September 18th, 2023 7:54am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Zone of the In-Between read ( words) "'Way beyond my ways and means...' Not anymore. In between... What, exactly? Between worlds? Maybe. This is not good. My condition continues to deteriorate. Not fucking good. Floating? What is this? All around is blackness; there are flashes of past images popping into my brain at random, most of which are the key moments that defined me as a person over a very long period of time. I am talking about more than forty years of pictures flipping by like Satan’s Rolodex. I am seeing everything as my stomach does flip-flops over and over. Nausea. This is horrible. ‘Live them again.’ I don’t want to hear any shit, and I don’t need any more questions, either. The answer is still no, I do not know what I have to do, woman. Just leave me alone to think... Please. I have already been forced to live everything over and over. Fuck off. Marvelous. I guess my last words to Julia transmitted enough anger to piss her the hell off. You’d think I would know better after all this time and so many trips to the negative material plane. I am hearing ‘The Grid’ at this very moment and the feeling is akin to a combination of loss and wonder. The music is beautiful and I suspect my mind is recreating this soundtrack in an effort to ground myself, or otherwise throw a save against the pain. I don’t know where I am... I cannot see, I can only feel. There is no pull in any direction, nor air movement. I am weightless, seemingly in between reality and the netherworld. The last moment prior to my being thrown into this black void found me realizing that my current condition with regard to obsession and desire grew out of control due to my past decisions along with a heaping helping of being fucking squished over and over because I’ve been a ‘nice person’. I am in this position because I sought aspects of life that I had thought were commonplace, yet later learned are so elusive and unrealistic that knowing as much drove me to seek physical comfort above all other concerns. That pretty much sums up the entire shitaree. Well, there is nothing I can do about it anymore because I’ve lost all faith in true wonder and beauty in this life. Too much has gone by the wayside, too much has been ripped away, and there are too many fucking holes in me as a result. I recently gave up on the three main dreams over which I’ve been focused for the last few weeks due to the knowledge that no matter what I may want or need, the reality is I can no longer achieve anything. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I have to accept the fact that I’ve been routed to this frame of mind and there is simply no way out. The worst part is that I can hear the music but will never be able to embrace it with even the slightest fucking sliver of proper context. Remember, context is everything, and it is an axiom of life. Period. I suppose I’ll just float here until such time as I’ve been deemed ‘punished’. Thanks, doll. I speak of comfort more than anything else, and that is precisely what has been made unavailable. I need to get out of this place. I see nothing aside from the images flipping by at high speed. I see faces, trains, places of work, and a striking view through one of the windows in my grandparents’ cabin in South Lake Tahoe. I also see three-quarter-cut, mint green underwear just below a beautifully tapered back as the closet doors look on. I remember that. I remember everything. Have I not suffered enough? Julia can go and fuck herself in a muddy ditch during a snowstorm. I miss the green from that day along with the smile which followed the view. Where was I? Home? Elsewhere? Was I floating in the blackness and did not realize the gravity or impact of such a situation? Ah, fuck... There is another image. Video? I see a mirror and a chair. I remember that day (night?). I remember everything in great detail. Thirty years is a long time. Sparks, Nevada. One of the defining hotels of my entire life. One of the most important places I’ve ever visited. I don’t remember why I was there, however. I just see the mirror and the chair. I fucking hate all this shit. I hate everything. I have to get the hell out of this black void and find comfort. I have to build the speaker cabinets. I must find a way. The music inside my head is dictating terms right now. Floating like this means I feel nothing physical and everything emotional, and the music is beginning to make me realize that the most important aspects of life are gone forever, yet I can still demonstrate this mass of disillusionment through the media. I have to fucking build them... The 4355s cannot be forgotten and I need them to be a part of my life. Period. Now, if I could just reach something physical... Anything. I am very uncomfortable right now, much like the way I feel while sitting at the keyboard. Is there nothing else in life? Will I remain between the past and present, between worlds? I must find some meaning because the alternative is to give up. I’ve avoided the latter thus far. Julia has done a number on me this time. The void is not ending. I am stuck here, between... Something. ‘Time’ will eventually play in my head. I know it. The composition will cripple me from the inside out. The relational analysis can’t be denied any longer. One led to the other. I feel what I fucking feel and nothing can be done about it. I am once again hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence. No getting around that one. Maybe the drama of it means I am going to leave this place soon. There is always drama whenever I spurn Julia. Something may happen. Anyway, I am losing my way in life, or whatever the fuck this has become. I always knew the netherworld would get the best of me. I just didn’t realize such a fact would occur so soon after my first visit. Julia stated, ‘It is the way of things’, and I am void of comment. She may be right, and if so, I am not going to advance in life from this point forward. What I am right now is all I will ever be. The shit situations laid the groundwork for a life of being nothing more than the support structure to other people. Witness the result. Squished. Not fucking funny. Routed? Less funny. I have to get the hell out of this for a while. Reality still exists, and regardless of how I may feel about it, the fact is I must deal with it. I already know of the circumstances. Much of this is easily identifiable, although there are details related to the second door that I do not wish to discuss. I consider said details each and every day, either while sitting here or while working around the house. Some ideas do not stray very fucking far from my attention no matter what I may be doing. When I say that I’m thinking about the difficulty every day, I mean every SINGLE day, often at some point each hour. Part of it is driven by what I see, other aspects pushing memories to the forefront. There are too many details for me to list here. Moreover, I’ll get a blast of shit due to the way my mind has been forced to operate as a result of all of the squishing, routing and numerous whelp-ish expectations of other people. Julia is not going to allow me to forget my part in all this shit, either. No matter how much I try to relate the doors to my current condition, she will push for a rise. I don’t see a positive outcome here. What I do see is a continuation of the belief that I should not be held fully accountable for such a mindset. My mood is going to drop further the longer I float here. Julia has left me in the unenviable position of being able to do nothing but think. Well, her intentions have helped me to see some of the steps that placed me in this netherworld; need, desire, understanding. The latter? That one just will not fucking come to pass. I have knowledge, but no faith, circumstances be damned to hell. I’d rather be on a train, for crying out loud. There has to be a way to get this shit out of my brain. I mean all the way. Thoughts are killing me right now. Too much pain and loss felt here will eventually bleed into the real world, and that is where the true issues take place. This is nothing, really. Julia may not agree, however, but the fact remains that I need a break. Considering the turns I took in life in search of a very specific type of comfort and the unrealized possibilities I tossed aside is not helping me to find any sort of balance. This just hurts. Yes, I did all that shit. I fucking did it. Is that not enough? Flash! Desert? Nope... The beach again. Doors to the left and right. Wait... My hand is being held by another. Julie? Yes! My little love has returned. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Stop creating and I will cease to exist.’ ‘What? What does that mean?’ Ugh. Let's leave this place for a while (please!) Tuesday, 1028 in the morning. We had to drop off the car earlier for a recall, and I just received notice that it does not apply (which I am not totally inclined to believe). The recall is for the TCM, yet the information that was sent to the manufacturer indicated that the computer is not at fault and the software is up to date. And then I was informed that the clutches inside the transmission are to blame and need to be replaced, to the tune of roughly four grand. That is just not going to fucking happen. I will probably need to pick up the car this afternoon when I return south. Not a good situation, but owning a vehicle means dealing with occasional maintenance and repairs, period. I’m not sure how we will proceed from here. The odometer has topped a hundred grand, so spending that much on the transmission might be a mistake. I don’t know how much longer the car will last as a whole. Ugh. As for the homefront, I have some laundry in the washer and the other housework is finished. Wednesday has arrived sans fanfare for the common keyboard (or anything else). I am overjoyed to be sitting here with my coffee this morning, too. Yesterday’s driving chores broke the day into pieces and forced me to avoid truly finding any direction. There was just too much bullshit yesterday. This is the first morning in five that I can actually relax and think. I don’t have to go anywhere today, either. This is very good. Aside from all of the running around, the only issue all day long was my lack of caring about anything. I could not seem to rise and accomplish even the simplest of tasks. I don’t like that type of day, yet as of yet I don’t know what can be done to change anything. I honestly cannot simply force myself to move in any given direction no matter the importance. Whatever. This is where I am. I have to switch programs. The content and some of the dialog is beginning to irritate me. I’ll miss Kerry, but that’s ok because SHE IS NOT REAL, much like every other fucking need in my brain. In and around the typing, I shall find something else. Two chords, perhaps four. I can’t be certain. Whatever the case, the chords are similar and no one can ever know how much love and pain flows through me when I hear them. Don’t even fucking ask. Maybe if I am good in some way, I will eventually find the means to reproduce this properly, if on only one occasion before I die. Thursday is here. I have coffee and the local news running on the right-hand display. After yesterday’s deep depression and feelings of loss, I need this day to be an improvement. I’ll have to force the issue in a little while when I begin the daily housework. A trio is on the right-hand display at present... Three with dark hair and eyes (one with huge eyes, but she is a tad scary), all fucking stunning, and my brain trying to compute the reason I’ve never seen much of this series. Wow. Well, the likely truth is it would become like all the others: beauty from the past that is both unreal and now gone from life. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, I may need to move away from this exposition soon because my brain is beginning to melt over the losses. Holly has that lower facial trait that drives me up the wall. I never really noticed before because I didn’t watch this series, but I must say that with the availability of the entire run, I’ll be following along from the beginning. I only ran across it after becoming tired of the news earlier this morning. And? Want a big fucking surprise? My interest is almost entirely linked to the overwhelming physical beauty of two main characters. Yep. I’ve already become enamored and captured images from the program to be included here at some point. Whatever I’ve become, the desire has not diminished in the slightest. Along such lines, one episode of a program I’ve been following during some afternoons and evenings carried a large measure of four individual models that fucking knocked me on my ASS. I was literally struck upside the head when they appeared and the feeling has not subsided. I could not believe my fucking eyes. I will be watching said episode many times throughout the coming days because I cannot avoid being heeled over by such stunning artwork. I still can’t believe it, and the issue in question took place more than fourteen hours ago. What a maroon. The only positive to experiencing that level of form is the fact that they’ve been captured for all time. Nothing will ever change no matter how much time passes. Wait... Did you just utter the words ‘basket case’? I did. Anyway, the time has advanced since I last sat here, the clock now displays 1115 and my daily routine is out of the way. From this point forward, though, I don’t know what to do. Lunch time is around the corner, my garage is fucked up and in need of attention, yet my head can’t process much at all. I’ve been hit with too much, too often. Maybe I should stream that episode here on the computer and capture imagery. Will anything positive come of such a process? Hell no. My positives are dwindling, and they were very few to begin with. Nice, huh? Deal with your own problems. There is no help here. I am so sad and lost right now that nothing seems to be enough to lift me out of the dark and provide comfort. I wish I could say more. Some of what takes place inside my head must be kept out of this content for reasons of good form. Trust me... Certain words must remain in the vault. And? They reside in a vault which does not have a key or combination. The information has been put away forever. I will die before the words are spoken. ‘Thursday’ means nothing anymore. They come and go. Having been partially lubricated by my morning cocktail, a drive north for some therapeutic food will not be a problem. I’ll be leaving within the next fifteen minutes, music blasting the whole way. Upon returning, I plan to have my typical bowl of cereal (in the interest of dropping weight) and then work in the garage for a little while. My life has become a literal representation of those converging lines (not the lines related to my obsession) that seem to dictate the idea that my life ended some years ago and I have been doing nothing more than reaching since that point. 1316. I ventured to the restaurant and returned. Now I have the rest of the afternoon to care for whatever seems best. I don’t know what that is, but maybe some ideas will form soon. Holly’s picturesque face is on the display again because I’m lost beyond words. Lost. Perhaps I can head to the garage and take care of some organization. Right now, however, I just don’t know. I need help. I need those understanding eyes and they may not exist in reality. Speaking of reality, let us move away from it and return to the painful negative material plane. Julia’s voice is gone again – thank Christ – but at least my companion has come back to me. I love Julie so much that her disappearance, at the hands of the other one, of course, crippled me and partially convoluted my thinking, something I really don’t need in this place. The current period is bad enough already. Any enjoyment or comfort being ripped away will result in me falling further away from life. I’ve lost enough, much of it being time. Maybe Julie will let me stare at her lines until I go insane. Eh... She will, but will that kind of thing help me? Nope. And Julia will likely intervene and shut me down right quick. I have no doubt. Feeling as I do right now is far less than enjoyable. The beach... For the second time. At least the petite beauty is next to me and wrapped around my arm like in the past. Julie reminds me of the kitten, to be honest. Ellie was tiny (much like another with whom I’ve been close in the past) yet very curvy, and her caring, understanding nature floored me from the word ‘go’. She tried to help me like so many others, and I very nearly rejected every bit of it. Much like Ashley, Ellie became forceful, shoving aside all my shit in the hope that I would listen to reason and eventually leave the goblet and embrace reality. Ellie never took issue with the way I think, as well. Julie is similar and I need her next to me for moral support and the occasional embrace. One smile from her and I instantly feel a bit better about this situation. The plane is that much more pleasant when Julie is with me. I already know where these two doors will lead. They are connected to what Julia referred to as ‘missed opportunities’, so I don’t see the point in traveling through either of them again. I don’t understand the reasoning behind us being on this beach, and I see even less reason for all that time spent in the mountains. It was a recreation of an episode of one of my favorite series’, yet I don’t get it. We were married and happy, lived there for a very long time, yet in the end I received exactly zero explanation for why that world was created in the first place. The only possibility is that Julia placed us there to show me a beautiful, fulfilling life which I never had in reality, or maybe where I was prior to the fucking fallout I created years ago when I ran after something beautiful that eventually ruined me. That was my decision; a door of sorts. I chose to go through it and then everything turned to shit (very quickly). The period immediately after I ran away represents the most emotional damage I’ve ever caused. The beginning was nothing more than a door. ‘You understand.’ ‘Yes, but I don’t want to think about any of this shit.’ ‘Eat of the fruit your life’s tree has produced.’ Nice. What a fucking bitch. I believe Julie can feel my thoughts because I am about to lose circulation in my left arm due to her two-hand grip. I don’t feel well and have become tired of this netherworld. I don’t want to deal with all of the emotional fallout that has built up throughout the course of decades. I know what I’ve done and I am aware that each individual situation caused me to further isolate my feelings. Forty years add up to the idea that I am so fucking closed off that no one can ever pry open even the tiniest gap to see what is taking place inside. Moreover, the manner in which my problems have translated and morphed into a massive obsession that has grown out of control has been holding me back from anything positive or productive. I know all of this shit. Everything. So... Why does Julia have to continue to torment me? She claims to be helping, yet even after all these years I can’t simply turn a corner and begin to build a new, more positive consciousness. The idea is unrealistic. But? I created Julia. I created this negative material plane where everything old comes around again and everything new becomes nothing more than a byproduct of my backward lifestyle and ill-begotten decisions. I need a larger frame of reference, honestly. I have to connect my upbringing in the Nevada gaming culture with the doors through which I was afraid to travel. Wait... Is that correct? I don’t fucking know anymore. Eat the fruit? Fuck you. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I need an education in the way I’ve lived.’ Nothing. Julie’s eyes are fucking huge right now. I think she is a reflection of my emotional state. I can’t be certain, but I do know that every time I am overwhelmed with memories and regret, Julie appears and clings to me like some errant combination of a psychiatrist and physical therapist. She is always on my side and supportive beyond belief. Do I feel desire? Oh, fuck yes... Almost constantly. The problem is Julia keeps pushing me to consider everything leading me to this current period in the hope that I will finally understand and perhaps accept myself. That may very well be the answer to a question that has been hadding me for years. You may be aware of the question to which I am referring. I know my thinking processes have been greatly influenced by being immersed over and over during my formative years along with the idea that I’ve become permanently jaded by the same. I know everything. That is not to say that I accept all responsibility for my lifestyle thus far. No fucking way. The two shit situations continue to plague me each day no matter what takes place. I can’t get around them. And no matter how much I search myself for truths or answers, Julia’s voice will return and knock me down a few pegs. There has to be an end to this shit. For the time being, I suppose I can play along and try to understand how this beach came into existence in the first place. This is the second visit – both circumstances tempered by my connection to the lovely Julie – and I have calculated that if I don’t learn or accept something soon, I’ll simply die again. Maybe both of us will die. We’ve been there before. Do you remember Julie lying on the floor of my hotel bathroom all covered in blood? I still haven’t figured that one out. One possibility is that Julie represents all of my past connections born of desperation, and seeing her in the bathroom means something akin to letting go of the past. Damn it. I don’t fucking know. If the negative material plane is Hell, this may be a scene I’ll be forced to relive until my reality comes to an end. One more time... I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. The beach could be the ‘in-between’, a place disconnected from what lies beyond each door and where I can try to collate everything. YOU make the call because I can’t seem to find any fucking answers. Draw your own conclusion. I suggested that there must be an end to this, yet I am afraid of the end. Friday morning, 1016. My daily routine is out of the way and it’s cocktail time. The morning has been both bad and good, the former having become a literal disaster, yet for whatever reason I still feel a little bit positive. Holly is so fucking cute that my heart aches every time I see her on the screen. Perhaps watching this series is not a very good idea for a person with so many issues regarding beauty. On the other hand, have I commented upon any video media without pointing out someone who causes my obsession to flare? Nope. There will always be something, meaning I may as well enjoy the story. So be it. Anyway, I may venture to the hardware store in a little while to grab a few items that will help with reconfiguring the garage storage. I have a great plan to create space just by moving things around a bit. Making better use of storage in the garage usually means I can organize enough to improve the house. Holly’s face is not making it easy to type right now. Ah... The mail just arrived. Splendid. My morning cocktail is nearly gone at the ripe young hour of 1118. Holly is driving me crazy, too. I need her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. Sound familiar? Such an occurrence may never come to pass. Ugh. I need it so badly right now that a mass of fear has been building inside my head. Fear... The one emotion that created the doors. And Saturday has arrived, as of yet containing the typical early morning drive, some shopping on the return trip, and my daily housework. Everything is in order at 1042, along with my fat glass of whiskey for reasons of good form. One might believe that I could not survive browsing an Asian market due to my penchant for seeking picturesque and exotic forms, but this morning was fine. The only difficulty was the cashier – looking and sounding absolutely adorable despite the mask – and she (mostly) flew out of my head prior to leaving the parking lot. From here forward, I plan to continue the organization process that began yesterday morning in the garage. The more space I can create out there, the easier it is to relocate items from inside the house. Holly is again gracing the right-hand display because I need her to hold me. That feeling will never go away, either. At least I didn’t dream of the cashier embracing me in a caring manner. Nothing of the sort entered my brain. I know not why. God damn is Holly ever cute in this series. Moving into the garage yesterday and beginning the difficult process of reorganizing the upper storage really pushed me to actually see everything I own, and the end result was realizing some things can go out the door, much like what I did in the office a few days ago. THe only interruption to my efforts today will be a college football game. I’ll probably switch the audio mode so the sound can follow me into the garage if necessary. Some games don’t need to be accompanied by digital surround speakers. Tomorrow is the first professional game, too. That will be the priority over other concerns because it is by far my favorite sport and the opening of the best time of year. First is pro football followed by the change of season, and then Halloween comes along – coupled with shorter daylight hours – and then we roll straight into Thanksgiving and the lengthy holiday season. I fully intend to embrace each and every segment of fall and the beginning of master Winter so I can appreciate the associated feelings. I’ve written loads of words along such lines, as well. Anyone familiar with my style and mood already knows that the beginning of fall represents the best of the year, and a period fraught with good and bad memories. Oh, Holly... Please hold me and take the bad away, finally. Please, my dear. Help me. I FUCKING NEED HER TO HOLD ME SO BAD THAT I AM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT AND FLIP THE FUCK OUT FOR THE LAST TIME. Ugh. Anyway, the hour is still early and I have plenty of time to care for whatever seems most pressing. In addition, I am going to try to keep my head out of the din as best I can because I made a few comments last night which pretty much framed a huge portrait of my depressed state of mind. I have to be careful with my words, yet all too often I find that a bit of a blurb here and there is a good way to let others know that my outward appearance is most often completely fucking fake. I can’t help it. Remaining bottled up is fine, too. I just need to balance the two so people don’t get the idea that I may need to be hospitalized. I can’t fucking have that shit anymore. Control is key... Control over whatever brings me what little comfort is left in this life. Oh, God... She is so fucking adorable. Someone... PLEASE... Send her my love and tell her I need help. And? Tell Holly that her face is so unique that it makes me want to bash my head against the concrete. I am full of so much need that I’m surprised to still be able to go through the motions each day. No one knows the full extent of this shit, either. Trust me. No one knows. Oh, I’ve spoken in the past, but believe me when I say that the depth is beyond anyone’s comprehension. Just... Believe it. Onward. That was a long paragraph. Lots of capital letters, too. Whatever. This is what I am. We shall return to that horrible place of which I do not want to think... ‘I can’t make you go away, can I?’ ‘You created me as an analysis tool.’ ‘Is that a no?’ ‘Drop it.’ Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to remain here on the beach until such time as Julia deems me ready to either explore further (I don’t like it one bit) or be destroyed again. My companion is constantly sweet and supportive, again reminding me of the kitten so many years ago. I still miss her. Julie helps as much as she can considering the circumstances. Julia? Not the same at all. At least I have someone with me. Better than nothing. A sound behind us... Creaking? There are now four fucking doors where there had been only two. Oh, boy... Here we go. My idea to ignore everything that woman places before me might be the only option right now because each lesson has only brought me sadness and deep feelings of loss. The correlation between how I feel at this very moment, where I am in life (in general) and all those past decisions is quite enough to keep my mind busy if I am to finally put all of the pieces into place. I don’t need more shit on the pile. Two additional doors probably mean more shit, too. Am I afraid? Not really. What I feel most right now is disdain for Julia’s haphazard methodology and the manner in which she throws me around to see situations that are either difficult to understand or impossible to interconnect. I already know I’ve caused all manner of emotional damage. I don’t need more reminders. What I DO need is some Goddamned clarity, not a bunch of trains and dioramas, imagery, or further confusion. I may very well be stuck on this plane for the rest of my life, real or otherwise, and anything that can provide me with understanding will go a long way toward me finding balance and solace. I don’t even know if that is truly possible anymore, but there isn’t really anywhere else to turn. Julia is beginning to aggravate me. I express as much, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. Her reaction? Flash! And here we are in the caboose again. I say ‘again’ because this place resembles the very first that dates back to that horrible journey to the past. If I know anything right now, it is that this will not last. I’ll sink in and cling to my gorgeous companion, and just as the comfort seems real, everything will disappear and I’ll see one of two types of sand; beach or desert. I don’t fucking believe anything these days. That statement goes hand-in-hand with the issue of trust. One, and then the other. I’ll have to cling to Julie and wait to see what happens. ‘Now you are in between.’ Shit. I knew something would go to hell, but I did not think it would change this soon. And I see what Julia means with her statement. It seems the windows on either side of the caboose are facing two different places; worlds perhaps. Julie and I must be in the middle, or perhaps a different kind of netherworld. I don’t know. We are not moving, either. Maybe floating? Cabooses are typically very small and built for a single purpose, whereas this one appears like the others: a massive, beautiful space possibly created from my dreams. As I said before, if I were to design a railroad car, it would look just like where I am standing right now. My years of designing floor plans and a few elevations began with a trip to Disneyland, believe it or not. I was inspired to add dramatic theming to each home I drew, and the process carried on all the way to the Midwest. There was always a combination of medieval styling and classic appointments, much like what I’ve seen in the cabooses. The problem here is that I’ve been dreaming and hoping to take one of my designs and actually build it in a good location where I could be comfortable. I believe the style of this space was specifically chosen and created just to slap my fucking face again, as if all of the doors were not enough. I am going to flip out again, but for the time being – prior to laying into Julia with as much force as I am capable – I need to peer through the windows on both sides and see what that meddling woman is trying to show me. Large, open spaces, seemingly black all around and dotted with lights that are focused upon images. I think that is what I’m seeing. This reminds me of the hallway of horrors years ago and the huge portraits that seemed to be clocking each other (because of my behavior). Ah... These are actual enlargements of photographs from different periods, beginning with the courtyard at one of the two junior high schools I attended. I see DeAnn, too. And Lanie. God damn did I ever want to kiss Lanie back then. Whatever. I see high school, too. Other girls from that time. My car is there. The glow... A huge picture from one end of my favorite shopping mall looking toward what I used to call the ‘jog’, where the tie store and Bombay were located. What is all this supposed to accomplish? I was happy in that last image, but not so much in the others. Over to the right are three more: The auto parts house, railroad yard, and the gun room again, just like the last diorama I saw just before being removed from the entire scene. The doors are represented on the left side of the caboose. Maybe I don’t want to see what is on the right. I was correct. Unfortunately, I can’t go into detail regarding what Julie and I see from the right-hand windows. As the train begins to move (with an elongated series ‘slam’ of the couplings; this train must be very lengthy), my adorable companion suggests that we relax and find some comfort in the caboose while we have the chance. Within half a minute, the imagery outside fades to the rear. I will not miss seeing my own string of past (and present) failures. I live with those each and every day, and it is the rare occasion that finds me able to let go and truly relax or enjoy something in reality. Considering the comparative nature of the left and right windows, this may be the first time I understand Julia’s years-long, pressing question. Could that be a way out of this place? We seem to be rolling at a pretty decent clip, and despite the danger, I am starting to feel like heading outside, up the ladder, and onto the top of this car for another adventure. Do you recall? Julie and I made our way along the train and into the locomotive because of my need to be in control, not to mention bucking the tide which is something I’ve enjoyed for decades. I am a nonconformist to the core. Should we go? Eh... Julia will probably kill me again. Or, us. The last time that happened was both frightening and painful, but then again, what else? Should I jump Julie? No... Nothing good has EVER come from that type of thinking or behavior. Nothing. Just trust me. Physical desire has proven the most dangerous and damaging aspect of life, and not just for yours truly. I suppose we have to embark on another adventure. A bit of discussion later and the lovely little Julie agrees. Why not? Nothing goes my way, anyhow. Fuck it. This zone between worlds can go and fuck itself in a cold, muddy ditch. And if this means I learn nothing, so be it. I don’t fucking care anymore. How many times have I typed those words? Layers of clothing; door; ladder; roof. The view? Blackness. We are between worlds, meaning no matter how much I try to concentrate upon reaching the cab, the gradient continues to press its advantage. I can’t ignore what is happening here, even knowing that if I fall to pieces the lovely little Julie will be right there to hold me. Reality. 0858 on Sunday morning and I am looking forward to watching football today. Yesterday’s game went very well, too. The house is quiet right now after returning from my usual early drive to the City, which was uneventful. I enjoy arriving back home at a decent hour, especially considering the home game kicks off in about an hour. I’ll have to take care of some housework prior to 1000 so that the afternoon is relaxing. The inside of my head is no better than it has been lately despite the positives. I am still so full of need that nothing has the power to alleviate such overwhelming symptoms. Nothing. I don’t know what to do aside from my usual daily business. Daydreams, wishes, and desire have become the norm and I can’t do anything about such a fact. This is my reality and it is very painful. The enjoyments are shrinking and my ability to distract myself from everything is diminishing every day. Helpless; hopeless. Maybe Julia will kill me again and force the situation to bleed into this world. I can only hope. Monday. Not a good one, so far. Down, down, down we go... ‘Something painful this way comes.’ Shit. Between yesterday afternoon and last night, I fell so far down that I calculated there could be no recovery. The reason? Something unexpected on the television which began to cause the word ‘ideal’ to be conjured, nearly beyond my control. Do you remember the race girl? Probably. Well, things have gone awry on that front because there was a woman on the television (repeatedly) who matched her to a tee. I still can’t believe it. Trust me when I say that all of the searching and imagery, nothing can hit me harder than a full-motion video of what appears to be (and will probably continue to be) one of the most powerful dreams in my life. And yes, even more so than the damaging dreams or other shit that has been plaguing me for years. Today is a turning point. A big one. As there has been a lack of recourse with regard to my obsession and related needs, the idea of recovery has become even more elusive. It may in fact be a complete fucking pipe dream. Sometimes Holly resembles a cat, but nowhere near the level of the woman from yesterday. That was bad. Moreover, I can capture her likeness all I want. She is now a high holyform and will remain as such due to the nonexistent chance that someone else will cause her to be dethroned. Top level; the main focus; the very reason for superlatives. This is only the beginning of what is now the main issue in my life. Too often do I find myself crippled by the sight of someone and then realizing that my life is already over and there is no point in dreaming. Seeing the goddess on the television yesterday forced me to make a connection to the race girl, and that led to recalling my behavior a year after seeing her eyes at the event as I desperately scoured the landscape for something – as one of the great, unrequited loves of my life said – I could never ‘have’. I believe what happened yesterday (perhaps prior to the sight of her actually sinking in) was yet another realization – for lack of a better term – as I finally felt the sheer weight of my current condition and the future resulting from decades of fucking problems and fear. I can see that up to this point in time, I had only thought I was falling away from everything. The woman was not just a near-perfect example of what I’ve been seeking for more than twenty years, but a reminder of where I am in life and why. Julia is going to run with this shit; I know it. And remember that I rarely use the word ‘perfect’ to describe anything outside mathematics because it does not exist. Hence? ‘Near’. I am sitting here like always with my devices and coffee and still cannot believe what I’ve seen, nor can I even begin to rationalize the desperate thoughts in my head and how they will undoubtedly affect those who know me. And as always, the woman is not at fault. She is nothing more than a person. I am the fucking problem here. At the same time, I am not. Five-nine; cat-everything... Eyes, most of all. Huge, dark eyes. The traits over which I have obsessed were all present in fucking spades. I can’t fully express my feelings about this, nor will anything I say convey the overwhelming mass of the problem. This is quite literally the worst I have ever felt in life. The worst. I’m sure I’ll be watching the program again in the future and falling all over myself with desire and ending up in pain, yet there can be no choice in the matter. The feelings are THAT strong. I simply must look at her, consequences be damned. Well, I’ll be completely fucked up anyway, so I may as well see. That is about as good as it gets anymore. Sad. 0853; last cup of coffee. I have to visit the restaurant again in a couple of hours to look at a problem in one of their restrooms. I don’t believe I am equipped to fix the issue, but at least I can provide some honest insight. Maybe doing so will distract me for a while. I may visit the hardware store on the return trip. Right now nothing seems appealing. When the coffee is gone, I’ll take care of what is likely a very short routine and then wash some clothes. My life is already over, having effectively been boiled down to whatever can be scraped from the bottom of the fucking saucepan. Such a thought is very sad, but I can’t deny the truth. I’ve never needed help more than at this very moment. Curious, the goddess that has caused one of my favorite mornings to turn into a depressing pile of shit is blonde. The race girl was the same, albeit carrying a longer mane. Whatever. I need that woman so badly that my entire body has been wracked with pain. There is nothing I can fucking do about anything anymore because I’ve become tiny and ineffective in every single aspect of life (except housework, of course). I already know that whatever I still enjoy will continue to shrink until there is no reason left to be found. 1018. I need to wait until after visiting the restaurant to do some laundry. I don’t like leaving the house with either the washer or dryer running, mostly the former. For the time being, I’m going to sit here with my fat cocktail, program on the right-hand display (lots of Holly), and thoughts of two worlds bleeding into each other and leaving me in the zone of the in-between. This is quite literally the worst condition within which I’ve ever been mired. Everything is just sad. Thankfully, I can already feel the numbing effect of the alcohol. Good and bad, that one. At some point I will stream a few key episodes of the other series here on the control center and capture some (hopefully) quality images from the video. I need to stare at her like I need oxygen. Will doing so help me in any fashion? Nope. Maybe I’ll sit here and combine all those women into one massive figure and gush about how desperate I am for some real understanding. I’ve already created one name from three, so why not make a composite of the cat features and add a portmanteau for ease of typing? Right? I only know of two names, though, and they are Rachael and Jordana (believe it or not; what a fucking handle!). I could add the word ‘race’, perhaps. Put them together yourself. I can’t. Anyway, the woman from the show last night is still causing me all sorts of trouble. My eyes damned-near came out of my fucking head during some scenes, mostly when her beautiful lines were displayed. There was also a segment that showed off her long, slender fingers and I went out of my mind with desire, so much so that the remainder of the evening turned into an exercise in restraint. I had to keep my mouth shut. Not easy. I had to wait for this morning and allow the keyboard to be my ears; the only object in the known universe that listens without judgment. This is a very bad day. I really didn’t need to see her. I watch that program for unrelated reasons, but from here forward I’ll be waiting to see the goddess again because I have learned very little in a long fucking time and can’t avoid certain details and facets of beauty. I have to stop going on and on about her. The woman has successfully squashed every other fucking form I’ve seen in many years. Yes, I said that. Believe it. I fucking hate everything right now. The entire essay has been hijacked by one person I can never know, and a level of beauty that is both fully aligned with the way I think and more elusive than a passenger ticket to Mars. In short, I am completely fucked for all time. I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT. I wish I had never seen her. I have to leave soon. I already know I can’t do anything to the valve at the restaurant, but I may be able to offer some advice that will save the owner some money. Plumbing is both good and bad for those who do not know how to deal with problems. Sometimes I’d like all of my knowledge to disappear. Then again, I like to help. Tuesday. Very few responsibilities, thank the maker. I’ll be at the control center for quite a while today because I need to advance the story of the doors, as well as the way I feel about the entire situation. I have to keep pushing no matter how much it hurts. Along those lines, the woman from the television program the other night has forced my hand and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything. I even had a tough time making a very simple dinner last night because I kept seeing her on the screen and daydreaming about her lines. This is probably going to continue since I plan to watch the entire series. I have to stare at her and dream of worlds that can never exist, and such desperation comes about regardless of the consequences. I can either remain miserable and see nothing, or I can see as much as possible. No matter how I proceed, there will undoubtedly be pain and misery. I may as well stare at her until everything comes to an end. As for the rest of this day, I am fairly pleased about the hours ahead and no need to go anywhere. The downside is the morning quiet is reminding me that I am going nowhere, and likely never will. This is it... The end of the line for me. All I can do is watch others realizing where they want and/or need to be (hopes and dreams?) while I sit here and operate the keyboard. Wonderful, eh? Nothing has changed in the last few years other than my feelings becoming more pronounced and all of the love for the past growing exponentially. I believe part of me has not allowed much to change because of the point of the doors... That’s right... Fear kept me still. It kept me away. It still does to this very second. I passed the doors and ended up precisely where I am sitting at this very fucking moment. The time is now 1036 and the usual crap is out of the way. I have lots of free time ahead, meaning cocktail hour has arrived. Is it good for me in any way? Nope... Each time the alcohol is nearly consumed, my mindset falls south of wherever it was prior to having a drink. That means I’d be better off avoiding such behavior. At the same time, I need to flex my independence and control through doing something I thoroughly enjoy, and that just happens to be spending my morning outside the realm of the ‘norm’. This type of thinking grew from decades of being within the gaming culture, all the way back to single-digit ages. I used to love the atmosphere, and as soon as I was old enough to join the adults, the booze did not attract me as much as other aspects of those wondrous places, such as the resorts being charged with sex and related imagery. I was raised to see the gaming culture as appealing, much like a reward for work. I still feel the same, although the attraction of alcohol has increased tenfold since my younger years. Good or bad, it is still something to which I look forward each day. There is little else, meaning my behavior and lifestyle are nowhere near changing no matter the circumstances. Depression can be a self-fulfilling situation which is fed from within. The worse I feel, the more I must embrace whatever has the power to provide comfort. And with that last statement I must accept the knowledge that the doors are directly related to everything I’ve thought and lived for a very long time. Everything is mixed together and saturated, from desperation and desire to the overwhelming need to do whatever I want. That is a failing. I am not stupid. I am weak, but I know exactly what I’m doing. Moreover, I know precisely what I have become. This has been a disastrous morning. Piling such a fact atop all the other shit and what I now see as a fruitless search for understanding will eventually drive me out of my mind. I know that, too. As of yet, I have been unable to break this vicious, horribly painful cycle. If you have the answer, write it on a piece of paper, attach it to a baseball bat, and swing at my throat. Thank you. Maybe one night I will dream of Holly holding me, or perhaps a connection with the other one that has put my obsession on its ear and slammed the point home of just how unrealistic my thinking processes have become. I am further from reality every day and don’t see my way of life changing no matter how bad the situation may become. The sun is finally shining through the fog blanket. I hope it warms the inside of the house today. 1506 and... Tired. After months and years of hemming and hawing over the fucking paint, a little while ago I felt myself slipping into the same afternoon shit and did something about it. Some weeks ago I fabricated a platform to cover the bathtub but left it in the garage because I am always so fucking disillusioned. Well, I slapped it onto the tub with some felt pads and painted the trim above the stone. Yep, I actually put the first coat on the fucking walls. Unbelievable, I know. Whatever. I did it and feel a tiny bit better about myself. One more coat tomorrow along with a run of caulking along the top edge and that will be completely finished. Afterward, all I have to do is the same along three pieces of base and then trim the window, the latter already having a plan. Setup and paint took less than an hour. Again... Unbelievable. Will it help me in the long run? Probably not. Bigger fish. I am pleased that my intelligence flared for a few minutes when I attached fins to the plywood for painting the bathroom. The platform was encapsulated by the tub and could not fail. I guess once in a while I can be pretty smart. Holly is so fucking cute that I want to beat my head against the concrete outside. Moreover, there are times when her lines are visible. I can’t even mention the other one. She is on an entirely different level. Lots of anguish. To the train... I do not feel the air, but I can tell we are traveling at a very high rate of speed. This netherworld is black and very strange; far different than the last time Julie and I made our way across the top. The train appears longer, too, but I can’t be certain due to a lack of light. We are passing so many images on the left side that I can’t keep track. Maybe there will be control of the situation available in the cab. Conversely, the situation may worsen if I try to take control. In any case, there is only one way to know for sure, and the process is underway. Moving along the top of the cars would normally be difficult and dangerous, but despite knowing we are traveling at a decent clip, venturing forward is not hard at all. I just don’t know the length of the train. How many units? Oh, boy... The wind is beginning to blow; a headwind as if we are actually moving on rails. Stronger. Ah, shit. We need to drop down between cars and think about this situation. Julia knows everything, and if she will not allow us to reach the cab, there is nothing I can do. My partner lowers herself to the tiny access platform and I follow. Better. Much less wind, but now I can see the ground below us flying by at very high speed. It’s as if we were in the void and have begun to emerge on the negative material plane once again. If I know anything, it is that the soil below us is most decidedly desert. Fuck. Maybe I’ll just wait here and hold my love until something changes. I really don’t think we can safely get back to the caboose, nor do I believe moving toward the locomotive is a good idea anymore. We seem to be completely stuck at Julia’s hands. ‘Fate’s hands’? No... That was just a song. Pictures again. I see them flying by as we try to remain warm. The pictures are at odds with the opposite side of the train, as well. One side shows me where I was, the other then bucks the tide of logic and informs me of the consequences of my actions and decisions. Every little detail is apparent, from the overall picture of unstable mental health and severe isolation all the way down to the tiniest aspect of the way I live, such as the way I always tend to straighten the coaster here on my big table whenever the coffee cup causes it to move. Everything... Desperation; anger; insecurity; a severe lack of inner strength and confidence; a strong desire to control certain situations; all of it. My dissatisfaction in life has pushed me to make reckless, ill-conceived choices throughout the last decade-plus, and sitting here at this very moment knowing that I feel worse about everything with each passing day is beginning to force me to grate against the world even more, be it this one or reality. I just don’t want any more reminders because I already know I’ve fucked everything up over and over for a very long time, and more of the same is going to push me in the opposite direction from where Julia wants me to go, and that is up. She needs to let us move around and shut off the fucking pictures and other shit before I jump off the car. Nothing. I still see them flying along with their integral lighting, effectively worsening my mood with each rotation. I have to stop this shit, somehow, yet I know that lacking control in this world means whatever I decide will come back and hurt me twice as much. Like reality, I have no fucking recourse whatsoever. I just have to sit here and fucking TAKE IT. Aggravation is taking over. Our speed has increased again. Maybe my mood is controlling our fate. I created Julia. She knows everything, often taking action at the exact moment some idea enters my head. After all this time, you’d think I would know better, but sometimes I have a hell of a time controlling my anger, regardless of the source. Faster. The wind is beginning to shake us between the massive railroad cars. And now I can feel the temperature dropping. I think I pissed her off again. Julie is clinging to me like a frightened child. Our situation has not improved. ‘Ok, that’s enough.’ No response. Julia has pressed her advantage and will ot let up on the imagery flying by to the left of the train. Looking toward the right, I see nothing anymore. Blackness. How far did we get before realizing the locomotive could not be reached? Three cars? Four? More? Maybe we should go back to the comfort of the caboose, if that is even possible now. The weather was nonexistent a little while ago and now seems to be worsening by the second. We cannot last much longer if the cold begins to bite. Unlike last time, Julie and I are not dressed for such a low temperature combined with high winds. Julia’s alterations to this place are unconscionable. I hate this shit. Something bad is going to happen, and soon. I can feel it. We are barreling along, unsteady and without much to keep us safe. Bad. I have to peek around toward the front of the train. Maybe I'll see how far ahead the locomotive is from our position. Stretching. Holy shit... 'Grab me! I'm slipping! Grab my hand... NOW!' 'Julie!' As I turn to see that she is in dire need of help, her little fingers are ripped from the ladder rails and she flies to the side and is then caught by the wind, disappearing to the rear of our train. One long scream and my loving companion is gone. Fuck me! 'I will fucking KILL you for this!' 'Do you know what you have to do?' That’s it. I am finished cooperating with that fucking woman. I’ve had it. Time for action. I don’t care about her endless, repeating question, either. Julia can live without an answer. To the ladder; to the roof of the forward gondola. Holy shit is the wind ever biting my skin. I am not dressed for such cold weather, so my anger will have to keep me warm until I reach the cab. I am determined to take control of this otherworldly journey and show Julia the extent of my disdain for everything she’s thrown at me thus far. She will probably kill me again, but not before I have the chance to affect her in a very negative way. I have to climb. My lover has been torn from me again. I can’t even begin to describe how much this hurts. ‘You have it within you to end all this.’ ‘Fuck off, you meddling bitch. I’ve had it.’ ‘As you wish.’ One car; two; three. How long is this train? My fingers had better not start numbing because I need as much dexterity as possible to pull myself along the roof and make it to the next coupling. I still can’t believe Julie is gone again. I need her like I need to draw breath, yet I realize deep inside that I’ve launched yet another likely fruitless journey just to prove a point to a woman that does not exist in reality. Hence? I am losing my mind. Two worlds have bled together and my efforts in trying to understand have accomplished nothing more than creating even more confusion and pain than the previous train ride. I just don’t fucking understand why I must continually be reminded of all the bad shit I’ve caused. I don’t get it. Is this punishment? Am I actually paying the tab of my life? I can’t see it that way right now because no matter how much pain and suffering I endure, the other people I’ve hurt will be exactly the same. No one knows of this journey. Not a soul on earth can see or feel the events taking place right now. What’s the point? Is Julia forcing me to a point in which I have to change or be left this way unto death? The likelihood of me changing after all this time is nil. My mental and emotional states have been worsening for years, and much of the damage has occurred within the last couple of months. I don’t see anything changing, either. The entries have been wavering back and forth between the negative material plane and reality, both of which seem to be painful, depressing situations without respite. I can take little more of this, believe me. Little more. The cold is trying to hinder the effort of moving forward, the wind doing the same. I have to make it all the way to one of the engines, though. I simply MUST get to the controls and wreak havoc on what Julia has created. I’m fucking sick of the mysteries, endless questions and reminders of everything I’ve done wrong in life. I’ll put a finer point on my mood regardless of the risk. I just don’t care anymore. She has pushed too much. The worst part is Julia has placed Julie with me over and over, only to tear her away during some horrible situation and in a violent fashion, and that type of pain is not something to which I will react well. She’s done it on one too many occasions. I’ll fuck with this train if it’s the last thing I do. And? If Julia causes me to fly off the fucking train and die in a wrath of her temper, I don’t fucking care. She has done it before and I am quite certain it will happen again. Whatever. Kill me, bitch. Go for it. I’ll be right back where I began regardless of pain or death. Further along. I’ve pulled myself past at least a dozen frozen gondolas – vessels which no doubt carry parts of me just like the train of life – but I will keep going until all physical faculties have been exhausted. The engines have to be ahead, somewhere. All too often the worst fucking situation for me is a lack of control. I have to get it back. Another car behind me. Two. Three. Keep going, dipshit. Fight this hell like nothing else matters. Every ounce of my strength must be for the cause of control. I am smelling diesel exhaust, finally. Keep moving. Climb like there is no tomorrow. There it is... A line of smoke just over my head, all heavy and full of sulfur. I can make it. I can taste the victory. They must be close. My hands are nearly without dexterity. How far ahead is the exhaust? I can’t tell through all this fucking haze and smoke. Yep, the closer I get, the more the smoke trail interferes with my vision. With watering eyes and a heavy heart, I pull along the roof of the gondola as if the end of the world will pull me from my need without remorse. Each handhold is painful; every inch a lifetime of painful memories. The controls must be mine. I will accept intervention and death, but I will not accept failure. There it is... I can see the outline of a circular pipe spewing diesel fumes like some evil dragon bent upon destruction of the universe through a veil of hot smoke. The roof of the trailing locomotive looks like the most powerful and intimidating incarnation of destruction I have ever seen, and such a thought after decades of loving the railroad industry. Remember the dragon? The locomotive is the new dragon. Death? Destruction? Dismemberment? Fuck it all... I am going to warm myself by the cab heat and run this motherfucker no matter what happens after. The current period may be the end of my relationship with Julia. If she is indeed a part of my real brain, said part shall be excised for all time. Ah, shit... I just thought of something wonderful. If I can kill her, maybe the future will entail nothing more than me dealing with myself rather than relying upon some creation that never ceases to harm me because of the past. Is that even possible? Julia was created by me, so does that mean there will be a war inside my head with no possible positive outcome? Oh, this train ride could be the end of all things, thank Christ. I am at the leading edge of the forward gondola. I see six locomotives ahead. SIX! That number equates to six ‘units’, translating to the old-world calculation that there is a number of coupled cars nearing one hundred fifty. All those engines are not coupled for their health. Holy fucking shit, Batman. I had no idea this train was so long. Before I start patting myself on the back for making it this far, I have to focus on reaching the lead cab so I can try to take control of this rolling feast. The smoke and vibration are unlike anything else I have ever experienced. I need to demonstrate my disdain for Julia’s actions and words by applying a horrible mood to all this power. Onward to the first catwalk... She is going to try to stop me. I can feel the air temperature dropping with every step. Along the side of the engine housing are markings that reside in my heart after decades of wonder over SP and the UP ‘building america’ slogan that was placed on the new, larger locomotives many years ago. I don’t have the time to stand here and admire being so close to everything, however, because my fear of not reaching the lead cab due to the cold or Julia throwing a wrench in my plans are disallowing anything sentimental. I have to fucking move along and ignore all that I’ve loved for a very long time. Julie was ripped from me in a hideous, violent manner, so I have to do something dramatic to offset the pain I am feeling after losing her. Further along, I can see that moving from one platform to the next is not as difficult as I had envisioned at the outset of this insane adventure. Past one, two, and three... I think I can make it all the way to the front. The feeling of bucking the wind is akin to being on a cruise ship some years ago. We had been relaxing in a bar and I wanted to move outside to the promenade and then toward the bow just to experience the harsh weather (nearly in the dark). I made my way to the steps which led to a ‘bow ring’, or the walkway that circled the front of the ship one deck above the promenade. During the day, the stroll is really beautiful because the height of the bow means a person is literally forward of the massive wake thrown by the ship at speed. At night? It is another story entirely. I never made it all the way to the center of the bow that night. The cold was biting and I feared for my safety due to such strong wind. Walking along the platforms requires never letting go of handholds with every step. I can’t move forward without both leaning into the freezing wind and pulling myself along with the railings. This is crazy. Two more locomotives are behind me now. That’s five in total, meaning I should be at the coupling of the lead engine. I can imagine the cab heat... Something I really need after this long trek. I also have to keep in mind that none of these railroad trips has ended well. Not a single one. I don’t know what will happen once I reach the cab, but I have to do this anyway. All around is blackness and I will probably die in this place (just like all the others), meaning any demonstration of my anger and frustration will have to be quick. Julia is in control here, like always. No matter how pissy I become, the truth is I am always at her mercy. I can see the slender, forward door through the side windows. I have to get there. I am freezing right now. If I lose any more dexterity, I could very well end up flying off the side of this enormous machine. My entire being has been rocked by such overwhelming power. I can’t believe the ride has come to this shit, either. I just can’t. I need Julie. I fucking NEED her because there is no one else in any world. The cab door. What the fuck? There is a woman sitting on a beautiful settee just as the cab appeared a while ago when Julia was with me. This woman is different, though, and completely unexpected. I see that devilish smile and a hand over her mouth as if she realized my surprise. I’ve missed that expression for more than a decade. I know her. I know her intimately. Unfortunately, I have not wanted to see her for a very long time. Now that she is right in front of me, lots of feelings are beginning to develop. If anything has the ability to take my mind off this fucking train, the woman perched on the settee is it. She is quite literally a prime example of my life's path, right there looking like a million bucks for crying out loud. All sorts of different thoughts are beginning to germinate, yet I am at a loss for words. The past carries more than its fair share of painful shit, and seeing her sitting calmly inside my locomotive(!) is dredging the river. This world is fucking killing me. I have to leave for a while. Reality, again. Wednesday morning is here and I don’t have a clue as to what it means. I feel as I should right now, meaning the typical notch lower than the previous day. At least I have coffee and some quiet time to myself. I guess that’s better than nothing. Well, the reality is that I have to appreciate a good portion of the situation in this house seeing as there have been disasters all over the fucking world and I am sitting here just fine each morning. There is Holly again. Yep, I am still (sort of) watching the same series. Well, mostly my attention is pulled away from this display when I hear her voice and turn to see her very unique face. The same kind of situation took place while I was boiling pasta last night... The tall, slender goddess that makes me want to walk off a cliff popped onto the screen here and there and caused my dinner efforts to become momentarily derailed (the train of life?). I craned my neck to see even a split-second shot of her beautiful, wondrous lines. She defies some of the standards, believe it or not, and looks like a fucking human/cat hybrid. Her eyes and facial structure seem to be a dead ringer for the race girl, a person I desperately needed to know, especially after a facial expression that may or may not have been imagined. Just imagine my reaction had I seen that girl at the race the following year. I’d probably still be trying to describe her. The point is I am worse off right now than just a month ago. The pain has become more acute and my level of caring in general has dropped considerably in recent weeks. This is bad, people. I realize I am no one and there is no understanding to be found in the world, but the compulsion goes on unimpeded regardless of such facts. I simply cannot stop this shit and will continue to write no matter how bad circumstances become. I have little else in life. Within the next half hour I will probably begin the housework and then apply a second coat of paint to the bathroom trim. All the while my brain will be inside the clothing of certain works of art that do not leave my consciousness very often. Sometimes I want to climb into Alyssa’s shirt and go to sleep. Just a thought. There is something about the space between her breasts in certain clothing that is difficult to describe. Eh... Whatever. She isn’t real, anyway. Fuck it. Once again... ‘Never me. Just never me.’ I wish I could stop searching. 0933. I have to do some housework very soon. The coffee is gone and I can only sit here and consider the in-between for so long before becoming severely depressed. Work is a distraction, for a time. Everything will come back soon, so I may as well be productive for a little while before falling away from reality again. The time is now 1035 and I have half of the daily routine finished, the other half waiting for a section of floor to dry. I had to do some cleaning of the hardwood in our spare bedroom. I’ll take care of the rest in a little while. Hannah is fucking stunning sometimes, although the character is often reprehensible. Didn’t I wish to stop searching? I can’t. This is what I’ve become throughout decades of routing and being fucking squished. I can’t stop that shit, either. Not anymore. Thank goodness I’m an alcoholic. Laugh it up. Anyway, at some point I will apply a second coat of paint so the bathroom can go back to normal. I’m looking forward to having that crap out of the way after all this time. Beyond the bathroom project, I don’t know what else will be accomplished today. My mood is not good right now. And Holly’s face is driving me fucking insane. Good God, that much ‘cute’ should be disallowed while I am watching video media, although I already know that as my condition worsens, the desperate desire to find the understanding I so badly need can never end. Holy shit. What the fuck am I? I just gazed at the au pair through my binoculars. Yes, I looked through the office window with those field glasses focused upon a woman exiting her truck. Sue me. Shoot me. Kill me a thousand fucking times. I don’t care. My entire life of fifty-six-plus years has boiled down to a little person sitting at a computer and feeling that staring at a woman through binoculars is something special. I never said it was ‘normal’ or ‘acceptable’, either. I said that I looked at her. I must limit myself to the one morning cocktail because I can already feel that part way through a second drink will result in my death. At least I can still think fairly clearly about life. My Thursday is going to be busy. The early hours, anyway. I have to take a trip to the wine store, stop by the restaurant again (probably a waste of time), visit the smoke shop and then one of the markets. Ugh. For me, that is a lot, although I already know the entire operation will probably take less than two hours of my precious time. 1119. My routine is out of the way and I drove to the wine store. The restaurant visit has been postponed again. I’ll go over there tomorrow because there has been too much on my plate today. Any more and I won’t react well. Moreover, the weather is very warm again, meaning the house will heat quickly as the sun moves around to the south. Not good. My comfort has been key to surviving thus far, and when the house is overly warm, I end up far less than comfortable. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall right now. There should be a law against so much ‘cute’ crammed into one woman. Whatever. She isn’t real. Nothing good is real except the fat glass of whiskey sitting here on the table. Jesus God in heaven above, what I wouldn’t give for Holly to hold me and make all the bad go away. Sound familiar? How many others have I wished into such a situation? Ten? Twenty? There is no end to this shit. 'Living in the zone of the in-betweens.' NOT living. Not by a damned sight. The negative material plane awaits... Everyone had a thing for Alyssa, but I always liked Holly ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Um... You know me?’ The fuck? Of course I know her, but she is not responding as if the reverse is true. One of the most stunning women ever to cross my path is in this fucking cab, and it might not be her at all. I don’t understand, although Julia is not above throwing me for a loop sometimes. The smile caught me upside the head just like it used to when we visited restaurants or other places. I used to absolutely drool over her appearance on a daily basis, mainly a little, coquettish nibble of her lower lip. Julia has pulled some shit here and I’d like to know why. I’m going to try to alter this train’s velocity and see what develops. The warmth is helping; the woman is not. Do I still want her physically? Oh, fuck yes. That never went away. ‘In that case, leave those controls and take me.’ ‘You can fuck right off.’ ‘Wow.’ Just like every other person in this netherworld, she already knows what I am thinking. Fuck this. I have to swing the pendulum toward my favor, if that is possible. The touch screens and levers await my commands. All that work of getting myself into the lead engine has to pay off, right now. I’ll see what I can do... Flash! Blackness, for the second time. Splendid. What the fuck was I supposed to do after seeing that woman? The reminder was most unwelcomed. I will say that one glance toward her made me want to kiss her for a fucking hour. At the same time, I wanted her to disappear and leave me to the controls. Now I have nothing, but at least she is gone. I expect to hear the menacing voice very soon. I’ve been left floating in the zone of the in-between – unless, of course, this entire segment of my journey has been as such – and I don’t know what to think. One possibility is that my attempt to take control of the huge train pushed Julia’s buttons and she exercised yet another example of her control over my lack thereof. Marvelous. I realize that the woman in the cab is a massive reminder of one of the worst and most damaging decisions I’ve ever made, but for fuck’s sake, that situation is already in my head damned near every day. There are just too many little reminders and references to past stories for me to forget. And yes, I still feel like shit about the entire shit storm I had caused during that period. I have to be careful, though, because whenever I grate against Julia’s intentions, I am inevitably placed in a worse position than whatever is being endured at a given moment. Like right now, for example; I am once again between worlds with little idea of why. If it was my anger, well... That’s just not going to end. Acceptance of myself is about as likely as that girl sitting on my lap sans bra. Nope. Never me. I have to think about this because I used the word ‘acceptance’, and that could very well be the answer to her years-long, repeating question. If so, I am truly fucked. The woman on the settee looked like her, yet was not. I don’t understand the meaning of such an occurrence. Everything that has transpired since entering the zone has been less than clear, to say the least. I don’t understand, unless the point is actual acceptance or forgiveness. But? What about all the other shit that presses me down each day? I was in moderately poor shape when I dashed to the goblet more than twenty years ago, long before the decision that fucked up two entire families and placed me here by the ocean. What about all the shitty situations back then? Do they matter to Julia? I have far too many questions right now. The woman in the locomotive is just another confusing aspect of this netherworld. ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Well, what the fuck did you expect? Physicality was the only positive part of us back then.’ ‘Another train wreck, as you say?’ ‘Yes, she was.’ ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Now you’re repeating yourself.’ ‘For good reason. Analyze.’ Great. Another fucking puzzle that I really don’t need right now. The last shit I want is to float here and try to understand why the person inside and the outward appearance did not match. And I don’t need any blast of shit from Julia because I thought of being physical with that woman. For fuck’s sake, I’m not the one who conjured her out of thin air in the first place. If I have to be responsible for every thought, I may as well be sent straight to hell at this very moment. We do not, as human beings, allow certain thoughts and dreams to be spoken because the damage would be unacceptable. We have to keep things inside sometimes. That is what I was doing, damn it. Thinking and doing are very different. Ugh... I don’t even want to think about any of this shit right now. I don’t need more questions or mysteries. I have to think regardless of feeling angry or stubborn. I have to try because this whole fucking plane is all mine. I know that much, at least. Again... Ugh. ‘You did this.’ ‘You always say that.’ ‘The zone. You are between worlds.’ ‘Go fuck yourself and leave me to my thoughts, please.’ ‘As you wish.’ Flash! I am right back where I started the latest ‘floating’ session... The cab of the mighty six-thousand horse locomotive, hopefully under my control at some point. I was just telling a story about this engine last night, but I have to avoid digressing and bleeding the worlds into one another because I’ll become even more fucking confused. The woman is gone, thank Christ. Maybe I can finally operate the damned thing and feel a smidgen of comfort in an otherwise very haunting, uncomfortable world. Julia has a point, though. I truly am in-between because I have to live in reality (there is no getting around it unless I am not alive), yet I am constantly dreaming of something beautiful and fulfilling that cannot and will not ever exist. I’ve become too far out of balance in recent years. The question now is this: What am I supposed to do about it? Being reminded of the woman earlier only caused me sadness, so is the conclusion supposed to be that I would have found what I needed had I never made that decision? And how do the fucking doors play into my previous thought? I tried to consider each of those landmark decisions as having been formative with regard to who I am at this very moment. Was that wrong? I know I fucked up over and over and allowed myself to become weakened to the point of pursuing my desires, so being reminded of such past events only makes me sad. Further, was I driven to those decisions? By others, perhaps? Or were they just people trying to live their lives in the best way they knew how? That last one hurts, because even though I feel as such about myself, the truth may be that I have affected others more than the opposite. The shit situations made me what I am, yet all those intervening years caused those responsible to disappear from the earth. A bit further? Yep... Julia equated my endless search to a byproduct of the comfort I needed in favor of opportunity, and then I asked why the shit situations didn’t connect, and she basically scoffed at my lack of understanding. That’s not very nice, but it does have me thinking that the woman who appeared in the cab was a temptation, nothing more. In the past, when something wondrous was within view and I was in the correct, fucking reckless mindset, I tossed aside everything important (including people) and ran after the possibility of finding what I so badly needed. Does that make sense? I don’t care. I am still wondering if passing all those doors caused some part of me to become empty, damaged or otherwise irreparable, and then those visions became all the more important due to me being so far out of balance. Compensation? I don’t typically employ that term because of decades of exaggeration and misuse, yet here it may just fit. I may have been compensating for the shit situations by seeking the right type of validation from the right type of woman. Fear kept me on the sofa; desire attached itself and rendered me unable to move because I always needed the space to relax and think (believe it or not). I am no different at this very moment, albeit much worse off emotionally. That’s neither here nor there because the main issue is being in-between and barely scraping the reason. I am doing my best to both follow along with this crap and make it understandable. Not easy. I believe the priority reared its head early. During the eighties, perhaps. Remaining comfortable and surrounded by necessary devices also began early, as I can recall three different places of residence back then which all eventually became ‘sanctuaries’ for me to hide away and consider all of life. The overpowering sense of need for understanding and validation grew from that early period – completely unimpeded by anything – and did ebb and flow from time to time, eventually landing me around the early aughts with a head full of obsession and its connection between comfort and that very same validation. This is all so fucking heavy that my back is beginning to hurt despite floating. Julia told me to analyze. Well... There it is. Will she test me? Heh. I have to get the fuck out of this netherworld for a little while because I will soon lose it completely. Everything hurts. Friday morning is here. I stayed up a bit later last night than usual, so today will not amount to much. I still can’t believe how sensitive I am about the daily schedule. Less than two hours at night means I am very slow and weak the next morning. I was not like this in the past. Splendid. The evening was pleasant, though, and one aspect of it was actually wonderful (for a few minutes). I’m not going to go into detail, but suffice to say there was much railroad discussion afterward. I love telling my little stories about train experiences. I don’t know if anyone else gives half a shit about what I say, but I went all over the subject anyway. Once the sadness began to set in, I decided the gathering needed to be concluded. The wonderful part of last night is haunting me this morning. Piled atop my depressive state is Holly’s face again. Something is very wrong with me. Last night pretty much solidified one of the issues with my brain and I am not happy about it. Conversely, I am pleased with myself for being pleasant and funny. There are times when my mood goes south before I can take control of the situation. That is the fault of no one but me. Period. So, though I am dragging a bit this morning, the time was worth it. I just wish there had not been that one, unreal aspect of the evening that will not leave my head. I am dwelling upon something dangerous. Not good. At least I have coffee. I can’t stop imagining all sorts of things, and sometimes my thoughts end up here, albeit they are typically encoded or concealed in some fashion. When I need to say things, my brain calculates what will likely be acceptable and then I put down a few things. Often I can’t remember if I go back to the same entry months later. The point is that the nature of my feelings has changed throughout the last couple of years and I wish to avoid being slammed by someone. Well, if anyone is actually reading, that is. I don’t need any more shit on the pile. Some of the material on this site is quite the flytrap for backlash. Believe me, I’ve dealt with it before. The problem is I can’t speak to anyone in reality, so I have to use the keyboard. Remaining like this is not stable, either. The extent to which I am closed off continues to grow. The more I see, the more I feel is gone forever, and then little pieces of me fall away. They can never come back. Last night there was a fucking problem that put my brain on a proverbial grill, and it took place prior to me speaking of the closure and elimination of an old railroad yard near where I grew up. That was a place on my list for photographs and now it is gone. The other issue from last night is not a topic I can even broach here. Trust me. The inside of my head is still painting pictures of all sorts of deviant ideas. Nothing can change, meaning nothing can improve. All I have is the keyboard and my alcohol. I have manufactured entire lifestyles and conditions with more detail than I care to admit. This is an everyday process, as well. I am in a very desperate and damaging situation here. I want to lick Holly’s face. Just a thought. Anyway, I don’t see any aspect of my life improving in the future, so constructing worlds in my head that provide a sense of wonder for a few seconds is about all I have left. And the keyboard. Unfortunately, I can’t describe what I imagine each day. Too bad. Rather a shitty morning thus far. I’ll have to find some serious comfort after all my business is out of the way. I feel like crap and am supposed to go to the restaurant (after postponing again yesterday), but I may simply call them and state that I am not equipped to deal with what could be an in-wall problem requiring much more than I am capable of right now. I just don’t see the problem being fixed easily, nor do I wish to open a can of worms by digging into something in which I honestly have zero interest. I’ll probably tell them to call someone else. They will be disappointed, I’m sure, but there is little I can do these days, plus I’ve helped with so much over the years – both at the restaurant and their house – that there should not be any bad feelings resulting from canceling. Today is one of those in which my head is all fucked up (partly from last night) and I desperately need to remain home. I just made up my mind. To hell with the project. Moreover, the place is going to be put up for sale very soon and I see little point in trying to work on something when I already know the new owner is going to remodel the entire building. I need what I need, and my comfort takes priority over almost everything else in the world. That is that. My reasoning need not be questioned, ever. There are already enough bad things in my brain. I keep seeing her... Right fucking there. Part of the reason is something I can’t mention here, but suffice to say the wonder and weakness inherent in what my life has become came to a head this morning and I’ve been full of more desire since getting out of bed three hours ago than in recent memory. Just trust me; I saw more than I should have and the imagery will not allow me to relax this morning. The time is now 0932 and the only positive is my free, quiet time ahead. For reasons of good form, I ordered a pizza. This is the first occasion in many months because I’ve been trying to avoid spending the money. Well, today I need comfort food. Moreover, the leftovers will last most of the weekend, probably all the way into my football game on Sunday. That would be very nice. 1139. I blew off the restaurant by leaving a message and laying out the facts of the issue. Sometimes I have to ‘close up shop’ and put the universe on hold. The comfort inherent in relaxing with one of my programs and a really nice lunch can NEVER be overstated. No way. I need what I need, as I am always belaboring. I also need to play with Alyssa’s beautiful breasts. At least the pizza is real. Everything else I need is most decidedly the opposite. Saturday morning is here and I am back from the morning drive. The time is just 0832 and I still have plenty of coffee. I also have all the time in the world to do whatever seems best today. My football game is on at 1230, so I’ll probably have the morning routine finished prior to kickoff, afterward shifting focus to organizing this office and maybe working on a bit of preliminary garbage business for tomorrow. I will typically have one college game on Saturdays and then one pro game on Sundays, so my housework needs to be completed in and around those times. I still have a little coffee left, so I must sit here and think about the zone of the in-betweens. The wording has become uncomfortable, as well, meaning the more I can consider the structure of the content, the better my head may feel when it is finished. Moving on to the next chapter will probably be unpleasant. At least I have the rest of the day to myself. Back to the other place... ‘I don’t like that word anymore.’ ‘I know you don’t. I’m sorry, but this is necessary if you are to learn.’ ‘Splendid.’ ‘Just relax and further your thoughts.’ I am still considering slamming the throttle and making a statement, although part of me still believes Julia will simply place me in the zone again. She has all the power in this place and I have zero of the same. Every time I get pissed off and do something reckless, I end up forced into a place where all I can do is think. Blackness. Yep, the zone of the in-between. I'm sick of this shit, but I have learned a few things. We go. The fact remains that I may have been compensating for pain and loss by surrounding myself with aspects of life that I can fully control. And this is all I have; the last occasion of trying to share the deepest thoughts related to validation found me sharing too much and then backpedaling, yet the effort was too late. The information left my mouth and cannot return. That process represents the worst and most difficult lack of control, and the whole fucking sordid situation was centered upon the word ‘trust’. No matter what I am told, it just does not exist anymore. Attempting to trust another person is nearly as difficult as dealing with desire. Those two terms are akin to twin thieves robbing me of the ability to find balance or solace. I deal with both of them every day, and then the other bad word comes to mind and presses its advantage until I am bereft of hope or ambition. This shit may never end. I am old, yet still young. Something tells me that no matter how many years may be ahead, I'll still be sitting right here trying to understand everything. Nice. This is no way to live, although I've been told on numerous occasions that this is 'the way of things'. Ugh. There are times when I believe that I’ve already connected the doors and my obsession with certain aspects of beauty, eventually furthering the ideas to frame the way I feel each day. Obviously, Julia does not agree because I am still here, in-between, and wallowing in a netherworld of pain and loss. Maybe she’s upset with me due to the shift in my thinking as of last year. You know... The damaging dreams. No aspect of that situation is healthy in the least, and sometimes I think I’ve been driven to such an end after suffering and feeling confused due almost entirely to the two shit situations. I am not the person to simply calculate that if there is no recourse, I should let it all go and move forward with some new outlook. Quite the reverse, actually. I constantly grate against those events precisely because I can’t do anything about them. Too much time has passed, and the idea of ‘moving on’ no longer computes for me. I am still angry, yet there is no one to confront. Oh, sure... Julia placed me in that hellish passenger car and some might believe that I faced and then destroyed the cause of one situation. None of that took place, though, meaning I still sit here and dwell upon all that could have been if my early years had not contained something so terrible and damaging. The latter continues to plague me. Not a single hour passes these days without me daydreaming of a more fulfilling and less desperate lifestyle. The mere fact that I am powerless to change what has happened is now the root cause of everything causing me to suffer. The doors are periods I really did not want to recall, either. They may answer a few questions, yet the positive aspect of such a fact does not offset all the pain. The train is rolling along as if the machinery has its own purpose. If I indeed try to take control, there is a strong possibility that nothing will happen. I’ve been here before, too... Locomotives with their own agendas. Ugh. Regardless, I have to try. Sixty miles per hour with more than one hundred cars behind the line. Unbelievable. The controls are at my disposal, or so it would seem. Let’s give it a shot... ‘You are not in control here.’ ‘But I have to do something, damn it.’ ‘I know you don’t enjoy this. Just think, please.’ ‘I can’t stop thinking about IT.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Wonderful. No answers, yet again. I only see one solution, although it is most unlikely in life. Nothing is going to change unless I change it, yet at the same time I am completely powerless due to having been routed and squished and then relegated for too many years to count. I’ve become something I could not have imagined, all apologetic and weakened beyond comprehension. My horrible state of mind is the result of decades of the same shit that I fought to avoid. I guess some of what was beyond my control has shaped me and taken a set. I need a fucking drink. ‘The bar is behind you, my dear.’ ‘Thank the maker.’ There it is... A beautiful and very ornate wet bar, completely stocked and calling my name. Let’s get fucking hammered, yes? Ah, shit. Dioramas are incoming. I can see the lighting of artificial displays ahead and to the left, just like last time. I need to pour myself a nice glass of scotch to deal with whatever that woman has in mind. I already ran across two of the doors, I believe, and I must admit that recalling all which has taken place in this zone is becoming very difficult. Not only are the scenes often reminders of when I was happier, but so much has transpired that to keep track of everything is quite a chore. Door one was Steuart Street. Door two seemed to be the film crew at the vertical gun, yet I seem to recall an attempt to attend trucking school in the southern part of the country to ensure a career of which I had dreamed for many years. After living through the period when my dad worked for a semi manufacturing plant not far from home and receiving calendars and other imagery of trucks, I really wanted to be a part of what can be a very nomadic lifestyle. I don’t know if the trucking school was a door, though. Maybe that one did not pan out enough to qualify. The third incarnation of a door would seem to be when I wished to leave NASA and work in IT. The process involved me enrolling in school (online) to learn and begin a path to a very different and interesting career. Well, I failed. Not with the schoolwork, but through my own lack of ambition. I did not follow through with the courses and eventually dropped out. Wait a minute... There could be one more, although that one was beyond my control. Um, except the fact that the situation fell through due to my decision that involved that woman who was in the cab of the locomotive a little while ago. Damn. There may be too much here for me to follow right now. 'I need to leave this place for a while.' 'Do what you must. I'll be here, waiting.' Back to reality. This is not going to end anytime soon. 1059. My daily routine is out of the way and I am back at the control center with a fat cocktail for posterity (opposite thinking, lieutenant). The ill-begotten and ill-advised series is still streaming on the right-hand display because I can’t stop looking at Holly’s amazing, unique facial structure. Doing so is bad for me, but then again so is the cocktail, the way my brain operates, and all the other shit about which I dream each day. Why not stare at her, too? Everything hurts me, anyway. As for the rest of the day, I learned my game is not on until 1630, not 1230, so I’ll have lots of free time for whatever I want or need to do. I could use a situation about which I used to dream each morning while waiting to be picked up for work. I was out there just shy of 0500 every weekday with my coffee and staring up at the stars – a wondrous activity I wrote about some years ago while recalling different periods when I did the same from various locations – and desperately wished for my ‘car’ to arrive, a personal assistant emerging thereafter with my ‘briefcase’. I can’t go into detail, but I will say that such an event would have marked the end of my problems in life. As I already stated, it was a dream. That type of thing might date back to the hot, humid days spent drawing enormous homes while watching the tennis matches when I lived in the Midwest, or possibly years earlier when my buddy and I rode our bikes up Parkmeadow Drive and stared at the huge homes. In any case, I need that dream more right now than I ever have in the past. I need shit to be fucking solved, damn it. And I am doing my best with the preposition placement. The editor often disagrees, but I am stubborn. Whatever. None of this matters because I already know what my future will entail. Isn’t that special? I actually KNOW my future. Maybe there is magic in such knowledge. Or perhaps I am clairvoyant. Laugh it up. I am not well; the understatement above all other understatements. Bernie Kopell is in this episode. Do you remember he portrayed the ship’s doctor in ‘The Love Boat’? I do. That was a time when sitting in front of the show every Saturday night with ice cream was one of the best aspects of my life. Wow. What about the present? Um... Leftover pizza for lunch. I need that fucking dream right NOW. On a somewhat related front, I have to remain mindful of the living situation here in this little house. I wanted to escape the heat of the inner valleys and live near the ocean for more than twenty years, and now I do. The ocean is a half mile away and ensures the temperature rarely rises above seventy or so. Moreover, I have booze and all of my televisions there to provide comfort each day. The current period has its advantages over the past. It also lacks some axioms by which I used to live. They have disappeared due to the last several years of me realizing that validation may be impossible. Where I used to see wonder and possibility, I now see only pain and loss. The climate is better here and life is stable. Unfortunately, all of the positive aspects of being here are constantly at odds with my mental and emotional instability. I don’t even know why I brought up this crap. The bottom line is that being where I truly need is about as likely as angels flying out of my fucking ass. Maybe today is a good one for throwing shit away. I’ll have to cease daydreaming about my mouth glued to Holly’s delicate labia, however. Shoot me. I don’t fucking care. Sunday morning, post drive. The hour is early, so I have plenty of time to take care of business prior to kickoff (1305). I dreamed of some helpless girl early this morning but remember very little at this point. I was trying to help her in some fashion. Whatever the details, nearly all are gone now. I wish I could remember because she was gorgeous (naturally). I am not going to sit here for very long today due to the need to have my housework out of the way at a decent hour. The head start from yesterday will help me manage time. 1047. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of depressant for reasons of good form. The same series is now streaming on my right-hand display. Holly, too. Isn’t that peachy? Nothing is peachy. I am going to try to have all of the garbage business finished prior to game time. I’ll have the house to myself in a little while, too, meaning I can relax here at the control center and gather my ill-conceived thoughts. At some point I have to return to the negative material plane, as well. I don’t like it at all, especially considering the employment of that one fucking term which has driven me to very reckless behavior in the past, and may well do it again. Julia pays no mind because she knows everything. I wish I could ask about the future. Whoa... Wait a minute. Didn’t I already state that I know what the future holds? Yep, I did. Marvelous. Holly often resembles a cat, and I believe you already know how I feel about such features. 1214. I have some hours to myself and the game is on in less than an hour. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall, too. Big fucking surprise. I can’t help but gush about the ‘cat’ features, much like the woman I’ve seen during the show I’ve been following during afternoons and evenings. She is so fucking amazing that I need to grab one of the hammers and beat myself to death. Yep, her form and face are THAT unreal. I still can’t believe her appearance sometimes. She is the visible incarnation of the race girl, and then some. I’m going to lose my mind staring at her. Moreover, I plan to include captured images of that beauty right here in this sordid, downtrodden content. I have detailed files. Trust me. Anyway... The zone of the in-between is not going to end anytime soon, and I fear there will be much more trouble regarding what I consider to be door number four. Thankfully, there has not been another since. My path has been boiled down to the bare necessities of living comfortably, a condition cemented by others. Believe it. I have to be there. I must determine a path into the future. And yes, I already know what my future holds, but if I can remain calm and think everything through, perhaps the necessary comfort will come. As for the rest of this day, I am looking forward to having lunch during the game and my mind is somewhat eased through this morning’s efforts in having all of the daily business out of the way prior to kickoff. Tomorrow I have to take care of some laundry business and my usual routine, and Monday’s comfort will be realized through lots of time to sit here at the control center to allow for much quiet thinking. The negative material plane may never disappear from my head." 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
September 18th, 2023 7:54am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. The Zone of the In-Between read ( words) "'Way beyond my ways and means...' Not anymore. In between... What, exactly? Between worlds? Maybe. This is not good. My condition continues to deteriorate. Not fucking good. Floating? What is this? All around is blackness; there are flashes of past images popping into my brain at random, most of which are the key moments that defined me as a person over a very long period of time. I am talking about more than forty years of pictures flipping by like Satan’s Rolodex. I am seeing everything as my stomach does flip-flops over and over. Nausea. This is horrible. ‘Live them again.’ I don’t want to hear any shit, and I don’t need any more questions, either. The answer is still no, I do not know what I have to do, woman. Just leave me alone to think... Please. I have already been forced to live everything over and over. Fuck off. Marvelous. I guess my last words to Julia transmitted enough anger to piss her the hell off. You’d think I would know better after all this time and so many trips to the negative material plane. I am hearing ‘The Grid’ at this very moment and the feeling is akin to a combination of loss and wonder. The music is beautiful and I suspect my mind is recreating this soundtrack in an effort to ground myself, or otherwise throw a save against the pain. I don’t know where I am... I cannot see, I can only feel. There is no pull in any direction, nor air movement. I am weightless, seemingly in between reality and the netherworld. The last moment prior to my being thrown into this black void found me realizing that my current condition with regard to obsession and desire grew out of control due to my past decisions along with a heaping helping of being fucking squished over and over because I’ve been a ‘nice person’. I am in this position because I sought aspects of life that I had thought were commonplace, yet later learned are so elusive and unrealistic that knowing as much drove me to seek physical comfort above all other concerns. That pretty much sums up the entire shitaree. Well, there is nothing I can do about it anymore because I’ve lost all faith in true wonder and beauty in this life. Too much has gone by the wayside, too much has been ripped away, and there are too many fucking holes in me as a result. I recently gave up on the three main dreams over which I’ve been focused for the last few weeks due to the knowledge that no matter what I may want or need, the reality is I can no longer achieve anything. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I have to accept the fact that I’ve been routed to this frame of mind and there is simply no way out. The worst part is that I can hear the music but will never be able to embrace it with even the slightest fucking sliver of proper context. Remember, context is everything, and it is an axiom of life. Period. I suppose I’ll just float here until such time as I’ve been deemed ‘punished’. Thanks, doll. I speak of comfort more than anything else, and that is precisely what has been made unavailable. I need to get out of this place. I see nothing aside from the images flipping by at high speed. I see faces, trains, places of work, and a striking view through one of the windows in my grandparents’ cabin in South Lake Tahoe. I also see three-quarter-cut, mint green underwear just below a beautifully tapered back as the closet doors look on. I remember that. I remember everything. Have I not suffered enough? Julia can go and fuck herself in a muddy ditch during a snowstorm. I miss the green from that day along with the smile which followed the view. Where was I? Home? Elsewhere? Was I floating in the blackness and did not realize the gravity or impact of such a situation? Ah, fuck... There is another image. Video? I see a mirror and a chair. I remember that day (night?). I remember everything in great detail. Thirty years is a long time. Sparks, Nevada. One of the defining hotels of my entire life. One of the most important places I’ve ever visited. I don’t remember why I was there, however. I just see the mirror and the chair. I fucking hate all this shit. I hate everything. I have to get the hell out of this black void and find comfort. I have to build the speaker cabinets. I must find a way. The music inside my head is dictating terms right now. Floating like this means I feel nothing physical and everything emotional, and the music is beginning to make me realize that the most important aspects of life are gone forever, yet I can still demonstrate this mass of disillusionment through the media. I have to fucking build them... The 4355s cannot be forgotten and I need them to be a part of my life. Period. Now, if I could just reach something physical... Anything. I am very uncomfortable right now, much like the way I feel while sitting at the keyboard. Is there nothing else in life? Will I remain between the past and present, between worlds? I must find some meaning because the alternative is to give up. I’ve avoided the latter thus far. Julia has done a number on me this time. The void is not ending. I am stuck here, between... Something. ‘Time’ will eventually play in my head. I know it. The composition will cripple me from the inside out. The relational analysis can’t be denied any longer. One led to the other. I feel what I fucking feel and nothing can be done about it. I am once again hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence. No getting around that one. Maybe the drama of it means I am going to leave this place soon. There is always drama whenever I spurn Julia. Something may happen. Anyway, I am losing my way in life, or whatever the fuck this has become. I always knew the netherworld would get the best of me. I just didn’t realize such a fact would occur so soon after my first visit. Julia stated, ‘It is the way of things’, and I am void of comment. She may be right, and if so, I am not going to advance in life from this point forward. What I am right now is all I will ever be. The shit situations laid the groundwork for a life of being nothing more than the support structure to other people. Witness the result. Squished. Not fucking funny. Routed? Less funny. I have to get the hell out of this for a while. Reality still exists, and regardless of how I may feel about it, the fact is I must deal with it. I already know of the circumstances. Much of this is easily identifiable, although there are details related to the second door that I do not wish to discuss. I consider said details each and every day, either while sitting here or while working around the house. Some ideas do not stray very fucking far from my attention no matter what I may be doing. When I say that I’m thinking about the difficulty every day, I mean every SINGLE day, often at some point each hour. Part of it is driven by what I see, other aspects pushing memories to the forefront. There are too many details for me to list here. Moreover, I’ll get a blast of shit due to the way my mind has been forced to operate as a result of all of the squishing, routing and numerous whelp-ish expectations of other people. Julia is not going to allow me to forget my part in all this shit, either. No matter how much I try to relate the doors to my current condition, she will push for a rise. I don’t see a positive outcome here. What I do see is a continuation of the belief that I should not be held fully accountable for such a mindset. My mood is going to drop further the longer I float here. Julia has left me in the unenviable position of being able to do nothing but think. Well, her intentions have helped me to see some of the steps that placed me in this netherworld; need, desire, understanding. The latter? That one just will not fucking come to pass. I have knowledge, but no faith, circumstances be damned to hell. I’d rather be on a train, for crying out loud. There has to be a way to get this shit out of my brain. I mean all the way. Thoughts are killing me right now. Too much pain and loss felt here will eventually bleed into the real world, and that is where the true issues take place. This is nothing, really. Julia may not agree, however, but the fact remains that I need a break. Considering the turns I took in life in search of a very specific type of comfort and the unrealized possibilities I tossed aside is not helping me to find any sort of balance. This just hurts. Yes, I did all that shit. I fucking did it. Is that not enough? Flash! Desert? Nope... The beach again. Doors to the left and right. Wait... My hand is being held by another. Julie? Yes! My little love has returned. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Stop creating and I will cease to exist.’ ‘What? What does that mean?’ Ugh. Let's leave this place for a while (please!) Tuesday, 1028 in the morning. We had to drop off the car earlier for a recall, and I just received notice that it does not apply (which I am not totally inclined to believe). The recall is for the TCM, yet the information that was sent to the manufacturer indicated that the computer is not at fault and the software is up to date. And then I was informed that the clutches inside the transmission are to blame and need to be replaced, to the tune of roughly four grand. That is just not going to fucking happen. I will probably need to pick up the car this afternoon when I return south. Not a good situation, but owning a vehicle means dealing with occasional maintenance and repairs, period. I’m not sure how we will proceed from here. The odometer has topped a hundred grand, so spending that much on the transmission might be a mistake. I don’t know how much longer the car will last as a whole. Ugh. As for the homefront, I have some laundry in the washer and the other housework is finished. Wednesday has arrived sans fanfare for the common keyboard (or anything else). I am overjoyed to be sitting here with my coffee this morning, too. Yesterday’s driving chores broke the day into pieces and forced me to avoid truly finding any direction. There was just too much bullshit yesterday. This is the first morning in five that I can actually relax and think. I don’t have to go anywhere today, either. This is very good. Aside from all of the running around, the only issue all day long was my lack of caring about anything. I could not seem to rise and accomplish even the simplest of tasks. I don’t like that type of day, yet as of yet I don’t know what can be done to change anything. I honestly cannot simply force myself to move in any given direction no matter the importance. Whatever. This is where I am. I have to switch programs. The content and some of the dialog is beginning to irritate me. I’ll miss Kerry, but that’s ok because SHE IS NOT REAL, much like every other fucking need in my brain. In and around the typing, I shall find something else. Two chords, perhaps four. I can’t be certain. Whatever the case, the chords are similar and no one can ever know how much love and pain flows through me when I hear them. Don’t even fucking ask. Maybe if I am good in some way, I will eventually find the means to reproduce this properly, if on only one occasion before I die. Thursday is here. I have coffee and the local news running on the right-hand display. After yesterday’s deep depression and feelings of loss, I need this day to be an improvement. I’ll have to force the issue in a little while when I begin the daily housework. A trio is on the right-hand display at present... Three with dark hair and eyes (one with huge eyes, but she is a tad scary), all fucking stunning, and my brain trying to compute the reason I’ve never seen much of this series. Wow. Well, the likely truth is it would become like all the others: beauty from the past that is both unreal and now gone from life. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, I may need to move away from this exposition soon because my brain is beginning to melt over the losses. Holly has that lower facial trait that drives me up the wall. I never really noticed before because I didn’t watch this series, but I must say that with the availability of the entire run, I’ll be following along from the beginning. I only ran across it after becoming tired of the news earlier this morning. And? Want a big fucking surprise? My interest is almost entirely linked to the overwhelming physical beauty of two main characters. Yep. I’ve already become enamored and captured images from the program to be included here at some point. Whatever I’ve become, the desire has not diminished in the slightest. Along such lines, one episode of a program I’ve been following during some afternoons and evenings carried a large measure of four individual models that fucking knocked me on my ASS. I was literally struck upside the head when they appeared and the feeling has not subsided. I could not believe my fucking eyes. I will be watching said episode many times throughout the coming days because I cannot avoid being heeled over by such stunning artwork. I still can’t believe it, and the issue in question took place more than fourteen hours ago. What a maroon. The only positive to experiencing that level of form is the fact that they’ve been captured for all time. Nothing will ever change no matter how much time passes. Wait... Did you just utter the words ‘basket case’? I did. Anyway, the time has advanced since I last sat here, the clock now displays 1115 and my daily routine is out of the way. From this point forward, though, I don’t know what to do. Lunch time is around the corner, my garage is fucked up and in need of attention, yet my head can’t process much at all. I’ve been hit with too much, too often. Maybe I should stream that episode here on the computer and capture imagery. Will anything positive come of such a process? Hell no. My positives are dwindling, and they were very few to begin with. Nice, huh? Deal with your own problems. There is no help here. I am so sad and lost right now that nothing seems to be enough to lift me out of the dark and provide comfort. I wish I could say more. Some of what takes place inside my head must be kept out of this content for reasons of good form. Trust me... Certain words must remain in the vault. And? They reside in a vault which does not have a key or combination. The information has been put away forever. I will die before the words are spoken. ‘Thursday’ means nothing anymore. They come and go. Having been partially lubricated by my morning cocktail, a drive north for some therapeutic food will not be a problem. I’ll be leaving within the next fifteen minutes, music blasting the whole way. Upon returning, I plan to have my typical bowl of cereal (in the interest of dropping weight) and then work in the garage for a little while. My life has become a literal representation of those converging lines (not the lines related to my obsession) that seem to dictate the idea that my life ended some years ago and I have been doing nothing more than reaching since that point. 1316. I ventured to the restaurant and returned. Now I have the rest of the afternoon to care for whatever seems best. I don’t know what that is, but maybe some ideas will form soon. Holly’s picturesque face is on the display again because I’m lost beyond words. Lost. Perhaps I can head to the garage and take care of some organization. Right now, however, I just don’t know. I need help. I need those understanding eyes and they may not exist in reality. Speaking of reality, let us move away from it and return to the painful negative material plane. Julia’s voice is gone again – thank Christ – but at least my companion has come back to me. I love Julie so much that her disappearance, at the hands of the other one, of course, crippled me and partially convoluted my thinking, something I really don’t need in this place. The current period is bad enough already. Any enjoyment or comfort being ripped away will result in me falling further away from life. I’ve lost enough, much of it being time. Maybe Julie will let me stare at her lines until I go insane. Eh... She will, but will that kind of thing help me? Nope. And Julia will likely intervene and shut me down right quick. I have no doubt. Feeling as I do right now is far less than enjoyable. The beach... For the second time. At least the petite beauty is next to me and wrapped around my arm like in the past. Julie reminds me of the kitten, to be honest. Ellie was tiny (much like another with whom I’ve been close in the past) yet very curvy, and her caring, understanding nature floored me from the word ‘go’. She tried to help me like so many others, and I very nearly rejected every bit of it. Much like Ashley, Ellie became forceful, shoving aside all my shit in the hope that I would listen to reason and eventually leave the goblet and embrace reality. Ellie never took issue with the way I think, as well. Julie is similar and I need her next to me for moral support and the occasional embrace. One smile from her and I instantly feel a bit better about this situation. The plane is that much more pleasant when Julie is with me. I already know where these two doors will lead. They are connected to what Julia referred to as ‘missed opportunities’, so I don’t see the point in traveling through either of them again. I don’t understand the reasoning behind us being on this beach, and I see even less reason for all that time spent in the mountains. It was a recreation of an episode of one of my favorite series’, yet I don’t get it. We were married and happy, lived there for a very long time, yet in the end I received exactly zero explanation for why that world was created in the first place. The only possibility is that Julia placed us there to show me a beautiful, fulfilling life which I never had in reality, or maybe where I was prior to the fucking fallout I created years ago when I ran after something beautiful that eventually ruined me. That was my decision; a door of sorts. I chose to go through it and then everything turned to shit (very quickly). The period immediately after I ran away represents the most emotional damage I’ve ever caused. The beginning was nothing more than a door. ‘You understand.’ ‘Yes, but I don’t want to think about any of this shit.’ ‘Eat of the fruit your life’s tree has produced.’ Nice. What a fucking bitch. I believe Julie can feel my thoughts because I am about to lose circulation in my left arm due to her two-hand grip. I don’t feel well and have become tired of this netherworld. I don’t want to deal with all of the emotional fallout that has built up throughout the course of decades. I know what I’ve done and I am aware that each individual situation caused me to further isolate my feelings. Forty years add up to the idea that I am so fucking closed off that no one can ever pry open even the tiniest gap to see what is taking place inside. Moreover, the manner in which my problems have translated and morphed into a massive obsession that has grown out of control has been holding me back from anything positive or productive. I know all of this shit. Everything. So... Why does Julia have to continue to torment me? She claims to be helping, yet even after all these years I can’t simply turn a corner and begin to build a new, more positive consciousness. The idea is unrealistic. But? I created Julia. I created this negative material plane where everything old comes around again and everything new becomes nothing more than a byproduct of my backward lifestyle and ill-begotten decisions. I need a larger frame of reference, honestly. I have to connect my upbringing in the Nevada gaming culture with the doors through which I was afraid to travel. Wait... Is that correct? I don’t fucking know anymore. Eat the fruit? Fuck you. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I need an education in the way I’ve lived.’ Nothing. Julie’s eyes are fucking huge right now. I think she is a reflection of my emotional state. I can’t be certain, but I do know that every time I am overwhelmed with memories and regret, Julie appears and clings to me like some errant combination of a psychiatrist and physical therapist. She is always on my side and supportive beyond belief. Do I feel desire? Oh, fuck yes... Almost constantly. The problem is Julia keeps pushing me to consider everything leading me to this current period in the hope that I will finally understand and perhaps accept myself. That may very well be the answer to a question that has been hadding me for years. You may be aware of the question to which I am referring. I know my thinking processes have been greatly influenced by being immersed over and over during my formative years along with the idea that I’ve become permanently jaded by the same. I know everything. That is not to say that I accept all responsibility for my lifestyle thus far. No fucking way. The two shit situations continue to plague me each day no matter what takes place. I can’t get around them. And no matter how much I search myself for truths or answers, Julia’s voice will return and knock me down a few pegs. There has to be an end to this shit. For the time being, I suppose I can play along and try to understand how this beach came into existence in the first place. This is the second visit – both circumstances tempered by my connection to the lovely Julie – and I have calculated that if I don’t learn or accept something soon, I’ll simply die again. Maybe both of us will die. We’ve been there before. Do you remember Julie lying on the floor of my hotel bathroom all covered in blood? I still haven’t figured that one out. One possibility is that Julie represents all of my past connections born of desperation, and seeing her in the bathroom means something akin to letting go of the past. Damn it. I don’t fucking know. If the negative material plane is Hell, this may be a scene I’ll be forced to relive until my reality comes to an end. One more time... I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. The beach could be the ‘in-between’, a place disconnected from what lies beyond each door and where I can try to collate everything. YOU make the call because I can’t seem to find any fucking answers. Draw your own conclusion. I suggested that there must be an end to this, yet I am afraid of the end. Friday morning, 1016. My daily routine is out of the way and it’s cocktail time. The morning has been both bad and good, the former having become a literal disaster, yet for whatever reason I still feel a little bit positive. Holly is so fucking cute that my heart aches every time I see her on the screen. Perhaps watching this series is not a very good idea for a person with so many issues regarding beauty. On the other hand, have I commented upon any video media without pointing out someone who causes my obsession to flare? Nope. There will always be something, meaning I may as well enjoy the story. So be it. Anyway, I may venture to the hardware store in a little while to grab a few items that will help with reconfiguring the garage storage. I have a great plan to create space just by moving things around a bit. Making better use of storage in the garage usually means I can organize enough to improve the house. Holly’s face is not making it easy to type right now. Ah... The mail just arrived. Splendid. My morning cocktail is nearly gone at the ripe young hour of 1118. Holly is driving me crazy, too. I need her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. Sound familiar? Such an occurrence may never come to pass. Ugh. I need it so badly right now that a mass of fear has been building inside my head. Fear... The one emotion that created the doors. And Saturday has arrived, as of yet containing the typical early morning drive, some shopping on the return trip, and my daily housework. Everything is in order at 1042, along with my fat glass of whiskey for reasons of good form. One might believe that I could not survive browsing an Asian market due to my penchant for seeking picturesque and exotic forms, but this morning was fine. The only difficulty was the cashier – looking and sounding absolutely adorable despite the mask – and she (mostly) flew out of my head prior to leaving the parking lot. From here forward, I plan to continue the organization process that began yesterday morning in the garage. The more space I can create out there, the easier it is to relocate items from inside the house. Holly is again gracing the right-hand display because I need her to hold me. That feeling will never go away, either. At least I didn’t dream of the cashier embracing me in a caring manner. Nothing of the sort entered my brain. I know not why. God damn is Holly ever cute in this series. Moving into the garage yesterday and beginning the difficult process of reorganizing the upper storage really pushed me to actually see everything I own, and the end result was realizing some things can go out the door, much like what I did in the office a few days ago. THe only interruption to my efforts today will be a college football game. I’ll probably switch the audio mode so the sound can follow me into the garage if necessary. Some games don’t need to be accompanied by digital surround speakers. Tomorrow is the first professional game, too. That will be the priority over other concerns because it is by far my favorite sport and the opening of the best time of year. First is pro football followed by the change of season, and then Halloween comes along – coupled with shorter daylight hours – and then we roll straight into Thanksgiving and the lengthy holiday season. I fully intend to embrace each and every segment of fall and the beginning of master Winter so I can appreciate the associated feelings. I’ve written loads of words along such lines, as well. Anyone familiar with my style and mood already knows that the beginning of fall represents the best of the year, and a period fraught with good and bad memories. Oh, Holly... Please hold me and take the bad away, finally. Please, my dear. Help me. I FUCKING NEED HER TO HOLD ME SO BAD THAT I AM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT AND FLIP THE FUCK OUT FOR THE LAST TIME. Ugh. Anyway, the hour is still early and I have plenty of time to care for whatever seems most pressing. In addition, I am going to try to keep my head out of the din as best I can because I made a few comments last night which pretty much framed a huge portrait of my depressed state of mind. I have to be careful with my words, yet all too often I find that a bit of a blurb here and there is a good way to let others know that my outward appearance is most often completely fucking fake. I can’t help it. Remaining bottled up is fine, too. I just need to balance the two so people don’t get the idea that I may need to be hospitalized. I can’t fucking have that shit anymore. Control is key... Control over whatever brings me what little comfort is left in this life. Oh, God... She is so fucking adorable. Someone... PLEASE... Send her my love and tell her I need help. And? Tell Holly that her face is so unique that it makes me want to bash my head against the concrete. I am full of so much need that I’m surprised to still be able to go through the motions each day. No one knows the full extent of this shit, either. Trust me. No one knows. Oh, I’ve spoken in the past, but believe me when I say that the depth is beyond anyone’s comprehension. Just... Believe it. Onward. That was a long paragraph. Lots of capital letters, too. Whatever. This is what I am. We shall return to that horrible place of which I do not want to think... ‘I can’t make you go away, can I?’ ‘You created me as an analysis tool.’ ‘Is that a no?’ ‘Drop it.’ Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to remain here on the beach until such time as Julia deems me ready to either explore further (I don’t like it one bit) or be destroyed again. My companion is constantly sweet and supportive, again reminding me of the kitten so many years ago. I still miss her. Julie helps as much as she can considering the circumstances. Julia? Not the same at all. At least I have someone with me. Better than nothing. A sound behind us... Creaking? There are now four fucking doors where there had been only two. Oh, boy... Here we go. My idea to ignore everything that woman places before me might be the only option right now because each lesson has only brought me sadness and deep feelings of loss. The correlation between how I feel at this very moment, where I am in life (in general) and all those past decisions is quite enough to keep my mind busy if I am to finally put all of the pieces into place. I don’t need more shit on the pile. Two additional doors probably mean more shit, too. Am I afraid? Not really. What I feel most right now is disdain for Julia’s haphazard methodology and the manner in which she throws me around to see situations that are either difficult to understand or impossible to interconnect. I already know I’ve caused all manner of emotional damage. I don’t need more reminders. What I DO need is some Goddamned clarity, not a bunch of trains and dioramas, imagery, or further confusion. I may very well be stuck on this plane for the rest of my life, real or otherwise, and anything that can provide me with understanding will go a long way toward me finding balance and solace. I don’t even know if that is truly possible anymore, but there isn’t really anywhere else to turn. Julia is beginning to aggravate me. I express as much, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. Her reaction? Flash! And here we are in the caboose again. I say ‘again’ because this place resembles the very first that dates back to that horrible journey to the past. If I know anything right now, it is that this will not last. I’ll sink in and cling to my gorgeous companion, and just as the comfort seems real, everything will disappear and I’ll see one of two types of sand; beach or desert. I don’t fucking believe anything these days. That statement goes hand-in-hand with the issue of trust. One, and then the other. I’ll have to cling to Julie and wait to see what happens. ‘Now you are in between.’ Shit. I knew something would go to hell, but I did not think it would change this soon. And I see what Julia means with her statement. It seems the windows on either side of the caboose are facing two different places; worlds perhaps. Julie and I must be in the middle, or perhaps a different kind of netherworld. I don’t know. We are not moving, either. Maybe floating? Cabooses are typically very small and built for a single purpose, whereas this one appears like the others: a massive, beautiful space possibly created from my dreams. As I said before, if I were to design a railroad car, it would look just like where I am standing right now. My years of designing floor plans and a few elevations began with a trip to Disneyland, believe it or not. I was inspired to add dramatic theming to each home I drew, and the process carried on all the way to the Midwest. There was always a combination of medieval styling and classic appointments, much like what I’ve seen in the cabooses. The problem here is that I’ve been dreaming and hoping to take one of my designs and actually build it in a good location where I could be comfortable. I believe the style of this space was specifically chosen and created just to slap my fucking face again, as if all of the doors were not enough. I am going to flip out again, but for the time being – prior to laying into Julia with as much force as I am capable – I need to peer through the windows on both sides and see what that meddling woman is trying to show me. Large, open spaces, seemingly black all around and dotted with lights that are focused upon images. I think that is what I’m seeing. This reminds me of the hallway of horrors years ago and the huge portraits that seemed to be clocking each other (because of my behavior). Ah... These are actual enlargements of photographs from different periods, beginning with the courtyard at one of the two junior high schools I attended. I see DeAnn, too. And Lanie. God damn did I ever want to kiss Lanie back then. Whatever. I see high school, too. Other girls from that time. My car is there. The glow... A huge picture from one end of my favorite shopping mall looking toward what I used to call the ‘jog’, where the tie store and Bombay were located. What is all this supposed to accomplish? I was happy in that last image, but not so much in the others. Over to the right are three more: The auto parts house, railroad yard, and the gun room again, just like the last diorama I saw just before being removed from the entire scene. The doors are represented on the left side of the caboose. Maybe I don’t want to see what is on the right. I was correct. Unfortunately, I can’t go into detail regarding what Julie and I see from the right-hand windows. As the train begins to move (with an elongated series ‘slam’ of the couplings; this train must be very lengthy), my adorable companion suggests that we relax and find some comfort in the caboose while we have the chance. Within half a minute, the imagery outside fades to the rear. I will not miss seeing my own string of past (and present) failures. I live with those each and every day, and it is the rare occasion that finds me able to let go and truly relax or enjoy something in reality. Considering the comparative nature of the left and right windows, this may be the first time I understand Julia’s years-long, pressing question. Could that be a way out of this place? We seem to be rolling at a pretty decent clip, and despite the danger, I am starting to feel like heading outside, up the ladder, and onto the top of this car for another adventure. Do you recall? Julie and I made our way along the train and into the locomotive because of my need to be in control, not to mention bucking the tide which is something I’ve enjoyed for decades. I am a nonconformist to the core. Should we go? Eh... Julia will probably kill me again. Or, us. The last time that happened was both frightening and painful, but then again, what else? Should I jump Julie? No... Nothing good has EVER come from that type of thinking or behavior. Nothing. Just trust me. Physical desire has proven the most dangerous and damaging aspect of life, and not just for yours truly. I suppose we have to embark on another adventure. A bit of discussion later and the lovely little Julie agrees. Why not? Nothing goes my way, anyhow. Fuck it. This zone between worlds can go and fuck itself in a cold, muddy ditch. And if this means I learn nothing, so be it. I don’t fucking care anymore. How many times have I typed those words? Layers of clothing; door; ladder; roof. The view? Blackness. We are between worlds, meaning no matter how much I try to concentrate upon reaching the cab, the gradient continues to press its advantage. I can’t ignore what is happening here, even knowing that if I fall to pieces the lovely little Julie will be right there to hold me. Reality. 0858 on Sunday morning and I am looking forward to watching football today. Yesterday’s game went very well, too. The house is quiet right now after returning from my usual early drive to the City, which was uneventful. I enjoy arriving back home at a decent hour, especially considering the home game kicks off in about an hour. I’ll have to take care of some housework prior to 1000 so that the afternoon is relaxing. The inside of my head is no better than it has been lately despite the positives. I am still so full of need that nothing has the power to alleviate such overwhelming symptoms. Nothing. I don’t know what to do aside from my usual daily business. Daydreams, wishes, and desire have become the norm and I can’t do anything about such a fact. This is my reality and it is very painful. The enjoyments are shrinking and my ability to distract myself from everything is diminishing every day. Helpless; hopeless. Maybe Julia will kill me again and force the situation to bleed into this world. I can only hope. Monday. Not a good one, so far. Down, down, down we go... ‘Something painful this way comes.’ Shit. Between yesterday afternoon and last night, I fell so far down that I calculated there could be no recovery. The reason? Something unexpected on the television which began to cause the word ‘ideal’ to be conjured, nearly beyond my control. Do you remember the race girl? Probably. Well, things have gone awry on that front because there was a woman on the television (repeatedly) who matched her to a tee. I still can’t believe it. Trust me when I say that all of the searching and imagery, nothing can hit me harder than a full-motion video of what appears to be (and will probably continue to be) one of the most powerful dreams in my life. And yes, even more so than the damaging dreams or other shit that has been plaguing me for years. Today is a turning point. A big one. As there has been a lack of recourse with regard to my obsession and related needs, the idea of recovery has become even more elusive. It may in fact be a complete fucking pipe dream. Sometimes Holly resembles a cat, but nowhere near the level of the woman from yesterday. That was bad. Moreover, I can capture her likeness all I want. She is now a high holyform and will remain as such due to the nonexistent chance that someone else will cause her to be dethroned. Top level; the main focus; the very reason for superlatives. This is only the beginning of what is now the main issue in my life. Too often do I find myself crippled by the sight of someone and then realizing that my life is already over and there is no point in dreaming. Seeing the goddess on the television yesterday forced me to make a connection to the race girl, and that led to recalling my behavior a year after seeing her eyes at the event as I desperately scoured the landscape for something – as one of the great, unrequited loves of my life said – I could never ‘have’. I believe what happened yesterday (perhaps prior to the sight of her actually sinking in) was yet another realization – for lack of a better term – as I finally felt the sheer weight of my current condition and the future resulting from decades of fucking problems and fear. I can see that up to this point in time, I had only thought I was falling away from everything. The woman was not just a near-perfect example of what I’ve been seeking for more than twenty years, but a reminder of where I am in life and why. Julia is going to run with this shit; I know it. And remember that I rarely use the word ‘perfect’ to describe anything outside mathematics because it does not exist. Hence? ‘Near’. I am sitting here like always with my devices and coffee and still cannot believe what I’ve seen, nor can I even begin to rationalize the desperate thoughts in my head and how they will undoubtedly affect those who know me. And as always, the woman is not at fault. She is nothing more than a person. I am the fucking problem here. At the same time, I am not. Five-nine; cat-everything... Eyes, most of all. Huge, dark eyes. The traits over which I have obsessed were all present in fucking spades. I can’t fully express my feelings about this, nor will anything I say convey the overwhelming mass of the problem. This is quite literally the worst I have ever felt in life. The worst. I’m sure I’ll be watching the program again in the future and falling all over myself with desire and ending up in pain, yet there can be no choice in the matter. The feelings are THAT strong. I simply must look at her, consequences be damned. Well, I’ll be completely fucked up anyway, so I may as well see. That is about as good as it gets anymore. Sad. 0853; last cup of coffee. I have to visit the restaurant again in a couple of hours to look at a problem in one of their restrooms. I don’t believe I am equipped to fix the issue, but at least I can provide some honest insight. Maybe doing so will distract me for a while. I may visit the hardware store on the return trip. Right now nothing seems appealing. When the coffee is gone, I’ll take care of what is likely a very short routine and then wash some clothes. My life is already over, having effectively been boiled down to whatever can be scraped from the bottom of the fucking saucepan. Such a thought is very sad, but I can’t deny the truth. I’ve never needed help more than at this very moment. Curious, the goddess that has caused one of my favorite mornings to turn into a depressing pile of shit is blonde. The race girl was the same, albeit carrying a longer mane. Whatever. I need that woman so badly that my entire body has been wracked with pain. There is nothing I can fucking do about anything anymore because I’ve become tiny and ineffective in every single aspect of life (except housework, of course). I already know that whatever I still enjoy will continue to shrink until there is no reason left to be found. 1018. I need to wait until after visiting the restaurant to do some laundry. I don’t like leaving the house with either the washer or dryer running, mostly the former. For the time being, I’m going to sit here with my fat cocktail, program on the right-hand display (lots of Holly), and thoughts of two worlds bleeding into each other and leaving me in the zone of the in-between. This is quite literally the worst condition within which I’ve ever been mired. Everything is just sad. Thankfully, I can already feel the numbing effect of the alcohol. Good and bad, that one. At some point I will stream a few key episodes of the other series here on the control center and capture some (hopefully) quality images from the video. I need to stare at her like I need oxygen. Will doing so help me in any fashion? Nope. Maybe I’ll sit here and combine all those women into one massive figure and gush about how desperate I am for some real understanding. I’ve already created one name from three, so why not make a composite of the cat features and add a portmanteau for ease of typing? Right? I only know of two names, though, and they are Rachael and Jordana (believe it or not; what a fucking handle!). I could add the word ‘race’, perhaps. Put them together yourself. I can’t. Anyway, the woman from the show last night is still causing me all sorts of trouble. My eyes damned-near came out of my fucking head during some scenes, mostly when her beautiful lines were displayed. There was also a segment that showed off her long, slender fingers and I went out of my mind with desire, so much so that the remainder of the evening turned into an exercise in restraint. I had to keep my mouth shut. Not easy. I had to wait for this morning and allow the keyboard to be my ears; the only object in the known universe that listens without judgment. This is a very bad day. I really didn’t need to see her. I watch that program for unrelated reasons, but from here forward I’ll be waiting to see the goddess again because I have learned very little in a long fucking time and can’t avoid certain details and facets of beauty. I have to stop going on and on about her. The woman has successfully squashed every other fucking form I’ve seen in many years. Yes, I said that. Believe it. I fucking hate everything right now. The entire essay has been hijacked by one person I can never know, and a level of beauty that is both fully aligned with the way I think and more elusive than a passenger ticket to Mars. In short, I am completely fucked for all time. I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT. I wish I had never seen her. I have to leave soon. I already know I can’t do anything to the valve at the restaurant, but I may be able to offer some advice that will save the owner some money. Plumbing is both good and bad for those who do not know how to deal with problems. Sometimes I’d like all of my knowledge to disappear. Then again, I like to help. Tuesday. Very few responsibilities, thank the maker. I’ll be at the control center for quite a while today because I need to advance the story of the doors, as well as the way I feel about the entire situation. I have to keep pushing no matter how much it hurts. Along those lines, the woman from the television program the other night has forced my hand and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything. I even had a tough time making a very simple dinner last night because I kept seeing her on the screen and daydreaming about her lines. This is probably going to continue since I plan to watch the entire series. I have to stare at her and dream of worlds that can never exist, and such desperation comes about regardless of the consequences. I can either remain miserable and see nothing, or I can see as much as possible. No matter how I proceed, there will undoubtedly be pain and misery. I may as well stare at her until everything comes to an end. As for the rest of this day, I am fairly pleased about the hours ahead and no need to go anywhere. The downside is the morning quiet is reminding me that I am going nowhere, and likely never will. This is it... The end of the line for me. All I can do is watch others realizing where they want and/or need to be (hopes and dreams?) while I sit here and operate the keyboard. Wonderful, eh? Nothing has changed in the last few years other than my feelings becoming more pronounced and all of the love for the past growing exponentially. I believe part of me has not allowed much to change because of the point of the doors... That’s right... Fear kept me still. It kept me away. It still does to this very second. I passed the doors and ended up precisely where I am sitting at this very fucking moment. The time is now 1036 and the usual crap is out of the way. I have lots of free time ahead, meaning cocktail hour has arrived. Is it good for me in any way? Nope... Each time the alcohol is nearly consumed, my mindset falls south of wherever it was prior to having a drink. That means I’d be better off avoiding such behavior. At the same time, I need to flex my independence and control through doing something I thoroughly enjoy, and that just happens to be spending my morning outside the realm of the ‘norm’. This type of thinking grew from decades of being within the gaming culture, all the way back to single-digit ages. I used to love the atmosphere, and as soon as I was old enough to join the adults, the booze did not attract me as much as other aspects of those wondrous places, such as the resorts being charged with sex and related imagery. I was raised to see the gaming culture as appealing, much like a reward for work. I still feel the same, although the attraction of alcohol has increased tenfold since my younger years. Good or bad, it is still something to which I look forward each day. There is little else, meaning my behavior and lifestyle are nowhere near changing no matter the circumstances. Depression can be a self-fulfilling situation which is fed from within. The worse I feel, the more I must embrace whatever has the power to provide comfort. And with that last statement I must accept the knowledge that the doors are directly related to everything I’ve thought and lived for a very long time. Everything is mixed together and saturated, from desperation and desire to the overwhelming need to do whatever I want. That is a failing. I am not stupid. I am weak, but I know exactly what I’m doing. Moreover, I know precisely what I have become. This has been a disastrous morning. Piling such a fact atop all the other shit and what I now see as a fruitless search for understanding will eventually drive me out of my mind. I know that, too. As of yet, I have been unable to break this vicious, horribly painful cycle. If you have the answer, write it on a piece of paper, attach it to a baseball bat, and swing at my throat. Thank you. Maybe one night I will dream of Holly holding me, or perhaps a connection with the other one that has put my obsession on its ear and slammed the point home of just how unrealistic my thinking processes have become. I am further from reality every day and don’t see my way of life changing no matter how bad the situation may become. The sun is finally shining through the fog blanket. I hope it warms the inside of the house today. 1506 and... Tired. After months and years of hemming and hawing over the fucking paint, a little while ago I felt myself slipping into the same afternoon shit and did something about it. Some weeks ago I fabricated a platform to cover the bathtub but left it in the garage because I am always so fucking disillusioned. Well, I slapped it onto the tub with some felt pads and painted the trim above the stone. Yep, I actually put the first coat on the fucking walls. Unbelievable, I know. Whatever. I did it and feel a tiny bit better about myself. One more coat tomorrow along with a run of caulking along the top edge and that will be completely finished. Afterward, all I have to do is the same along three pieces of base and then trim the window, the latter already having a plan. Setup and paint took less than an hour. Again... Unbelievable. Will it help me in the long run? Probably not. Bigger fish. I am pleased that my intelligence flared for a few minutes when I attached fins to the plywood for painting the bathroom. The platform was encapsulated by the tub and could not fail. I guess once in a while I can be pretty smart. Holly is so fucking cute that I want to beat my head against the concrete outside. Moreover, there are times when her lines are visible. I can’t even mention the other one. She is on an entirely different level. Lots of anguish. To the train... I do not feel the air, but I can tell we are traveling at a very high rate of speed. This netherworld is black and very strange; far different than the last time Julie and I made our way across the top. The train appears longer, too, but I can’t be certain due to a lack of light. We are passing so many images on the left side that I can’t keep track. Maybe there will be control of the situation available in the cab. Conversely, the situation may worsen if I try to take control. In any case, there is only one way to know for sure, and the process is underway. Moving along the top of the cars would normally be difficult and dangerous, but despite knowing we are traveling at a decent clip, venturing forward is not hard at all. I just don’t know the length of the train. How many units? Oh, boy... The wind is beginning to blow; a headwind as if we are actually moving on rails. Stronger. Ah, shit. We need to drop down between cars and think about this situation. Julia knows everything, and if she will not allow us to reach the cab, there is nothing I can do. My partner lowers herself to the tiny access platform and I follow. Better. Much less wind, but now I can see the ground below us flying by at very high speed. It’s as if we were in the void and have begun to emerge on the negative material plane once again. If I know anything, it is that the soil below us is most decidedly desert. Fuck. Maybe I’ll just wait here and hold my love until something changes. I really don’t think we can safely get back to the caboose, nor do I believe moving toward the locomotive is a good idea anymore. We seem to be completely stuck at Julia’s hands. ‘Fate’s hands’? No... That was just a song. Pictures again. I see them flying by as we try to remain warm. The pictures are at odds with the opposite side of the train, as well. One side shows me where I was, the other then bucks the tide of logic and informs me of the consequences of my actions and decisions. Every little detail is apparent, from the overall picture of unstable mental health and severe isolation all the way down to the tiniest aspect of the way I live, such as the way I always tend to straighten the coaster here on my big table whenever the coffee cup causes it to move. Everything... Desperation; anger; insecurity; a severe lack of inner strength and confidence; a strong desire to control certain situations; all of it. My dissatisfaction in life has pushed me to make reckless, ill-conceived choices throughout the last decade-plus, and sitting here at this very moment knowing that I feel worse about everything with each passing day is beginning to force me to grate against the world even more, be it this one or reality. I just don’t want any more reminders because I already know I’ve fucked everything up over and over for a very long time, and more of the same is going to push me in the opposite direction from where Julia wants me to go, and that is up. She needs to let us move around and shut off the fucking pictures and other shit before I jump off the car. Nothing. I still see them flying along with their integral lighting, effectively worsening my mood with each rotation. I have to stop this shit, somehow, yet I know that lacking control in this world means whatever I decide will come back and hurt me twice as much. Like reality, I have no fucking recourse whatsoever. I just have to sit here and fucking TAKE IT. Aggravation is taking over. Our speed has increased again. Maybe my mood is controlling our fate. I created Julia. She knows everything, often taking action at the exact moment some idea enters my head. After all this time, you’d think I would know better, but sometimes I have a hell of a time controlling my anger, regardless of the source. Faster. The wind is beginning to shake us between the massive railroad cars. And now I can feel the temperature dropping. I think I pissed her off again. Julie is clinging to me like a frightened child. Our situation has not improved. ‘Ok, that’s enough.’ No response. Julia has pressed her advantage and will ot let up on the imagery flying by to the left of the train. Looking toward the right, I see nothing anymore. Blackness. How far did we get before realizing the locomotive could not be reached? Three cars? Four? More? Maybe we should go back to the comfort of the caboose, if that is even possible now. The weather was nonexistent a little while ago and now seems to be worsening by the second. We cannot last much longer if the cold begins to bite. Unlike last time, Julie and I are not dressed for such a low temperature combined with high winds. Julia’s alterations to this place are unconscionable. I hate this shit. Something bad is going to happen, and soon. I can feel it. We are barreling along, unsteady and without much to keep us safe. Bad. I have to peek around toward the front of the train. Maybe I'll see how far ahead the locomotive is from our position. Stretching. Holy shit... 'Grab me! I'm slipping! Grab my hand... NOW!' 'Julie!' As I turn to see that she is in dire need of help, her little fingers are ripped from the ladder rails and she flies to the side and is then caught by the wind, disappearing to the rear of our train. One long scream and my loving companion is gone. Fuck me! 'I will fucking KILL you for this!' 'Do you know what you have to do?' That’s it. I am finished cooperating with that fucking woman. I’ve had it. Time for action. I don’t care about her endless, repeating question, either. Julia can live without an answer. To the ladder; to the roof of the forward gondola. Holy shit is the wind ever biting my skin. I am not dressed for such cold weather, so my anger will have to keep me warm until I reach the cab. I am determined to take control of this otherworldly journey and show Julia the extent of my disdain for everything she’s thrown at me thus far. She will probably kill me again, but not before I have the chance to affect her in a very negative way. I have to climb. My lover has been torn from me again. I can’t even begin to describe how much this hurts. ‘You have it within you to end all this.’ ‘Fuck off, you meddling bitch. I’ve had it.’ ‘As you wish.’ One car; two; three. How long is this train? My fingers had better not start numbing because I need as much dexterity as possible to pull myself along the roof and make it to the next coupling. I still can’t believe Julie is gone again. I need her like I need to draw breath, yet I realize deep inside that I’ve launched yet another likely fruitless journey just to prove a point to a woman that does not exist in reality. Hence? I am losing my mind. Two worlds have bled together and my efforts in trying to understand have accomplished nothing more than creating even more confusion and pain than the previous train ride. I just don’t fucking understand why I must continually be reminded of all the bad shit I’ve caused. I don’t get it. Is this punishment? Am I actually paying the tab of my life? I can’t see it that way right now because no matter how much pain and suffering I endure, the other people I’ve hurt will be exactly the same. No one knows of this journey. Not a soul on earth can see or feel the events taking place right now. What’s the point? Is Julia forcing me to a point in which I have to change or be left this way unto death? The likelihood of me changing after all this time is nil. My mental and emotional states have been worsening for years, and much of the damage has occurred within the last couple of months. I don’t see anything changing, either. The entries have been wavering back and forth between the negative material plane and reality, both of which seem to be painful, depressing situations without respite. I can take little more of this, believe me. Little more. The cold is trying to hinder the effort of moving forward, the wind doing the same. I have to make it all the way to one of the engines, though. I simply MUST get to the controls and wreak havoc on what Julia has created. I’m fucking sick of the mysteries, endless questions and reminders of everything I’ve done wrong in life. I’ll put a finer point on my mood regardless of the risk. I just don’t care anymore. She has pushed too much. The worst part is Julia has placed Julie with me over and over, only to tear her away during some horrible situation and in a violent fashion, and that type of pain is not something to which I will react well. She’s done it on one too many occasions. I’ll fuck with this train if it’s the last thing I do. And? If Julia causes me to fly off the fucking train and die in a wrath of her temper, I don’t fucking care. She has done it before and I am quite certain it will happen again. Whatever. Kill me, bitch. Go for it. I’ll be right back where I began regardless of pain or death. Further along. I’ve pulled myself past at least a dozen frozen gondolas – vessels which no doubt carry parts of me just like the train of life – but I will keep going until all physical faculties have been exhausted. The engines have to be ahead, somewhere. All too often the worst fucking situation for me is a lack of control. I have to get it back. Another car behind me. Two. Three. Keep going, dipshit. Fight this hell like nothing else matters. Every ounce of my strength must be for the cause of control. I am smelling diesel exhaust, finally. Keep moving. Climb like there is no tomorrow. There it is... A line of smoke just over my head, all heavy and full of sulfur. I can make it. I can taste the victory. They must be close. My hands are nearly without dexterity. How far ahead is the exhaust? I can’t tell through all this fucking haze and smoke. Yep, the closer I get, the more the smoke trail interferes with my vision. With watering eyes and a heavy heart, I pull along the roof of the gondola as if the end of the world will pull me from my need without remorse. Each handhold is painful; every inch a lifetime of painful memories. The controls must be mine. I will accept intervention and death, but I will not accept failure. There it is... I can see the outline of a circular pipe spewing diesel fumes like some evil dragon bent upon destruction of the universe through a veil of hot smoke. The roof of the trailing locomotive looks like the most powerful and intimidating incarnation of destruction I have ever seen, and such a thought after decades of loving the railroad industry. Remember the dragon? The locomotive is the new dragon. Death? Destruction? Dismemberment? Fuck it all... I am going to warm myself by the cab heat and run this motherfucker no matter what happens after. The current period may be the end of my relationship with Julia. If she is indeed a part of my real brain, said part shall be excised for all time. Ah, shit... I just thought of something wonderful. If I can kill her, maybe the future will entail nothing more than me dealing with myself rather than relying upon some creation that never ceases to harm me because of the past. Is that even possible? Julia was created by me, so does that mean there will be a war inside my head with no possible positive outcome? Oh, this train ride could be the end of all things, thank Christ. I am at the leading edge of the forward gondola. I see six locomotives ahead. SIX! That number equates to six ‘units’, translating to the old-world calculation that there is a number of coupled cars nearing one hundred fifty. All those engines are not coupled for their health. Holy fucking shit, Batman. I had no idea this train was so long. Before I start patting myself on the back for making it this far, I have to focus on reaching the lead cab so I can try to take control of this rolling feast. The smoke and vibration are unlike anything else I have ever experienced. I need to demonstrate my disdain for Julia’s actions and words by applying a horrible mood to all this power. Onward to the first catwalk... She is going to try to stop me. I can feel the air temperature dropping with every step. Along the side of the engine housing are markings that reside in my heart after decades of wonder over SP and the UP ‘building america’ slogan that was placed on the new, larger locomotives many years ago. I don’t have the time to stand here and admire being so close to everything, however, because my fear of not reaching the lead cab due to the cold or Julia throwing a wrench in my plans are disallowing anything sentimental. I have to fucking move along and ignore all that I’ve loved for a very long time. Julie was ripped from me in a hideous, violent manner, so I have to do something dramatic to offset the pain I am feeling after losing her. Further along, I can see that moving from one platform to the next is not as difficult as I had envisioned at the outset of this insane adventure. Past one, two, and three... I think I can make it all the way to the front. The feeling of bucking the wind is akin to being on a cruise ship some years ago. We had been relaxing in a bar and I wanted to move outside to the promenade and then toward the bow just to experience the harsh weather (nearly in the dark). I made my way to the steps which led to a ‘bow ring’, or the walkway that circled the front of the ship one deck above the promenade. During the day, the stroll is really beautiful because the height of the bow means a person is literally forward of the massive wake thrown by the ship at speed. At night? It is another story entirely. I never made it all the way to the center of the bow that night. The cold was biting and I feared for my safety due to such strong wind. Walking along the platforms requires never letting go of handholds with every step. I can’t move forward without both leaning into the freezing wind and pulling myself along with the railings. This is crazy. Two more locomotives are behind me now. That’s five in total, meaning I should be at the coupling of the lead engine. I can imagine the cab heat... Something I really need after this long trek. I also have to keep in mind that none of these railroad trips has ended well. Not a single one. I don’t know what will happen once I reach the cab, but I have to do this anyway. All around is blackness and I will probably die in this place (just like all the others), meaning any demonstration of my anger and frustration will have to be quick. Julia is in control here, like always. No matter how pissy I become, the truth is I am always at her mercy. I can see the slender, forward door through the side windows. I have to get there. I am freezing right now. If I lose any more dexterity, I could very well end up flying off the side of this enormous machine. My entire being has been rocked by such overwhelming power. I can’t believe the ride has come to this shit, either. I just can’t. I need Julie. I fucking NEED her because there is no one else in any world. The cab door. What the fuck? There is a woman sitting on a beautiful settee just as the cab appeared a while ago when Julia was with me. This woman is different, though, and completely unexpected. I see that devilish smile and a hand over her mouth as if she realized my surprise. I’ve missed that expression for more than a decade. I know her. I know her intimately. Unfortunately, I have not wanted to see her for a very long time. Now that she is right in front of me, lots of feelings are beginning to develop. If anything has the ability to take my mind off this fucking train, the woman perched on the settee is it. She is quite literally a prime example of my life's path, right there looking like a million bucks for crying out loud. All sorts of different thoughts are beginning to germinate, yet I am at a loss for words. The past carries more than its fair share of painful shit, and seeing her sitting calmly inside my locomotive(!) is dredging the river. This world is fucking killing me. I have to leave for a while. Reality, again. Wednesday morning is here and I don’t have a clue as to what it means. I feel as I should right now, meaning the typical notch lower than the previous day. At least I have coffee and some quiet time to myself. I guess that’s better than nothing. Well, the reality is that I have to appreciate a good portion of the situation in this house seeing as there have been disasters all over the fucking world and I am sitting here just fine each morning. There is Holly again. Yep, I am still (sort of) watching the same series. Well, mostly my attention is pulled away from this display when I hear her voice and turn to see her very unique face. The same kind of situation took place while I was boiling pasta last night... The tall, slender goddess that makes me want to walk off a cliff popped onto the screen here and there and caused my dinner efforts to become momentarily derailed (the train of life?). I craned my neck to see even a split-second shot of her beautiful, wondrous lines. She defies some of the standards, believe it or not, and looks like a fucking human/cat hybrid. Her eyes and facial structure seem to be a dead ringer for the race girl, a person I desperately needed to know, especially after a facial expression that may or may not have been imagined. Just imagine my reaction had I seen that girl at the race the following year. I’d probably still be trying to describe her. The point is I am worse off right now than just a month ago. The pain has become more acute and my level of caring in general has dropped considerably in recent weeks. This is bad, people. I realize I am no one and there is no understanding to be found in the world, but the compulsion goes on unimpeded regardless of such facts. I simply cannot stop this shit and will continue to write no matter how bad circumstances become. I have little else in life. Within the next half hour I will probably begin the housework and then apply a second coat of paint to the bathroom trim. All the while my brain will be inside the clothing of certain works of art that do not leave my consciousness very often. Sometimes I want to climb into Alyssa’s shirt and go to sleep. Just a thought. There is something about the space between her breasts in certain clothing that is difficult to describe. Eh... Whatever. She isn’t real, anyway. Fuck it. Once again... ‘Never me. Just never me.’ I wish I could stop searching. 0933. I have to do some housework very soon. The coffee is gone and I can only sit here and consider the in-between for so long before becoming severely depressed. Work is a distraction, for a time. Everything will come back soon, so I may as well be productive for a little while before falling away from reality again. The time is now 1035 and I have half of the daily routine finished, the other half waiting for a section of floor to dry. I had to do some cleaning of the hardwood in our spare bedroom. I’ll take care of the rest in a little while. Hannah is fucking stunning sometimes, although the character is often reprehensible. Didn’t I wish to stop searching? I can’t. This is what I’ve become throughout decades of routing and being fucking squished. I can’t stop that shit, either. Not anymore. Thank goodness I’m an alcoholic. Laugh it up. Anyway, at some point I will apply a second coat of paint so the bathroom can go back to normal. I’m looking forward to having that crap out of the way after all this time. Beyond the bathroom project, I don’t know what else will be accomplished today. My mood is not good right now. And Holly’s face is driving me fucking insane. Good God, that much ‘cute’ should be disallowed while I am watching video media, although I already know that as my condition worsens, the desperate desire to find the understanding I so badly need can never end. Holy shit. What the fuck am I? I just gazed at the au pair through my binoculars. Yes, I looked through the office window with those field glasses focused upon a woman exiting her truck. Sue me. Shoot me. Kill me a thousand fucking times. I don’t care. My entire life of fifty-six-plus years has boiled down to a little person sitting at a computer and feeling that staring at a woman through binoculars is something special. I never said it was ‘normal’ or ‘acceptable’, either. I said that I looked at her. I must limit myself to the one morning cocktail because I can already feel that part way through a second drink will result in my death. At least I can still think fairly clearly about life. My Thursday is going to be busy. The early hours, anyway. I have to take a trip to the wine store, stop by the restaurant again (probably a waste of time), visit the smoke shop and then one of the markets. Ugh. For me, that is a lot, although I already know the entire operation will probably take less than two hours of my precious time. 1119. My routine is out of the way and I drove to the wine store. The restaurant visit has been postponed again. I’ll go over there tomorrow because there has been too much on my plate today. Any more and I won’t react well. Moreover, the weather is very warm again, meaning the house will heat quickly as the sun moves around to the south. Not good. My comfort has been key to surviving thus far, and when the house is overly warm, I end up far less than comfortable. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall right now. There should be a law against so much ‘cute’ crammed into one woman. Whatever. She isn’t real. Nothing good is real except the fat glass of whiskey sitting here on the table. Jesus God in heaven above, what I wouldn’t give for Holly to hold me and make all the bad go away. Sound familiar? How many others have I wished into such a situation? Ten? Twenty? There is no end to this shit. 'Living in the zone of the in-betweens.' NOT living. Not by a damned sight. The negative material plane awaits... Everyone had a thing for Alyssa, but I always liked Holly ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Um... You know me?’ The fuck? Of course I know her, but she is not responding as if the reverse is true. One of the most stunning women ever to cross my path is in this fucking cab, and it might not be her at all. I don’t understand, although Julia is not above throwing me for a loop sometimes. The smile caught me upside the head just like it used to when we visited restaurants or other places. I used to absolutely drool over her appearance on a daily basis, mainly a little, coquettish nibble of her lower lip. Julia has pulled some shit here and I’d like to know why. I’m going to try to alter this train’s velocity and see what develops. The warmth is helping; the woman is not. Do I still want her physically? Oh, fuck yes. That never went away. ‘In that case, leave those controls and take me.’ ‘You can fuck right off.’ ‘Wow.’ Just like every other person in this netherworld, she already knows what I am thinking. Fuck this. I have to swing the pendulum toward my favor, if that is possible. The touch screens and levers await my commands. All that work of getting myself into the lead engine has to pay off, right now. I’ll see what I can do... Flash! Blackness, for the second time. Splendid. What the fuck was I supposed to do after seeing that woman? The reminder was most unwelcomed. I will say that one glance toward her made me want to kiss her for a fucking hour. At the same time, I wanted her to disappear and leave me to the controls. Now I have nothing, but at least she is gone. I expect to hear the menacing voice very soon. I’ve been left floating in the zone of the in-between – unless, of course, this entire segment of my journey has been as such – and I don’t know what to think. One possibility is that my attempt to take control of the huge train pushed Julia’s buttons and she exercised yet another example of her control over my lack thereof. Marvelous. I realize that the woman in the cab is a massive reminder of one of the worst and most damaging decisions I’ve ever made, but for fuck’s sake, that situation is already in my head damned near every day. There are just too many little reminders and references to past stories for me to forget. And yes, I still feel like shit about the entire shit storm I had caused during that period. I have to be careful, though, because whenever I grate against Julia’s intentions, I am inevitably placed in a worse position than whatever is being endured at a given moment. Like right now, for example; I am once again between worlds with little idea of why. If it was my anger, well... That’s just not going to end. Acceptance of myself is about as likely as that girl sitting on my lap sans bra. Nope. Never me. I have to think about this because I used the word ‘acceptance’, and that could very well be the answer to her years-long, repeating question. If so, I am truly fucked. The woman on the settee looked like her, yet was not. I don’t understand the meaning of such an occurrence. Everything that has transpired since entering the zone has been less than clear, to say the least. I don’t understand, unless the point is actual acceptance or forgiveness. But? What about all the other shit that presses me down each day? I was in moderately poor shape when I dashed to the goblet more than twenty years ago, long before the decision that fucked up two entire families and placed me here by the ocean. What about all the shitty situations back then? Do they matter to Julia? I have far too many questions right now. The woman in the locomotive is just another confusing aspect of this netherworld. ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Well, what the fuck did you expect? Physicality was the only positive part of us back then.’ ‘Another train wreck, as you say?’ ‘Yes, she was.’ ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Now you’re repeating yourself.’ ‘For good reason. Analyze.’ Great. Another fucking puzzle that I really don’t need right now. The last shit I want is to float here and try to understand why the person inside and the outward appearance did not match. And I don’t need any blast of shit from Julia because I thought of being physical with that woman. For fuck’s sake, I’m not the one who conjured her out of thin air in the first place. If I have to be responsible for every thought, I may as well be sent straight to hell at this very moment. We do not, as human beings, allow certain thoughts and dreams to be spoken because the damage would be unacceptable. We have to keep things inside sometimes. That is what I was doing, damn it. Thinking and doing are very different. Ugh... I don’t even want to think about any of this shit right now. I don’t need more questions or mysteries. I have to think regardless of feeling angry or stubborn. I have to try because this whole fucking plane is all mine. I know that much, at least. Again... Ugh. ‘You did this.’ ‘You always say that.’ ‘The zone. You are between worlds.’ ‘Go fuck yourself and leave me to my thoughts, please.’ ‘As you wish.’ Flash! I am right back where I started the latest ‘floating’ session... The cab of the mighty six-thousand horse locomotive, hopefully under my control at some point. I was just telling a story about this engine last night, but I have to avoid digressing and bleeding the worlds into one another because I’ll become even more fucking confused. The woman is gone, thank Christ. Maybe I can finally operate the damned thing and feel a smidgen of comfort in an otherwise very haunting, uncomfortable world. Julia has a point, though. I truly am in-between because I have to live in reality (there is no getting around it unless I am not alive), yet I am constantly dreaming of something beautiful and fulfilling that cannot and will not ever exist. I’ve become too far out of balance in recent years. The question now is this: What am I supposed to do about it? Being reminded of the woman earlier only caused me sadness, so is the conclusion supposed to be that I would have found what I needed had I never made that decision? And how do the fucking doors play into my previous thought? I tried to consider each of those landmark decisions as having been formative with regard to who I am at this very moment. Was that wrong? I know I fucked up over and over and allowed myself to become weakened to the point of pursuing my desires, so being reminded of such past events only makes me sad. Further, was I driven to those decisions? By others, perhaps? Or were they just people trying to live their lives in the best way they knew how? That last one hurts, because even though I feel as such about myself, the truth may be that I have affected others more than the opposite. The shit situations made me what I am, yet all those intervening years caused those responsible to disappear from the earth. A bit further? Yep... Julia equated my endless search to a byproduct of the comfort I needed in favor of opportunity, and then I asked why the shit situations didn’t connect, and she basically scoffed at my lack of understanding. That’s not very nice, but it does have me thinking that the woman who appeared in the cab was a temptation, nothing more. In the past, when something wondrous was within view and I was in the correct, fucking reckless mindset, I tossed aside everything important (including people) and ran after the possibility of finding what I so badly needed. Does that make sense? I don’t care. I am still wondering if passing all those doors caused some part of me to become empty, damaged or otherwise irreparable, and then those visions became all the more important due to me being so far out of balance. Compensation? I don’t typically employ that term because of decades of exaggeration and misuse, yet here it may just fit. I may have been compensating for the shit situations by seeking the right type of validation from the right type of woman. Fear kept me on the sofa; desire attached itself and rendered me unable to move because I always needed the space to relax and think (believe it or not). I am no different at this very moment, albeit much worse off emotionally. That’s neither here nor there because the main issue is being in-between and barely scraping the reason. I am doing my best to both follow along with this crap and make it understandable. Not easy. I believe the priority reared its head early. During the eighties, perhaps. Remaining comfortable and surrounded by necessary devices also began early, as I can recall three different places of residence back then which all eventually became ‘sanctuaries’ for me to hide away and consider all of life. The overpowering sense of need for understanding and validation grew from that early period – completely unimpeded by anything – and did ebb and flow from time to time, eventually landing me around the early aughts with a head full of obsession and its connection between comfort and that very same validation. This is all so fucking heavy that my back is beginning to hurt despite floating. Julia told me to analyze. Well... There it is. Will she test me? Heh. I have to get the fuck out of this netherworld for a little while because I will soon lose it completely. Everything hurts. Friday morning is here. I stayed up a bit later last night than usual, so today will not amount to much. I still can’t believe how sensitive I am about the daily schedule. Less than two hours at night means I am very slow and weak the next morning. I was not like this in the past. Splendid. The evening was pleasant, though, and one aspect of it was actually wonderful (for a few minutes). I’m not going to go into detail, but suffice to say there was much railroad discussion afterward. I love telling my little stories about train experiences. I don’t know if anyone else gives half a shit about what I say, but I went all over the subject anyway. Once the sadness began to set in, I decided the gathering needed to be concluded. The wonderful part of last night is haunting me this morning. Piled atop my depressive state is Holly’s face again. Something is very wrong with me. Last night pretty much solidified one of the issues with my brain and I am not happy about it. Conversely, I am pleased with myself for being pleasant and funny. There are times when my mood goes south before I can take control of the situation. That is the fault of no one but me. Period. So, though I am dragging a bit this morning, the time was worth it. I just wish there had not been that one, unreal aspect of the evening that will not leave my head. I am dwelling upon something dangerous. Not good. At least I have coffee. I can’t stop imagining all sorts of things, and sometimes my thoughts end up here, albeit they are typically encoded or concealed in some fashion. When I need to say things, my brain calculates what will likely be acceptable and then I put down a few things. Often I can’t remember if I go back to the same entry months later. The point is that the nature of my feelings has changed throughout the last couple of years and I wish to avoid being slammed by someone. Well, if anyone is actually reading, that is. I don’t need any more shit on the pile. Some of the material on this site is quite the flytrap for backlash. Believe me, I’ve dealt with it before. The problem is I can’t speak to anyone in reality, so I have to use the keyboard. Remaining like this is not stable, either. The extent to which I am closed off continues to grow. The more I see, the more I feel is gone forever, and then little pieces of me fall away. They can never come back. Last night there was a fucking problem that put my brain on a proverbial grill, and it took place prior to me speaking of the closure and elimination of an old railroad yard near where I grew up. That was a place on my list for photographs and now it is gone. The other issue from last night is not a topic I can even broach here. Trust me. The inside of my head is still painting pictures of all sorts of deviant ideas. Nothing can change, meaning nothing can improve. All I have is the keyboard and my alcohol. I have manufactured entire lifestyles and conditions with more detail than I care to admit. This is an everyday process, as well. I am in a very desperate and damaging situation here. I want to lick Holly’s face. Just a thought. Anyway, I don’t see any aspect of my life improving in the future, so constructing worlds in my head that provide a sense of wonder for a few seconds is about all I have left. And the keyboard. Unfortunately, I can’t describe what I imagine each day. Too bad. Rather a shitty morning thus far. I’ll have to find some serious comfort after all my business is out of the way. I feel like crap and am supposed to go to the restaurant (after postponing again yesterday), but I may simply call them and state that I am not equipped to deal with what could be an in-wall problem requiring much more than I am capable of right now. I just don’t see the problem being fixed easily, nor do I wish to open a can of worms by digging into something in which I honestly have zero interest. I’ll probably tell them to call someone else. They will be disappointed, I’m sure, but there is little I can do these days, plus I’ve helped with so much over the years – both at the restaurant and their house – that there should not be any bad feelings resulting from canceling. Today is one of those in which my head is all fucked up (partly from last night) and I desperately need to remain home. I just made up my mind. To hell with the project. Moreover, the place is going to be put up for sale very soon and I see little point in trying to work on something when I already know the new owner is going to remodel the entire building. I need what I need, and my comfort takes priority over almost everything else in the world. That is that. My reasoning need not be questioned, ever. There are already enough bad things in my brain. I keep seeing her... Right fucking there. Part of the reason is something I can’t mention here, but suffice to say the wonder and weakness inherent in what my life has become came to a head this morning and I’ve been full of more desire since getting out of bed three hours ago than in recent memory. Just trust me; I saw more than I should have and the imagery will not allow me to relax this morning. The time is now 0932 and the only positive is my free, quiet time ahead. For reasons of good form, I ordered a pizza. This is the first occasion in many months because I’ve been trying to avoid spending the money. Well, today I need comfort food. Moreover, the leftovers will last most of the weekend, probably all the way into my football game on Sunday. That would be very nice. 1139. I blew off the restaurant by leaving a message and laying out the facts of the issue. Sometimes I have to ‘close up shop’ and put the universe on hold. The comfort inherent in relaxing with one of my programs and a really nice lunch can NEVER be overstated. No way. I need what I need, as I am always belaboring. I also need to play with Alyssa’s beautiful breasts. At least the pizza is real. Everything else I need is most decidedly the opposite. Saturday morning is here and I am back from the morning drive. The time is just 0832 and I still have plenty of coffee. I also have all the time in the world to do whatever seems best today. My football game is on at 1230, so I’ll probably have the morning routine finished prior to kickoff, afterward shifting focus to organizing this office and maybe working on a bit of preliminary garbage business for tomorrow. I will typically have one college game on Saturdays and then one pro game on Sundays, so my housework needs to be completed in and around those times. I still have a little coffee left, so I must sit here and think about the zone of the in-betweens. The wording has become uncomfortable, as well, meaning the more I can consider the structure of the content, the better my head may feel when it is finished. Moving on to the next chapter will probably be unpleasant. At least I have the rest of the day to myself. Back to the other place... ‘I don’t like that word anymore.’ ‘I know you don’t. I’m sorry, but this is necessary if you are to learn.’ ‘Splendid.’ ‘Just relax and further your thoughts.’ I am still considering slamming the throttle and making a statement, although part of me still believes Julia will simply place me in the zone again. She has all the power in this place and I have zero of the same. Every time I get pissed off and do something reckless, I end up forced into a place where all I can do is think. Blackness. Yep, the zone of the in-between. I'm sick of this shit, but I have learned a few things. We go. The fact remains that I may have been compensating for pain and loss by surrounding myself with aspects of life that I can fully control. And this is all I have; the last occasion of trying to share the deepest thoughts related to validation found me sharing too much and then backpedaling, yet the effort was too late. The information left my mouth and cannot return. That process represents the worst and most difficult lack of control, and the whole fucking sordid situation was centered upon the word ‘trust’. No matter what I am told, it just does not exist anymore. Attempting to trust another person is nearly as difficult as dealing with desire. Those two terms are akin to twin thieves robbing me of the ability to find balance or solace. I deal with both of them every day, and then the other bad word comes to mind and presses its advantage until I am bereft of hope or ambition. This shit may never end. I am old, yet still young. Something tells me that no matter how many years may be ahead, I'll still be sitting right here trying to understand everything. Nice. This is no way to live, although I've been told on numerous occasions that this is 'the way of things'. Ugh. There are times when I believe that I’ve already connected the doors and my obsession with certain aspects of beauty, eventually furthering the ideas to frame the way I feel each day. Obviously, Julia does not agree because I am still here, in-between, and wallowing in a netherworld of pain and loss. Maybe she’s upset with me due to the shift in my thinking as of last year. You know... The damaging dreams. No aspect of that situation is healthy in the least, and sometimes I think I’ve been driven to such an end after suffering and feeling confused due almost entirely to the two shit situations. I am not the person to simply calculate that if there is no recourse, I should let it all go and move forward with some new outlook. Quite the reverse, actually. I constantly grate against those events precisely because I can’t do anything about them. Too much time has passed, and the idea of ‘moving on’ no longer computes for me. I am still angry, yet there is no one to confront. Oh, sure... Julia placed me in that hellish passenger car and some might believe that I faced and then destroyed the cause of one situation. None of that took place, though, meaning I still sit here and dwell upon all that could have been if my early years had not contained something so terrible and damaging. The latter continues to plague me. Not a single hour passes these days without me daydreaming of a more fulfilling and less desperate lifestyle. The mere fact that I am powerless to change what has happened is now the root cause of everything causing me to suffer. The doors are periods I really did not want to recall, either. They may answer a few questions, yet the positive aspect of such a fact does not offset all the pain. The train is rolling along as if the machinery has its own purpose. If I indeed try to take control, there is a strong possibility that nothing will happen. I’ve been here before, too... Locomotives with their own agendas. Ugh. Regardless, I have to try. Sixty miles per hour with more than one hundred cars behind the line. Unbelievable. The controls are at my disposal, or so it would seem. Let’s give it a shot... ‘You are not in control here.’ ‘But I have to do something, damn it.’ ‘I know you don’t enjoy this. Just think, please.’ ‘I can’t stop thinking about IT.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Wonderful. No answers, yet again. I only see one solution, although it is most unlikely in life. Nothing is going to change unless I change it, yet at the same time I am completely powerless due to having been routed and squished and then relegated for too many years to count. I’ve become something I could not have imagined, all apologetic and weakened beyond comprehension. My horrible state of mind is the result of decades of the same shit that I fought to avoid. I guess some of what was beyond my control has shaped me and taken a set. I need a fucking drink. ‘The bar is behind you, my dear.’ ‘Thank the maker.’ There it is... A beautiful and very ornate wet bar, completely stocked and calling my name. Let’s get fucking hammered, yes? Ah, shit. Dioramas are incoming. I can see the lighting of artificial displays ahead and to the left, just like last time. I need to pour myself a nice glass of scotch to deal with whatever that woman has in mind. I already ran across two of the doors, I believe, and I must admit that recalling all which has taken place in this zone is becoming very difficult. Not only are the scenes often reminders of when I was happier, but so much has transpired that to keep track of everything is quite a chore. Door one was Steuart Street. Door two seemed to be the film crew at the vertical gun, yet I seem to recall an attempt to attend trucking school in the southern part of the country to ensure a career of which I had dreamed for many years. After living through the period when my dad worked for a semi manufacturing plant not far from home and receiving calendars and other imagery of trucks, I really wanted to be a part of what can be a very nomadic lifestyle. I don’t know if the trucking school was a door, though. Maybe that one did not pan out enough to qualify. The third incarnation of a door would seem to be when I wished to leave NASA and work in IT. The process involved me enrolling in school (online) to learn and begin a path to a very different and interesting career. Well, I failed. Not with the schoolwork, but through my own lack of ambition. I did not follow through with the courses and eventually dropped out. Wait a minute... There could be one more, although that one was beyond my control. Um, except the fact that the situation fell through due to my decision that involved that woman who was in the cab of the locomotive a little while ago. Damn. There may be too much here for me to follow right now. 'I need to leave this place for a while.' 'Do what you must. I'll be here, waiting.' Back to reality. This is not going to end anytime soon. 1059. My daily routine is out of the way and I am back at the control center with a fat cocktail for posterity (opposite thinking, lieutenant). The ill-begotten and ill-advised series is still streaming on the right-hand display because I can’t stop looking at Holly’s amazing, unique facial structure. Doing so is bad for me, but then again so is the cocktail, the way my brain operates, and all the other shit about which I dream each day. Why not stare at her, too? Everything hurts me, anyway. As for the rest of the day, I learned my game is not on until 1630, not 1230, so I’ll have lots of free time for whatever I want or need to do. I could use a situation about which I used to dream each morning while waiting to be picked up for work. I was out there just shy of 0500 every weekday with my coffee and staring up at the stars – a wondrous activity I wrote about some years ago while recalling different periods when I did the same from various locations – and desperately wished for my ‘car’ to arrive, a personal assistant emerging thereafter with my ‘briefcase’. I can’t go into detail, but I will say that such an event would have marked the end of my problems in life. As I already stated, it was a dream. That type of thing might date back to the hot, humid days spent drawing enormous homes while watching the tennis matches when I lived in the Midwest, or possibly years earlier when my buddy and I rode our bikes up Parkmeadow Drive and stared at the huge homes. In any case, I need that dream more right now than I ever have in the past. I need shit to be fucking solved, damn it. And I am doing my best with the preposition placement. The editor often disagrees, but I am stubborn. Whatever. None of this matters because I already know what my future will entail. Isn’t that special? I actually KNOW my future. Maybe there is magic in such knowledge. Or perhaps I am clairvoyant. Laugh it up. I am not well; the understatement above all other understatements. Bernie Kopell is in this episode. Do you remember he portrayed the ship’s doctor in ‘The Love Boat’? I do. That was a time when sitting in front of the show every Saturday night with ice cream was one of the best aspects of my life. Wow. What about the present? Um... Leftover pizza for lunch. I need that fucking dream right NOW. On a somewhat related front, I have to remain mindful of the living situation here in this little house. I wanted to escape the heat of the inner valleys and live near the ocean for more than twenty years, and now I do. The ocean is a half mile away and ensures the temperature rarely rises above seventy or so. Moreover, I have booze and all of my televisions there to provide comfort each day. The current period has its advantages over the past. It also lacks some axioms by which I used to live. They have disappeared due to the last several years of me realizing that validation may be impossible. Where I used to see wonder and possibility, I now see only pain and loss. The climate is better here and life is stable. Unfortunately, all of the positive aspects of being here are constantly at odds with my mental and emotional instability. I don’t even know why I brought up this crap. The bottom line is that being where I truly need is about as likely as angels flying out of my fucking ass. Maybe today is a good one for throwing shit away. I’ll have to cease daydreaming about my mouth glued to Holly’s delicate labia, however. Shoot me. I don’t fucking care. Sunday morning, post drive. The hour is early, so I have plenty of time to take care of business prior to kickoff (1305). I dreamed of some helpless girl early this morning but remember very little at this point. I was trying to help her in some fashion. Whatever the details, nearly all are gone now. I wish I could remember because she was gorgeous (naturally). I am not going to sit here for very long today due to the need to have my housework out of the way at a decent hour. The head start from yesterday will help me manage time. 1047. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of depressant for reasons of good form. The same series is now streaming on my right-hand display. Holly, too. Isn’t that peachy? Nothing is peachy. I am going to try to have all of the garbage business finished prior to game time. I’ll have the house to myself in a little while, too, meaning I can relax here at the control center and gather my ill-conceived thoughts. At some point I have to return to the negative material plane, as well. I don’t like it at all, especially considering the employment of that one fucking term which has driven me to very reckless behavior in the past, and may well do it again. Julia pays no mind because she knows everything. I wish I could ask about the future. Whoa... Wait a minute. Didn’t I already state that I know what the future holds? Yep, I did. Marvelous. Holly often resembles a cat, and I believe you already know how I feel about such features. 1214. I have some hours to myself and the game is on in less than an hour. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall, too. Big fucking surprise. I can’t help but gush about the ‘cat’ features, much like the woman I’ve seen during the show I’ve been following during afternoons and evenings. She is so fucking amazing that I need to grab one of the hammers and beat myself to death. Yep, her form and face are THAT unreal. I still can’t believe her appearance sometimes. She is the visible incarnation of the race girl, and then some. I’m going to lose my mind staring at her. Moreover, I plan to include captured images of that beauty right here in this sordid, downtrodden content. I have detailed files. Trust me. Anyway... The zone of the in-between is not going to end anytime soon, and I fear there will be much more trouble regarding what I consider to be door number four. Thankfully, there has not been another since. My path has been boiled down to the bare necessities of living comfortably, a condition cemented by others. Believe it. I have to be there. I must determine a path into the future. And yes, I already know what my future holds, but if I can remain calm and think everything through, perhaps the necessary comfort will come. As for the rest of this day, I am looking forward to having lunch during the game and my mind is somewhat eased through this morning’s efforts in having all of the daily business out of the way prior to kickoff. Tomorrow I have to take care of some laundry business and my usual routine, and Monday’s comfort will be realized through lots of time to sit here at the control center to allow for much quiet thinking. The negative material plane may never disappear from my head."
September 18th, 2023 7:54am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
The Zone of the In-Between
read ( words)
"'Way beyond my ways and means...' Not anymore. In between... What, exactly? Between worlds? Maybe. This is not good. My condition continues to deteriorate. Not fucking good. Floating? What is this? All around is blackness; there are flashes of past images popping into my brain at random, most of which are the key moments that defined me as a person over a very long period of time. I am talking about more than forty years of pictures flipping by like Satan’s Rolodex. I am seeing everything as my stomach does flip-flops over and over. Nausea. This is horrible. ‘Live them again.’ I don’t want to hear any shit, and I don’t need any more questions, either. The answer is still no, I do not know what I have to do, woman. Just leave me alone to think... Please. I have already been forced to live everything over and over. Fuck off. Marvelous. I guess my last words to Julia transmitted enough anger to piss her the hell off. You’d think I would know better after all this time and so many trips to the negative material plane. I am hearing ‘The Grid’ at this very moment and the feeling is akin to a combination of loss and wonder. The music is beautiful and I suspect my mind is recreating this soundtrack in an effort to ground myself, or otherwise throw a save against the pain. I don’t know where I am... I cannot see, I can only feel. There is no pull in any direction, nor air movement. I am weightless, seemingly in between reality and the netherworld. The last moment prior to my being thrown into this black void found me realizing that my current condition with regard to obsession and desire grew out of control due to my past decisions along with a heaping helping of being fucking squished over and over because I’ve been a ‘nice person’. I am in this position because I sought aspects of life that I had thought were commonplace, yet later learned are so elusive and unrealistic that knowing as much drove me to seek physical comfort above all other concerns. That pretty much sums up the entire shitaree. Well, there is nothing I can do about it anymore because I’ve lost all faith in true wonder and beauty in this life. Too much has gone by the wayside, too much has been ripped away, and there are too many fucking holes in me as a result. I recently gave up on the three main dreams over which I’ve been focused for the last few weeks due to the knowledge that no matter what I may want or need, the reality is I can no longer achieve anything. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. I have to accept the fact that I’ve been routed to this frame of mind and there is simply no way out. The worst part is that I can hear the music but will never be able to embrace it with even the slightest fucking sliver of proper context. Remember, context is everything, and it is an axiom of life. Period. I suppose I’ll just float here until such time as I’ve been deemed ‘punished’. Thanks, doll. I speak of comfort more than anything else, and that is precisely what has been made unavailable. I need to get out of this place. I see nothing aside from the images flipping by at high speed. I see faces, trains, places of work, and a striking view through one of the windows in my grandparents’ cabin in South Lake Tahoe. I also see three-quarter-cut, mint green underwear just below a beautifully tapered back as the closet doors look on. I remember that. I remember everything. Have I not suffered enough? Julia can go and fuck herself in a muddy ditch during a snowstorm. I miss the green from that day along with the smile which followed the view. Where was I? Home? Elsewhere? Was I floating in the blackness and did not realize the gravity or impact of such a situation? Ah, fuck... There is another image. Video? I see a mirror and a chair. I remember that day (night?). I remember everything in great detail. Thirty years is a long time. Sparks, Nevada. One of the defining hotels of my entire life. One of the most important places I’ve ever visited. I don’t remember why I was there, however. I just see the mirror and the chair. I fucking hate all this shit. I hate everything. I have to get the hell out of this black void and find comfort. I have to build the speaker cabinets. I must find a way. The music inside my head is dictating terms right now. Floating like this means I feel nothing physical and everything emotional, and the music is beginning to make me realize that the most important aspects of life are gone forever, yet I can still demonstrate this mass of disillusionment through the media. I have to fucking build them... The 4355s cannot be forgotten and I need them to be a part of my life. Period. Now, if I could just reach something physical... Anything. I am very uncomfortable right now, much like the way I feel while sitting at the keyboard. Is there nothing else in life? Will I remain between the past and present, between worlds? I must find some meaning because the alternative is to give up. I’ve avoided the latter thus far. Julia has done a number on me this time. The void is not ending. I am stuck here, between... Something. ‘Time’ will eventually play in my head. I know it. The composition will cripple me from the inside out. The relational analysis can’t be denied any longer. One led to the other. I feel what I fucking feel and nothing can be done about it. I am once again hearing the most complex and powerful musical instrument in existence. No getting around that one. Maybe the drama of it means I am going to leave this place soon. There is always drama whenever I spurn Julia. Something may happen. Anyway, I am losing my way in life, or whatever the fuck this has become. I always knew the netherworld would get the best of me. I just didn’t realize such a fact would occur so soon after my first visit. Julia stated, ‘It is the way of things’, and I am void of comment. She may be right, and if so, I am not going to advance in life from this point forward. What I am right now is all I will ever be. The shit situations laid the groundwork for a life of being nothing more than the support structure to other people. Witness the result. Squished. Not fucking funny. Routed? Less funny. I have to get the hell out of this for a while. Reality still exists, and regardless of how I may feel about it, the fact is I must deal with it. I already know of the circumstances. Much of this is easily identifiable, although there are details related to the second door that I do not wish to discuss. I consider said details each and every day, either while sitting here or while working around the house. Some ideas do not stray very fucking far from my attention no matter what I may be doing. When I say that I’m thinking about the difficulty every day, I mean every SINGLE day, often at some point each hour. Part of it is driven by what I see, other aspects pushing memories to the forefront. There are too many details for me to list here. Moreover, I’ll get a blast of shit due to the way my mind has been forced to operate as a result of all of the squishing, routing and numerous whelp-ish expectations of other people. Julia is not going to allow me to forget my part in all this shit, either. No matter how much I try to relate the doors to my current condition, she will push for a rise. I don’t see a positive outcome here. What I do see is a continuation of the belief that I should not be held fully accountable for such a mindset. My mood is going to drop further the longer I float here. Julia has left me in the unenviable position of being able to do nothing but think. Well, her intentions have helped me to see some of the steps that placed me in this netherworld; need, desire, understanding. The latter? That one just will not fucking come to pass. I have knowledge, but no faith, circumstances be damned to hell. I’d rather be on a train, for crying out loud. There has to be a way to get this shit out of my brain. I mean all the way. Thoughts are killing me right now. Too much pain and loss felt here will eventually bleed into the real world, and that is where the true issues take place. This is nothing, really. Julia may not agree, however, but the fact remains that I need a break. Considering the turns I took in life in search of a very specific type of comfort and the unrealized possibilities I tossed aside is not helping me to find any sort of balance. This just hurts. Yes, I did all that shit. I fucking did it. Is that not enough? Flash! Desert? Nope... The beach again. Doors to the left and right. Wait... My hand is being held by another. Julie? Yes! My little love has returned. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Stop creating and I will cease to exist.’ ‘What? What does that mean?’ Ugh. Let's leave this place for a while (please!) Tuesday, 1028 in the morning. We had to drop off the car earlier for a recall, and I just received notice that it does not apply (which I am not totally inclined to believe). The recall is for the TCM, yet the information that was sent to the manufacturer indicated that the computer is not at fault and the software is up to date. And then I was informed that the clutches inside the transmission are to blame and need to be replaced, to the tune of roughly four grand. That is just not going to fucking happen. I will probably need to pick up the car this afternoon when I return south. Not a good situation, but owning a vehicle means dealing with occasional maintenance and repairs, period. I’m not sure how we will proceed from here. The odometer has topped a hundred grand, so spending that much on the transmission might be a mistake. I don’t know how much longer the car will last as a whole. Ugh. As for the homefront, I have some laundry in the washer and the other housework is finished. Wednesday has arrived sans fanfare for the common keyboard (or anything else). I am overjoyed to be sitting here with my coffee this morning, too. Yesterday’s driving chores broke the day into pieces and forced me to avoid truly finding any direction. There was just too much bullshit yesterday. This is the first morning in five that I can actually relax and think. I don’t have to go anywhere today, either. This is very good. Aside from all of the running around, the only issue all day long was my lack of caring about anything. I could not seem to rise and accomplish even the simplest of tasks. I don’t like that type of day, yet as of yet I don’t know what can be done to change anything. I honestly cannot simply force myself to move in any given direction no matter the importance. Whatever. This is where I am. I have to switch programs. The content and some of the dialog is beginning to irritate me. I’ll miss Kerry, but that’s ok because SHE IS NOT REAL, much like every other fucking need in my brain. In and around the typing, I shall find something else. Two chords, perhaps four. I can’t be certain. Whatever the case, the chords are similar and no one can ever know how much love and pain flows through me when I hear them. Don’t even fucking ask. Maybe if I am good in some way, I will eventually find the means to reproduce this properly, if on only one occasion before I die. Thursday is here. I have coffee and the local news running on the right-hand display. After yesterday’s deep depression and feelings of loss, I need this day to be an improvement. I’ll have to force the issue in a little while when I begin the daily housework. A trio is on the right-hand display at present... Three with dark hair and eyes (one with huge eyes, but she is a tad scary), all fucking stunning, and my brain trying to compute the reason I’ve never seen much of this series. Wow. Well, the likely truth is it would become like all the others: beauty from the past that is both unreal and now gone from life. Big fucking surprise. Anyway, I may need to move away from this exposition soon because my brain is beginning to melt over the losses. Holly has that lower facial trait that drives me up the wall. I never really noticed before because I didn’t watch this series, but I must say that with the availability of the entire run, I’ll be following along from the beginning. I only ran across it after becoming tired of the news earlier this morning. And? Want a big fucking surprise? My interest is almost entirely linked to the overwhelming physical beauty of two main characters. Yep. I’ve already become enamored and captured images from the program to be included here at some point. Whatever I’ve become, the desire has not diminished in the slightest. Along such lines, one episode of a program I’ve been following during some afternoons and evenings carried a large measure of four individual models that fucking knocked me on my ASS. I was literally struck upside the head when they appeared and the feeling has not subsided. I could not believe my fucking eyes. I will be watching said episode many times throughout the coming days because I cannot avoid being heeled over by such stunning artwork. I still can’t believe it, and the issue in question took place more than fourteen hours ago. What a maroon. The only positive to experiencing that level of form is the fact that they’ve been captured for all time. Nothing will ever change no matter how much time passes. Wait... Did you just utter the words ‘basket case’? I did. Anyway, the time has advanced since I last sat here, the clock now displays 1115 and my daily routine is out of the way. From this point forward, though, I don’t know what to do. Lunch time is around the corner, my garage is fucked up and in need of attention, yet my head can’t process much at all. I’ve been hit with too much, too often. Maybe I should stream that episode here on the computer and capture imagery. Will anything positive come of such a process? Hell no. My positives are dwindling, and they were very few to begin with. Nice, huh? Deal with your own problems. There is no help here. I am so sad and lost right now that nothing seems to be enough to lift me out of the dark and provide comfort. I wish I could say more. Some of what takes place inside my head must be kept out of this content for reasons of good form. Trust me... Certain words must remain in the vault. And? They reside in a vault which does not have a key or combination. The information has been put away forever. I will die before the words are spoken. ‘Thursday’ means nothing anymore. They come and go. Having been partially lubricated by my morning cocktail, a drive north for some therapeutic food will not be a problem. I’ll be leaving within the next fifteen minutes, music blasting the whole way. Upon returning, I plan to have my typical bowl of cereal (in the interest of dropping weight) and then work in the garage for a little while. My life has become a literal representation of those converging lines (not the lines related to my obsession) that seem to dictate the idea that my life ended some years ago and I have been doing nothing more than reaching since that point. 1316. I ventured to the restaurant and returned. Now I have the rest of the afternoon to care for whatever seems best. I don’t know what that is, but maybe some ideas will form soon. Holly’s picturesque face is on the display again because I’m lost beyond words. Lost. Perhaps I can head to the garage and take care of some organization. Right now, however, I just don’t know. I need help. I need those understanding eyes and they may not exist in reality. Speaking of reality, let us move away from it and return to the painful negative material plane.
Julia’s voice is gone again – thank Christ – but at least my companion has come back to me. I love Julie so much that her disappearance, at the hands of the other one, of course, crippled me and partially convoluted my thinking, something I really don’t need in this place. The current period is bad enough already. Any enjoyment or comfort being ripped away will result in me falling further away from life. I’ve lost enough, much of it being time. Maybe Julie will let me stare at her lines until I go insane. Eh... She will, but will that kind of thing help me? Nope. And Julia will likely intervene and shut me down right quick. I have no doubt. Feeling as I do right now is far less than enjoyable. The beach... For the second time. At least the petite beauty is next to me and wrapped around my arm like in the past. Julie reminds me of the kitten, to be honest. Ellie was tiny (much like another with whom I’ve been close in the past) yet very curvy, and her caring, understanding nature floored me from the word ‘go’. She tried to help me like so many others, and I very nearly rejected every bit of it. Much like Ashley, Ellie became forceful, shoving aside all my shit in the hope that I would listen to reason and eventually leave the goblet and embrace reality. Ellie never took issue with the way I think, as well. Julie is similar and I need her next to me for moral support and the occasional embrace. One smile from her and I instantly feel a bit better about this situation. The plane is that much more pleasant when Julie is with me. I already know where these two doors will lead. They are connected to what Julia referred to as ‘missed opportunities’, so I don’t see the point in traveling through either of them again. I don’t understand the reasoning behind us being on this beach, and I see even less reason for all that time spent in the mountains. It was a recreation of an episode of one of my favorite series’, yet I don’t get it. We were married and happy, lived there for a very long time, yet in the end I received exactly zero explanation for why that world was created in the first place. The only possibility is that Julia placed us there to show me a beautiful, fulfilling life which I never had in reality, or maybe where I was prior to the fucking fallout I created years ago when I ran after something beautiful that eventually ruined me. That was my decision; a door of sorts. I chose to go through it and then everything turned to shit (very quickly). The period immediately after I ran away represents the most emotional damage I’ve ever caused. The beginning was nothing more than a door. ‘You understand.’ ‘Yes, but I don’t want to think about any of this shit.’ ‘Eat of the fruit your life’s tree has produced.’ Nice. What a fucking bitch. I believe Julie can feel my thoughts because I am about to lose circulation in my left arm due to her two-hand grip. I don’t feel well and have become tired of this netherworld. I don’t want to deal with all of the emotional fallout that has built up throughout the course of decades. I know what I’ve done and I am aware that each individual situation caused me to further isolate my feelings. Forty years add up to the idea that I am so fucking closed off that no one can ever pry open even the tiniest gap to see what is taking place inside. Moreover, the manner in which my problems have translated and morphed into a massive obsession that has grown out of control has been holding me back from anything positive or productive. I know all of this shit. Everything. So... Why does Julia have to continue to torment me? She claims to be helping, yet even after all these years I can’t simply turn a corner and begin to build a new, more positive consciousness. The idea is unrealistic. But? I created Julia. I created this negative material plane where everything old comes around again and everything new becomes nothing more than a byproduct of my backward lifestyle and ill-begotten decisions. I need a larger frame of reference, honestly. I have to connect my upbringing in the Nevada gaming culture with the doors through which I was afraid to travel. Wait... Is that correct? I don’t fucking know anymore. Eat the fruit? Fuck you. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I need an education in the way I’ve lived.’ Nothing. Julie’s eyes are fucking huge right now. I think she is a reflection of my emotional state. I can’t be certain, but I do know that every time I am overwhelmed with memories and regret, Julie appears and clings to me like some errant combination of a psychiatrist and physical therapist. She is always on my side and supportive beyond belief. Do I feel desire? Oh, fuck yes... Almost constantly. The problem is Julia keeps pushing me to consider everything leading me to this current period in the hope that I will finally understand and perhaps accept myself. That may very well be the answer to a question that has been hadding me for years. You may be aware of the question to which I am referring. I know my thinking processes have been greatly influenced by being immersed over and over during my formative years along with the idea that I’ve become permanently jaded by the same. I know everything. That is not to say that I accept all responsibility for my lifestyle thus far. No fucking way. The two shit situations continue to plague me each day no matter what takes place. I can’t get around them. And no matter how much I search myself for truths or answers, Julia’s voice will return and knock me down a few pegs. There has to be an end to this shit. For the time being, I suppose I can play along and try to understand how this beach came into existence in the first place. This is the second visit – both circumstances tempered by my connection to the lovely Julie – and I have calculated that if I don’t learn or accept something soon, I’ll simply die again. Maybe both of us will die. We’ve been there before. Do you remember Julie lying on the floor of my hotel bathroom all covered in blood? I still haven’t figured that one out. One possibility is that Julie represents all of my past connections born of desperation, and seeing her in the bathroom means something akin to letting go of the past. Damn it. I don’t fucking know. If the negative material plane is Hell, this may be a scene I’ll be forced to relive until my reality comes to an end. One more time... I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. The beach could be the ‘in-between’, a place disconnected from what lies beyond each door and where I can try to collate everything. YOU make the call because I can’t seem to find any fucking answers. Draw your own conclusion. I suggested that there must be an end to this, yet I am afraid of the end. Friday morning, 1016. My daily routine is out of the way and it’s cocktail time. The morning has been both bad and good, the former having become a literal disaster, yet for whatever reason I still feel a little bit positive. Holly is so fucking cute that my heart aches every time I see her on the screen. Perhaps watching this series is not a very good idea for a person with so many issues regarding beauty. On the other hand, have I commented upon any video media without pointing out someone who causes my obsession to flare? Nope. There will always be something, meaning I may as well enjoy the story. So be it. Anyway, I may venture to the hardware store in a little while to grab a few items that will help with reconfiguring the garage storage. I have a great plan to create space just by moving things around a bit. Making better use of storage in the garage usually means I can organize enough to improve the house. Holly’s face is not making it easy to type right now. Ah... The mail just arrived. Splendid. My morning cocktail is nearly gone at the ripe young hour of 1118. Holly is driving me crazy, too. I need her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. Sound familiar? Such an occurrence may never come to pass. Ugh. I need it so badly right now that a mass of fear has been building inside my head. Fear... The one emotion that created the doors. And Saturday has arrived, as of yet containing the typical early morning drive, some shopping on the return trip, and my daily housework. Everything is in order at 1042, along with my fat glass of whiskey for reasons of good form. One might believe that I could not survive browsing an Asian market due to my penchant for seeking picturesque and exotic forms, but this morning was fine. The only difficulty was the cashier – looking and sounding absolutely adorable despite the mask – and she (mostly) flew out of my head prior to leaving the parking lot. From here forward, I plan to continue the organization process that began yesterday morning in the garage. The more space I can create out there, the easier it is to relocate items from inside the house. Holly is again gracing the right-hand display because I need her to hold me. That feeling will never go away, either. At least I didn’t dream of the cashier embracing me in a caring manner. Nothing of the sort entered my brain. I know not why. God damn is Holly ever cute in this series. Moving into the garage yesterday and beginning the difficult process of reorganizing the upper storage really pushed me to actually see everything I own, and the end result was realizing some things can go out the door, much like what I did in the office a few days ago. THe only interruption to my efforts today will be a college football game. I’ll probably switch the audio mode so the sound can follow me into the garage if necessary. Some games don’t need to be accompanied by digital surround speakers. Tomorrow is the first professional game, too. That will be the priority over other concerns because it is by far my favorite sport and the opening of the best time of year. First is pro football followed by the change of season, and then Halloween comes along – coupled with shorter daylight hours – and then we roll straight into Thanksgiving and the lengthy holiday season. I fully intend to embrace each and every segment of fall and the beginning of master Winter so I can appreciate the associated feelings. I’ve written loads of words along such lines, as well. Anyone familiar with my style and mood already knows that the beginning of fall represents the best of the year, and a period fraught with good and bad memories. Oh, Holly... Please hold me and take the bad away, finally. Please, my dear. Help me. I FUCKING NEED HER TO HOLD ME SO BAD THAT I AM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT AND FLIP THE FUCK OUT FOR THE LAST TIME. Ugh. Anyway, the hour is still early and I have plenty of time to care for whatever seems most pressing. In addition, I am going to try to keep my head out of the din as best I can because I made a few comments last night which pretty much framed a huge portrait of my depressed state of mind. I have to be careful with my words, yet all too often I find that a bit of a blurb here and there is a good way to let others know that my outward appearance is most often completely fucking fake. I can’t help it. Remaining bottled up is fine, too. I just need to balance the two so people don’t get the idea that I may need to be hospitalized. I can’t fucking have that shit anymore. Control is key... Control over whatever brings me what little comfort is left in this life. Oh, God... She is so fucking adorable. Someone... PLEASE... Send her my love and tell her I need help. And? Tell Holly that her face is so unique that it makes me want to bash my head against the concrete. I am full of so much need that I’m surprised to still be able to go through the motions each day. No one knows the full extent of this shit, either. Trust me. No one knows. Oh, I’ve spoken in the past, but believe me when I say that the depth is beyond anyone’s comprehension. Just... Believe it. Onward. That was a long paragraph. Lots of capital letters, too. Whatever. This is what I am. We shall return to that horrible place of which I do not want to think... ‘I can’t make you go away, can I?’ ‘You created me as an analysis tool.’ ‘Is that a no?’ ‘Drop it.’ Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to remain here on the beach until such time as Julia deems me ready to either explore further (I don’t like it one bit) or be destroyed again. My companion is constantly sweet and supportive, again reminding me of the kitten so many years ago. I still miss her. Julie helps as much as she can considering the circumstances. Julia? Not the same at all. At least I have someone with me. Better than nothing. A sound behind us... Creaking? There are now four fucking doors where there had been only two. Oh, boy... Here we go. My idea to ignore everything that woman places before me might be the only option right now because each lesson has only brought me sadness and deep feelings of loss. The correlation between how I feel at this very moment, where I am in life (in general) and all those past decisions is quite enough to keep my mind busy if I am to finally put all of the pieces into place. I don’t need more shit on the pile. Two additional doors probably mean more shit, too. Am I afraid? Not really. What I feel most right now is disdain for Julia’s haphazard methodology and the manner in which she throws me around to see situations that are either difficult to understand or impossible to interconnect. I already know I’ve caused all manner of emotional damage. I don’t need more reminders. What I DO need is some Goddamned clarity, not a bunch of trains and dioramas, imagery, or further confusion. I may very well be stuck on this plane for the rest of my life, real or otherwise, and anything that can provide me with understanding will go a long way toward me finding balance and solace. I don’t even know if that is truly possible anymore, but there isn’t really anywhere else to turn. Julia is beginning to aggravate me. I express as much, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. Her reaction? Flash! And here we are in the caboose again. I say ‘again’ because this place resembles the very first that dates back to that horrible journey to the past. If I know anything right now, it is that this will not last. I’ll sink in and cling to my gorgeous companion, and just as the comfort seems real, everything will disappear and I’ll see one of two types of sand; beach or desert. I don’t fucking believe anything these days. That statement goes hand-in-hand with the issue of trust. One, and then the other. I’ll have to cling to Julie and wait to see what happens. ‘Now you are in between.’ Shit. I knew something would go to hell, but I did not think it would change this soon. And I see what Julia means with her statement. It seems the windows on either side of the caboose are facing two different places; worlds perhaps. Julie and I must be in the middle, or perhaps a different kind of netherworld. I don’t know. We are not moving, either. Maybe floating? Cabooses are typically very small and built for a single purpose, whereas this one appears like the others: a massive, beautiful space possibly created from my dreams. As I said before, if I were to design a railroad car, it would look just like where I am standing right now. My years of designing floor plans and a few elevations began with a trip to Disneyland, believe it or not. I was inspired to add dramatic theming to each home I drew, and the process carried on all the way to the Midwest. There was always a combination of medieval styling and classic appointments, much like what I’ve seen in the cabooses. The problem here is that I’ve been dreaming and hoping to take one of my designs and actually build it in a good location where I could be comfortable. I believe the style of this space was specifically chosen and created just to slap my fucking face again, as if all of the doors were not enough. I am going to flip out again, but for the time being – prior to laying into Julia with as much force as I am capable – I need to peer through the windows on both sides and see what that meddling woman is trying to show me. Large, open spaces, seemingly black all around and dotted with lights that are focused upon images. I think that is what I’m seeing. This reminds me of the hallway of horrors years ago and the huge portraits that seemed to be clocking each other (because of my behavior). Ah... These are actual enlargements of photographs from different periods, beginning with the courtyard at one of the two junior high schools I attended. I see DeAnn, too. And Lanie. God damn did I ever want to kiss Lanie back then. Whatever. I see high school, too. Other girls from that time. My car is there. The glow... A huge picture from one end of my favorite shopping mall looking toward what I used to call the ‘jog’, where the tie store and Bombay were located. What is all this supposed to accomplish? I was happy in that last image, but not so much in the others. Over to the right are three more: The auto parts house, railroad yard, and the gun room again, just like the last diorama I saw just before being removed from the entire scene. The doors are represented on the left side of the caboose. Maybe I don’t want to see what is on the right. I was correct. Unfortunately, I can’t go into detail regarding what Julie and I see from the right-hand windows. As the train begins to move (with an elongated series ‘slam’ of the couplings; this train must be very lengthy), my adorable companion suggests that we relax and find some comfort in the caboose while we have the chance. Within half a minute, the imagery outside fades to the rear. I will not miss seeing my own string of past (and present) failures. I live with those each and every day, and it is the rare occasion that finds me able to let go and truly relax or enjoy something in reality. Considering the comparative nature of the left and right windows, this may be the first time I understand Julia’s years-long, pressing question. Could that be a way out of this place? We seem to be rolling at a pretty decent clip, and despite the danger, I am starting to feel like heading outside, up the ladder, and onto the top of this car for another adventure. Do you recall? Julie and I made our way along the train and into the locomotive because of my need to be in control, not to mention bucking the tide which is something I’ve enjoyed for decades. I am a nonconformist to the core. Should we go? Eh... Julia will probably kill me again. Or, us. The last time that happened was both frightening and painful, but then again, what else? Should I jump Julie? No... Nothing good has EVER come from that type of thinking or behavior. Nothing. Just trust me. Physical desire has proven the most dangerous and damaging aspect of life, and not just for yours truly. I suppose we have to embark on another adventure. A bit of discussion later and the lovely little Julie agrees. Why not? Nothing goes my way, anyhow. Fuck it. This zone between worlds can go and fuck itself in a cold, muddy ditch. And if this means I learn nothing, so be it. I don’t fucking care anymore. How many times have I typed those words? Layers of clothing; door; ladder; roof. The view? Blackness. We are between worlds, meaning no matter how much I try to concentrate upon reaching the cab, the gradient continues to press its advantage. I can’t ignore what is happening here, even knowing that if I fall to pieces the lovely little Julie will be right there to hold me.
Reality. 0858 on Sunday morning and I am looking forward to watching football today. Yesterday’s game went very well, too. The house is quiet right now after returning from my usual early drive to the City, which was uneventful. I enjoy arriving back home at a decent hour, especially considering the home game kicks off in about an hour. I’ll have to take care of some housework prior to 1000 so that the afternoon is relaxing. The inside of my head is no better than it has been lately despite the positives. I am still so full of need that nothing has the power to alleviate such overwhelming symptoms. Nothing. I don’t know what to do aside from my usual daily business. Daydreams, wishes, and desire have become the norm and I can’t do anything about such a fact. This is my reality and it is very painful. The enjoyments are shrinking and my ability to distract myself from everything is diminishing every day. Helpless; hopeless. Maybe Julia will kill me again and force the situation to bleed into this world. I can only hope. Monday. Not a good one, so far. Down, down, down we go... ‘Something painful this way comes.’ Shit. Between yesterday afternoon and last night, I fell so far down that I calculated there could be no recovery. The reason? Something unexpected on the television which began to cause the word ‘ideal’ to be conjured, nearly beyond my control. Do you remember the race girl? Probably. Well, things have gone awry on that front because there was a woman on the television (repeatedly) who matched her to a tee. I still can’t believe it. Trust me when I say that all of the searching and imagery, nothing can hit me harder than a full-motion video of what appears to be (and will probably continue to be) one of the most powerful dreams in my life. And yes, even more so than the damaging dreams or other shit that has been plaguing me for years. Today is a turning point. A big one. As there has been a lack of recourse with regard to my obsession and related needs, the idea of recovery has become even more elusive. It may in fact be a complete fucking pipe dream. Sometimes Holly resembles a cat, but nowhere near the level of the woman from yesterday. That was bad. Moreover, I can capture her likeness all I want. She is now a high holyform and will remain as such due to the nonexistent chance that someone else will cause her to be dethroned. Top level; the main focus; the very reason for superlatives. This is only the beginning of what is now the main issue in my life. Too often do I find myself crippled by the sight of someone and then realizing that my life is already over and there is no point in dreaming. Seeing the goddess on the television yesterday forced me to make a connection to the race girl, and that led to recalling my behavior a year after seeing her eyes at the event as I desperately scoured the landscape for something – as one of the great, unrequited loves of my life said – I could never ‘have’. I believe what happened yesterday (perhaps prior to the sight of her actually sinking in) was yet another realization – for lack of a better term – as I finally felt the sheer weight of my current condition and the future resulting from decades of fucking problems and fear. I can see that up to this point in time, I had only thought I was falling away from everything. The woman was not just a near-perfect example of what I’ve been seeking for more than twenty years, but a reminder of where I am in life and why. Julia is going to run with this shit; I know it. And remember that I rarely use the word ‘perfect’ to describe anything outside mathematics because it does not exist. Hence? ‘Near’. I am sitting here like always with my devices and coffee and still cannot believe what I’ve seen, nor can I even begin to rationalize the desperate thoughts in my head and how they will undoubtedly affect those who know me. And as always, the woman is not at fault. She is nothing more than a person. I am the fucking problem here. At the same time, I am not. Five-nine; cat-everything... Eyes, most of all. Huge, dark eyes. The traits over which I have obsessed were all present in fucking spades. I can’t fully express my feelings about this, nor will anything I say convey the overwhelming mass of the problem. This is quite literally the worst I have ever felt in life. The worst. I’m sure I’ll be watching the program again in the future and falling all over myself with desire and ending up in pain, yet there can be no choice in the matter. The feelings are THAT strong. I simply must look at her, consequences be damned. Well, I’ll be completely fucked up anyway, so I may as well see. That is about as good as it gets anymore. Sad. 0853; last cup of coffee. I have to visit the restaurant again in a couple of hours to look at a problem in one of their restrooms. I don’t believe I am equipped to fix the issue, but at least I can provide some honest insight. Maybe doing so will distract me for a while. I may visit the hardware store on the return trip. Right now nothing seems appealing. When the coffee is gone, I’ll take care of what is likely a very short routine and then wash some clothes. My life is already over, having effectively been boiled down to whatever can be scraped from the bottom of the fucking saucepan. Such a thought is very sad, but I can’t deny the truth. I’ve never needed help more than at this very moment. Curious, the goddess that has caused one of my favorite mornings to turn into a depressing pile of shit is blonde. The race girl was the same, albeit carrying a longer mane. Whatever. I need that woman so badly that my entire body has been wracked with pain. There is nothing I can fucking do about anything anymore because I’ve become tiny and ineffective in every single aspect of life (except housework, of course). I already know that whatever I still enjoy will continue to shrink until there is no reason left to be found. 1018. I need to wait until after visiting the restaurant to do some laundry. I don’t like leaving the house with either the washer or dryer running, mostly the former. For the time being, I’m going to sit here with my fat cocktail, program on the right-hand display (lots of Holly), and thoughts of two worlds bleeding into each other and leaving me in the zone of the in-between. This is quite literally the worst condition within which I’ve ever been mired. Everything is just sad. Thankfully, I can already feel the numbing effect of the alcohol. Good and bad, that one. At some point I will stream a few key episodes of the other series here on the control center and capture some (hopefully) quality images from the video. I need to stare at her like I need oxygen. Will doing so help me in any fashion? Nope. Maybe I’ll sit here and combine all those women into one massive figure and gush about how desperate I am for some real understanding. I’ve already created one name from three, so why not make a composite of the cat features and add a portmanteau for ease of typing? Right? I only know of two names, though, and they are Rachael and Jordana (believe it or not; what a fucking handle!). I could add the word ‘race’, perhaps. Put them together yourself. I can’t. Anyway, the woman from the show last night is still causing me all sorts of trouble. My eyes damned-near came out of my fucking head during some scenes, mostly when her beautiful lines were displayed. There was also a segment that showed off her long, slender fingers and I went out of my mind with desire, so much so that the remainder of the evening turned into an exercise in restraint. I had to keep my mouth shut. Not easy. I had to wait for this morning and allow the keyboard to be my ears; the only object in the known universe that listens without judgment. This is a very bad day. I really didn’t need to see her. I watch that program for unrelated reasons, but from here forward I’ll be waiting to see the goddess again because I have learned very little in a long fucking time and can’t avoid certain details and facets of beauty. I have to stop going on and on about her. The woman has successfully squashed every other fucking form I’ve seen in many years. Yes, I said that. Believe it. I fucking hate everything right now. The entire essay has been hijacked by one person I can never know, and a level of beauty that is both fully aligned with the way I think and more elusive than a passenger ticket to Mars. In short, I am completely fucked for all time. I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT. I wish I had never seen her. I have to leave soon. I already know I can’t do anything to the valve at the restaurant, but I may be able to offer some advice that will save the owner some money. Plumbing is both good and bad for those who do not know how to deal with problems. Sometimes I’d like all of my knowledge to disappear. Then again, I like to help. Tuesday. Very few responsibilities, thank the maker. I’ll be at the control center for quite a while today because I need to advance the story of the doors, as well as the way I feel about the entire situation. I have to keep pushing no matter how much it hurts. Along those lines, the woman from the television program the other night has forced my hand and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything. I even had a tough time making a very simple dinner last night because I kept seeing her on the screen and daydreaming about her lines. This is probably going to continue since I plan to watch the entire series. I have to stare at her and dream of worlds that can never exist, and such desperation comes about regardless of the consequences. I can either remain miserable and see nothing, or I can see as much as possible. No matter how I proceed, there will undoubtedly be pain and misery. I may as well stare at her until everything comes to an end. As for the rest of this day, I am fairly pleased about the hours ahead and no need to go anywhere. The downside is the morning quiet is reminding me that I am going nowhere, and likely never will. This is it... The end of the line for me. All I can do is watch others realizing where they want and/or need to be (hopes and dreams?) while I sit here and operate the keyboard. Wonderful, eh? Nothing has changed in the last few years other than my feelings becoming more pronounced and all of the love for the past growing exponentially. I believe part of me has not allowed much to change because of the point of the doors... That’s right... Fear kept me still. It kept me away. It still does to this very second. I passed the doors and ended up precisely where I am sitting at this very fucking moment. The time is now 1036 and the usual crap is out of the way. I have lots of free time ahead, meaning cocktail hour has arrived. Is it good for me in any way? Nope... Each time the alcohol is nearly consumed, my mindset falls south of wherever it was prior to having a drink. That means I’d be better off avoiding such behavior. At the same time, I need to flex my independence and control through doing something I thoroughly enjoy, and that just happens to be spending my morning outside the realm of the ‘norm’. This type of thinking grew from decades of being within the gaming culture, all the way back to single-digit ages. I used to love the atmosphere, and as soon as I was old enough to join the adults, the booze did not attract me as much as other aspects of those wondrous places, such as the resorts being charged with sex and related imagery. I was raised to see the gaming culture as appealing, much like a reward for work. I still feel the same, although the attraction of alcohol has increased tenfold since my younger years. Good or bad, it is still something to which I look forward each day. There is little else, meaning my behavior and lifestyle are nowhere near changing no matter the circumstances. Depression can be a self-fulfilling situation which is fed from within. The worse I feel, the more I must embrace whatever has the power to provide comfort. And with that last statement I must accept the knowledge that the doors are directly related to everything I’ve thought and lived for a very long time. Everything is mixed together and saturated, from desperation and desire to the overwhelming need to do whatever I want. That is a failing. I am not stupid. I am weak, but I know exactly what I’m doing. Moreover, I know precisely what I have become. This has been a disastrous morning. Piling such a fact atop all the other shit and what I now see as a fruitless search for understanding will eventually drive me out of my mind. I know that, too. As of yet, I have been unable to break this vicious, horribly painful cycle. If you have the answer, write it on a piece of paper, attach it to a baseball bat, and swing at my throat. Thank you. Maybe one night I will dream of Holly holding me, or perhaps a connection with the other one that has put my obsession on its ear and slammed the point home of just how unrealistic my thinking processes have become. I am further from reality every day and don’t see my way of life changing no matter how bad the situation may become. The sun is finally shining through the fog blanket. I hope it warms the inside of the house today. 1506 and... Tired. After months and years of hemming and hawing over the fucking paint, a little while ago I felt myself slipping into the same afternoon shit and did something about it. Some weeks ago I fabricated a platform to cover the bathtub but left it in the garage because I am always so fucking disillusioned. Well, I slapped it onto the tub with some felt pads and painted the trim above the stone. Yep, I actually put the first coat on the fucking walls. Unbelievable, I know. Whatever. I did it and feel a tiny bit better about myself. One more coat tomorrow along with a run of caulking along the top edge and that will be completely finished. Afterward, all I have to do is the same along three pieces of base and then trim the window, the latter already having a plan. Setup and paint took less than an hour. Again... Unbelievable. Will it help me in the long run? Probably not. Bigger fish. I am pleased that my intelligence flared for a few minutes when I attached fins to the plywood for painting the bathroom. The platform was encapsulated by the tub and could not fail. I guess once in a while I can be pretty smart. Holly is so fucking cute that I want to beat my head against the concrete outside. Moreover, there are times when her lines are visible. I can’t even mention the other one. She is on an entirely different level. Lots of anguish. To the train... I do not feel the air, but I can tell we are traveling at a very high rate of speed. This netherworld is black and very strange; far different than the last time Julie and I made our way across the top. The train appears longer, too, but I can’t be certain due to a lack of light. We are passing so many images on the left side that I can’t keep track. Maybe there will be control of the situation available in the cab. Conversely, the situation may worsen if I try to take control. In any case, there is only one way to know for sure, and the process is underway. Moving along the top of the cars would normally be difficult and dangerous, but despite knowing we are traveling at a decent clip, venturing forward is not hard at all. I just don’t know the length of the train. How many units? Oh, boy... The wind is beginning to blow; a headwind as if we are actually moving on rails. Stronger. Ah, shit. We need to drop down between cars and think about this situation. Julia knows everything, and if she will not allow us to reach the cab, there is nothing I can do. My partner lowers herself to the tiny access platform and I follow. Better. Much less wind, but now I can see the ground below us flying by at very high speed. It’s as if we were in the void and have begun to emerge on the negative material plane once again. If I know anything, it is that the soil below us is most decidedly desert. Fuck. Maybe I’ll just wait here and hold my love until something changes. I really don’t think we can safely get back to the caboose, nor do I believe moving toward the locomotive is a good idea anymore. We seem to be completely stuck at Julia’s hands. ‘Fate’s hands’? No... That was just a song. Pictures again. I see them flying by as we try to remain warm. The pictures are at odds with the opposite side of the train, as well. One side shows me where I was, the other then bucks the tide of logic and informs me of the consequences of my actions and decisions. Every little detail is apparent, from the overall picture of unstable mental health and severe isolation all the way down to the tiniest aspect of the way I live, such as the way I always tend to straighten the coaster here on my big table whenever the coffee cup causes it to move. Everything... Desperation; anger; insecurity; a severe lack of inner strength and confidence; a strong desire to control certain situations; all of it. My dissatisfaction in life has pushed me to make reckless, ill-conceived choices throughout the last decade-plus, and sitting here at this very moment knowing that I feel worse about everything with each passing day is beginning to force me to grate against the world even more, be it this one or reality. I just don’t want any more reminders because I already know I’ve fucked everything up over and over for a very long time, and more of the same is going to push me in the opposite direction from where Julia wants me to go, and that is up. She needs to let us move around and shut off the fucking pictures and other shit before I jump off the car. Nothing. I still see them flying along with their integral lighting, effectively worsening my mood with each rotation. I have to stop this shit, somehow, yet I know that lacking control in this world means whatever I decide will come back and hurt me twice as much. Like reality, I have no fucking recourse whatsoever. I just have to sit here and fucking TAKE IT. Aggravation is taking over. Our speed has increased again. Maybe my mood is controlling our fate. I created Julia. She knows everything, often taking action at the exact moment some idea enters my head. After all this time, you’d think I would know better, but sometimes I have a hell of a time controlling my anger, regardless of the source. Faster. The wind is beginning to shake us between the massive railroad cars. And now I can feel the temperature dropping. I think I pissed her off again. Julie is clinging to me like a frightened child. Our situation has not improved. ‘Ok, that’s enough.’ No response. Julia has pressed her advantage and will ot let up on the imagery flying by to the left of the train. Looking toward the right, I see nothing anymore. Blackness. How far did we get before realizing the locomotive could not be reached? Three cars? Four? More? Maybe we should go back to the comfort of the caboose, if that is even possible now. The weather was nonexistent a little while ago and now seems to be worsening by the second. We cannot last much longer if the cold begins to bite. Unlike last time, Julie and I are not dressed for such a low temperature combined with high winds. Julia’s alterations to this place are unconscionable. I hate this shit. Something bad is going to happen, and soon. I can feel it. We are barreling along, unsteady and without much to keep us safe. Bad. I have to peek around toward the front of the train. Maybe I'll see how far ahead the locomotive is from our position. Stretching. Holy shit...
'Grab me! I'm slipping! Grab my hand... NOW!' 'Julie!' As I turn to see that she is in dire need of help, her little fingers are ripped from the ladder rails and she flies to the side and is then caught by the wind, disappearing to the rear of our train. One long scream and my loving companion is gone. Fuck me! 'I will fucking KILL you for this!' 'Do you know what you have to do?' That’s it. I am finished cooperating with that fucking woman. I’ve had it. Time for action. I don’t care about her endless, repeating question, either. Julia can live without an answer. To the ladder; to the roof of the forward gondola. Holy shit is the wind ever biting my skin. I am not dressed for such cold weather, so my anger will have to keep me warm until I reach the cab. I am determined to take control of this otherworldly journey and show Julia the extent of my disdain for everything she’s thrown at me thus far. She will probably kill me again, but not before I have the chance to affect her in a very negative way. I have to climb. My lover has been torn from me again. I can’t even begin to describe how much this hurts. ‘You have it within you to end all this.’ ‘Fuck off, you meddling bitch. I’ve had it.’ ‘As you wish.’ One car; two; three. How long is this train? My fingers had better not start numbing because I need as much dexterity as possible to pull myself along the roof and make it to the next coupling. I still can’t believe Julie is gone again. I need her like I need to draw breath, yet I realize deep inside that I’ve launched yet another likely fruitless journey just to prove a point to a woman that does not exist in reality. Hence? I am losing my mind. Two worlds have bled together and my efforts in trying to understand have accomplished nothing more than creating even more confusion and pain than the previous train ride. I just don’t fucking understand why I must continually be reminded of all the bad shit I’ve caused. I don’t get it. Is this punishment? Am I actually paying the tab of my life? I can’t see it that way right now because no matter how much pain and suffering I endure, the other people I’ve hurt will be exactly the same. No one knows of this journey. Not a soul on earth can see or feel the events taking place right now. What’s the point? Is Julia forcing me to a point in which I have to change or be left this way unto death? The likelihood of me changing after all this time is nil. My mental and emotional states have been worsening for years, and much of the damage has occurred within the last couple of months. I don’t see anything changing, either. The entries have been wavering back and forth between the negative material plane and reality, both of which seem to be painful, depressing situations without respite. I can take little more of this, believe me. Little more. The cold is trying to hinder the effort of moving forward, the wind doing the same. I have to make it all the way to one of the engines, though. I simply MUST get to the controls and wreak havoc on what Julia has created. I’m fucking sick of the mysteries, endless questions and reminders of everything I’ve done wrong in life. I’ll put a finer point on my mood regardless of the risk. I just don’t care anymore. She has pushed too much. The worst part is Julia has placed Julie with me over and over, only to tear her away during some horrible situation and in a violent fashion, and that type of pain is not something to which I will react well. She’s done it on one too many occasions. I’ll fuck with this train if it’s the last thing I do. And? If Julia causes me to fly off the fucking train and die in a wrath of her temper, I don’t fucking care. She has done it before and I am quite certain it will happen again. Whatever. Kill me, bitch. Go for it. I’ll be right back where I began regardless of pain or death. Further along. I’ve pulled myself past at least a dozen frozen gondolas – vessels which no doubt carry parts of me just like the train of life – but I will keep going until all physical faculties have been exhausted. The engines have to be ahead, somewhere. All too often the worst fucking situation for me is a lack of control. I have to get it back. Another car behind me. Two. Three. Keep going, dipshit. Fight this hell like nothing else matters. Every ounce of my strength must be for the cause of control. I am smelling diesel exhaust, finally. Keep moving. Climb like there is no tomorrow. There it is... A line of smoke just over my head, all heavy and full of sulfur. I can make it. I can taste the victory. They must be close. My hands are nearly without dexterity. How far ahead is the exhaust? I can’t tell through all this fucking haze and smoke. Yep, the closer I get, the more the smoke trail interferes with my vision. With watering eyes and a heavy heart, I pull along the roof of the gondola as if the end of the world will pull me from my need without remorse. Each handhold is painful; every inch a lifetime of painful memories. The controls must be mine. I will accept intervention and death, but I will not accept failure. There it is... I can see the outline of a circular pipe spewing diesel fumes like some evil dragon bent upon destruction of the universe through a veil of hot smoke. The roof of the trailing locomotive looks like the most powerful and intimidating incarnation of destruction I have ever seen, and such a thought after decades of loving the railroad industry. Remember the dragon? The locomotive is the new dragon. Death? Destruction? Dismemberment? Fuck it all... I am going to warm myself by the cab heat and run this motherfucker no matter what happens after. The current period may be the end of my relationship with Julia. If she is indeed a part of my real brain, said part shall be excised for all time. Ah, shit... I just thought of something wonderful. If I can kill her, maybe the future will entail nothing more than me dealing with myself rather than relying upon some creation that never ceases to harm me because of the past. Is that even possible? Julia was created by me, so does that mean there will be a war inside my head with no possible positive outcome? Oh, this train ride could be the end of all things, thank Christ. I am at the leading edge of the forward gondola. I see six locomotives ahead. SIX! That number equates to six ‘units’, translating to the old-world calculation that there is a number of coupled cars nearing one hundred fifty. All those engines are not coupled for their health. Holy fucking shit, Batman. I had no idea this train was so long. Before I start patting myself on the back for making it this far, I have to focus on reaching the lead cab so I can try to take control of this rolling feast. The smoke and vibration are unlike anything else I have ever experienced. I need to demonstrate my disdain for Julia’s actions and words by applying a horrible mood to all this power. Onward to the first catwalk... She is going to try to stop me. I can feel the air temperature dropping with every step. Along the side of the engine housing are markings that reside in my heart after decades of wonder over SP and the UP ‘building america’ slogan that was placed on the new, larger locomotives many years ago. I don’t have the time to stand here and admire being so close to everything, however, because my fear of not reaching the lead cab due to the cold or Julia throwing a wrench in my plans are disallowing anything sentimental. I have to fucking move along and ignore all that I’ve loved for a very long time. Julie was ripped from me in a hideous, violent manner, so I have to do something dramatic to offset the pain I am feeling after losing her. Further along, I can see that moving from one platform to the next is not as difficult as I had envisioned at the outset of this insane adventure. Past one, two, and three... I think I can make it all the way to the front. The feeling of bucking the wind is akin to being on a cruise ship some years ago. We had been relaxing in a bar and I wanted to move outside to the promenade and then toward the bow just to experience the harsh weather (nearly in the dark). I made my way to the steps which led to a ‘bow ring’, or the walkway that circled the front of the ship one deck above the promenade. During the day, the stroll is really beautiful because the height of the bow means a person is literally forward of the massive wake thrown by the ship at speed. At night? It is another story entirely. I never made it all the way to the center of the bow that night. The cold was biting and I feared for my safety due to such strong wind. Walking along the platforms requires never letting go of handholds with every step. I can’t move forward without both leaning into the freezing wind and pulling myself along with the railings. This is crazy. Two more locomotives are behind me now. That’s five in total, meaning I should be at the coupling of the lead engine. I can imagine the cab heat... Something I really need after this long trek. I also have to keep in mind that none of these railroad trips has ended well. Not a single one. I don’t know what will happen once I reach the cab, but I have to do this anyway. All around is blackness and I will probably die in this place (just like all the others), meaning any demonstration of my anger and frustration will have to be quick. Julia is in control here, like always. No matter how pissy I become, the truth is I am always at her mercy. I can see the slender, forward door through the side windows. I have to get there. I am freezing right now. If I lose any more dexterity, I could very well end up flying off the side of this enormous machine. My entire being has been rocked by such overwhelming power. I can’t believe the ride has come to this shit, either. I just can’t. I need Julie. I fucking NEED her because there is no one else in any world. The cab door. What the fuck? There is a woman sitting on a beautiful settee just as the cab appeared a while ago when Julia was with me. This woman is different, though, and completely unexpected. I see that devilish smile and a hand over her mouth as if she realized my surprise. I’ve missed that expression for more than a decade. I know her. I know her intimately. Unfortunately, I have not wanted to see her for a very long time. Now that she is right in front of me, lots of feelings are beginning to develop. If anything has the ability to take my mind off this fucking train, the woman perched on the settee is it. She is quite literally a prime example of my life's path, right there looking like a million bucks for crying out loud. All sorts of different thoughts are beginning to germinate, yet I am at a loss for words. The past carries more than its fair share of painful shit, and seeing her sitting calmly inside my locomotive(!) is dredging the river. This world is fucking killing me. I have to leave for a while. Reality, again. Wednesday morning is here and I don’t have a clue as to what it means. I feel as I should right now, meaning the typical notch lower than the previous day. At least I have coffee and some quiet time to myself. I guess that’s better than nothing. Well, the reality is that I have to appreciate a good portion of the situation in this house seeing as there have been disasters all over the fucking world and I am sitting here just fine each morning. There is Holly again. Yep, I am still (sort of) watching the same series. Well, mostly my attention is pulled away from this display when I hear her voice and turn to see her very unique face. The same kind of situation took place while I was boiling pasta last night... The tall, slender goddess that makes me want to walk off a cliff popped onto the screen here and there and caused my dinner efforts to become momentarily derailed (the train of life?). I craned my neck to see even a split-second shot of her beautiful, wondrous lines. She defies some of the standards, believe it or not, and looks like a fucking human/cat hybrid. Her eyes and facial structure seem to be a dead ringer for the race girl, a person I desperately needed to know, especially after a facial expression that may or may not have been imagined. Just imagine my reaction had I seen that girl at the race the following year. I’d probably still be trying to describe her. The point is I am worse off right now than just a month ago. The pain has become more acute and my level of caring in general has dropped considerably in recent weeks. This is bad, people. I realize I am no one and there is no understanding to be found in the world, but the compulsion goes on unimpeded regardless of such facts. I simply cannot stop this shit and will continue to write no matter how bad circumstances become. I have little else in life. Within the next half hour I will probably begin the housework and then apply a second coat of paint to the bathroom trim. All the while my brain will be inside the clothing of certain works of art that do not leave my consciousness very often. Sometimes I want to climb into Alyssa’s shirt and go to sleep. Just a thought. There is something about the space between her breasts in certain clothing that is difficult to describe. Eh... Whatever. She isn’t real, anyway. Fuck it. Once again... ‘Never me. Just never me.’ I wish I could stop searching. 0933. I have to do some housework very soon. The coffee is gone and I can only sit here and consider the in-between for so long before becoming severely depressed. Work is a distraction, for a time. Everything will come back soon, so I may as well be productive for a little while before falling away from reality again. The time is now 1035 and I have half of the daily routine finished, the other half waiting for a section of floor to dry. I had to do some cleaning of the hardwood in our spare bedroom. I’ll take care of the rest in a little while. Hannah is fucking stunning sometimes, although the character is often reprehensible. Didn’t I wish to stop searching? I can’t. This is what I’ve become throughout decades of routing and being fucking squished. I can’t stop that shit, either. Not anymore. Thank goodness I’m an alcoholic. Laugh it up. Anyway, at some point I will apply a second coat of paint so the bathroom can go back to normal. I’m looking forward to having that crap out of the way after all this time. Beyond the bathroom project, I don’t know what else will be accomplished today. My mood is not good right now. And Holly’s face is driving me fucking insane. Good God, that much ‘cute’ should be disallowed while I am watching video media, although I already know that as my condition worsens, the desperate desire to find the understanding I so badly need can never end. Holy shit. What the fuck am I? I just gazed at the au pair through my binoculars. Yes, I looked through the office window with those field glasses focused upon a woman exiting her truck. Sue me. Shoot me. Kill me a thousand fucking times. I don’t care. My entire life of fifty-six-plus years has boiled down to a little person sitting at a computer and feeling that staring at a woman through binoculars is something special. I never said it was ‘normal’ or ‘acceptable’, either. I said that I looked at her. I must limit myself to the one morning cocktail because I can already feel that part way through a second drink will result in my death. At least I can still think fairly clearly about life. My Thursday is going to be busy. The early hours, anyway. I have to take a trip to the wine store, stop by the restaurant again (probably a waste of time), visit the smoke shop and then one of the markets. Ugh. For me, that is a lot, although I already know the entire operation will probably take less than two hours of my precious time. 1119. My routine is out of the way and I drove to the wine store. The restaurant visit has been postponed again. I’ll go over there tomorrow because there has been too much on my plate today. Any more and I won’t react well. Moreover, the weather is very warm again, meaning the house will heat quickly as the sun moves around to the south. Not good. My comfort has been key to surviving thus far, and when the house is overly warm, I end up far less than comfortable. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall right now. There should be a law against so much ‘cute’ crammed into one woman. Whatever. She isn’t real. Nothing good is real except the fat glass of whiskey sitting here on the table. Jesus God in heaven above, what I wouldn’t give for Holly to hold me and make all the bad go away. Sound familiar? How many others have I wished into such a situation? Ten? Twenty? There is no end to this shit. 'Living in the zone of the in-betweens.' NOT living. Not by a damned sight. The negative material plane awaits...
Everyone had a thing for Alyssa, but I always liked Holly
‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Um... You know me?’ The fuck? Of course I know her, but she is not responding as if the reverse is true. One of the most stunning women ever to cross my path is in this fucking cab, and it might not be her at all. I don’t understand, although Julia is not above throwing me for a loop sometimes. The smile caught me upside the head just like it used to when we visited restaurants or other places. I used to absolutely drool over her appearance on a daily basis, mainly a little, coquettish nibble of her lower lip. Julia has pulled some shit here and I’d like to know why. I’m going to try to alter this train’s velocity and see what develops. The warmth is helping; the woman is not. Do I still want her physically? Oh, fuck yes. That never went away. ‘In that case, leave those controls and take me.’ ‘You can fuck right off.’ ‘Wow.’ Just like every other person in this netherworld, she already knows what I am thinking. Fuck this. I have to swing the pendulum toward my favor, if that is possible. The touch screens and levers await my commands. All that work of getting myself into the lead engine has to pay off, right now. I’ll see what I can do... Flash! Blackness, for the second time. Splendid. What the fuck was I supposed to do after seeing that woman? The reminder was most unwelcomed. I will say that one glance toward her made me want to kiss her for a fucking hour. At the same time, I wanted her to disappear and leave me to the controls. Now I have nothing, but at least she is gone. I expect to hear the menacing voice very soon. I’ve been left floating in the zone of the in-between – unless, of course, this entire segment of my journey has been as such – and I don’t know what to think. One possibility is that my attempt to take control of the huge train pushed Julia’s buttons and she exercised yet another example of her control over my lack thereof. Marvelous. I realize that the woman in the cab is a massive reminder of one of the worst and most damaging decisions I’ve ever made, but for fuck’s sake, that situation is already in my head damned near every day. There are just too many little reminders and references to past stories for me to forget. And yes, I still feel like shit about the entire shit storm I had caused during that period. I have to be careful, though, because whenever I grate against Julia’s intentions, I am inevitably placed in a worse position than whatever is being endured at a given moment. Like right now, for example; I am once again between worlds with little idea of why. If it was my anger, well... That’s just not going to end. Acceptance of myself is about as likely as that girl sitting on my lap sans bra. Nope. Never me. I have to think about this because I used the word ‘acceptance’, and that could very well be the answer to her years-long, repeating question. If so, I am truly fucked. The woman on the settee looked like her, yet was not. I don’t understand the meaning of such an occurrence. Everything that has transpired since entering the zone has been less than clear, to say the least. I don’t understand, unless the point is actual acceptance or forgiveness. But? What about all the other shit that presses me down each day? I was in moderately poor shape when I dashed to the goblet more than twenty years ago, long before the decision that fucked up two entire families and placed me here by the ocean. What about all the shitty situations back then? Do they matter to Julia? I have far too many questions right now. The woman in the locomotive is just another confusing aspect of this netherworld. ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Well, what the fuck did you expect? Physicality was the only positive part of us back then.’ ‘Another train wreck, as you say?’ ‘Yes, she was.’ ‘You wanted to jump her.’ ‘Now you’re repeating yourself.’ ‘For good reason. Analyze.’ Great. Another fucking puzzle that I really don’t need right now. The last shit I want is to float here and try to understand why the person inside and the outward appearance did not match. And I don’t need any blast of shit from Julia because I thought of being physical with that woman. For fuck’s sake, I’m not the one who conjured her out of thin air in the first place. If I have to be responsible for every thought, I may as well be sent straight to hell at this very moment. We do not, as human beings, allow certain thoughts and dreams to be spoken because the damage would be unacceptable. We have to keep things inside sometimes. That is what I was doing, damn it. Thinking and doing are very different. Ugh... I don’t even want to think about any of this shit right now. I don’t need more questions or mysteries. I have to think regardless of feeling angry or stubborn. I have to try because this whole fucking plane is all mine. I know that much, at least. Again... Ugh. ‘You did this.’ ‘You always say that.’ ‘The zone. You are between worlds.’ ‘Go fuck yourself and leave me to my thoughts, please.’ ‘As you wish.’ Flash! I am right back where I started the latest ‘floating’ session... The cab of the mighty six-thousand horse locomotive, hopefully under my control at some point. I was just telling a story about this engine last night, but I have to avoid digressing and bleeding the worlds into one another because I’ll become even more fucking confused. The woman is gone, thank Christ. Maybe I can finally operate the damned thing and feel a smidgen of comfort in an otherwise very haunting, uncomfortable world. Julia has a point, though. I truly am in-between because I have to live in reality (there is no getting around it unless I am not alive), yet I am constantly dreaming of something beautiful and fulfilling that cannot and will not ever exist. I’ve become too far out of balance in recent years. The question now is this: What am I supposed to do about it? Being reminded of the woman earlier only caused me sadness, so is the conclusion supposed to be that I would have found what I needed had I never made that decision? And how do the fucking doors play into my previous thought? I tried to consider each of those landmark decisions as having been formative with regard to who I am at this very moment. Was that wrong? I know I fucked up over and over and allowed myself to become weakened to the point of pursuing my desires, so being reminded of such past events only makes me sad. Further, was I driven to those decisions? By others, perhaps? Or were they just people trying to live their lives in the best way they knew how? That last one hurts, because even though I feel as such about myself, the truth may be that I have affected others more than the opposite. The shit situations made me what I am, yet all those intervening years caused those responsible to disappear from the earth. A bit further? Yep... Julia equated my endless search to a byproduct of the comfort I needed in favor of opportunity, and then I asked why the shit situations didn’t connect, and she basically scoffed at my lack of understanding. That’s not very nice, but it does have me thinking that the woman who appeared in the cab was a temptation, nothing more. In the past, when something wondrous was within view and I was in the correct, fucking reckless mindset, I tossed aside everything important (including people) and ran after the possibility of finding what I so badly needed. Does that make sense? I don’t care. I am still wondering if passing all those doors caused some part of me to become empty, damaged or otherwise irreparable, and then those visions became all the more important due to me being so far out of balance. Compensation? I don’t typically employ that term because of decades of exaggeration and misuse, yet here it may just fit. I may have been compensating for the shit situations by seeking the right type of validation from the right type of woman. Fear kept me on the sofa; desire attached itself and rendered me unable to move because I always needed the space to relax and think (believe it or not). I am no different at this very moment, albeit much worse off emotionally. That’s neither here nor there because the main issue is being in-between and barely scraping the reason. I am doing my best to both follow along with this crap and make it understandable. Not easy. I believe the priority reared its head early. During the eighties, perhaps. Remaining comfortable and surrounded by necessary devices also began early, as I can recall three different places of residence back then which all eventually became ‘sanctuaries’ for me to hide away and consider all of life. The overpowering sense of need for understanding and validation grew from that early period – completely unimpeded by anything – and did ebb and flow from time to time, eventually landing me around the early aughts with a head full of obsession and its connection between comfort and that very same validation. This is all so fucking heavy that my back is beginning to hurt despite floating. Julia told me to analyze. Well... There it is. Will she test me? Heh. I have to get the fuck out of this netherworld for a little while because I will soon lose it completely. Everything hurts. Friday morning is here. I stayed up a bit later last night than usual, so today will not amount to much. I still can’t believe how sensitive I am about the daily schedule. Less than two hours at night means I am very slow and weak the next morning. I was not like this in the past. Splendid. The evening was pleasant, though, and one aspect of it was actually wonderful (for a few minutes). I’m not going to go into detail, but suffice to say there was much railroad discussion afterward. I love telling my little stories about train experiences. I don’t know if anyone else gives half a shit about what I say, but I went all over the subject anyway. Once the sadness began to set in, I decided the gathering needed to be concluded. The wonderful part of last night is haunting me this morning. Piled atop my depressive state is Holly’s face again. Something is very wrong with me. Last night pretty much solidified one of the issues with my brain and I am not happy about it. Conversely, I am pleased with myself for being pleasant and funny. There are times when my mood goes south before I can take control of the situation. That is the fault of no one but me. Period. So, though I am dragging a bit this morning, the time was worth it. I just wish there had not been that one, unreal aspect of the evening that will not leave my head. I am dwelling upon something dangerous. Not good. At least I have coffee. I can’t stop imagining all sorts of things, and sometimes my thoughts end up here, albeit they are typically encoded or concealed in some fashion. When I need to say things, my brain calculates what will likely be acceptable and then I put down a few things. Often I can’t remember if I go back to the same entry months later. The point is that the nature of my feelings has changed throughout the last couple of years and I wish to avoid being slammed by someone. Well, if anyone is actually reading, that is. I don’t need any more shit on the pile. Some of the material on this site is quite the flytrap for backlash. Believe me, I’ve dealt with it before. The problem is I can’t speak to anyone in reality, so I have to use the keyboard. Remaining like this is not stable, either. The extent to which I am closed off continues to grow. The more I see, the more I feel is gone forever, and then little pieces of me fall away. They can never come back. Last night there was a fucking problem that put my brain on a proverbial grill, and it took place prior to me speaking of the closure and elimination of an old railroad yard near where I grew up. That was a place on my list for photographs and now it is gone. The other issue from last night is not a topic I can even broach here. Trust me. The inside of my head is still painting pictures of all sorts of deviant ideas. Nothing can change, meaning nothing can improve. All I have is the keyboard and my alcohol. I have manufactured entire lifestyles and conditions with more detail than I care to admit. This is an everyday process, as well. I am in a very desperate and damaging situation here. I want to lick Holly’s face. Just a thought. Anyway, I don’t see any aspect of my life improving in the future, so constructing worlds in my head that provide a sense of wonder for a few seconds is about all I have left. And the keyboard. Unfortunately, I can’t describe what I imagine each day. Too bad. Rather a shitty morning thus far. I’ll have to find some serious comfort after all my business is out of the way. I feel like crap and am supposed to go to the restaurant (after postponing again yesterday), but I may simply call them and state that I am not equipped to deal with what could be an in-wall problem requiring much more than I am capable of right now. I just don’t see the problem being fixed easily, nor do I wish to open a can of worms by digging into something in which I honestly have zero interest. I’ll probably tell them to call someone else. They will be disappointed, I’m sure, but there is little I can do these days, plus I’ve helped with so much over the years – both at the restaurant and their house – that there should not be any bad feelings resulting from canceling. Today is one of those in which my head is all fucked up (partly from last night) and I desperately need to remain home. I just made up my mind. To hell with the project. Moreover, the place is going to be put up for sale very soon and I see little point in trying to work on something when I already know the new owner is going to remodel the entire building. I need what I need, and my comfort takes priority over almost everything else in the world. That is that. My reasoning need not be questioned, ever. There are already enough bad things in my brain. I keep seeing her... Right fucking there. Part of the reason is something I can’t mention here, but suffice to say the wonder and weakness inherent in what my life has become came to a head this morning and I’ve been full of more desire since getting out of bed three hours ago than in recent memory. Just trust me; I saw more than I should have and the imagery will not allow me to relax this morning. The time is now 0932 and the only positive is my free, quiet time ahead. For reasons of good form, I ordered a pizza. This is the first occasion in many months because I’ve been trying to avoid spending the money. Well, today I need comfort food. Moreover, the leftovers will last most of the weekend, probably all the way into my football game on Sunday. That would be very nice. 1139. I blew off the restaurant by leaving a message and laying out the facts of the issue. Sometimes I have to ‘close up shop’ and put the universe on hold. The comfort inherent in relaxing with one of my programs and a really nice lunch can NEVER be overstated. No way. I need what I need, as I am always belaboring. I also need to play with Alyssa’s beautiful breasts. At least the pizza is real. Everything else I need is most decidedly the opposite. Saturday morning is here and I am back from the morning drive. The time is just 0832 and I still have plenty of coffee. I also have all the time in the world to do whatever seems best today. My football game is on at 1230, so I’ll probably have the morning routine finished prior to kickoff, afterward shifting focus to organizing this office and maybe working on a bit of preliminary garbage business for tomorrow. I will typically have one college game on Saturdays and then one pro game on Sundays, so my housework needs to be completed in and around those times. I still have a little coffee left, so I must sit here and think about the zone of the in-betweens. The wording has become uncomfortable, as well, meaning the more I can consider the structure of the content, the better my head may feel when it is finished. Moving on to the next chapter will probably be unpleasant. At least I have the rest of the day to myself. Back to the other place...
‘I don’t like that word anymore.’ ‘I know you don’t. I’m sorry, but this is necessary if you are to learn.’ ‘Splendid.’ ‘Just relax and further your thoughts.’ I am still considering slamming the throttle and making a statement, although part of me still believes Julia will simply place me in the zone again. She has all the power in this place and I have zero of the same. Every time I get pissed off and do something reckless, I end up forced into a place where all I can do is think. Blackness. Yep, the zone of the in-between. I'm sick of this shit, but I have learned a few things. We go. The fact remains that I may have been compensating for pain and loss by surrounding myself with aspects of life that I can fully control. And this is all I have; the last occasion of trying to share the deepest thoughts related to validation found me sharing too much and then backpedaling, yet the effort was too late. The information left my mouth and cannot return. That process represents the worst and most difficult lack of control, and the whole fucking sordid situation was centered upon the word ‘trust’. No matter what I am told, it just does not exist anymore. Attempting to trust another person is nearly as difficult as dealing with desire. Those two terms are akin to twin thieves robbing me of the ability to find balance or solace. I deal with both of them every day, and then the other bad word comes to mind and presses its advantage until I am bereft of hope or ambition. This shit may never end. I am old, yet still young. Something tells me that no matter how many years may be ahead, I'll still be sitting right here trying to understand everything. Nice. This is no way to live, although I've been told on numerous occasions that this is 'the way of things'. Ugh. There are times when I believe that I’ve already connected the doors and my obsession with certain aspects of beauty, eventually furthering the ideas to frame the way I feel each day. Obviously, Julia does not agree because I am still here, in-between, and wallowing in a netherworld of pain and loss. Maybe she’s upset with me due to the shift in my thinking as of last year. You know... The damaging dreams. No aspect of that situation is healthy in the least, and sometimes I think I’ve been driven to such an end after suffering and feeling confused due almost entirely to the two shit situations. I am not the person to simply calculate that if there is no recourse, I should let it all go and move forward with some new outlook. Quite the reverse, actually. I constantly grate against those events precisely because I can’t do anything about them. Too much time has passed, and the idea of ‘moving on’ no longer computes for me. I am still angry, yet there is no one to confront. Oh, sure... Julia placed me in that hellish passenger car and some might believe that I faced and then destroyed the cause of one situation. None of that took place, though, meaning I still sit here and dwell upon all that could have been if my early years had not contained something so terrible and damaging. The latter continues to plague me. Not a single hour passes these days without me daydreaming of a more fulfilling and less desperate lifestyle. The mere fact that I am powerless to change what has happened is now the root cause of everything causing me to suffer. The doors are periods I really did not want to recall, either. They may answer a few questions, yet the positive aspect of such a fact does not offset all the pain. The train is rolling along as if the machinery has its own purpose. If I indeed try to take control, there is a strong possibility that nothing will happen. I’ve been here before, too... Locomotives with their own agendas. Ugh. Regardless, I have to try. Sixty miles per hour with more than one hundred cars behind the line. Unbelievable. The controls are at my disposal, or so it would seem. Let’s give it a shot... ‘You are not in control here.’ ‘But I have to do something, damn it.’ ‘I know you don’t enjoy this. Just think, please.’ ‘I can’t stop thinking about IT.’ ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ Wonderful. No answers, yet again. I only see one solution, although it is most unlikely in life. Nothing is going to change unless I change it, yet at the same time I am completely powerless due to having been routed and squished and then relegated for too many years to count. I’ve become something I could not have imagined, all apologetic and weakened beyond comprehension. My horrible state of mind is the result of decades of the same shit that I fought to avoid. I guess some of what was beyond my control has shaped me and taken a set. I need a fucking drink. ‘The bar is behind you, my dear.’ ‘Thank the maker.’ There it is... A beautiful and very ornate wet bar, completely stocked and calling my name. Let’s get fucking hammered, yes? Ah, shit. Dioramas are incoming. I can see the lighting of artificial displays ahead and to the left, just like last time. I need to pour myself a nice glass of scotch to deal with whatever that woman has in mind. I already ran across two of the doors, I believe, and I must admit that recalling all which has taken place in this zone is becoming very difficult. Not only are the scenes often reminders of when I was happier, but so much has transpired that to keep track of everything is quite a chore. Door one was Steuart Street. Door two seemed to be the film crew at the vertical gun, yet I seem to recall an attempt to attend trucking school in the southern part of the country to ensure a career of which I had dreamed for many years. After living through the period when my dad worked for a semi manufacturing plant not far from home and receiving calendars and other imagery of trucks, I really wanted to be a part of what can be a very nomadic lifestyle. I don’t know if the trucking school was a door, though. Maybe that one did not pan out enough to qualify. The third incarnation of a door would seem to be when I wished to leave NASA and work in IT. The process involved me enrolling in school (online) to learn and begin a path to a very different and interesting career. Well, I failed. Not with the schoolwork, but through my own lack of ambition. I did not follow through with the courses and eventually dropped out. Wait a minute... There could be one more, although that one was beyond my control. Um, except the fact that the situation fell through due to my decision that involved that woman who was in the cab of the locomotive a little while ago. Damn. There may be too much here for me to follow right now. 'I need to leave this place for a while.' 'Do what you must. I'll be here, waiting.' Back to reality. This is not going to end anytime soon. 1059. My daily routine is out of the way and I am back at the control center with a fat cocktail for posterity (opposite thinking, lieutenant). The ill-begotten and ill-advised series is still streaming on the right-hand display because I can’t stop looking at Holly’s amazing, unique facial structure. Doing so is bad for me, but then again so is the cocktail, the way my brain operates, and all the other shit about which I dream each day. Why not stare at her, too? Everything hurts me, anyway. As for the rest of the day, I learned my game is not on until 1630, not 1230, so I’ll have lots of free time for whatever I want or need to do. I could use a situation about which I used to dream each morning while waiting to be picked up for work. I was out there just shy of 0500 every weekday with my coffee and staring up at the stars – a wondrous activity I wrote about some years ago while recalling different periods when I did the same from various locations – and desperately wished for my ‘car’ to arrive, a personal assistant emerging thereafter with my ‘briefcase’. I can’t go into detail, but I will say that such an event would have marked the end of my problems in life. As I already stated, it was a dream. That type of thing might date back to the hot, humid days spent drawing enormous homes while watching the tennis matches when I lived in the Midwest, or possibly years earlier when my buddy and I rode our bikes up Parkmeadow Drive and stared at the huge homes. In any case, I need that dream more right now than I ever have in the past. I need shit to be fucking solved, damn it. And I am doing my best with the preposition placement. The editor often disagrees, but I am stubborn. Whatever. None of this matters because I already know what my future will entail. Isn’t that special? I actually KNOW my future. Maybe there is magic in such knowledge. Or perhaps I am clairvoyant. Laugh it up. I am not well; the understatement above all other understatements. Bernie Kopell is in this episode. Do you remember he portrayed the ship’s doctor in ‘The Love Boat’? I do. That was a time when sitting in front of the show every Saturday night with ice cream was one of the best aspects of my life. Wow. What about the present? Um... Leftover pizza for lunch. I need that fucking dream right NOW. On a somewhat related front, I have to remain mindful of the living situation here in this little house. I wanted to escape the heat of the inner valleys and live near the ocean for more than twenty years, and now I do. The ocean is a half mile away and ensures the temperature rarely rises above seventy or so. Moreover, I have booze and all of my televisions there to provide comfort each day. The current period has its advantages over the past. It also lacks some axioms by which I used to live. They have disappeared due to the last several years of me realizing that validation may be impossible. Where I used to see wonder and possibility, I now see only pain and loss. The climate is better here and life is stable. Unfortunately, all of the positive aspects of being here are constantly at odds with my mental and emotional instability. I don’t even know why I brought up this crap. The bottom line is that being where I truly need is about as likely as angels flying out of my fucking ass. Maybe today is a good one for throwing shit away. I’ll have to cease daydreaming about my mouth glued to Holly’s delicate labia, however. Shoot me. I don’t fucking care. Sunday morning, post drive. The hour is early, so I have plenty of time to take care of business prior to kickoff (1305). I dreamed of some helpless girl early this morning but remember very little at this point. I was trying to help her in some fashion. Whatever the details, nearly all are gone now. I wish I could remember because she was gorgeous (naturally). I am not going to sit here for very long today due to the need to have my housework out of the way at a decent hour. The head start from yesterday will help me manage time. 1047. My daily routine is out of the way and I have a nice, cold glass of depressant for reasons of good form. The same series is now streaming on my right-hand display. Holly, too. Isn’t that peachy? Nothing is peachy. I am going to try to have all of the garbage business finished prior to game time. I’ll have the house to myself in a little while, too, meaning I can relax here at the control center and gather my ill-conceived thoughts. At some point I have to return to the negative material plane, as well. I don’t like it at all, especially considering the employment of that one fucking term which has driven me to very reckless behavior in the past, and may well do it again. Julia pays no mind because she knows everything. I wish I could ask about the future. Whoa... Wait a minute. Didn’t I already state that I know what the future holds? Yep, I did. Marvelous. Holly often resembles a cat, and I believe you already know how I feel about such features. 1214. I have some hours to myself and the game is on in less than an hour. Holly’s face is driving me up the wall, too. Big fucking surprise. I can’t help but gush about the ‘cat’ features, much like the woman I’ve seen during the show I’ve been following during afternoons and evenings. She is so fucking amazing that I need to grab one of the hammers and beat myself to death. Yep, her form and face are THAT unreal. I still can’t believe her appearance sometimes. She is the visible incarnation of the race girl, and then some. I’m going to lose my mind staring at her. Moreover, I plan to include captured images of that beauty right here in this sordid, downtrodden content. I have detailed files. Trust me. Anyway... The zone of the in-between is not going to end anytime soon, and I fear there will be much more trouble regarding what I consider to be door number four. Thankfully, there has not been another since. My path has been boiled down to the bare necessities of living comfortably, a condition cemented by others. Believe it. I have to be there. I must determine a path into the future. And yes, I already know what my future holds, but if I can remain calm and think everything through, perhaps the necessary comfort will come. As for the rest of this day, I am looking forward to having lunch during the game and my mind is somewhat eased through this morning’s efforts in having all of the daily business out of the way prior to kickoff. Tomorrow I have to take care of some laundry business and my usual routine, and Monday’s comfort will be realized through lots of time to sit here at the control center to allow for much quiet thinking. The negative material plane may never disappear from my head."
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