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November 15th, 2023 7:37am pst

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Death's Door (Bleeding Worlds)

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"Two worlds mixing and swirling. Bad. I have learned, but is it enough? Is anything ever enough?

1107. My routine is finished and right in the middle of the housework I became hypoglycemic for whatever reason. I had to munch on a couple of chocolates just to steady my hands enough to fill the ice trays with cold water. Now I am a tad more stable, yet the morning cocktail remains too much of a habit for me to avoid no matter the circumstances. It is next to me at this very moment. My hands are still a bit shaky, but the process of typing doesn’t seem to be affected as of yet. Maybe the alcohol will calm my motor functions enough to smooth everything this morning. Well, there is only one thing in existence with the power to smooth my head. One. It is most decidedly unavailable and has been for so long that I barely understand anything these days. I just don’t get it. The way of things, I suppose. This is the way of things.

Sunday is here. Unlike last week, the home team’s game is going to be played this afternoon, which is the best time for my schedule. I don’t like the night games. I can take care of my business and housework prior to kickoff and then relax a while. Now that the center of the garage is empty, I can work on smaller details to get everything in order to my satisfaction. I also have some laundry and dry cleaning to do before game time. The inside of my head is once again sideways. The morning has been a battle thus far... A fight against total disaster. I rarely have a saving throw versus such power. As of this moment, I have no idea of how the rest of the morning will progress. Hopefully, the housework will suppress all this pain and sadness. I smell alcohol from somewhere. Hmm.

Well, sort of. The hour is later and I really rolled into the housework. Everything is finished. All I have is a group of small details between now and evening. I’d also like to put up a shelf for the one speaker cabinet that has been standing on the floor of the garage. It will be temporary, however, because the plan is to replace both of the old cabinets after the holidays. I just want everything to appear neat for Halloween.

Monday morning darkness is upon me; outside the house as well as inside my head. I calculated early yesterday that something would go wrong, yet I traveled all the way through to bedtime ok for the most part. The brain always suffers because the world around me carries a constant barrage of entertainment and advertising, meaning there will always be something to upend my day. Physically, the issues have been very consistent. I just wish I could be made to understand the way of things and why the operation of the world must be as it is. Early this morning was a reminder of the past which caught me off-guard. As a result, I believe this day is going to be quite mellow. All of yesterday’s work shall pay off in one way, at least. As for the rest, well... I am fucking powerless. I guess one of these days I’ll have to flip the fuck out and demonstrate something that no one is going to want to see. I think Alyssa’s rear end began to grow by the beginning of the third season. Wow. Not good.

I’ll have to visit the market fairly early because there are too many problems inside for me to relax in the usual manner. Last year has had a dramatic effect upon how I view the future and none of it is good. Something changed prior to the damaging dreams and continues to diminish my willingness to continue living. If there is little quality of life, what’s the point? Doing it for others? I think not. Fuck them. Due to the morning having gone down the same fucking hill that I experience all too often, the market may be a good idea in order to kick off my housework and pry my head away from everything missing. I fucking hate this situation and feel like demonstrating my dissatisfaction. Will anyone give half a shit? Will anyone fucking HEAR me?

Who cares? They did much of this.

1150, same fucking day. Disaster. Heartache. Dreams. My situation has not improved.

I went to the market to secure a few bags of candy for the multitude of costumed children who will be visiting my garage tomorrow night. I also finished the daily routine. Residing here on the desk are a cocktail and pizza. Those two items represent damned near all of the comfort I can expect in these late days. I typically have lunch in the living room, but today I need to be at the helm of the control center. I’ll head out to the garage in a little while and work on whatever seems best or most pressing.

Tuesday. Today is Halloween and I have the garage all fixed up for the evening. I need to go to the market again for a few items later this morning. No big deal. I guess I overlooked other priorities yesterday while shopping for the holiday candy. I don’t care, though. Yesterday’s efforts in the garage will pay off this evening, and then I can get to work on larger concerns afterward. I’ll need some decent motivation in order to continue reconfiguring the garage, and since there is no way to predict my feelings or mood from one day to the next, the process is most likely going to be very slow.

I wish I could snap my fingers and go back to the Delmonico. Shit. That was pretty fucking comfortable for a while. I don’t like the fact that the most stirring, wondrous situations no longer take place in reality. Somewhere off in the distance are the sounds of restaurant row but I can’t localize any of them. I can still smell the bourbon and Jennifer’s perfume, too. This situation is far from my understanding. Flashes; lights barely coming up before they disappear or are otherwise extinguished. I don’t get it. Julia wanted me to see one more diorama, memory or scene (I think), yet I am still just sitting here after three full days. I am at the control center and being glanced by the smells of the Delmonico. What? How? And what am I supposed to see besides the view through my office window? The morning is sad and pathetic, much like the way I think of my entire existence these days. I’ve gone nowhere in a very long time and seem to be headed toward complete nothingness. Marvelous. Halloween will come and go and I will come out the other side exactly the same.

0926. I have no idea of what I am supposed to see. Julia has been cryptic for years, but this situation may take the fucking cake. Door number four really did a number on me. Thanks, love.

1126. That’s interesting... Exactly two hours. I took care of the daily routine and visited the market. Now I have a fat cocktail and have been left to my thoughts. Good and bad, as it were. The nothingness is looming large on my horizon. I don’t like it, but can’t fucking argue the results anymore. Fifteen years ago I predicted such a condition while relaxing in my recliner with whiskey and laptop. Enter the end.

I’m so fucking depressed that completing even the simplest of tasks on a given day is a miracle.

Halloween is all finished for this year. The neighborhood was pretty active until roughly nine or so and then it dropped off quickly. I didn’t stay up too late, either. The mood was nice, although the later hours brought me much sadness. I am hoping to avoid a repeat today. I have things to do. And? There are ‘things’ in my brain that will not leave; between last night and this morning, situations developed and left me to realize that my life is already over and has been for several years. Wonderful. At least the garage atmosphere was effective. Better than nothing, I suppose. And I have a year to mess around with the design if necessary.

Today. Hmm. The first day of November. A ton of past holiday gatherings are going to come to mind daily until after the first of next year. The glowing years will be in command. I have no choice when it comes to memories. Moreover, this is the time of year when I began to dream about ‘driving up the mountain’, meaning I wanted to embrace the cool weather and travel up to where it was much colder. The changing season, holidays approaching, and the aforementioned gatherings generally picked up my mood regardless of whatever may have been trying to push me down. I used to have a box full of some holiday stuff that was labeled ‘holiday’, and below that label was the phrase, ‘the SUPERIOR time of year’. That represents just how strongly I felt about the last three months of the year. My mood toward this period has changed in recent years, however. I look back more often than forward because I only see happiness and joy in one direction. Sad as that is, the change was probably inevitable due to my rash decisions and uncaring nature toward people when I took any number of left turns in life. And why the turns? You should already know the answer.

There was a question posed to me last night with the intention of using my answer as a learning experience for someone else. Unfortunately for the person asking, my answer was completely out of left field and something that could not be understood. Well, fuck everyone. I understood it and told the absolute truth. The conversation became mostly derailed by that point, too. My honesty caused two-fold satisfaction. Whenever I tell people that I am a nonconformist and a personality type they will not understand, they don’t listen. At some point the discussion will hit a wall and then they begin to comprehend just how difficult dealing with me can become. The answer I provided caused two others to further question me, yet when I tried to explain, I was squished like always. That was the end of that. From here forward, I will no longer entertain the questions in the first place regardless of potential benefits. When it comes to education, I have always been willing to help. Unfortunately, people have once again forfeited my willingness to be pleasant and helpful. I don’t care.

The previous paragraph and the issue within it bring up a good point. The topic could be related to what Julia has been trying to show me for years, and her endless question may be a part of the same. I can’t know for sure, though, because I’ve not seen or heard from that woman for some days. The question posed to me was supposed to kick off a big point, but instead caused a huge mess. I have not thought in those terms for a long time and am beginning to believe that one of the pieces missing from inside me has been the reason. Moving even further back in time, the second shit situation comes to mind and was very likely the match that lit this never-ending fire and burned away that key piece. Something never had a chance to develop. In addition, my defensive nature disallows anyone from peeking into any details of my emotional state that has resulted from that shit situation. Very few are aware of what took place all those years ago, as well. Damned few, in fact. I’m quite certain the number is a single digit and most have probably forgotten. Anyway, I can see myself from the outside more often than one may believe, but it’s true. I am almost constantly analyzing my behavior, the way I relate to other people, and how I may appear to them. The process is exhausting but this is the only way I know how to live. The operative term which was spoken thrice and in two different contexts within the question asked of me is ‘love’. Much like the word ‘man’, it is likely one of the largest points of contention in the world and I can’t go very far with trying to reason through the situation that played out last night. The point is not anyone’s reaction or the subsequent dialog, either. The point is I believe what took place was caused by Julia. My worlds are intertwined... Bleeding into one another. Splendid. Remember from where that woman came. Just remember. The main issue inside me has built four doors as of yet, the last being one of the moments which served to define me as a person. It was wondrous, beautiful and stirring. Unfortunately, the fourth door has also conjured a fifth... That of death. I don’t know where it is located and have yet to see whatever it is Julia wishes me to see or experience. The only swirling this morning is the holiday season and the multitude of emotions it brings forth.

‘I did this to myself, but that action – or series of actions – had nothing to do with this place. I was elsewhere, both physically and emotionally. No one in this place had a breath or thought of me. They had no idea what was going on because of the distance. There was no possibility of such an occurrence. What I should have done was leave, remain quiet and closed off, and wallow as I have done for so many years. Jesus fucking Christ why did I not? Am I that inane?

Yes, absolutely.

Enough that I knew not the consequences of my backward thoughts. Backward plans. Backward actions. Just fucking backward. Counter-productive to the last. That is I.

I sit, sleep, eat, drink, work, drive, think, think, think... All of which, when taken as a whole, have become for naught. The work pays for things (not worth it), and the rest has been unnecessary from the start. The whole thing has taken me for a hellish ride.

And it continues.’

0853. I have a bit of coffee left. The question and subsequent facial expressions from last night are still occupying my mind. One important detail that continues to resonate inside is the fact that others became confused, not me. I had no issues whatsoever with the conversation. I’ll have to keep thinking about all this shit and see if perhaps I missed something in the netherworld that could have been a key.

1055. Alyssa is wearing a tiny vest of sorts with her purple bra showing from beneath. Her breasts are on display like never before. Why is this important? YOU make the call.

I finished the morning housework but have yet to decide about the rest of my day. All of the Halloween preparations motivated me to consider storage, so perhaps I can dig a little deeper into my stuff and see what can be tossed or donated. I also have a plan to relocate the bar from the west wall of the dining room to the south, just below the windows. The change will allow me to clear the top of the bar and clean everything, most of all the fucking floor. That cabinet is so low that getting underneath with any implement is very difficult, so I have to rely upon moring it in order to care for the wood. This may be the best idea for later today, perhaps after lunch. As for the garage, I’ll have to stare at everything for a while and formulate a plan. The fact that the center of the space is completely empty really helps. Right behind me at every step this morning has been the negative material plane looming like a fucking shadow bent upon my destruction. I can see and feel the netherworld at this very moment and have been trying to steel myself against being ripped away from the office at any time. A lack of communication from Julia typically generates fear above all else, hence my inability to fully relax. I still don’t know what to think about all this shit, either. Lessons? Oh, there have been plenty. Dioramas and imagery from the glow? Tons. Housework has never been so difficult, and that statement is in stark contrast to the typical comfort I’ve felt while working around the house with my extended family in the background.

My hands have been very dry for the last few days. The humidity is not responsible, so maybe I recently used a chemical that has affected the skin. I can’t be certain. Just a thought.

Thursday. I need her. I don’t know who she is, but I need her. Now. There was an idea some years ago, but after much consideration and anguish I’ve realized that the entire situation was doomed from the word ‘go’.

Sometimes I really miss sitting at my computer and gazing out the door, over the roof of the school and toward the hills because that was a very contemplative period and now appears to have been the beginning of much of what I have become.

‘Come lay with me while we still can.’

Saturday.

I don’t know what I am doing. Oh, the housework and other shit is fine. I do everything necessary to keep the house running smoothly. I also work on my little projects here and there, such as yesterday’s accomplishments in the garage. Overall, however, I have no fucking clue as to why I am still sitting here after so many years of plowing shit and feeling pain. This life has become ridiculous beyond words. The netherworld is helping me to connect past situations with the way I presently live and think, and there is nothing wrong with education. It should be a life-long endeavor regardless of type. My journey has been more recent, however, comprising just the last four years or so.

Down, down, down we go. The void, again.

I see the Raven in a sundress. Yellow, like mustard. I see Her laptop, too. Right there. I know this day well. Julia has done it to me again, damn it. I don’t want to be reminded of some parts of that fucking year, least of all the last time I felt wonder in the world. Thanks. The Raven is not happy and I recall why. I have to get the fuck out of here before a single word is exchanged. To the door...



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...and there is the old car I was driving into Vegas at the beginning of all this shit. Voices. Death threats. People are yelling at me much like when I returned after weeks with Andrea and the kitten. I am in trouble. I can feel their anger. The light is fading... I must get to the car and exercise whatever semblance of power I have left in the world (worlds?). Darker. The sun is overhead and I know why. I took that proverbial left turn in life to run to the Raven and then paid two high prices, one still weighing on my fucking head even all these years later. Less light now... Ah... Shit. Gone. Blackness. Why did I have to see her again? And why that day? I very nearly threw everything away in trade for a single hour of peaceful conversation and hand-holding. That is how badly I needed Her. Why did everything disappear? I needed the car because it was the last clear representation of me being a half-percent freer than before I bought it. Half a percent. That is not much at all, but during that year I felt as if I would blow my fucking brains out if I didn’t flex at least a sliver of power. The voices just became louder at the thought of feeling freedom while seated in the car thirteen years ago. Wait a minute... Shit is mixed up. My car was gone years before I ever laid eyes on the Raven. What is going on?

‘You should have died. Much could have been avoided.’
‘I’ve said that before, damn it. I know. But now what can I do?’
‘The door...’

Fucking cryptic to the last, that woman. Damn it. Is she referring to the year of fifteen when the Raven and I spent all that time together, or is she speaking of when I was alone? The voices are becoming overpowering. I am having a hard time thinking about this shit because of the vibration. Jesus. Everyone is yelling at me at the same time. I am hearing words such as ‘selfish’, ‘reckless’ and ‘controlling’. Yes, I was and am all those things. I’ve admitted everything before. What is the fucking point of this shit?

‘Those voices would have been silenced before the fact.’

Now I get it. Julia seems to be telling me that I’ve caused more difficulty for others than I have joy, and the Raven was very nearly the end of everything. Oh, not just more broken people, but the worst kind of loss. Trust me. I lost Her forever and have not been the same since that horrible day. My neighbor occasionally recalls being home when I arrived back from work after the news was broken to me. He knew something had happened because this entire house was awash with violent music emanating from every pore.

Silence. Darkness. What now? And what fucking door? This is not the Saturday morning for which I had hoped. I have things to do and don’t need all these entanglements. Shit.

I believe the door to which Julia has referred is death. No shit. There was the balcony at the SC Westin; several bridge abutments on the drive south (did I mention driving north, too?); I remember the outside of the Luxor pyramid appearing like the ‘slide for life’. My apartment? Yep... That one, too, and don’t get me started on the fucking ocean right down the street. La mer was not only water, it was a solution. The gun and the knife also factor into this shit. Death’s door. Hmm. I can’t argue with Julia. So much could have been avoided. And? So much WOULD be avoided in the future. Even after dealing with her questions, dioramas and analysis for more than four years, I never considered the idea that she might look out for those around me more than myself. Unbelievable. As I said... I can’t argue with her. Never. At least this time I don’t need to worry about dying on the negative material plane. None of that shit is real. Bring on the gunman and I’ll stand still and wait for my chest to explode. Remaining alive here solves nothing. Ending up dead is the same. Why should I try anything? Reality is the fucking problem.

If the two worlds continue to bleed into one another, my problems may soon come to an end.

‘Jesus. Sometimes I don’t know how I can maintain composure during those moments. Trust me... They are very bad and drive me out of my fucking mind. I’ve seen and I still see. I need more, damn it. I FUCKING NEED MORE. There is nothing to be done during those times, nor does the future hold any type of relief. I keep seeing her standing on the bottom step and calling to me as if the entire world was ending. She asked; I almost cried. And what the fuck did she mean by saying ‘while we still can’? I needed her then and I need her right fucking now. The things I’ve seen have driven me insane at times and follow in the footsteps of the first and third damaging dreams. My attraction to her and desire are at an all-time high at this very moment. My imagination goes around the entire universe in seconds, leaving me a babbling idiot all too often. I can’t have this; I can’t have her. There is simply no fucking way. Not in this life. I remember speaking of ‘him’ going over ‘there’. I no longer have a ‘there’, but if I did... Holy shit. The world would finally come to an end. The information is going to leave me dead.’

Sunday. I don’t even know where to fuckin’ start (thanks Arabella). The time is now 1002 and I have all my morning stuff finished. Cocktail hour has arrived, although I expected to be watching my team right now. Unfortunately, I misread the schedule. There is no game today for the home team because we are on a bye. Next week is the morning game. Ugh. At least the misread pushed me to get my housework out of the way. I suppose that’s better than nothing. The drive earlier became a problem when I stopped off at the bakery about halfway to the ocean from our first destination. Behind the counter was a five-nine Russian supermodel in yoga pants with flowing hair and amazing fingers. I wanted to dive over the counter and demonstrate the high level of my appreciation for her unique, unreal beauty. Nope. Nothing. I didn’t even ask her height. The woman should be on a runway instead of serving pastries in the City. Jesus holy hell in an apron, Batman... The pain and torment inside me spiraled out of control and the only saving throw was to kick into gear upon reaching home. I expected a truncated morning schedule due to the game, so the idea of distraction felt good. Well, that’s not happening, meaning my brain has not let go of her image for one fucking second since leaving the bakery. This is the root issue inside me: I see and then walk away because there is nothing else I can do. Not a fucking thing. I am going to lose my mind one of these days. That is no joke, either. It will happen. I have been able to maintain this lifestyle thus far, but mark my words... One day I will be gone. Death’s door, indeed. How many facets does that term encompass? I can’t do the math. My day is otherwise wide-open since most of my shit is finished, but I don’t know what I’ll be doing later. For now, I am going to imagine all sorts of deviant images involving that fucking goddess and drink my whiskey. What else do I have in life? Tell me why if you can answer the question. Reason it out. Good luck.

I have to tell her how I feel, but is it even possible? I am in so much pain right now that I can barely navigate the fucking cocktail glass to my mouth.

A battery commercial just stated that ‘holiday magic is fleeting’, meaning one should embrace the season as much as possible because soon enough the kids will be grown and everything will be different. Hmm. I can’t disagree, although most of my family is fucking gone. I don’t have any children, either. Never had the chance. And don’t give me a blast of shit about adoption. Such a thing is good for others but does not (never did) compute in my mind. Blood is blood, period. As for the magic, well, that time has been buried.

If I hear Julia’s voice today I am going to tell her to fuck right the hell off for good. I’ve fucking had it with this netherworld bullshit. Reality is not that much fun anymore and I don’t need that woman causing additional entanglements within my brain. No one is listening. The ears are gone (if they were ever really there in the first place). Understanding, you ask? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. This is the beginning of the end of everything. Take it away, please. No more comfort; no more pizza; no more little enjoyments. But? No more pain. Considering the way I feel this morning, that last statement is the biggest dream imaginable. Oh, dreaming of the goddess from this morning is huge, yet the only result is pain and heartache. I would gladly trade one for the other. Seeing? Bad. Not seeing? There is only one path to such a destination.

The site is available to the entire globe and it doesn’t matter. No one can fix this shit. No one. Don’t even fucking BEGIN to try. Just trust me. I know far more than you.

1041 is what I see on the recently turned-back clock and I don’t know what the hell to do with all this free time. I will have the house to myself in a little while, so perhaps I can blast some music in the garage and make plans for the future (how much of a future do I have left?). Right now I just don’t know. Lunch will come and go, I’ll take care of the garbage at some point, and then maybe prepare a few things for dinner later. Nothing seems appealing, however. I am treading water like never before. I can’t get that beautiful girl out of my head. This is a huge problem. Oh, I’ve been through this type of pain before, but honestly each occasion quickly becomes cumulative. I fucking NEED to understand the information that was all over her. My first descriptive essay was more than sixteen years ago. The moment when the Raven was standing before me in nothing more than a tiny, black thong was over eight years ago. The other one? Any occasion to learn went to hell due to desire and soon after the entire world burned away my happiness (or potential). What the fuck do I do now? Should I continue in the same painful vein, or should I finally put an end to this torment? No one hears my questions, nor do I know of any answers. I’ve mused that the end is near on many, many occasions. Is this the end? What sort of message can I leave behind that has enough fucking power to convey everything which has transpired since the first shit situation? Is that even possible? Answer me, please. I need reasons. This is one of the worst mornings in recent memory. God damn do I ever need that goddess to understand and help me.

She will fade. Another will come along. There is nothing I can do about it. I am completely fucked.

Death’s door. We may have arrived at a decision, finally. Close your eyes.

Monday. I can still see her; I still need her; I am still desperate to demonstrate my appreciation.

Coffee. This day is not going to amount to much. Mark my words. A little bit of organization is in order and will go a long way toward another request for a clothing donation pickup, plus I have the usual crap to do. Yesterday I was busy in the garage and finally raised the table to match the height of the workbench. The process went very well, albeit a tad slow. The increased space below the table will facilitate better storage, too. I think I’ll try to focus inside the house today despite the garage progress. Small spaces lead to large spaces, as I’ve said in the past.

1002. The door is looming despite my progress in the closets. The door is always looming, yet I can’t help but suspect that Julia may have other plans for my mind. I could be wrong about death’s door. She still has something to show me, as well. I already saw the sundress and recalled a morning which began very scary, turned into a reckless run into hiding for a while, then became more wondrous and beautiful than I can possibly describe. Soon after, that day ended in complete disaster – for the second time in as many months. It was the second sundress, too. I can still see the yellow and flowers. I can still see Her hair, all dark and shiny... Long and indescribably gorgeous. There was a football game playing on the television. My eyes did not see it, however, because they were absolutely glued to Her. The door may indeed be death, and if so, I deserve every fucking bit of it. I’ve been a good person and a bad person, yet the latter continues to dominate my thoughts. This may be the end. I don’t want to see another fucking diorama.

No choice. Julia is in charge no matter how puffed up and cunty I may become.

I have to get into some housework for a little while.

1119. I still see her. I still need her. Is she the one who can make all the bad go away? Understanding? Comfort?

The routine is out of the way for today. I was also able to combine three closets’ worth of clothing into two, meaning I can once again install shelves in the hall closet for all of the linens. The next step will be to go through one upper closet and see how much space I can create. None of this work means anything to me, of course, because the most important aspects of life are still absent. I keep seeing, dreaming, yearning and falling on my stupid face over beauty, most notably what took place yesterday morning at the bakery. I can’t get her out of my brain no matter the circumstances. The closet door, smiling faces, memories of the way the Raven and Ashley described life... This is all becoming too fucking much to bear and I see the end of the road. Buffer stop. Explosion. Detritus. Nothingness, finally. I see it as clearly as the noses on your stupid primate faces. I'm in a bad mood. It’s a good thing I already accomplished something because I no longer care. The rest of the day be damned.

I fucking need her. Wait... Which one? There have been so many after all this time that I’ve lost count. There will be another. I will be worse off than I am right now. Nothing will change. I’ll be further aslant. My heart is completely obliterated. The little enjoyments are shrinking as I type these words. Not a soul on earth knows the extent of my current difficulty. No one. I need her. Help me, please. Save me. Provide a reason for all this shit beyond a fucking morning cocktail and its subsequent numbness. There is something very wrong with me right now. Something on the inside, I believe. I am not a doctor.

Maybe I should have something to eat, head to the garage (with both doors closed) and paint the inside of the big door at long last. I drew the outline some months ago but have yet to go further.

Tuesday. Where is she?

Nada. Zip. Zero. Wonderful. No one hears me; my feelings don’t matter. Closer than ever...

I don’t want to see the car anymore. I don’t want reminders of the glowing years or the Raven, either. And don’t get me started on Ashley and her unique mindset. I want none of it. My entire life has been reduced – again, like Satan’s fucking broth – all the way down to the minimum. A thousand feet and whatever I do within it. That is all. There are no prospects. I am in a very bad spot here. The issues continue to press on my head and all the while everything that I try to enjoy is shrinking beyond control. I can only take so much before I fucking spit. Every day I sit here at some point and write, and each occasion when I hit the chair and place my hands upon the keyboard, I feel worse than the previous day. That is no bullshit, either. I am fucking serious. I feel terrible all the time. My receptiveness to being distracted from the reality of this condition is also diminishing, and that means it will eventually be gone. What then? Do people fucking think I have enough regard for them to avoid causing pain at the expense of my own sanity? Think again. Door number five... Right there. Curious, no matter what I’ve done in the interest of lashing out or otherwise protesting Julia’s methods, I always end up on the losing end of the situation. The one fact that she cannot control, however, is what I do with myself in reality. There can only be one death. Afterward? She is equally gone. I no longer wish to embrace her lessons or scenes, so sitting here in the dark is all I have. I will not cooperate with that woman or anyone else. This is a different type of hammer than those of the past. Trust me. The car and the others that I’ve seen recently are nothing when held against the power I can wield in the real world. Bleed together all you want, fucksticks. I care less and less about everything each day.



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0942. My head is all fucking sideways again and it doesn’t seem to matter, just like my feelings. Why don’t you come here, stand among the Satanic empire I’ve built in the garage, and try to tell me any of my statements are wrong. Go for it. What? What did you say? Focus on the positives? That’s all I’ve been trying to do for years. Look how well that shit has gone. Can you hear it?

Door five. Everything is narrowing. I’ll be into the housework soon and then have a fat fucking glass of alcohol to steady myself and perhaps live through until tomorrow. Perhaps? We shall see.

She sold me a cherry Napoleon. I could run all over the fucking place with that one, but I have to remain respectful. She is a person above all other concerns. A person, not an object. The idea is not easy, but as I said... Respect. Just because I am screwed up in the head does not mean I can be unfair to someone else. Five-nine; flowing hair; lines up the wazoo. Jesus. Nothing can ever come of it. The truth is that I have become so twisted and fucked up throughout the last several years that there is likely nothing which has the ability to lift me anymore. Not a form; not a pizza.

Wednesday.

The door is looming large on the horizon and there is nothing I can do about it. The girl at the bakery was just a symptom. She was not the first and will not be the last. I have zero options. For today, I need to visit the smoke shop after the routine, and then maybe the hardware store for a few items. Aside from leaving for a little while, I’ll be continuing my efforts to reorganize the closets. I will also work in the garage for a little while. The Christmas lights and decorations that go outside the front of the house are going to be operated via my phone, and the smaller parts are not going to run off batteries anymore. I will rewire them to be powered by a bench supply. Everything is pretty straightforward, so I have plenty of time to get the decorations in order and operating prior to turkey day. Hopefully, I can enjoy the work a little bit. Memories of the glow will enter my head at some point, meaning I’ll be fighting them as they push me toward door number five. No more circles. Just doors. Splendid.

Julia showed me the car. It now stands as a symbol of pain and desire; happiness (just like the Katakana characters that adorned the dashboard) and loss. I don’t want to see it anymore. As I sit here, I will say that never in my life have I desired a vehicle as much as the Slipper, and after having gained and lost, I can’t see the reminders as anything other than daggers in my heart. There are million dollar cars out there which are far more exotic, expensive, and better performing, yet the same single body style and interior will forever be my love. I lost it for the same reason I lost everything else... Desire. Every single fucking time I ran toward something I needed, everything else went to shit in a hot minute. The Slipper was no different. Did I find comfort? Yes... But shortly thereafter I learned that it was not real. I do not fucking want to see that car again. The symbol is too much for me to bear and one more step toward the fifth door. I know what I’ve done and I know why. Unfortunately, the knowledge is no longer capable of keeping me upright. Nothing is.

1120. The door is right behind my tired eyes.

I ordered lumber earlier this morning and it has already been delivered. This is very good and will allow me to patch (half-assed) the patio cover until next Spring when the storm season is over. At that point, I’ll pull the plywood and rebuild the entire shitaree from scratch. Depending upon how I feel after lunch today, I may or may not begin the process of preparing the surface for installation. I don’t foresee any issues, either. All I have to do is pull some old nails, position each panel on the rafters, and then screw them down from bottom to top. Once complete, the living room will no longer enjoy morning sunshine – much to the chagrin of the cats – although the path from the back door of the house to the garage will be dry during Winter. The more I think about that piece-of-shit patio cover, the happier I am about the decision to patch the opening for the remainder of Fall and Winter. The beginning of this year was tough due to the massive storms. Sometimes I come up with good ideas. Nice. And speaking of good ideas, there is a fat glass of depressant sitting to my left. However I may be labeled, I need to know that the daytime hours must bend to my wishes. The whiskey may be on the left, but overpowering my desire to consume the alcoholic liquid is Holly on the right-hand display. I need her labia in my mouth. I need it very badly. Moreover, I must demonstrate the sheer level of my appreciation for her unique beauty, much like the girl at the bakery last weekend. None such is in my future, though. Nothing. If they only knew of all that resides in my heart. Another notch down, and another step toward door number fucking five.

No one will ever know. This is very sad, but at least I am accustomed to severe disappointment.

In addition to the patio cover, while I awaited the lumber delivery I calculated the most efficient and straightforward method for displaying and powering the snowflake decorations. Sometimes my ingenuity surprises even me. Oh, don’t get me wrong... My brain is a wasteland of thoughts, but the vast knowledge and technical skill I possess with electronic design and troubleshooting cannot be overstated. I can do almost anything regarding those disciplines. Am I proud of such facts? Sometimes. Can they help me to avoid the door? No. Not even close. Beauty, loss, pain and loneliness dictate my entire life. The rest is merely distraction, and always temporary. I take care of everything... Daily housework, laundry, and everything else related to the function of the household. Everything. Soon enough, however, the pain returns and has me at its mercy. Pain, both physical and emotional.

This is the WAY OF THINGS. Such a statement should already be understood. If not, do some fucking research, idiots. The way of things... I know my place; I know what I am; I know of the causes.

I already miss the third show to the point of pain. Call me what you will.

Thursday has already shown me a ton of beauty all strewn across the City, some close and some far away. Lines all over the place. Not good. At least I made it the hell out of there and back home without any problems. The weekday drive does not happen very often, but when it does I immediately realize the difference from Sunday. The route there and back takes about twenty minutes longer, as well. As I said... Glad to be home for the duration. Thank Christ I didn’t visit the bakery like last time. That was bad and still has me at sixes and sevens when I think of her. Pain.

Yesterday I not only ordered lumber for the patio cover but installed it immediately after delivery. Done. Now there will be no rain when traveling from the house to the garage door during the rainy season. Last year’s storms hit us pretty hard and are rumored to be increasing in strength very soon, like the next three months. Between the tree being pruned and my reinforcement of the patio cover, the situation will not weigh as heavily on my head as it did last season. In addition to the woodwork, I mounted clips for the icicle lights around the front of the house to have everything ready for decorating time in two weeks. I also ran tests on the snowflakes so they can be easily added to the icicles and powered accordingly. All that stuff requires some electrical work, too. I’ll get to it when I feel like working in the garage again. The time is 0915 and I still have some coffee. The house will be all mine in about an hour and the plan is to take care of the usual routine and then remain indoors to continue where I left off yesterday. I am hoping the sun will heat the living space somewhat, although the patio cover no longer allows light into the living room. Time will tell how this plan works with regard to temperature. At least there will be no glare on the television for the next several months. Better than nothing.

I am going to lose my mind over the obsession, beauty, pain and everything else which has combined in the last year-plus to send me to hell. I am going to lose my fucking mind, people. Door five, you ask? Yes, that is the reason I am still writing. Maybe Julia will pull me from the void and kill me again. At least the situation would become more interesting. Again... better than nothing. I need to fulfill the obsession, and I need it to be precisely the manner in which I have envisioned for nearly two decades. Until such a point, I will continue to slide downward into a black abyss. There is simply no fucking way around it anymore. I am going to lose my mind because I keep seeing and nothing can come of it. I need her and I don’t even know who she is.

1101. Michelle Scarabelli is freaking adorable. Had I been on the ship during her tour, there would have been zero doubt as to how much I liked her. Little dinners on starbases; trips to exotic locales; you fucking name it. The situation could have been nearly as blissful as the other place. You should already know my feelings about the station... They continue to grow as these miserable days pass. One more time for posterity: All of my issues would melt away. ALL of them. Believe it. I am referring to a few very key aspects of life, a few of which are actually material. Damn.

There was a pair of neon-green pants on the corner of Bush and Franklin. I wanted to lick them. You don’t want to know the rest. Basket case, ever worsening.

Door number five? Yep... Door number five. Nearly four years ago when I wrote ‘Falling Away’, I had thought my situation had become dire. Now? That was nothing and I would give years off my lifespan to go back to that time. Door five, people. Door. Fucking. Five. Julia already knows.

And speaking of that woman, where is she? Like everyone else in my worlds, she is notably absent.

A few minutes ago I heard a fairly powerful helicopter overhead – I’ve been fascinated by rotorcraft for decades and can’t help but try to see them when available – so I dropped the keyboard and mouse to head outside with my field glasses. The aircraft was hovering over this very neighborhood and slowly rotating itself as if to survey the landscape. Once I gazed through the glasses, I noticed it had a very high-resolution camera mounted to the forward fuselage. As the craft’s nose passed my location, it backtracked just a touch until aligned with my position. That was funny, although I doubt whomever is flying that machine has any interest in a person with binoculars. Thus, I gave them a thumbs-up and retreated to the house. Furthering my curiosity as I could hear it heading south, I ventured to the backyard to try identifying the helicopter. Once I raised the field glasses to my eyes for a second time, I noticed the aircraft immediately positioned itself between me and the fucking sun, effectively precluding any chance of me seeing some identifying marks. Oh, well. I am no one of note. The helicopter is likely from the utility company and performing power line inspections which came about after the last few fire seasons for safety. As I said, I am no one. On an otherwise dull, average day, it’s nice to have a bit of interesting activity. Unfortunately, without something external, nothing interesting ever takes place in my life. So sad. Very sad, actually. Sadness prevails; door five hails.

Years ago, I thought I had a handle on my place in the grand scheme. The truth is I had no idea. Now? I do. Let us see if another several years pass and find me realizing the same. What do you think? Keep going despite the dramatic grade? Don’t forget to include a good fucking reason.

Friday.

I should not have been watching one of my older programs last night because a problem of epic proportions came about and derailed much of my life. It is still affecting me. Just a question. There was a question and then a little something more (in the form of sweetness). I remain at sixes and sevens regarding the Russian pastry goddess and don’t need any more shit right now. I have to go to the big box store in a little while and I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit. The reason? This will be my first solo trip to Costco, ever. The only time I was there alone was the short period during the late eighties when I worked at the store. This is the first time I’ve held my own membership card. It opens up better possibilities for shopping since I am home all the time. Thus? I have to remain mindful while out because it is difficult enough for me to leave the house, and considering all of the obsessive, desire-filled and otherwise strikingly beautiful moments which continue to flow past my eyes, going out on business is already a fucking stretch. The program last night nearly killed me for all time. The woman in question was already in my heart from years ago, yet after so much time I did not recall the moment until it came to pass. I really didn’t fucking need the reminder, either, because the last time I watched the show was roughly four or five years ago, and my situation was nowhere near as dire as it is at present. The consequences of seeing the pastry goddess have been bad enough. The other one added insult to severe injury. This simple transmission of information has been brought to you by an ethereal combination of depression and the fifth door approaching my position at breakneck speed.

1127. Julia is nowhere to be found and I am split between worlds, still. This is not good. The situation has me wondering if there is a method of converting the netherworld death issues into reality. I don’t know, but some sort of change had better come along soon. I’m pretty fucking tired of this shit. Floating.

Visiting the big store was pretty straightforward. I would imagine that today was actually a bit busier than normal for a Friday because of the holiday. Veterans Day is tomorrow but observed today due to the weekend. Many businesses are closed, so perhaps the next time I visit that place it will be somewhat less crowded. I have all the time in the world, though, so waiting in line or slowly meandering through the aisles is not a big deal. There were items out of stock, so maybe I’ll visit the companion location on Monday or Tuesday. And in case anyone is wondering, there was another Russian goddess all cozy in her sweatsuit strolling the aisles. What a beauty. I know of her nationality because she was yammering incessantly into a phone. As I said before, there will always be something. Knowing such a fact in advance of going out should help me, but it doesn’t. Nothing helps.

Saturday.

Flags out. Drive complete. Food donations out. Coffee. I have the entire day to do whatever seems best. Maybe I will get a head start on tomorrow’s stuff to free up time for the football game. If I fail to stay busy or comfortable, the obsession will take over and render me completely worthless. Helpless. Hopeless. Everything. Door five.



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Over and over the imagery swirls inside my head. Every day. That short exchange and scene from the program the other day has been fucking killing me lately. I just don’t understand why the world has to operate in such a manner, nor can I see any good on my horizon. I don’t get it. I’ve tried to be a good person. There have been mistakes aplenty, of course, because I am far from an ideal human being, but shouldn’t something trickle my way... Eventually? Something, please? The one in the bakery really kicked off bad feelings, just as that girl a few years ago that lives just up the hill to the south and drove me insane for a period of fifteen minutes. I felt a dire need to fucking SAY something to her; anything. My mind was tormented for days because I had no way of expressing myself. Well, I still don’t, yet the examples of stunning beauty and wonder continue to pile up like air molecules in front of a speeding locomotive. All this shit. Hence door number five. I may be on a road with no turns.

0903. What have I learned from Julia’s teachings? The first three doors represent opportunities that fell by the wayside due to fear, and the fourth was something that became cemented in my psyche for all time. It’s still there, actually, and more powerful at this very moment than at any other time in my life. Unfortunately, the fourth door is also fraught with heartache. Holy Jesus shit... The field commentator for this football game has an amazing face. Damn. Well, she is related to the fourth door, as well. What a stunning fucking beauty. All sorts of situations come to mind when I see her, not the least of which is that closet door combined with a very sweet smile. Like the television show the other night, the feelings were forced deep into my heart when I saw her smile. Sweetness. Beauty. Understanding, most of all. When she spoke, I thought of the fourth door. Soon after, my head blew up inside as if I’d been sucking natural gas followed by a spark. I could not believe my eyes and ears... Just like the closet door. Fourth door. All of this is soon going to drive me completely insane and my life will be completely worthless. I suppose I’d better get some housework done today just in case this is the last time I type such words. The netherworld continues to bleed into reality; I am falling further down with each passing moment. I have no recourse whatsoever. I am a time bomb. Anyway, there is a distinct possibility that the second shit situation ruined any chance of me being brave with regard to change. The three doors that were opportunities for my future ended up causing me to withdraw and seek the ever-important comfort. That much is certain, and I have Julia to thank for the connections. As for the last one... Well, I need it more than anything else in the universe. I need another closet door, for fuck’s sake. Where can I find one? Or has that time passed too far into history for me to ever find real understanding? No answers, like always. I just keep posing more and more pointed questions to the keyboard as it stares back at me with the same blank expression over and over. I did learn something, yet I am still here (the negative material plane) even though I spend my life in this house. I am there, but here. I don’t understand why one world had to begin bleeding into the other. Number five is not alive. Everything is related. Two situations a few years apart; two situations many years ago. I wish I had known at the time that my life was going to be ruined. Maybe I could have reacted differently. I don’t know. Yes, I learned about the fearful state that always took over and immobilized me. I also learned that what took place regarding the closet door soon became the meaning of my entire existence. So... That being said, what the fuck do I do now?

At least I am aware of door five's meaning. That's an easy one.

When I was working full-time, Saturday mornings were blissful. I’d be up very early – near to five – and had the laundry running before the coffee pot was finished brewing. Afterward, I’d pour a cup and then sit on the sofa with one of my programs running and the laptop aligning with its name. Once the sun was warm, I’d kick into gear and work around the house or in the garage, all the while fully appreciating the free time. And then Sunday would come along and I’d usually have a set time when I wanted to have everything finished in order to reserve the afternoon and evening for relaxation prior to heading back to a very toilsome job Monday morning. Well, today is Saturday and I have even more free time than in the past, yet the inside of my head has suffered so much during the last decade (or more) that I almost need to have a job in order to find that past appreciation for weekends. A job is simply not going to happen, part-time or otherwise. Oh, there could be something, but at this point in my life it would have to be pretty fucking special or amazing for me to be out of the house for hours each day. Good God, the shoulders on this Asian woman in the commercial... Fuck me running. Anyway, the point of all this shit is that I have to remain mindful of the perks inherent in this current period or I will lose my mind more quickly than previously thought. The scene from the show the other night combined with memories of the fourth door are fucking killing me this morning. I guess I’m going to need to force some appreciation for this situation. My housework will begin very soon because I have to keep moving – like a shark – or I’ll fucking die. Door five, again. Death’s door. I can already feel the threshold. The swing is beyond my control, however. Today is Saturday and I must find a way to recall the past and try to enjoy some of my time. I will step through door five soon enough.

1309, same day.

My usual stuff is finished and lunch is out of the way. Not a second has expired throughout the last four hours without my head being forced sideways. I don’t know what the hell to do for the rest of the day. Perhaps my best plan is to do nothing. I can try to distract myself with video media for a while and see if the idea pans out.

Sunday.

The drive was fast and smooth. The only rub was an amazing Asian hybrid strolling along in heels and a beautiful outfit. Whatever. Now I am off the hook for an entire week, I believe. My game is on in less than two hours, meaning I’ll have to get into some facking housework a bit earlier than usual. No big deal. I didn’t lose my mind over the girl on the street because I’ve been feeling completely defeated. That is to say I may have accepted the idea that I am ruined over beauty. This is rather sad, if you ask me. To rise from bed each morning already knowing that at some point I will be completely wrecked is a pretty fucking sad state of affairs. Julia always pressed me to accept myself. Well, I accepted something else instead. Daydreaming; housework soon; whatever else... I have no idea. Each day finds me a little bit further detached; one notch less cooperative. This condition is cumulative.

I am beginning to lose caring in what is accomplished around the house beyond the scope of my daily routine and laundry. Longer term improvements are not blowing up my skirt anymore. As for the patio cover, I had ulterior motives in that I wished to move between the house and garage without the need to continually wipe my feet in wet weather. Nothing much else will advance around here during my tenure. I just don’t care. I need to do the things that still have the power to lift me out of the din, even if only for short periods of time. Such ideas must remain the focus for my foreseeable future. One such activity is this very office, too. I need everything nice and neat in here because of the massive amount of time I’d like to spend at the keyboard while I still can. And that last statement brings forth a memory of something wonderful and mysterious at the same time...

‘Come lay with me while we still can.’

I still have no idea of what she meant with the last half of that line, but the expression on her face was one of desperation. Something was about to happen and she wanted to spend as much time with me as possible. Most likely, the end of everything. Rather like a few nights prior to me reporting to Camp Pendleton all those years ago, I was standing in my girlfriend’s kitchen and did not wish to leave despite being pressed by the federal government. The moments we shared that night were very special and we tried to stretch every single one of them out for as long as possible. It felt as if the world was going to end at any second and we had to hang on for our lives. The line above from my dream showed me a similar situation, but I still don’t know what she meant. I don’t know what was going to happen, although one idea I’ve been tossing around is the way I feel each day in reality. I am referring to the overwhelming senses of loss and isolation, and a fleeting premonition that something bad is about to happen. It’s as if I am being led to the fifth door by forces beyond my control, yet at the same time I am somehow doing the driving, all the while fearful of change (just like the other doors).

‘Now you’re getting somewhere, dearest.’
‘Where in the fuck have you been?’
‘I told you four of them were related. I did not indicate which four, however.’
‘Ah... Shit. Okay.’

Well, there it is. Fuck me in a muddy ditch, the woman did it to me again. Just when I needed her the most, she clarifies the relationship between doors one, two, three and FIVE... Not four. No wonder I’ve been so fucking confused. At least I arrived at the realization prior to her slamming me home again. The two worlds are so intertwined at this point that I never know when Julia is going to rip me away from the computer keyboard and drop me in the middle of nowhere. Considering the way I’ve been feeling each morning, I really don’t need to be dumped into the desert again. Damn. I may have hit upon something important, but I am still in the same condition as before the connection. Fear may be the whole issue. Not good.

0854. My routine will be fairly quick today since we ordered food for dinner last night. The kitchen isn’t all messy from cooking. My team will be playing in just over an hour, yet since we lost the last three straight games I may not need to pay strict attention. I hope the guys can perform today. Two days ago I hung the icicles and snowflakes across the garage and porch but have yet to energize them. I have a weatherproof box mounted under the eave, too. The leads go into the garage but I need to add another box for the smart switch and then power the whole system. Today is only the twelfth, too. There is ample time for me to finish everything prior to Thanksgiving. I also have a couple of loads of dry cleaning to run later, along with my usual garbage business. I need to get started very soon so I’ll feel fairly accomplished during the game. Jesus... Alyssa has been running around – breasts bouncing everywhere – in very tight pants and looking like a fucking dessert dish I’d like to (gently and lovingly) devour. Fuck me. If someone out there only knew of my deep feelings...

The missed years cannot be replaced, repeated, or ‘made up’. As the clock continues to spin, I am losing time which could have been spent in the place I so badly need. Every second that elapses finds me older, and aspects of life that once came naturally are both more difficult to realize and fewer in numbers. When I say the situation is dire, I am severely understating my condition. You don't want to know. Today is Sunday, meaning the housework is a bit more enjoyable, yet beneath the satisfaction of seeing everything completed is the harsh reality that I am nowhere near where I need. The time is now 1337 and I have nearly everything completed. The routine, garbage business, dry cleaning and refrigerator organization are out of the way. My team won, as well. One may believe all of the positives help, but the truth is I am completely fucking miserable because what has become the most important aspect of my life – due mostly to those unchangeable shit situations – is notably absent and I don’t know how to find it, or if such an achievement is even possibly anymore. That sentence sums up my world. When I say ‘dire’, I mean my very life depends upon an extremely thin chance that any happiness can be found. I don’t even know why I try most days. All I do is work for and otherwise help other people. This is completely fucked.

I switched to one of the afternoon games because I don’t need to see any beauty right now. Oh, there will be this and that on the field or during commercials, but as I always say... There will always be something. The best I can do is try to minimize the damage to my heart. That is a fucking sad state of affairs, damn it. Fucking sad as hell. Don’t look for many positives here anymore.

I don’t know what else I can say here. Everything has narrowed so much that unless I truly go into detail and slam anyone reading this shit, the remainder of my life on the site will be more of the same. If I try to continue in the same vein and the netherworld bleeds over again, maybe something dramatic will happen. Um... Maybe not. I have lost all faith in whatever world I may be inhabiting at a given time. The little enjoyments had better fucking hold me up.

Monday.

Julia said I was getting to something when I mentioned being fearful of change. Hmm. That’s pretty fucking clear and I really don’t see anything wrong with having limited myself in such a fashion. I don’t believe there is any way I’m the only individual to have passed on some opportunities because of being afraid of everything going to hell due to a bad decision. The rest, however, is another fucking story. Door four is related to both shit situations, not just the second. Everything is related, meaning being so fearful for so long soon became a way of life. The fear can only be... OH, FUCK. I see.

‘Yes, you do. And you are correct.’
‘Thank you. I did not put those two together before this very moment.’

Flash!

There is the closet door again. Green; the front yard visible through my window; the car I used to adore sitting there staring back. Green. Ah, shit. Could this be? Did I figure out my place in the universe? Where the fuck am I right now? I see the door, the other furniture, yet this is not my house from the mid-glow. This is different. I can’t see the changes, yet I know inside that something is amiss here. And I don’t feel what I felt at the time, either. I don’t believe that is possible at all, not even with Julia’s ability to conjure and project almost anything in existence. I can feel the blackness at my back like that fucking shadow that has been behind me for almost thirty fucking years. Please, for the love of Christ, don’t let it catch me right now. I have found something and need to carry it with me for the rest of my life.

I love Julia.

Door four led to five. Four served to alleviate fear, but was it enough? I remember the sense of wonder, control and fascination at the time, and I believe the sum was able to lift me beyond everyday trials and concerns and deliver me into the arms of beauty. That was a period fraught with disdain for society, the epic trip to the north that I tried to plan for more than a year, and a feeling of separation from the masses. All of it melted away and I actually believed that I would be alright in the long run due to that closet door. Thirty-plus years later and I’ve learned something. This may not seem like much of a realization, however, because the pertinent details are absent. And there is a massive downside. That is to say I’ve put a few things together and feel accomplished for the effort, but none of it exists in my life anymore. The door was so many years ago that I am having trouble trying to reconcile the fucking gap between the past and present. It feels like a different world. The more I consider the past and how it has shaped me, the more I realize that the ‘good’ during the early years is gone, never to repeat. None of it. All I have are my little enjoyments, time spent alone so I can fucking think, and the occasional moment when I feel like everything is actually just fine. Those are so few and far-between that I believe the only explanation is to call them ‘defense mechanisms’ that kick in when I am very down and considering my value in the world (nil). I will say that seeing the closet door again and knowing how much power that situation held, I am seeing my future even more truncated and sad than ever before. Something which became so important due to a horrible period of time ended up rising and falling, the latter eventually representing my entire life. All the way down now; doors one through three having been squished (just like me) into insignificance by my current condition. I don’t care about them anymore because there is now an overarching issue that was planted, germinated, and then grew into a way of life, one very sad and damaged. The downside is that I no longer give a fuck about the future. Live or die; neither matters. There is little distinction anymore. Door four has done too much damage for me to recover, ever. This is it.

‘I’m sorry, lover.’
‘I know.’

Bled worlds.



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0827, same day. Morning is usually the best part of weekdays. Coffee and keyboard. My program is running on the right-hand display. Eventually I will branch out and begin the bit of housework. I may also go into one of the upper closets because I have yet to maximize the storage space. I can’t think about the other world right now. Everything hurts too much. Everything just hurts. I can’t even BEGIN to describe how debilitating this condition has become. I don’t have the words. Routed; squished... For far too long. All I do is work for others. Oh, I have my little projects here and there, but they only serve to distract me from reality and everything which swirls in my head each day. I can’t do anything about anything, so I go through the motions and put off the door for a little while longer.

I finished the Christmas lights yesterday and discovered that the snowflakes are too bright to be along the icicle string. They overpower and wash out the blue bulbs. So, I will probably take them down later today and relocate the system somewhere else. There may also be a problem powering the snowflakes via USB, as well. I can’t be certain until I run some tests. Right now the icicles are operating from the second smart switch. This is great because I can turn them on and off (or possibly even schedule the power) by way of my phone or voice commands. I took down the overhead lights that had been above my workbench for the last few years and had an available switch. By extending that line, I ran everything up and over the garage door and then into a weather-resistant box that is under the eave. I still need to apply a bit of sealant before the rains come. Seeing everything operational yesterday made me happy for about five fucking minutes until a pair of pants walked by and forced all the shit back into my head. This is all I have anymore, and all that I have become. Time and circumstance, as it were. Anyway, if I feel motivated after the routine and a trip to the market, I can work on the system again. Right now I am finding it difficult to give half a shit about anything. There is just too much missing in my life.

After all of the dreams last year, combined with daydreaming about the fourth door, when I think of ‘come lay with me while we still can’, my brain calculates something wonderful and deadly at the same time. I don’t know what she meant by speaking those words to me, but I do know what popped into my head. Years ago I mused that the dreams were going to kill me. Now I know differently. Death will be facilitated by the doors. No doubt. Matter of time. Next sound you hear. Mark my words and run-on sentences. If others knew the truth of how skewed and broken I’ve become inside, they would be all over me to seek help. That is not going to happen. Revealing information has proven far too damaging in the past and I simply can’t have any more of it. I feel bad enough already. I wish I knew why the world must be so fucked up. Perhaps this really is ‘the way of things’ to quote something I can NEVER be.

0908. The program has been paused for half an hour. The house is very quiet. At some point I will begin my housework. I don’t know when, but I always get it done no matter how fucked up I feel. I only work for others, not my own satisfaction. Whenever I mention that I’ve worked toward a goal and then feel accomplished, the entire thought is nothing more than a line of bullshit. The truth is I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t been lying because it is not my custom. I just don’t see any reason to avoid sounding positive at times. Such a thing can’t hurt. There are no images within this entry because they do hurt.

This is graphic solitude. Graphic. Other terms apply to the way I feel each day, yet I can’t reveal too much or I’ll be labeled; shunned. Some of the past content has been quite the flytrap for backlash – as outlined with the about section – and more of the same is not going to help matters. I can only say so much because short of speaking to another person, this is all I have. To go into more detail would only mean my demise will arrive more quickly than I would prefer. And then? Christ knows what people might say about me. If they don’t know the truth, they will run with whatever is interesting or stirring. That is what people do every fucking day and I will not be a part of it any longer. I’ve already traveled an ocean of shit and need more of it like I need Satan’s fucking thorned penis up my ass. Live with my ambiguity. I do. You’ll have an easier time with the process than I. Graphic. Period. I need help. Well, I need lots of things right now so there is little point in belaboring such a thought. Whatever. Carry on with your own shit.

I still have yet to do anything but sit here because I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care.

1108. The door is right there.

Julia has helped, and at least I wasn’t thrown into a frozen, deserted wasteland littered with horrible memories and being forced to face something I’d rather leave in the past. Remembrance... Not a good term right now. Everything good is now behind me and splayed across the future is only pain. The morning has been awful. I don’t want to live this type of feeling again. Like everything else in the world, I have no fucking choice. Routed; squished. I work only for others. Julia works only for me. No good can come from such a situation. She did help, though. I’ve learned a few things. Unfortunately, knowing just is not good enough. Everything is beyond my grasp. Years ago I predicted this shit and here it is. No way to live. Door five... The only aspect left of reality that’s worth a damn. Peachy.

Let the timer begin.

My routine is out of the way but I still have to go to the market. I really don’t feel like going anywhere, yet every time I do, returning home feels nice. I need to remain distanced from as much of the world as possible these days. My facade has become too much to hold up. The process is exhausting and I fucking hate it. From now until close of business hours, I have no idea what will be accomplished. No idea whatsoever. The only positive I am feeling is the cocktail here on the table. More depressant for the depression.

I switched to the second series on my right-hand display. And speaking of displays, I may relocate the left unit to the garage because the smaller display out there is having problems. In fact, it’s been rather a pain to operate from the beginning. Seeing as my third monitor here on the table is not entirely necessary, I may soon move it to the mount above my second workbench for when I’m out there. Dey Young is in this episode. She resembles a cat somehow, and was so fucking cute at the time that my head nearly explodes when she’s on the screen. Jesus. She has huge, dark eyes, and I think you know where I go with that information. Could she be the one to make all the bad go away? I am mentally and emotionally fused; bonded to ‘her’, yet I still have no clue as to her identity. I know she exists. Do you remember all of the entries which closed with the words ‘she is out there’? That feeling... The most dire need in the universe never went away. I just became tired of belaboring the fucking point. Trust me, I know the girl exists somewhere in this world or the next, and needing her has never been more difficult. She understands, is a combination of two individuals from my own past, and is waiting to help me (and I her). I FUCKING KNOW IT SO DON’T GIVE ME A BLAST OF SHIT FOR COMING ACROSS AS SO PATHETIC AND DESPERATE. Losing that image – that idyllic figure who can literally save me from the jaws of death – would result in very bad things taking place. Believe it. I needed her; need her. I just don’t know who she is. I brought it up again, but you leave it the fuck alone. I am a product of time and circumstance. Anyway, I don’t want the other show running right now because I can’t fully pay attention to anything, and this series is nearly to the point of me being able to quote most of the dialog verbatim. They are my family and the stories are an integral part of my life. Without them, I would already be dead.

Her eyes are her best feature, yet my brain is elsewhere. She has chiclets, too. So fucking cute. Mouth. Labia. You may think you understand, but trust me... You have no fucking idea of the depth of my feelings. No idea at all. Time and circumstance. Those words are very dangerous. Be happy I don’t want to take anyone with me.

Ah, shit... Will that get me in trouble? No one can approach me.

Graphic solitude. Is there something wrong with my deep desire to demonstrate how much I appreciate a woman's beauty? If so, this world is worse off than I had already thought. To me, the idea sounds completely natural.

Ron Canada is one of my favorite actors, most notably his eyes and voice. Just amazing, to the last. I feel privileged for the ability to watch him work. I want and need to French kiss Dey’s delicate labia for days on end, but still respect her. It’s just pent-up desire. Nothing more. With regard to Ron, respect is plenty. I could list all of the actors for which I have tremendous appreciation – some of the performances still bring me to tears all these years later – but I believe the server would run out of space and require me to spend more. And speaking of the server, my web hosting runs out in less than a month. It will not be renewed again because this venture is no longer worthwhile. Two years ago, a very generous person offered help to keep the site live, but that is not to happen again. This process may help me on some level, but the general public is not the reason. I’ve survived here and kept this site going for more than twenty years. That should be enough, as should the amount of information transmitted in trying to get my fucking stupid point across. Unfortunately, the truthful bottom line is that no one reading my essays is worth the time and money. Not a single fucking reader. Period. This paragraph began with Ron Canada. Look where it led. Nice, huh? Tell me I am not fucked in the head. Try me. You won’t like the reaction.

There is so much that must be either veiled or left out that this process has become ridiculous. The morning was a disaster, yet I can’t say what happened or why. I believe there is one individual who may be able to decipher such a statement, too. That is just one more reason to cease this pathetic endeavor. I can’t say this... I can’t say that. Splendid. Sometimes when I seek information from an older entry, even I don’t have a clue as to what the hell I was saying at the time it was written, so anyone else trying to understand my words is quite a stretch. Isn’t that marvelous? What the fuck IS this shit? Door five.

I used to spout about issues one, two, three and four, remember? Everything has been combined since those days. I wish I knew why.

‘Falling Away’ was pretty bad. What do I say now? Fallen? Fell? Would those terms make any difference? Wait a second... There already is an entry titled 'Fallen'. Never mind.

I suppose once my morning cocktail is consumed, I’ll go to the market. I have a minimum of work each day and that trip will mark the end of it. Again... You couldn’t fucking pay me to care. I rarely do anything for myself these days. Shopping only means that a side dish to go with dinner will be secured. I will probably see an amazing form and drop a little bit further from where I am at this moment, and believe me... I am pretty low already. I have to keep going through the motions for a while. How long? I don’t know. Everything is black. The two worlds are not the only bleeders here.

Tuesday.

And yes, the previous day went precisely as I had suspected. Once lunch was out of the way, I turned inward and ignored everything. The quiet was embraced and nothing else was accomplished. From the moment I rose from bed in the morning, I knew the damned day would progress in such a fashion. I knew it. I didn’t feel good about anything, eventually went to the market and saw what was expected, returned home and ran out of the ability to think clearly. Caring is very difficult these days and yesterday was a good example of just how shitty I can feel about this life. As for the girl in the market, well... She doesn’t matter and is nothing more than a symbol. I have no control over anything in the universe. Not even my own free time, as it were. Pathetic.

Bleeding. Bled? Blood. Knives? They are out. Figurative knives, of course. Different from the other type. I rarely know what to do with them, though. I just don’t know. If I can’t get things done around the house as I am surrounded by the typical devices, the knives may not matter anymore. I can say anything I please, but none of it makes a sliver of difference with regard to ANYTHING. This situation has been a real nice fucking clambake. I suspect there will be daydreams about another road trip very soon.

Routed; squished. Years of both. Fix it. Go back. Reverse the timeline. What? You can’t? No shit. Now go fuck yourself.

1109. My routine is out of the way and I restocked the cat food. Very exciting. The work is necessary for maintaining quality of life in the house, so I figured that continuing in the same vein as the previous few years will not cause me any harm. My head has been so fucking sideways this morning that I am surprised to have completed anything aside from drinking. Make no mistake, once I worked in the kitchen the booze began to flow. I just mean my comfort is very important during the late afternoon and evening, so I can’t sluff off my shit without better reasons than desire and depression. In my glass is the foggy blue, and that means I have to avoid the music of life. There are far too many emotions attached to those compositions and far too many different periods of the last decade which will slam me in the brain if I begin playback. That music is a big fucking no-no if I am drinking the foggy blue. No way. The only other items I’d like to finish today are pulling the snowflake lights down and running some laundry. I will spend the rest of my time right here at the control center, for all the good it may do.

Time and circumstance. That is all. No matter what may come down the pike, I have to be the person this world has fashioned. Time and fucking circumstance, good or bad. In the case of the last few years, the latter is king. It is also the reason I talk to myself out loud every fucking day.

‘We need continuity.’ A return to the days of yore...

Say goodbye to the nature of this site. Door five has spoken. Julia has spoken. Neither are necessary any longer. This is no way to live.

THIS IS NO WAY TO LIVE, but what else can I do? Answer me, motherfuckers, and welcome the music of life with open arms. We need it like we need oxygen. Remember the warning? The caveat? No longer...

This is the only way we can travel outside ourselves.

‘Death; deliverance for you for sure; now there’s nothing you can do.’

We see the hills; the trees. We are reminded of severing the landline so many years ago and the dream which was to come to fruition. We remember everything. Often we wish to be there... On the precipice of the balcony and peering out over the school. Those were the ‘days’. Hopefully, we appreciated the comfort, the draw, and the drama of the way life played out. Things are changing. A storm is approaching. Two storms, actually... One literal and the other figurative. We’ve had it with everything. The foggy blue and the music of life have accomplished their goals today. We love it. We live it. We apologize for nothing, ever. And we realize the sheer number of occasions finding us stating that everything is finished. We know. We will amend it all. We will demonstrate as necessary. Lash. Knives. More than words. It’s ok... We already know. You need not try to make a point. We’ve been haphazard; flinching; sans true direction. No longer. Trust in the words because the time has passed. We tried; no one heard us. They marveled at the words. Now let them marvel at the silence. The sound of our guns has diminished in importance. The sound of the truth has risen. Try. Just fucking try. You already know what the worst aspect is... You know. Live it. And here we go.

We've stated that this is no way to live. Witness the result.

'This' taken away; 'that' taken away. Now there is almost nothing left. We don't endorse or speak of violence very often, but we will state straight out that if the two people responsible for those shit situations were standing before us at this moment, we would open their throats in a millisecond, laughing the entire time. Murder, plain and simple. We don't give a blue fuck in the wind if someone comes to our door to take issue with such terms, either. Bring it to us. You'll regret it more than you can imagine. For the billionth time, we just don't care anymore. And as much as we need tons of money to be even halfway comfortable, you couldn't fucking pay us to care.

'This' and 'that'.

Death's door. We have the means."



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