July 21st, 2022 8:51am pdt

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Fire in the Whore

 read ( words)

"Oh, that fucking paragraph. I was driven to crafting such a thought by forces beyond my control. Some days, like today, I feel that everything is beyond my control. There are moments when I feel empowered, yet the lion's share of present life are quite the reverse.

1111. The Veterans Day number. I finished half the routine and am waiting on cleaning the kitchen because there is not much to do today. Second show, cats asleep, whiskey to my right.

Yesterday I was hit with unexpected information while visiting the bar. I don’t think I’m going over there again for a few weeks. Everything seems to hit me harder while there due to reminders of the past, and last night was no different. A big hit came along right out of the clear, black sky. Just a short message – a question. I replied with an answer right away because the question worried me. Right smack dab in the middle of ‘somewhat’ socializing, too. I became concerned and solemn at the same time due to the past. There are events in my past of which I really don’t want to be reminded, yet it’s important that the recollections come along from time to time so I never become completely detached. The reasoning is sound, too. I need to remember to ensure any potential happiness for me is held at bay. I do not deserve it. I often speak about the past and my actions, and then move into the territory of being upset with people from years ago, but the truth is some of my emotional damage is due to regret. That state must not change, lest I do it all over again. And believe me, I’ve nearly hit that wall twice in a decade. I am truly overjoyed that today has been a failure. I may indeed be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I honestly believe this set of rails shall lead me where I need to be.

Aside from the difficulty last night, one interesting turn came along. The usual guys that visit the bar almost daily decided to create a dinner group of eight individuals and a plan to dine at rotating restaurants quarterly. I have been included in the group. One of my favorite aspects of life is dining at an agreeable establishment, and that is the main idea for the eight of us. Each will choose a location, in turn. This could be wonderful, or I could see way too much and fall flat on my face. The endeavor has an equal chance of going either way. I have to give it a shot, though, because the first dinner is just a month away and my boss’ birthday. The restaurant upon which we decided is Japanese, and I believe you may already know where that type of atmosphere can lead my brain. Do you recall the cutting words about the Sushi Girl? You should. That is how I think much of the time.

0710 on Wednesday morning. Coffee, cats, flags, whatevah.

There are flames in my head. They are burning me every time certain thoughts come around and derail my time, and this happens no matter what I may be doing on a given day. Sometimes the process begins with an image or memory, other examples are seeing people. The fact is there are those thoughts that I cannot spell out here, and they are suspect. Thinking is painful. This entire paragraph is ridiculous. I sit here and try to write my thoughts or ideas hoping that the exposition may help me feel better in some small way. The imagery which comes to mind is related to the damaging dream, and then I run a comparison between such difficult imagery and what has taken place in reality, usually while on one of those trips from the past. I believe the burning sensation in my head is due to my expending so much effort since that fucking dream first floated into my head. Running comparisons and analyzing how the past encounters have jaded me can be very interesting at times, yet I still feel the heat and pain. At this late date in life, my ideas and dreams have become so skewed from reality that I am surprised to be functioning at all. Burning. Several periods of my life started fires, but I’d be lying if I denied fanning the flames. The newest issue is not my fault, though.

This is fucking stupid sometimes. Nothing makes sense anymore. I’ve been trying to equate the odd nature of how my brain operates, yet each example of whatever metaphor I employ fails to get the point across. Just fucking stupid anymore. Maybe my destiny is to be pissed off all the time.

The sun is already shining. Yesterday the house started out quite warm so I opened all the windows. Lots of wind straight into the afternoon kept the house from becoming uncomfortable, and then the fog rolled over the top of the town and rendered everything very cool. I don’t know what to expect today, though. Just wait and see, I guess. I have the usual routine and perhaps some laundry. I may also relocate the spare mattress and then switch the tables. I’ve been talking about doing so for weeks. Each day brings my desktop computer closer, meaning I should have everything in order for the office very soon. What usually happens is something will sit idle for a time and then one day I'll begin to move a piece of furniture. Once the process starts, I'll move along nicely until completion. I honestly miss the way my desk used to be set up. I guess the mobile idea and the desire to be able to bring this wherever I need has faded since the pandemic and leaving work. I don't really need this machine to leave the house anymore.

The fire cannot completely take over this morning. I need to be productive and find those little moments for relaxation in between. The imagery from the near and far past keeps showing me how different everything is now versus just a decade back. Flames from more recent memories are right behind my eyes and flash my vision every damned day. Despite how difficult I find the process of shoving aside memories and maintaining forward motion, I simply must do it, especially knowing these are late days. I can’t do fuck-all about such a mass of loss, but I can guard against the fires. Sometimes I’ve been driven to complete projects or other tasks out of sheer willpower. I hope such a feeling comes along in a little while. That or a huge fire extinguisher.

So, why is the word ‘whore’ in the title? Because I have been farming out myself in trade for anything good for a very long time, possibly nearly twenty years. I am the ‘whore’. One aspect of life I’ve heard in the past is that gratitude is false. People help others in search of a self-serving reward. I felt for years that all the daily and weekly effort would add up and eventually help me find solace and comfort. I now know that is not true at all. What I did not believe is that on some subconscious level I was seeking reward or ‘payment’ for my time. A little bit of such thinking is not a bad thing because there is nothing wrong with being selfish at times. A person cannot devote their entire existence in support of another without losing out. And don’t give me a pile of empty platitudes regarding goodness and generosity. I will only accept a bit. The fact is, everyone must have some sort of desire fulfilled at some point or there is little reason to try. If you disagree, I truly understand. For many years I have been bending over backwards and stepping over shit in order to please other people, a portion of which likely stemmed from what my dad went through for decades. I am not in the same position, yet I have similar instincts. And yes, I’ve been awaiting some semblance of a reward for so much fucking effort. Shoot me, I don’t care. What is not true is that I have been whoring myself solely for personal gain. I have not. I genuinely care and try to help as much as I can. Unfortunately, such a mindset and big heart have landed me in a very bad place. I’ve been walked upon and disregarded, not to mention a distinct lack of being taken seriously as a vital and viable presence. No validation there. None.

That is the reason for half the title. Flames inside me. No more whoring.

0855, last cup of coffee for today. I’ll have to begin my routine very soon. Afterward, I am going to move some shit around and improve the space in both the office and spare bedroom. In and around that crap, I’ll work on other details. I need the evening to feel deserved.

Maybe some of the fire is due to being ‘too’ nice a person for a very long time. I never shy away from learning, and if I discover or realize that something affecting me in the present has been caused by myself in the past, it will come out here. I’ve already found a few mistakes from years ago which helped to shape me into this mess and I fully intend to continue searching. There are others to blame, but I am not an idiot, nor am I selfish in that way. My selfish nature came from other situations, as did a massive need to control as much as possible. I whored myself for the good of other people far too long. Now I am all fucked up over it.

The ambassador’s assistant is gorgeous. Eh, this was produced over thirty years ago. Such is my penchant for latching myself to impossibilities.

Alexis resembled Ashley, the former being discovered years after the latter. I believe Alexis is pictured within the essay bearing her name. Ashley was also five-nine and carried every single fucking line over which I have ever obsessed, and that is why Alexis is here once again. Oh, and allow me to mention that the image of her also relates very badly to the damaging dream from a while back. I keep bringing up the dream due to being affected nearly every fucking day by the imagery and memories of what took place in such a surreal situation. When I first wrote that essay – one of the initial endeavors on this machine five years ago – I was in a very desperate, angry frame of mind. Right now I am in worse shape overall and have little clue as to how I am still doing this. There was a respite, however. A short one, for sure, and a situation which carried with it more turmoil and bullshit than I could have imagined. The infantile beginning of that foray into a netherworld was spawned by dreams of Ashley, and Alexis was there for the ride. I obsessed over her for a long time before ever writing the entry. Her face and positive nature tried hard to raise me from the din, but alas even her beauty and brightness could not scratch the surface of my emptiness. I was uninspired, but my words remain on the site. The image here was shot very early in her career. She may have been all of eighteen at the time. No flames then, but lots of me whoring myself in every direction.

One interesting profundity is that after everything I’ve lived and all that has been written here for more than twenty years, I still do not know who or what I am beyond the obvious flaws and issues. The overall picture remains unknown to me. That is not good. I am still writing in the cloud document application, meaning the paragraph below continues to pull me toward hell. The realization spelled out within it is directly related to not knowing who I am. In fact, it is at the core of me. I still have very few answers yet a bushel of questions. There is a word in that paragraph that I hear every single day, be it somewhere outside my house or up there on the television, which to this very fucking day I cannot understand or rationalize. One little fucking word. I know what I am, but I do not know what I am. Understand?

Who in the fuck was that blonde ensign walking through engineering? Damn. One more question and one less answer. If things were only so simple.

1147 and my routine is finished. I have the house to myself for the next few hours, as well. Considering I’ve been on my feet for more than two hours, I’m going to sit here a while and try to relax while recording thoughts. Good or bad is this may be, I fucking need something. And one of the two guest stars in this episode is a person of whom I have spoken on several occasions. Bless the sixth season for both writing and direction, let alone her on the screen and looking like the world’s most adorable mouse. The eyes, that lower face thingy I still can’t define... The woman carries every fucking thing aside from dark hair. Good god, the thoughts in my head right now. Anyway, I plan to work around the house more after my break, provided the beauty on the screen does not further derail my brain.

No one in recent memory tried to understand and help as much as ‘she’ did. Further back was Ashley, though. She was of a unique viewpoint, the likes of which have shaped a part of my mind with nary a chance of going back. More recently was the opposite of Ashley in many respects, some of which I need to maintain if I am to survive much longer. Unfortunately, every possibility has again been removed, just like seven years ago. Snubbed, shot in the neck, broken. Left on the side of the proverbial road for the umpteenth time. Crap, there she is again, all gorgeous and showing off the face detail and lip structure nearly unequaled in my experience. This entry is going to head straight down the tubes very soon.

And back to...

Sometimes the experience was overwhelming. Other times it was marginal. As I look back right now, I see much more than I may have at the time. That is to be expected, honestly, rather like recalling a vacation destination with fond memories and then the question of whether or not the experience was appreciated enough while there. I do that all the time. The truth is the memory can be better than the original experience – at least in mind – due to the brain ‘glorifying’ the past. Hence the expression, ‘the good ol’ days’. The difficulties are glossed over in favor of unrealistic memories of the positives. I can’t stop staring at her face right now. This episode will conclude soon enough, yet every single time it rolls around during the cycle, I see more than I had during the previous viewing. She just keeps looking better and better. Her age at the time was twenty three. I was twenty five, yet her character has been frozen within that year while I have aged. I am quite certain the difference makes a difference, if you understand my meaning. Anyway, that was during the glow, meaning everything looked better. I’ve gone on at length regarding the era and will try to avoid more. As for the experience in the topic sentence, I can only say so much, but the fact remains that those days likely appear more exciting than when they came to pass. This association seems perfectly natural, too. Everything that has been taken away or otherwise disappeared has become more than what it was.

God damn I’d like to... Eh, I don’t need to say things like that. Sometimes her face sends me into a tailspin. Certain expressions are indescribable due to the lower face thingy. Damn.

I’m going to lose it. Not even halfway through this day and I am feeling absolutely whoreable.

1230 and the rest of the day may be nothing much at all. I no longer feel like working in the office. Holy fucking shit! I never noticed one of the uncredited characters in this episode. As if Olivia was not bad enough, there was another sitting at one of the tables and appearing as a manifestation of my dreams. Jesus fuck and everything else. Thirty years of this program and I never noticed her before. Where was I? I don’t care anymore. I've been fucking driven to this state by years of unfeeling and uncaring combined with whoring. The latter is my fault, although the behavior was born of desperation, even way back two decades ago.

0549 on Thursday morning. Second show, coffee, cats fed, no flags as of yet due to official sunrise. In less than an hour I’ll be picked up to work across the bay for a few hours. Last night I made lunch to bring along. Being out of the house early in the day will be a bit strange, but at least I will not be driving. I can also look around at a part of the bay area I’ve not seen in a while. A little cash in the pocket is not bad, either. I don’t have much time to sit with this before I need to make preparations for the day.

1218 and the routine is finished. I returned from the job just an hour or so back, took care of business, and now my day is wide open. I also have a bit of laundry going. There is to be no work again for a while, too. My neighbor is home with music playing in his garage. That could mean he’s planning some motorcycle work and may be here for the day. If so, I can head over there and perhaps help a bit. He has a table that used to sit in our backyard. It’s been playing the part of an engine stand in his garage for months. Heh. I don’t mind at all because he had no other place to store the thing other than the floor, and that is not good for maintenance. He has plans to switch the engine with that of one of the bikes, so the possibility is that the work begins today. I hope so. Originally I had planned to visit the bar this afternoon, although the neighbor and my artichoke preparation later may derail that idea. The recipe requires boiling and then cooling and drying upside-down for two hours leading up to broiling them. I have to time it just right, meaning the bar may be off the schedule.

The nice thing about working in an empty house is a lack of distractions. Nothing there, nothing on the street, and nothing in between. This is good for my brain. I’ve seen far too much already. To the contrary, working is not very easy for me anymore. All these months since the beginning of the shit when I quit work have found me gaining weight and having difficulty moving around on the floor. Plumbing requires tons of mobility, and mine has been waning. Ugh. I must be careful.

0656 on Friday. I don’t know what to say about last night. The dinner was ok, I relaxed a bit, and then slept. All evening I felt rather beat-up after the job across the bay and then helping here. I really wish I had a clue as to how I can live these days.

I have morning business in a few minutes, after which I shall take it easy for a while. I do need to take a trip to the market later, but other than that I can remain here, holed up and comfortable. The damaging dream again flared yesterday for good reason. I was involved for a few minutes and had to force the imagery out of my head. Working for a little while helped somewhat. The dream is one of those situations that plays around with my head for a while and then backs off. I’m hoping it will stay out of me today. Sometimes when I have too much free time it can feel like a curse. Today it does not.

Even if I hadn’t fucked up the entire situation, things would have been out of control eventually anyway. I already know. The positive was not working in a manner consistent with happiness. I think about all of it daily, and not just when I’m having a tough time. Believe it or not, I was a whore at the time. I had been whoring my way along the road of life out of a deep need for understanding. I could not stop, and whenever there was a hint of what I needed so badly, my brain computed options and situations at fucking light speed in order to be where I desired. That is a process I’ve employed since the early two-thousands, often resulting in near-disastrous life complications. Still, there were the moments in which whoring myself for the good of others did pay off, even if only for a short time. I certainly hope I embraced and appreciated those moments enough. They may never return, no matter what type of behavior I may exhibit around an excess of beauty. Yes, I fucked it up, but I honestly knew that would happen at some point anyway. At least before the explosion I found a bit of what I had been seeking. Just a bit.

0802 and the morning business is complete. Yesterday at this time I was sitting in front of someone’s house waiting to trim their small bathroom. Today is much better, as I have coffee and am left to whatever devices help get me through the day. So far, I have nearly zero ambition other than visiting the market in a little while, and that is okay. I don’t have to be accomplished all the time. I can take it easy when necessary or anytime the dreams have me in shackles. Everything which has been troubling me seems to be right below the surface this morning. I feel the paragraphs above and below, meaning I may fall down in a little while. All I need is to see something special in the store just to reinforce my already downtrodden condition and then return here and fail miserably. Carolyn Seymour on the screen. Awesome. Her three appearances during the run of this great show have cemented her as one of my very favorite guest actors.

1040. The routine is mostly finished. I still have to toss a few things from the refrigerator and then I can complete that room. My food shopping has been delayed by not really giving a shit. Whiskey next to me, second show again, cats asleep, dry cleaning is running, and I am lamenting this day already because of a failure. Earlier, today appeared wide-open. Now it is closed off and angry, just like me. I don’t understand why I became so fucked up, however I can point out that the fire cannot easily be extinguished much of the time.

I will state that I have caused much destruction and heartache in the past – some far back and other shit more recently, but I honestly strove to find comfort and understanding. I cannot reconcile those two pursuits with what has taken place at my hands, however. I make no excuses, either. I know what I’ve done and why. What I don’t understand is why seemingly simple interests and needs caused me to act so dramatically at times. While my intelligence is such that I can usually leverage others into providing me with support, I am hoping that the whoring has offset such behavior. Putting aside the sexual connotation, I’ve been a whore for a very long time, possibly as early as the late eighties. This is not a positive consideration. I can only hope that I have helped people. Without asking, I have no idea. Even if I do ask, I cannot trust the source because the word ‘trust’ has become a journey I can no longer be asked to make. Yes, I am that paranoid and afraid. Leave it.

I am burning inside and cannot find water.

1119. The dry cleaning is halfway complete. I noticed that my neighbor is again outside working on something. I may have to go see if I can offer help. At this point, any activity which can help to push away the morning is a good thing, and that includes my eventual trip to the market, good or bad. I am in need of cream before coffee time tomorrow, so I must go today. The hour is early, though. I’ll get there. This will be the fifth day in which I would like to continue transforming the office back to what it was two years ago. The work is straightforward and simple, but finding motivation is quite the reverse. I can’t stop thinking about the flames inside and all I have lost. The only positive seems to be the massive amount of time for thinking these days.




Perhaps two hours before I met Andrea


1535. I went to the market after helping my neighbor with his bike. It was a continuation of yesterday’s clutch efforts. Still, there are problems. I may be out there again later or another day. The market was a breeze, too. I plan to take it easy for a little while and then prepare some food for dinner. I’ll have to touch up the kitchen afterward. There is nothing much left to do today.

0653 on Saturday morning. I don’t have a clue as to what this day has in store for me. Yesterday there were multitudes of distractions, too. The evening came along and I prepared dinner and then relaxed. Overall the day was not bad, I suppose. I did not work in the office at all. At least I learned some about motorcycle clutches. Better than nothing. I think this morning will be longer than the previous. I am feeling the computer could be important right now. The business is minutes away, after which I shall return to the exposition. At some point between this morning and tomorrow, I will have to remove more of the tree in the backyard. This will be week five of cutting the lower half. I originally calculated that at least eight weeks would be required for disposing of the trimmings. We will soon know if my guess was accurate.

0812 and here I am for the duration. Morning business finished, coffee, cats are asleep, second show in its sixth season. Good stuff. I have to rise above what happened yesterday or I’m fucking sunk. And Susanna is in this episode, all young and lovely. I believe this is her first appearance in the franchise. Nope... I was off. This is her second appearance. Several more to come, and two more series’. She is very talented, not just extremely beautiful. There are others, too.

I can hear the rumbling again this morning. I don’t know what weather patterns govern the departure pathways, but something changed recently and we are hearing more dramatic noise from the airport over the hill. Such power.

I am not going to publish for much longer. This has been heading nowhere for many months as I’ve been repeating myself and hiding details. I’ve covered so many words that to continue publishing more essays is pointless. I’m barely saying anything, and what I do say confuses even me. This daily crap of noting the time and whatever I’ve done is fucking stupid, but I guess I just worked into the process over enough time for it to become old hat. In fact, I’ve already felt for so long that the site was nothing special that I removed the master page again so nothing is accessible. This is like an error within an error and obscured by a smokescreen. I realized that I would like to access the site yet leave others out, so I placed a false error page in place of the main index to put them off. Sometimes while using the phone I need to see files as they would be displayed in production, so the master page must remain active. No one else will find them, however. Just me. Eventually this will all go to shit, and I believe the feeling began some time during the last few months. I honestly don’t care to share my thoughts much anymore.

0924 and I need to begin the routine soon.

While perusing one of the largest discussion forums in existence (an idea I had back in zero two, believe it or not), I ran across people with similar mindsets to my own. Science fiction programming is on my television(s) every single day, and has been for many years. Those series’ are my go-to choices most of the time due to familiarity and the feeling of family. Yes, I said family. Anyway, I carry tons of knowledge as a result of watching over and over for decades. When reading about some of my favorite episodes – those with the power to bring my eyes to tears (believe it) – I ran across a person who stated that he or she has avoided the Klingon stories while watching. Well, that is unbelievable, because some of those tales are the most stirring of the entire fucking franchise. Well, they are to me. I find them fascinating and very emotional, guiding viewers through colorful landscapes filled with imagery of words like duty, honor and family. I feel them deeply because I am the same type of person, albeit a human being and not some exotic, fictional character. I served in the military long ago, yet still I feel the pangs of duty and cherish the ideals which are embedded in a person’s psyche for life. I may be a fraction of what I had been, but the truth is I still tear up during certain holidays and the meaning behind them all. I feel the power of duty. I remember being a part of something much larger than myself. The Klingon saga begins all the way back in eighty-eight and carries on for nearly fifteen years, leaving out no detail and respecting continuity at every step of the journey. I find the stories and characters to be unparalleled in the media. Maybe I am just weird.

1055 and the routine is finished. My day is wide open, although I may slow down due to the modified orange/white Russian sitting beside me all icy and yummy. Orange vodka mixed with cream and Kahlua is unreal... Like an alcoholic chocolate orange, I suppose. Two of these cocktails combined with the Klingon saga will have me crying.

I am still burning inside. As time passes, I feel more and more that I have failed in life. Failed. All I have left are the little enjoyments, such as loud music in my ridiculous empire, the occasional pizza while watching my favorite shows, or some of the rewarding work behind me on a given day. That is all. Everything that I need is gone. Everything I want? Equally gone. The joy and understanding no longer exists in my world. I sit here, alone, and dream of the past; a time when the future appeared bright and full of wonder. My future is now black and burned. Nothing is on the horizon. The flames have ruined me, and the whoring was key in lighting them. I was wronged and hurt, and now I continually fail and make other mistakes due to the same. Everyone hurt me. Years of it. All I see now is a future of even louder and more angry music, more alcohol, and hiding my true feelings away whenever around other people. I wanted my life to be different but never made the effort. I have also been stymied by people. As much as I’d like to cease this shit, I don’t see that idea as a viable option because when everything is taken into consideration, the truth is the little ‘enjoyments’ must be accompanied by typing and booze. I don’t see any other way to live.

I have to change the image. Perhaps something more organic, and from the past. Females have been my weakened, pathetic downfall (not their fault, of course), so maybe less of them on these pages will help a bit.

0716 on Sunday morning. Coffee, flags, cat food, second show, etc. The sun is already shining, too. Yesterday I tore into the shrub again. I’ll admit that I went a bit nuts with the saw and cut off a bit too much to fit into the green can. The shrub is shaping up, though. It is looking more and more like a tree. I also helped next door again for a little while before turning to the inside of the house. I wanted to work on a lighted base for one of my bottles but did not get very far. At the tail end of everything, I saw something which reinforced the damaging dream and I had to take a few moments of pause before being able to truly concentrate on anything else. Eventually the sight faded a bit, yet it has returned this morning. Sometimes I want to scratch out my eyes, damn it. The point is I accomplished quite a bit before any trouble took over. More flames inside. The fire is causing me to become just a touch less able to handle those situations as time rolls by. I hope the shit doesn’t really hit the fan on this subject. That could be very bad. I wish I hadn’t seen such wonder yesterday.

Today I will try to continue with the organization in and around my usual stuff and the garbage. The past few days have had me thinking about pulling the main board off the truck and trying to recall how I designed the potential drive mounts. I have drawings to assist, as well. If I can work out a few details, I may be able to finalize the system and update my design to allow for an ESC rather than the geared motor originally slated for that machine. The geared motor is fine, but I believe I blew up the controller some years ago while testing. Either that, or it was faulty from the beginning. I tend to be very careful when working with sensitive electronics. The fact is the failure pushed me to consider using a standard ESC in order to see if the truck can move on its own. The steering is another matter entirely. The truck is one of those items from the past that reminds me of when I was excited about the entire project and looked forward to any work which advanced my ideas. It also reminds me of how much I’ve lost or thrown away throughout the years. Not good. I don’t know how I’ll feel about working on the drive. Plus, I’m pissed off again. I can’t stop thinking about everything which has created the person typing these words.

All that whoring seemed like a way of life, as if I had been trained by my dad and then followed in his footsteps to become who I am right now. Everything felt natural, normal. I did my best. There may be a supporting idea underlying the whoring, as well. Maybe. Other people would be involved in such an idea and there is no way in hell I can spell it out here. At least, not now. I’m already angry enough and if I gush the whole thing I may regret it later. I can’t have content being altered after the fact. Some entries can be completely removed, but not reworked when the subject is my feelings. Well, I just don’t know. The anger toward some people is not going to make any exposition easy at this point in time. I guess it was a way of life, all that work for people other than myself. Oh, I helped myself, too, yet that is not nearly the same. I need to leave out some words now or this will go to hell very quickly. The flames are growing. And my dad's work and efforts in life were mostly directed toward a very small number of people, unlike mine. I had a bit of focus some years ago which became uncontrollable later. That is mostly my fucking fault, unfortunately, but I cannot sit here and lie about it. I am likely as much to blame as a few others, with the worst examples being purposely left out of this shit. And as much as I am tiring of dancing around the specifics of so many different subjects, there simply is no other way if I am to actually display text here.

0654 on Monday morning, a day I enjoy each week. Second show again, seventh season. I’ll be switching to something else very soon.

Yesterday was productive. I did really well with the organization and tried to maximize the garbage space. Everything in the garage is in order and I began to build a lighted stand for an empty whiskey bottle. I have the ‘big three’ vodka bottles out there on a platform I built not long after the first shelter order. I thought since the whiskey has become rather like my signature drink, why not light up a bottle? I also helped with the neighbor’s motorcycle for a little while.

I’m feeling that Monday comfort knowing that I will have the house to myself for hours. I don’t know why Monday developed this way, but lately I really sink into the feeling of being hidden away once I’m here alone. Also, being in control of my nearby atmosphere helps me relax. Today I am seeing that the weekend had a measure of small trials that I had to deal with, and now that everything is in order I can really enjoy the time. And speaking of time, I need to take care of the morning business.

0754 and the rest of the day is up to me. I have the usual responsibilities and whatever else looks appealing or important. The second show is still up there on the big television.

1351 and I am doing all I can to feel decent right now. Twice this week I’ve fallen dizzy and had to take it easy for a little while. The experience was unlike hypoglycemia in that I did not feel the other symptoms of low blood sugar, but instead just the feeling of being unsteady. When I walked to the sofa to rest I had to hold the walls along the way. Not good. I have no idea what this is. Anyway, the routine and lunch are out of the way and I have laundry in the dryer. I have not worked any further on anything else because I’m rather uneasy in the brain. The remainder of the day will be very slow as a result.

A few situations popped into my head while showering and none of them can be revealed here. The damaging dream was involved, however. I don’t believe there is anything I can do about those random reminders of something causing such difficulty. Pictures in my head, to be honest. I wish I could rid myself of such dreams. One of the images inside flashed some feelings from that other story I can’t mention. This is all so stupid.

And now Tuesday morning. Coffee, flags, cats... Blah, blah, blah... Sciencefictioncakes. Yesterday turned out to be ok aside from the dizzy spell and a drastic near-failure during the early afternoon. The situation was bearing down on my head and I almost completely fucked up the rest of the day by being a fool. Well, foolish behavior can be understandable at times. I felt as if I had been under a spell. Routed. I made it out of there, though. Not much was done after feeling worried over the dizziness. I am hoping to make up for that today. I keep picturing the office all finished and everything squared away, and the image in my head is really nice. I have to get there.

0759. Morning business is complete and I am left to my devices. Second show, seventh season. I’ll have to switch to something else, perhaps by tomorrow. My intention for later is to relocate the mattress and storage totes to the spare bedroom and switch the big tables. I keep dreaming about having my control center back the way it was two years ago, and the idea is becoming better and better as the days roll by. I have a few things picked for the office, too. Hopefully soon I can return to that room and work at the desk like I did in the past.

1047. Routine finished. Cocktail hour. Head full of whoring and fire. Oh, and a head full of a situation which arose last night while watching a show. This morning I feel that my life has been a complete waste of time and effort that landed me in this barren wasteland I now inhabit, bereft of hope and promise. I am beginning to care less about what takes place during the rest of my day. The problems in my head are worsening and I have no solutions. The weather outside matches the gray inside me. So sick of this shit.

Ugh.

0650 on Wednesday. All the usual stuff. I’m considering continuing where I left off yesterday with the office and spare room. The tables are switched, the mattress has been relocated, and all of the totes are in place. The office almost looks like it did years ago. I am beginning to feel the pull of sitting at my desk and working on a new desktop computer. God damn it’s dim outside right now. There is a very thick marine layer sitting on the hills and the sun seems nonexistent. There was zero sunshine yesterday, as well, hence most of my work being inside the house. And I feel that the housework and other things keeping me busy are helping to suppress the dead-end nature of the title and what it means to me. I don’t give a blue fuck in the wind if the subject is gleaned at all now. I tend to sit here and belabor the shit for far too long anyway. There are no answers, so the daily activities are taking over this space. I have ten minutes before the morning business. I’m looking forward to the quiet time today. Maybe I’ll head out to find a computer somewhere. Most of the time I remain at home or only visit stores in town to avoid burning too much fuel, but right now I could use a respite from being here. If it costs money to drive, I'll spend it. The fuel will be a small expense when held against a new desktop tower. Heh.

Looking back at those trips to the goblet and elsewhere – most notably the time with Rachel and what took place during the course of mere minutes – I can see part of how this current difficulty developed. It is an extension of the past combined with a very long period of time feeling almost completely alone. In one way, for sure. The essay from seventeen came on the heels of being equally alone and feeling it deeply. The trips only serve to illuminate the massive gradient between being in control of my circumstances versus nothing more than grasping for years. The whoring reinforced my place in the world and created inner fire. I feel the burning at some point every day. There is no exception, not even while on a nice vacation or during some other enjoyment. No escape whatsoever. All I have is a bunch of small distractions to help steer my head away from wishing to destroy things.

0904. I have to hop to the routine very soon so the day can move along. I’ve been sitting here removing some of the cover images from my social media profile because they no longer align with the state of my mind. Years ago I didn’t care, whereas now I tend to feel more concern over how I may appear to some people. It’s a small item on my long list of shit, yet also something simple. As for driving down the peninsula to browse at computers, that may not come to pass today. I feel less and less like going out as the clock continues to roll. Today may end up nothing more than an extension of yesterday.

1008 and the routine is finished, as is the dry cleaning. My day is now wide open. Second show, almost complete as of this morning. Whiskey. I’ll need it due to an upcoming trip to the goddess market. I’d shop elsewhere, but there is one item only that store carries and we need it. I’m sure there will be some fucking gorgeous, shapely woman just to knock me down. Not her fault. Mine.

Or is it?

The obsession over form is one thing and grew over time for reasons of which I am mostly unaware. I began seeing physical attractiveness in a different way while living in Dublin and I don’t know why. As for desire? That is another story – often linked to the obsession for obvious reasons – and a feeling over which I have little control. The only positive is that I ‘look’ and fall down, and then simply leave the area. Nothing more comes of it. People do not need to know what takes place in my broken head, least of all a beautiful woman. That is that. I have to go over there in a little while, so the obsession is in mind. There have been extremely difficult years through which I lived while feeling an enormous void inside my being. Those periods when I had the power to do something about it have caused even more fucking trouble. One left me without a fucking job, believe it or not. Remember the lion? Yep, I forced some changes that could not be reverted, and caused irreparable damage due to one of the most powerful foxes in memory. I realize that I have made mistakes, but some of that loneliness was not caused by me. Period. Thus, when I go to the market and return all fucked in the head, the affair is not entirely my doing.

What a fucking stupid situation. I will state with all certainty that nearly all of my whoring has been due to seeking that which has eluded me for too long. Clear? I don't fucking care. Live with it. I know what I mean by such a statement. You need not know at all.

Perhaps I'll head to the market when my icy whiskey is gone. I may need the numbness. Not funny. When alcohol or its effects become a necessity, all may be lost in life. Such is me. The time is now 1042. I believe my optimal course is to shop, return, and then work on my little projects in the garage with doors closed and violent music blasting. The dramatic and solid nature of the garage audio system -- coupled with sheer dynamic range, clarity and Satanic imagery -- keeps the general public from stepping onto our property. Read that last sentence as 'the only semblance of power I hold in the universe'.

0639. Thursday. The weather is all drizzly outside. No flags as of yet. Second show on its last episode (which will make me feel like shit and cry when it’s over). Ooh-fa. I am feeling far too much this morning. Last night I narrowly avoided a tirade. Ugh.

The market yesterday was a breeze. I didn’t see anything of note, walked to each of my destinations and then strolled the hell out of there. Not a single glimpse of form. Unfortunately, my head may not be any better off for the experience. I had hoped to wake up this morning and take care of business without issue. I am already having trouble for related reasons. Maybe I should avoid difficult subjects here for a little while so my head can quiet itself. I remained on my feet and worked around the garage yesterday in addition to trimming more of the shrub for the sole reason of avoiding too much thought. My new light bar above the bench is mounted and operational, as is the lighted base for one of the empty whiskey bottles. I also relocated the music keyboard to the upper storage to help clear my future desktop. As of now, the space is nearly ideal. All I have to do is rid the office of a few more things and I can begin to build my little empire again. The work yesterday went from lunch time all the way through to late afternoon so the past imagery and feelings could not catch up to me and render the rest of my day worthless and worrisome. Instead, I became a bit angry and pushed. Originally, I was worried about going shopping. Later? The store faded quickly and I forced the day to bend to my wishes. Thankfully, I did not go off the deep end like some days spent out there. I don’t know what today has in store for me. Less whoring? More fire.

Whenever I push myself and work through the tough feelings and memories, what is accomplished much of the time is nothing more than suppression and 'putting off' the issues for another day. Everything can return in seconds and be shoved into my head via the tiniest reference or vision. It's going to happen again. Just a matter of time. Yesterday was both a victory and a failure. I didn't see anything, yet my brain was already so saturated with closet doors and beautiful shoulders that I realized something new or different is not required for me to fall on my face. I can do it while completely alone.

I am really tired of this morning shit. The house is quiet and I have all the time in the world to work on whatever I want or need, yet the inside of my head will not allow me to fully enjoy or feel accomplished. Memories and moments, closet doors and smiling faces; all of it just sits there right behind everything I try to do. There is not a moment’s peace these days. Today I’ll do the usual stuff, maybe go out and pick up some potatoes, and think too much along the way.

Some of the fire is not inside me. It is the result of all I’ve destroyed. Maybe whoring myself for the good of others is the only possible penance, yet I can never know. I am alone.

Fire in the whore."



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