August 4th, 2022 9:53am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Iniquitous Strike (One) read ( words) "Maybe I should not have mentioned the dream in the first place. What has been served by gushing about something I cannot affect or change? I can’t forget, either, so my feeling is that rather than trying to figure out how the wicked strike happened, I may have been better off not saying a word. This is Tuesday, August the 2nd, and I am still preoccupied with both events. 0707 in the morning and almost time for business. After? The same as always. The damaging dream will not leave me. Big strike. This is going to be a tough morning. There is too much going on inside my head for me to properly relax. At least I have peace and quiet. Better than nothing. 0802. What a cluster-fuck of a morning. I am into the heart of the alone time, though, meaning everything else is peripheral. I already took care of the floor and half the routine, the other portion shall wait until I tire of this crap. The first strike is incoming. There was a split-second decision. I sat there and quietly sipped my wine, noticing there was an oversized hurricane lamp near the front window, full of wine corks. Interesting. To my left was the most beautiful woman in the world wearing a sundress, the tiniest thong imaginable, and nothing else. Her hair was wet from the shower. The scent of Mexican food was wafting, along with the smell of whatever had been slathered all over Her skin. She had been trying to cook a certain dish for a very long time. The football game was on the television and I didn’t care. My brain altogether stopped functioning after She answered the door and began to walk into the kitchen. As I continued to sip the wine, the woman informed me that the numbing effect may become necessary later in the afternoon. Shit. I was forced to agree. I was sitting in the middle of a very bad situation for the second time in less than five years. I placed myself into each scene through a mad decision which weighed the possible downsides and consequences and then held them against the excellent chances of deep wonder and powerful pulls. There was a point when I considered being polite and dashing out the door. Unfortunately, circumstances up to and including that very moment had jaded me so decisively that desperation smashed the idea almost immediately. I began to think there was something innately ‘right’ about the dreams in my head due to being treated very unfairly for years. That was probably incorrect, but justifying such ideas came naturally. I then made the situation worse, and I was not alone in such a decision. It was easy. Strike one. There is a woman on the screen reclined against a wall with her knees up and together while her feet are far apart and pointed slightly inward. She appears as the woman in the previous paragraph, believe it or not. The unfortunate low resolution of this media ruins the whole thing, though. I am in a bad place. Strike one? Strike one. That was that. The bad situation became worse and I nearly died a few hours later. The wicked strike is COMPLETELY different and not as dire, yet it has me paralyzed nonetheless. I suppose enough time has passed since the first strike so as to render it less damaging to my mind. I did my best to avoid staring because She was very self-conscious after years of empty platitudes regarding physical beauty. The woman may have been the pinnacle of the same, but on the inside She had become damaged due to all of the words since childhood. Still, I had to glance a few times across the small table. After going through my own difficult period, I simply could not avoid the sight of Her sitting there with legs folded and the thin material revealing the shape of Her breasts. Looking at Her helped the decision move along through my pathetic process of rationalization. I immediately felt that due to Her view of me and the strong feelings that had developed so quickly, another moment such as we shared may never come along again in life. The wine glass was in Her right hand. I noticed the left hand had been twitching slightly. One eyelid, too. Something was wrong inside that beautiful head. Little did I know, but that woman wanted me to feel free to explore all I had obsessed over for more than a decade. Everything. And She wanted more. God help me with this. Someone help, please. We never had dinner. The Borracho just sat on the stove and eventually became a point of contention, finding me desperate to help the woman. That went very badly. In fact, everything eventually went to shit. Strike one quickly spiraled out of control and nearly destroyed everything in my world. The destruction took months, however, because in the beginning I was less willing to throw valuables into the incinerator. That was later. And I did. As I sit here with the fantastic keyboard and last of the coffee, I can still see the two of us speaking quietly and sipping white wine. The moments were very calm and controlled because of nerves. No getting around that one. The sundress was about as thin as thin can be. I am quite certain She did not don that outfit for comfort. It was for me. I would burn the entire world to hold Her for five minutes, and such a thought clearly defines my current condition. The first strike of three changed me forever. 0917. I may go to the pet supply and wine store later. At some point I’ll clean the kitchen. The wicked strike comes and goes in my mind. Strike one never leaves. I’ll be thinking about Her if and when I go shopping. Maybe I won’t go shopping today. I don’t feel like leaving the house. My stomach is becoming upset for some reason. No booze yet, though. I don’t know what to do today. Earlier I saw all sorts of options, from working around the house and garage to shopping and little improvements to certain rooms. Now? Only 0956 on the clock and I am fucking lost. I need help. No one is listening. The future appears black. There were actually two decisions back then. The first was incorrect yet unavoidable, and the second was correct yet overly sad. Not long after the latter, no more decisions were required. Everything went away more quickly than it came about. I lost Her forever. Now She is one of the most important points of reference imaginable. No matter what I think, say or do during a given day, the situation which played out that year is intimately involved. Moreover, there is now a strong possibility that my current level of desperation is the result of having such beauty and understanding violently torn away. 1110 and the routine is finished. The third show is still gracing two televisions. This episode makes me nostalgic for many reasons. There is a big, fat glass of whiskey to my right, and in the interest of saving water, I’ve begun pouring my drinks into plastic. One the one hand, this practice is sacrilegious, but on the other, the water situation in California is frightening. I have to do my part. And the alcohol? That would be the crutch. At least I am not a drug addict. Well, illegal drugs, anyway. Something has to calm my nerves when the strikes come to mind. Believe me, they are slowly driving me toward the end of the fucking street. That is a euphemism. A double-entendre... The likelihood of me leaving the house today to go shopping has been diminishing steadily since I first mentioned the idea. Maybe one of these days I’ll make a plan to shop and then find an agreeable place for lunch. I used to do that quite often. Lately, though, I just haven’t been feeling like being out there. The sun was shining when I turned on the coffee pot this morning and now it is gone. Heh. Help me. Please. The wicked strike is still plaguing me. This entry has come dangerously close to becoming very explicit, as well. Everything is so fucking bad right now. I’ll tell you one Goddamned thing, though, and that is I will not call any aspect of my life unfair. It is nothing more than payment for my misdeeds and shitty decisions. Wait a minute... Do you believe I am feeling sorry for myself? Think again, motherfuckers. I dislike myself. There is a vast difference between the two states. Fucking figure it out already. The note I leave behind will clear up everything. Leeta sounds like a cartoon character. Her eyes are amazing, though, and Chase’s performance is beyond great. I love her eyes and have for years. I also love the way she comes across as goofy and stupid. The truth is that Leeta was intelligent, yet carried herself so as to solicit attention due to her career. I have much respect for Chase. My opinion is that she created a very memorable, relevant, and much loved character within this series. Unfortunately, part of me also wants to dive into her pants. Crucify me. I don’t care. Everything I do to myself will always be much worse than whatever another person may attempt. Live with it. I have the hots for her and do not hide such a fact. I am a basket case who resides in the past. Also? I occasionally speak my mind. Back to the five-seven and one-hundred-twelve pound subject of the title. Oh, and fuck you if there is any issue with me pointing out numbers. The importance of the numbers should be very apparent after all these years. Everyone is different. She just happened to be unbelievably aligned with a few things in my head. The woman stood before me and gave me permission to stare to my heart’s content, thus providing an avenue previously unavailable. After so many years of feeling empty, what the hell was I supposed to do? Think about the consequences? I did, believe me. I stared. I saw almost everything. My head could not fully process the depth of the situation at the time, though. She turned halfway around, and my thoughts veered further from reality. My eye level while sitting on the floor matched the conversion of those lines about which I had agonized and written for a very long time. Right there. I could smell the soap She used in the shower shortly before I arrived at Her door. I hate this. I need help. No one is listening. Ashley understood. She had a way of ‘reading’ me and all that I told her. When I was uncomfortable, she was quiet. When I spoke, she listened. When I needed quiet and the simplicity of lying still, she curled up next to me. I still don’t know from what fucking planet she hailed, honestly, and I shall never look upon her like again. I need help. Ashley is gone. 1240. I have some laundry in the washer but don’t know what else to do. My head is preoccupied with far too much for me to follow along. The show is still on the television... My family. I know part of the reason the obsession first came about but I cannot discuss it. I also know why a good portion of my head is so far out of balance, but I cannot discuss that, either. Further, I know why Ashley and the Raven remain so important, and say it with me... I can’t discuss it. The second strike – that wicked and inhuman situation – came about for reasons unrelated to the rest of this shit. The two strikes have nothing to do with each other, yet I am overly compelled to explore both. I cannot discuss the details. There is so much information that I must avoid in these entries that the only result is my overwhelming need for help. I just fucking need help. Please. Not a soul alive knows all of it. Help me. Wednesday morning, August the 3rd. My early morning stuff is finished and I have hours to myself. Lots of dream subject matter early this morning. Some is fairly clear, other material is blurry. I don’t know what to think anymore. My dreams are very strange and are beginning to lead me to believe that I’ve already completely lost my mind, meaning there is little point in trying to understand. I have imagery supporting the damaging dream, though, and that is something that must be fleshed out as much as possible for my sanity. I have other imagery related to the last year or so, also something which has me thinking that the missing pieces are due to people I have known in the past. Cause and effect, as it were, but I can’t be certain right now. I need to think about all this shit for a while and then work with the keyboard, perhaps after driving over the hill. I do recall a very funny scene involving a cat. At least there was a bit of levity within the dreams. Better than nothing. Yes, I must go over the hill to visit the big wine store and the pet supply. I put it off yesterday and I am glad I made that decision because I feel a little better this morning and can get an earlier start to everything. After so many dreams and ill-begotten imagery in my head lately, I don’t really care if there is anything special over there today. Pants, or whatever. Any beauty will probably only serve to anger me. I will shop for my stuff and then haul ass out of there. I can see a slender chance that I’ll find lunch somewhere, although that would require me to clean up and look loyal upon leaving the house. Right now I don’t know if I want to go in such a direction. 0903 and I have half the routine finished early. Last cup of coffee. Third show again. I also placed an order to pick up at the wine store so I can avoid shopping. That could minimize the amount of shit I see. The two stores are directly next to each other, so I can get the hell in and out quickly. Lunch is still up in the air, though. Back to the title. Less than half my age. That is a larger difference than Ashley and myself. And I didn’t give a shit due to being completely blinded by something so wondrous that I could not believe it... Rather like the girl at the pool, yet right there next to me (and a measure thinner). What a fucking dream. The inside of my head immediately and defiantly formed partitions for those things which were concerning and trying to shut down the situation before it had a chance to spiral out of control. Immorality came to mind and was portioned off to the secure area prior to becoming an issue. Deceit was crammed in there, as well. I turned off everything possible in order to fully explore the obsession. Hours passed before the real world came crashing back to me. It invaded and took over. Part of the issue here and the memories of one of the most dangerous evenings in memory is the fact that there had been a touch of precognition, believe it or not. I saw the same position which stirred me into a froth while at the pool. Yes, that position. I saw the beauty and thrall right before my eyes, and then four years, five months and twenty eight days later was the same sight next to the pool... The EXACT same position. But during the evening in question, there was more, and any chance of me fleeing and retaining some common sense flew away with the immediacy of a hypersonic shockwave. I had been pulled into a world I feared I would never experience again. Struck upside the head for the first time in my life with the force of a thousand wrecking balls. Immoral. Unwise. Necessary beyond my own lungs drawing breath. Just as I said with regard to Ashley, into the sin. I still see Her messy room, now a den of iniquity. If there is a hell, the previous paragraph is my entry ticket. Admit one. She peeled off the dress without a single reservation 'We have a first-strike situation.' I'm not talking about war, either. 0934 and my shopping trip awaits like a dark cave I'd rather not enter. I must go, however, for the good of the household and cats. Arriving home will probably feel as a huge victory. Sometimes I wish that evening had not taken place, or at least developed as it did. Driving home very late that night was not fun. Maybe I would have been a bit more comfortable piloting the Slipper. That vehicle had been intimately connected with other immoral situations. It seemed to fit, to be honest. I can’t stop seeing Her smiling when I arrived at the door. Oh, and the way the sundress outlined an unimaginable form, complete with a round, crooked pair of breasts. 1217 and everything is finished. I indeed traveled over the hill to the big wine store and then the pet supply, and aside from some pants, there were zero issues. I made the trip in record time thanks to using the application for an in-store pickup. Upon returning, I finished off the kitchen and polished the stovetop. I need something else in my life. Holy Jesus God in a fucking thong, the shape of Her thighs spoke to my soul unlike anything ever in life. I stared, but you know that already. I could smell Her skin. She was patient and knew precisely what the experience meant to me after all our discussions. More than a decade of obsessing over imagery and what I could capture (the Mojo Girl), and there everything appeared, laid out before me like a map of my fucking brain. The dress was absent, as was my sense of reality. Enough of the details. 1248 and I am at a loss as to direction. Maybe I should have taken more time at the stores or perused some other places while on the other side of the hill. Now I have tons of time before the evening arrives. Yesterday I decided to delve into a new series about the film ‘The Godfather’ and was pleasantly surprised. The first episode was one of the best hours of television I’ve ever watched, and the second followed suit. I know quite a bit about that film, yet never have I learned of the long road it traveled before production. I could sit here and watch a few more episodes, or I could do something much more productive. Right now I just don’t know, though. This entry has dredged feelings out of the blackness of the past and slapped me across the face with situations and events which took place more recently, most notably all those days spent with another. Now I am at a tremendous loss with regard to ambition. Lost. Alone. No one is listening, and the whiskey pays no mind. The Raven and I had many conversations at the big, cozy Mexican restaurant not far from home. One of them comes to mind during these days when I feel alone. After inquiring about questioning some aspects of life, She assured me there would be no need to ask, ever. Since that fateful year, I spent even more time in the restaurant – every visit at the bar, of course – sitting next to a beautiful soul who felt much the same, yet there was an underlying discomfort due to my lifestyle and the decisions I’d made throughout the course of years. Right now I don’t know how to feel about that period of time, but I will say one thing: Had I imagined a match to the woman in question, the possibility seemed very scarce. There were parts here and there, yet not the whole. Time has passed and I reflect every single fucking day only to find myself lost in a wasteland of regret. The conversations have been rendered moot by yours truly, and nothing of the like shall ever happen again. I don’t have enough words to adequately express my love for the visits to that bar, both during fifteen and more recently. If anything can force me into the ground with all haste, this is it. I still see Her face across the pub table, all worried and suffering from a condition from which there seemed no escape. And then I see the other face, all huge, emotional eyes and loving words. This entry is going to take my day and send it straight to hell. Maybe it already did. My cocktail is gone and I know better than to pour another. I’ve ruined enough lives. One more drink and my willpower to remain alive will diminish. Enough people have been affected by me already. I do not wish to hurt anyone else. I've learned that much, at least. Thankfully, there are still enough little parts of each day with the power to keep me here. Don't fool yourself by believing I am speaking frivolously. I am that fucking close every single fucking day. The revolver is in my safe in the next room. 0709. Thursday. A little cooler this morning. Yesterday afternoon I ended up watching a couple more episodes of the show rather than doing anything else. I did make some dinner preparations, though. I suppose that’s better than nothing. One of the reference blondes of the universe is on the screen right now. Very nice. She reminds me of Leigh back during the seventies. I don’t know why. Late last night I decided that I’ve focused upon the title quite enough in this entry. The rest can be spaced out to keep the page even, nothing more. The bottom line here is that I made an ill-conceived decision out of sheer desperation, believing that a chance had presented itself and may never appear again in my life. By that point in time, I was already on such a hair-trigger for something special that when She appeared interested in more than a few drinks and polite conversation, all else in my world became clouded. Not long after, I found myself veering around responsibilities and leveraging whatever I could in order to be near Her as often as possible. I very nearly quit my job, too, just for a little more flexibility in making plans. Within the first two weeks of learning that She wanted to spend time with me, my level of desperation had hit the highest point possible. I would have thrown my whole life away for Her. Very bad, yet understandable considering what had been affecting me for many years, and after the previous time period from which I had run away at high speed due to similar circumstances. The massive positive is the fact that I am a very kind and gentle person. Some others driven to the same sheer desperation would have done much worse. I’ve become a champion of storing feelings for the good of others. Storing? Whoring? Eh... I’ve gone over that one, but suffice to say I continued living in the same way no matter the fucking damage to my head. I did that for the well-being of people other than myself. After the bad decision, I made an effort to work in the opposite direction. Again, for them. Not me. I met the Raven in November of fourteen. We first spent time together in January of fifteen. This is more than seven years later and the resulting effects upon me are worse than anything I could have imagined earlier in life. All that time since strike one... What the fuck have I become? The next time I decided to do something to help myself, no one understood me. Well, I should have known better in the first place. Not enough whoring, I guess. Just out of curiosity, do you think I might be a tad upset about all this? Yesterday I spent some time wallowing in sadness. Today, that mood has changed. Ashley was one thing, the Raven something else entirely. I cannot explain. Ashley carried an inherent belief to which I have not found a match, whereas the Raven did not. Her understanding was very different. In fact, those two women were vastly different right out of the fucking gate. Well, none of it matters now, so I don’t even know why my fingers are on the damned keyboard half the time. I guess I just wanted to say that those who have had more life experience tended to be less forgiving and not as flexible, and those younger souls demonstrated traits and ideas which forever jaded me. None of this is the fault of anyone. Life is fair. 0824 and the morning stuff is out of the way, leaving me all the time I wish to do whatever I wish. To those working full-time, this likely sounds like a dream. Believe me, my situation has its own share of issues. I am constantly preoccupied with far too much to handle, for example. I’ll do what I can today. My head is fucked up, though. I am feeling the loss more acutely these days than I had a few years ago. Too much loss. All this time alone and in the quiet has taken its toll on me. Do yourself a favor and hold your job. That ship may have sailed for me, but at least I can serve as a reminder to others. I recall a quote... ‘If you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.’ – Catherine Aird That about sums it up. Ah... There is Charlie on the screen again, all five-ten of her. I remember seeking a film from earlier in her career so I could see her without the sci-fi makeup. The story was kind of stupid, but wow was she ever lovely. I am sick of thinking about all this shit every day. And there is so much more. The strikes have become symbols of key events or periods, typically a combination of something I’ve done and that of another person (woman), and appear in my eyes often enough to keep me from progressing in life. The wicked? I wish that had never happened, nor do I want to think about one of the most stirring subjects, ever, which took place very recently. The correlation with that fucking damaging dream is still something I cannot even begin to understand. The iniquitous? That one is self-explanatory. I did bad things for desperate reasons, the power of which had been undeniable. Would I do it again? The chance will probably never appear, meaning I don’t have to make that sort of decision anytime soon. Believe me, there have been situations in which I thought I would come out the other side in very bad shape, but then my common sense appeared out of thin air and steered me away from danger. Maybe the preservation of this little world was enough to keep my body out of the fire. I can't be certain. Honestly, I am hoping to remain away from other people for the duration because I've never felt so weakened by circumstance. And as I have pointed out on many an occasion, the lack of resources is probably going to save my life and prevent heartache in others. My stomach is upset again. I know not why. I still feel bad about a great many situations. People are constantly told that their lives would be easier to live if they let go of the past and focus upon possibilities in the future, otherwise the past will be like a chain, perpetually holding them back. I have not been able to accomplish such a feat. The more I am reminded of the Raven or Ashley and the vast gradient between those highs and the present, the further down I fall. There were other wondrous situations, of course, yet those two points of reference seem to stand out. Maybe their ages were factors, but I can’t be certain. Much of the time I do not see age. I see connections. The more recent of which continues to plague me daily, as well. I just can’t seem to come to terms with the entire affair no matter the effort. Do I feel bad about it? Yep, just like the others. My dissatisfaction with such a large percentage of the past has driven me into a mindset that may never be alleviated. Everything has been pushed right up to or just beyond limits. Circumstances have caught up. I don’t know what to do or how to help myself, so I just keep typing. Along the way? Bad feelings about what I have done in life. A large portion of my anger is due to the belief that all the wonder is gone forever, and I missed too much. 'Lying is a skill -- like any other -- and if you wish to maintain a level of excellence, you must practice constantly.' That question from twelve years ago, yet again... ‘Tell me something I should know about you, please.’ My response was that I was deceptive, and her reaction was one of surprise. Well, I had been standing in the parking lot of a military lodge with a woman who was not the one with which I had been in a relationship. I had to deceive one to be with the other, hence my answer. It made sense to me, though. I tried to point out something negative. Apparently, I succeeded. Some months later that response to her question was used against me. I should have known, but like always, I was blinded by beauty and paralyzed by wonder. What a fucking idiot. At least I was not whoring myself for the good of another. Not yet, anyway. 0934. I have to go back out today because the smoke shop did not have one brand. I’ll go over there later, I guess. Right now I am trying to remain comfortable due to my upset stomach. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten to me this morning, but I can tell you it’s going to aggravate my already cunty mood. I hope no one contacts me for a conversation. Anyway, I’ll take care of the routine like always because that, if nothing else, provides a sense of structure during the weekdays. I did what I did for what seemed unavoidable reasons. I feel appropriately bad, too. Yes, seven years later I still feel bad. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t know how to feel differently. And She is gone, so part of any reconciliation has been rendered impossible. I can keep pushing it away, I suppose, lest it get the better of me one of these days. Two other situations come to mind whenever I speak of Her. They are pressing on me. There is very little I feel good about anymore. I’m sure one of these days the only part of life which brings me up will be the housework. Marvelous. I can see the sundress and Her smile right now. I also see another smile. And another... I can see fog trying to pour itself over the hills to the south. Beautiful. Blue sky, green hills, gray fog. What a sight. Kira is crying. No coffee left. Time for a drink, I guess. The rest of the day awaits my attention. I just need this stomach thingy to go away. Also? I need help." 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
August 4th, 2022 9:53am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Iniquitous Strike (One) read ( words) "Maybe I should not have mentioned the dream in the first place. What has been served by gushing about something I cannot affect or change? I can’t forget, either, so my feeling is that rather than trying to figure out how the wicked strike happened, I may have been better off not saying a word. This is Tuesday, August the 2nd, and I am still preoccupied with both events. 0707 in the morning and almost time for business. After? The same as always. The damaging dream will not leave me. Big strike. This is going to be a tough morning. There is too much going on inside my head for me to properly relax. At least I have peace and quiet. Better than nothing. 0802. What a cluster-fuck of a morning. I am into the heart of the alone time, though, meaning everything else is peripheral. I already took care of the floor and half the routine, the other portion shall wait until I tire of this crap. The first strike is incoming. There was a split-second decision. I sat there and quietly sipped my wine, noticing there was an oversized hurricane lamp near the front window, full of wine corks. Interesting. To my left was the most beautiful woman in the world wearing a sundress, the tiniest thong imaginable, and nothing else. Her hair was wet from the shower. The scent of Mexican food was wafting, along with the smell of whatever had been slathered all over Her skin. She had been trying to cook a certain dish for a very long time. The football game was on the television and I didn’t care. My brain altogether stopped functioning after She answered the door and began to walk into the kitchen. As I continued to sip the wine, the woman informed me that the numbing effect may become necessary later in the afternoon. Shit. I was forced to agree. I was sitting in the middle of a very bad situation for the second time in less than five years. I placed myself into each scene through a mad decision which weighed the possible downsides and consequences and then held them against the excellent chances of deep wonder and powerful pulls. There was a point when I considered being polite and dashing out the door. Unfortunately, circumstances up to and including that very moment had jaded me so decisively that desperation smashed the idea almost immediately. I began to think there was something innately ‘right’ about the dreams in my head due to being treated very unfairly for years. That was probably incorrect, but justifying such ideas came naturally. I then made the situation worse, and I was not alone in such a decision. It was easy. Strike one. There is a woman on the screen reclined against a wall with her knees up and together while her feet are far apart and pointed slightly inward. She appears as the woman in the previous paragraph, believe it or not. The unfortunate low resolution of this media ruins the whole thing, though. I am in a bad place. Strike one? Strike one. That was that. The bad situation became worse and I nearly died a few hours later. The wicked strike is COMPLETELY different and not as dire, yet it has me paralyzed nonetheless. I suppose enough time has passed since the first strike so as to render it less damaging to my mind. I did my best to avoid staring because She was very self-conscious after years of empty platitudes regarding physical beauty. The woman may have been the pinnacle of the same, but on the inside She had become damaged due to all of the words since childhood. Still, I had to glance a few times across the small table. After going through my own difficult period, I simply could not avoid the sight of Her sitting there with legs folded and the thin material revealing the shape of Her breasts. Looking at Her helped the decision move along through my pathetic process of rationalization. I immediately felt that due to Her view of me and the strong feelings that had developed so quickly, another moment such as we shared may never come along again in life. The wine glass was in Her right hand. I noticed the left hand had been twitching slightly. One eyelid, too. Something was wrong inside that beautiful head. Little did I know, but that woman wanted me to feel free to explore all I had obsessed over for more than a decade. Everything. And She wanted more. God help me with this. Someone help, please. We never had dinner. The Borracho just sat on the stove and eventually became a point of contention, finding me desperate to help the woman. That went very badly. In fact, everything eventually went to shit. Strike one quickly spiraled out of control and nearly destroyed everything in my world. The destruction took months, however, because in the beginning I was less willing to throw valuables into the incinerator. That was later. And I did. As I sit here with the fantastic keyboard and last of the coffee, I can still see the two of us speaking quietly and sipping white wine. The moments were very calm and controlled because of nerves. No getting around that one. The sundress was about as thin as thin can be. I am quite certain She did not don that outfit for comfort. It was for me. I would burn the entire world to hold Her for five minutes, and such a thought clearly defines my current condition. The first strike of three changed me forever. 0917. I may go to the pet supply and wine store later. At some point I’ll clean the kitchen. The wicked strike comes and goes in my mind. Strike one never leaves. I’ll be thinking about Her if and when I go shopping. Maybe I won’t go shopping today. I don’t feel like leaving the house. My stomach is becoming upset for some reason. No booze yet, though. I don’t know what to do today. Earlier I saw all sorts of options, from working around the house and garage to shopping and little improvements to certain rooms. Now? Only 0956 on the clock and I am fucking lost. I need help. No one is listening. The future appears black. There were actually two decisions back then. The first was incorrect yet unavoidable, and the second was correct yet overly sad. Not long after the latter, no more decisions were required. Everything went away more quickly than it came about. I lost Her forever. Now She is one of the most important points of reference imaginable. No matter what I think, say or do during a given day, the situation which played out that year is intimately involved. Moreover, there is now a strong possibility that my current level of desperation is the result of having such beauty and understanding violently torn away. 1110 and the routine is finished. The third show is still gracing two televisions. This episode makes me nostalgic for many reasons. There is a big, fat glass of whiskey to my right, and in the interest of saving water, I’ve begun pouring my drinks into plastic. One the one hand, this practice is sacrilegious, but on the other, the water situation in California is frightening. I have to do my part. And the alcohol? That would be the crutch. At least I am not a drug addict. Well, illegal drugs, anyway. Something has to calm my nerves when the strikes come to mind. Believe me, they are slowly driving me toward the end of the fucking street. That is a euphemism. A double-entendre... The likelihood of me leaving the house today to go shopping has been diminishing steadily since I first mentioned the idea. Maybe one of these days I’ll make a plan to shop and then find an agreeable place for lunch. I used to do that quite often. Lately, though, I just haven’t been feeling like being out there. The sun was shining when I turned on the coffee pot this morning and now it is gone. Heh. Help me. Please. The wicked strike is still plaguing me. This entry has come dangerously close to becoming very explicit, as well. Everything is so fucking bad right now. I’ll tell you one Goddamned thing, though, and that is I will not call any aspect of my life unfair. It is nothing more than payment for my misdeeds and shitty decisions. Wait a minute... Do you believe I am feeling sorry for myself? Think again, motherfuckers. I dislike myself. There is a vast difference between the two states. Fucking figure it out already. The note I leave behind will clear up everything. Leeta sounds like a cartoon character. Her eyes are amazing, though, and Chase’s performance is beyond great. I love her eyes and have for years. I also love the way she comes across as goofy and stupid. The truth is that Leeta was intelligent, yet carried herself so as to solicit attention due to her career. I have much respect for Chase. My opinion is that she created a very memorable, relevant, and much loved character within this series. Unfortunately, part of me also wants to dive into her pants. Crucify me. I don’t care. Everything I do to myself will always be much worse than whatever another person may attempt. Live with it. I have the hots for her and do not hide such a fact. I am a basket case who resides in the past. Also? I occasionally speak my mind. Back to the five-seven and one-hundred-twelve pound subject of the title. Oh, and fuck you if there is any issue with me pointing out numbers. The importance of the numbers should be very apparent after all these years. Everyone is different. She just happened to be unbelievably aligned with a few things in my head. The woman stood before me and gave me permission to stare to my heart’s content, thus providing an avenue previously unavailable. After so many years of feeling empty, what the hell was I supposed to do? Think about the consequences? I did, believe me. I stared. I saw almost everything. My head could not fully process the depth of the situation at the time, though. She turned halfway around, and my thoughts veered further from reality. My eye level while sitting on the floor matched the conversion of those lines about which I had agonized and written for a very long time. Right there. I could smell the soap She used in the shower shortly before I arrived at Her door. I hate this. I need help. No one is listening. Ashley understood. She had a way of ‘reading’ me and all that I told her. When I was uncomfortable, she was quiet. When I spoke, she listened. When I needed quiet and the simplicity of lying still, she curled up next to me. I still don’t know from what fucking planet she hailed, honestly, and I shall never look upon her like again. I need help. Ashley is gone. 1240. I have some laundry in the washer but don’t know what else to do. My head is preoccupied with far too much for me to follow along. The show is still on the television... My family. I know part of the reason the obsession first came about but I cannot discuss it. I also know why a good portion of my head is so far out of balance, but I cannot discuss that, either. Further, I know why Ashley and the Raven remain so important, and say it with me... I can’t discuss it. The second strike – that wicked and inhuman situation – came about for reasons unrelated to the rest of this shit. The two strikes have nothing to do with each other, yet I am overly compelled to explore both. I cannot discuss the details. There is so much information that I must avoid in these entries that the only result is my overwhelming need for help. I just fucking need help. Please. Not a soul alive knows all of it. Help me. Wednesday morning, August the 3rd. My early morning stuff is finished and I have hours to myself. Lots of dream subject matter early this morning. Some is fairly clear, other material is blurry. I don’t know what to think anymore. My dreams are very strange and are beginning to lead me to believe that I’ve already completely lost my mind, meaning there is little point in trying to understand. I have imagery supporting the damaging dream, though, and that is something that must be fleshed out as much as possible for my sanity. I have other imagery related to the last year or so, also something which has me thinking that the missing pieces are due to people I have known in the past. Cause and effect, as it were, but I can’t be certain right now. I need to think about all this shit for a while and then work with the keyboard, perhaps after driving over the hill. I do recall a very funny scene involving a cat. At least there was a bit of levity within the dreams. Better than nothing. Yes, I must go over the hill to visit the big wine store and the pet supply. I put it off yesterday and I am glad I made that decision because I feel a little better this morning and can get an earlier start to everything. After so many dreams and ill-begotten imagery in my head lately, I don’t really care if there is anything special over there today. Pants, or whatever. Any beauty will probably only serve to anger me. I will shop for my stuff and then haul ass out of there. I can see a slender chance that I’ll find lunch somewhere, although that would require me to clean up and look loyal upon leaving the house. Right now I don’t know if I want to go in such a direction. 0903 and I have half the routine finished early. Last cup of coffee. Third show again. I also placed an order to pick up at the wine store so I can avoid shopping. That could minimize the amount of shit I see. The two stores are directly next to each other, so I can get the hell in and out quickly. Lunch is still up in the air, though. Back to the title. Less than half my age. That is a larger difference than Ashley and myself. And I didn’t give a shit due to being completely blinded by something so wondrous that I could not believe it... Rather like the girl at the pool, yet right there next to me (and a measure thinner). What a fucking dream. The inside of my head immediately and defiantly formed partitions for those things which were concerning and trying to shut down the situation before it had a chance to spiral out of control. Immorality came to mind and was portioned off to the secure area prior to becoming an issue. Deceit was crammed in there, as well. I turned off everything possible in order to fully explore the obsession. Hours passed before the real world came crashing back to me. It invaded and took over. Part of the issue here and the memories of one of the most dangerous evenings in memory is the fact that there had been a touch of precognition, believe it or not. I saw the same position which stirred me into a froth while at the pool. Yes, that position. I saw the beauty and thrall right before my eyes, and then four years, five months and twenty eight days later was the same sight next to the pool... The EXACT same position. But during the evening in question, there was more, and any chance of me fleeing and retaining some common sense flew away with the immediacy of a hypersonic shockwave. I had been pulled into a world I feared I would never experience again. Struck upside the head for the first time in my life with the force of a thousand wrecking balls. Immoral. Unwise. Necessary beyond my own lungs drawing breath. Just as I said with regard to Ashley, into the sin. I still see Her messy room, now a den of iniquity. If there is a hell, the previous paragraph is my entry ticket. Admit one. She peeled off the dress without a single reservation 'We have a first-strike situation.' I'm not talking about war, either. 0934 and my shopping trip awaits like a dark cave I'd rather not enter. I must go, however, for the good of the household and cats. Arriving home will probably feel as a huge victory. Sometimes I wish that evening had not taken place, or at least developed as it did. Driving home very late that night was not fun. Maybe I would have been a bit more comfortable piloting the Slipper. That vehicle had been intimately connected with other immoral situations. It seemed to fit, to be honest. I can’t stop seeing Her smiling when I arrived at the door. Oh, and the way the sundress outlined an unimaginable form, complete with a round, crooked pair of breasts. 1217 and everything is finished. I indeed traveled over the hill to the big wine store and then the pet supply, and aside from some pants, there were zero issues. I made the trip in record time thanks to using the application for an in-store pickup. Upon returning, I finished off the kitchen and polished the stovetop. I need something else in my life. Holy Jesus God in a fucking thong, the shape of Her thighs spoke to my soul unlike anything ever in life. I stared, but you know that already. I could smell Her skin. She was patient and knew precisely what the experience meant to me after all our discussions. More than a decade of obsessing over imagery and what I could capture (the Mojo Girl), and there everything appeared, laid out before me like a map of my fucking brain. The dress was absent, as was my sense of reality. Enough of the details. 1248 and I am at a loss as to direction. Maybe I should have taken more time at the stores or perused some other places while on the other side of the hill. Now I have tons of time before the evening arrives. Yesterday I decided to delve into a new series about the film ‘The Godfather’ and was pleasantly surprised. The first episode was one of the best hours of television I’ve ever watched, and the second followed suit. I know quite a bit about that film, yet never have I learned of the long road it traveled before production. I could sit here and watch a few more episodes, or I could do something much more productive. Right now I just don’t know, though. This entry has dredged feelings out of the blackness of the past and slapped me across the face with situations and events which took place more recently, most notably all those days spent with another. Now I am at a tremendous loss with regard to ambition. Lost. Alone. No one is listening, and the whiskey pays no mind. The Raven and I had many conversations at the big, cozy Mexican restaurant not far from home. One of them comes to mind during these days when I feel alone. After inquiring about questioning some aspects of life, She assured me there would be no need to ask, ever. Since that fateful year, I spent even more time in the restaurant – every visit at the bar, of course – sitting next to a beautiful soul who felt much the same, yet there was an underlying discomfort due to my lifestyle and the decisions I’d made throughout the course of years. Right now I don’t know how to feel about that period of time, but I will say one thing: Had I imagined a match to the woman in question, the possibility seemed very scarce. There were parts here and there, yet not the whole. Time has passed and I reflect every single fucking day only to find myself lost in a wasteland of regret. The conversations have been rendered moot by yours truly, and nothing of the like shall ever happen again. I don’t have enough words to adequately express my love for the visits to that bar, both during fifteen and more recently. If anything can force me into the ground with all haste, this is it. I still see Her face across the pub table, all worried and suffering from a condition from which there seemed no escape. And then I see the other face, all huge, emotional eyes and loving words. This entry is going to take my day and send it straight to hell. Maybe it already did. My cocktail is gone and I know better than to pour another. I’ve ruined enough lives. One more drink and my willpower to remain alive will diminish. Enough people have been affected by me already. I do not wish to hurt anyone else. I've learned that much, at least. Thankfully, there are still enough little parts of each day with the power to keep me here. Don't fool yourself by believing I am speaking frivolously. I am that fucking close every single fucking day. The revolver is in my safe in the next room. 0709. Thursday. A little cooler this morning. Yesterday afternoon I ended up watching a couple more episodes of the show rather than doing anything else. I did make some dinner preparations, though. I suppose that’s better than nothing. One of the reference blondes of the universe is on the screen right now. Very nice. She reminds me of Leigh back during the seventies. I don’t know why. Late last night I decided that I’ve focused upon the title quite enough in this entry. The rest can be spaced out to keep the page even, nothing more. The bottom line here is that I made an ill-conceived decision out of sheer desperation, believing that a chance had presented itself and may never appear again in my life. By that point in time, I was already on such a hair-trigger for something special that when She appeared interested in more than a few drinks and polite conversation, all else in my world became clouded. Not long after, I found myself veering around responsibilities and leveraging whatever I could in order to be near Her as often as possible. I very nearly quit my job, too, just for a little more flexibility in making plans. Within the first two weeks of learning that She wanted to spend time with me, my level of desperation had hit the highest point possible. I would have thrown my whole life away for Her. Very bad, yet understandable considering what had been affecting me for many years, and after the previous time period from which I had run away at high speed due to similar circumstances. The massive positive is the fact that I am a very kind and gentle person. Some others driven to the same sheer desperation would have done much worse. I’ve become a champion of storing feelings for the good of others. Storing? Whoring? Eh... I’ve gone over that one, but suffice to say I continued living in the same way no matter the fucking damage to my head. I did that for the well-being of people other than myself. After the bad decision, I made an effort to work in the opposite direction. Again, for them. Not me. I met the Raven in November of fourteen. We first spent time together in January of fifteen. This is more than seven years later and the resulting effects upon me are worse than anything I could have imagined earlier in life. All that time since strike one... What the fuck have I become? The next time I decided to do something to help myself, no one understood me. Well, I should have known better in the first place. Not enough whoring, I guess. Just out of curiosity, do you think I might be a tad upset about all this? Yesterday I spent some time wallowing in sadness. Today, that mood has changed. Ashley was one thing, the Raven something else entirely. I cannot explain. Ashley carried an inherent belief to which I have not found a match, whereas the Raven did not. Her understanding was very different. In fact, those two women were vastly different right out of the fucking gate. Well, none of it matters now, so I don’t even know why my fingers are on the damned keyboard half the time. I guess I just wanted to say that those who have had more life experience tended to be less forgiving and not as flexible, and those younger souls demonstrated traits and ideas which forever jaded me. None of this is the fault of anyone. Life is fair. 0824 and the morning stuff is out of the way, leaving me all the time I wish to do whatever I wish. To those working full-time, this likely sounds like a dream. Believe me, my situation has its own share of issues. I am constantly preoccupied with far too much to handle, for example. I’ll do what I can today. My head is fucked up, though. I am feeling the loss more acutely these days than I had a few years ago. Too much loss. All this time alone and in the quiet has taken its toll on me. Do yourself a favor and hold your job. That ship may have sailed for me, but at least I can serve as a reminder to others. I recall a quote... ‘If you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.’ – Catherine Aird That about sums it up. Ah... There is Charlie on the screen again, all five-ten of her. I remember seeking a film from earlier in her career so I could see her without the sci-fi makeup. The story was kind of stupid, but wow was she ever lovely. I am sick of thinking about all this shit every day. And there is so much more. The strikes have become symbols of key events or periods, typically a combination of something I’ve done and that of another person (woman), and appear in my eyes often enough to keep me from progressing in life. The wicked? I wish that had never happened, nor do I want to think about one of the most stirring subjects, ever, which took place very recently. The correlation with that fucking damaging dream is still something I cannot even begin to understand. The iniquitous? That one is self-explanatory. I did bad things for desperate reasons, the power of which had been undeniable. Would I do it again? The chance will probably never appear, meaning I don’t have to make that sort of decision anytime soon. Believe me, there have been situations in which I thought I would come out the other side in very bad shape, but then my common sense appeared out of thin air and steered me away from danger. Maybe the preservation of this little world was enough to keep my body out of the fire. I can't be certain. Honestly, I am hoping to remain away from other people for the duration because I've never felt so weakened by circumstance. And as I have pointed out on many an occasion, the lack of resources is probably going to save my life and prevent heartache in others. My stomach is upset again. I know not why. I still feel bad about a great many situations. People are constantly told that their lives would be easier to live if they let go of the past and focus upon possibilities in the future, otherwise the past will be like a chain, perpetually holding them back. I have not been able to accomplish such a feat. The more I am reminded of the Raven or Ashley and the vast gradient between those highs and the present, the further down I fall. There were other wondrous situations, of course, yet those two points of reference seem to stand out. Maybe their ages were factors, but I can’t be certain. Much of the time I do not see age. I see connections. The more recent of which continues to plague me daily, as well. I just can’t seem to come to terms with the entire affair no matter the effort. Do I feel bad about it? Yep, just like the others. My dissatisfaction with such a large percentage of the past has driven me into a mindset that may never be alleviated. Everything has been pushed right up to or just beyond limits. Circumstances have caught up. I don’t know what to do or how to help myself, so I just keep typing. Along the way? Bad feelings about what I have done in life. A large portion of my anger is due to the belief that all the wonder is gone forever, and I missed too much. 'Lying is a skill -- like any other -- and if you wish to maintain a level of excellence, you must practice constantly.' That question from twelve years ago, yet again... ‘Tell me something I should know about you, please.’ My response was that I was deceptive, and her reaction was one of surprise. Well, I had been standing in the parking lot of a military lodge with a woman who was not the one with which I had been in a relationship. I had to deceive one to be with the other, hence my answer. It made sense to me, though. I tried to point out something negative. Apparently, I succeeded. Some months later that response to her question was used against me. I should have known, but like always, I was blinded by beauty and paralyzed by wonder. What a fucking idiot. At least I was not whoring myself for the good of another. Not yet, anyway. 0934. I have to go back out today because the smoke shop did not have one brand. I’ll go over there later, I guess. Right now I am trying to remain comfortable due to my upset stomach. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten to me this morning, but I can tell you it’s going to aggravate my already cunty mood. I hope no one contacts me for a conversation. Anyway, I’ll take care of the routine like always because that, if nothing else, provides a sense of structure during the weekdays. I did what I did for what seemed unavoidable reasons. I feel appropriately bad, too. Yes, seven years later I still feel bad. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t know how to feel differently. And She is gone, so part of any reconciliation has been rendered impossible. I can keep pushing it away, I suppose, lest it get the better of me one of these days. Two other situations come to mind whenever I speak of Her. They are pressing on me. There is very little I feel good about anymore. I’m sure one of these days the only part of life which brings me up will be the housework. Marvelous. I can see the sundress and Her smile right now. I also see another smile. And another... I can see fog trying to pour itself over the hills to the south. Beautiful. Blue sky, green hills, gray fog. What a sight. Kira is crying. No coffee left. Time for a drink, I guess. The rest of the day awaits my attention. I just need this stomach thingy to go away. Also? I need help."
August 4th, 2022 9:53am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
The Iniquitous Strike (One)
read ( words)
"Maybe I should not have mentioned the dream in the first place. What has been served by gushing about something I cannot affect or change? I can’t forget, either, so my feeling is that rather than trying to figure out how the wicked strike happened, I may have been better off not saying a word. This is Tuesday, August the 2nd, and I am still preoccupied with both events. 0707 in the morning and almost time for business. After? The same as always. The damaging dream will not leave me. Big strike. This is going to be a tough morning. There is too much going on inside my head for me to properly relax. At least I have peace and quiet. Better than nothing. 0802. What a cluster-fuck of a morning. I am into the heart of the alone time, though, meaning everything else is peripheral. I already took care of the floor and half the routine, the other portion shall wait until I tire of this crap. The first strike is incoming. There was a split-second decision. I sat there and quietly sipped my wine, noticing there was an oversized hurricane lamp near the front window, full of wine corks. Interesting. To my left was the most beautiful woman in the world wearing a sundress, the tiniest thong imaginable, and nothing else. Her hair was wet from the shower. The scent of Mexican food was wafting, along with the smell of whatever had been slathered all over Her skin. She had been trying to cook a certain dish for a very long time. The football game was on the television and I didn’t care. My brain altogether stopped functioning after She answered the door and began to walk into the kitchen. As I continued to sip the wine, the woman informed me that the numbing effect may become necessary later in the afternoon. Shit. I was forced to agree. I was sitting in the middle of a very bad situation for the second time in less than five years. I placed myself into each scene through a mad decision which weighed the possible downsides and consequences and then held them against the excellent chances of deep wonder and powerful pulls. There was a point when I considered being polite and dashing out the door. Unfortunately, circumstances up to and including that very moment had jaded me so decisively that desperation smashed the idea almost immediately. I began to think there was something innately ‘right’ about the dreams in my head due to being treated very unfairly for years. That was probably incorrect, but justifying such ideas came naturally. I then made the situation worse, and I was not alone in such a decision. It was easy. Strike one. There is a woman on the screen reclined against a wall with her knees up and together while her feet are far apart and pointed slightly inward. She appears as the woman in the previous paragraph, believe it or not. The unfortunate low resolution of this media ruins the whole thing, though. I am in a bad place. Strike one? Strike one. That was that. The bad situation became worse and I nearly died a few hours later. The wicked strike is COMPLETELY different and not as dire, yet it has me paralyzed nonetheless. I suppose enough time has passed since the first strike so as to render it less damaging to my mind. I did my best to avoid staring because She was very self-conscious after years of empty platitudes regarding physical beauty. The woman may have been the pinnacle of the same, but on the inside She had become damaged due to all of the words since childhood. Still, I had to glance a few times across the small table. After going through my own difficult period, I simply could not avoid the sight of Her sitting there with legs folded and the thin material revealing the shape of Her breasts. Looking at Her helped the decision move along through my pathetic process of rationalization. I immediately felt that due to Her view of me and the strong feelings that had developed so quickly, another moment such as we shared may never come along again in life. The wine glass was in Her right hand. I noticed the left hand had been twitching slightly. One eyelid, too. Something was wrong inside that beautiful head. Little did I know, but that woman wanted me to feel free to explore all I had obsessed over for more than a decade. Everything. And She wanted more. God help me with this. Someone help, please. We never had dinner. The Borracho just sat on the stove and eventually became a point of contention, finding me desperate to help the woman. That went very badly. In fact, everything eventually went to shit. Strike one quickly spiraled out of control and nearly destroyed everything in my world. The destruction took months, however, because in the beginning I was less willing to throw valuables into the incinerator. That was later. And I did. As I sit here with the fantastic keyboard and last of the coffee, I can still see the two of us speaking quietly and sipping white wine. The moments were very calm and controlled because of nerves. No getting around that one. The sundress was about as thin as thin can be. I am quite certain She did not don that outfit for comfort. It was for me. I would burn the entire world to hold Her for five minutes, and such a thought clearly defines my current condition. The first strike of three changed me forever. 0917. I may go to the pet supply and wine store later. At some point I’ll clean the kitchen. The wicked strike comes and goes in my mind. Strike one never leaves. I’ll be thinking about Her if and when I go shopping. Maybe I won’t go shopping today. I don’t feel like leaving the house. My stomach is becoming upset for some reason. No booze yet, though. I don’t know what to do today. Earlier I saw all sorts of options, from working around the house and garage to shopping and little improvements to certain rooms. Now? Only 0956 on the clock and I am fucking lost. I need help. No one is listening. The future appears black. There were actually two decisions back then. The first was incorrect yet unavoidable, and the second was correct yet overly sad. Not long after the latter, no more decisions were required. Everything went away more quickly than it came about. I lost Her forever. Now She is one of the most important points of reference imaginable. No matter what I think, say or do during a given day, the situation which played out that year is intimately involved. Moreover, there is now a strong possibility that my current level of desperation is the result of having such beauty and understanding violently torn away. 1110 and the routine is finished. The third show is still gracing two televisions. This episode makes me nostalgic for many reasons. There is a big, fat glass of whiskey to my right, and in the interest of saving water, I’ve begun pouring my drinks into plastic. One the one hand, this practice is sacrilegious, but on the other, the water situation in California is frightening. I have to do my part. And the alcohol? That would be the crutch. At least I am not a drug addict. Well, illegal drugs, anyway. Something has to calm my nerves when the strikes come to mind. Believe me, they are slowly driving me toward the end of the fucking street. That is a euphemism.
A double-entendre...
The likelihood of me leaving the house today to go shopping has been diminishing steadily since I first mentioned the idea. Maybe one of these days I’ll make a plan to shop and then find an agreeable place for lunch. I used to do that quite often. Lately, though, I just haven’t been feeling like being out there. The sun was shining when I turned on the coffee pot this morning and now it is gone. Heh. Help me. Please. The wicked strike is still plaguing me. This entry has come dangerously close to becoming very explicit, as well. Everything is so fucking bad right now. I’ll tell you one Goddamned thing, though, and that is I will not call any aspect of my life unfair. It is nothing more than payment for my misdeeds and shitty decisions. Wait a minute... Do you believe I am feeling sorry for myself? Think again, motherfuckers. I dislike myself. There is a vast difference between the two states. Fucking figure it out already. The note I leave behind will clear up everything. Leeta sounds like a cartoon character. Her eyes are amazing, though, and Chase’s performance is beyond great. I love her eyes and have for years. I also love the way she comes across as goofy and stupid. The truth is that Leeta was intelligent, yet carried herself so as to solicit attention due to her career. I have much respect for Chase. My opinion is that she created a very memorable, relevant, and much loved character within this series. Unfortunately, part of me also wants to dive into her pants. Crucify me. I don’t care. Everything I do to myself will always be much worse than whatever another person may attempt. Live with it. I have the hots for her and do not hide such a fact. I am a basket case who resides in the past. Also? I occasionally speak my mind. Back to the five-seven and one-hundred-twelve pound subject of the title. Oh, and fuck you if there is any issue with me pointing out numbers. The importance of the numbers should be very apparent after all these years. Everyone is different. She just happened to be unbelievably aligned with a few things in my head. The woman stood before me and gave me permission to stare to my heart’s content, thus providing an avenue previously unavailable. After so many years of feeling empty, what the hell was I supposed to do? Think about the consequences? I did, believe me. I stared. I saw almost everything. My head could not fully process the depth of the situation at the time, though. She turned halfway around, and my thoughts veered further from reality. My eye level while sitting on the floor matched the conversion of those lines about which I had agonized and written for a very long time. Right there. I could smell the soap She used in the shower shortly before I arrived at Her door. I hate this. I need help. No one is listening. Ashley understood. She had a way of ‘reading’ me and all that I told her. When I was uncomfortable, she was quiet. When I spoke, she listened. When I needed quiet and the simplicity of lying still, she curled up next to me. I still don’t know from what fucking planet she hailed, honestly, and I shall never look upon her like again. I need help. Ashley is gone. 1240. I have some laundry in the washer but don’t know what else to do. My head is preoccupied with far too much for me to follow along. The show is still on the television... My family. I know part of the reason the obsession first came about but I cannot discuss it. I also know why a good portion of my head is so far out of balance, but I cannot discuss that, either. Further, I know why Ashley and the Raven remain so important, and say it with me... I can’t discuss it. The second strike – that wicked and inhuman situation – came about for reasons unrelated to the rest of this shit. The two strikes have nothing to do with each other, yet I am overly compelled to explore both. I cannot discuss the details. There is so much information that I must avoid in these entries that the only result is my overwhelming need for help. I just fucking need help. Please. Not a soul alive knows all of it. Help me. Wednesday morning, August the 3rd. My early morning stuff is finished and I have hours to myself. Lots of dream subject matter early this morning. Some is fairly clear, other material is blurry. I don’t know what to think anymore. My dreams are very strange and are beginning to lead me to believe that I’ve already completely lost my mind, meaning there is little point in trying to understand. I have imagery supporting the damaging dream, though, and that is something that must be fleshed out as much as possible for my sanity. I have other imagery related to the last year or so, also something which has me thinking that the missing pieces are due to people I have known in the past. Cause and effect, as it were, but I can’t be certain right now. I need to think about all this shit for a while and then work with the keyboard, perhaps after driving over the hill. I do recall a very funny scene involving a cat. At least there was a bit of levity within the dreams. Better than nothing. Yes, I must go over the hill to visit the big wine store and the pet supply. I put it off yesterday and I am glad I made that decision because I feel a little better this morning and can get an earlier start to everything. After so many dreams and ill-begotten imagery in my head lately, I don’t really care if there is anything special over there today. Pants, or whatever. Any beauty will probably only serve to anger me. I will shop for my stuff and then haul ass out of there. I can see a slender chance that I’ll find lunch somewhere, although that would require me to clean up and look loyal upon leaving the house. Right now I don’t know if I want to go in such a direction. 0903 and I have half the routine finished early. Last cup of coffee. Third show again. I also placed an order to pick up at the wine store so I can avoid shopping. That could minimize the amount of shit I see. The two stores are directly next to each other, so I can get the hell in and out quickly. Lunch is still up in the air, though. Back to the title. Less than half my age. That is a larger difference than Ashley and myself. And I didn’t give a shit due to being completely blinded by something so wondrous that I could not believe it... Rather like the girl at the pool, yet right there next to me (and a measure thinner). What a fucking dream. The inside of my head immediately and defiantly formed partitions for those things which were concerning and trying to shut down the situation before it had a chance to spiral out of control. Immorality came to mind and was portioned off to the secure area prior to becoming an issue. Deceit was crammed in there, as well. I turned off everything possible in order to fully explore the obsession. Hours passed before the real world came crashing back to me. It invaded and took over. Part of the issue here and the memories of one of the most dangerous evenings in memory is the fact that there had been a touch of precognition, believe it or not. I saw the same position which stirred me into a froth while at the pool. Yes, that position. I saw the beauty and thrall right before my eyes, and then four years, five months and twenty eight days later was the same sight next to the pool... The EXACT same position. But during the evening in question, there was more, and any chance of me fleeing and retaining some common sense flew away with the immediacy of a hypersonic shockwave. I had been pulled into a world I feared I would never experience again. Struck upside the head for the first time in my life with the force of a thousand wrecking balls. Immoral. Unwise. Necessary beyond my own lungs drawing breath. Just as I said with regard to Ashley, into the sin. I still see Her messy room, now a den of iniquity. If there is a hell, the previous paragraph is my entry ticket. Admit one.
She peeled off the dress without a single reservation
'We have a first-strike situation.' I'm not talking about war, either. 0934 and my shopping trip awaits like a dark cave I'd rather not enter. I must go, however, for the good of the household and cats. Arriving home will probably feel as a huge victory. Sometimes I wish that evening had not taken place, or at least developed as it did. Driving home very late that night was not fun. Maybe I would have been a bit more comfortable piloting the Slipper. That vehicle had been intimately connected with other immoral situations. It seemed to fit, to be honest. I can’t stop seeing Her smiling when I arrived at the door. Oh, and the way the sundress outlined an unimaginable form, complete with a round, crooked pair of breasts. 1217 and everything is finished. I indeed traveled over the hill to the big wine store and then the pet supply, and aside from some pants, there were zero issues. I made the trip in record time thanks to using the application for an in-store pickup. Upon returning, I finished off the kitchen and polished the stovetop. I need something else in my life. Holy Jesus God in a fucking thong, the shape of Her thighs spoke to my soul unlike anything ever in life. I stared, but you know that already. I could smell Her skin. She was patient and knew precisely what the experience meant to me after all our discussions. More than a decade of obsessing over imagery and what I could capture (the Mojo Girl), and there everything appeared, laid out before me like a map of my fucking brain. The dress was absent, as was my sense of reality. Enough of the details. 1248 and I am at a loss as to direction. Maybe I should have taken more time at the stores or perused some other places while on the other side of the hill. Now I have tons of time before the evening arrives. Yesterday I decided to delve into a new series about the film ‘The Godfather’ and was pleasantly surprised. The first episode was one of the best hours of television I’ve ever watched, and the second followed suit. I know quite a bit about that film, yet never have I learned of the long road it traveled before production. I could sit here and watch a few more episodes, or I could do something much more productive. Right now I just don’t know, though. This entry has dredged feelings out of the blackness of the past and slapped me across the face with situations and events which took place more recently, most notably all those days spent with another. Now I am at a tremendous loss with regard to ambition. Lost. Alone. No one is listening, and the whiskey pays no mind. The Raven and I had many conversations at the big, cozy Mexican restaurant not far from home. One of them comes to mind during these days when I feel alone. After inquiring about questioning some aspects of life, She assured me there would be no need to ask, ever. Since that fateful year, I spent even more time in the restaurant – every visit at the bar, of course – sitting next to a beautiful soul who felt much the same, yet there was an underlying discomfort due to my lifestyle and the decisions I’d made throughout the course of years. Right now I don’t know how to feel about that period of time, but I will say one thing: Had I imagined a match to the woman in question, the possibility seemed very scarce. There were parts here and there, yet not the whole. Time has passed and I reflect every single fucking day only to find myself lost in a wasteland of regret. The conversations have been rendered moot by yours truly, and nothing of the like shall ever happen again. I don’t have enough words to adequately express my love for the visits to that bar, both during fifteen and more recently. If anything can force me into the ground with all haste, this is it. I still see Her face across the pub table, all worried and suffering from a condition from which there seemed no escape. And then I see the other face, all huge, emotional eyes and loving words. This entry is going to take my day and send it straight to hell. Maybe it already did. My cocktail is gone and I know better than to pour another. I’ve ruined enough lives. One more drink and my willpower to remain alive will diminish. Enough people have been affected by me already. I do not wish to hurt anyone else. I've learned that much, at least. Thankfully, there are still enough little parts of each day with the power to keep me here. Don't fool yourself by believing I am speaking frivolously. I am that fucking close every single fucking day. The revolver is in my safe in the next room. 0709. Thursday. A little cooler this morning. Yesterday afternoon I ended up watching a couple more episodes of the show rather than doing anything else. I did make some dinner preparations, though. I suppose that’s better than nothing. One of the reference blondes of the universe is on the screen right now. Very nice. She reminds me of Leigh back during the seventies. I don’t know why. Late last night I decided that I’ve focused upon the title quite enough in this entry. The rest can be spaced out to keep the page even, nothing more. The bottom line here is that I made an ill-conceived decision out of sheer desperation, believing that a chance had presented itself and may never appear again in my life. By that point in time, I was already on such a hair-trigger for something special that when She appeared interested in more than a few drinks and polite conversation, all else in my world became clouded. Not long after, I found myself veering around responsibilities and leveraging whatever I could in order to be near Her as often as possible. I very nearly quit my job, too, just for a little more flexibility in making plans. Within the first two weeks of learning that She wanted to spend time with me, my level of desperation had hit the highest point possible. I would have thrown my whole life away for Her. Very bad, yet understandable considering what had been affecting me for many years, and after the previous time period from which I had run away at high speed due to similar circumstances. The massive positive is the fact that I am a very kind and gentle person. Some others driven to the same sheer desperation would have done much worse. I’ve become a champion of storing feelings for the good of others. Storing? Whoring? Eh... I’ve gone over that one, but suffice to say I continued living in the same way no matter the fucking damage to my head. I did that for the well-being of people other than myself. After the bad decision, I made an effort to work in the opposite direction. Again, for them. Not me. I met the Raven in November of fourteen. We first spent time together in January of fifteen. This is more than seven years later and the resulting effects upon me are worse than anything I could have imagined earlier in life. All that time since strike one... What the fuck have I become? The next time I decided to do something to help myself, no one understood me. Well, I should have known better in the first place. Not enough whoring, I guess. Just out of curiosity, do you think I might be a tad upset about all this? Yesterday I spent some time wallowing in sadness. Today, that mood has changed.
Ashley was one thing, the Raven something else entirely. I cannot explain. Ashley carried an inherent belief to which I have not found a match, whereas the Raven did not. Her understanding was very different. In fact, those two women were vastly different right out of the fucking gate. Well, none of it matters now, so I don’t even know why my fingers are on the damned keyboard half the time. I guess I just wanted to say that those who have had more life experience tended to be less forgiving and not as flexible, and those younger souls demonstrated traits and ideas which forever jaded me. None of this is the fault of anyone. Life is fair. 0824 and the morning stuff is out of the way, leaving me all the time I wish to do whatever I wish. To those working full-time, this likely sounds like a dream. Believe me, my situation has its own share of issues. I am constantly preoccupied with far too much to handle, for example. I’ll do what I can today. My head is fucked up, though. I am feeling the loss more acutely these days than I had a few years ago. Too much loss. All this time alone and in the quiet has taken its toll on me. Do yourself a favor and hold your job. That ship may have sailed for me, but at least I can serve as a reminder to others. I recall a quote... ‘If you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.’ – Catherine Aird That about sums it up. Ah... There is Charlie on the screen again, all five-ten of her. I remember seeking a film from earlier in her career so I could see her without the sci-fi makeup. The story was kind of stupid, but wow was she ever lovely. I am sick of thinking about all this shit every day. And there is so much more. The strikes have become symbols of key events or periods, typically a combination of something I’ve done and that of another person (woman), and appear in my eyes often enough to keep me from progressing in life. The wicked? I wish that had never happened, nor do I want to think about one of the most stirring subjects, ever, which took place very recently. The correlation with that fucking damaging dream is still something I cannot even begin to understand. The iniquitous? That one is self-explanatory. I did bad things for desperate reasons, the power of which had been undeniable. Would I do it again? The chance will probably never appear, meaning I don’t have to make that sort of decision anytime soon. Believe me, there have been situations in which I thought I would come out the other side in very bad shape, but then my common sense appeared out of thin air and steered me away from danger. Maybe the preservation of this little world was enough to keep my body out of the fire. I can't be certain. Honestly, I am hoping to remain away from other people for the duration because I've never felt so weakened by circumstance. And as I have pointed out on many an occasion, the lack of resources is probably going to save my life and prevent heartache in others. My stomach is upset again. I know not why. I still feel bad about a great many situations. People are constantly told that their lives would be easier to live if they let go of the past and focus upon possibilities in the future, otherwise the past will be like a chain, perpetually holding them back. I have not been able to accomplish such a feat. The more I am reminded of the Raven or Ashley and the vast gradient between those highs and the present, the further down I fall. There were other wondrous situations, of course, yet those two points of reference seem to stand out. Maybe their ages were factors, but I can’t be certain. Much of the time I do not see age. I see connections. The more recent of which continues to plague me daily, as well. I just can’t seem to come to terms with the entire affair no matter the effort. Do I feel bad about it? Yep, just like the others. My dissatisfaction with such a large percentage of the past has driven me into a mindset that may never be alleviated. Everything has been pushed right up to or just beyond limits. Circumstances have caught up. I don’t know what to do or how to help myself, so I just keep typing. Along the way? Bad feelings about what I have done in life. A large portion of my anger is due to the belief that all the wonder is gone forever, and I missed too much. 'Lying is a skill -- like any other -- and if you wish to maintain a level of excellence, you must practice constantly.' That question from twelve years ago, yet again... ‘Tell me something I should know about you, please.’ My response was that I was deceptive, and her reaction was one of surprise. Well, I had been standing in the parking lot of a military lodge with a woman who was not the one with which I had been in a relationship. I had to deceive one to be with the other, hence my answer. It made sense to me, though. I tried to point out something negative. Apparently, I succeeded. Some months later that response to her question was used against me. I should have known, but like always, I was blinded by beauty and paralyzed by wonder. What a fucking idiot. At least I was not whoring myself for the good of another. Not yet, anyway. 0934. I have to go back out today because the smoke shop did not have one brand. I’ll go over there later, I guess. Right now I am trying to remain comfortable due to my upset stomach. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten to me this morning, but I can tell you it’s going to aggravate my already cunty mood. I hope no one contacts me for a conversation. Anyway, I’ll take care of the routine like always because that, if nothing else, provides a sense of structure during the weekdays. I did what I did for what seemed unavoidable reasons. I feel appropriately bad, too. Yes, seven years later I still feel bad. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t know how to feel differently. And She is gone, so part of any reconciliation has been rendered impossible. I can keep pushing it away, I suppose, lest it get the better of me one of these days. Two other situations come to mind whenever I speak of Her. They are pressing on me. There is very little I feel good about anymore. I’m sure one of these days the only part of life which brings me up will be the housework. Marvelous. I can see the sundress and Her smile right now. I also see another smile. And another... I can see fog trying to pour itself over the hills to the south. Beautiful. Blue sky, green hills, gray fog. What a sight. Kira is crying. No coffee left. Time for a drink, I guess. The rest of the day awaits my attention. I just need this stomach thingy to go away. Also? I need help."
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