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January 26th, 2024 9:04am pst

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The archive has been truncated to the tune of roughly fifteen percent for historical reasons. We fully intend to watch over the effects of the archived stories, mostly those dealing with personal issues. The archive shall remain truncated for the foreseeable future.



The Other Flood Gun

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"Perhaps I should focus on the upcoming trip and leave the objective behind for a while. Well, at least until I figure out whether or not I’m able to carry out a plan. The trip has its share of positives, from the long drive and getting the hell out of here for a little while, on to being portable which is something I always enjoy, and then dinner at an agreeable restaurant. An old-fashioned venue. My favorite. I also need to keep the return drive in mind so I don’t fall off a cliff. I’ll probably be happy to arrive home again because this is my sanctuary these days. Being away can be difficult, but I’ll be in control of the entire shitaree – my birthday and whatnot – and the whole thing will come and go very quickly. I need not fear being away from my devices. Rather than trying to work on the objective, maybe keeping the trip in mind can help for a while. Maybe. Today is Wednesday and I need not go anywhere. Coffee for the time being; alcohol soon. My life is so fucking boiled down that I can barely describe it anymore. Marvelous.

The sun is shining, but rain is coming soon. Lots of rain. I’ll have to batten down the hatches between now and Friday. The yard will be completely flooded by Sunday, and then Monday is dinner uptown for my birthday. The trip is from Wednesday to Thursday.

Thursday, after my morning chores. Cocktail hour is here, thank the maker. I need something to calm my nerves every day around this time because my head goes so far south that I can feel the sunshine on Cape Horn. Does that make me an alcoholic? Of course, because what passes as acceptable daily alcohol intake has continued to shrink since the seventies. At present, I don’t believe anyone I know can be removed from such a category. Whatever. My entire lot in life is pretty fucking simple, and as of yet I have not ventured too far down a bottle for serious trouble. And? I don’t care anymore. Once I feel marginalized for any reason, I tend to head in the opposite direction (read: protestations). I have to be a nonconformist as often as possible, otherwise I will be gone. I love control, but being controlled is an entirely different story. My drink shall remain. As for the housework, only little things remain for today’s business hours. That’s fine. I’ve been reminded too much lately of where I am in life. This is not good. The film industry is plenty, trust me, but other aspects of work as well as past hobbies have been flying into my vision and hitting me in the head without respite. I really don’t fucking need to think about everything at the same fucking time, either. One or another is fine; I’ve been able to deal with such a situation. But several at once? That is a recipe for doom. Believe it. This morning I decided to browse a bit on one of my applications and ran across something that relates to an interest dating all the way back to fourth grade. The hobby dictated much of my life for a very long time but never really went anywhere. I tried to recapture the magic while living in northern Fremont around eighty-nine or so, but even that attempt turned to shit within months. The last time I tried was some years ago when I visited the music store across town, and now that fucking purchase is gone. It did go to a better home, yet being reminded of those activities upon which I have given up is bad for me, especially now. I feel like nothing more than an automaton. Should I flip a switch? Nope. Doing so never accomplishes anything, nor does it reflect brightly on me. I don’t have many options anymore. Not good.

In short, there are powerful reasons for my morning cocktail. I’m fairly certain that one day all I will have left in the world is a fucking drink. It seems to be the only aspect of living that does not try to squish me. Go ahead and laugh.

There are just too many reminders these days. Between my five shows and the way they tend to transport me back to the glow, watching the credits of a film crawl up the screen culminating in those beautiful, stirring and tear-inducing logos (some on this page), and being hit with knowledge of what other people have been driven to accomplish, I honestly don’t know how I move from one day to the next without blowing my fucking brains out. My garage has traditionally been open all day long while home, but lately it is only open when I need ventilation (maybe an hour each afternoon) because when I take a break to smoke, I’m at my workbench. I don’t want people wandering up the driveway to speak with me. My head is not in a good place thanks to all of the reminders, and even though I’ve been flirting with the idea of the forest or the threat objective, I still can’t be terribly unkind to people. This is what happens after a lifetime of helping and being very pleasant toward everyone. And don’t give me a blast of shit, either. I know being a ‘nice’ person far outweighs the opposite. Trust me, I know that one in spades and have been squished and passed over for decades because of it. Until such time as I can reconcile myself with a few things, I need to remain out of the public light. The reminders make me angry. I just wish I could be unfair to people. I guess being ‘nice’ has been ingrained. Just another error in my formation.

This keyboard is the bee’s knees. Logitech K740. Not easy to find at a decent price anymore, but I’ll tell you... The feel and weight of the keys are fantastic. I love it. Wait a minute. Does that mean something makes me happy? No... Something helps me transmit information to the display in a comfortable manner. That is not happiness. That is high technology doing its job. Make no fucking mistake. The only technology which could finally provide comfort and peace of mind is... Eh, never mind. Not real.

The next day is here and my morning is quiet and peaceful. Thank the maker. If I could get just one more thing...

My mind is flooded with information, memories, and images of permanent holes. Since I can’t seem to do anything about anything, I’ve decided to simply dive into the black, embrace whatever makes me upset these days just for temporary enjoyment, and then structure everything in my life to serve myself and no one else. And there is the woman who reminds me of the other woman. Her face is becoming cuter by the day. Does she matter? No. Do my feelings matter? No. The information will not stop no matter how many distractions come along and hit me in the face. I’ve been absolutely flooded with feelings for the film industry during the last two days and can’t fucking shake them. Between that industry and the mass of problems still haunting me from the two shit situations, I can’t seem to go anywhere in life or anything else. I can’t move forward because the difficulty sits atop my head and weighs me down enough to preclude any furthering of goals. All I seem to be able to finish is the fucking housework because there has to be some semblance of normalcy in day-to-day living. That is all. Everything else feels insurmountable. The information continues to flood my brain. And keep in mind what the second shit situation has caused and the sheer amount of weight it continues to carry. Every morning is exactly the same. I still only see one way of alleviating these problems. Not good. I have never felt so stuck. I’m frozen.

I suppose at some point I will rise and take care of the usual business. At least I can still move in such a direction. Everything else is tertiary and feels so far away right now. The vast chasm inside me may not fill with distractions or little things for much longer. I feel like shit this morning, and that with two birthday dinners and a short road trip within the next week. This is unbelievable. Had I known my existence would be as such at this age, I would have exited the theatre long ago. Much could have been avoided.

There is no flood gun involved in film projection, only optics. Just a thought. I don’t know very much about the process, but I’ve seen the equipment involved – prior to the digital transition some years ago – and marveled at the wondrous nature of seeing a delicate, tangible medium in use and displaying bright images. A motion picture. A picture... In motion. Not a fucking section of memory being reconstructed pixel by pixel. Motion. Physical handling. Machinery. No flood gun.

Enough of that shit. Everything hurts me. One might believe me to be intelligent enough to avoid those aspects of entertainment that cause so much pain. Nope. I am still willing to endure in order to enjoy the wonder. ‘The greatest place in the world.’





I don’t believe I’m strong enough to employ the threat objective, either. The forest was quite a dream for a while, mostly during the mid-aughts, but now I can’t even get out of my own way when it comes to strength or power. I have very little of both, plus they seem to be diminishing as this calendar year progresses. I don’t know what to do; hence the housework observation above. I can put my show on the televisions and enjoy my family for a little while, toward the end of which I’ll pour some depressant into a glass and return to this chair. I feel as if I am now inside the flood gun and about to be blasted to the phosphorus. Not good. This is my entire fucking life.

I recently tried to continue a tale (fiction, for the most part) from some years ago. The last in line was ‘Send in the Clones’, then next chapter was to be ‘Engines of Change’, yet the muse seems to have abandoned me for all time. I’ve tried over and over to re-read some parts and then formulate an interesting continuation. As of yet, I have one very short paragraph because I don’t know where to go with the story. On the one hand, the saga of the doors would seem to relate heavily due to some of the characters involved, but on the other hand, the mood and slower pace don’t really match the original intention. When I say the muse has left, I mean it. So much time has passed that I can’t even remember where or when it originated. If I ever needed some fucking help, it’s right now. Too bad there is no longer much inspiration to do ANYTHING at all, let alone to write something stirring. I will probably try again at a later time, but honestly I just don’t see myself creating anything matching that of the past six years. Whatever happened to cause a void in my creativity, I now feel that it represents one further notch down the fucking scale of life. Wonderful. As I said, I will revisit on occasion and think about the story. That’s all I can do anymore. Moreover, the film I was watching last night lit a small fire inside me that relates to this situation. There was a character writing in a journal and another person inquired as to the subject. The writer stated that he was telling his life story since he was the only one qualified to take on such a task. Hmm. Much of this fucking site is my life story, right? The fiction all relates to the inner workings of my mind, and some includes recollections of very difficult situations that took place during my formative years. It’s rather like I am my own therapist, for lack of another moniker, and I created those stories and characters out of a deep-seated need to understand just who the hell I am. Perhaps if I keep his words in mind, I can break out of the din at some point and find the muse again.

Don’t get wound up. I am still angry and very unhappy. Every time I feel that I’ve taken a step in a positive direction, everything returns and shoves me back with the force of a thousand locomotives. There you go... A fucking train reference. Enjoy it. I end up further back than I was before the step. Splendid.

All those names beginning with the letter ‘J’, doors all over the world, trains running into odd places and errant netherworlds, everything. I don’t know what to think after all this time. The negative material plane began way back in the year of nineteen during a time when there was still some ‘good’ taking place in my life. Now? I can’t even imagine putting the thoughts and emotions to the fucking screen. My precious, haunting muse may never return. The flood gun of life has shoved me too far, too fast. And this is the second reference. I’ll have to get the hell away from the IDE for a little while and do my housework. The alternative is sinking further into memories and dreams. Neither is good for me, especially now.

Later, same day. My routine is out of the way and I have the requisite glass of icy goodness here on the table. My extended family – along with one of the great loves of my life – is gracing the right-hand display. I spent a bit of time organizing my FANTASTIC camera bag so it will function as both a camera carrier and overnight valise. Very nice. The only other bag that will be in the car is my emergency kit. That’s important. I need to know there are tools in place just in case we get in a scrape. One of the few enjoyable activities left in my life is the practice of making myself portable, meaning smaller, more compact versions of my everyday devices that travel well. I will have everything I need to be as comfortable and secure as possible while away from home. I often berate progress and the way advanced technology has taken a big shit all over the past, but I must say that the combination of my phone and an excellent pair of headphones (along with wireless Internet) is very advantageous for someone like me. The setup allows me to bring my video media almost anywhere. I need that comfort to be available constantly or I’ll implode. And now we have a beautiful, ethereal combination of Jolene and Molly Brink gracing the display. Together, they represent more beauty than most of the remaining world. Damn. Jolene is wearing blue, by the way, and her outfit matches Molly’s skin tone. Heh. Anyway, I don’t believe I’m going to attempt to accomplish very much between now and the close of business hours because I just don’t fucking care. The necessities are out of the way and will have to be good enough for now. Ah... Scene change. Jolene is in purple again. Jesus holy fucking hell in a handbasket... What I wouldn’t give for her to appear in front of me and tell me everything will be ok. Dreams can often be nothing more than savage, heartless reminders of reality. Jolene is magical. A goddess unlike any other. I need her to help me survive. I paused the video stream and captured Molly in all her beautiful blue glory. And in doing so, I saw that her image is number 274 since I first booted this machine. 274. Do you think any of those images was anything other than a beautiful woman? Think again. I am fucking pathetic.

Sunday.

Ugh. Yesterday was kind of a pain in the ass, but at least the game went pretty well. That’s better than nothing. And now I have to see Saudra and her big, beautiful eyes. Splendid. Anyway, today is my birthday, but I don’t know what the meaning will be until some hours pass by. For this morning, the plan is to enjoy my coffee and sit at the IDE for a little while. There is nothing new going through my head. I sit here and type sometimes because I don’t know what else to do with my time each morning. Watching the game with the guys was very interesting because we were at a bar/restaurant which carries what is not typically considered the ‘sports’ type of atmosphere. The place is very warm – two fireplaces – and has a full menu available all day long. Overall, the experience was quite pleasant and just the change I needed after realizing that my entire life has gone nowhere fast (very fast). I had to get out of here and enjoy some food and beverage service in different places, much like what I will be doing for part of the coming week. The design and atmosphere of the first place we met yesterday is very old, classic, and employs a way of operating which is disappearing on a regular basis across the fucking state. Many of my very favorite restaurants have disappeared in recent years, culminating in the loss of my go-to comfortable spot just down the road from the big electronics store (which is also gone). The changes have me grating against the perils of progress like never before, so seeing the old lounge last night was a bit of a boost. I may end up there again in a few days. Everything eventually comes to an end, and the evening was no different. I had been concerned earlier before we ventured to the second location due to some incredible beauty. I was able to push it away and continue hiding behind my huge wall, though. Some occasions are easier to deal with than others. That much is certain. Last night was not too bad. I am pleased to be alone right now, however, and the drive is out of the way for this weekend. Now I can shift my concern to other matters. I’ll be watching at least one football game today in and around my housework. Other than that, I don’t know yet. Maybe I can go through stuff that will come on the trip in three days. Something.

Oh, the beauty was very interesting. Two, if not more that I don’t recall right now. There are problems inherent in speaking of one of them, although I could be wrong about such things. The truth is that I can’t fully know what’s going on in such a situation because I do not know other people very well, most notably the woman with whom I was enamored for a little while. I’ve seen her many times – she was attached to some of the events I attended prior to the pandemic and my subsequent disgust with the way society operates – and we’ve been acquainted for years. The other one? Eh... I shouldn’t speak of her other than to describe facial features, and even that may not bear any fruit. I’ll leave it alone. None of this shit helps anyone, to be perfectly honest.

Today is Sunday. That means the usual stuff, garbage business, and some time reserved for watching football. I may or may not continue my efforts in the garage depending upon the weather. There is a storm on the way with a combination of gusty winds and heavy rain, so anything outside the doors of the house might not be a good idea. I’ll see how things progress as the clock spins today. One thing for sure is that I will remain home and as comfortable as possible. Sundays are usually pretty quiet and my time is wide open to how I wish to proceed with stuff. Everything is up to me. That’s just the way I like it.





I can still see her face and the smile that developed when she saw me. One big, warm hug later and I remembered her name after feeling confused for a moment. Some of those I used to see on a daily basis have been notably absent from my life since I increased the level of isolation and widened the distance between myself and the whole of society. That girl is so fucking cute that their should be a law against such a massive distraction from clear thinking. Jesus. She is always very pleasant in the beginning, but later things do become darkened because she is a bit reckless with the alcohol. The plus side is that I can interact early and then ignore her later. Yesterday was no different. She is super cute, though. Sometimes I can’t stop staring. The girl will fade and then I will move along with my day. I am looking forward to seeing my friends on the television while working around the house. They will help to remove her beauty from my psyche for a while.

This is a miserable morning thus far. Miserable. I keep remembering and dreaming, and in the end all I can do is fucking sit here and operate the keyboard. Marvelous. I don’t understand why the world has to be like this. I was there. Now everything is gone.

At some point this process is going to sour, and at that point I suppose the best path is to get into my housework and see if it will help alleviate the loss. In a few hours I will have the house to myself until early evening. Being alone may help, too. I don’t know as of yet, but lately I’ve really enjoyed the Sunday business and tried to fully embrace the advantages of having wide-open options attached to my time. I guess soon enough I’ll know if my efforts will bear fruit. I wish I could understand everything. I really do. Unfortunately, all of my questions remain unanswered for two reasons. First, I keep trying to distract myself from reality, and second, no one is listening. The latter has been the case for several years. I am considering using my physician to be a liaison between myself and a therapist. There is an end to the process, as well, and it seems to be the best idea to come along for quite a while. I still don’t know if I am capable of fully embracing the plan, however. The result could be fantastic, or I could fall on my face and flee from society. There is no way to be certain of either outcome. In and around my chores today, I’ll keep the idea in mind. I have to make plans.

There is Michelle again, with her understanding heart and sweet methods. She knows what Ashley knows, and despite one being real and the other fictional, the feelings which mass inside me when I see Michelle are very real. I can’t fucking help it anymore. This situation may well never fucking change. The more time that passes, the larger the holes inside. As I said... I can’t fucking help it because Michelle not only embodies something very dear to my heart, but hearing her voice immediately injects memories of my conversations with Ashley. She approached some parts of life like no one else with whom I’ve ever been acquainted. I had thought the Raven felt the same, too. I really did. In the end, however, She was not a match to Ashley. The Raven actually frightened me on a few occasions and forced the realization that the relationship between us was very dangerous, whereas Ashley and I did not appear the same. I am still angry about the two situations that left me forever questioning everything. Those fucking people truly ruined me for all time. Nothing but questions until the end.

I have been regarded and considered in an unconscionably bad manner for more years than I care to recall, and there is nothing I can do about it. The only result can be anger toward society in general, and those responsible in particular. This leaves me in a very uncomfortable position, much like I’ve been cornered with zero options. The situation is very dangerous for those who care for me and I will not mince words about having considered suicide each and every day for many years. I have not found another solution and continue with day-to-day life hoping that the little things can distract me from reality. I’ve been flooded with ‘bad’. I need to be flooded with ‘good’, but the trajectory of the gun cannot be altered. At least, I’ve not found a way to disseminate the shit enough to be happy. I will continue to be flooded without respite no matter what I do. I’ve been typing the words ‘this is a bad time’ for quite a while now, and believe me when I say each day is worse than the last. My mental state this morning is a prime example of the fruits of everything above. The point has been belabored because I don’t know what else to do anymore. Michelle would understand. So would Ashley. Unfortunately, neither exists.

The progression of time is such that I should do something else, yet the level of caring inside me right now is at an all-time low. This is completely fucked. Oh, I’ll get everything done that’s expected of me. I always do.

My birthday is like the new year in that it represents a reference line. Just a line between one number and another. I don’t make a big production out of it even if others wish to shower me with stuff. Along such lines, sometimes I see a person’s birthday much like a funeral; it’s mostly for others and not the person in question. People enjoy showing their appreciation. I will not push against such practices because expressing birthday wishes is like giving gifts or compliments. Rejecting them is unkind. Just because I’ve become a mental and emotional fucking sinkhole does not mean I need to disrespect others’ kind gestures. This is likely the main reason I’ve been denied entry into the magical forest, and the catalyst for the flood gun of life continually slamming me with particles. I shall go through the motions as others wish. I don’t need to make waves right now. Inward is the best direction. I’ll just save it for later, like every fucking day. I have no choice in the matter.

Unconscionable. Believe it. I am angry and can’t move in any direction. I can’t fucking do anything about anything.

I still have yet to rise from this chair and begin my Sunday business. The reasons are many, yet few really matter in the grand scheme. The birthday wishes have been flowing in from the Internet and appearing on my phone and this machine. I can’t blame people for expressing such platitudes because I do the same thing (sometimes). I can’t get myself to be unkind.

The first of two football games is on in just over an hour. I suppose I’ll be watching as I move around the house. Right now I just don’t give a blue fuck, though. This mood will have to be changed if I am going to avoid ruining the entire day. Perhaps the mid-morning cocktail will calm me a little bit.

The Sunday business is nearly finished. The game is quite a battle and very entertaining. The only downside is that my home team will play the winner of this match, and if the Lions win, I’ll have to root against them. Damn. Detroit is one of my favorites. Oh, well. Such is pro football. The garbage is all but complete at this point in the afternoon, lunch is out of the way, and I fear I’ll soon run out of things to do and fall off a cliff again. The morning was pretty fucking bad and I really don’t need any more of that shit. After decades of trying to understand why things develop in my head the way they do, I am still at a loss. There is a strong possibility that this situation I hate so much is permanent. When combined with whatever shit came about during the previous year, the emotional fallout is overpowering and can render me completely useless.

I experienced a very unexpected problem and needed to think about it for a while. This is not the best time for such things, either. My head is already screwed up to the limit.

And now I have an entire day to myself. It must turn out better than yesterday. I can’t recall a worse birthday; sad, worried, uncomfortable. The morning was bad enough and already had me at sixes and sevens, but then the evening issue reared its head and left me wondering about my remaining day alive. I never would have considered something so ridiculous happening to me, although I’ve been guilty of not paying full attention before, so perhaps I can rest on that thought and try to take it easy on the future. Eh, I don’t know. The last thing I would do is suggest that I know what’s going on with all this shit. Sometimes I just hate everything.

My head is pretty messed up when even the sight of Jamie’s eyes doesn’t help. That’s bad.





Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it all the way through myself.

I was there. I was right fucking there. I can still see everything as it was during the early period. Everything... All lined up and in good order. There were little speed bumps here and there, although such issues are typical and can easily be smoothed over time. The bumps were eventually lessened, the situation improved markedly, and then being there was not only more enjoyable, but a little easier on the psyche. There were times when being there felt like a different world, one which I had rarely visited in such stunning detail. I can see imagery sometimes while sitting here at the control center. I can at this very moment. I was there... I can see myself there. I can see all sorts of things from that long-gone period. As I said... Once the issues were smoothed and ideas were explored, the world in view began to take shape like never before. I can see it. I saw it. I actually lived it, albeit I would never say things were ‘perfect’ because that word does not exist outside of real mathematics. Wait... Was it ‘perfect’ for me? Is that better word usage? Sometimes phrasing it that way seems more appropriate, but unfortunately the answer is a resounding NO. There would/will always be wrinkles in the fabric; flies in the soup. Part of that is due to my head – shit situations that are right behind me like fucking shadows – and part of it is miscommunication from inside, such as the heart. Whatever the case, I was there. The flood gun was different. There were deadly elements present, too, but I’m not going to speak of those. Just know that I was there and I saw everything. The only thing I can do now – so diametrically detached from the place – is to conjure imagery and try to recall feelings. Everything else is as gone as my patience.

I can remember quite a bit. There are reminders once in a while, such as a television show or something a person said, and when they take place I can see certain places where I used to reside. Some were beautiful, really. I know where I was. I also know those beautiful places have been burned to the ground for quite some time. Nature’s rebuilding and recovering processes are very slow. By the time those places are beautiful again, I will be long gone. I don’t see any way of being there again, and that is the saddest, most maddening thought in existence.

The flood gun is not under my control, nor was the other one from a few years ago. I’ve been slammed to the glass over and over so many fucking times that when I sit here and try to remember being happy, nary a thought is constructed before it burns away. I keep trying and failing. The gun pays no mind. Those two shit situations that shaped my life for all time never seem to run out of ammunition. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore.

I need to be there so badly now that I can barely see straight. All I have is my usual routine and then the short trip coming in two days. Other than those, everything is exactly the same with me a little bit further down the ladder of life. Being there is now so difficult to imagine that it makes my brain hurt. There actually was something missing from those places, too. I can’t say what it was, but understand that the idea is in short supply worldwide. Very short, to be sure. I can already see me falling down for a while after the little trip. Half a day, one night, and then half a day. The time will fly by like everything that’s even remotely enjoyable, and then before you know it I’ll be right back here in the sights of the flood gun, depression apparent and heartache aplenty. I will then be repeatedly slammed to the inside of the fucking screen. I can’t do anything about anything.

I remember quite a bit. Often the memories are too much and make me so sad that I can’t function at all. I end up sitting and thinking, incapable of rising and moving around. Every now and then I am exposed to something that brings back little details and then the same result takes place. All of it comes to mind each morning when I sit here with the coffee trying to make sense of my ridiculous life. Maybe my physician will suggest someone who can sort out all this shit. Eh... Maybe not. I can’t sit here and expect anything good because we all know that ship sailed, sunk, and then decomposed. There is no ship left. The memories may come to a head prior to seeing my doctor, and if so, she is in for an earful. And someone else? Holy shit... More than an earful. I am afraid of the process, too, and as such don’t see an avenue to relaxation unless attending bears fruit and progresses for a long time. A relationship would have to be established because the complexities and sheer span of time are simply too much for a short-term process. I am going to need to suppress memories of being there in the beginning. Moreover, I’ll have to address such things slowly and a little at a time because they seem to go on forever. The more I sit here and remember, the more I believe a therapist will have to endure prior to suggesting any paths of wisdom and reason. Everything hurts all the time and I can’t approach someone full of anger and feelings of loss (like right now, this morning) or my needs will meet with resistance. I can’t be unfair. I’ve gone through a little of this shit before, too. I know of the steps. The more I remember, the more I need to find a way of dealing with it every day. I’ve come to realize that I can’t do it alone. So sad.

Another fucked up problem is what took place yesterday. No, not that evening shit that threw me for a loop. I’m referring to the two situations combining and leaving me a wrecked human being. I mentioned several times now that I need to be there again, the idea is all but impossible, and I need help trying to deal with such a situation. Well, the truth is the previous thought must be addressed, as well. Everything is related and must be dealt with from such a standpoint. Believe me when I say that if I could find that place again, much of this shit would not be necessary. The odds of being in that beauty are astronomical, hence the idea of speaking with my doctor. Earlier I mentioned that there is another objective involved, but I still have to keep that out of this content for the time being.

The idea of seeing someone can be an expensive proposition, so I will need my doctor’s involvement in order to ease the path financially. There is no short-term solution, believe me. Just like the flood gun affecting my head, I will flood the listener with information. These things take time. I really don’t want my doctor giving me a blast of shit over my lifestyle, either. I’ll just have to inform her that without the precious few aspects of living that I still enjoy, I’d be gone. Maybe after this birthday focus dissipates I’ll make an appointment to speak with her. The idea of seeing her makes me nervous but must be done. I have to begin this process before I completely lose my fucking mind. Every day is worse than the last.

Today.

The garbage was picked up, bless those guys and their work, and at some point I’ll get away from this infernal IDE and try to make something of myself. I’m hoping that the memories of being there will subside once I begin my housework. All that shit cuts so deeply that most days trying to push it away so I can get some work done is nearly impossible. The feelings attached to that place are very powerful, perhaps more than any other aspect of life, meaning my feeble efforts are often futile. I still need to be there and knowing that anything so beautiful may be gone forever is not helping me shift focus at all. The memories are causing me to feel anger, as well, which is now just another fucking mental situation I have to deal with in order to survive. The flood gun knows of multiple disciplines. Believe it. I’ve been flattened by the power of those guns, and I had previously thought the sentient guns would be the worst I would ever have to endure. What a fucking joke. Housework soon... When the coffee is gone. I’ll do my best to let go of the sadness from last night in order to get through this day and come out the other side intact. I just never know. This is quite literally the worst condition within which I’ve ever been mired. That is not an overstatement, either. Bad. Desperation is dangerous, especially considering everything I’ve fucked up in the past. I never had any illusions of surviving, and the fucking sad truth is I only thought things were bad. Now they really are. Let’s just hope I can rise from yesterday’s pitfalls and move through my day without issue.

My neighbor is going in for surgery on his arm today. He will be off work for many days afterward, and pledged to spend time relaxing in the garages. I don't know what my mood will be like, though. I just don't know. The last time we sat out there to converse about whatever, the inside of my head was in a constant battle between making nice and blowing the hell up. The process is fucking exhausting and I cannot predict how I'll feel or react to anyone's niceties. I did wish him well for today's procedure, however, because I don't like when people are having trouble.





The clock keeps rolling along regardless of my difficulties. I hate it, but what the fuck can I do? I really need to get some things done, too. My mental and emotional states are holding me back this morning. God damn did Oksana ever carry her height beautifully on the show. Her gait was often hurried, although when she was just standing still her slender frame stood out so well that the rest didn’t matter. What a work of art, that girl. Anyway, I’ll be into the housework very soon. I am tired of sitting here. If I could just stop thinking about when I was there, everything would move along fine. This is a real nice fucking clambake of a morning.

The day of the trip has arrived. I don’t know what time to leave because the weather is rainy and I never really made a plan for the drive; places to stop, restaurants, whatever. The only pause is that I need to have the car serviced on the way to the bridge later. The other day I had a really nice idea of a couple destinations for when we head through my old neighborhood in the valley, but now I’m thinking just lunch will be ok. I don’t want to spend all sorts of money gallivanting around. Yesterday I was away from the keyboard for most of the day due to a problem in the kitchen. The night before, we noticed that the ice trays had been a bit soft, so other items were checked and I made the determination that the temperature in the freezer was far higher than it should have been. The lower compartment was warmer, as well. So, we had to dash a few items to the garage appliances and then order a new refrigerator. It will arrive next week, meaning the chilled items must remain very slim for the next few days. I had suggested that we replace the thing sometime last year, but I guess the idea went by the wayside. Maybe I didn’t want to consider moving two large appliances until forced to do so. In any case, it’s dying as I type these words and will be out of here soon enough. Between the refrigerator problem and other housework yesterday, I just wasn’t in the mood to sit here and try to understand anything. Sometimes the very idea of delving into the past and then describing the feelings is fucking exhausting.

Originally, I had the idea of leaving around half past nine this morning, but the reality is we may be an hour or so later than that. One of the neighbors will be here around nine to go over feeding the cats for us. I’d like to have everything in place prior to her visiting, too. I don’t like to be constrained by time while driving. I will just wait and see.

Wow. I can’t say ‘last year’ anymore with regard to this new issue because of the calendar change earlier this month. I suppose when spring arrives the age of my notice of this problem will be two years or so. I am very discouraged, yet can’t discuss the topic with anyone. Oh, there was some understanding of such things some time ago, to be honest. We discussed certain aspects of life that I had not considered in the past. There was an inherent sweetness In almost every conversation, yet now that period is so far back and feels so detached from reality that the situation may as well never have taken place. I remember quite a bit, too. Too bad these events are so far back in the past. I am alone and will probably remain as such for the rest of my life. This is one of the most difficult problems I’ve ever considered. Help would be nice. No one is listening. No one ever listens. Maybe I should learn another language? Eh... Fuck it. The point is that I am having more trouble lately than ever in my life, and I’m not only referring to a lack of understanding when I need it most. I’m talking about things I had not imagined even as recently as two or three years ago. This is the type of thing that’s going to force this situation to come to a head, and that will be much sooner than I had anticipated when I first began to pay attention. If I can’t speak to someone soon – and keep in mind that the odds of me being comfortable enough to actually describe my feelings to a stranger – I will not be able to live like this for much longer.

Do you remember ‘the black’ and the ‘deadly fluid’? I do. Some of that crap relates to the current state of things. The essay was nearly four years ago, and rings just as true right now as back then. I have no control over production or the black, nor can I understand why those two mean so much to me. I recently mentioned the purity and the way it puts me to my knees after I dream. Well, all of this is related to the purity, the past and that fucking deadly fluid. The purity is a later development because I did not consider such things in similar terms years ago. I didn’t really know what to think. Now? Everything is crashing upon my head and forcing me to regard the end as a viable path, and possibly the only way out of the current situation. This is fucking serious. As necessary as the ears have become, I honestly don’t see true understanding developing anytime soon, and that statement regardless of who might end up listening to what I have to say. I can’t go back in time. The black may take over as a result of me feeling so cornered. The deadly fluid will continue to cause problems in the meantime. I have zero control over purity. I fucking hate this shit. I’m in a bad spot here. Cornered. I will have to reach out soon. There is little choice left in the matter after all these years.

The morning is rolling along quietly and the office is pretty comfortable right now, but at some point I’ll have to make revolutions for getting things into the car and cleaning up a bit.

Splash one trip on the road. Friday morning is here, all dim and quiet. I really needed this yesterday, too. At least the return trip was very nice with a stop at one of my favorite restaurants and little traffic. This morning I had run over to the market for cream, but now I have all the time in the world to relax and consider everything that has taken place since I last sat in front of this machine. There was nothing terribly striking during the entire trip, believe it or not. Even the high-end restaurant only carried one small issue that disappeared quickly. A mass of hair surrounding dark beauty. No big deal. The dining experience was so distracting that I did not dwell upon anything else. Arriving home felt very nice and I was into the swing of things soon after. In order to maintain focus this morning, all I have to do is extract ‘her’ from my head and try to avoid thoughts of the other one. Sometimes I have more difficulty with the latter because she is real. The rest? All in my head. None of it is good, either. ‘She’ could help. How do I find her? Is she real?

Does anything I say or ask matter in the world? I’ve been flooded with bad things.

Some of the magic of the past was in my head last night. Not another flood gun, but enough information to paralyze me for a short time. I remembered a little too much for a while and then decided to sleep before the feelings took over. There was some discussion of incidents that took place prior to me moving to the coast, as well. Those topics are much easier to deal with than the ‘place’ or ‘being there’; has there been too much for me? Sometimes. On the other level, was it enough? Oh, hell no. Shit situation number one did a job on me unlike anything else in life, soon after becoming heavily influenced and reinforced by shit situation number two. I had hoped that the passage of time would help – and often it has in some ways – yet no matter how good I may feel on a given day, the knowledge of pain returning is always there. No one seems to take this seriously, either. I don’t get it, although I can understand if I’ve gone over the topic too much at times. Too close to my heart, and all that shit. When I recall being there, my head often begins to try calculating how I would have felt had those two situations never come to pass. The idea is quite interesting, because on the one hand perhaps I would not have put so much emotion and importance upon certain aspects of life had I not lived through the shit. Along those lines, the precious nature of my feelings may have developed differently and helped me to deal with difficult situations rather than hiding or running away. Ah, hell... I don’t know. The bottom line is imagining a different me always ends badly because I can’t fucking change anything. The ships have all sailed and sunk. I thought of the magical experiences last night for a little while and my internal computer began to work overtime. I was flooded yet again. I don’t need that type of thing because it hurts too much anymore. Everything hurts me except sitting here at the machine exploring my feelings. This is still comfortable, at the very least.

Bottled in a strong compression, et. al. You should already know. This essay is going nowhere.

Oh, there was a feeling moments ago... A memory and something to see at the same time. Wow. I am far worse off than I had thought mere days ago. This is not good by any stretch, but at the same time I can see the fucking pathway that has led me to think as such. I really can. I see the whole fucking journey for the last forty-plus years and the way it has manifested itself throughout the past half-decade or more. This feeling had better leave me alone soon or I will not react well. Right now there are just words. That’s ok.

I fear the flood gun will never cease. Nothing ends.



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