May 28th, 2023 9:04am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Them... You read ( words) "We were there and now we are here... Nothing of the like exists. We were there AGAIN; same result. Will this occur in the future? Little chance; little hope. Fuck you and your reasons. We have our own reasons. Lips and labia. The wolves have prevailed yet again. We knew it. We know it. The seeds have germinated. View us now. Go for it. There is only one way. The rails pay no mind. People pay no mind. Time pays no mind. We have paid. In such a way, we will pay no more, yet at the same time all we have left are invoices. We will be in the garage soon. Pay us a visit and apply hammer blows upside the head. Do it, or we will. We have nothing left aside from time, and time is the greatest fire in existence. Fuck your reasons. There is no care. There can be no relief. We have no recourse. And the clock spins. We spun her, but no longer. Whiskey. We saw her tug at the pants. Later, we saw the other one grasp the oversized sweatshirt and lift it to expose her rear end all wrapped tight in similar pants. We saw it and will never be the same. The time for pleasantries has come to an end, much like everything else garnering positive platitudes. Our verisimilitude has never rang more true. We are dead now. Words from the heart; words from the grave. There can be no going back. Nothing was for us. Nothing CAN BE for us. We were there, but never again. Lips and labia are the sum of merely one face of the devil’s dodecahedron. Decimated? We cannot know because the process never ends. There may be more than ten. We saw too much. We were squished too much. We needed too much. We have nothing left. We have whiskey. That is all. We are intimately familiar with the end of the road. The buffer stop of life is death. Forget the wages. Forget everything. We do not matter, nor do our words. Read in earnest. We do not lie. We learned brute force from the HFFAF. We applied such force to the project. Now the project suffers. We considered more force. We failed. Nothing can move further now. Nothing. We must find a switch. Caverns. The switch may not exist. We have no power. They have the power and it has been flexed for too long. We cannot regain power, so we must embrace discomfort. We cannot fully flex. They will keep their power and we will flare, just as one side believes it can overcome the other. No way. The switch is dire. We were right there. Now we have nothing. Hence... The gray of reality has taken a set. There is no mold release. The machinery is gone. Availability is gone. The tooling is gone. There is no mold release. The set has been forced in the furtherance of a crime. Forced. Brute force. There it is. We can no longer apply the same because we have been crushed. Witness the fruit. Dying fruit aside the dying orchids. Everything is dying. Dying. Dire? No... Dying. The clock lives on. The power lives on. Time rolls on. We are passengers on the train of death. Freedom from feeling must remain the focal point. Escape from the jaws; escape from the power. We go... We already know. You need not say anything. Truth is flame. Insensitivity is flame. We know. Say nothing and save yourself, or say something and lose it all. We no longer have any reason for the opposite. We no longer see the good. We have seen too much, and such a statement is unrelated to visions of beauty. The beauty is innocent. You are not. We already know. Speak the words and feel the fury which has been building for decades. Now we know how those people did what they did. We know. You do not. A demonstration can be arranged. Small mistakes. We know. We already know. Wonder led us to lines. Kindness led us to pain. Pain led us to lines. Lines led us to a line. Now we are dead inside. Dead. There can be no other way. We spoke of something bad. The bad has arrived on our darkened doorstep, God bless it. We need the bad. We have no other avenue, so the bad will dictate as we embrace the sliver of energy that remains after all these years. Lips and no labia. Analyze the analogy because it has nothing to do with physical affection or intimacy. Fucking figure it out, idiots. We will not help you because you are responsible for too much. We are in the cement; you roam free. Relish in your power. You have won. The other way... Saturday. I still feel everything just as I did years ago. Each morning I feel reminders of those periods and the present hits me in the face without remorse. Everything hits me at the same time. Last night I was retelling a rather funny story from high school. I began to feel lost again due to the passage of time. I am always lost in one or more ways. Every fucking day, too. Always. Thinking of that story brought back what I saw as wonder during the time in question. All of that is gone now. Perhaps this is the way of the world. I don’t know. The one certainty is that nothing appears hopeful anymore. I will try to avoid discussing the glow and how the future appeared to me during that wonderful time. The lines led to much difficulty, but I would gladly give up all those feelings for a taste of wonder once again. Depression has many facets. And back again... We were right there and now everything is gone; possibilities are waning. We have but one trajectory. We saw the pants and the shirt. We saw a glimpse of one globe. We saw too much, but already knew that she would be a prime factor in our decline. Fuck it all. The trees will sway and the waves will crash, all the while we shall be right here... Invisible; tiny; ineffective. We are nothing in any scheme. Blast the past. Blast everything. If only... Blast the cavern? Blast yourself. Do it now. We don’t care. We will be sitting here full of anger and disdain regardless of the activities of the mass. We have been where needed. All of that is gone and we are further away from reality with each passing moment since the wonder was torn away. No understanding. We do not understand, either, yet at least such a standpoint is due to the ills of others rather than our own internal issues. Understanding is likely unavailable for the remainder of this sordid and downtrodden life. We were there, anyway, and guided by senses which were malfunctioning. At least the place was realized. Little details stand out and must remain behind closed doors now. We were right fucking there. The worry continues. Worry over pain that cannot end, along with worry that the worry will consume us and cause larger problems than those in which we have been mired for years. We cannot be there anymore and the pain over such a fact is excruciating at times. Combined with knowledge that there can never be the right type of understanding – yes, that which was conveyed in fucking spades many years ago by the doll – we are uncertain of our duration for remaining here. Don’t worry. We carry part of the responsibility. We do. There can be no way around it. Unfortunately, that does not justify the lack of understanding having been thrown at us for decades. There have been bits and pieces, along with certain individuals heading in the correct direction, yet the snowstorms and squishing can’t be let go as trivial effects. That is bullshit. We will never let them go. Moreover, we will never let anything go so fuck off. We need to be there. We will die without it. We will most certainly die, and that is not a euphemism. Dead. Dead. Knowing that we may never be there again is the most depressing fucking thought imaginable. The idea of comfort and understanding is one thing, but not being where we need is worse. We do not have the physical and emotional resources to force anything right now. Nothing. We can’t even amass the resources, meaning the depressing thoughts are spidering out like never before. Each passing day places us further from everything we need. More anger. More disdain. We have been squished for far too long. And... Back. The time is now 0906 and I have the last cup of coffee next to me as the gangsters play out quietly to my right. I cannot effect change, so this day will move along just like all the rest. Depressing. Downtrodden. Doomy. I’ll have to perform my typical work and see what develops, if anything. Right now I am finding it difficult to care. I need to kiss Nicole’s labia until she understands the depth of my appreciation for her beauty. Maybe those sad eyes would move in another direction. She is so lovely. Anyway, I have to squash some deep feelings this morning if anything is to progress like usual. My brain is wrapped so tightly around past imagery and wondrous situations that all of my strength will be required if I am to function like an actual person today. Sometimes I don’t feel that I can go on living with this condition. Right now, I just don’t know what will happen during the next few hours. Housework is simple unless derailed by some of the worst realizations of my life. Maybe I can force it away, and maybe I can’t. When the coffee is gone, I will need to push pretty fucking hard. I could destroy the whole of society right now with only half of the anger I am feeling inside. Half. Believe it. But don’t worry... I can’t do anything about anything these days. Tiny. Powerless. Ineffective. Weak. Believe all that, too. Shut up. Does she understand? At some point this will all become too much. I already know. Too much. Around and around I have gone on for years, but to no avail. Everything is worse; I am worse. The only good I’ve accomplished was to remove myself from society. Mostly, anyway. I still have to go out there among the mass and take care of some business. No choice for that one. None. But my connections are minimal because I am tired of hearing about others’ activities, shit that their children have done, places they’ve visited... It’s all way too much now. The worst is when they speak of children. All that crap is understandable (I guess), yet it only makes me angry over the past. And one factor stands head and shoulders above the rest. Something I have avoided revealing here for many years. I may have gleaned the topic, but that is all. Well, since I’ve had it with everything and some ridicule is fine because I barely speak to anyone, I will clearly lay out one problem which nags at me almost constantly. I have been told over and over for many years that the only ‘thing’ in life that makes a ‘man’ is to produce and raise children. I never refer to myself as a man, either, but for unrelated reasons most of the time. There you go. Run with it. As I said, there will be a time when I can take no more sadness, plow any more shit, or feel any more heat. The time will come. So far, I’ve been able to hang on to the railing. That rhymes with failing. My grip is failing. Reversal. Our feelings can only be suppressed so much before there are issues beyond human comprehension. No one is listening to us anymore. They have been there in the past, yet everything goes to hell in this life. All downs, no ups. What? Little enjoyments? Shrinking. The information now makes us angry. Growing anger, to be sure. We do not know what to do, so the end result of every fucking mood leads us to reach. Even the reach is shrinking. We need the unrelenting RF power of the universe in order to feel anything. Any fucking thing, please. We can only plod along like this for so long before causing an explosion. Detonation, not deflagration. Learn it, motherfucks. The clock rolls right over us again. Rolling like so much stock. Rolling forever. You did this. Relish in it. Enjoy our destruction. Reversal. 1029. I have laundry in the dryer and half of my routine is out of the way. Cocktail time, as always. Is the morning drink causing damage to my psyche and ability to cope? Probably, but there is little caring about anything these days. Downward I go, like every day. The two exotic dancers in this episode are rather trashy and disgusting, but I would still fondle all four nipples. This is what I have become... Reducing my own standards as the world turns. Splendid. Anyway, I still don’t know how I am going to feel hours from now. This is a problem I encounter and am forced to deal with every fucking day of every fucking week of every fucking month of every fucking year. Read that three times at high speed. Good luck. I am completely fucking miserable with zero recourse in any aspect of life aside from food and drink. I should just drink myself into a shallow grave. The work today will continue, like always, because somewhere inside me is a tiny measure of responsibility. I know not from where that has come. Fuck it. Housework is housework and never very complicated or difficult. Only dealing with my head is difficult. There is no help available. Well, nothing I can afford, anyway. No ears of understanding; no arms of comfort. Nothing. Another fucking day is moving along with nary a care for me. Big deal. I wonder what it was like to be on set during the production of this amazing series. I wanted to be a part of the industry, but alas, I am a part of nothing. I am detached from life. Disconnected from every single Goddamned ambition I’ve ever had. Oh, I still want to do some things. Make no mistake. Others did much of this to me. The rest grew out of my own lack of self worth. No ears. No nothing. Fifty-six years of issues and regrets cannot be repaired in the time I have left. I was right there and now everything is gone. She was there, too. She loved me. The other one loved me. They are gone. Should I sit here and be thankful for having been there in the first fucking place? YOU make the call. Good luck with that. Shut up. Fuck you. There is far too much bad to be successfully offset by the good. The good is all in the past. The future is black. The gray of reality is dimming. The clock will not cease its motion just because one tiny, insignificant soul is having problems staying alive. The alcohol has successfully squashed my feelings once again. They will return, but for the time being I believe I can move along through this shit day with one less fucking problem. Marvelous. Does that mean something has been repaired? Not by a damned sight. It means the most dire aspect of life has been delayed, nothing more. The other benefit is my judgment having been loosened enough to lash out a bit without being concerned about what other people may think of my behavior. Many years ago I was told that being a nice person – sensitive to others, caring and the like – will eventually come back in spades. Rather like Karma, I suppose. Well, my life has gone in the diametric opposite fucking direction for the last four fucking decades. Explain to me the precise time of the ‘good’ coming back in my direction after I have helped and cared for other people to the very limits of my ability. I am pissed off like you would not believe right now. All that shit I was told during the formative years... What a joke. You’re not going to like this next statement, but if I could bring certain individuals back from the dead, I’d fucking kill them again. The only way I can overcome all that ingrained ‘nice person’ bullshit is to loosen my brain with alcohol. Right now it is loosened. I am going to fold the laundry. Stop. Later. Suppression is the only actual recourse, but the effectiveness of such a practice is nothing more than illusion. It is a delay. Ah... There is Oksana again. What I wouldn’t give to show that ‘clingy’ girl some appreciation. That type of feeling is nothing more than self-serving, to be honest. Clingy equals the idea of requiring less self-esteem in order to keep her close. I’ve done it before, and the type of living to which I am referring is known as weakness. I am weak; small and scared. She would be a breath of fresh air compared to many others. Yes, I said that. My nature disallows the idea of confidence, be it in something tangible or from an emotional standpoint. And yes, I already know it is bad on many levels, but this is what I have become. Anyway, I was speaking of suppression. I often say there is no recourse, yet the booze does push against desire almost every day. I suppose it is a positive in at least one way. Are you painting a picture yet? My neighbor is trimming his front lawn. That could mean we will eventually have a meeting about the motorcycle. Since yesterday, I have altered the atmosphere in my garage by way of broadcasting music from the 1236 discovery period. No one likes it, not even a little. They don’t understand the style and compositions at all. I do. It is forest music, and as such will continue until I am in the ground. I have no reason to make others happy on such a front. The only caveat is keeping the volume at a reasonable level so as to avoid backlash from other people in the neighborhood. I have no wish to alienate those with whom I am not familiar. Eventually this may change, but for the time being I plan to keep the Satanic tunes to myself or anyone who may be visiting my little empire. I will not increase the sound pressure beyond this property. While I was out there installing parts yesterday, the evil music was playing in the background and I could immediately see that my neighbor was very uncomfortable when inside the space. This will not change. If people want to visit, they will have to put aside their discomfort or live with the consequences. And the severity of the media will worsen over time. This is the only slice of power I still hold in my weakened hands. Sunday? What happened to Saturday? I don’t know. Whatever took place yesterday was apparently anything but noteworthy. I saw her again, though. That’s noteworthy. The sweatshirt? Don’t fucking ask. I needed her immediately. Um... I don’t know her. Anyway, I worked in the garage and ran some laundry. The music out there has been at a much lower volume during these last few days, mostly because it is harsh. I’ll have to continue this way until the mood improves (if that ever really happens). I kind of fell down yesterday after sitting here for a while and decided that the music needed to change for the duration because I don’t want anyone to feel comfortable while around me. RF power is the only defense I have left in the world, and music is but one facet of the spectrum. It is all I have. Out of everything I need and desire so badly, the music represents a ‘bare’ minimum, although I should be thankful that I built that system out there. Whatever. I’ll be out there again today to take care of business. Sunday stuff; you know. In and around all my other shit I will be right here daydreaming about all that is missing from my sorry life. Marvelous. Jesus Christ on a cross, do I ever want her. Bad. Real bad. I can barely think straight. I fucking hate this shit. Some mornings are worse than others, though. The feelings may pass soon. I have things to do and stories to tell. I also have a series partially reworked. I must continue it for the future, good or bad as such an idea may be. Right now I don’t know. I need to get her sex out of my fucking tired head this morning and lead myself in a positive direction. Damn, do I ever want her. Fuck. Switchypoo. Anger. We know not how to proceed without feeling anger toward others. Yes, all of them. We were right fucking there, too, but everything went in a very bad direction some time later. We were there. Her hand; our lips. We were there, the place of dreams. Some of this anger is due to everything having gone away, again. We know not what to do in order to move forward. Malfunction. Serious malfunction. Last year continues to return to us, leaving anger as the only path. We do not understand. We may never be made to understand. Malfunction. Everything is black. Last year was key and we did not know. Now? We know. There can be no mistaking the seriousness of those missing pieces. There can no longer be any doubt. Circumstances have caused the malfunction and we are less than pleased, to say the least. The RF power may not help us at all. It may well be nothing more than another impossible dream. Malfunction. Malfunction. Malfunction. We cannot deal with this for much longer." 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
May 28th, 2023 9:04am pdt If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning. Them... You read ( words) "We were there and now we are here... Nothing of the like exists. We were there AGAIN; same result. Will this occur in the future? Little chance; little hope. Fuck you and your reasons. We have our own reasons. Lips and labia. The wolves have prevailed yet again. We knew it. We know it. The seeds have germinated. View us now. Go for it. There is only one way. The rails pay no mind. People pay no mind. Time pays no mind. We have paid. In such a way, we will pay no more, yet at the same time all we have left are invoices. We will be in the garage soon. Pay us a visit and apply hammer blows upside the head. Do it, or we will. We have nothing left aside from time, and time is the greatest fire in existence. Fuck your reasons. There is no care. There can be no relief. We have no recourse. And the clock spins. We spun her, but no longer. Whiskey. We saw her tug at the pants. Later, we saw the other one grasp the oversized sweatshirt and lift it to expose her rear end all wrapped tight in similar pants. We saw it and will never be the same. The time for pleasantries has come to an end, much like everything else garnering positive platitudes. Our verisimilitude has never rang more true. We are dead now. Words from the heart; words from the grave. There can be no going back. Nothing was for us. Nothing CAN BE for us. We were there, but never again. Lips and labia are the sum of merely one face of the devil’s dodecahedron. Decimated? We cannot know because the process never ends. There may be more than ten. We saw too much. We were squished too much. We needed too much. We have nothing left. We have whiskey. That is all. We are intimately familiar with the end of the road. The buffer stop of life is death. Forget the wages. Forget everything. We do not matter, nor do our words. Read in earnest. We do not lie. We learned brute force from the HFFAF. We applied such force to the project. Now the project suffers. We considered more force. We failed. Nothing can move further now. Nothing. We must find a switch. Caverns. The switch may not exist. We have no power. They have the power and it has been flexed for too long. We cannot regain power, so we must embrace discomfort. We cannot fully flex. They will keep their power and we will flare, just as one side believes it can overcome the other. No way. The switch is dire. We were right there. Now we have nothing. Hence... The gray of reality has taken a set. There is no mold release. The machinery is gone. Availability is gone. The tooling is gone. There is no mold release. The set has been forced in the furtherance of a crime. Forced. Brute force. There it is. We can no longer apply the same because we have been crushed. Witness the fruit. Dying fruit aside the dying orchids. Everything is dying. Dying. Dire? No... Dying. The clock lives on. The power lives on. Time rolls on. We are passengers on the train of death. Freedom from feeling must remain the focal point. Escape from the jaws; escape from the power. We go... We already know. You need not say anything. Truth is flame. Insensitivity is flame. We know. Say nothing and save yourself, or say something and lose it all. We no longer have any reason for the opposite. We no longer see the good. We have seen too much, and such a statement is unrelated to visions of beauty. The beauty is innocent. You are not. We already know. Speak the words and feel the fury which has been building for decades. Now we know how those people did what they did. We know. You do not. A demonstration can be arranged. Small mistakes. We know. We already know. Wonder led us to lines. Kindness led us to pain. Pain led us to lines. Lines led us to a line. Now we are dead inside. Dead. There can be no other way. We spoke of something bad. The bad has arrived on our darkened doorstep, God bless it. We need the bad. We have no other avenue, so the bad will dictate as we embrace the sliver of energy that remains after all these years. Lips and no labia. Analyze the analogy because it has nothing to do with physical affection or intimacy. Fucking figure it out, idiots. We will not help you because you are responsible for too much. We are in the cement; you roam free. Relish in your power. You have won. The other way... Saturday. I still feel everything just as I did years ago. Each morning I feel reminders of those periods and the present hits me in the face without remorse. Everything hits me at the same time. Last night I was retelling a rather funny story from high school. I began to feel lost again due to the passage of time. I am always lost in one or more ways. Every fucking day, too. Always. Thinking of that story brought back what I saw as wonder during the time in question. All of that is gone now. Perhaps this is the way of the world. I don’t know. The one certainty is that nothing appears hopeful anymore. I will try to avoid discussing the glow and how the future appeared to me during that wonderful time. The lines led to much difficulty, but I would gladly give up all those feelings for a taste of wonder once again. Depression has many facets. And back again... We were right there and now everything is gone; possibilities are waning. We have but one trajectory. We saw the pants and the shirt. We saw a glimpse of one globe. We saw too much, but already knew that she would be a prime factor in our decline. Fuck it all. The trees will sway and the waves will crash, all the while we shall be right here... Invisible; tiny; ineffective. We are nothing in any scheme. Blast the past. Blast everything. If only... Blast the cavern? Blast yourself. Do it now. We don’t care. We will be sitting here full of anger and disdain regardless of the activities of the mass. We have been where needed. All of that is gone and we are further away from reality with each passing moment since the wonder was torn away. No understanding. We do not understand, either, yet at least such a standpoint is due to the ills of others rather than our own internal issues. Understanding is likely unavailable for the remainder of this sordid and downtrodden life. We were there, anyway, and guided by senses which were malfunctioning. At least the place was realized. Little details stand out and must remain behind closed doors now. We were right fucking there. The worry continues. Worry over pain that cannot end, along with worry that the worry will consume us and cause larger problems than those in which we have been mired for years. We cannot be there anymore and the pain over such a fact is excruciating at times. Combined with knowledge that there can never be the right type of understanding – yes, that which was conveyed in fucking spades many years ago by the doll – we are uncertain of our duration for remaining here. Don’t worry. We carry part of the responsibility. We do. There can be no way around it. Unfortunately, that does not justify the lack of understanding having been thrown at us for decades. There have been bits and pieces, along with certain individuals heading in the correct direction, yet the snowstorms and squishing can’t be let go as trivial effects. That is bullshit. We will never let them go. Moreover, we will never let anything go so fuck off. We need to be there. We will die without it. We will most certainly die, and that is not a euphemism. Dead. Dead. Knowing that we may never be there again is the most depressing fucking thought imaginable. The idea of comfort and understanding is one thing, but not being where we need is worse. We do not have the physical and emotional resources to force anything right now. Nothing. We can’t even amass the resources, meaning the depressing thoughts are spidering out like never before. Each passing day places us further from everything we need. More anger. More disdain. We have been squished for far too long. And... Back. The time is now 0906 and I have the last cup of coffee next to me as the gangsters play out quietly to my right. I cannot effect change, so this day will move along just like all the rest. Depressing. Downtrodden. Doomy. I’ll have to perform my typical work and see what develops, if anything. Right now I am finding it difficult to care. I need to kiss Nicole’s labia until she understands the depth of my appreciation for her beauty. Maybe those sad eyes would move in another direction. She is so lovely. Anyway, I have to squash some deep feelings this morning if anything is to progress like usual. My brain is wrapped so tightly around past imagery and wondrous situations that all of my strength will be required if I am to function like an actual person today. Sometimes I don’t feel that I can go on living with this condition. Right now, I just don’t know what will happen during the next few hours. Housework is simple unless derailed by some of the worst realizations of my life. Maybe I can force it away, and maybe I can’t. When the coffee is gone, I will need to push pretty fucking hard. I could destroy the whole of society right now with only half of the anger I am feeling inside. Half. Believe it. But don’t worry... I can’t do anything about anything these days. Tiny. Powerless. Ineffective. Weak. Believe all that, too. Shut up. Does she understand? At some point this will all become too much. I already know. Too much. Around and around I have gone on for years, but to no avail. Everything is worse; I am worse. The only good I’ve accomplished was to remove myself from society. Mostly, anyway. I still have to go out there among the mass and take care of some business. No choice for that one. None. But my connections are minimal because I am tired of hearing about others’ activities, shit that their children have done, places they’ve visited... It’s all way too much now. The worst is when they speak of children. All that crap is understandable (I guess), yet it only makes me angry over the past. And one factor stands head and shoulders above the rest. Something I have avoided revealing here for many years. I may have gleaned the topic, but that is all. Well, since I’ve had it with everything and some ridicule is fine because I barely speak to anyone, I will clearly lay out one problem which nags at me almost constantly. I have been told over and over for many years that the only ‘thing’ in life that makes a ‘man’ is to produce and raise children. I never refer to myself as a man, either, but for unrelated reasons most of the time. There you go. Run with it. As I said, there will be a time when I can take no more sadness, plow any more shit, or feel any more heat. The time will come. So far, I’ve been able to hang on to the railing. That rhymes with failing. My grip is failing. Reversal. Our feelings can only be suppressed so much before there are issues beyond human comprehension. No one is listening to us anymore. They have been there in the past, yet everything goes to hell in this life. All downs, no ups. What? Little enjoyments? Shrinking. The information now makes us angry. Growing anger, to be sure. We do not know what to do, so the end result of every fucking mood leads us to reach. Even the reach is shrinking. We need the unrelenting RF power of the universe in order to feel anything. Any fucking thing, please. We can only plod along like this for so long before causing an explosion. Detonation, not deflagration. Learn it, motherfucks. The clock rolls right over us again. Rolling like so much stock. Rolling forever. You did this. Relish in it. Enjoy our destruction. Reversal. 1029. I have laundry in the dryer and half of my routine is out of the way. Cocktail time, as always. Is the morning drink causing damage to my psyche and ability to cope? Probably, but there is little caring about anything these days. Downward I go, like every day. The two exotic dancers in this episode are rather trashy and disgusting, but I would still fondle all four nipples. This is what I have become... Reducing my own standards as the world turns. Splendid. Anyway, I still don’t know how I am going to feel hours from now. This is a problem I encounter and am forced to deal with every fucking day of every fucking week of every fucking month of every fucking year. Read that three times at high speed. Good luck. I am completely fucking miserable with zero recourse in any aspect of life aside from food and drink. I should just drink myself into a shallow grave. The work today will continue, like always, because somewhere inside me is a tiny measure of responsibility. I know not from where that has come. Fuck it. Housework is housework and never very complicated or difficult. Only dealing with my head is difficult. There is no help available. Well, nothing I can afford, anyway. No ears of understanding; no arms of comfort. Nothing. Another fucking day is moving along with nary a care for me. Big deal. I wonder what it was like to be on set during the production of this amazing series. I wanted to be a part of the industry, but alas, I am a part of nothing. I am detached from life. Disconnected from every single Goddamned ambition I’ve ever had. Oh, I still want to do some things. Make no mistake. Others did much of this to me. The rest grew out of my own lack of self worth. No ears. No nothing. Fifty-six years of issues and regrets cannot be repaired in the time I have left. I was right there and now everything is gone. She was there, too. She loved me. The other one loved me. They are gone. Should I sit here and be thankful for having been there in the first fucking place? YOU make the call. Good luck with that. Shut up. Fuck you. There is far too much bad to be successfully offset by the good. The good is all in the past. The future is black. The gray of reality is dimming. The clock will not cease its motion just because one tiny, insignificant soul is having problems staying alive. The alcohol has successfully squashed my feelings once again. They will return, but for the time being I believe I can move along through this shit day with one less fucking problem. Marvelous. Does that mean something has been repaired? Not by a damned sight. It means the most dire aspect of life has been delayed, nothing more. The other benefit is my judgment having been loosened enough to lash out a bit without being concerned about what other people may think of my behavior. Many years ago I was told that being a nice person – sensitive to others, caring and the like – will eventually come back in spades. Rather like Karma, I suppose. Well, my life has gone in the diametric opposite fucking direction for the last four fucking decades. Explain to me the precise time of the ‘good’ coming back in my direction after I have helped and cared for other people to the very limits of my ability. I am pissed off like you would not believe right now. All that shit I was told during the formative years... What a joke. You’re not going to like this next statement, but if I could bring certain individuals back from the dead, I’d fucking kill them again. The only way I can overcome all that ingrained ‘nice person’ bullshit is to loosen my brain with alcohol. Right now it is loosened. I am going to fold the laundry. Stop. Later. Suppression is the only actual recourse, but the effectiveness of such a practice is nothing more than illusion. It is a delay. Ah... There is Oksana again. What I wouldn’t give to show that ‘clingy’ girl some appreciation. That type of feeling is nothing more than self-serving, to be honest. Clingy equals the idea of requiring less self-esteem in order to keep her close. I’ve done it before, and the type of living to which I am referring is known as weakness. I am weak; small and scared. She would be a breath of fresh air compared to many others. Yes, I said that. My nature disallows the idea of confidence, be it in something tangible or from an emotional standpoint. And yes, I already know it is bad on many levels, but this is what I have become. Anyway, I was speaking of suppression. I often say there is no recourse, yet the booze does push against desire almost every day. I suppose it is a positive in at least one way. Are you painting a picture yet? My neighbor is trimming his front lawn. That could mean we will eventually have a meeting about the motorcycle. Since yesterday, I have altered the atmosphere in my garage by way of broadcasting music from the 1236 discovery period. No one likes it, not even a little. They don’t understand the style and compositions at all. I do. It is forest music, and as such will continue until I am in the ground. I have no reason to make others happy on such a front. The only caveat is keeping the volume at a reasonable level so as to avoid backlash from other people in the neighborhood. I have no wish to alienate those with whom I am not familiar. Eventually this may change, but for the time being I plan to keep the Satanic tunes to myself or anyone who may be visiting my little empire. I will not increase the sound pressure beyond this property. While I was out there installing parts yesterday, the evil music was playing in the background and I could immediately see that my neighbor was very uncomfortable when inside the space. This will not change. If people want to visit, they will have to put aside their discomfort or live with the consequences. And the severity of the media will worsen over time. This is the only slice of power I still hold in my weakened hands. Sunday? What happened to Saturday? I don’t know. Whatever took place yesterday was apparently anything but noteworthy. I saw her again, though. That’s noteworthy. The sweatshirt? Don’t fucking ask. I needed her immediately. Um... I don’t know her. Anyway, I worked in the garage and ran some laundry. The music out there has been at a much lower volume during these last few days, mostly because it is harsh. I’ll have to continue this way until the mood improves (if that ever really happens). I kind of fell down yesterday after sitting here for a while and decided that the music needed to change for the duration because I don’t want anyone to feel comfortable while around me. RF power is the only defense I have left in the world, and music is but one facet of the spectrum. It is all I have. Out of everything I need and desire so badly, the music represents a ‘bare’ minimum, although I should be thankful that I built that system out there. Whatever. I’ll be out there again today to take care of business. Sunday stuff; you know. In and around all my other shit I will be right here daydreaming about all that is missing from my sorry life. Marvelous. Jesus Christ on a cross, do I ever want her. Bad. Real bad. I can barely think straight. I fucking hate this shit. Some mornings are worse than others, though. The feelings may pass soon. I have things to do and stories to tell. I also have a series partially reworked. I must continue it for the future, good or bad as such an idea may be. Right now I don’t know. I need to get her sex out of my fucking tired head this morning and lead myself in a positive direction. Damn, do I ever want her. Fuck. Switchypoo. Anger. We know not how to proceed without feeling anger toward others. Yes, all of them. We were right fucking there, too, but everything went in a very bad direction some time later. We were there. Her hand; our lips. We were there, the place of dreams. Some of this anger is due to everything having gone away, again. We know not what to do in order to move forward. Malfunction. Serious malfunction. Last year continues to return to us, leaving anger as the only path. We do not understand. We may never be made to understand. Malfunction. Everything is black. Last year was key and we did not know. Now? We know. There can be no mistaking the seriousness of those missing pieces. There can no longer be any doubt. Circumstances have caused the malfunction and we are less than pleased, to say the least. The RF power may not help us at all. It may well be nothing more than another impossible dream. Malfunction. Malfunction. Malfunction. We cannot deal with this for much longer."
May 28th, 2023 9:04am pdt
If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.
Them... You
read ( words)
"We were there and now we are here... Nothing of the like exists. We were there AGAIN; same result. Will this occur in the future? Little chance; little hope. Fuck you and your reasons. We have our own reasons. Lips and labia. The wolves have prevailed yet again. We knew it. We know it. The seeds have germinated. View us now. Go for it. There is only one way. The rails pay no mind. People pay no mind. Time pays no mind. We have paid. In such a way, we will pay no more, yet at the same time all we have left are invoices. We will be in the garage soon. Pay us a visit and apply hammer blows upside the head. Do it, or we will. We have nothing left aside from time, and time is the greatest fire in existence. Fuck your reasons. There is no care. There can be no relief. We have no recourse. And the clock spins. We spun her, but no longer. Whiskey. We saw her tug at the pants. Later, we saw the other one grasp the oversized sweatshirt and lift it to expose her rear end all wrapped tight in similar pants. We saw it and will never be the same. The time for pleasantries has come to an end, much like everything else garnering positive platitudes. Our verisimilitude has never rang more true. We are dead now. Words from the heart; words from the grave. There can be no going back. Nothing was for us. Nothing CAN BE for us. We were there, but never again. Lips and labia are the sum of merely one face of the devil’s dodecahedron. Decimated? We cannot know because the process never ends. There may be more than ten. We saw too much. We were squished too much. We needed too much. We have nothing left. We have whiskey. That is all. We are intimately familiar with the end of the road. The buffer stop of life is death. Forget the wages. Forget everything. We do not matter, nor do our words. Read in earnest. We do not lie. We learned brute force from the HFFAF. We applied such force to the project. Now the project suffers. We considered more force. We failed. Nothing can move further now. Nothing. We must find a switch. Caverns. The switch may not exist. We have no power. They have the power and it has been flexed for too long. We cannot regain power, so we must embrace discomfort. We cannot fully flex. They will keep their power and we will flare, just as one side believes it can overcome the other. No way. The switch is dire. We were right there. Now we have nothing. Hence... The gray of reality has taken a set. There is no mold release. The machinery is gone. Availability is gone. The tooling is gone. There is no mold release. The set has been forced in the furtherance of a crime. Forced. Brute force. There it is. We can no longer apply the same because we have been crushed. Witness the fruit. Dying fruit aside the dying orchids. Everything is dying. Dying. Dire? No... Dying. The clock lives on. The power lives on. Time rolls on. We are passengers on the train of death. Freedom from feeling must remain the focal point. Escape from the jaws; escape from the power. We go... We already know. You need not say anything. Truth is flame. Insensitivity is flame. We know. Say nothing and save yourself, or say something and lose it all. We no longer have any reason for the opposite. We no longer see the good. We have seen too much, and such a statement is unrelated to visions of beauty. The beauty is innocent. You are not. We already know. Speak the words and feel the fury which has been building for decades. Now we know how those people did what they did. We know. You do not. A demonstration can be arranged. Small mistakes. We know. We already know. Wonder led us to lines. Kindness led us to pain. Pain led us to lines. Lines led us to a line. Now we are dead inside. Dead. There can be no other way. We spoke of something bad. The bad has arrived on our darkened doorstep, God bless it. We need the bad. We have no other avenue, so the bad will dictate as we embrace the sliver of energy that remains after all these years. Lips and no labia. Analyze the analogy because it has nothing to do with physical affection or intimacy. Fucking figure it out, idiots. We will not help you because you are responsible for too much. We are in the cement; you roam free. Relish in your power. You have won. The other way... Saturday. I still feel everything just as I did years ago. Each morning I feel reminders of those periods and the present hits me in the face without remorse. Everything hits me at the same time. Last night I was retelling a rather funny story from high school. I began to feel lost again due to the passage of time. I am always lost in one or more ways. Every fucking day, too. Always. Thinking of that story brought back what I saw as wonder during the time in question. All of that is gone now. Perhaps this is the way of the world. I don’t know. The one certainty is that nothing appears hopeful anymore. I will try to avoid discussing the glow and how the future appeared to me during that wonderful time. The lines led to much difficulty, but I would gladly give up all those feelings for a taste of wonder once again. Depression has many facets. And back again... We were right there and now everything is gone; possibilities are waning. We have but one trajectory. We saw the pants and the shirt. We saw a glimpse of one globe. We saw too much, but already knew that she would be a prime factor in our decline. Fuck it all. The trees will sway and the waves will crash, all the while we shall be right here... Invisible; tiny; ineffective. We are nothing in any scheme. Blast the past. Blast everything. If only... Blast the cavern? Blast yourself. Do it now. We don’t care. We will be sitting here full of anger and disdain regardless of the activities of the mass. We have been where needed. All of that is gone and we are further away from reality with each passing moment since the wonder was torn away. No understanding. We do not understand, either, yet at least such a standpoint is due to the ills of others rather than our own internal issues. Understanding is likely unavailable for the remainder of this sordid and downtrodden life. We were there, anyway, and guided by senses which were malfunctioning. At least the place was realized. Little details stand out and must remain behind closed doors now. We were right fucking there. The worry continues. Worry over pain that cannot end, along with worry that the worry will consume us and cause larger problems than those in which we have been mired for years. We cannot be there anymore and the pain over such a fact is excruciating at times. Combined with knowledge that there can never be the right type of understanding – yes, that which was conveyed in fucking spades many years ago by the doll – we are uncertain of our duration for remaining here. Don’t worry. We carry part of the responsibility. We do. There can be no way around it. Unfortunately, that does not justify the lack of understanding having been thrown at us for decades. There have been bits and pieces, along with certain individuals heading in the correct direction, yet the snowstorms and squishing can’t be let go as trivial effects. That is bullshit. We will never let them go. Moreover, we will never let anything go so fuck off. We need to be there. We will die without it. We will most certainly die, and that is not a euphemism. Dead. Dead. Knowing that we may never be there again is the most depressing fucking thought imaginable. The idea of comfort and understanding is one thing, but not being where we need is worse. We do not have the physical and emotional resources to force anything right now. Nothing. We can’t even amass the resources, meaning the depressing thoughts are spidering out like never before. Each passing day places us further from everything we need. More anger. More disdain. We have been squished for far too long. And... Back. The time is now 0906 and I have the last cup of coffee next to me as the gangsters play out quietly to my right. I cannot effect change, so this day will move along just like all the rest. Depressing. Downtrodden. Doomy. I’ll have to perform my typical work and see what develops, if anything. Right now I am finding it difficult to care. I need to kiss Nicole’s labia until she understands the depth of my appreciation for her beauty. Maybe those sad eyes would move in another direction. She is so lovely. Anyway, I have to squash some deep feelings this morning if anything is to progress like usual. My brain is wrapped so tightly around past imagery and wondrous situations that all of my strength will be required if I am to function like an actual person today. Sometimes I don’t feel that I can go on living with this condition. Right now, I just don’t know what will happen during the next few hours. Housework is simple unless derailed by some of the worst realizations of my life. Maybe I can force it away, and maybe I can’t. When the coffee is gone, I will need to push pretty fucking hard. I could destroy the whole of society right now with only half of the anger I am feeling inside. Half. Believe it. But don’t worry... I can’t do anything about anything these days. Tiny. Powerless. Ineffective. Weak. Believe all that, too. Shut up.
Does she understand?
At some point this will all become too much. I already know. Too much. Around and around I have gone on for years, but to no avail. Everything is worse; I am worse. The only good I’ve accomplished was to remove myself from society. Mostly, anyway. I still have to go out there among the mass and take care of some business. No choice for that one. None. But my connections are minimal because I am tired of hearing about others’ activities, shit that their children have done, places they’ve visited... It’s all way too much now. The worst is when they speak of children. All that crap is understandable (I guess), yet it only makes me angry over the past. And one factor stands head and shoulders above the rest. Something I have avoided revealing here for many years. I may have gleaned the topic, but that is all. Well, since I’ve had it with everything and some ridicule is fine because I barely speak to anyone, I will clearly lay out one problem which nags at me almost constantly. I have been told over and over for many years that the only ‘thing’ in life that makes a ‘man’ is to produce and raise children. I never refer to myself as a man, either, but for unrelated reasons most of the time. There you go. Run with it. As I said, there will be a time when I can take no more sadness, plow any more shit, or feel any more heat. The time will come. So far, I’ve been able to hang on to the railing. That rhymes with failing. My grip is failing. Reversal. Our feelings can only be suppressed so much before there are issues beyond human comprehension. No one is listening to us anymore. They have been there in the past, yet everything goes to hell in this life. All downs, no ups. What? Little enjoyments? Shrinking. The information now makes us angry. Growing anger, to be sure. We do not know what to do, so the end result of every fucking mood leads us to reach. Even the reach is shrinking. We need the unrelenting RF power of the universe in order to feel anything. Any fucking thing, please. We can only plod along like this for so long before causing an explosion. Detonation, not deflagration. Learn it, motherfucks. The clock rolls right over us again. Rolling like so much stock. Rolling forever. You did this. Relish in it. Enjoy our destruction. Reversal. 1029. I have laundry in the dryer and half of my routine is out of the way. Cocktail time, as always. Is the morning drink causing damage to my psyche and ability to cope? Probably, but there is little caring about anything these days. Downward I go, like every day. The two exotic dancers in this episode are rather trashy and disgusting, but I would still fondle all four nipples. This is what I have become... Reducing my own standards as the world turns. Splendid. Anyway, I still don’t know how I am going to feel hours from now. This is a problem I encounter and am forced to deal with every fucking day of every fucking week of every fucking month of every fucking year. Read that three times at high speed. Good luck. I am completely fucking miserable with zero recourse in any aspect of life aside from food and drink. I should just drink myself into a shallow grave. The work today will continue, like always, because somewhere inside me is a tiny measure of responsibility. I know not from where that has come. Fuck it. Housework is housework and never very complicated or difficult. Only dealing with my head is difficult. There is no help available. Well, nothing I can afford, anyway. No ears of understanding; no arms of comfort. Nothing. Another fucking day is moving along with nary a care for me. Big deal. I wonder what it was like to be on set during the production of this amazing series. I wanted to be a part of the industry, but alas, I am a part of nothing. I am detached from life. Disconnected from every single Goddamned ambition I’ve ever had. Oh, I still want to do some things. Make no mistake. Others did much of this to me. The rest grew out of my own lack of self worth. No ears. No nothing. Fifty-six years of issues and regrets cannot be repaired in the time I have left. I was right there and now everything is gone. She was there, too. She loved me. The other one loved me. They are gone. Should I sit here and be thankful for having been there in the first fucking place? YOU make the call. Good luck with that. Shut up. Fuck you. There is far too much bad to be successfully offset by the good. The good is all in the past. The future is black. The gray of reality is dimming. The clock will not cease its motion just because one tiny, insignificant soul is having problems staying alive. The alcohol has successfully squashed my feelings once again. They will return, but for the time being I believe I can move along through this shit day with one less fucking problem. Marvelous. Does that mean something has been repaired? Not by a damned sight. It means the most dire aspect of life has been delayed, nothing more. The other benefit is my judgment having been loosened enough to lash out a bit without being concerned about what other people may think of my behavior. Many years ago I was told that being a nice person – sensitive to others, caring and the like – will eventually come back in spades. Rather like Karma, I suppose. Well, my life has gone in the diametric opposite fucking direction for the last four fucking decades. Explain to me the precise time of the ‘good’ coming back in my direction after I have helped and cared for other people to the very limits of my ability. I am pissed off like you would not believe right now. All that shit I was told during the formative years... What a joke. You’re not going to like this next statement, but if I could bring certain individuals back from the dead, I’d fucking kill them again. The only way I can overcome all that ingrained ‘nice person’ bullshit is to loosen my brain with alcohol. Right now it is loosened. I am going to fold the laundry. Stop. Later. Suppression is the only actual recourse, but the effectiveness of such a practice is nothing more than illusion. It is a delay. Ah... There is Oksana again. What I wouldn’t give to show that ‘clingy’ girl some appreciation. That type of feeling is nothing more than self-serving, to be honest. Clingy equals the idea of requiring less self-esteem in order to keep her close. I’ve done it before, and the type of living to which I am referring is known as weakness. I am weak; small and scared. She would be a breath of fresh air compared to many others. Yes, I said that. My nature disallows the idea of confidence, be it in something tangible or from an emotional standpoint. And yes, I already know it is bad on many levels, but this is what I have become. Anyway, I was speaking of suppression. I often say there is no recourse, yet the booze does push against desire almost every day. I suppose it is a positive in at least one way. Are you painting a picture yet? My neighbor is trimming his front lawn. That could mean we will eventually have a meeting about the motorcycle. Since yesterday, I have altered the atmosphere in my garage by way of broadcasting music from the 1236 discovery period. No one likes it, not even a little. They don’t understand the style and compositions at all. I do. It is forest music, and as such will continue until I am in the ground. I have no reason to make others happy on such a front. The only caveat is keeping the volume at a reasonable level so as to avoid backlash from other people in the neighborhood. I have no wish to alienate those with whom I am not familiar. Eventually this may change, but for the time being I plan to keep the Satanic tunes to myself or anyone who may be visiting my little empire. I will not increase the sound pressure beyond this property. While I was out there installing parts yesterday, the evil music was playing in the background and I could immediately see that my neighbor was very uncomfortable when inside the space. This will not change. If people want to visit, they will have to put aside their discomfort or live with the consequences. And the severity of the media will worsen over time. This is the only slice of power I still hold in my weakened hands. Sunday? What happened to Saturday? I don’t know. Whatever took place yesterday was apparently anything but noteworthy. I saw her again, though. That’s noteworthy. The sweatshirt? Don’t fucking ask. I needed her immediately. Um... I don’t know her. Anyway, I worked in the garage and ran some laundry. The music out there has been at a much lower volume during these last few days, mostly because it is harsh. I’ll have to continue this way until the mood improves (if that ever really happens). I kind of fell down yesterday after sitting here for a while and decided that the music needed to change for the duration because I don’t want anyone to feel comfortable while around me. RF power is the only defense I have left in the world, and music is but one facet of the spectrum. It is all I have. Out of everything I need and desire so badly, the music represents a ‘bare’ minimum, although I should be thankful that I built that system out there. Whatever. I’ll be out there again today to take care of business. Sunday stuff; you know. In and around all my other shit I will be right here daydreaming about all that is missing from my sorry life. Marvelous. Jesus Christ on a cross, do I ever want her. Bad. Real bad. I can barely think straight. I fucking hate this shit. Some mornings are worse than others, though. The feelings may pass soon. I have things to do and stories to tell. I also have a series partially reworked. I must continue it for the future, good or bad as such an idea may be. Right now I don’t know. I need to get her sex out of my fucking tired head this morning and lead myself in a positive direction. Damn, do I ever want her. Fuck. Switchypoo. Anger. We know not how to proceed without feeling anger toward others. Yes, all of them. We were right fucking there, too, but everything went in a very bad direction some time later. We were there. Her hand; our lips. We were there, the place of dreams. Some of this anger is due to everything having gone away, again. We know not what to do in order to move forward. Malfunction. Serious malfunction. Last year continues to return to us, leaving anger as the only path. We do not understand. We may never be made to understand. Malfunction. Everything is black. Last year was key and we did not know. Now? We know. There can be no mistaking the seriousness of those missing pieces. There can no longer be any doubt. Circumstances have caused the malfunction and we are less than pleased, to say the least. The RF power may not help us at all. It may well be nothing more than another impossible dream. Malfunction. Malfunction. Malfunction. We cannot deal with this for much longer."
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