August 1st, 2022 3:50pm pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Wicked Strike (Two) read ( words) "1029. I published the latest mess. The third show is still playing on the television because part of me is constantly living in the past; a long ago period which glows inside and illuminates a huge gradient that I have crafted from years of discomfort and loss. The glow is still the defining period of my life. Another period is many years later, and comprises 202 days, 11 hours and 40 minutes, give or take a number of seconds. That is the time period on my mind right now. It represents the time between first meeting the Raven outside work to the last time She sent me a message. Or... 55.48% of that year, which was 2015. 291,580 minutes. 17,494,800 seconds (rounded). That was all we had. Since then... 2556 days, 9 hours, 46 minutes and 46 seconds have elapsed. Quite a difference. Those many days have given birth to nothing more than questions. She made me promise never to hurt myself, damn it. Ashley did, too, yet the years seemed to soften her words until recently. As for the rest? I don’t know anymore. 1120 and I finished round two of the kitchen. There is no laundry or dry cleaning to be done. My time is wide fuckin’ open (racing industry term). Lots of time can be very advantageous. It can also be disastrous. As I have stated on far too many occasions, I don’t know what to do now. ‘Wheels within wheels in a spiral array; a pattern so grand and complex... Time after time we lose sight of the way; our causes can’t see their effects.’ Indeed. Thank you, Neil. What a fucking lyrical genius. I wish I had such ‘sight’, or at least such an open view of the world. Unfortunately, I’ve been slighted by the very same world, too many times. Foiled. Failed. Again. I hate this shit and do not have the words to adequately describe my disdain. Twenty years of the site have not been enough. ‘The Hammer’ was inappropriately titled. I am still trying to swing the fucking tool. 0925 on Friday morning. Half the routine is finished and I spent over an hour working on freeing up storage space on the remote server. What a fucking pain in the ass. For the longest time, it seemed as if no matter what I removed, the space was still near its limit. I really had to delve into the operation of that system before finally being able to delete a pile of unnecessary backups. I’ll get to the kitchen soon. Right now I need to sit here and think about what I saw yesterday. A huge problem, and one which stemmed from the damaging dream and will not let go of my head. I am quite certain the sight will return to my sleep state and grip me again. Like many other situations in my present life, there is nothing I can do about this. The problem is not going to go away. Today is most likely going to be very quiet other than a possible trip to the small market. I can’t deal with the larger shopping center right now. And believe me, it is not concerning due to what I may see. I’ve already seen far too much in the space of a few minutes. The store will not be able to hold a candle to this shit. The reason for the small market is time and ease of shopping. I have been helping with that same clutch issue next door and the work is quite enjoyable. I also like to feel useful, which is a state of mind alien to me lately. Yesterday all three of us put our heads together and solved one problem, only to find another, larger issue which is going to take time. I am always here, so I can always help. The problem in the previous paragraph came about during the work. At least I was busy. I don’t know when we can continue the repairs, though. My schedule is wide-open, but the others do not enjoy the same flexibility. Soon, perhaps. I still have the third show up there on my big television. Gray sky outside again, some drizzle. I’m looking forward to watching and listening to my friends on the kitchen television while enjoying a bit of booze while cleaning. I’ll probably go to the little market after that work is complete. The booze will help just in case the bare midriff is behind the register. My larger and more recent issue may squash everything else, however. It is THAT big of a deal. I still can’t believe the content of the damaging dream. I feel nearly crippled much of the time. I am going to continue to chew on this shit for a long time because there can be no solution, nor can I discuss the problem with another human being on this planet. All I can do is sit here typing and thinking. And then there are those nights or mornings when my subconscious will be gripped by the situation again, completely beyond my control. I really do not like this. First, there was the height interest. Then? The obsession grew from height and trying to understand why certain shapes drew my attention with such awe. And then, the Asian interest. That faded, for the most part. Soon after? Andrea. Not good, but wonderful. This timeline is absolutely shit. Anyway, the Raven soon became the object of my obsession and I ran with it for a while. Throughout all those years, there was a constant that I really did not consider most of the time due to it being perfectly natural. Now, a wrench has been thrown into the machinery and left me with even less fucking answers than before the dream a few months ago. It is a big wrench. The machine is broken. The worst part is the fact that I cannot speak about it. The issue is going to worsen over time. I already know that much, at least. The only subject close to the power of the damaging dream is that paragraph below, and it barely scratches the surface of a vault inside me. No wonder I’m an alcoholic. Give me another fucking avenue. And here I am at 1131 with everything finished. I may run a load of dry cleaning, but if so, it will be much later. Right now I need to relax and think. Cocktail, third show, and some items appeared on the porch, two of which being for the new desktop computer setup. Very nice. Also in the mail was a new keyboard for this machine, and it will be the fourth, believe it or not. I wore out the original, found a used replacement which turned out to be a pile of crap (the spacebar died within days), then purchased a non-lighted unit so I could type like a normal person, and then ran across an original, unused, lighted keyboard thanks to a saved search on eBay. I don’t really feel like changing it right now, though. As I said, I need to relax a while. The difficulty from yesterday will not let up on me. Thank goodness my routine is finished because I am beginning to feel that the remainder of this day will add up to exactly zero. Whatever. I can’t get the damaging dream out of my head. The situation appeared as a repeat of the dream, yet in reality. This is not something I can easily reconcile. Oh, the shit I went through to make it work It happened again yesterday. ‘It’. The issue which came up not long ago thanks to a vivid dream of a subject I cannot discuss here or anywhere else. This is on my mind on and off all day long no matter what I may be doing. I keep seeing and feeling more than I care to deal with right now. I already have enough shit swirling. I may write another secret story just so I can explore my feelings. Unfortunately, the story can also lead to disaster, much like the last one. Two days ago was quite the problem in my head. Yesterday, it became worse. My issues are going to worsen very soon. I know it. There is no solution, no outlet whatsoever, and no one is listening, just like every fucking day in recent memory. It's Saturday morning now. Yesterday turned out to be much more productive than I would have thought twenty-four hours ago. I cleaned up the tree trimmings and messed around in the garage for a while, afterward with the exhaust next door. I prepared some things for dinner rather early and then went back out to help get the pipe back on his motorcycle. My metalworking background really came in handy last night as I had to rework a steel bracket before everything fit correctly. Between the yard work, my usual stuff and the bike, I actually feel pretty damned accomplished. As for today, I have not clue one as to how I’ll feel a few hours from now. The shit from yesterday permeated everything I touched or worked with, and this morning I can still see problems mounting inside my head. Some aspects of life were not meant for yours truly, I suppose, yet I will still not refer to anything difficult as ‘unfair’ because I don’t know what it means. The new keyboard was quite a find. Most ‘new’ units are well over a hundred dollars, yet this one upon which I now type was less than thirty. I still don’t know how they were able to sell this keyboard so cheaply. At first, I thought there would be something off, like a copy of the original or some kind of knockoff. Well, a quick comparison to the original quickly shut down that theory. I guess they acquired it for little or no money and simply turned it back out. I had become accustomed to the look and feel of the intermediate unit, meaning going back to the real thing feels amazing, plus the lighted keys really help in the morning. As the autumnal equinox approaches, the lighting will become even more important. Perhaps today I can separate everything from this little desk system and do some cleaning. I still love this machine more than any other I’ve owned. Nothing against Penny, but Kasidy is just fucking boring. On the flip side, J.G. is incredible. I look forward to more of his appearances as the show progresses. This is the outset of the fourth season. Ugh. I can’t get some recent imagery out of my fucking brain. I don’t even know what image or images to include in this entry. Maybe nothing? Shit. The same fucking thought continues to strike me upside the head over and over without respite. I just keep seeing it... A wicked, pulling feeling that has gripped me unlike in the past and now stands as the most unexpected development imaginable. Even that day when I lost my sense of speech over the girl down the street cannot compare to this latest fucking strike. Even worse is the fact that I can’t say a single word about it. Believe me, there is evil brewing inside. I don’t recall any dreams from last night or this morning, thank Christ. After yesterday, I would have thought the subconscious would fuck me over during the late night. Nothing. I still have the two original problems inside, as if they took place mere seconds ago. Considering all I’ve tried to deal with throughout the last several years, I really didn’t need something so stirring, yet disturbing at the same time. I haven’t felt such a draw since the pool three summers ago, nearly to the day. The tiny upside is that I know what is going on and how I feel, meaning the only way this situation can play out is like all the others... I’ll be here at home – completely alone in my thoughts – and pretty fucking pissy. As long as I remain here while angry, no one else is affected. No one knows what happened, either. Suffice to say, I was not expecting something like this prior to the dream. Hmm... I need to search ‘damaging dream’ so I can find the first mention and learn of how long this has been going on. 0800 straight up. Gray outside, yet again. Yesterday it drizzled on and off all day long. I kept hearing updates on the radio about the mercury into the mid-eighties on the other side of the hill, but on this side there is rarely sunshine this time of year. I am really enjoying the climate change, even considering I’ve lived in this house for just over ten years. I have no idea if the sun will make an appearance later. Maybe the temperature will be ideal for doing some garbage preparations for tomorrow. Okay, so far as I can tell, the first mention of the dream was on May the 12th. That’s something, anyway, and not as much time has passed as I had originally thought. Unfortunately, the issue became inflamed to the extreme more recently... Twice. The first was bad enough, but the second? I almost fell on my stupid face, literally. So, we have the better part of three months of this shit, and I believe the strike will worsen and become far more wicked as the days pass. I really wish I could spell out the fucking thing. 0920. The day has fallen down, but I believe I can recover in a little while by drowning within some chores and booze. I forgot to mention that as of yesterday, I have three key components to the new desktop computer system: keyboard (lighted, and one of the most comfortable ever made), trackball and speakers. One good aspect of the speakers is the fact that they can be used standalone rather than only from the machine. Anything can be plugged in, meaning I can use the old phone which normally lives in the garage for music in the house. For the desktop, I only need to secure two monitors and the machine itself. Very nice. Maybe in order to improve my mood, I can work in the office later and streamline. I did not need alcohol to suppress the dreaming today. Perhaps tomorrow. None of this will ever end. Fourth season. Good stuff. And? Tony fuckin’ Todd up there. Awesome. God damn is this show ever fantastic. Another family, and a group of individuals who will never forsake me. The first strike was wicked, but the second aligned with imagery inside my head which can be construed as very subjective. There are details that I cannot describe, but when everything is aligned properly, the resulting position can be devastating. Of course, there are others, but the point of the current disastrous situation remains high above the norm. You are not going to understand any of this and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind, either. The fact is I saw something which pushed my head into a very bad way of thinking, and then I saw more. Now I can’t stop thinking. This is all so very bad and has led to a mindset I never imagined. Bad, but I cannot simply go back and forget. The worst part? It’s going to keep happening. Splendid. So far, I’ve dealt with it and remained silent. Such a fact is one positive, anyway. Well, I don’t have any choice in the matter. The truck has been on my mind lately, most notably the idea of altering the drive system to something much simpler for the purpose of making the damned thing move on its own. If I recall correctly, some years ago when I first built the main control board, I focused upon testing the steering system due to it being so complex. The drive was very straightforward in comparison, so I was unconcerned about making it function. Well, in my travels of running tests, I seem to remember the drive board being dead as a doornail and didn’t know why. I replaced it, but still it would not operate the gearmotor. I gave up soon after. Since I know the board layout and operation so well, I can probably run a few tests with the drive controller isolated and see if my memory is correct. Either way, the idea to simplify the drive may come to pass. I’m referring to using a standard ESC and RC motor to move the truck, which means reconfiguring a bit of the electronics. That is pretty easy and can be done with what I already have. The rub is I would still need to have a motor mount machined by the same shop that manufactured both the chassis plate and wheel adapters. Expensive, and with zero room for error. I would have to ensure that the mount is adjustable. And then? The drivetrain will have to be rebuilt so everything is tight and smooth. I honestly can’t decide whether or not to begin such a process because it could turn out to be nothing more than a pricey can of worms. The steering is another matter entirely. I spent years designing and machining to build a unique and very dramatic steering system and do not wish to bypass the whole thing in order to simplify and see it moving. The truck would operate as it should, yet all my vision could be lost. Not good. I will say that this coming December will be precisely twenty fucking years since I first created the frame rails. That was the very beginning of the entire project moving away from a store-bought model to one designed and fabricated almost completely by me. Twenty years, and the truck has never moved. Somewhere along the lines of designing the original power supply, my head descended into a pit of crazy ideas. The board spiraled out of control and shifted the focal point of the vehicle from mechanical to electronic. The actual physical operation took a back seat to a ton of unnecessary technology. I did make the steering work, though, despite the board being so insane. I really don’t want to see all that unique imagination tossed aside just so it moves around the ground. In the dream I was understood and given free reign. In life I enjoy none of the same. 0651 on Sunday. Yesterday was nearly worthless, although I really enjoyed one hell of a morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen. Not much else, to be honest. I didn’t even grill the roast last night which has been the plan for a few days. I didn’t do much of anything, really. Today I will have to amend my methods and accomplish more. The feeling in my head last night was not good. Susanna again. Her beautiful face is all over the screen in this episode. Her name reminds me of the previous mention, meaning I’ve plowed through several series’ in a very short period of time, rather like I did with the gangsters. I believe the total was eighty-six hours of television in just under fifteen days. Crazy. I can feel my ambition decreasing as the days pass. I can feel the diminishing interest in things which used to stir me. I can feel myself weakening by the minute, yet I am also paralyzed. The little things are all that remain. Yesterday was a good example of a sort of line on the calendar. I have nothing going on most of the time, only those trips to the store or possibly to get something to eat in an agreeable atmosphere. I’ve felt even less of the world around me in only the past few weeks. What appeared exciting or interesting then is now neither. As if that has not been enough to deepen my state, the foiled nature of my feelings simply will not fucking go away no matter what I try or how many ideas come to mind for avoiding the mindset which leads to disaster. Years ago, this morning would be complete bliss and I would cherish every second. Now? The issue is nearly an everyday pattern. No, that doesn’t mean I want to return to full-time work. I need to remain here. I just need some kind of lift from this now-lowest of levels. The strike has nothing to do with my present condition as described above, though. The two subjects are still separate. Strike two is tough, however, and knocked me upside the head pretty well. The interesting part is that the first sighting after that damaging dream was not like what I saw inside my subconscious, and not until the third occasion did my eyes see the form from the dream, which by that point was weeks behind. The new problem I am experiencing has likely stemmed from that dream and its matching visions pressing on me with enough force to leave me uninterested in the daily parts of life. I wish I had not seen the third. I really didn’t need that kind of twisted imagery right before my tired eyes. The sight took me all the way back to a bank teller many years ago (I can’t fully recall her) and then another bank teller you may have read about on this site. The last reference I considered was Jana. As I said, none of this is good for me in any way. Seeing certain things a bit too close to my eyes can contribute to depression. Those items I’ve mentioned in recent weeks have done just that. If I am to survive to the end of the year, I’ll have to learn how to cope with what has changed this year and find an avenue to feeling accomplished again. And that dream I mentioned several times continues to hang right behind my eyes. I can't shake it. Everything I wanted and needed was right there for the taking, and every damned bit of it was understood. The gradient between those feelings and real life has never been wider. I can’t fuck around today. The routine and the garbage need to be mere beginnings. And I just learned that the great David Warner passed away seven days ago. Damn it. So much stirring talent. So sad. The ensign at the helm is stunning. Dark and alluring. I am a basket case. 0744. I have no kitchen cleaning to speak of this morning. I never made dinner. The plan has been postponed to this afternoon and I will set up early toward that end. I can nickel and dime the trash can, too. There are always little things which can be tossed in the interest of freeing up space in the house and garage. And in case I failed to emphasize the experience of typing, I must say that I don’t know how in the fuck that company sold this keyboard at such a low price, but I’m glad they did. The feel and sounds bring me back to when I was typing in the garage five years ago and enjoying the fantastic build quality of this machine. It’s not their fault that I wore out some key labels due to typing incessantly for five years. Anyway, the garage has enjoyed being very organized since last weekend, meaning I have the room to work out there without worrying about messing up my ‘system’. I can focus upon other chores while using the garage as the tool it was designed to be. Hopefully my time alone today combined with caring for the business will help those images in my head fade somewhat. The chances are slim considering the sheer power of the female form, but I have to try. What a fucking maroon. I’ve changed my mind about messing around with the truck’s drive section. It must remain inside the display case for the foreseeable future. Every time I look at it I become sad. I’ll have to get away from this soon. Part of the reason I’ve felt so crappy lately is too much sitting still, meaning the more I move around, the better I will feel. Combined with drinking enough water for a calendar day, the sum could be an actual positive in my life. Keep in mind that I almost always ‘know’ what needs to be done. I just rarely give a shit. Well, I kind of give a shit now because of how I felt yesterday after accomplishing very little. I don’t want a repeat of that crap. The hours between writing in the morning and watching a show in the afternoon were wrought with failures. Believe me, I know. Perched atop the bad feelings are the recent images of which I cannot rid myself, and they are attached to the dream. I can’t decide if I would be better off wishing to win a lottery jackpot or to have those memories excised from my brain. Both wishes seem to have an equal chance. While Jana and I were riding the inclinator from the twenty-ninth floor to the casino level, I glanced over at her and saw the strap of her tank top vibrating from the movement of one breast. While standing at the teller window on Maryland Parkway in Vegas, I noticed the front seam of Juliette’s blouse was being slightly strained by her chest inside. The space between each pair of button holes was pulled apart ever so slightly. Whenever the Monorail cruised over a connecting joint on the track, I could see a glimpse of Andrea’s very colorful bra and some slight bouncing of the breast it contained. The damaging dream from May or whenever it happened showed me a bra strap pulling upward on one cup full of a breast. I saw no face, and the entire scene flew by in seconds. Some movement, a top being put on a torso, and then the knowledge that I was right there so close for good reason. I saw only one side again, just like those incidents above. The wicked strike followed suit and I am deeply hurt as a result. I don't know why this had to happen, yet at the same time I feel I wholly deserve the pain. Problems are at an all-time high right now. This is not easy, yet still I will not say I am having a more difficult time than anyone else. I don't know what people go through, meaning I cannot comment. My shit is my shit. I suppose I'm feeling it more than a while back due to the wicked strike. That would be... Strike two, otherwise known as the middle nail sticking out of my head. I still see the strike. Right there. Never in a million years could I have imagined the way things have developed and the ethereal nature of the situations playing out inside my head right now. I could not have predicted this at all. The dream came along when it did and for whatever reason. Real life then followed suit and showed me an image from the dream. That was after the fucking fact, people. An omen? Hell no. But how in the hell could the dream have predicted something weeks earlier? The imagery was a near enough match to send me into a wasteland of wonder and loss. I fail to understand how my brain manufactured a very clear, specific dream, and then an identical scene played out weeks later right before my eyes. Have I become so desperate? How could such a situation have come to pass? I don’t fucking get it. Right there... All soft, beautiful and screaming at my eyes. This is more perplexing than anything else in recent memory. To add insult to injury, I cannot go into specifics at all. I will be shunned, labeled, or worse. I am still watching the fourth season of the third show, and very soon Megan and her gorgeous eyes will be gracing the screen. God damn it anyway. I have to watch, though. Don’t ask me why. Charles Napier and Megan Gallagher on the television at the same time. You wanna talk about diametrically opposed faces? Jesus. She is so beautiful, and all of thirty-five years of age when the episode first aired. Damn. Time, money and work And there she is, frozen for all time. Fucking hell, anyway. 0851 and I am enjoying the last cup of coffee for today. I’ll probably care for half the routine very soon, and then whatever seems best. Maybe I can go through some crap in the office for a while as I keep the house quiet for the next hour. God damn, her big, bright eyes shoot laser beams straight into my weak heart with unrelenting power. Like a wrecking ball made up of beauty, I will feel the effects and damage forever. Even Megan’s sweet, sweet eyes cannot hold a candle to the power of the wicked strike, though. I saw it. The image is inside me for all time. Completely fucked. I guess I’ll start drinking at an early hour today. Give me a reason to avoid such behavior. Go for it. Megan reminds me of Kate Beckinsale, one of those brunettes who could draw people to the theatre with ease. My ‘Kate thing’ faded some years ago, yet the resemblance is a reminder of the sheer force of dark beauty. The application just suggested I alter the spelling of the word from ‘theatre’ to ‘theater’. Fuck off. No way. I am too old fashioned. Anyway, Kate was in my eyes, whereas Megan is in my heart. Make of that what you will. Maybe the thingy is her eyebrows. Whatever. Enough about her. Bigger fish, as it were. I can't get those twin images out of my fucking head this morning. 1116 and the routine is finished. I also unpacked the new speakers and ran a quick test to ensure everything is fine. I don’t like to toss packaging until I know there are no issues. I’ll keep the inner box, just in case. My garbage work is going to wait a little while, perhaps until after lunch. Marci was on the screen earlier, all leggy and gorgeous beyond belief. As I stated in the entry centered around her beauty, Marci may have been the catalyst for decades of obsession, or at least a big part of it. This episode originally aired mere weeks after I returned from the Midwest, meaning I probably did not see her until some time later. I’ve retreaded the subject for a very long time, too. At this point in time, I just don’t have clear dates or answers. Too bad. Marci is frozen in time, much like Megan and several others. Basket case. Living in the past. Such is me. I still see one breast lovingly and beautifully held by thin material, just below a strap which is being tensed by weight. A hand emerges from the dark and tugs twice – gently – on the strap, resulting in a slight bounce of the softness inside. It was a dream while I slept. Nearly two months later, I saw the real thing, albeit sans the hand. A slight bounce. My eyes came out of my head. Now I have to deal with the wicked strike during every fucking waking moment. Strike two. Working on my house business for the rest of the day is going to be difficult, especially considering the strike will not leave me for a second, only to be reinforced by Marci. Sometimes I just hate everything and wish to make it all go away. Unfortunately, I promised three key individuals that I would care for myself. Not even the occasional combination of pizza and good television can help me now. I can’t stop obsessing over everything. I really didn’t need to see it. With all the other shit I run across while shopping or whatever, the cherry on top only serves to reduce my place in the world even more than I had thought possible. The au jus of Satan, yet again. Right before my eyes, not three feet away, there it was... The vision from the dream in real life. Oh, did I mention the color of the bra strap was a match? Maybe I overlooked that tidbit. The world is not at fault for this shit, either. There is probably no one at fault. I see a very unlikely set of circumstances, nothing more. There is no magic here, voodoo, or anything so far-fetched. But I must admit that the likelihood of an event from a dream coming to life weeks later is in the stratosphere. I just don’t fucking understand. I need help, yet all I have is me. No one is listening, and even if I were to flood a person’s ears with the wicked strike, the most likely outcome would be a confused expression and a damning opinion. They would tell me one of two things: Either I am out of my fucking mind, or I am not recalling everything clearly. Well, fuck that. I know what happened. I need more help now than ever, especially considering the first vision was none other than the damaging dream. Well, now the time is 1248 and I have everything finished. I set out to handle the trash and a second round in the kitchen, also finalizing whatever needed to be composted or recycled. All that crap is done. The third show is still gracing the screen and making me nostalgic. The one detail of my life which has not left my head during all this work is that fucking image. You know, the one which matched the dream, but after the fact. I still don’t understand. I am not the type to believe in a bunch of hocus pocus superstitious mumbo jumbo, nor am I subject to belief in clairvoyance, clairaudience (look it up) or any other type of precognition. All that shit needs to be proven, although the circumstance would seem to have already accomplished such a feat. The voodoo is not a part of my life, nor has it ever been. Fate? Eh... That was brought up with regard to the race girl. Destiny? I don’t know about that crap, either. Everything seems to add up to a series of dead ends. Only the incident has held true. There is no explanation. Do you have one? Help me, please. I am hurt. I don’t know what the hell this day has left for me. Eventually the cans will head to the curb and my evening will commence. In between now and then, I have not one fucking clue. I’m tired of remote controls becoming smaller and more rounded. They are slippery, or I am an idiot. Maybe both. Whichever the case may be, I don’t fucking like it anymore when I reach for something apparently designed for an alien race with sticky appendages, and the object slips out of my hand. It’s fucking stupid. Maybe I’ll seek a universal remote that is the size of a loaf of bread and toss the others. Without this trivial shit to discuss, I would repeat myself even more than I already have. 0701 on Monday morning. Very dark and drizzly outside, coffee next to me, and the third show. I don’t have much time to relax before the morning business, though. Lots of crap occupying my mind this morning, not the least of which is taking it easy for much of this day. I haven’t heard a garbage truck as of yet, but they will be along soon. I might have time to toss a few extras before the cans are emptied. Oh, I think I hear one of them now. Damn. Yesterday, this machine was my focus for some hours while I was alone, and that will probably continue after the morning business. Something told me to clean the outside casing and research everything I can upgrade in order to keep this thing running smoothly. After much time perusing articles and such, I decided the simplest method is to double the memory. Nothing more in the foreseeable future, though. This machine is several years old and the upgrade parts are cheap, so I’ll do the memory and see how much it helps. Pause. 0819. The next several hours are all mine. No breasts here I dreamed about something but cannot recall now. My head was out of balance in the middle of the night, keeping me awake for over an hour. All I had been thinking about was this computer, and I believe I may have had a dream about my parents, too. Nothing heavy or dramatic, though. Just some kind of situation, I guess. I don’t understand why there are times when I cannot relax enough to return to sleep after something awakens me. This morning I don’t really feel any effects of losing sleep, so perhaps it’s not a big deal today. Damn, this keyboard is nice. It brings me back to when I first received the computer from its builder five years ago. The new keyboard also makes it more enjoyable to type about being struck upside the head by a very bad situation, and something I cannot forget. I wish I had never seen it. Three feet from my eyes, that black strap and just enough movement to force me back to the damaging dream, thus damaging me further. I can’t say it. I can’t talk with anyone. ‘No options’ means much frustration. Issues two and four seemed pretty damned tough. This shit puts them both to shame. At least I can feel the keyboard under my fingers and try to smile about it. Still fucking dark outside, and near nine in the morning. The mood in the house feels like fall. If I get pissed off, perhaps I can grab the Christmas tree and start wrapping it with lights. Heh. No, I’m only joking. The weather reminds me of the holidays, that’s all. I’m going to try pushing against that mental situation today and see if I can rise and be productive. I don’t have much choice in what takes place in my head these days. All I can do is try, and hopefully I won’t fall all over myself later. When my head fills with the dream and subsequent reality of something so beautiful that I want to blow my head off, whatever else may be awaiting my attention around the house pretty much goes to hell very quickly. I can’t have that today, damn it. Trying is all I can do, yet most of the time the more I push, the more the image forces me into other directions, one of which can be very destructive. For the tenth time, I wish I had not seen the beauty right in front of me. I really didn’t fucking need that shit. It will happen again, though. No control there. This is bad. I just learned that Nichelle Nichols passed away. The shit in my head has been forced to take a pause. Rest in peace, you beautiful, pioneering woman. You are loved and will be sadly missed. 0927 and I am beginning to think that I won’t be doing much for the remainder of the day. Two Trek icons lost in the space of days means my concentration is waning and my problems have to be shelved for a while. Whatever I may be dealing with, the loss of loved ones takes priority. Damn. An acquaintance of mine from some years ago used to say, “Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies!”, and I thought he was referring to ailing health. I later learned that he was talking about losing those around us. This just sucks out loud. 1103 and I limped my way through the routine, although due to feeling like crap, I skipped the daily sweeping. That is not a big deal, really. Moreover, while returning one of the kitchen knives to its sheath, I accidentally cut my hand a bit. Nothing terrible, but it put a damper on my efforts. I did not clean the stovetop yet. Fortunately, the nick is on my right hand. Oh my, do I ever want to live on that station. I mentioned the frozen individuals from the first season of the second show and my desire to awaken as they did – 400 years in the future – but I have to say that the station has been a focus for a very long time. The more I watch this show, the more I wish to live there. All the problems would immediately disappear. That is not a joke. And I would gain much more than can be possible in reality. Don’t even fucking get me started on the interchangeability of matter and energy. Remember the machine? She would only be the beginning of something wonderful. Every episode shows me something helpful and heartwarming. This is how the derealization has affected me. Real life is not cutting the fucking mustard. And? The wicked strike could be a situation easily dealt with in that universe, not to mention the idea of actually embracing the fact. Yes, I said that. But I can’t say it here. Follow along with the lack of clarity. Maybe use your imagination or something. I don’t care. Ice-cold whiskey right next to me. Yesterday I finished some laundry and dry cleaning, meaning this day can be spent reflecting rather than working. If I could live where I wish, the worries would melt quicker than butter on the Devil’s Golf Course. Look it up. Cultural derealization. Those two words have rung more truth into my life than anything uttered from a real person. The wicked strike pushed me further away than I had thought possible. I really need some help. Lots of help. No one is listening. The difference between Kasidy and Jennifer is analogous to the difference between a dumpster and a Hawaiian waterfall. The day is still very dim. The fog must be pretty thick up there. I can see the nearest hill, but not those just beyond. If the outdoor areas were a little dimmer, I could actually light the garage empire. That should put the light level in perspective. Heh. I love it. Maybe there is a partial eclipse of which I am unaware. Michael fucking Ansara (rest his soul) is on the screen throughout this episode, complete with one of the most stirring voices in the history of mankind. Don’t fucking get me started. Unfortunately, many viewers were quite disappointed in the A-plot. Too bad. Personally, I love this episode. I can’t stop thinking about the strike. It was right there in front of me, not a yard from my eyes. After all these years of exposition on the subjects of beauty, obsession and desire, I’m certain anyone reading this can draw pictures of what took place in my mind. The problem here is that I cannot speak my mind. Much of what happened inside me during the strike is far beyond off-limits. Such a fact is a large part of the problem. No one is listening because I cannot say anything. A few keywords come to mind, none of which can be displayed on the site. I cannot reveal too much here, lest I be labeled, or worse. Such a fact is also a positive, as I tend to keep everything inside. Complete honesty is a myth. I just noticed that I’ve been typing without issue despite the cut on my right palm. Not bad. Prior to these words, the count of this entry was 7382, which happens to be the elevation of my favorite mountain pass in the Sierra Nevada range, Echo Summit. Upon reaching the top, the drive then descends into the Tahoe Basin with the lake visible around each corner. The drive is so far beyond beautiful that I cannot even scratch the surface. I miss going up there twice yearly. Visiting the south shore was always a reminder of when I was young and full of wonder. I could use some actual wonder right about now. Eh... All expectation of anything good happening in my life melted away long ago. Another subject to be avoided. There have been two entries here with the word 'whore' in the title. Interesting. 1330. I am still sitting with the third show. The sun is shining and warming my life, such as it is. I could use a boost. The images of the truck and associated test equipment are here because I don’t need to see anything else right now. I’ve seen too much already, both in dreams and before my very eyes. The wicked strike is at the top of the list right now, too. Not good. The consequences of that strike upon my psyche have been dramatic and far-reaching, pushing a manner of societal thinking I have never considered before. I need help. Nothing will ever come of this situation, of course, because I remain closed off more than ever. Right there in front of me, all soft and warm, just like the dream that ruined a part of me for all time. I did my best to avoid staring and only glanced when possible without causing damage to others. The damage to me was immediate, on the other hand, as my brain produced high-speed video of the dream over and over, as if the loop would go on forever. I saw the strap being tugged by manicured fingertips despite the dream having come and gone weeks earlier. Movement. Enough movement to force me to retreat and attempt to control my breathing for the next few minutes. And then it happened a second time and I realized I had to become a machine and just shut it the hell off for the rest of the night. One more time for posterity... I did not need that shit. There was a wicked strike to the side of my head, and the type of vision I hope I never see again." 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 1st, 2022 3:50pm pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Wicked Strike (Two) read ( words) "1029. I published the latest mess. The third show is still playing on the television because part of me is constantly living in the past; a long ago period which glows inside and illuminates a huge gradient that I have crafted from years of discomfort and loss. The glow is still the defining period of my life. Another period is many years later, and comprises 202 days, 11 hours and 40 minutes, give or take a number of seconds. That is the time period on my mind right now. It represents the time between first meeting the Raven outside work to the last time She sent me a message. Or... 55.48% of that year, which was 2015. 291,580 minutes. 17,494,800 seconds (rounded). That was all we had. Since then... 2556 days, 9 hours, 46 minutes and 46 seconds have elapsed. Quite a difference. Those many days have given birth to nothing more than questions. She made me promise never to hurt myself, damn it. Ashley did, too, yet the years seemed to soften her words until recently. As for the rest? I don’t know anymore. 1120 and I finished round two of the kitchen. There is no laundry or dry cleaning to be done. My time is wide fuckin’ open (racing industry term). Lots of time can be very advantageous. It can also be disastrous. As I have stated on far too many occasions, I don’t know what to do now. ‘Wheels within wheels in a spiral array; a pattern so grand and complex... Time after time we lose sight of the way; our causes can’t see their effects.’ Indeed. Thank you, Neil. What a fucking lyrical genius. I wish I had such ‘sight’, or at least such an open view of the world. Unfortunately, I’ve been slighted by the very same world, too many times. Foiled. Failed. Again. I hate this shit and do not have the words to adequately describe my disdain. Twenty years of the site have not been enough. ‘The Hammer’ was inappropriately titled. I am still trying to swing the fucking tool. 0925 on Friday morning. Half the routine is finished and I spent over an hour working on freeing up storage space on the remote server. What a fucking pain in the ass. For the longest time, it seemed as if no matter what I removed, the space was still near its limit. I really had to delve into the operation of that system before finally being able to delete a pile of unnecessary backups. I’ll get to the kitchen soon. Right now I need to sit here and think about what I saw yesterday. A huge problem, and one which stemmed from the damaging dream and will not let go of my head. I am quite certain the sight will return to my sleep state and grip me again. Like many other situations in my present life, there is nothing I can do about this. The problem is not going to go away. Today is most likely going to be very quiet other than a possible trip to the small market. I can’t deal with the larger shopping center right now. And believe me, it is not concerning due to what I may see. I’ve already seen far too much in the space of a few minutes. The store will not be able to hold a candle to this shit. The reason for the small market is time and ease of shopping. I have been helping with that same clutch issue next door and the work is quite enjoyable. I also like to feel useful, which is a state of mind alien to me lately. Yesterday all three of us put our heads together and solved one problem, only to find another, larger issue which is going to take time. I am always here, so I can always help. The problem in the previous paragraph came about during the work. At least I was busy. I don’t know when we can continue the repairs, though. My schedule is wide-open, but the others do not enjoy the same flexibility. Soon, perhaps. I still have the third show up there on my big television. Gray sky outside again, some drizzle. I’m looking forward to watching and listening to my friends on the kitchen television while enjoying a bit of booze while cleaning. I’ll probably go to the little market after that work is complete. The booze will help just in case the bare midriff is behind the register. My larger and more recent issue may squash everything else, however. It is THAT big of a deal. I still can’t believe the content of the damaging dream. I feel nearly crippled much of the time. I am going to continue to chew on this shit for a long time because there can be no solution, nor can I discuss the problem with another human being on this planet. All I can do is sit here typing and thinking. And then there are those nights or mornings when my subconscious will be gripped by the situation again, completely beyond my control. I really do not like this. First, there was the height interest. Then? The obsession grew from height and trying to understand why certain shapes drew my attention with such awe. And then, the Asian interest. That faded, for the most part. Soon after? Andrea. Not good, but wonderful. This timeline is absolutely shit. Anyway, the Raven soon became the object of my obsession and I ran with it for a while. Throughout all those years, there was a constant that I really did not consider most of the time due to it being perfectly natural. Now, a wrench has been thrown into the machinery and left me with even less fucking answers than before the dream a few months ago. It is a big wrench. The machine is broken. The worst part is the fact that I cannot speak about it. The issue is going to worsen over time. I already know that much, at least. The only subject close to the power of the damaging dream is that paragraph below, and it barely scratches the surface of a vault inside me. No wonder I’m an alcoholic. Give me another fucking avenue. And here I am at 1131 with everything finished. I may run a load of dry cleaning, but if so, it will be much later. Right now I need to relax and think. Cocktail, third show, and some items appeared on the porch, two of which being for the new desktop computer setup. Very nice. Also in the mail was a new keyboard for this machine, and it will be the fourth, believe it or not. I wore out the original, found a used replacement which turned out to be a pile of crap (the spacebar died within days), then purchased a non-lighted unit so I could type like a normal person, and then ran across an original, unused, lighted keyboard thanks to a saved search on eBay. I don’t really feel like changing it right now, though. As I said, I need to relax a while. The difficulty from yesterday will not let up on me. Thank goodness my routine is finished because I am beginning to feel that the remainder of this day will add up to exactly zero. Whatever. I can’t get the damaging dream out of my head. The situation appeared as a repeat of the dream, yet in reality. This is not something I can easily reconcile. Oh, the shit I went through to make it work It happened again yesterday. ‘It’. The issue which came up not long ago thanks to a vivid dream of a subject I cannot discuss here or anywhere else. This is on my mind on and off all day long no matter what I may be doing. I keep seeing and feeling more than I care to deal with right now. I already have enough shit swirling. I may write another secret story just so I can explore my feelings. Unfortunately, the story can also lead to disaster, much like the last one. Two days ago was quite the problem in my head. Yesterday, it became worse. My issues are going to worsen very soon. I know it. There is no solution, no outlet whatsoever, and no one is listening, just like every fucking day in recent memory. It's Saturday morning now. Yesterday turned out to be much more productive than I would have thought twenty-four hours ago. I cleaned up the tree trimmings and messed around in the garage for a while, afterward with the exhaust next door. I prepared some things for dinner rather early and then went back out to help get the pipe back on his motorcycle. My metalworking background really came in handy last night as I had to rework a steel bracket before everything fit correctly. Between the yard work, my usual stuff and the bike, I actually feel pretty damned accomplished. As for today, I have not clue one as to how I’ll feel a few hours from now. The shit from yesterday permeated everything I touched or worked with, and this morning I can still see problems mounting inside my head. Some aspects of life were not meant for yours truly, I suppose, yet I will still not refer to anything difficult as ‘unfair’ because I don’t know what it means. The new keyboard was quite a find. Most ‘new’ units are well over a hundred dollars, yet this one upon which I now type was less than thirty. I still don’t know how they were able to sell this keyboard so cheaply. At first, I thought there would be something off, like a copy of the original or some kind of knockoff. Well, a quick comparison to the original quickly shut down that theory. I guess they acquired it for little or no money and simply turned it back out. I had become accustomed to the look and feel of the intermediate unit, meaning going back to the real thing feels amazing, plus the lighted keys really help in the morning. As the autumnal equinox approaches, the lighting will become even more important. Perhaps today I can separate everything from this little desk system and do some cleaning. I still love this machine more than any other I’ve owned. Nothing against Penny, but Kasidy is just fucking boring. On the flip side, J.G. is incredible. I look forward to more of his appearances as the show progresses. This is the outset of the fourth season. Ugh. I can’t get some recent imagery out of my fucking brain. I don’t even know what image or images to include in this entry. Maybe nothing? Shit. The same fucking thought continues to strike me upside the head over and over without respite. I just keep seeing it... A wicked, pulling feeling that has gripped me unlike in the past and now stands as the most unexpected development imaginable. Even that day when I lost my sense of speech over the girl down the street cannot compare to this latest fucking strike. Even worse is the fact that I can’t say a single word about it. Believe me, there is evil brewing inside. I don’t recall any dreams from last night or this morning, thank Christ. After yesterday, I would have thought the subconscious would fuck me over during the late night. Nothing. I still have the two original problems inside, as if they took place mere seconds ago. Considering all I’ve tried to deal with throughout the last several years, I really didn’t need something so stirring, yet disturbing at the same time. I haven’t felt such a draw since the pool three summers ago, nearly to the day. The tiny upside is that I know what is going on and how I feel, meaning the only way this situation can play out is like all the others... I’ll be here at home – completely alone in my thoughts – and pretty fucking pissy. As long as I remain here while angry, no one else is affected. No one knows what happened, either. Suffice to say, I was not expecting something like this prior to the dream. Hmm... I need to search ‘damaging dream’ so I can find the first mention and learn of how long this has been going on. 0800 straight up. Gray outside, yet again. Yesterday it drizzled on and off all day long. I kept hearing updates on the radio about the mercury into the mid-eighties on the other side of the hill, but on this side there is rarely sunshine this time of year. I am really enjoying the climate change, even considering I’ve lived in this house for just over ten years. I have no idea if the sun will make an appearance later. Maybe the temperature will be ideal for doing some garbage preparations for tomorrow. Okay, so far as I can tell, the first mention of the dream was on May the 12th. That’s something, anyway, and not as much time has passed as I had originally thought. Unfortunately, the issue became inflamed to the extreme more recently... Twice. The first was bad enough, but the second? I almost fell on my stupid face, literally. So, we have the better part of three months of this shit, and I believe the strike will worsen and become far more wicked as the days pass. I really wish I could spell out the fucking thing. 0920. The day has fallen down, but I believe I can recover in a little while by drowning within some chores and booze. I forgot to mention that as of yesterday, I have three key components to the new desktop computer system: keyboard (lighted, and one of the most comfortable ever made), trackball and speakers. One good aspect of the speakers is the fact that they can be used standalone rather than only from the machine. Anything can be plugged in, meaning I can use the old phone which normally lives in the garage for music in the house. For the desktop, I only need to secure two monitors and the machine itself. Very nice. Maybe in order to improve my mood, I can work in the office later and streamline. I did not need alcohol to suppress the dreaming today. Perhaps tomorrow. None of this will ever end. Fourth season. Good stuff. And? Tony fuckin’ Todd up there. Awesome. God damn is this show ever fantastic. Another family, and a group of individuals who will never forsake me. The first strike was wicked, but the second aligned with imagery inside my head which can be construed as very subjective. There are details that I cannot describe, but when everything is aligned properly, the resulting position can be devastating. Of course, there are others, but the point of the current disastrous situation remains high above the norm. You are not going to understand any of this and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind, either. The fact is I saw something which pushed my head into a very bad way of thinking, and then I saw more. Now I can’t stop thinking. This is all so very bad and has led to a mindset I never imagined. Bad, but I cannot simply go back and forget. The worst part? It’s going to keep happening. Splendid. So far, I’ve dealt with it and remained silent. Such a fact is one positive, anyway. Well, I don’t have any choice in the matter. The truck has been on my mind lately, most notably the idea of altering the drive system to something much simpler for the purpose of making the damned thing move on its own. If I recall correctly, some years ago when I first built the main control board, I focused upon testing the steering system due to it being so complex. The drive was very straightforward in comparison, so I was unconcerned about making it function. Well, in my travels of running tests, I seem to remember the drive board being dead as a doornail and didn’t know why. I replaced it, but still it would not operate the gearmotor. I gave up soon after. Since I know the board layout and operation so well, I can probably run a few tests with the drive controller isolated and see if my memory is correct. Either way, the idea to simplify the drive may come to pass. I’m referring to using a standard ESC and RC motor to move the truck, which means reconfiguring a bit of the electronics. That is pretty easy and can be done with what I already have. The rub is I would still need to have a motor mount machined by the same shop that manufactured both the chassis plate and wheel adapters. Expensive, and with zero room for error. I would have to ensure that the mount is adjustable. And then? The drivetrain will have to be rebuilt so everything is tight and smooth. I honestly can’t decide whether or not to begin such a process because it could turn out to be nothing more than a pricey can of worms. The steering is another matter entirely. I spent years designing and machining to build a unique and very dramatic steering system and do not wish to bypass the whole thing in order to simplify and see it moving. The truck would operate as it should, yet all my vision could be lost. Not good. I will say that this coming December will be precisely twenty fucking years since I first created the frame rails. That was the very beginning of the entire project moving away from a store-bought model to one designed and fabricated almost completely by me. Twenty years, and the truck has never moved. Somewhere along the lines of designing the original power supply, my head descended into a pit of crazy ideas. The board spiraled out of control and shifted the focal point of the vehicle from mechanical to electronic. The actual physical operation took a back seat to a ton of unnecessary technology. I did make the steering work, though, despite the board being so insane. I really don’t want to see all that unique imagination tossed aside just so it moves around the ground. In the dream I was understood and given free reign. In life I enjoy none of the same. 0651 on Sunday. Yesterday was nearly worthless, although I really enjoyed one hell of a morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen. Not much else, to be honest. I didn’t even grill the roast last night which has been the plan for a few days. I didn’t do much of anything, really. Today I will have to amend my methods and accomplish more. The feeling in my head last night was not good. Susanna again. Her beautiful face is all over the screen in this episode. Her name reminds me of the previous mention, meaning I’ve plowed through several series’ in a very short period of time, rather like I did with the gangsters. I believe the total was eighty-six hours of television in just under fifteen days. Crazy. I can feel my ambition decreasing as the days pass. I can feel the diminishing interest in things which used to stir me. I can feel myself weakening by the minute, yet I am also paralyzed. The little things are all that remain. Yesterday was a good example of a sort of line on the calendar. I have nothing going on most of the time, only those trips to the store or possibly to get something to eat in an agreeable atmosphere. I’ve felt even less of the world around me in only the past few weeks. What appeared exciting or interesting then is now neither. As if that has not been enough to deepen my state, the foiled nature of my feelings simply will not fucking go away no matter what I try or how many ideas come to mind for avoiding the mindset which leads to disaster. Years ago, this morning would be complete bliss and I would cherish every second. Now? The issue is nearly an everyday pattern. No, that doesn’t mean I want to return to full-time work. I need to remain here. I just need some kind of lift from this now-lowest of levels. The strike has nothing to do with my present condition as described above, though. The two subjects are still separate. Strike two is tough, however, and knocked me upside the head pretty well. The interesting part is that the first sighting after that damaging dream was not like what I saw inside my subconscious, and not until the third occasion did my eyes see the form from the dream, which by that point was weeks behind. The new problem I am experiencing has likely stemmed from that dream and its matching visions pressing on me with enough force to leave me uninterested in the daily parts of life. I wish I had not seen the third. I really didn’t need that kind of twisted imagery right before my tired eyes. The sight took me all the way back to a bank teller many years ago (I can’t fully recall her) and then another bank teller you may have read about on this site. The last reference I considered was Jana. As I said, none of this is good for me in any way. Seeing certain things a bit too close to my eyes can contribute to depression. Those items I’ve mentioned in recent weeks have done just that. If I am to survive to the end of the year, I’ll have to learn how to cope with what has changed this year and find an avenue to feeling accomplished again. And that dream I mentioned several times continues to hang right behind my eyes. I can't shake it. Everything I wanted and needed was right there for the taking, and every damned bit of it was understood. The gradient between those feelings and real life has never been wider. I can’t fuck around today. The routine and the garbage need to be mere beginnings. And I just learned that the great David Warner passed away seven days ago. Damn it. So much stirring talent. So sad. The ensign at the helm is stunning. Dark and alluring. I am a basket case. 0744. I have no kitchen cleaning to speak of this morning. I never made dinner. The plan has been postponed to this afternoon and I will set up early toward that end. I can nickel and dime the trash can, too. There are always little things which can be tossed in the interest of freeing up space in the house and garage. And in case I failed to emphasize the experience of typing, I must say that I don’t know how in the fuck that company sold this keyboard at such a low price, but I’m glad they did. The feel and sounds bring me back to when I was typing in the garage five years ago and enjoying the fantastic build quality of this machine. It’s not their fault that I wore out some key labels due to typing incessantly for five years. Anyway, the garage has enjoyed being very organized since last weekend, meaning I have the room to work out there without worrying about messing up my ‘system’. I can focus upon other chores while using the garage as the tool it was designed to be. Hopefully my time alone today combined with caring for the business will help those images in my head fade somewhat. The chances are slim considering the sheer power of the female form, but I have to try. What a fucking maroon. I’ve changed my mind about messing around with the truck’s drive section. It must remain inside the display case for the foreseeable future. Every time I look at it I become sad. I’ll have to get away from this soon. Part of the reason I’ve felt so crappy lately is too much sitting still, meaning the more I move around, the better I will feel. Combined with drinking enough water for a calendar day, the sum could be an actual positive in my life. Keep in mind that I almost always ‘know’ what needs to be done. I just rarely give a shit. Well, I kind of give a shit now because of how I felt yesterday after accomplishing very little. I don’t want a repeat of that crap. The hours between writing in the morning and watching a show in the afternoon were wrought with failures. Believe me, I know. Perched atop the bad feelings are the recent images of which I cannot rid myself, and they are attached to the dream. I can’t decide if I would be better off wishing to win a lottery jackpot or to have those memories excised from my brain. Both wishes seem to have an equal chance. While Jana and I were riding the inclinator from the twenty-ninth floor to the casino level, I glanced over at her and saw the strap of her tank top vibrating from the movement of one breast. While standing at the teller window on Maryland Parkway in Vegas, I noticed the front seam of Juliette’s blouse was being slightly strained by her chest inside. The space between each pair of button holes was pulled apart ever so slightly. Whenever the Monorail cruised over a connecting joint on the track, I could see a glimpse of Andrea’s very colorful bra and some slight bouncing of the breast it contained. The damaging dream from May or whenever it happened showed me a bra strap pulling upward on one cup full of a breast. I saw no face, and the entire scene flew by in seconds. Some movement, a top being put on a torso, and then the knowledge that I was right there so close for good reason. I saw only one side again, just like those incidents above. The wicked strike followed suit and I am deeply hurt as a result. I don't know why this had to happen, yet at the same time I feel I wholly deserve the pain. Problems are at an all-time high right now. This is not easy, yet still I will not say I am having a more difficult time than anyone else. I don't know what people go through, meaning I cannot comment. My shit is my shit. I suppose I'm feeling it more than a while back due to the wicked strike. That would be... Strike two, otherwise known as the middle nail sticking out of my head. I still see the strike. Right there. Never in a million years could I have imagined the way things have developed and the ethereal nature of the situations playing out inside my head right now. I could not have predicted this at all. The dream came along when it did and for whatever reason. Real life then followed suit and showed me an image from the dream. That was after the fucking fact, people. An omen? Hell no. But how in the hell could the dream have predicted something weeks earlier? The imagery was a near enough match to send me into a wasteland of wonder and loss. I fail to understand how my brain manufactured a very clear, specific dream, and then an identical scene played out weeks later right before my eyes. Have I become so desperate? How could such a situation have come to pass? I don’t fucking get it. Right there... All soft, beautiful and screaming at my eyes. This is more perplexing than anything else in recent memory. To add insult to injury, I cannot go into specifics at all. I will be shunned, labeled, or worse. I am still watching the fourth season of the third show, and very soon Megan and her gorgeous eyes will be gracing the screen. God damn it anyway. I have to watch, though. Don’t ask me why. Charles Napier and Megan Gallagher on the television at the same time. You wanna talk about diametrically opposed faces? Jesus. She is so beautiful, and all of thirty-five years of age when the episode first aired. Damn. Time, money and work And there she is, frozen for all time. Fucking hell, anyway. 0851 and I am enjoying the last cup of coffee for today. I’ll probably care for half the routine very soon, and then whatever seems best. Maybe I can go through some crap in the office for a while as I keep the house quiet for the next hour. God damn, her big, bright eyes shoot laser beams straight into my weak heart with unrelenting power. Like a wrecking ball made up of beauty, I will feel the effects and damage forever. Even Megan’s sweet, sweet eyes cannot hold a candle to the power of the wicked strike, though. I saw it. The image is inside me for all time. Completely fucked. I guess I’ll start drinking at an early hour today. Give me a reason to avoid such behavior. Go for it. Megan reminds me of Kate Beckinsale, one of those brunettes who could draw people to the theatre with ease. My ‘Kate thing’ faded some years ago, yet the resemblance is a reminder of the sheer force of dark beauty. The application just suggested I alter the spelling of the word from ‘theatre’ to ‘theater’. Fuck off. No way. I am too old fashioned. Anyway, Kate was in my eyes, whereas Megan is in my heart. Make of that what you will. Maybe the thingy is her eyebrows. Whatever. Enough about her. Bigger fish, as it were. I can't get those twin images out of my fucking head this morning. 1116 and the routine is finished. I also unpacked the new speakers and ran a quick test to ensure everything is fine. I don’t like to toss packaging until I know there are no issues. I’ll keep the inner box, just in case. My garbage work is going to wait a little while, perhaps until after lunch. Marci was on the screen earlier, all leggy and gorgeous beyond belief. As I stated in the entry centered around her beauty, Marci may have been the catalyst for decades of obsession, or at least a big part of it. This episode originally aired mere weeks after I returned from the Midwest, meaning I probably did not see her until some time later. I’ve retreaded the subject for a very long time, too. At this point in time, I just don’t have clear dates or answers. Too bad. Marci is frozen in time, much like Megan and several others. Basket case. Living in the past. Such is me. I still see one breast lovingly and beautifully held by thin material, just below a strap which is being tensed by weight. A hand emerges from the dark and tugs twice – gently – on the strap, resulting in a slight bounce of the softness inside. It was a dream while I slept. Nearly two months later, I saw the real thing, albeit sans the hand. A slight bounce. My eyes came out of my head. Now I have to deal with the wicked strike during every fucking waking moment. Strike two. Working on my house business for the rest of the day is going to be difficult, especially considering the strike will not leave me for a second, only to be reinforced by Marci. Sometimes I just hate everything and wish to make it all go away. Unfortunately, I promised three key individuals that I would care for myself. Not even the occasional combination of pizza and good television can help me now. I can’t stop obsessing over everything. I really didn’t need to see it. With all the other shit I run across while shopping or whatever, the cherry on top only serves to reduce my place in the world even more than I had thought possible. The au jus of Satan, yet again. Right before my eyes, not three feet away, there it was... The vision from the dream in real life. Oh, did I mention the color of the bra strap was a match? Maybe I overlooked that tidbit. The world is not at fault for this shit, either. There is probably no one at fault. I see a very unlikely set of circumstances, nothing more. There is no magic here, voodoo, or anything so far-fetched. But I must admit that the likelihood of an event from a dream coming to life weeks later is in the stratosphere. I just don’t fucking understand. I need help, yet all I have is me. No one is listening, and even if I were to flood a person’s ears with the wicked strike, the most likely outcome would be a confused expression and a damning opinion. They would tell me one of two things: Either I am out of my fucking mind, or I am not recalling everything clearly. Well, fuck that. I know what happened. I need more help now than ever, especially considering the first vision was none other than the damaging dream. Well, now the time is 1248 and I have everything finished. I set out to handle the trash and a second round in the kitchen, also finalizing whatever needed to be composted or recycled. All that crap is done. The third show is still gracing the screen and making me nostalgic. The one detail of my life which has not left my head during all this work is that fucking image. You know, the one which matched the dream, but after the fact. I still don’t understand. I am not the type to believe in a bunch of hocus pocus superstitious mumbo jumbo, nor am I subject to belief in clairvoyance, clairaudience (look it up) or any other type of precognition. All that shit needs to be proven, although the circumstance would seem to have already accomplished such a feat. The voodoo is not a part of my life, nor has it ever been. Fate? Eh... That was brought up with regard to the race girl. Destiny? I don’t know about that crap, either. Everything seems to add up to a series of dead ends. Only the incident has held true. There is no explanation. Do you have one? Help me, please. I am hurt. I don’t know what the hell this day has left for me. Eventually the cans will head to the curb and my evening will commence. In between now and then, I have not one fucking clue. I’m tired of remote controls becoming smaller and more rounded. They are slippery, or I am an idiot. Maybe both. Whichever the case may be, I don’t fucking like it anymore when I reach for something apparently designed for an alien race with sticky appendages, and the object slips out of my hand. It’s fucking stupid. Maybe I’ll seek a universal remote that is the size of a loaf of bread and toss the others. Without this trivial shit to discuss, I would repeat myself even more than I already have. 0701 on Monday morning. Very dark and drizzly outside, coffee next to me, and the third show. I don’t have much time to relax before the morning business, though. Lots of crap occupying my mind this morning, not the least of which is taking it easy for much of this day. I haven’t heard a garbage truck as of yet, but they will be along soon. I might have time to toss a few extras before the cans are emptied. Oh, I think I hear one of them now. Damn. Yesterday, this machine was my focus for some hours while I was alone, and that will probably continue after the morning business. Something told me to clean the outside casing and research everything I can upgrade in order to keep this thing running smoothly. After much time perusing articles and such, I decided the simplest method is to double the memory. Nothing more in the foreseeable future, though. This machine is several years old and the upgrade parts are cheap, so I’ll do the memory and see how much it helps. Pause. 0819. The next several hours are all mine. No breasts here I dreamed about something but cannot recall now. My head was out of balance in the middle of the night, keeping me awake for over an hour. All I had been thinking about was this computer, and I believe I may have had a dream about my parents, too. Nothing heavy or dramatic, though. Just some kind of situation, I guess. I don’t understand why there are times when I cannot relax enough to return to sleep after something awakens me. This morning I don’t really feel any effects of losing sleep, so perhaps it’s not a big deal today. Damn, this keyboard is nice. It brings me back to when I first received the computer from its builder five years ago. The new keyboard also makes it more enjoyable to type about being struck upside the head by a very bad situation, and something I cannot forget. I wish I had never seen it. Three feet from my eyes, that black strap and just enough movement to force me back to the damaging dream, thus damaging me further. I can’t say it. I can’t talk with anyone. ‘No options’ means much frustration. Issues two and four seemed pretty damned tough. This shit puts them both to shame. At least I can feel the keyboard under my fingers and try to smile about it. Still fucking dark outside, and near nine in the morning. The mood in the house feels like fall. If I get pissed off, perhaps I can grab the Christmas tree and start wrapping it with lights. Heh. No, I’m only joking. The weather reminds me of the holidays, that’s all. I’m going to try pushing against that mental situation today and see if I can rise and be productive. I don’t have much choice in what takes place in my head these days. All I can do is try, and hopefully I won’t fall all over myself later. When my head fills with the dream and subsequent reality of something so beautiful that I want to blow my head off, whatever else may be awaiting my attention around the house pretty much goes to hell very quickly. I can’t have that today, damn it. Trying is all I can do, yet most of the time the more I push, the more the image forces me into other directions, one of which can be very destructive. For the tenth time, I wish I had not seen the beauty right in front of me. I really didn’t fucking need that shit. It will happen again, though. No control there. This is bad. I just learned that Nichelle Nichols passed away. The shit in my head has been forced to take a pause. Rest in peace, you beautiful, pioneering woman. You are loved and will be sadly missed. 0927 and I am beginning to think that I won’t be doing much for the remainder of the day. Two Trek icons lost in the space of days means my concentration is waning and my problems have to be shelved for a while. Whatever I may be dealing with, the loss of loved ones takes priority. Damn. An acquaintance of mine from some years ago used to say, “Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies!”, and I thought he was referring to ailing health. I later learned that he was talking about losing those around us. This just sucks out loud. 1103 and I limped my way through the routine, although due to feeling like crap, I skipped the daily sweeping. That is not a big deal, really. Moreover, while returning one of the kitchen knives to its sheath, I accidentally cut my hand a bit. Nothing terrible, but it put a damper on my efforts. I did not clean the stovetop yet. Fortunately, the nick is on my right hand. Oh my, do I ever want to live on that station. I mentioned the frozen individuals from the first season of the second show and my desire to awaken as they did – 400 years in the future – but I have to say that the station has been a focus for a very long time. The more I watch this show, the more I wish to live there. All the problems would immediately disappear. That is not a joke. And I would gain much more than can be possible in reality. Don’t even fucking get me started on the interchangeability of matter and energy. Remember the machine? She would only be the beginning of something wonderful. Every episode shows me something helpful and heartwarming. This is how the derealization has affected me. Real life is not cutting the fucking mustard. And? The wicked strike could be a situation easily dealt with in that universe, not to mention the idea of actually embracing the fact. Yes, I said that. But I can’t say it here. Follow along with the lack of clarity. Maybe use your imagination or something. I don’t care. Ice-cold whiskey right next to me. Yesterday I finished some laundry and dry cleaning, meaning this day can be spent reflecting rather than working. If I could live where I wish, the worries would melt quicker than butter on the Devil’s Golf Course. Look it up. Cultural derealization. Those two words have rung more truth into my life than anything uttered from a real person. The wicked strike pushed me further away than I had thought possible. I really need some help. Lots of help. No one is listening. The difference between Kasidy and Jennifer is analogous to the difference between a dumpster and a Hawaiian waterfall. The day is still very dim. The fog must be pretty thick up there. I can see the nearest hill, but not those just beyond. If the outdoor areas were a little dimmer, I could actually light the garage empire. That should put the light level in perspective. Heh. I love it. Maybe there is a partial eclipse of which I am unaware. Michael fucking Ansara (rest his soul) is on the screen throughout this episode, complete with one of the most stirring voices in the history of mankind. Don’t fucking get me started. Unfortunately, many viewers were quite disappointed in the A-plot. Too bad. Personally, I love this episode. I can’t stop thinking about the strike. It was right there in front of me, not a yard from my eyes. After all these years of exposition on the subjects of beauty, obsession and desire, I’m certain anyone reading this can draw pictures of what took place in my mind. The problem here is that I cannot speak my mind. Much of what happened inside me during the strike is far beyond off-limits. Such a fact is a large part of the problem. No one is listening because I cannot say anything. A few keywords come to mind, none of which can be displayed on the site. I cannot reveal too much here, lest I be labeled, or worse. Such a fact is also a positive, as I tend to keep everything inside. Complete honesty is a myth. I just noticed that I’ve been typing without issue despite the cut on my right palm. Not bad. Prior to these words, the count of this entry was 7382, which happens to be the elevation of my favorite mountain pass in the Sierra Nevada range, Echo Summit. Upon reaching the top, the drive then descends into the Tahoe Basin with the lake visible around each corner. The drive is so far beyond beautiful that I cannot even scratch the surface. I miss going up there twice yearly. Visiting the south shore was always a reminder of when I was young and full of wonder. I could use some actual wonder right about now. Eh... All expectation of anything good happening in my life melted away long ago. Another subject to be avoided. There have been two entries here with the word 'whore' in the title. Interesting. 1330. I am still sitting with the third show. The sun is shining and warming my life, such as it is. I could use a boost. The images of the truck and associated test equipment are here because I don’t need to see anything else right now. I’ve seen too much already, both in dreams and before my very eyes. The wicked strike is at the top of the list right now, too. Not good. The consequences of that strike upon my psyche have been dramatic and far-reaching, pushing a manner of societal thinking I have never considered before. I need help. Nothing will ever come of this situation, of course, because I remain closed off more than ever. Right there in front of me, all soft and warm, just like the dream that ruined a part of me for all time. I did my best to avoid staring and only glanced when possible without causing damage to others. The damage to me was immediate, on the other hand, as my brain produced high-speed video of the dream over and over, as if the loop would go on forever. I saw the strap being tugged by manicured fingertips despite the dream having come and gone weeks earlier. Movement. Enough movement to force me to retreat and attempt to control my breathing for the next few minutes. And then it happened a second time and I realized I had to become a machine and just shut it the hell off for the rest of the night. One more time for posterity... I did not need that shit. There was a wicked strike to the side of my head, and the type of vision I hope I never see again."
August 1st, 2022 3:50pm pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
The Wicked Strike (Two)
read ( words)
"1029. I published the latest mess. The third show is still playing on the television because part of me is constantly living in the past; a long ago period which glows inside and illuminates a huge gradient that I have crafted from years of discomfort and loss. The glow is still the defining period of my life. Another period is many years later, and comprises 202 days, 11 hours and 40 minutes, give or take a number of seconds. That is the time period on my mind right now. It represents the time between first meeting the Raven outside work to the last time She sent me a message. Or... 55.48% of that year, which was 2015. 291,580 minutes. 17,494,800 seconds (rounded). That was all we had. Since then... 2556 days, 9 hours, 46 minutes and 46 seconds have elapsed. Quite a difference. Those many days have given birth to nothing more than questions. She made me promise never to hurt myself, damn it. Ashley did, too, yet the years seemed to soften her words until recently. As for the rest? I don’t know anymore. 1120 and I finished round two of the kitchen. There is no laundry or dry cleaning to be done. My time is wide fuckin’ open (racing industry term). Lots of time can be very advantageous. It can also be disastrous. As I have stated on far too many occasions, I don’t know what to do now. ‘Wheels within wheels in a spiral array; a pattern so grand and complex... Time after time we lose sight of the way; our causes can’t see their effects.’ Indeed. Thank you, Neil. What a fucking lyrical genius. I wish I had such ‘sight’, or at least such an open view of the world. Unfortunately, I’ve been slighted by the very same world, too many times. Foiled. Failed. Again. I hate this shit and do not have the words to adequately describe my disdain. Twenty years of the site have not been enough. ‘The Hammer’ was inappropriately titled. I am still trying to swing the fucking tool. 0925 on Friday morning. Half the routine is finished and I spent over an hour working on freeing up storage space on the remote server. What a fucking pain in the ass. For the longest time, it seemed as if no matter what I removed, the space was still near its limit. I really had to delve into the operation of that system before finally being able to delete a pile of unnecessary backups. I’ll get to the kitchen soon. Right now I need to sit here and think about what I saw yesterday. A huge problem, and one which stemmed from the damaging dream and will not let go of my head. I am quite certain the sight will return to my sleep state and grip me again. Like many other situations in my present life, there is nothing I can do about this. The problem is not going to go away. Today is most likely going to be very quiet other than a possible trip to the small market. I can’t deal with the larger shopping center right now. And believe me, it is not concerning due to what I may see. I’ve already seen far too much in the space of a few minutes. The store will not be able to hold a candle to this shit. The reason for the small market is time and ease of shopping. I have been helping with that same clutch issue next door and the work is quite enjoyable. I also like to feel useful, which is a state of mind alien to me lately. Yesterday all three of us put our heads together and solved one problem, only to find another, larger issue which is going to take time. I am always here, so I can always help. The problem in the previous paragraph came about during the work. At least I was busy. I don’t know when we can continue the repairs, though. My schedule is wide-open, but the others do not enjoy the same flexibility. Soon, perhaps. I still have the third show up there on my big television. Gray sky outside again, some drizzle. I’m looking forward to watching and listening to my friends on the kitchen television while enjoying a bit of booze while cleaning. I’ll probably go to the little market after that work is complete. The booze will help just in case the bare midriff is behind the register. My larger and more recent issue may squash everything else, however. It is THAT big of a deal. I still can’t believe the content of the damaging dream. I feel nearly crippled much of the time. I am going to continue to chew on this shit for a long time because there can be no solution, nor can I discuss the problem with another human being on this planet. All I can do is sit here typing and thinking. And then there are those nights or mornings when my subconscious will be gripped by the situation again, completely beyond my control. I really do not like this. First, there was the height interest. Then? The obsession grew from height and trying to understand why certain shapes drew my attention with such awe. And then, the Asian interest. That faded, for the most part. Soon after? Andrea. Not good, but wonderful. This timeline is absolutely shit. Anyway, the Raven soon became the object of my obsession and I ran with it for a while. Throughout all those years, there was a constant that I really did not consider most of the time due to it being perfectly natural. Now, a wrench has been thrown into the machinery and left me with even less fucking answers than before the dream a few months ago. It is a big wrench. The machine is broken. The worst part is the fact that I cannot speak about it. The issue is going to worsen over time. I already know that much, at least. The only subject close to the power of the damaging dream is that paragraph below, and it barely scratches the surface of a vault inside me. No wonder I’m an alcoholic. Give me another fucking avenue. And here I am at 1131 with everything finished. I may run a load of dry cleaning, but if so, it will be much later. Right now I need to relax and think. Cocktail, third show, and some items appeared on the porch, two of which being for the new desktop computer setup. Very nice. Also in the mail was a new keyboard for this machine, and it will be the fourth, believe it or not. I wore out the original, found a used replacement which turned out to be a pile of crap (the spacebar died within days), then purchased a non-lighted unit so I could type like a normal person, and then ran across an original, unused, lighted keyboard thanks to a saved search on eBay. I don’t really feel like changing it right now, though. As I said, I need to relax a while. The difficulty from yesterday will not let up on me. Thank goodness my routine is finished because I am beginning to feel that the remainder of this day will add up to exactly zero. Whatever. I can’t get the damaging dream out of my head. The situation appeared as a repeat of the dream, yet in reality. This is not something I can easily reconcile.
Oh, the shit I went through to make it work
It happened again yesterday. ‘It’. The issue which came up not long ago thanks to a vivid dream of a subject I cannot discuss here or anywhere else. This is on my mind on and off all day long no matter what I may be doing. I keep seeing and feeling more than I care to deal with right now. I already have enough shit swirling. I may write another secret story just so I can explore my feelings. Unfortunately, the story can also lead to disaster, much like the last one. Two days ago was quite the problem in my head. Yesterday, it became worse. My issues are going to worsen very soon. I know it. There is no solution, no outlet whatsoever, and no one is listening, just like every fucking day in recent memory. It's Saturday morning now. Yesterday turned out to be much more productive than I would have thought twenty-four hours ago. I cleaned up the tree trimmings and messed around in the garage for a while, afterward with the exhaust next door. I prepared some things for dinner rather early and then went back out to help get the pipe back on his motorcycle. My metalworking background really came in handy last night as I had to rework a steel bracket before everything fit correctly. Between the yard work, my usual stuff and the bike, I actually feel pretty damned accomplished. As for today, I have not clue one as to how I’ll feel a few hours from now. The shit from yesterday permeated everything I touched or worked with, and this morning I can still see problems mounting inside my head. Some aspects of life were not meant for yours truly, I suppose, yet I will still not refer to anything difficult as ‘unfair’ because I don’t know what it means. The new keyboard was quite a find. Most ‘new’ units are well over a hundred dollars, yet this one upon which I now type was less than thirty. I still don’t know how they were able to sell this keyboard so cheaply. At first, I thought there would be something off, like a copy of the original or some kind of knockoff. Well, a quick comparison to the original quickly shut down that theory. I guess they acquired it for little or no money and simply turned it back out. I had become accustomed to the look and feel of the intermediate unit, meaning going back to the real thing feels amazing, plus the lighted keys really help in the morning. As the autumnal equinox approaches, the lighting will become even more important. Perhaps today I can separate everything from this little desk system and do some cleaning. I still love this machine more than any other I’ve owned. Nothing against Penny, but Kasidy is just fucking boring. On the flip side, J.G. is incredible. I look forward to more of his appearances as the show progresses. This is the outset of the fourth season. Ugh. I can’t get some recent imagery out of my fucking brain. I don’t even know what image or images to include in this entry. Maybe nothing? Shit. The same fucking thought continues to strike me upside the head over and over without respite. I just keep seeing it... A wicked, pulling feeling that has gripped me unlike in the past and now stands as the most unexpected development imaginable. Even that day when I lost my sense of speech over the girl down the street cannot compare to this latest fucking strike. Even worse is the fact that I can’t say a single word about it. Believe me, there is evil brewing inside. I don’t recall any dreams from last night or this morning, thank Christ. After yesterday, I would have thought the subconscious would fuck me over during the late night. Nothing. I still have the two original problems inside, as if they took place mere seconds ago. Considering all I’ve tried to deal with throughout the last several years, I really didn’t need something so stirring, yet disturbing at the same time. I haven’t felt such a draw since the pool three summers ago, nearly to the day. The tiny upside is that I know what is going on and how I feel, meaning the only way this situation can play out is like all the others... I’ll be here at home – completely alone in my thoughts – and pretty fucking pissy. As long as I remain here while angry, no one else is affected. No one knows what happened, either. Suffice to say, I was not expecting something like this prior to the dream. Hmm... I need to search ‘damaging dream’ so I can find the first mention and learn of how long this has been going on. 0800 straight up. Gray outside, yet again. Yesterday it drizzled on and off all day long. I kept hearing updates on the radio about the mercury into the mid-eighties on the other side of the hill, but on this side there is rarely sunshine this time of year. I am really enjoying the climate change, even considering I’ve lived in this house for just over ten years. I have no idea if the sun will make an appearance later. Maybe the temperature will be ideal for doing some garbage preparations for tomorrow. Okay, so far as I can tell, the first mention of the dream was on May the 12th. That’s something, anyway, and not as much time has passed as I had originally thought. Unfortunately, the issue became inflamed to the extreme more recently... Twice. The first was bad enough, but the second? I almost fell on my stupid face, literally. So, we have the better part of three months of this shit, and I believe the strike will worsen and become far more wicked as the days pass. I really wish I could spell out the fucking thing. 0920. The day has fallen down, but I believe I can recover in a little while by drowning within some chores and booze. I forgot to mention that as of yesterday, I have three key components to the new desktop computer system: keyboard (lighted, and one of the most comfortable ever made), trackball and speakers. One good aspect of the speakers is the fact that they can be used standalone rather than only from the machine. Anything can be plugged in, meaning I can use the old phone which normally lives in the garage for music in the house. For the desktop, I only need to secure two monitors and the machine itself. Very nice. Maybe in order to improve my mood, I can work in the office later and streamline. I did not need alcohol to suppress the dreaming today. Perhaps tomorrow. None of this will ever end. Fourth season. Good stuff. And? Tony fuckin’ Todd up there. Awesome. God damn is this show ever fantastic. Another family, and a group of individuals who will never forsake me. The first strike was wicked, but the second aligned with imagery inside my head which can be construed as very subjective. There are details that I cannot describe, but when everything is aligned properly, the resulting position can be devastating. Of course, there are others, but the point of the current disastrous situation remains high above the norm. You are not going to understand any of this and I don’t give half a blue fuck in the wind, either. The fact is I saw something which pushed my head into a very bad way of thinking, and then I saw more. Now I can’t stop thinking. This is all so very bad and has led to a mindset I never imagined. Bad, but I cannot simply go back and forget. The worst part? It’s going to keep happening. Splendid. So far, I’ve dealt with it and remained silent. Such a fact is one positive, anyway. Well, I don’t have any choice in the matter. The truck has been on my mind lately, most notably the idea of altering the drive system to something much simpler for the purpose of making the damned thing move on its own. If I recall correctly, some years ago when I first built the main control board, I focused upon testing the steering system due to it being so complex. The drive was very straightforward in comparison, so I was unconcerned about making it function. Well, in my travels of running tests, I seem to remember the drive board being dead as a doornail and didn’t know why. I replaced it, but still it would not operate the gearmotor. I gave up soon after. Since I know the board layout and operation so well, I can probably run a few tests with the drive controller isolated and see if my memory is correct. Either way, the idea to simplify the drive may come to pass. I’m referring to using a standard ESC and RC motor to move the truck, which means reconfiguring a bit of the electronics. That is pretty easy and can be done with what I already have. The rub is I would still need to have a motor mount machined by the same shop that manufactured both the chassis plate and wheel adapters. Expensive, and with zero room for error. I would have to ensure that the mount is adjustable. And then? The drivetrain will have to be rebuilt so everything is tight and smooth. I honestly can’t decide whether or not to begin such a process because it could turn out to be nothing more than a pricey can of worms. The steering is another matter entirely. I spent years designing and machining to build a unique and very dramatic steering system and do not wish to bypass the whole thing in order to simplify and see it moving. The truck would operate as it should, yet all my vision could be lost. Not good. I will say that this coming December will be precisely twenty fucking years since I first created the frame rails. That was the very beginning of the entire project moving away from a store-bought model to one designed and fabricated almost completely by me. Twenty years, and the truck has never moved. Somewhere along the lines of designing the original power supply, my head descended into a pit of crazy ideas. The board spiraled out of control and shifted the focal point of the vehicle from mechanical to electronic. The actual physical operation took a back seat to a ton of unnecessary technology. I did make the steering work, though, despite the board being so insane. I really don’t want to see all that unique imagination tossed aside just so it moves around the ground.
In the dream I was understood and given free reign. In life I enjoy none of the same. 0651 on Sunday. Yesterday was nearly worthless, although I really enjoyed one hell of a morning cocktail while cleaning the kitchen. Not much else, to be honest. I didn’t even grill the roast last night which has been the plan for a few days. I didn’t do much of anything, really. Today I will have to amend my methods and accomplish more. The feeling in my head last night was not good. Susanna again. Her beautiful face is all over the screen in this episode. Her name reminds me of the previous mention, meaning I’ve plowed through several series’ in a very short period of time, rather like I did with the gangsters. I believe the total was eighty-six hours of television in just under fifteen days. Crazy. I can feel my ambition decreasing as the days pass. I can feel the diminishing interest in things which used to stir me. I can feel myself weakening by the minute, yet I am also paralyzed. The little things are all that remain. Yesterday was a good example of a sort of line on the calendar. I have nothing going on most of the time, only those trips to the store or possibly to get something to eat in an agreeable atmosphere. I’ve felt even less of the world around me in only the past few weeks. What appeared exciting or interesting then is now neither. As if that has not been enough to deepen my state, the foiled nature of my feelings simply will not fucking go away no matter what I try or how many ideas come to mind for avoiding the mindset which leads to disaster. Years ago, this morning would be complete bliss and I would cherish every second. Now? The issue is nearly an everyday pattern. No, that doesn’t mean I want to return to full-time work. I need to remain here. I just need some kind of lift from this now-lowest of levels. The strike has nothing to do with my present condition as described above, though. The two subjects are still separate. Strike two is tough, however, and knocked me upside the head pretty well. The interesting part is that the first sighting after that damaging dream was not like what I saw inside my subconscious, and not until the third occasion did my eyes see the form from the dream, which by that point was weeks behind. The new problem I am experiencing has likely stemmed from that dream and its matching visions pressing on me with enough force to leave me uninterested in the daily parts of life. I wish I had not seen the third. I really didn’t need that kind of twisted imagery right before my tired eyes. The sight took me all the way back to a bank teller many years ago (I can’t fully recall her) and then another bank teller you may have read about on this site. The last reference I considered was Jana. As I said, none of this is good for me in any way. Seeing certain things a bit too close to my eyes can contribute to depression. Those items I’ve mentioned in recent weeks have done just that. If I am to survive to the end of the year, I’ll have to learn how to cope with what has changed this year and find an avenue to feeling accomplished again. And that dream I mentioned several times continues to hang right behind my eyes. I can't shake it. Everything I wanted and needed was right there for the taking, and every damned bit of it was understood. The gradient between those feelings and real life has never been wider. I can’t fuck around today. The routine and the garbage need to be mere beginnings. And I just learned that the great David Warner passed away seven days ago. Damn it. So much stirring talent. So sad. The ensign at the helm is stunning. Dark and alluring. I am a basket case. 0744. I have no kitchen cleaning to speak of this morning. I never made dinner. The plan has been postponed to this afternoon and I will set up early toward that end. I can nickel and dime the trash can, too. There are always little things which can be tossed in the interest of freeing up space in the house and garage. And in case I failed to emphasize the experience of typing, I must say that I don’t know how in the fuck that company sold this keyboard at such a low price, but I’m glad they did. The feel and sounds bring me back to when I was typing in the garage five years ago and enjoying the fantastic build quality of this machine. It’s not their fault that I wore out some key labels due to typing incessantly for five years. Anyway, the garage has enjoyed being very organized since last weekend, meaning I have the room to work out there without worrying about messing up my ‘system’. I can focus upon other chores while using the garage as the tool it was designed to be. Hopefully my time alone today combined with caring for the business will help those images in my head fade somewhat. The chances are slim considering the sheer power of the female form, but I have to try. What a fucking maroon. I’ve changed my mind about messing around with the truck’s drive section. It must remain inside the display case for the foreseeable future. Every time I look at it I become sad. I’ll have to get away from this soon. Part of the reason I’ve felt so crappy lately is too much sitting still, meaning the more I move around, the better I will feel. Combined with drinking enough water for a calendar day, the sum could be an actual positive in my life. Keep in mind that I almost always ‘know’ what needs to be done. I just rarely give a shit. Well, I kind of give a shit now because of how I felt yesterday after accomplishing very little. I don’t want a repeat of that crap. The hours between writing in the morning and watching a show in the afternoon were wrought with failures. Believe me, I know. Perched atop the bad feelings are the recent images of which I cannot rid myself, and they are attached to the dream. I can’t decide if I would be better off wishing to win a lottery jackpot or to have those memories excised from my brain. Both wishes seem to have an equal chance. While Jana and I were riding the inclinator from the twenty-ninth floor to the casino level, I glanced over at her and saw the strap of her tank top vibrating from the movement of one breast. While standing at the teller window on Maryland Parkway in Vegas, I noticed the front seam of Juliette’s blouse was being slightly strained by her chest inside. The space between each pair of button holes was pulled apart ever so slightly. Whenever the Monorail cruised over a connecting joint on the track, I could see a glimpse of Andrea’s very colorful bra and some slight bouncing of the breast it contained. The damaging dream from May or whenever it happened showed me a bra strap pulling upward on one cup full of a breast. I saw no face, and the entire scene flew by in seconds. Some movement, a top being put on a torso, and then the knowledge that I was right there so close for good reason. I saw only one side again, just like those incidents above. The wicked strike followed suit and I am deeply hurt as a result. I don't know why this had to happen, yet at the same time I feel I wholly deserve the pain. Problems are at an all-time high right now. This is not easy, yet still I will not say I am having a more difficult time than anyone else. I don't know what people go through, meaning I cannot comment. My shit is my shit. I suppose I'm feeling it more than a while back due to the wicked strike. That would be... Strike two, otherwise known as the middle nail sticking out of my head. I still see the strike. Right there. Never in a million years could I have imagined the way things have developed and the ethereal nature of the situations playing out inside my head right now. I could not have predicted this at all. The dream came along when it did and for whatever reason. Real life then followed suit and showed me an image from the dream. That was after the fucking fact, people. An omen? Hell no. But how in the hell could the dream have predicted something weeks earlier? The imagery was a near enough match to send me into a wasteland of wonder and loss. I fail to understand how my brain manufactured a very clear, specific dream, and then an identical scene played out weeks later right before my eyes. Have I become so desperate? How could such a situation have come to pass? I don’t fucking get it. Right there... All soft, beautiful and screaming at my eyes. This is more perplexing than anything else in recent memory. To add insult to injury, I cannot go into specifics at all. I will be shunned, labeled, or worse. I am still watching the fourth season of the third show, and very soon Megan and her gorgeous eyes will be gracing the screen. God damn it anyway. I have to watch, though. Don’t ask me why. Charles Napier and Megan Gallagher on the television at the same time. You wanna talk about diametrically opposed faces? Jesus. She is so beautiful, and all of thirty-five years of age when the episode first aired. Damn.
Time, money and work
And there she is, frozen for all time. Fucking hell, anyway. 0851 and I am enjoying the last cup of coffee for today. I’ll probably care for half the routine very soon, and then whatever seems best. Maybe I can go through some crap in the office for a while as I keep the house quiet for the next hour. God damn, her big, bright eyes shoot laser beams straight into my weak heart with unrelenting power. Like a wrecking ball made up of beauty, I will feel the effects and damage forever. Even Megan’s sweet, sweet eyes cannot hold a candle to the power of the wicked strike, though. I saw it. The image is inside me for all time. Completely fucked. I guess I’ll start drinking at an early hour today. Give me a reason to avoid such behavior. Go for it. Megan reminds me of Kate Beckinsale, one of those brunettes who could draw people to the theatre with ease. My ‘Kate thing’ faded some years ago, yet the resemblance is a reminder of the sheer force of dark beauty. The application just suggested I alter the spelling of the word from ‘theatre’ to ‘theater’. Fuck off. No way. I am too old fashioned. Anyway, Kate was in my eyes, whereas Megan is in my heart. Make of that what you will. Maybe the thingy is her eyebrows. Whatever. Enough about her. Bigger fish, as it were. I can't get those twin images out of my fucking head this morning. 1116 and the routine is finished. I also unpacked the new speakers and ran a quick test to ensure everything is fine. I don’t like to toss packaging until I know there are no issues. I’ll keep the inner box, just in case. My garbage work is going to wait a little while, perhaps until after lunch. Marci was on the screen earlier, all leggy and gorgeous beyond belief. As I stated in the entry centered around her beauty, Marci may have been the catalyst for decades of obsession, or at least a big part of it. This episode originally aired mere weeks after I returned from the Midwest, meaning I probably did not see her until some time later. I’ve retreaded the subject for a very long time, too. At this point in time, I just don’t have clear dates or answers. Too bad. Marci is frozen in time, much like Megan and several others. Basket case. Living in the past. Such is me. I still see one breast lovingly and beautifully held by thin material, just below a strap which is being tensed by weight. A hand emerges from the dark and tugs twice – gently – on the strap, resulting in a slight bounce of the softness inside. It was a dream while I slept. Nearly two months later, I saw the real thing, albeit sans the hand. A slight bounce. My eyes came out of my head. Now I have to deal with the wicked strike during every fucking waking moment. Strike two. Working on my house business for the rest of the day is going to be difficult, especially considering the strike will not leave me for a second, only to be reinforced by Marci. Sometimes I just hate everything and wish to make it all go away. Unfortunately, I promised three key individuals that I would care for myself. Not even the occasional combination of pizza and good television can help me now. I can’t stop obsessing over everything. I really didn’t need to see it. With all the other shit I run across while shopping or whatever, the cherry on top only serves to reduce my place in the world even more than I had thought possible. The au jus of Satan, yet again. Right before my eyes, not three feet away, there it was... The vision from the dream in real life. Oh, did I mention the color of the bra strap was a match? Maybe I overlooked that tidbit. The world is not at fault for this shit, either. There is probably no one at fault. I see a very unlikely set of circumstances, nothing more. There is no magic here, voodoo, or anything so far-fetched. But I must admit that the likelihood of an event from a dream coming to life weeks later is in the stratosphere. I just don’t fucking understand. I need help, yet all I have is me. No one is listening, and even if I were to flood a person’s ears with the wicked strike, the most likely outcome would be a confused expression and a damning opinion. They would tell me one of two things: Either I am out of my fucking mind, or I am not recalling everything clearly. Well, fuck that. I know what happened. I need more help now than ever, especially considering the first vision was none other than the damaging dream. Well, now the time is 1248 and I have everything finished. I set out to handle the trash and a second round in the kitchen, also finalizing whatever needed to be composted or recycled. All that crap is done. The third show is still gracing the screen and making me nostalgic. The one detail of my life which has not left my head during all this work is that fucking image. You know, the one which matched the dream, but after the fact. I still don’t understand. I am not the type to believe in a bunch of hocus pocus superstitious mumbo jumbo, nor am I subject to belief in clairvoyance, clairaudience (look it up) or any other type of precognition. All that shit needs to be proven, although the circumstance would seem to have already accomplished such a feat. The voodoo is not a part of my life, nor has it ever been. Fate? Eh... That was brought up with regard to the race girl. Destiny? I don’t know about that crap, either. Everything seems to add up to a series of dead ends. Only the incident has held true. There is no explanation. Do you have one? Help me, please. I am hurt. I don’t know what the hell this day has left for me. Eventually the cans will head to the curb and my evening will commence. In between now and then, I have not one fucking clue. I’m tired of remote controls becoming smaller and more rounded. They are slippery, or I am an idiot. Maybe both. Whichever the case may be, I don’t fucking like it anymore when I reach for something apparently designed for an alien race with sticky appendages, and the object slips out of my hand. It’s fucking stupid. Maybe I’ll seek a universal remote that is the size of a loaf of bread and toss the others. Without this trivial shit to discuss, I would repeat myself even more than I already have. 0701 on Monday morning. Very dark and drizzly outside, coffee next to me, and the third show. I don’t have much time to relax before the morning business, though. Lots of crap occupying my mind this morning, not the least of which is taking it easy for much of this day. I haven’t heard a garbage truck as of yet, but they will be along soon. I might have time to toss a few extras before the cans are emptied. Oh, I think I hear one of them now. Damn. Yesterday, this machine was my focus for some hours while I was alone, and that will probably continue after the morning business. Something told me to clean the outside casing and research everything I can upgrade in order to keep this thing running smoothly. After much time perusing articles and such, I decided the simplest method is to double the memory. Nothing more in the foreseeable future, though. This machine is several years old and the upgrade parts are cheap, so I’ll do the memory and see how much it helps. Pause. 0819. The next several hours are all mine.
No breasts here
I dreamed about something but cannot recall now. My head was out of balance in the middle of the night, keeping me awake for over an hour. All I had been thinking about was this computer, and I believe I may have had a dream about my parents, too. Nothing heavy or dramatic, though. Just some kind of situation, I guess. I don’t understand why there are times when I cannot relax enough to return to sleep after something awakens me. This morning I don’t really feel any effects of losing sleep, so perhaps it’s not a big deal today. Damn, this keyboard is nice. It brings me back to when I first received the computer from its builder five years ago. The new keyboard also makes it more enjoyable to type about being struck upside the head by a very bad situation, and something I cannot forget. I wish I had never seen it. Three feet from my eyes, that black strap and just enough movement to force me back to the damaging dream, thus damaging me further. I can’t say it. I can’t talk with anyone. ‘No options’ means much frustration. Issues two and four seemed pretty damned tough. This shit puts them both to shame. At least I can feel the keyboard under my fingers and try to smile about it. Still fucking dark outside, and near nine in the morning. The mood in the house feels like fall. If I get pissed off, perhaps I can grab the Christmas tree and start wrapping it with lights. Heh. No, I’m only joking. The weather reminds me of the holidays, that’s all. I’m going to try pushing against that mental situation today and see if I can rise and be productive. I don’t have much choice in what takes place in my head these days. All I can do is try, and hopefully I won’t fall all over myself later. When my head fills with the dream and subsequent reality of something so beautiful that I want to blow my head off, whatever else may be awaiting my attention around the house pretty much goes to hell very quickly. I can’t have that today, damn it. Trying is all I can do, yet most of the time the more I push, the more the image forces me into other directions, one of which can be very destructive. For the tenth time, I wish I had not seen the beauty right in front of me. I really didn’t fucking need that shit. It will happen again, though. No control there. This is bad. I just learned that Nichelle Nichols passed away. The shit in my head has been forced to take a pause. Rest in peace, you beautiful, pioneering woman. You are loved and will be sadly missed. 0927 and I am beginning to think that I won’t be doing much for the remainder of the day. Two Trek icons lost in the space of days means my concentration is waning and my problems have to be shelved for a while. Whatever I may be dealing with, the loss of loved ones takes priority. Damn. An acquaintance of mine from some years ago used to say, “Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies!”, and I thought he was referring to ailing health. I later learned that he was talking about losing those around us. This just sucks out loud. 1103 and I limped my way through the routine, although due to feeling like crap, I skipped the daily sweeping. That is not a big deal, really. Moreover, while returning one of the kitchen knives to its sheath, I accidentally cut my hand a bit. Nothing terrible, but it put a damper on my efforts. I did not clean the stovetop yet. Fortunately, the nick is on my right hand. Oh my, do I ever want to live on that station. I mentioned the frozen individuals from the first season of the second show and my desire to awaken as they did – 400 years in the future – but I have to say that the station has been a focus for a very long time. The more I watch this show, the more I wish to live there. All the problems would immediately disappear. That is not a joke. And I would gain much more than can be possible in reality. Don’t even fucking get me started on the interchangeability of matter and energy. Remember the machine? She would only be the beginning of something wonderful. Every episode shows me something helpful and heartwarming. This is how the derealization has affected me. Real life is not cutting the fucking mustard. And? The wicked strike could be a situation easily dealt with in that universe, not to mention the idea of actually embracing the fact. Yes, I said that. But I can’t say it here. Follow along with the lack of clarity. Maybe use your imagination or something. I don’t care. Ice-cold whiskey right next to me. Yesterday I finished some laundry and dry cleaning, meaning this day can be spent reflecting rather than working. If I could live where I wish, the worries would melt quicker than butter on the Devil’s Golf Course. Look it up. Cultural derealization. Those two words have rung more truth into my life than anything uttered from a real person. The wicked strike pushed me further away than I had thought possible. I really need some help. Lots of help. No one is listening. The difference between Kasidy and Jennifer is analogous to the difference between a dumpster and a Hawaiian waterfall. The day is still very dim. The fog must be pretty thick up there. I can see the nearest hill, but not those just beyond. If the outdoor areas were a little dimmer, I could actually light the garage empire. That should put the light level in perspective. Heh. I love it. Maybe there is a partial eclipse of which I am unaware. Michael fucking Ansara (rest his soul) is on the screen throughout this episode, complete with one of the most stirring voices in the history of mankind. Don’t fucking get me started. Unfortunately, many viewers were quite disappointed in the A-plot. Too bad. Personally, I love this episode. I can’t stop thinking about the strike. It was right there in front of me, not a yard from my eyes. After all these years of exposition on the subjects of beauty, obsession and desire, I’m certain anyone reading this can draw pictures of what took place in my mind. The problem here is that I cannot speak my mind. Much of what happened inside me during the strike is far beyond off-limits. Such a fact is a large part of the problem. No one is listening because I cannot say anything. A few keywords come to mind, none of which can be displayed on the site. I cannot reveal too much here, lest I be labeled, or worse. Such a fact is also a positive, as I tend to keep everything inside. Complete honesty is a myth. I just noticed that I’ve been typing without issue despite the cut on my right palm. Not bad. Prior to these words, the count of this entry was 7382, which happens to be the elevation of my favorite mountain pass in the Sierra Nevada range, Echo Summit. Upon reaching the top, the drive then descends into the Tahoe Basin with the lake visible around each corner. The drive is so far beyond beautiful that I cannot even scratch the surface. I miss going up there twice yearly. Visiting the south shore was always a reminder of when I was young and full of wonder. I could use some actual wonder right about now. Eh... All expectation of anything good happening in my life melted away long ago. Another subject to be avoided. There have been two entries here with the word 'whore' in the title. Interesting. 1330. I am still sitting with the third show. The sun is shining and warming my life, such as it is. I could use a boost. The images of the truck and associated test equipment are here because I don’t need to see anything else right now. I’ve seen too much already, both in dreams and before my very eyes. The wicked strike is at the top of the list right now, too. Not good. The consequences of that strike upon my psyche have been dramatic and far-reaching, pushing a manner of societal thinking I have never considered before. I need help. Nothing will ever come of this situation, of course, because I remain closed off more than ever. Right there in front of me, all soft and warm, just like the dream that ruined a part of me for all time. I did my best to avoid staring and only glanced when possible without causing damage to others. The damage to me was immediate, on the other hand, as my brain produced high-speed video of the dream over and over, as if the loop would go on forever. I saw the strap being tugged by manicured fingertips despite the dream having come and gone weeks earlier. Movement. Enough movement to force me to retreat and attempt to control my breathing for the next few minutes. And then it happened a second time and I realized I had to become a machine and just shut it the hell off for the rest of the night. One more time for posterity... I did not need that shit. There was a wicked strike to the side of my head, and the type of vision I hope I never see again."
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