nothing. So... Why all fucked up? I wish I knew. The answer to that question could be the key to the largest lock in the universe. No faith, though. None. Still, no 'dangerous' over here. Sick and twisted, completely falling off anything labeled 'logical', yet as harmless as a single grain of sand sitting on the surface of the moon. I can't do anything. Weak. Helpless. I can't even make threats anymore because my entire life has been defined by others and is forever unchangeable. No one listens. They just laugh me off... Right off a fucking cliff. Fuck you. I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I just keep typing here, sipping coffee, washing clothes. What is this? Should I be doing something else? Everything I encounter makes me either sad or angry, mostly the past and its effects upon my psyche. I am limited. Hollow? Maybe that, too. Missing shit inside that others seem to have in spades. Back to the bar, my perception as opposed to that of other people, and then the scenes with John up there on my show. Roll it up like one of those fucking sandwiches made with a tortilla. I can't fucking remember what they are called. Just make the sandwich. Twist it, as well. And then eat it and get sick. I don't care. Fuck you. I keep repeating that this is a bad time, but what the fuck can I do about it? That's right... Nothing. I am completely helpless these days. I may remain as such for the duration. Just a slow decline into obscurity, I guess; one which began a very long time ago. 0756. Very cold outside this morning. I'll do some chores in a little while and then head out to watch the games. Yearning accomplishes very little other than more difficulty. Issues flare and cool. I sit here and write whatever the fuck this has become. Go through the motions. Find the little enjoyments (shrinking). And then complete the week and do it all over again. Cycling through every fucking problem again and again. I don't know how to get out of this situation. Maybe completely fucked for all time. Do you have the answer? Nope. Shut up. Much of this life has been reduced to one subject -- or perhaps one 'aspect' of living -- and I cannot go into it for fear of ridicule. People can be cold and harsh and I don't need that shit right now. There is enough already weighing me down. The fact that I can't spell it out has become a problem in and of itself. I've spoken to a few over the years and solved nothing. The subject has become more important than it should be at this point in time. The site has now topped eighty thousand lines since my first mention of Jaime the machine. That equates to over ten times the volume of the previous eighteen years. Nice, huh? No answers. Twisted thinking; twisted insides; twisted mind that is not of my construction. Also nice. Scared. Diminished. Small. I wish I could remember more of that dream. I was someone of note. They included me despite my being so fucked up. They accepted me because there were good things I could contribute to the mission. They ignored everything else which holds me back. I lost much, yet I was effective. Upon awakening I realized that is not me any longer. All those traits are dormant, likely never to see the light of day again. There is no hope left. Only a vast chasm into which I am being lowered for all time. Immemorial. Imprisoned. Impoverished, if anything was ever there at all." 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
December 19th, 2021 8:09am pst If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Sick, Twisted Logic read ( words) "This is a bad time. Dire, reckless, drastic. I don't know what the fuck to do aside from continuing to sit here and let the same words flow over and over and fucking OVER. There is little else. Right now the time is 1147 on the same Friday which began in the previous entry, the routine is finished along with a few other chores, yet my head is worse off regardless of anything feeling accomplished. I installed the new keyboard and noticed it is not the same. I must have gotten the part number slightly wrong. The keys operate flawlessly but they do not click like the backlit unit. And the lack of key light is going to cause a touch of heartache in the morning. Whatever. The keyboard is new and will likely enjoy a long life. Unfortunately, the space bar issue having been eliminated does not right my head enough to function like a real grown-up type of person. I am still withdrawn, sad, and weaker than ever. One term not employed in the previous entry is 'scared'. I am more fearful of the future than I can recall in years. Maybe ever. Fuck everyone and everything. There you go. Look at the pretty girls and their middle fingers. I hate this shit. I HATE THIS FUCKING SHIT. I know what screwed me up yesterday. It was lunch. Pasta, made the way my mom used to do it for a snack when we had company during the holidays. A finger food, really, yet some years ago I turned it into a meal for whatever reason. All evening long I was uncomfortable due to the plate of pasta combined with the fucking huge strike the day before. On the heels of the strike was something about which I cannot speak in detail, but suffice to say that one after the other affected me badly. My logic allowed me to indulge in one way but not in the other. An operational failure, if you will. And I know the fucking words drove me down far enough to realize that alcohol did not cause a malfunction. I can't even get started with that shit because of other people, the whole of society, and its never-ending phrasing with regard to any fucking issue whatsoever. This is all very unclear aside from the fucking pasta for good reason. I must avoid other people's twisted thinking. My own is plenty enough to drive me insane. At least the cause is clear to me now. Nothing I can do. Nothing. I am far worse now than even a year ago after being home and performing that stupid fucking search for what cannot exist. The little enjoyments are still helping, though. They really are. Being alone and having complete control over the house during the weekdays still lifts me a bit. On the inside is an altogether different process, however. I am falling down the same hill over and over. Part of the problem is the fact that I forget nothing -- rather like holding a grudge, yet without a clear target -- and several times each day I am reminded of one or more issues caused by other people. I don't have a clue as to why I began to branch out weeks ago, either. Maybe I though it would be good to sit within an atmosphere of zero responsibility due to focusing upon the same and little else for more than a year. Well, that may have been wrong because those problems which were a point of focus one year back continue to work on my head no matter who I am around. I have not the presence of mind to avoid some situations because there is that fucking false hope that I can actually relax for once in my fucking life. Nope. And here I sit, two keyboards and much alcohol later, a product of no less than what affected me prior to any seemingly positive ideas. I am worse. Period. And I am fucking scared to death. Turn on the sick logic. Turn it on right fucking now. Turn on ME. Turn away. I am hurt and it is partially my fault for turning out this way. I could have been elsewhere. Turn your stupid head. A machine would not have the ability to hurt me at all. Look up Isaac Asimov's three laws of robotics. 0611 on Saturday morning with coffee and my friends. Strange dreams, one of which I remembered around 0400 upon waking, but now all are mostly gone. Nothing juicy, either. Odd, post-apocalyptic shit sprinkled with people I know and scenery from the past. I don't understand that crap. Most of the time it only leaves me completely confused and often worse off than when I laid my head to the pillow the night before. That is not happening now, though, because yesterday was terrible. I did my best to accomplish some things before the typical drop during the early afternoon, yet still I began to feel worthless again despite actually getting things done. A visit, and then I hauled ass over the hill to pick up a friend and deposit him at the bar. Shortly thereafter, trouble began on two fronts. One was the obsession and the other was realizing I will never improve in any way whatsoever. This is all I have left and all I will ever be... Very similar build to the frightening woman, so much so that I thought it was her coming through the entry. Soon I corrected my stance and realized she was someone I had not met before. Tall, lovely, slender, long legs, booties, long flowing hair, and long fingers. Jeans tight enough to attract most of the bar patrons which wrapped just above the booties. A button-down blouse tucked and a leather belt. Overall she looked like a match to her partner because their clothes related through color. I was introduced a few minutes later, they turned and began to shoot pool. That was that, and thanks to my position facing the door I did not look at her very much. One occasion had my eyes following a potential issue down the back hall and force my head around far enough to see her setting to take a shot on the pool table and bent in half. Much like the girl on the main index right now, her shape was amazing and very striking to a person such as myself. I pulled away and returned my gaze to the front of the bar. Within thirty minutes of seeing her legs in such a position, I fled down and out the auxiliary back door. She faded, yet the reason why she was important has not. Ah shit there is Jeannie again. All those traits, all dark. Sometimes I wish I could have crawled inside her fucking blouse. There is not as much turmoil as in past years, like those trips to the city when I was a complete fucking basket case over seeing something special. The problem was different back then, as if I was so desperate that I could have run after one of them given the correct circumstances. Now? I have seen a different facet, meaning everything fades more quickly. The weak nature of my mind still causes problems and questions, yet I seem to be more able to turn away from anything bad before I begin to use the most dangerous aspects of imagination. The woman bent over the pool table brought up more memories of playing that game when I was young than it did of her position. I had a straight-on view of the gap between her upper thighs and the exaggeration of her hip-to-waist when she took that shot from the short end. It was amazing. Her jeans left nothing out and looked soft rather than restricting. I could not believe it, but rather than running outside to calm myself, I simply moved away. Turned. It was easy to pull my eyes from the sight of her form. Easy. I believe this is a huge step because I have learned that nothing good can come from the situation so I protect myself instead of allowing the pain to flow as I stare. Overall, I did not feel terrible leaving that place a little while later. Her ass remained in my head for a bit and then faded. There is Jeannie's prominent chest again. Damn, that woman was gorgeous during this show. Big, dark eyes, too. Fuck. And just goofy enough to attract someone as weak as yours truly. Anyway... The trouble at the bar was three-fold. Career also entered my head as I sat and watched basketball along with a bit of conversation. I recall seeing a few individuals who relate to a remark I made about John's character on this show and the nature of his facial expressions and voice. I saw both, in a manner of speaking, yesterday right nearby and thought quite a bit about the relational analysis I could have been performing had I not witnessed those long legs by the pool table. Well, it's happening now. I can't do anything about it aside from avoiding everything in the world even remotely defined by such a look. A bit of discussion the other day helped me to see just how ridiculous all this shit may sound, yet there is enough fear to keep it at the forefront all too often. Whether or not this places me further out of balance is of no one's concern but my own, however if I do need to interact with people it will surface quickly and possibly send me out the fucking back door on each occasion. Safety and security cannot be remarked upon negatively if no one sees me engage in such a pursuit. Yesterday was fine, though. There were plenty of others milling around and the nature of the mood in that place was pretty mellow. I only thought of the worry because of one other person at my table. Once I began to analyze, the gorgeous, flowing woman shooting pool melted almost completely. One fear outweighed another. Remember that shit? I do. Of the three problems I sat there and swallowed over and over, only career was on the back burner before leaving. Other occasions have had me all up in arms over the subject, too. Yesterday the bigger fish jumped into the skillet and were beyond my control. The twisted nature of the way my brain operates began almost immediately after realizing just how many problems were present in that fucking room. Wrung out. The worst thinking may be of the woman. Consideration of the subject is best left sans detail. This is not the first time, either. All the way back to the car dealer (salesperson), too. And then forward to others, not the least of which is a slew of cocktail servers all over the state of Nevada. None of that can reside in this space regardless of what it may help. Twisted. I have been actively seeking a television episode from a series without a name. I watched it years ago and knew of one of the principal actors, but now I have found that the name was incorrect. I no longer have a title or name related to the episode in question, nor have I been able to learn of the series name. The storyline is mostly absent aside from a key scene which changed some of my thinking at the time it aired. I still remember seeing it but cannot recall anything else. Just like the rollercoaster girl, this one may well elude me forever. The one certainty is the episode's story put thoughts into my brain which would be better left out of this content for fear of backlash. I remember the women involved. I remember how I felt. Think of machinery. And then go further. I need to find that story and watch it again. There is Paulie's girlfriend again, all exaggerated accent and dark eyes. Her thought processes are without issue, honestly, even considering she is female. A character, not a real person. But the character carries with her a type of understanding rarely gleaned in any form of media. It's always in my head, though, sure as hell. I love it and hate it. My logic has been built up and streamlined throughout the course of years and I cannot go backwards. This is the way I think. Again... Machinery. I don't know how I abandoned the subject months back, or maybe it was nothing more than self-preservation, but the truth remains that I think about it every fucking day. I will not sit here and deny that I am very strange and carrying more than one person's share of pent-up shit from many years ago. Just since the outset of the pandemic, for example, my consideration for the fairer sex has gone through multiple reversals. One day they are Satan's own little, horned girls, and the next day they are the only beauty in this sordid world. I don't know what to think, but the fact remains I cannot wholly blame any group for this shit. I have to pick and choose. The time passed since being home has altered my view of everything, really, and not just the other half of the populace. I have become more critical, more concerned over where I am going, and much more controlling than in the past. Those three facts are going to affect every fucking thing I say or do, not to mention interactions with people. My brain goes in directions I cannot even mention here or someone will take note in the worst way. I already know that. So much has been left out, in fact, that even after nearly three hundred entries anyone reading still cannot know what goes on inside me. Impossible. My logic and thinking has become so twisted around in recent years that I honestly don't even WANT anyone to know because they will likely label me, tell someone else (or more) and then flee. No blame there, either. I am fucked up for sure and know full well the weight of everything. Paulie's comare again. Damn her big eyes, anyway. There is little doubt I need help. Unfortunately, I will not accept anything. Today. 0746 and I see possibilities. I'm certain none of them will appear attractive later, though. I just don't give a shit these days and pretty much do the bare minimum. For the time being, I need to say some things before anything else happens today. I'll get around to the usual. I always do. Twisted, yes, but sick? Not my logic or thinking. I just feel physically under the weather a good portion of the time and my thinking remains constant. Twisted thoughts, just like that girl at the market some time ago. Remember that one? The midriff and eyes. I spoke to her, she responded very kindly, and I strolled out the door with my head spinning. Within seconds my head was wrapped around her thighs. After that? It went north. Don't ask. The point is I have been so bereft of anything real for so long that my beliefs and the manner in which I see other people have been permanently altered. I cannot go back to whatever I was before this realization, either. One-way trip, this shit. And there is no fucking end to it, honestly. No matter where I go or what I may see in the future, the same situation will form inside me as the dire thinking combines with weakness and desperation to leave me yearning for that person in my sight. Yesterday, for example. When she bent to shoot pool, my head sketched and entire notebook of sexual positions in a matter of seconds. I wanted (needed) to see how she would appear right there before me. That kind of thinking is FUCKING WRONG, but I did it anyway. The fact that I just typed those words right here on this page should be a screaming clue as to the state of my tired mind today. I am twisted inside. Shit is missing, broken, or otherwise nonfunctional. At least I don't feel that my thinking is 'sick'. I just rarely feel good anymore. Twisted logic? No fucking doubt there. Do not even BEGIN to get me started on some of the others. I mentioned all that guff about the forest, outlined the feelings involved in knowing every aspect of life is now represented by figurative guns, and then tossed out a ton of threatening words while pissed off. Do you know what all that shit accomplished? Nothing. I am still exactly the same -- if not somewhat further down -- and still sitting here spouting a bunch of words which may as well not exist. Guff. Flap. Shit. Nothing I say or do seems to make a difference, hence the admission of the way I think much of the time. Oh, sure... There were other problems lit up like a fucking Christmas tree yesterday, but the two I mentioned seem minimized by the first. No matter what may be going on during a given moment, something can cross my vision and completely derail my entire life for a time. And then when I get my shit together and back on track, I exist as less of a person and with one more form clogging up the works and keeping me from untwisting my fucking brain. I may not know what to do today. At some point I need to get all the crap together and organized for donation in three days. Maybe that will be a Monday project. I made the appointment in the first place to motivate myself into getting it done. I want that crap out of the garage so I can actually move stuff around and improve the space I worked so much to make presentable. There are any number of other projects or chores which can be addressed any day, but honestly I just don't feel like it. I feel somewhat sick this morning. It is happening more and more often and could be catalyzed by stress. That makes sense. Unfortunately, this feeling is not so simple. The other shit can be pushed aside for a time in order to work around the house. Physical problems are worse much of the time. I don't know what to do. This is very uncomfortable. 0903. Everything is worsening in my brain. The forms, the worry, the weakness. I don't know what the fuck to do and cannot even take a tiny step in any damned direction. My stomach is uncomfortable too this morning, as if there has not been enough going on. I hope I can at least get something accomplished today. In a little while I will not have this machine with which to work. She is going to study again. That means my media must be portable as I do whatever I can around the house. Yesterday's trip to the bar is getting heavier. Career. Children. Sex. Too fucking much, all at the same fucking time. All I need right now is to open the garage, see those bouncing breasts again, and then feel a heritage slam. That would be a misery superfecta. Not funny. Maybe I'll never understand anything and allow the twisted thinking to force my logic into the ground. Why the fuck not? Do I expect anything good to happen? Nope. This is a bad fucking time. 0614, Sunday morning, December 19th and the clock and calendar are moving a bit too quickly for my taste. About five minutes ago it was October. There was a dream in space. I was with some agency. Awakened before three, I recalled much detail and was hoping it would carry over until this morning. Part of the feeling was apprehension, but I must admit the storyline had been very intriguing. Floating outside. There were animals near a stairway. There was a monster of some sort threatening our facility and I was outside directly in the path. I had some sort of protection and was not worried about the monster. There was also a view of some large body of water nearby that glistened. Then we were all inside in uniform. Some kind of meal or class or something. I can't remember detail anymore and I miss it. The feeling harks back to the beginning of my work at the center and how important and special I felt over most of the time. I was doing something to assist the entire nation and its future. There was a similar mindset or feeling in the dream. Very cool. I felt right at home being a part of an organization trying to help the whole world. Upon awakening, I remembered much. Now I miss it badly. There is John again, although not the same episode as the title I had been watching when I drafted a paragraph about his appearance and related it to my upbringing. Actually, it still relates because I was thinking about the entire idea while at the bar the other day. Some of the people near me brought the subject to mind (I think I mentioned all this shit up the page) and I recalled another entry regarding John. Oh boy, there is the woman teaching tennis again. She is rather disgusting, and I only mention her now because of when her character is introduced the name comes across as 'beer-gut', yet her name is actually Birgit. German. Still funny, though. Anyway, the subject of John's voice and demeanor comes to mind almost every time I visit the bar on a given day, or even the big party last week when I stared at that tall woman and caused myself problems. I was thinking about a few key scenes in this show while standing at the little table that night. And Jeannie again, breasts apparent and big eyes cutting through the screen. She is a tad dopey, too. I don't know how to describe much of the way she speaks, but the mannerisms drive my brain into her blouse and pants. Yep, right down there with the twisted imagery and yearning. The most powerful force in the universe and one which has served to shape the existence of humanity. Wait... Wasn't I speaking of John and his amazing acting ability? Eh... Fuck it all anyway. Not me, never me, nothing is good. That old line from either last year or early this year. 'Never me'. Jesus, does that ever apply these days. Too many aspects of life to mention. Too many reasons. Too much of a pile. Today is football day. I'll be heading to her house again because I want to avoid the bar. This is the opposite of earlier in the season when I almost completely swore off watching here with one or both. Now? I don't know what the fuck to think anymore. I can care for some stuff prior to leaving so that the evening is mellow. I did a bunch of laundry yesterday to free up the time today. Good God in Heaven and a t-shirt, Jamie comes across as so fucking cute sometimes that I cannot even begin to understand. Anyway, I need to have a smidgen of control over the day, too. That is tough when I'm not home, yet pretty easy while watching football at the bar with other people. None of them are connected to me aside from being acquaintances, meaning I can float away whenever I wish or ignore conversation on a whim and need not answer to anyone. Sometimes that is very nice, and perhaps I will be there again before the season is over. For the time being, watching over at her house is very comfortable and I feel detached from this place for a while. I can avoid sitting here and thinking about all the shit I need to do. Still nothing on the front end except for a hell of an ass bent over a pool table and some gibberish. I really do not wish to publish anything for a while. My brain has become worse and further descended into the darkness I felt when I first ran to the goblet in zero two. That was bad, yet I accomplished everything I set out to do and returned relatively unscathed. The following year was not as positive, though. Returning was bad. The idea of leaving in the first place and seeking a very specific type of comfort was key... I am feeling that way now. This is a bad time. Not as sick as the last couple of days but still not great. Twisted, though. My thought processes are bad now. Very bad. The vehicle of my life is being driven by twin thieves, robbing me of clarity and comfort. Weakness and desperation force me into dreams better avoided, yet they take over. Nothing happens. I sit here and sip coffee. The situation worsens. Still, nothing happens. I did not do this, I swear to everything holy. I did not fucking do this to myself. I am so fucking twisted up that the dire nature of dreaming may need to be dealt with through violent outlets. Right now I don't know what to do. Angry. This is a bad time. This day had better show me something good or tomorrow -- the wondrous and open beginning of the week -- will find me slamming the issues in the face in a bad way. I'm fucking sick of feeling like this. My head is twisted like never before. Thinking is dire, but I will not say dangerous. I threw that out there many times in the last year-plus. The truth is my thinking is not cause for worry because there is literally nothing I can do in any fucking direction to alleviate any issue in my head. Anger doesn't matter because people see me as very gentle (and they say it's a good thing though my life has shown me otherwise) and they expect it to remain unchanged, even though my needs should matter. My brain will not be into anything which seems obvious today. That is not possible anymore. Going through the motions and nothing more because I am too twisted up to be fucking capable of anything good. This brings up that thing the other day. I can't be specific, so just sit there and live with it. Oh my God... Finally put a fine point on why Nicole is so fucking beautiful... There is a sadness in her eyes all the time and no matter what the mood of a given scene shows the audience. I may have mentioned her sad eyes before, but since I can't remember shit these days I'll just throw it out there again. She is beyond beautiful at present. That may change as time passes, yet right now I am overwhelmed. And then the flip side the other day. Still in there. I can't help it because even when sickened and twisted by everything good and bad in life, I have pieces missing which may have allowed me to deal with this type of shit and take remarks in stride. Nope. It hurts, deeply, yet in reality has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me. Nothing. So... Why all fucked up? I wish I knew. The answer to that question could be the key to the largest lock in the universe. No faith, though. None. Still, no 'dangerous' over here. Sick and twisted, completely falling off anything labeled 'logical', yet as harmless as a single grain of sand sitting on the surface of the moon. I can't do anything. Weak. Helpless. I can't even make threats anymore because my entire life has been defined by others and is forever unchangeable. No one listens. They just laugh me off... Right off a fucking cliff. Fuck you. I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I just keep typing here, sipping coffee, washing clothes. What is this? Should I be doing something else? Everything I encounter makes me either sad or angry, mostly the past and its effects upon my psyche. I am limited. Hollow? Maybe that, too. Missing shit inside that others seem to have in spades. Back to the bar, my perception as opposed to that of other people, and then the scenes with John up there on my show. Roll it up like one of those fucking sandwiches made with a tortilla. I can't fucking remember what they are called. Just make the sandwich. Twist it, as well. And then eat it and get sick. I don't care. Fuck you. I keep repeating that this is a bad time, but what the fuck can I do about it? That's right... Nothing. I am completely helpless these days. I may remain as such for the duration. Just a slow decline into obscurity, I guess; one which began a very long time ago. 0756. Very cold outside this morning. I'll do some chores in a little while and then head out to watch the games. Yearning accomplishes very little other than more difficulty. Issues flare and cool. I sit here and write whatever the fuck this has become. Go through the motions. Find the little enjoyments (shrinking). And then complete the week and do it all over again. Cycling through every fucking problem again and again. I don't know how to get out of this situation. Maybe completely fucked for all time. Do you have the answer? Nope. Shut up. Much of this life has been reduced to one subject -- or perhaps one 'aspect' of living -- and I cannot go into it for fear of ridicule. People can be cold and harsh and I don't need that shit right now. There is enough already weighing me down. The fact that I can't spell it out has become a problem in and of itself. I've spoken to a few over the years and solved nothing. The subject has become more important than it should be at this point in time. The site has now topped eighty thousand lines since my first mention of Jaime the machine. That equates to over ten times the volume of the previous eighteen years. Nice, huh? No answers. Twisted thinking; twisted insides; twisted mind that is not of my construction. Also nice. Scared. Diminished. Small. I wish I could remember more of that dream. I was someone of note. They included me despite my being so fucked up. They accepted me because there were good things I could contribute to the mission. They ignored everything else which holds me back. I lost much, yet I was effective. Upon awakening I realized that is not me any longer. All those traits are dormant, likely never to see the light of day again. There is no hope left. Only a vast chasm into which I am being lowered for all time. Immemorial. Imprisoned. Impoverished, if anything was ever there at all."
December 19th, 2021 8:09am pst
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
Sick, Twisted Logic
read ( words)
"This is a bad time. Dire, reckless, drastic. I don't know what the fuck to do aside from continuing to sit here and let the same words flow over and over and fucking OVER. There is little else. Right now the time is 1147 on the same Friday which began in the previous entry, the routine is finished along with a few other chores, yet my head is worse off regardless of anything feeling accomplished. I installed the new keyboard and noticed it is not the same. I must have gotten the part number slightly wrong. The keys operate flawlessly but they do not click like the backlit unit. And the lack of key light is going to cause a touch of heartache in the morning. Whatever. The keyboard is new and will likely enjoy a long life. Unfortunately, the space bar issue having been eliminated does not right my head enough to function like a real grown-up type of person. I am still withdrawn, sad, and weaker than ever. One term not employed in the previous entry is 'scared'. I am more fearful of the future than I can recall in years. Maybe ever. Fuck everyone and everything. There you go. Look at the pretty girls and their middle fingers. I hate this shit. I HATE THIS FUCKING SHIT. I know what screwed me up yesterday. It was lunch. Pasta, made the way my mom used to do it for a snack when we had company during the holidays. A finger food, really, yet some years ago I turned it into a meal for whatever reason. All evening long I was uncomfortable due to the plate of pasta combined with the fucking huge strike the day before. On the heels of the strike was something about which I cannot speak in detail, but suffice to say that one after the other affected me badly. My logic allowed me to indulge in one way but not in the other. An operational failure, if you will. And I know the fucking words drove me down far enough to realize that alcohol did not cause a malfunction. I can't even get started with that shit because of other people, the whole of society, and its never-ending phrasing with regard to any fucking issue whatsoever. This is all very unclear aside from the fucking pasta for good reason. I must avoid other people's twisted thinking. My own is plenty enough to drive me insane. At least the cause is clear to me now. Nothing I can do. Nothing. I am far worse now than even a year ago after being home and performing that stupid fucking search for what cannot exist. The little enjoyments are still helping, though. They really are. Being alone and having complete control over the house during the weekdays still lifts me a bit. On the inside is an altogether different process, however. I am falling down the same hill over and over. Part of the problem is the fact that I forget nothing -- rather like holding a grudge, yet without a clear target -- and several times each day I am reminded of one or more issues caused by other people. I don't have a clue as to why I began to branch out weeks ago, either. Maybe I though it would be good to sit within an atmosphere of zero responsibility due to focusing upon the same and little else for more than a year. Well, that may have been wrong because those problems which were a point of focus one year back continue to work on my head no matter who I am around. I have not the presence of mind to avoid some situations because there is that fucking false hope that I can actually relax for once in my fucking life. Nope. And here I sit, two keyboards and much alcohol later, a product of no less than what affected me prior to any seemingly positive ideas. I am worse. Period. And I am fucking scared to death. Turn on the sick logic. Turn it on right fucking now. Turn on ME. Turn away. I am hurt and it is partially my fault for turning out this way. I could have been elsewhere. Turn your stupid head. A machine would not have the ability to hurt me at all. Look up Isaac Asimov's three laws of robotics. 0611 on Saturday morning with coffee and my friends. Strange dreams, one of which I remembered around 0400 upon waking, but now all are mostly gone. Nothing juicy, either. Odd, post-apocalyptic shit sprinkled with people I know and scenery from the past. I don't understand that crap. Most of the time it only leaves me completely confused and often worse off than when I laid my head to the pillow the night before. That is not happening now, though, because yesterday was terrible. I did my best to accomplish some things before the typical drop during the early afternoon, yet still I began to feel worthless again despite actually getting things done. A visit, and then I hauled ass over the hill to pick up a friend and deposit him at the bar. Shortly thereafter, trouble began on two fronts. One was the obsession and the other was realizing I will never improve in any way whatsoever. This is all I have left and all I will ever be...
Very similar build to the frightening woman, so much so that I thought it was her coming through the entry. Soon I corrected my stance and realized she was someone I had not met before. Tall, lovely, slender, long legs, booties, long flowing hair, and long fingers. Jeans tight enough to attract most of the bar patrons which wrapped just above the booties. A button-down blouse tucked and a leather belt. Overall she looked like a match to her partner because their clothes related through color. I was introduced a few minutes later, they turned and began to shoot pool. That was that, and thanks to my position facing the door I did not look at her very much. One occasion had my eyes following a potential issue down the back hall and force my head around far enough to see her setting to take a shot on the pool table and bent in half. Much like the girl on the main index right now, her shape was amazing and very striking to a person such as myself. I pulled away and returned my gaze to the front of the bar. Within thirty minutes of seeing her legs in such a position, I fled down and out the auxiliary back door. She faded, yet the reason why she was important has not. Ah shit there is Jeannie again. All those traits, all dark. Sometimes I wish I could have crawled inside her fucking blouse. There is not as much turmoil as in past years, like those trips to the city when I was a complete fucking basket case over seeing something special. The problem was different back then, as if I was so desperate that I could have run after one of them given the correct circumstances. Now? I have seen a different facet, meaning everything fades more quickly. The weak nature of my mind still causes problems and questions, yet I seem to be more able to turn away from anything bad before I begin to use the most dangerous aspects of imagination. The woman bent over the pool table brought up more memories of playing that game when I was young than it did of her position. I had a straight-on view of the gap between her upper thighs and the exaggeration of her hip-to-waist when she took that shot from the short end. It was amazing. Her jeans left nothing out and looked soft rather than restricting. I could not believe it, but rather than running outside to calm myself, I simply moved away. Turned. It was easy to pull my eyes from the sight of her form. Easy. I believe this is a huge step because I have learned that nothing good can come from the situation so I protect myself instead of allowing the pain to flow as I stare. Overall, I did not feel terrible leaving that place a little while later. Her ass remained in my head for a bit and then faded. There is Jeannie's prominent chest again. Damn, that woman was gorgeous during this show. Big, dark eyes, too. Fuck. And just goofy enough to attract someone as weak as yours truly. Anyway... The trouble at the bar was three-fold. Career also entered my head as I sat and watched basketball along with a bit of conversation. I recall seeing a few individuals who relate to a remark I made about John's character on this show and the nature of his facial expressions and voice. I saw both, in a manner of speaking, yesterday right nearby and thought quite a bit about the relational analysis I could have been performing had I not witnessed those long legs by the pool table. Well, it's happening now. I can't do anything about it aside from avoiding everything in the world even remotely defined by such a look. A bit of discussion the other day helped me to see just how ridiculous all this shit may sound, yet there is enough fear to keep it at the forefront all too often. Whether or not this places me further out of balance is of no one's concern but my own, however if I do need to interact with people it will surface quickly and possibly send me out the fucking back door on each occasion. Safety and security cannot be remarked upon negatively if no one sees me engage in such a pursuit. Yesterday was fine, though. There were plenty of others milling around and the nature of the mood in that place was pretty mellow. I only thought of the worry because of one other person at my table. Once I began to analyze, the gorgeous, flowing woman shooting pool melted almost completely. One fear outweighed another. Remember that shit? I do. Of the three problems I sat there and swallowed over and over, only career was on the back burner before leaving. Other occasions have had me all up in arms over the subject, too. Yesterday the bigger fish jumped into the skillet and were beyond my control. The twisted nature of the way my brain operates began almost immediately after realizing just how many problems were present in that fucking room. Wrung out. The worst thinking may be of the woman. Consideration of the subject is best left sans detail. This is not the first time, either. All the way back to the car dealer (salesperson), too. And then forward to others, not the least of which is a slew of cocktail servers all over the state of Nevada. None of that can reside in this space regardless of what it may help. Twisted. I have been actively seeking a television episode from a series without a name. I watched it years ago and knew of one of the principal actors, but now I have found that the name was incorrect. I no longer have a title or name related to the episode in question, nor have I been able to learn of the series name. The storyline is mostly absent aside from a key scene which changed some of my thinking at the time it aired. I still remember seeing it but cannot recall anything else. Just like the rollercoaster girl, this one may well elude me forever. The one certainty is the episode's story put thoughts into my brain which would be better left out of this content for fear of backlash. I remember the women involved. I remember how I felt. Think of machinery. And then go further. I need to find that story and watch it again. There is Paulie's girlfriend again, all exaggerated accent and dark eyes. Her thought processes are without issue, honestly, even considering she is female. A character, not a real person. But the character carries with her a type of understanding rarely gleaned in any form of media. It's always in my head, though, sure as hell. I love it and hate it. My logic has been built up and streamlined throughout the course of years and I cannot go backwards. This is the way I think. Again... Machinery. I don't know how I abandoned the subject months back, or maybe it was nothing more than self-preservation, but the truth remains that I think about it every fucking day.
I will not sit here and deny that I am very strange and carrying more than one person's share of pent-up shit from many years ago. Just since the outset of the pandemic, for example, my consideration for the fairer sex has gone through multiple reversals. One day they are Satan's own little, horned girls, and the next day they are the only beauty in this sordid world. I don't know what to think, but the fact remains I cannot wholly blame any group for this shit. I have to pick and choose. The time passed since being home has altered my view of everything, really, and not just the other half of the populace. I have become more critical, more concerned over where I am going, and much more controlling than in the past. Those three facts are going to affect every fucking thing I say or do, not to mention interactions with people. My brain goes in directions I cannot even mention here or someone will take note in the worst way. I already know that. So much has been left out, in fact, that even after nearly three hundred entries anyone reading still cannot know what goes on inside me. Impossible. My logic and thinking has become so twisted around in recent years that I honestly don't even WANT anyone to know because they will likely label me, tell someone else (or more) and then flee. No blame there, either. I am fucked up for sure and know full well the weight of everything. Paulie's comare again. Damn her big eyes, anyway. There is little doubt I need help. Unfortunately, I will not accept anything. Today. 0746 and I see possibilities. I'm certain none of them will appear attractive later, though. I just don't give a shit these days and pretty much do the bare minimum. For the time being, I need to say some things before anything else happens today. I'll get around to the usual. I always do. Twisted, yes, but sick? Not my logic or thinking. I just feel physically under the weather a good portion of the time and my thinking remains constant. Twisted thoughts, just like that girl at the market some time ago. Remember that one? The midriff and eyes. I spoke to her, she responded very kindly, and I strolled out the door with my head spinning. Within seconds my head was wrapped around her thighs. After that? It went north. Don't ask. The point is I have been so bereft of anything real for so long that my beliefs and the manner in which I see other people have been permanently altered. I cannot go back to whatever I was before this realization, either. One-way trip, this shit. And there is no fucking end to it, honestly. No matter where I go or what I may see in the future, the same situation will form inside me as the dire thinking combines with weakness and desperation to leave me yearning for that person in my sight. Yesterday, for example. When she bent to shoot pool, my head sketched and entire notebook of sexual positions in a matter of seconds. I wanted (needed) to see how she would appear right there before me. That kind of thinking is FUCKING WRONG, but I did it anyway. The fact that I just typed those words right here on this page should be a screaming clue as to the state of my tired mind today. I am twisted inside. Shit is missing, broken, or otherwise nonfunctional. At least I don't feel that my thinking is 'sick'. I just rarely feel good anymore. Twisted logic? No fucking doubt there. Do not even BEGIN to get me started on some of the others. I mentioned all that guff about the forest, outlined the feelings involved in knowing every aspect of life is now represented by figurative guns, and then tossed out a ton of threatening words while pissed off. Do you know what all that shit accomplished? Nothing. I am still exactly the same -- if not somewhat further down -- and still sitting here spouting a bunch of words which may as well not exist. Guff. Flap. Shit. Nothing I say or do seems to make a difference, hence the admission of the way I think much of the time. Oh, sure... There were other problems lit up like a fucking Christmas tree yesterday, but the two I mentioned seem minimized by the first. No matter what may be going on during a given moment, something can cross my vision and completely derail my entire life for a time. And then when I get my shit together and back on track, I exist as less of a person and with one more form clogging up the works and keeping me from untwisting my fucking brain.
I may not know what to do today. At some point I need to get all the crap together and organized for donation in three days. Maybe that will be a Monday project. I made the appointment in the first place to motivate myself into getting it done. I want that crap out of the garage so I can actually move stuff around and improve the space I worked so much to make presentable. There are any number of other projects or chores which can be addressed any day, but honestly I just don't feel like it. I feel somewhat sick this morning. It is happening more and more often and could be catalyzed by stress. That makes sense. Unfortunately, this feeling is not so simple. The other shit can be pushed aside for a time in order to work around the house. Physical problems are worse much of the time. I don't know what to do. This is very uncomfortable. 0903. Everything is worsening in my brain. The forms, the worry, the weakness. I don't know what the fuck to do and cannot even take a tiny step in any damned direction. My stomach is uncomfortable too this morning, as if there has not been enough going on. I hope I can at least get something accomplished today. In a little while I will not have this machine with which to work. She is going to study again. That means my media must be portable as I do whatever I can around the house. Yesterday's trip to the bar is getting heavier. Career. Children. Sex. Too fucking much, all at the same fucking time. All I need right now is to open the garage, see those bouncing breasts again, and then feel a heritage slam. That would be a misery superfecta. Not funny. Maybe I'll never understand anything and allow the twisted thinking to force my logic into the ground. Why the fuck not? Do I expect anything good to happen? Nope. This is a bad fucking time. 0614, Sunday morning, December 19th and the clock and calendar are moving a bit too quickly for my taste. About five minutes ago it was October. There was a dream in space. I was with some agency. Awakened before three, I recalled much detail and was hoping it would carry over until this morning. Part of the feeling was apprehension, but I must admit the storyline had been very intriguing. Floating outside. There were animals near a stairway. There was a monster of some sort threatening our facility and I was outside directly in the path. I had some sort of protection and was not worried about the monster. There was also a view of some large body of water nearby that glistened. Then we were all inside in uniform. Some kind of meal or class or something. I can't remember detail anymore and I miss it. The feeling harks back to the beginning of my work at the center and how important and special I felt over most of the time. I was doing something to assist the entire nation and its future. There was a similar mindset or feeling in the dream. Very cool. I felt right at home being a part of an organization trying to help the whole world. Upon awakening, I remembered much. Now I miss it badly. There is John again, although not the same episode as the title I had been watching when I drafted a paragraph about his appearance and related it to my upbringing. Actually, it still relates because I was thinking about the entire idea while at the bar the other day. Some of the people near me brought the subject to mind (I think I mentioned all this shit up the page) and I recalled another entry regarding John. Oh boy, there is the woman teaching tennis again. She is rather disgusting, and I only mention her now because of when her character is introduced the name comes across as 'beer-gut', yet her name is actually Birgit. German. Still funny, though. Anyway, the subject of John's voice and demeanor comes to mind almost every time I visit the bar on a given day, or even the big party last week when I stared at that tall woman and caused myself problems. I was thinking about a few key scenes in this show while standing at the little table that night. And Jeannie again, breasts apparent and big eyes cutting through the screen. She is a tad dopey, too. I don't know how to describe much of the way she speaks, but the mannerisms drive my brain into her blouse and pants. Yep, right down there with the twisted imagery and yearning. The most powerful force in the universe and one which has served to shape the existence of humanity. Wait... Wasn't I speaking of John and his amazing acting ability? Eh... Fuck it all anyway. Not me, never me, nothing is good. That old line from either last year or early this year. 'Never me'. Jesus, does that ever apply these days. Too many aspects of life to mention. Too many reasons. Too much of a pile. Today is football day. I'll be heading to her house again because I want to avoid the bar. This is the opposite of earlier in the season when I almost completely swore off watching here with one or both. Now? I don't know what the fuck to think anymore. I can care for some stuff prior to leaving so that the evening is mellow. I did a bunch of laundry yesterday to free up the time today. Good God in Heaven and a t-shirt, Jamie comes across as so fucking cute sometimes that I cannot even begin to understand. Anyway, I need to have a smidgen of control over the day, too. That is tough when I'm not home, yet pretty easy while watching football at the bar with other people. None of them are connected to me aside from being acquaintances, meaning I can float away whenever I wish or ignore conversation on a whim and need not answer to anyone. Sometimes that is very nice, and perhaps I will be there again before the season is over. For the time being, watching over at her house is very comfortable and I feel detached from this place for a while. I can avoid sitting here and thinking about all the shit I need to do. Still nothing on the front end except for a hell of an ass bent over a pool table and some gibberish. I really do not wish to publish anything for a while. My brain has become worse and further descended into the darkness I felt when I first ran to the goblet in zero two. That was bad, yet I accomplished everything I set out to do and returned relatively unscathed. The following year was not as positive, though. Returning was bad. The idea of leaving in the first place and seeking a very specific type of comfort was key... I am feeling that way now. This is a bad time. Not as sick as the last couple of days but still not great. Twisted, though. My thought processes are bad now. Very bad. The vehicle of my life is being driven by twin thieves, robbing me of clarity and comfort. Weakness and desperation force me into dreams better avoided, yet they take over. Nothing happens. I sit here and sip coffee. The situation worsens. Still, nothing happens. I did not do this, I swear to everything holy. I did not fucking do this to myself. I am so fucking twisted up that the dire nature of dreaming may need to be dealt with through violent outlets. Right now I don't know what to do. Angry. This is a bad time.
This day had better show me something good or tomorrow -- the wondrous and open beginning of the week -- will find me slamming the issues in the face in a bad way. I'm fucking sick of feeling like this. My head is twisted like never before. Thinking is dire, but I will not say dangerous. I threw that out there many times in the last year-plus. The truth is my thinking is not cause for worry because there is literally nothing I can do in any fucking direction to alleviate any issue in my head. Anger doesn't matter because people see me as very gentle (and they say it's a good thing though my life has shown me otherwise) and they expect it to remain unchanged, even though my needs should matter. My brain will not be into anything which seems obvious today. That is not possible anymore. Going through the motions and nothing more because I am too twisted up to be fucking capable of anything good. This brings up that thing the other day. I can't be specific, so just sit there and live with it. Oh my God... Finally put a fine point on why Nicole is so fucking beautiful... There is a sadness in her eyes all the time and no matter what the mood of a given scene shows the audience. I may have mentioned her sad eyes before, but since I can't remember shit these days I'll just throw it out there again. She is beyond beautiful at present. That may change as time passes, yet right now I am overwhelmed. And then the flip side the other day. Still in there. I can't help it because even when sickened and twisted by everything good and bad in life, I have pieces missing which may have allowed me to deal with this type of shit and take remarks in stride. Nope. It hurts, deeply, yet in reality has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me. Nothing. So... Why all fucked up? I wish I knew. The answer to that question could be the key to the largest lock in the universe. No faith, though. None. Still, no 'dangerous' over here. Sick and twisted, completely falling off anything labeled 'logical', yet as harmless as a single grain of sand sitting on the surface of the moon. I can't do anything. Weak. Helpless. I can't even make threats anymore because my entire life has been defined by others and is forever unchangeable. No one listens. They just laugh me off... Right off a fucking cliff. Fuck you. I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I just keep typing here, sipping coffee, washing clothes. What is this? Should I be doing something else? Everything I encounter makes me either sad or angry, mostly the past and its effects upon my psyche. I am limited. Hollow? Maybe that, too. Missing shit inside that others seem to have in spades. Back to the bar, my perception as opposed to that of other people, and then the scenes with John up there on my show. Roll it up like one of those fucking sandwiches made with a tortilla. I can't fucking remember what they are called. Just make the sandwich. Twist it, as well. And then eat it and get sick. I don't care. Fuck you. I keep repeating that this is a bad time, but what the fuck can I do about it? That's right... Nothing. I am completely helpless these days. I may remain as such for the duration. Just a slow decline into obscurity, I guess; one which began a very long time ago. 0756. Very cold outside this morning. I'll do some chores in a little while and then head out to watch the games. Yearning accomplishes very little other than more difficulty. Issues flare and cool. I sit here and write whatever the fuck this has become. Go through the motions. Find the little enjoyments (shrinking). And then complete the week and do it all over again. Cycling through every fucking problem again and again. I don't know how to get out of this situation. Maybe completely fucked for all time. Do you have the answer? Nope. Shut up. Much of this life has been reduced to one subject -- or perhaps one 'aspect' of living -- and I cannot go into it for fear of ridicule. People can be cold and harsh and I don't need that shit right now. There is enough already weighing me down. The fact that I can't spell it out has become a problem in and of itself. I've spoken to a few over the years and solved nothing. The subject has become more important than it should be at this point in time. The site has now topped eighty thousand lines since my first mention of Jaime the machine. That equates to over ten times the volume of the previous eighteen years. Nice, huh? No answers. Twisted thinking; twisted insides; twisted mind that is not of my construction. Also nice. Scared. Diminished. Small. I wish I could remember more of that dream. I was someone of note. They included me despite my being so fucked up. They accepted me because there were good things I could contribute to the mission. They ignored everything else which holds me back. I lost much, yet I was effective. Upon awakening I realized that is not me any longer. All those traits are dormant, likely never to see the light of day again. There is no hope left. Only a vast chasm into which I am being lowered for all time. Immemorial. Imprisoned. Impoverished, if anything was ever there at all."
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