April 17th, 2022 7:15am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Pins read ( words) "YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Well, Monday morning has arrived with zero fanfare. I have this entire day to myself and it could not have arrived at a better time. The last two have left me ok for the most part, yet the thinking aspect has been haphazard, at best. Now I can stretch it a little. I worked on a garage project yesterday, avoided the model car for a while, and cared for all my business with hours to spare. I have to consider where I am and embrace the solitude. Sometimes a trial is required to send me into the appreciative mode. 0815. Bailey all over this season, sometimes with the inner thigh lines that make me try to understand myself. Her legs are the stuff of dreams, really. In fact, I tried to cap her a while back in certain shots but the clarity was for shit. THere are others, but this morning I am far too unmotivated. Chiclets and thighs, thighs and chiclets. Funny. And Anna's sister's attitude is played so well that I nearly stand up and salute every time I see her facial expressions. Sometimes Bailey takes the cake, though. Jesus. When you're out on there [sic], a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Yesterday I fired up some older music recently rediscovered and worked on the plywood. The funny thing is I finally cut the stock sheet the night before while tooling around out there. I have enough flat surfaces to lay down any sized sheet to work with and configure for my needs. Anyway, I chopped off one end and then clamped it to the shelving unit for posterity. A bit of measuring, and I realized I could construct a nearly forty-eight inch symbol and did just that. Yesterday morning I pulled down the sheet and finished drawing out everything, after which I tore into the painting supplies and blacked out my new announcement. The sheet is now back in place with a clamp, and honestly doesn't look too bad considering the last time I attempted something like this was more than ten years ago when I had a steadier hand. Well, it's done for now, so I can work toward hinging the door and then adding some detail. I may or may not add a canopy along the top to accentuate the symbol while the other colored lighting is on. I have more of the LED strips coming in the mail soon. 0937 and I have yet to rise and care for the routine. Ashley is up there again with Jim and Ryan, looking so fucking delicious that I don't even understand how such a form came into being. Her face, too. Unreal. She is going to be gracing the screen until the end of the series so I'll have to steel myself if I am to leave this on for the duration. I will try to avoid going into detail about her breasts. Very drizzly outside. Windy, too. That is not good for any garage work unless both doors are closed all day. Damn. I suppose I can focus inside the house today. The projects and other items can wait for sunshine. Also, the flags are not out because I need to keep them dry. Storm flags are expensive so I opted for nylon which will bleed colors if exposed to prolonged moisture. Too bad. I had them out there for eight days straight. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Ignore the written grammar. The thought goes back to the eighties and must be displayed verbatim. Meaning. Value. Memory. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1119 and YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I've been stuck by pins. The routine is finished and the weather has not improved. Still quite windy out there, so I will not be working in the garage or displaying the flags today. I'll have to remain indoors for the duration. The atmosphere in the house is very warm today. Everything feels wide open right now. I have little tasks I can finish in order to ensure the evening feels good, too. Small items here and there. I will probably shoot some images of the model again as I had furthered the build the other day and wish to document progress. Also, each step can yield dramatic colors and results that I'd eventually like to have printed for a scrapbook. Ah... Sunshine out there now. I guess my plans can change if the wind tapers off. For the time being, I will stay in the house and do whatever seems best. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, do I ever want to see what her globes look like unclothed. This is what I am, brought on by a hellish combination of weakness and desperation. I would give my afterlife in exchange for five minutes of peace. 1533 and my little world is somewhat in order. I cleaned the bathroom, took care of some dry cleaning, and finished off the model. I also snapped a couple of shots for posterity, yet the contrast and interest are not present so much. At least, not like when it was but half built and full of different colors. Anyway, a few images of the interior. The door project also found inspiration, as I have a working plan for mounting the hinges to one side and a support for the other. That should make a latch easier to install. After flirting with buying an inexpensive fisheye lens for the camera, I must admit I'm still on the fence. The lens is so specialized that everyday work may not go in such directions. I mostly shoot abstract, closeup images which tend to focus upon details rather than a larger landscape. If I do pick up the thing, my first foray will be one of the models before exploring further. The supernatural story came to an end so I went back to the dragons. Last night I calculated that I have only been watching a total of eight series' throughout the last two years or so, barring the errant full-length movie. There are good and bad aspects to such a situation, and most of the bad is tied up in my diminishing ability to differentiate voices at a time when media seems to move at a much faster pace than in the past. The good is my ever-increasing appreciation for what went into those productions I know so well. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1807 and she is stuck on the highway due to a downed power line. The nature of that area is such that turning around and taking another route is very time prohibitive, so waiting is the only other option. The issue has transformed a typically short commute into quite the adventure, so far well over an hour. Should be less than half of that. Ugh. I finished all my work, so the fourth show is on -- one of my favorite episodes featuring Sarah and her huge, dark eyes. Almost cocktail hour. I dismantled the camera setup because the model is finished and the last few images I shot are rather uninteresting. Maybe I'll begin on another car tomorrow and see if that model bears fruit with the camera. Hugh Hefner and Barbi Benton in front of the mansion, 1970 YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Pins everywhere leading to bleeding. Not good. Thus is the present as manufactured by circumstances. And the spreadsheet with site statistics and references is now 354 lines by 29 columns. Unbelievable. I need a drink. 0755 on Tuesday and my head is all over the fortification. Flags out, morning business finished, and some coffee left. I'll probably be here until I become angry or desperate and then move toward something else. That seems to be the pattern lately. There is nothing I can do because no one is listening, and more days of this add up to more anger, less leaving the house, and fortification against anything which may approach our address. No one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. God bless you, mister Staley. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I was going to type a carriage return tag just above this paragraph -- which is 'br' within the brackets -- and the letters appeared as 'bra'. Not funny, as I slip on this keyboard more lately than ever. But the implication is there, too. No getting around that one. NO ONE IS LISTENING. There is no one. This is my future... All holes from pins, memories of happiness, and the occasional pizza. I could fucking destroy the entire world right now, people and all. Everything. If I could snap my fingers and... The physical shit knows no end. No end in sight, no flight, just plight. Blight? No... None of that. Plight may be an incorrect term right now. The house is fine for the most part. Food, heat, comfort. Well, that last one is up for debate as the last several years have demonstrated. What I mean to say is that despite all the pins sticking out of my being, I can still hole up indoors and control the atmosphere. That is all. The rest has been beyond my grasp for too long. Years. Decades, and then the occasional flip from reality which always ended in disaster, soon after finding me in exactly the same position as before those fucking trips. The gradient is incredible right now. Bereft. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I fucking hate everyone. This is going to continue, as well, because nothing can change any longer. Ships have sailed... All of them. Damn, Marayna has got one hell of a pair of breasts crammed into that top. Whatever. Anyway, where was I? Ah... NO ONE IS LISTENING. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Stay away from me because the anger will spill over the dam and cause circumstances with which you really do not wish to be involved. Believe me. This morning is yet the thousandth example that there is a part of my life fading away, never to return. Believe that one, too. Just fucking shove it somewhere painful and then set fire to your face. I don't care. If the fade I am experiencing is more than just a mental result, my demeanor toward other people is going to worsen. Do you think I seldom leave the house? I'll show you. The symbol in the garage is just the beginning. 0927 and I am going to that lady's house at 1100 to replace her shower hose. I'm not in the mood for a protracted discussion, either. I just want to be left alone, but unfortunately I already gave my word. Well, that's the last occasion of my fucking word. People can fuck off. I've been generous enough for this life, Eddie's influence notwithstanding (or my dad's). Jesus, Roxann is so gorgeous all the time. Shoulders. I have laundry and dry cleaning going, the routine and lots of booze very soon, and likely a trip to the small market for a few staples. The last of the coffee is to my right and the fourth show is on the televisions, along with a fucking slew of beauties and a few strikes in the opposite direction. I've done too much reading about this shit lately, too. Far too much. Pissed off all the time. When the afternoon arrives I'll have to shut it off and act as if everything is fine. Inside? Hatred. Anger. Murderous rage. Here comes the cunty paragraph again... 'Don't attach that fucking word to me or even an image of me in your mind. You are not qualified to make such a determination, nor is anyone else. Write it down and burn the paper, and then write it in ink on your forehead and likewise burn it. Yes, burn your forehead. The word is beyond your understanding and has become one of the largest points of contention on earth. Too bad, eh? Just shut your fucking face and forget you ever heard it.' YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1153 and the work down the street is finished, as is my usual routine. Fourth show, still. I also completed the laundry and dry cleaning. Now my day is wide open, for whatever that may be worth. Ahh, I just noticed the site data is in the basement ever since switching the primary hosting domain. Well, I don't give a shit. The numbers can go to hell for all I care. I write because I write. I don't write for any other reason, nor do I maintain this fucking grain of sand for anyone else. Fuck off, all a'yas. I believe the next model I build should be the truck, because the colors could be fantastic in the lens. I'll probably remain here for a little bit and then set up for another project on the dining table. No one is listening. My needs don't matter. I thought by this point life would be different somehow. As usual, I've been wrong to think such things. Boiled down to sitting and building models and then capturing them as if anyone will ever see or care. This is pathetic. More dreams. All alone. No one is listening. Everything is gone. 0713 on Wednesday. I completely flaked on my sister yesterday, but at least she knows me well enough to realize it doesn't mean shit. I'll fix everything like I always do. Today ain't the fuckin' day, though. Today will be all me. The longer morning means I can sit here and bitch my fingers to the bone while watching television, and then after I can delve back into the model which began yesterday. It's fairly complex -- mostly in appearance before the body parts are assembled -- and should prove a good subject for the lens. All of them are fairly similar, actually, in that the inner workings are on display up to the point of building the outer, more color-coordinated sections. Most of the varying colors are underneath when the build is finished. Today I'll do my best to find some interesting angles and then set up my big baby on the tripod. The flags are out again, although they may come in early due to the weather becoming wet later this afternoon. I'll have to keep one eye on the forecast and the other on the sky today. 0722. Jesus, the fucking legs in this commercial. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Holy fuck, Roxanne That sentiment is so old now, perhaps high school era or just after. I remember trying to write back then and completely falling on my face before giving up. The notes are all gone now, too. I have some drawings and such from the Midwest period when I tried to write for the second time, yet all I've been able to see is a mishmash of one-liners and some rhyming sections leading nowhere. I can't even remember the basic direction of any composition because too much is either missing or was never written. The lines above came to me in a dream, and then again thrice, believe it or not. During high school, too. The words are improperly assembled for good reason, and that is because I heard them as such in the dream and had a conversation with a woman involving our location. We were in a desperate situation and trying to survive by staying connected to each other. Not this world, either, but one in which everything is disconnected or otherwise disjointed in such a way so as to make moving in any direction extremely difficult. Like sections with nothing connecting them, or a pathway of stones between which is nothingness and death. We were singing to each other and yearning for support, kind of like the way I feel right now, except I am doing it all alone. The pins were everywhere back then. Now they are stuck in me as if I fell down and have not risen. I don't know why those lines returned to my head the other day but I am glad they did. Just another part of my life I can embrace and love without involving anyone who will eventually ridicule me. The line below the repeating words has been added due to my shit attitude lately. They are related but I will not say how. Figure it out on your own. Wherever she and I were or had been trying to go, pins were everywhere I looked. I do not understand, nor have I thought about that situation for a very long time, possibly even before the Midwest. 0803. Waiting to have my precious time in the house is not easy sometimes. The morning issues flare, my feelings regarding speaking to another person flare, and the need to lash at the world flares. But I have no way of alleviating any of the three. Nothing. No one is listening. The only saving throw is when I am finally alone and can embrace my devices. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I don't feel guilty at all. Ever. Her smiling face is linked to importance, dire thinking and circumstances. The smiling faces have been mentioned here on occasion and lately do not leave my head. Every single person I see -- be it on the television or out there in the world -- forces me to wonder about the possibility of that same smile. Every single fucking person. And then there is her face. Yes, that one... The face involved in many mornings and often into an afternoon depending upon what I am doing and the level of work. Ahh... Booties in the background on the news. Reminds me of Andrea. I don't even think she had any other type of footwear when we were in Vegas, and then in Florida she needed to buy a pair of sandals to avoid wearing booties to the pool. So funny. Anyway, the smiling face causes so much emotional turmoil and damage that I could spend the rest of my life sitting here typing and still be unable to fully express the situation. Her smile is linked to the importance because she knows everything and always has. Every fucking day, this shit. Every fucking day no matter the world events or positives I can embrace. Every fucking day. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Maybe I should just turn my back on what I learned from Eddie and my father and become a complete fucking asshole. I'm alone, anyway, right? What's the fucking difference? Tell me. And good luck. Probably easier to find the dream woman -- 'her' -- and charge her up like Jaime. Yeah... That's what I thought. Go away. So... This is a daily thing, becoming more dire as the weeks and months roll by, and probably exacerbated by the sheer amount of time I've had since the beginning of the pandemic. While working full-time, everything was in mind during the mornings, yet once we had to kick into gear, I did not have the space to think quite as much. The only downside to the work schedule was seeing all those fucking forms out there in the world and being unable to reconcile everything. I honestly don't know which is worse, because I am no longer out there much but while home I see nearly as much right up there on the big television. Not so easy to turn away. Plus, I keep seeing the smiling face and feeling as if my life is completely over save for the little enjoyments. And believe me, they are fucking LITTLE. My situation of late is diminishing. As of yet, the only event which could trigger a major difference would be a massive, unexpected windfall. Like the lottery. Unfortunately, the likelihood of that is about as remote as the smiling face showing up here one morning. Yep. Not good. There went the booties again. I need to put one of the shows on, I guess. The news is going through a second hour and the stories are repeating. Whatever. 0749 on Thursday morning. I woke up a bit later than I'd prefer. Right now the time alone feels expansive. Part of it, anyway. Some is still shit like any other morning, although I can deal with the downside because I'm used to it. I have to try embracing those aspects of the day which make me comfortable and leave it at that. The rest must be pushed, hard. While I can admit being fully accustomed to my daily routine and knowing in advance what is going to take place inside me, still the effort is great from one day to the next. I may expect issues, but that does not mean I can easily deal with it. That fucking face won't let go sometimes. I do not have the flags out because of inclement weather. The colors may bleed on one of them due to it having been printed rather than stitched, but whatever. While the weather is wet, I'll just leave them in the garage. Very quiet in here right now, just as most days. I still receive the occasional message, though. For the most part, this is the sound in the house all day long... Quiet. The cats do their thing and I can think. The media doesn't derail my thinking at all anymore. Well, that is to say I am not distracted much. The strikes are still present but at least I know what to expect. I've already been struck upside the head and dealt with it accordingly. Foiled again, like always. Whatever. This is what I've been left alone to work with, so again... I know what to expect. Wishing things away 'don't get it done'. Nothing will change because the good has flown away and left me sitting here bereft of ears. This is not a bit surprising, either. I forecasted such a situation many years ago after gallivanting all over the nation in search of those very same ears. I knew it. How many occasions have had me typing 'this is a bad time'? Plenty, that's the answer. I just received another message asking if I wish to get out of the house for a while and help with some work. Don't know about that one. The quick simplicity of going shopping without even leaving town has been a stretch, and the massive plus to such trips is that I am in charge of where I go, when, and when I return here to hole up again. Work is quite the reverse. And even though I have such trouble here at times, going to work feels worse. Christ knows what I'll see out there, too. That last trip to the city when I sat and watched the gorgeous, shapely runner over and over was extremely uncomfortable. I don't need any more of that shit these days. While home, I am in complete control of everything, and that fact could keep me behind closed doors for a very long time, issues or not. That paragraph went off the rails. Tilt-shift effect, post image Great episode, this one. Fourth show, third season. Just when stories were rolling downhill, this masterpiece came along, and none too soon. Sometimes I wish the creative forces behind these series' didn't resort to old, tired plot devices. Oh, I'll be watching for the duration anyway. I can be very forgiving. Besides, they are family. The characters, that is, not the creators. Heh. Sometimes the basic look and feel of the show combined with simple character interaction are enough for me to let go of expectations. I need them up there. Work message squashed again. I've been very ambiguous lately because I've no wish to upset my little apple cart. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. One of the pins is the memory of visiting Arby's near the big domes. That particular location was the first (I believe) to assess the feasibility of a touchscreen ordering system, one in which the patron selected items from the screen and then paid -- and I am uncertain if payment was limited to cards or if they also accepted cash. The screen was directly above the counter and obscured the view of employees in the kitchen. I recall that era of high technology because public touchscreens were in their infancy for some industries, and certainly for a restaurant. I loved it, yet did not consider the aftereffects of having less person to person interaction. That stuff didn't enter into my mind at the time because anything automated or futuristic was fascinating to the point of pushing my brain into science fiction territory. That entire time period was rife with new and exciting turns, and I believe I've gone into the stores in the mall and all that crap. The point is that the restaurant memory conjures all sorts of other tidbits from those times and places, especially considering that the domes were right around the corner from it. 0630 on Friday. I think I'm actually anticipating the alone time more today than yesterday. Well, I often feel the day is wide open at this point, so hopefully my physical actions can follow suit. Yesterday I fell off a bit in the afternoon but it really didn't matter. More of the work is for me rather than anyone else. Today will be what I make of it, I suppose. Flags out. They remained in the garage yesterday due to the weather. 0754. Routine soon, possibly work in the garage toward my cabinet project. Right now I have to enjoy the remaining coffee. Pause for the cause. 0858 and half the routine is already finished because I feel that the free time must be filled with production today. Don't ask me why, though. I just needed to run around and care for some shit early. Fourth show, fourth season now, and the last of the coffee. This endeavor will likely relocate to the dining table as of later today, eventually moving back into the old office because my knees are having trouble with the sofa positioning. I've been flirting with the idea of another computer as a backup just in case this one has some sort of meltdown or if updating software ends up exceeding the hardware abilities. I may opt for a desktop machine again, too. There can be tons of power at a lower cost, meaning this will become the backup just like in the beginning. My motivation this morning may have been caused in part by news from the east. The term 'nuclear' continues to appear in the news feed, and that single word can create all manner of worry. Fortification, yet again. Thanks, asshole. I really didn't need anything else on my head. The show yesterday ran right into -- and eventually through -- one of the most demeaning conversations in recent memory. I can't fucking stand it, although considering the atmosphere and tone of the circumstances, the exchange seems realistic. My reaction is always anger, though. Can't help it anymore. Society has done this to me and left a gaping hole where any understanding could have grown. The absence of such feelings in my life is becoming worse as the days roll by. I don't see an out in the future. Just another pin, really. Holes in me caused by forces unwilling to bend. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I need to go into the archive binder and find what I wrote all those years ago. My life may depend upon it. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. THE BLUE DRESS IS GONE. I tried to capture some decent images of the current model yesterday but nothing really blew my skirt up. I believe the lack of a photo booth is key. When I was in the cave, I constructed a small booth from foam core for the purpose of better lighting while trying to photograph wristwatches. For the most part, it worked well in conjunction with a flash hood. Those were small subjects, though, and nothing like the larger models I've been trying to detail. The booth is important for neutralizing background information and may push me to build another. I can make it foldable so it doesn't take up too much space when not in use. Wow, is Jennifer ever lovely with the longer hair and big eyes. Too bad that all went to shit years later. I feel for her, although not knowing of the details I cannot comment further. Anyway, I'll probably finish the model today and see if any angle looks good in the lens. Plenty of time. Recently I saw something that I've experienced in the past on a few rare occasions. I know what it is, but I have no clue as to the how or why. The situation is elusive beyond belief. The last time was quite a while ago and I cannot go into detail nor define the subject. NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING. There can be no hope of such an experience again, especially considering it requires deep conversation and much understanding. When I say 'bereft', I fucking mean it. Seeing an example of a similar situation nearly broke me in half. Right now there is little in life that does not piss me off beyond comprehension. I don't even know why I brought this up. How can this exposition and exploration be therapeutic if I continue to worsen? Yeah... That's what I thought, fucksticks. 'Better to have...' What? What did you say? Shove it in your ass. Fuck everyone. Those work messages are going to heretofore fall on deaf ears. Others, too. I just don't give a shit anymore. Oh, if I could just exercise my needs fully, many problems would disappear. Alas, I have zero fucking power. 0923 and I am nearly out of coffee. I believe some further study for the shelving system door is on tap for when I finish the kitchen. I have everything required save for some stainless washers, but perhaps I can have everything ready for when they are delivered. I can't count on the local hardware store to stock exotic fasteners, so everything has to be purchased on the Internet. The work is straightforward. Maybe today is the day for a beginning. The symbol must remain in place to dissuade people from believing they understand me. 0747 on Saturday morning and I am not on the sofa. Coffee, television, IDE, but no sofa because I suspect my hips have been bothering me due to sitting in certain positions during the mornings. I am going to perform an experiment beginning today and concluding four weeks from now. I'll be using the dining table as a desk while writing, sitting with better posture. This will be my morning routine of choice instead of the couch. One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of feeling as if my joints are much older than the numbers on my driver's license. Not funny. The noise is gone and I have the next four or five hours to myself. Rain outside, so no flags today. How is that even possible? Yesterday during the mid-morning and part way into my typical cocktail, I decided to head out to the garage and focus upon hinging the shelving door. Rather than stringers or other support behind the hinges, I opted to mount everything directly to the frame. After some painstaking calculations and lots of thinking, the door is swinging fine, level for the most part, and stable. Afterward, I added a canopy above my big symbol and three rows of LEDs inside. The power is tied in to the light bar just above Emily's image on the back wall. Last night I fired up everything and adjusted the color to be ready for whatever kind of evening stuff takes place during the warmer weather. I may add a couple of strips along the sides to better contain the light. Not sure yet. But the project is finished. Well, this stage, anyway. Other symbolism may creep in. The weather outside is going to preclude most work in the garage today. I may have to remain indoors and work on whatever seems best. The routine will not take very long today because we did not cook dinner last night. Passover is always rather goofy when it comes to meal planning. Too many restrictions. Once I have all that finished, I may move back into working on the model and photographing different details. I have much to say here though, but don't know how to do it most of the time. Perhaps today I can work within and then splay the results here at a later time. Hopefully the rain does not take up all my daylight hours. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT, MOTHERFUCKS. Pissed off, as always. Pinned. I just took the main index offline again and left a message. Fuck people, anyway. I just can't get myself to care what others think of the site or its contents. Images have been truncated, but that was out of my own sense of decorum. Nothing more, and certainly not due to concerns over what people may see. Like many other mornings, this one has become a failure. I'll have to leave this shit alone soon and work on my routine. The rain has ceased for the time being. 0904. Last of the coffee. The symbol gracing the back of my garage will remain a work in progress as it may need to grow over time. Like the cave, eventually other symbolism will appear here and there until I am satisfied that the point is made. No one is going to like it or understand, however, because the philosophies I embrace daily are beyond the scope of typical societal norms. I shut down the squareheads weeks ago because I did not wish them to come here and ask how I feel about anything. The answers would undoubtedly send them away shortly after arriving. The first visit was fine due to the media opening my mind and raising questions I thought they may have answered. Little did I know, their agenda does not change, no matter the subject or recipient. Years of listening combined with decades of learning have helped me to draw a conclusion. They represent the exact same doctrine and 'ends' as the other groups around the world, save for one, I believe. My education went only so far, yet I soon found a sense of rightness within some of the teachings. That drew my moral compass out of its case and provided more clarity of purpose than anything else in life... An absolute certainty of what is right and, more importantly, what is very wrong. The symbols are ambiguous and misunderstood to the point of no one having a clear picture of what may be taking place in my head. Different symbols carry various meanings from person to person, some of them scaring away individuals before they become willing to delve into the subject matter. My garage will be a glaring representation of the idea that I do not wish to be questioned, ever. The little details inside the previous circle in my apartment will likely appear in the garage soon. One step at a time, as the most important identifier is already there, forty-two inches in diameter for good reason. The clincher? While out there working on the hinges and canopy yesterday, some of the many pins began to withdraw from my being. I have not felt relief to such a degree since I first decided to decorate my apartment more than eleven years ago. Now I have a larger, more visible space, and one subject to my complete control. This is only the beginning. I am still sitting here at the dining table because the thoughts are flowing, as is the coffee. I might have to grab the rest and heat it so I can enjoy a little while longer. 1025 and the routine is finished. I may order a pizza just to be comfortable for a little while. Maybe. Pizza these days is quite expensive, although I can also ask her to pick one up from the market on her way home. She will be there anyway, and rather than spending a shit ton of money on a restaurant, I can have my favorite for dinner later. I'll have to do something else for lunch, I guess. 1153, a few more chores done. I keep reading about the conflict and continue coming to the conclusion that I should be doing something, yet when I head out to the garage, my head goes all over the fucking place. I suppose the food stores we've amassed combined with knowledge will have to suffice for now. THe military training and whatnot. Maybe I'll get a stainless firepit, load it with wood, and sit at the door of the garage with weapon and beer in hand. Loud, obnoxious music, too. I don't know what else to do right now. One certainty is that we always have enough alcohol on hand to ride out any emergency with numbness. I wish that was funny. When the shit hits the fan on this side of the world, perhaps drunken and reckless behavior shall empower me. Or a shower. The garage is not doing it for me today. The dry cleaning was the only reason to be out there for a little while. Everything else feels as a waste of time. I already gathered and organized our emergency stuff, so spinning my wheels in the garage will only make me cold. No sunshine today. Maybe I'll kill this crap for the afternoon and work on the model. Saturday and Sunday are usually days of rest, I suppose. Lots of time and no direction. Sunday morning and eyes in my brain. I saw them yesterday for a little while on the television. I have the fourth show up there with coffee. The third model I had been building was finished yesterday afternoon. My Sunday is going to be primarily for the kitchen and garbage. I need to go through the fridge again, I guess. Sometimes food hides and I lose track of what's in that appliance. While making dinner last night I realized that during my alone time today I can work on the kitchen more. The northern influence which hit me the other day began to return to mind last night, too, but I did nothing about it. Maybe today it will happen again, or maybe I'll have to wait. The door on the shelving unit resulted from the progression of my mood as driven from the north. If it happens today, I'll be out there working on something. Those eyes are frozen in time, like all the others. The J-names. You know. And the memories of other eyes looking at me. I see them and feel a stabbing pain because no one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. There is no one left to listen, I suppose. Everything goes away eventually. The dresses, inspiration, subjects, topics of individual paragraphs, and titles. Everything just rolls along and flattens all so it is eventually unrecognizable. And then it all looks the same. Pins. I am so angry right now that I could destroy many things, but I will not say much more. Add to that the conflict in the east that no one seems to be doing a fucking thing about, and you may see the sheer level of dissatisfaction right now. Maybe. I have to thrown away all my stuff today. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I really don't hear. Her." 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
April 17th, 2022 7:15am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Pins read ( words) "YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Well, Monday morning has arrived with zero fanfare. I have this entire day to myself and it could not have arrived at a better time. The last two have left me ok for the most part, yet the thinking aspect has been haphazard, at best. Now I can stretch it a little. I worked on a garage project yesterday, avoided the model car for a while, and cared for all my business with hours to spare. I have to consider where I am and embrace the solitude. Sometimes a trial is required to send me into the appreciative mode. 0815. Bailey all over this season, sometimes with the inner thigh lines that make me try to understand myself. Her legs are the stuff of dreams, really. In fact, I tried to cap her a while back in certain shots but the clarity was for shit. THere are others, but this morning I am far too unmotivated. Chiclets and thighs, thighs and chiclets. Funny. And Anna's sister's attitude is played so well that I nearly stand up and salute every time I see her facial expressions. Sometimes Bailey takes the cake, though. Jesus. When you're out on there [sic], a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Yesterday I fired up some older music recently rediscovered and worked on the plywood. The funny thing is I finally cut the stock sheet the night before while tooling around out there. I have enough flat surfaces to lay down any sized sheet to work with and configure for my needs. Anyway, I chopped off one end and then clamped it to the shelving unit for posterity. A bit of measuring, and I realized I could construct a nearly forty-eight inch symbol and did just that. Yesterday morning I pulled down the sheet and finished drawing out everything, after which I tore into the painting supplies and blacked out my new announcement. The sheet is now back in place with a clamp, and honestly doesn't look too bad considering the last time I attempted something like this was more than ten years ago when I had a steadier hand. Well, it's done for now, so I can work toward hinging the door and then adding some detail. I may or may not add a canopy along the top to accentuate the symbol while the other colored lighting is on. I have more of the LED strips coming in the mail soon. 0937 and I have yet to rise and care for the routine. Ashley is up there again with Jim and Ryan, looking so fucking delicious that I don't even understand how such a form came into being. Her face, too. Unreal. She is going to be gracing the screen until the end of the series so I'll have to steel myself if I am to leave this on for the duration. I will try to avoid going into detail about her breasts. Very drizzly outside. Windy, too. That is not good for any garage work unless both doors are closed all day. Damn. I suppose I can focus inside the house today. The projects and other items can wait for sunshine. Also, the flags are not out because I need to keep them dry. Storm flags are expensive so I opted for nylon which will bleed colors if exposed to prolonged moisture. Too bad. I had them out there for eight days straight. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Ignore the written grammar. The thought goes back to the eighties and must be displayed verbatim. Meaning. Value. Memory. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1119 and YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I've been stuck by pins. The routine is finished and the weather has not improved. Still quite windy out there, so I will not be working in the garage or displaying the flags today. I'll have to remain indoors for the duration. The atmosphere in the house is very warm today. Everything feels wide open right now. I have little tasks I can finish in order to ensure the evening feels good, too. Small items here and there. I will probably shoot some images of the model again as I had furthered the build the other day and wish to document progress. Also, each step can yield dramatic colors and results that I'd eventually like to have printed for a scrapbook. Ah... Sunshine out there now. I guess my plans can change if the wind tapers off. For the time being, I will stay in the house and do whatever seems best. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, do I ever want to see what her globes look like unclothed. This is what I am, brought on by a hellish combination of weakness and desperation. I would give my afterlife in exchange for five minutes of peace. 1533 and my little world is somewhat in order. I cleaned the bathroom, took care of some dry cleaning, and finished off the model. I also snapped a couple of shots for posterity, yet the contrast and interest are not present so much. At least, not like when it was but half built and full of different colors. Anyway, a few images of the interior. The door project also found inspiration, as I have a working plan for mounting the hinges to one side and a support for the other. That should make a latch easier to install. After flirting with buying an inexpensive fisheye lens for the camera, I must admit I'm still on the fence. The lens is so specialized that everyday work may not go in such directions. I mostly shoot abstract, closeup images which tend to focus upon details rather than a larger landscape. If I do pick up the thing, my first foray will be one of the models before exploring further. The supernatural story came to an end so I went back to the dragons. Last night I calculated that I have only been watching a total of eight series' throughout the last two years or so, barring the errant full-length movie. There are good and bad aspects to such a situation, and most of the bad is tied up in my diminishing ability to differentiate voices at a time when media seems to move at a much faster pace than in the past. The good is my ever-increasing appreciation for what went into those productions I know so well. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1807 and she is stuck on the highway due to a downed power line. The nature of that area is such that turning around and taking another route is very time prohibitive, so waiting is the only other option. The issue has transformed a typically short commute into quite the adventure, so far well over an hour. Should be less than half of that. Ugh. I finished all my work, so the fourth show is on -- one of my favorite episodes featuring Sarah and her huge, dark eyes. Almost cocktail hour. I dismantled the camera setup because the model is finished and the last few images I shot are rather uninteresting. Maybe I'll begin on another car tomorrow and see if that model bears fruit with the camera. Hugh Hefner and Barbi Benton in front of the mansion, 1970 YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Pins everywhere leading to bleeding. Not good. Thus is the present as manufactured by circumstances. And the spreadsheet with site statistics and references is now 354 lines by 29 columns. Unbelievable. I need a drink. 0755 on Tuesday and my head is all over the fortification. Flags out, morning business finished, and some coffee left. I'll probably be here until I become angry or desperate and then move toward something else. That seems to be the pattern lately. There is nothing I can do because no one is listening, and more days of this add up to more anger, less leaving the house, and fortification against anything which may approach our address. No one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. God bless you, mister Staley. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I was going to type a carriage return tag just above this paragraph -- which is 'br' within the brackets -- and the letters appeared as 'bra'. Not funny, as I slip on this keyboard more lately than ever. But the implication is there, too. No getting around that one. NO ONE IS LISTENING. There is no one. This is my future... All holes from pins, memories of happiness, and the occasional pizza. I could fucking destroy the entire world right now, people and all. Everything. If I could snap my fingers and... The physical shit knows no end. No end in sight, no flight, just plight. Blight? No... None of that. Plight may be an incorrect term right now. The house is fine for the most part. Food, heat, comfort. Well, that last one is up for debate as the last several years have demonstrated. What I mean to say is that despite all the pins sticking out of my being, I can still hole up indoors and control the atmosphere. That is all. The rest has been beyond my grasp for too long. Years. Decades, and then the occasional flip from reality which always ended in disaster, soon after finding me in exactly the same position as before those fucking trips. The gradient is incredible right now. Bereft. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I fucking hate everyone. This is going to continue, as well, because nothing can change any longer. Ships have sailed... All of them. Damn, Marayna has got one hell of a pair of breasts crammed into that top. Whatever. Anyway, where was I? Ah... NO ONE IS LISTENING. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Stay away from me because the anger will spill over the dam and cause circumstances with which you really do not wish to be involved. Believe me. This morning is yet the thousandth example that there is a part of my life fading away, never to return. Believe that one, too. Just fucking shove it somewhere painful and then set fire to your face. I don't care. If the fade I am experiencing is more than just a mental result, my demeanor toward other people is going to worsen. Do you think I seldom leave the house? I'll show you. The symbol in the garage is just the beginning. 0927 and I am going to that lady's house at 1100 to replace her shower hose. I'm not in the mood for a protracted discussion, either. I just want to be left alone, but unfortunately I already gave my word. Well, that's the last occasion of my fucking word. People can fuck off. I've been generous enough for this life, Eddie's influence notwithstanding (or my dad's). Jesus, Roxann is so gorgeous all the time. Shoulders. I have laundry and dry cleaning going, the routine and lots of booze very soon, and likely a trip to the small market for a few staples. The last of the coffee is to my right and the fourth show is on the televisions, along with a fucking slew of beauties and a few strikes in the opposite direction. I've done too much reading about this shit lately, too. Far too much. Pissed off all the time. When the afternoon arrives I'll have to shut it off and act as if everything is fine. Inside? Hatred. Anger. Murderous rage. Here comes the cunty paragraph again... 'Don't attach that fucking word to me or even an image of me in your mind. You are not qualified to make such a determination, nor is anyone else. Write it down and burn the paper, and then write it in ink on your forehead and likewise burn it. Yes, burn your forehead. The word is beyond your understanding and has become one of the largest points of contention on earth. Too bad, eh? Just shut your fucking face and forget you ever heard it.' YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1153 and the work down the street is finished, as is my usual routine. Fourth show, still. I also completed the laundry and dry cleaning. Now my day is wide open, for whatever that may be worth. Ahh, I just noticed the site data is in the basement ever since switching the primary hosting domain. Well, I don't give a shit. The numbers can go to hell for all I care. I write because I write. I don't write for any other reason, nor do I maintain this fucking grain of sand for anyone else. Fuck off, all a'yas. I believe the next model I build should be the truck, because the colors could be fantastic in the lens. I'll probably remain here for a little bit and then set up for another project on the dining table. No one is listening. My needs don't matter. I thought by this point life would be different somehow. As usual, I've been wrong to think such things. Boiled down to sitting and building models and then capturing them as if anyone will ever see or care. This is pathetic. More dreams. All alone. No one is listening. Everything is gone. 0713 on Wednesday. I completely flaked on my sister yesterday, but at least she knows me well enough to realize it doesn't mean shit. I'll fix everything like I always do. Today ain't the fuckin' day, though. Today will be all me. The longer morning means I can sit here and bitch my fingers to the bone while watching television, and then after I can delve back into the model which began yesterday. It's fairly complex -- mostly in appearance before the body parts are assembled -- and should prove a good subject for the lens. All of them are fairly similar, actually, in that the inner workings are on display up to the point of building the outer, more color-coordinated sections. Most of the varying colors are underneath when the build is finished. Today I'll do my best to find some interesting angles and then set up my big baby on the tripod. The flags are out again, although they may come in early due to the weather becoming wet later this afternoon. I'll have to keep one eye on the forecast and the other on the sky today. 0722. Jesus, the fucking legs in this commercial. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Holy fuck, Roxanne That sentiment is so old now, perhaps high school era or just after. I remember trying to write back then and completely falling on my face before giving up. The notes are all gone now, too. I have some drawings and such from the Midwest period when I tried to write for the second time, yet all I've been able to see is a mishmash of one-liners and some rhyming sections leading nowhere. I can't even remember the basic direction of any composition because too much is either missing or was never written. The lines above came to me in a dream, and then again thrice, believe it or not. During high school, too. The words are improperly assembled for good reason, and that is because I heard them as such in the dream and had a conversation with a woman involving our location. We were in a desperate situation and trying to survive by staying connected to each other. Not this world, either, but one in which everything is disconnected or otherwise disjointed in such a way so as to make moving in any direction extremely difficult. Like sections with nothing connecting them, or a pathway of stones between which is nothingness and death. We were singing to each other and yearning for support, kind of like the way I feel right now, except I am doing it all alone. The pins were everywhere back then. Now they are stuck in me as if I fell down and have not risen. I don't know why those lines returned to my head the other day but I am glad they did. Just another part of my life I can embrace and love without involving anyone who will eventually ridicule me. The line below the repeating words has been added due to my shit attitude lately. They are related but I will not say how. Figure it out on your own. Wherever she and I were or had been trying to go, pins were everywhere I looked. I do not understand, nor have I thought about that situation for a very long time, possibly even before the Midwest. 0803. Waiting to have my precious time in the house is not easy sometimes. The morning issues flare, my feelings regarding speaking to another person flare, and the need to lash at the world flares. But I have no way of alleviating any of the three. Nothing. No one is listening. The only saving throw is when I am finally alone and can embrace my devices. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I don't feel guilty at all. Ever. Her smiling face is linked to importance, dire thinking and circumstances. The smiling faces have been mentioned here on occasion and lately do not leave my head. Every single person I see -- be it on the television or out there in the world -- forces me to wonder about the possibility of that same smile. Every single fucking person. And then there is her face. Yes, that one... The face involved in many mornings and often into an afternoon depending upon what I am doing and the level of work. Ahh... Booties in the background on the news. Reminds me of Andrea. I don't even think she had any other type of footwear when we were in Vegas, and then in Florida she needed to buy a pair of sandals to avoid wearing booties to the pool. So funny. Anyway, the smiling face causes so much emotional turmoil and damage that I could spend the rest of my life sitting here typing and still be unable to fully express the situation. Her smile is linked to the importance because she knows everything and always has. Every fucking day, this shit. Every fucking day no matter the world events or positives I can embrace. Every fucking day. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Maybe I should just turn my back on what I learned from Eddie and my father and become a complete fucking asshole. I'm alone, anyway, right? What's the fucking difference? Tell me. And good luck. Probably easier to find the dream woman -- 'her' -- and charge her up like Jaime. Yeah... That's what I thought. Go away. So... This is a daily thing, becoming more dire as the weeks and months roll by, and probably exacerbated by the sheer amount of time I've had since the beginning of the pandemic. While working full-time, everything was in mind during the mornings, yet once we had to kick into gear, I did not have the space to think quite as much. The only downside to the work schedule was seeing all those fucking forms out there in the world and being unable to reconcile everything. I honestly don't know which is worse, because I am no longer out there much but while home I see nearly as much right up there on the big television. Not so easy to turn away. Plus, I keep seeing the smiling face and feeling as if my life is completely over save for the little enjoyments. And believe me, they are fucking LITTLE. My situation of late is diminishing. As of yet, the only event which could trigger a major difference would be a massive, unexpected windfall. Like the lottery. Unfortunately, the likelihood of that is about as remote as the smiling face showing up here one morning. Yep. Not good. There went the booties again. I need to put one of the shows on, I guess. The news is going through a second hour and the stories are repeating. Whatever. 0749 on Thursday morning. I woke up a bit later than I'd prefer. Right now the time alone feels expansive. Part of it, anyway. Some is still shit like any other morning, although I can deal with the downside because I'm used to it. I have to try embracing those aspects of the day which make me comfortable and leave it at that. The rest must be pushed, hard. While I can admit being fully accustomed to my daily routine and knowing in advance what is going to take place inside me, still the effort is great from one day to the next. I may expect issues, but that does not mean I can easily deal with it. That fucking face won't let go sometimes. I do not have the flags out because of inclement weather. The colors may bleed on one of them due to it having been printed rather than stitched, but whatever. While the weather is wet, I'll just leave them in the garage. Very quiet in here right now, just as most days. I still receive the occasional message, though. For the most part, this is the sound in the house all day long... Quiet. The cats do their thing and I can think. The media doesn't derail my thinking at all anymore. Well, that is to say I am not distracted much. The strikes are still present but at least I know what to expect. I've already been struck upside the head and dealt with it accordingly. Foiled again, like always. Whatever. This is what I've been left alone to work with, so again... I know what to expect. Wishing things away 'don't get it done'. Nothing will change because the good has flown away and left me sitting here bereft of ears. This is not a bit surprising, either. I forecasted such a situation many years ago after gallivanting all over the nation in search of those very same ears. I knew it. How many occasions have had me typing 'this is a bad time'? Plenty, that's the answer. I just received another message asking if I wish to get out of the house for a while and help with some work. Don't know about that one. The quick simplicity of going shopping without even leaving town has been a stretch, and the massive plus to such trips is that I am in charge of where I go, when, and when I return here to hole up again. Work is quite the reverse. And even though I have such trouble here at times, going to work feels worse. Christ knows what I'll see out there, too. That last trip to the city when I sat and watched the gorgeous, shapely runner over and over was extremely uncomfortable. I don't need any more of that shit these days. While home, I am in complete control of everything, and that fact could keep me behind closed doors for a very long time, issues or not. That paragraph went off the rails. Tilt-shift effect, post image Great episode, this one. Fourth show, third season. Just when stories were rolling downhill, this masterpiece came along, and none too soon. Sometimes I wish the creative forces behind these series' didn't resort to old, tired plot devices. Oh, I'll be watching for the duration anyway. I can be very forgiving. Besides, they are family. The characters, that is, not the creators. Heh. Sometimes the basic look and feel of the show combined with simple character interaction are enough for me to let go of expectations. I need them up there. Work message squashed again. I've been very ambiguous lately because I've no wish to upset my little apple cart. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. One of the pins is the memory of visiting Arby's near the big domes. That particular location was the first (I believe) to assess the feasibility of a touchscreen ordering system, one in which the patron selected items from the screen and then paid -- and I am uncertain if payment was limited to cards or if they also accepted cash. The screen was directly above the counter and obscured the view of employees in the kitchen. I recall that era of high technology because public touchscreens were in their infancy for some industries, and certainly for a restaurant. I loved it, yet did not consider the aftereffects of having less person to person interaction. That stuff didn't enter into my mind at the time because anything automated or futuristic was fascinating to the point of pushing my brain into science fiction territory. That entire time period was rife with new and exciting turns, and I believe I've gone into the stores in the mall and all that crap. The point is that the restaurant memory conjures all sorts of other tidbits from those times and places, especially considering that the domes were right around the corner from it. 0630 on Friday. I think I'm actually anticipating the alone time more today than yesterday. Well, I often feel the day is wide open at this point, so hopefully my physical actions can follow suit. Yesterday I fell off a bit in the afternoon but it really didn't matter. More of the work is for me rather than anyone else. Today will be what I make of it, I suppose. Flags out. They remained in the garage yesterday due to the weather. 0754. Routine soon, possibly work in the garage toward my cabinet project. Right now I have to enjoy the remaining coffee. Pause for the cause. 0858 and half the routine is already finished because I feel that the free time must be filled with production today. Don't ask me why, though. I just needed to run around and care for some shit early. Fourth show, fourth season now, and the last of the coffee. This endeavor will likely relocate to the dining table as of later today, eventually moving back into the old office because my knees are having trouble with the sofa positioning. I've been flirting with the idea of another computer as a backup just in case this one has some sort of meltdown or if updating software ends up exceeding the hardware abilities. I may opt for a desktop machine again, too. There can be tons of power at a lower cost, meaning this will become the backup just like in the beginning. My motivation this morning may have been caused in part by news from the east. The term 'nuclear' continues to appear in the news feed, and that single word can create all manner of worry. Fortification, yet again. Thanks, asshole. I really didn't need anything else on my head. The show yesterday ran right into -- and eventually through -- one of the most demeaning conversations in recent memory. I can't fucking stand it, although considering the atmosphere and tone of the circumstances, the exchange seems realistic. My reaction is always anger, though. Can't help it anymore. Society has done this to me and left a gaping hole where any understanding could have grown. The absence of such feelings in my life is becoming worse as the days roll by. I don't see an out in the future. Just another pin, really. Holes in me caused by forces unwilling to bend. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I need to go into the archive binder and find what I wrote all those years ago. My life may depend upon it. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. THE BLUE DRESS IS GONE. I tried to capture some decent images of the current model yesterday but nothing really blew my skirt up. I believe the lack of a photo booth is key. When I was in the cave, I constructed a small booth from foam core for the purpose of better lighting while trying to photograph wristwatches. For the most part, it worked well in conjunction with a flash hood. Those were small subjects, though, and nothing like the larger models I've been trying to detail. The booth is important for neutralizing background information and may push me to build another. I can make it foldable so it doesn't take up too much space when not in use. Wow, is Jennifer ever lovely with the longer hair and big eyes. Too bad that all went to shit years later. I feel for her, although not knowing of the details I cannot comment further. Anyway, I'll probably finish the model today and see if any angle looks good in the lens. Plenty of time. Recently I saw something that I've experienced in the past on a few rare occasions. I know what it is, but I have no clue as to the how or why. The situation is elusive beyond belief. The last time was quite a while ago and I cannot go into detail nor define the subject. NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING. There can be no hope of such an experience again, especially considering it requires deep conversation and much understanding. When I say 'bereft', I fucking mean it. Seeing an example of a similar situation nearly broke me in half. Right now there is little in life that does not piss me off beyond comprehension. I don't even know why I brought this up. How can this exposition and exploration be therapeutic if I continue to worsen? Yeah... That's what I thought, fucksticks. 'Better to have...' What? What did you say? Shove it in your ass. Fuck everyone. Those work messages are going to heretofore fall on deaf ears. Others, too. I just don't give a shit anymore. Oh, if I could just exercise my needs fully, many problems would disappear. Alas, I have zero fucking power. 0923 and I am nearly out of coffee. I believe some further study for the shelving system door is on tap for when I finish the kitchen. I have everything required save for some stainless washers, but perhaps I can have everything ready for when they are delivered. I can't count on the local hardware store to stock exotic fasteners, so everything has to be purchased on the Internet. The work is straightforward. Maybe today is the day for a beginning. The symbol must remain in place to dissuade people from believing they understand me. 0747 on Saturday morning and I am not on the sofa. Coffee, television, IDE, but no sofa because I suspect my hips have been bothering me due to sitting in certain positions during the mornings. I am going to perform an experiment beginning today and concluding four weeks from now. I'll be using the dining table as a desk while writing, sitting with better posture. This will be my morning routine of choice instead of the couch. One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of feeling as if my joints are much older than the numbers on my driver's license. Not funny. The noise is gone and I have the next four or five hours to myself. Rain outside, so no flags today. How is that even possible? Yesterday during the mid-morning and part way into my typical cocktail, I decided to head out to the garage and focus upon hinging the shelving door. Rather than stringers or other support behind the hinges, I opted to mount everything directly to the frame. After some painstaking calculations and lots of thinking, the door is swinging fine, level for the most part, and stable. Afterward, I added a canopy above my big symbol and three rows of LEDs inside. The power is tied in to the light bar just above Emily's image on the back wall. Last night I fired up everything and adjusted the color to be ready for whatever kind of evening stuff takes place during the warmer weather. I may add a couple of strips along the sides to better contain the light. Not sure yet. But the project is finished. Well, this stage, anyway. Other symbolism may creep in. The weather outside is going to preclude most work in the garage today. I may have to remain indoors and work on whatever seems best. The routine will not take very long today because we did not cook dinner last night. Passover is always rather goofy when it comes to meal planning. Too many restrictions. Once I have all that finished, I may move back into working on the model and photographing different details. I have much to say here though, but don't know how to do it most of the time. Perhaps today I can work within and then splay the results here at a later time. Hopefully the rain does not take up all my daylight hours. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT, MOTHERFUCKS. Pissed off, as always. Pinned. I just took the main index offline again and left a message. Fuck people, anyway. I just can't get myself to care what others think of the site or its contents. Images have been truncated, but that was out of my own sense of decorum. Nothing more, and certainly not due to concerns over what people may see. Like many other mornings, this one has become a failure. I'll have to leave this shit alone soon and work on my routine. The rain has ceased for the time being. 0904. Last of the coffee. The symbol gracing the back of my garage will remain a work in progress as it may need to grow over time. Like the cave, eventually other symbolism will appear here and there until I am satisfied that the point is made. No one is going to like it or understand, however, because the philosophies I embrace daily are beyond the scope of typical societal norms. I shut down the squareheads weeks ago because I did not wish them to come here and ask how I feel about anything. The answers would undoubtedly send them away shortly after arriving. The first visit was fine due to the media opening my mind and raising questions I thought they may have answered. Little did I know, their agenda does not change, no matter the subject or recipient. Years of listening combined with decades of learning have helped me to draw a conclusion. They represent the exact same doctrine and 'ends' as the other groups around the world, save for one, I believe. My education went only so far, yet I soon found a sense of rightness within some of the teachings. That drew my moral compass out of its case and provided more clarity of purpose than anything else in life... An absolute certainty of what is right and, more importantly, what is very wrong. The symbols are ambiguous and misunderstood to the point of no one having a clear picture of what may be taking place in my head. Different symbols carry various meanings from person to person, some of them scaring away individuals before they become willing to delve into the subject matter. My garage will be a glaring representation of the idea that I do not wish to be questioned, ever. The little details inside the previous circle in my apartment will likely appear in the garage soon. One step at a time, as the most important identifier is already there, forty-two inches in diameter for good reason. The clincher? While out there working on the hinges and canopy yesterday, some of the many pins began to withdraw from my being. I have not felt relief to such a degree since I first decided to decorate my apartment more than eleven years ago. Now I have a larger, more visible space, and one subject to my complete control. This is only the beginning. I am still sitting here at the dining table because the thoughts are flowing, as is the coffee. I might have to grab the rest and heat it so I can enjoy a little while longer. 1025 and the routine is finished. I may order a pizza just to be comfortable for a little while. Maybe. Pizza these days is quite expensive, although I can also ask her to pick one up from the market on her way home. She will be there anyway, and rather than spending a shit ton of money on a restaurant, I can have my favorite for dinner later. I'll have to do something else for lunch, I guess. 1153, a few more chores done. I keep reading about the conflict and continue coming to the conclusion that I should be doing something, yet when I head out to the garage, my head goes all over the fucking place. I suppose the food stores we've amassed combined with knowledge will have to suffice for now. THe military training and whatnot. Maybe I'll get a stainless firepit, load it with wood, and sit at the door of the garage with weapon and beer in hand. Loud, obnoxious music, too. I don't know what else to do right now. One certainty is that we always have enough alcohol on hand to ride out any emergency with numbness. I wish that was funny. When the shit hits the fan on this side of the world, perhaps drunken and reckless behavior shall empower me. Or a shower. The garage is not doing it for me today. The dry cleaning was the only reason to be out there for a little while. Everything else feels as a waste of time. I already gathered and organized our emergency stuff, so spinning my wheels in the garage will only make me cold. No sunshine today. Maybe I'll kill this crap for the afternoon and work on the model. Saturday and Sunday are usually days of rest, I suppose. Lots of time and no direction. Sunday morning and eyes in my brain. I saw them yesterday for a little while on the television. I have the fourth show up there with coffee. The third model I had been building was finished yesterday afternoon. My Sunday is going to be primarily for the kitchen and garbage. I need to go through the fridge again, I guess. Sometimes food hides and I lose track of what's in that appliance. While making dinner last night I realized that during my alone time today I can work on the kitchen more. The northern influence which hit me the other day began to return to mind last night, too, but I did nothing about it. Maybe today it will happen again, or maybe I'll have to wait. The door on the shelving unit resulted from the progression of my mood as driven from the north. If it happens today, I'll be out there working on something. Those eyes are frozen in time, like all the others. The J-names. You know. And the memories of other eyes looking at me. I see them and feel a stabbing pain because no one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. There is no one left to listen, I suppose. Everything goes away eventually. The dresses, inspiration, subjects, topics of individual paragraphs, and titles. Everything just rolls along and flattens all so it is eventually unrecognizable. And then it all looks the same. Pins. I am so angry right now that I could destroy many things, but I will not say much more. Add to that the conflict in the east that no one seems to be doing a fucking thing about, and you may see the sheer level of dissatisfaction right now. Maybe. I have to thrown away all my stuff today. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I really don't hear. Her."
April 17th, 2022 7:15am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
Pins
read ( words)
"YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Well, Monday morning has arrived with zero fanfare. I have this entire day to myself and it could not have arrived at a better time. The last two have left me ok for the most part, yet the thinking aspect has been haphazard, at best. Now I can stretch it a little. I worked on a garage project yesterday, avoided the model car for a while, and cared for all my business with hours to spare. I have to consider where I am and embrace the solitude. Sometimes a trial is required to send me into the appreciative mode. 0815. Bailey all over this season, sometimes with the inner thigh lines that make me try to understand myself. Her legs are the stuff of dreams, really. In fact, I tried to cap her a while back in certain shots but the clarity was for shit. THere are others, but this morning I am far too unmotivated. Chiclets and thighs, thighs and chiclets. Funny. And Anna's sister's attitude is played so well that I nearly stand up and salute every time I see her facial expressions. Sometimes Bailey takes the cake, though. Jesus. When you're out on there [sic], a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Yesterday I fired up some older music recently rediscovered and worked on the plywood. The funny thing is I finally cut the stock sheet the night before while tooling around out there. I have enough flat surfaces to lay down any sized sheet to work with and configure for my needs. Anyway, I chopped off one end and then clamped it to the shelving unit for posterity. A bit of measuring, and I realized I could construct a nearly forty-eight inch symbol and did just that. Yesterday morning I pulled down the sheet and finished drawing out everything, after which I tore into the painting supplies and blacked out my new announcement. The sheet is now back in place with a clamp, and honestly doesn't look too bad considering the last time I attempted something like this was more than ten years ago when I had a steadier hand. Well, it's done for now, so I can work toward hinging the door and then adding some detail. I may or may not add a canopy along the top to accentuate the symbol while the other colored lighting is on. I have more of the LED strips coming in the mail soon. 0937 and I have yet to rise and care for the routine. Ashley is up there again with Jim and Ryan, looking so fucking delicious that I don't even understand how such a form came into being. Her face, too. Unreal. She is going to be gracing the screen until the end of the series so I'll have to steel myself if I am to leave this on for the duration. I will try to avoid going into detail about her breasts. Very drizzly outside. Windy, too. That is not good for any garage work unless both doors are closed all day. Damn. I suppose I can focus inside the house today. The projects and other items can wait for sunshine. Also, the flags are not out because I need to keep them dry. Storm flags are expensive so I opted for nylon which will bleed colors if exposed to prolonged moisture. Too bad. I had them out there for eight days straight. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Ignore the written grammar. The thought goes back to the eighties and must be displayed verbatim. Meaning. Value. Memory. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1119 and YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I've been stuck by pins. The routine is finished and the weather has not improved. Still quite windy out there, so I will not be working in the garage or displaying the flags today. I'll have to remain indoors for the duration. The atmosphere in the house is very warm today. Everything feels wide open right now. I have little tasks I can finish in order to ensure the evening feels good, too. Small items here and there. I will probably shoot some images of the model again as I had furthered the build the other day and wish to document progress. Also, each step can yield dramatic colors and results that I'd eventually like to have printed for a scrapbook. Ah... Sunshine out there now. I guess my plans can change if the wind tapers off. For the time being, I will stay in the house and do whatever seems best. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, do I ever want to see what her globes look like unclothed. This is what I am, brought on by a hellish combination of weakness and desperation. I would give my afterlife in exchange for five minutes of peace. 1533 and my little world is somewhat in order. I cleaned the bathroom, took care of some dry cleaning, and finished off the model. I also snapped a couple of shots for posterity, yet the contrast and interest are not present so much. At least, not like when it was but half built and full of different colors. Anyway, a few images of the interior. The door project also found inspiration, as I have a working plan for mounting the hinges to one side and a support for the other. That should make a latch easier to install. After flirting with buying an inexpensive fisheye lens for the camera, I must admit I'm still on the fence. The lens is so specialized that everyday work may not go in such directions. I mostly shoot abstract, closeup images which tend to focus upon details rather than a larger landscape. If I do pick up the thing, my first foray will be one of the models before exploring further. The supernatural story came to an end so I went back to the dragons. Last night I calculated that I have only been watching a total of eight series' throughout the last two years or so, barring the errant full-length movie. There are good and bad aspects to such a situation, and most of the bad is tied up in my diminishing ability to differentiate voices at a time when media seems to move at a much faster pace than in the past. The good is my ever-increasing appreciation for what went into those productions I know so well. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1807 and she is stuck on the highway due to a downed power line. The nature of that area is such that turning around and taking another route is very time prohibitive, so waiting is the only other option. The issue has transformed a typically short commute into quite the adventure, so far well over an hour. Should be less than half of that. Ugh. I finished all my work, so the fourth show is on -- one of my favorite episodes featuring Sarah and her huge, dark eyes. Almost cocktail hour. I dismantled the camera setup because the model is finished and the last few images I shot are rather uninteresting. Maybe I'll begin on another car tomorrow and see if that model bears fruit with the camera.
Hugh Hefner and Barbi Benton in front of the mansion, 1970
YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Pins everywhere leading to bleeding. Not good. Thus is the present as manufactured by circumstances. And the spreadsheet with site statistics and references is now 354 lines by 29 columns. Unbelievable. I need a drink. 0755 on Tuesday and my head is all over the fortification. Flags out, morning business finished, and some coffee left. I'll probably be here until I become angry or desperate and then move toward something else. That seems to be the pattern lately. There is nothing I can do because no one is listening, and more days of this add up to more anger, less leaving the house, and fortification against anything which may approach our address. No one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. God bless you, mister Staley. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I was going to type a carriage return tag just above this paragraph -- which is 'br' within the brackets -- and the letters appeared as 'bra'. Not funny, as I slip on this keyboard more lately than ever. But the implication is there, too. No getting around that one. NO ONE IS LISTENING. There is no one. This is my future... All holes from pins, memories of happiness, and the occasional pizza. I could fucking destroy the entire world right now, people and all. Everything. If I could snap my fingers and... The physical shit knows no end. No end in sight, no flight, just plight. Blight? No... None of that. Plight may be an incorrect term right now. The house is fine for the most part. Food, heat, comfort. Well, that last one is up for debate as the last several years have demonstrated. What I mean to say is that despite all the pins sticking out of my being, I can still hole up indoors and control the atmosphere. That is all. The rest has been beyond my grasp for too long. Years. Decades, and then the occasional flip from reality which always ended in disaster, soon after finding me in exactly the same position as before those fucking trips. The gradient is incredible right now. Bereft. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I fucking hate everyone. This is going to continue, as well, because nothing can change any longer. Ships have sailed... All of them. Damn, Marayna has got one hell of a pair of breasts crammed into that top. Whatever. Anyway, where was I? Ah... NO ONE IS LISTENING. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Stay away from me because the anger will spill over the dam and cause circumstances with which you really do not wish to be involved. Believe me. This morning is yet the thousandth example that there is a part of my life fading away, never to return. Believe that one, too. Just fucking shove it somewhere painful and then set fire to your face. I don't care. If the fade I am experiencing is more than just a mental result, my demeanor toward other people is going to worsen. Do you think I seldom leave the house? I'll show you. The symbol in the garage is just the beginning. 0927 and I am going to that lady's house at 1100 to replace her shower hose. I'm not in the mood for a protracted discussion, either. I just want to be left alone, but unfortunately I already gave my word. Well, that's the last occasion of my fucking word. People can fuck off. I've been generous enough for this life, Eddie's influence notwithstanding (or my dad's). Jesus, Roxann is so gorgeous all the time. Shoulders. I have laundry and dry cleaning going, the routine and lots of booze very soon, and likely a trip to the small market for a few staples. The last of the coffee is to my right and the fourth show is on the televisions, along with a fucking slew of beauties and a few strikes in the opposite direction. I've done too much reading about this shit lately, too. Far too much. Pissed off all the time. When the afternoon arrives I'll have to shut it off and act as if everything is fine. Inside? Hatred. Anger. Murderous rage. Here comes the cunty paragraph again... 'Don't attach that fucking word to me or even an image of me in your mind. You are not qualified to make such a determination, nor is anyone else. Write it down and burn the paper, and then write it in ink on your forehead and likewise burn it. Yes, burn your forehead. The word is beyond your understanding and has become one of the largest points of contention on earth. Too bad, eh? Just shut your fucking face and forget you ever heard it.' YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. 1153 and the work down the street is finished, as is my usual routine. Fourth show, still. I also completed the laundry and dry cleaning. Now my day is wide open, for whatever that may be worth. Ahh, I just noticed the site data is in the basement ever since switching the primary hosting domain. Well, I don't give a shit. The numbers can go to hell for all I care. I write because I write. I don't write for any other reason, nor do I maintain this fucking grain of sand for anyone else. Fuck off, all a'yas. I believe the next model I build should be the truck, because the colors could be fantastic in the lens. I'll probably remain here for a little bit and then set up for another project on the dining table. No one is listening. My needs don't matter. I thought by this point life would be different somehow. As usual, I've been wrong to think such things. Boiled down to sitting and building models and then capturing them as if anyone will ever see or care. This is pathetic. More dreams. All alone. No one is listening. Everything is gone. 0713 on Wednesday. I completely flaked on my sister yesterday, but at least she knows me well enough to realize it doesn't mean shit. I'll fix everything like I always do. Today ain't the fuckin' day, though. Today will be all me. The longer morning means I can sit here and bitch my fingers to the bone while watching television, and then after I can delve back into the model which began yesterday. It's fairly complex -- mostly in appearance before the body parts are assembled -- and should prove a good subject for the lens. All of them are fairly similar, actually, in that the inner workings are on display up to the point of building the outer, more color-coordinated sections. Most of the varying colors are underneath when the build is finished. Today I'll do my best to find some interesting angles and then set up my big baby on the tripod. The flags are out again, although they may come in early due to the weather becoming wet later this afternoon. I'll have to keep one eye on the forecast and the other on the sky today. 0722. Jesus, the fucking legs in this commercial. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT.
Holy fuck, Roxanne
That sentiment is so old now, perhaps high school era or just after. I remember trying to write back then and completely falling on my face before giving up. The notes are all gone now, too. I have some drawings and such from the Midwest period when I tried to write for the second time, yet all I've been able to see is a mishmash of one-liners and some rhyming sections leading nowhere. I can't even remember the basic direction of any composition because too much is either missing or was never written. The lines above came to me in a dream, and then again thrice, believe it or not. During high school, too. The words are improperly assembled for good reason, and that is because I heard them as such in the dream and had a conversation with a woman involving our location. We were in a desperate situation and trying to survive by staying connected to each other. Not this world, either, but one in which everything is disconnected or otherwise disjointed in such a way so as to make moving in any direction extremely difficult. Like sections with nothing connecting them, or a pathway of stones between which is nothingness and death. We were singing to each other and yearning for support, kind of like the way I feel right now, except I am doing it all alone. The pins were everywhere back then. Now they are stuck in me as if I fell down and have not risen. I don't know why those lines returned to my head the other day but I am glad they did. Just another part of my life I can embrace and love without involving anyone who will eventually ridicule me. The line below the repeating words has been added due to my shit attitude lately. They are related but I will not say how. Figure it out on your own. Wherever she and I were or had been trying to go, pins were everywhere I looked. I do not understand, nor have I thought about that situation for a very long time, possibly even before the Midwest. 0803. Waiting to have my precious time in the house is not easy sometimes. The morning issues flare, my feelings regarding speaking to another person flare, and the need to lash at the world flares. But I have no way of alleviating any of the three. Nothing. No one is listening. The only saving throw is when I am finally alone and can embrace my devices. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I don't feel guilty at all. Ever. Her smiling face is linked to importance, dire thinking and circumstances. The smiling faces have been mentioned here on occasion and lately do not leave my head. Every single person I see -- be it on the television or out there in the world -- forces me to wonder about the possibility of that same smile. Every single fucking person. And then there is her face. Yes, that one... The face involved in many mornings and often into an afternoon depending upon what I am doing and the level of work. Ahh... Booties in the background on the news. Reminds me of Andrea. I don't even think she had any other type of footwear when we were in Vegas, and then in Florida she needed to buy a pair of sandals to avoid wearing booties to the pool. So funny. Anyway, the smiling face causes so much emotional turmoil and damage that I could spend the rest of my life sitting here typing and still be unable to fully express the situation. Her smile is linked to the importance because she knows everything and always has. Every fucking day, this shit. Every fucking day no matter the world events or positives I can embrace. Every fucking day. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. Maybe I should just turn my back on what I learned from Eddie and my father and become a complete fucking asshole. I'm alone, anyway, right? What's the fucking difference? Tell me. And good luck. Probably easier to find the dream woman -- 'her' -- and charge her up like Jaime. Yeah... That's what I thought. Go away. So... This is a daily thing, becoming more dire as the weeks and months roll by, and probably exacerbated by the sheer amount of time I've had since the beginning of the pandemic. While working full-time, everything was in mind during the mornings, yet once we had to kick into gear, I did not have the space to think quite as much. The only downside to the work schedule was seeing all those fucking forms out there in the world and being unable to reconcile everything. I honestly don't know which is worse, because I am no longer out there much but while home I see nearly as much right up there on the big television. Not so easy to turn away. Plus, I keep seeing the smiling face and feeling as if my life is completely over save for the little enjoyments. And believe me, they are fucking LITTLE. My situation of late is diminishing. As of yet, the only event which could trigger a major difference would be a massive, unexpected windfall. Like the lottery. Unfortunately, the likelihood of that is about as remote as the smiling face showing up here one morning. Yep. Not good. There went the booties again. I need to put one of the shows on, I guess. The news is going through a second hour and the stories are repeating. Whatever. 0749 on Thursday morning. I woke up a bit later than I'd prefer. Right now the time alone feels expansive. Part of it, anyway. Some is still shit like any other morning, although I can deal with the downside because I'm used to it. I have to try embracing those aspects of the day which make me comfortable and leave it at that. The rest must be pushed, hard. While I can admit being fully accustomed to my daily routine and knowing in advance what is going to take place inside me, still the effort is great from one day to the next. I may expect issues, but that does not mean I can easily deal with it. That fucking face won't let go sometimes. I do not have the flags out because of inclement weather. The colors may bleed on one of them due to it having been printed rather than stitched, but whatever. While the weather is wet, I'll just leave them in the garage. Very quiet in here right now, just as most days. I still receive the occasional message, though. For the most part, this is the sound in the house all day long... Quiet. The cats do their thing and I can think. The media doesn't derail my thinking at all anymore. Well, that is to say I am not distracted much. The strikes are still present but at least I know what to expect. I've already been struck upside the head and dealt with it accordingly. Foiled again, like always. Whatever. This is what I've been left alone to work with, so again... I know what to expect. Wishing things away 'don't get it done'. Nothing will change because the good has flown away and left me sitting here bereft of ears. This is not a bit surprising, either. I forecasted such a situation many years ago after gallivanting all over the nation in search of those very same ears. I knew it. How many occasions have had me typing 'this is a bad time'? Plenty, that's the answer. I just received another message asking if I wish to get out of the house for a while and help with some work. Don't know about that one. The quick simplicity of going shopping without even leaving town has been a stretch, and the massive plus to such trips is that I am in charge of where I go, when, and when I return here to hole up again. Work is quite the reverse. And even though I have such trouble here at times, going to work feels worse. Christ knows what I'll see out there, too. That last trip to the city when I sat and watched the gorgeous, shapely runner over and over was extremely uncomfortable. I don't need any more of that shit these days. While home, I am in complete control of everything, and that fact could keep me behind closed doors for a very long time, issues or not. That paragraph went off the rails.
Tilt-shift effect, post image
Great episode, this one. Fourth show, third season. Just when stories were rolling downhill, this masterpiece came along, and none too soon. Sometimes I wish the creative forces behind these series' didn't resort to old, tired plot devices. Oh, I'll be watching for the duration anyway. I can be very forgiving. Besides, they are family. The characters, that is, not the creators. Heh. Sometimes the basic look and feel of the show combined with simple character interaction are enough for me to let go of expectations. I need them up there. Work message squashed again. I've been very ambiguous lately because I've no wish to upset my little apple cart. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. One of the pins is the memory of visiting Arby's near the big domes. That particular location was the first (I believe) to assess the feasibility of a touchscreen ordering system, one in which the patron selected items from the screen and then paid -- and I am uncertain if payment was limited to cards or if they also accepted cash. The screen was directly above the counter and obscured the view of employees in the kitchen. I recall that era of high technology because public touchscreens were in their infancy for some industries, and certainly for a restaurant. I loved it, yet did not consider the aftereffects of having less person to person interaction. That stuff didn't enter into my mind at the time because anything automated or futuristic was fascinating to the point of pushing my brain into science fiction territory. That entire time period was rife with new and exciting turns, and I believe I've gone into the stores in the mall and all that crap. The point is that the restaurant memory conjures all sorts of other tidbits from those times and places, especially considering that the domes were right around the corner from it. 0630 on Friday. I think I'm actually anticipating the alone time more today than yesterday. Well, I often feel the day is wide open at this point, so hopefully my physical actions can follow suit. Yesterday I fell off a bit in the afternoon but it really didn't matter. More of the work is for me rather than anyone else. Today will be what I make of it, I suppose. Flags out. They remained in the garage yesterday due to the weather. 0754. Routine soon, possibly work in the garage toward my cabinet project. Right now I have to enjoy the remaining coffee. Pause for the cause. 0858 and half the routine is already finished because I feel that the free time must be filled with production today. Don't ask me why, though. I just needed to run around and care for some shit early. Fourth show, fourth season now, and the last of the coffee. This endeavor will likely relocate to the dining table as of later today, eventually moving back into the old office because my knees are having trouble with the sofa positioning. I've been flirting with the idea of another computer as a backup just in case this one has some sort of meltdown or if updating software ends up exceeding the hardware abilities. I may opt for a desktop machine again, too. There can be tons of power at a lower cost, meaning this will become the backup just like in the beginning. My motivation this morning may have been caused in part by news from the east. The term 'nuclear' continues to appear in the news feed, and that single word can create all manner of worry. Fortification, yet again. Thanks, asshole. I really didn't need anything else on my head. The show yesterday ran right into -- and eventually through -- one of the most demeaning conversations in recent memory. I can't fucking stand it, although considering the atmosphere and tone of the circumstances, the exchange seems realistic. My reaction is always anger, though. Can't help it anymore. Society has done this to me and left a gaping hole where any understanding could have grown. The absence of such feelings in my life is becoming worse as the days roll by. I don't see an out in the future. Just another pin, really. Holes in me caused by forces unwilling to bend. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I need to go into the archive binder and find what I wrote all those years ago. My life may depend upon it. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. THE BLUE DRESS IS GONE. I tried to capture some decent images of the current model yesterday but nothing really blew my skirt up. I believe the lack of a photo booth is key. When I was in the cave, I constructed a small booth from foam core for the purpose of better lighting while trying to photograph wristwatches. For the most part, it worked well in conjunction with a flash hood. Those were small subjects, though, and nothing like the larger models I've been trying to detail. The booth is important for neutralizing background information and may push me to build another. I can make it foldable so it doesn't take up too much space when not in use. Wow, is Jennifer ever lovely with the longer hair and big eyes. Too bad that all went to shit years later. I feel for her, although not knowing of the details I cannot comment further. Anyway, I'll probably finish the model today and see if any angle looks good in the lens. Plenty of time. Recently I saw something that I've experienced in the past on a few rare occasions. I know what it is, but I have no clue as to the how or why. The situation is elusive beyond belief. The last time was quite a while ago and I cannot go into detail nor define the subject. NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING. There can be no hope of such an experience again, especially considering it requires deep conversation and much understanding. When I say 'bereft', I fucking mean it. Seeing an example of a similar situation nearly broke me in half. Right now there is little in life that does not piss me off beyond comprehension. I don't even know why I brought this up. How can this exposition and exploration be therapeutic if I continue to worsen? Yeah... That's what I thought, fucksticks. 'Better to have...' What? What did you say? Shove it in your ass. Fuck everyone. Those work messages are going to heretofore fall on deaf ears. Others, too. I just don't give a shit anymore. Oh, if I could just exercise my needs fully, many problems would disappear. Alas, I have zero fucking power. 0923 and I am nearly out of coffee. I believe some further study for the shelving system door is on tap for when I finish the kitchen. I have everything required save for some stainless washers, but perhaps I can have everything ready for when they are delivered. I can't count on the local hardware store to stock exotic fasteners, so everything has to be purchased on the Internet. The work is straightforward. Maybe today is the day for a beginning. The symbol must remain in place to dissuade people from believing they understand me. 0747 on Saturday morning and I am not on the sofa. Coffee, television, IDE, but no sofa because I suspect my hips have been bothering me due to sitting in certain positions during the mornings. I am going to perform an experiment beginning today and concluding four weeks from now. I'll be using the dining table as a desk while writing, sitting with better posture. This will be my morning routine of choice instead of the couch. One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of feeling as if my joints are much older than the numbers on my driver's license. Not funny. The noise is gone and I have the next four or five hours to myself. Rain outside, so no flags today.
How is that even possible?
Yesterday during the mid-morning and part way into my typical cocktail, I decided to head out to the garage and focus upon hinging the shelving door. Rather than stringers or other support behind the hinges, I opted to mount everything directly to the frame. After some painstaking calculations and lots of thinking, the door is swinging fine, level for the most part, and stable. Afterward, I added a canopy above my big symbol and three rows of LEDs inside. The power is tied in to the light bar just above Emily's image on the back wall. Last night I fired up everything and adjusted the color to be ready for whatever kind of evening stuff takes place during the warmer weather. I may add a couple of strips along the sides to better contain the light. Not sure yet. But the project is finished. Well, this stage, anyway. Other symbolism may creep in. The weather outside is going to preclude most work in the garage today. I may have to remain indoors and work on whatever seems best. The routine will not take very long today because we did not cook dinner last night. Passover is always rather goofy when it comes to meal planning. Too many restrictions. Once I have all that finished, I may move back into working on the model and photographing different details. I have much to say here though, but don't know how to do it most of the time. Perhaps today I can work within and then splay the results here at a later time. Hopefully the rain does not take up all my daylight hours. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT, MOTHERFUCKS. Pissed off, as always. Pinned. I just took the main index offline again and left a message. Fuck people, anyway. I just can't get myself to care what others think of the site or its contents. Images have been truncated, but that was out of my own sense of decorum. Nothing more, and certainly not due to concerns over what people may see. Like many other mornings, this one has become a failure. I'll have to leave this shit alone soon and work on my routine. The rain has ceased for the time being. 0904. Last of the coffee. The symbol gracing the back of my garage will remain a work in progress as it may need to grow over time. Like the cave, eventually other symbolism will appear here and there until I am satisfied that the point is made. No one is going to like it or understand, however, because the philosophies I embrace daily are beyond the scope of typical societal norms. I shut down the squareheads weeks ago because I did not wish them to come here and ask how I feel about anything. The answers would undoubtedly send them away shortly after arriving. The first visit was fine due to the media opening my mind and raising questions I thought they may have answered. Little did I know, their agenda does not change, no matter the subject or recipient. Years of listening combined with decades of learning have helped me to draw a conclusion. They represent the exact same doctrine and 'ends' as the other groups around the world, save for one, I believe. My education went only so far, yet I soon found a sense of rightness within some of the teachings. That drew my moral compass out of its case and provided more clarity of purpose than anything else in life... An absolute certainty of what is right and, more importantly, what is very wrong. The symbols are ambiguous and misunderstood to the point of no one having a clear picture of what may be taking place in my head. Different symbols carry various meanings from person to person, some of them scaring away individuals before they become willing to delve into the subject matter. My garage will be a glaring representation of the idea that I do not wish to be questioned, ever. The little details inside the previous circle in my apartment will likely appear in the garage soon. One step at a time, as the most important identifier is already there, forty-two inches in diameter for good reason. The clincher? While out there working on the hinges and canopy yesterday, some of the many pins began to withdraw from my being. I have not felt relief to such a degree since I first decided to decorate my apartment more than eleven years ago. Now I have a larger, more visible space, and one subject to my complete control. This is only the beginning. I am still sitting here at the dining table because the thoughts are flowing, as is the coffee. I might have to grab the rest and heat it so I can enjoy a little while longer. 1025 and the routine is finished. I may order a pizza just to be comfortable for a little while. Maybe. Pizza these days is quite expensive, although I can also ask her to pick one up from the market on her way home. She will be there anyway, and rather than spending a shit ton of money on a restaurant, I can have my favorite for dinner later. I'll have to do something else for lunch, I guess. 1153, a few more chores done. I keep reading about the conflict and continue coming to the conclusion that I should be doing something, yet when I head out to the garage, my head goes all over the fucking place. I suppose the food stores we've amassed combined with knowledge will have to suffice for now. THe military training and whatnot. Maybe I'll get a stainless firepit, load it with wood, and sit at the door of the garage with weapon and beer in hand. Loud, obnoxious music, too. I don't know what else to do right now. One certainty is that we always have enough alcohol on hand to ride out any emergency with numbness. I wish that was funny. When the shit hits the fan on this side of the world, perhaps drunken and reckless behavior shall empower me. Or a shower. The garage is not doing it for me today. The dry cleaning was the only reason to be out there for a little while. Everything else feels as a waste of time. I already gathered and organized our emergency stuff, so spinning my wheels in the garage will only make me cold. No sunshine today. Maybe I'll kill this crap for the afternoon and work on the model. Saturday and Sunday are usually days of rest, I suppose. Lots of time and no direction. Sunday morning and eyes in my brain. I saw them yesterday for a little while on the television. I have the fourth show up there with coffee. The third model I had been building was finished yesterday afternoon. My Sunday is going to be primarily for the kitchen and garbage. I need to go through the fridge again, I guess. Sometimes food hides and I lose track of what's in that appliance. While making dinner last night I realized that during my alone time today I can work on the kitchen more. The northern influence which hit me the other day began to return to mind last night, too, but I did nothing about it. Maybe today it will happen again, or maybe I'll have to wait. The door on the shelving unit resulted from the progression of my mood as driven from the north. If it happens today, I'll be out there working on something. Those eyes are frozen in time, like all the others. The J-names. You know. And the memories of other eyes looking at me. I see them and feel a stabbing pain because no one is listening. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. There is no one left to listen, I suppose. Everything goes away eventually. The dresses, inspiration, subjects, topics of individual paragraphs, and titles. Everything just rolls along and flattens all so it is eventually unrecognizable. And then it all looks the same. Pins. I am so angry right now that I could destroy many things, but I will not say much more. Add to that the conflict in the east that no one seems to be doing a fucking thing about, and you may see the sheer level of dissatisfaction right now. Maybe. I have to thrown away all my stuff today. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. When you're out on there, a pin will drop and I don't hear. YOUR WEAPON IS GUILT. I really don't hear. Her."
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