02-16-2020 14:55 pst

We have finally finished reworking ''The Passion and the Impossibility' and restored that masterpiece to its location within the archive. Months have passed since pulling the entry in order to make it worthy of the content. Hopefully this will be the last time such a change takes place. Another tidbit is the fact that the images have been removed from the archived pages from 2003 to 2014. They are no longer necessary.

The entry content is now justified for a cleaner look.

Other than that, streamlining and compacting the site has been the only activity.

The Girl, the Silver Watch, and Nothing

Part Ten

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"There is an exit.

Gone again. The second time I have made this happen. Once upon a year, I dreamed and visited places of business in order to gaze at something so beautiful, and then worked my fucking ass off to make it mine. I accomplished it all on my own and then had to let it go years later. Now, it sits in a box waiting to be shipped off to someone else due to me exhibiting reckless and uncaring behavior. Again. The first time was just over eight years ago after donning that machine for more than a decade and a half, and now the duration has been mere months. I am an idiot, again. Part of the reasoning is just below.

This is the worst situation I could have imagined and I did it. I fucking began a process, halted it, and then fucking started it all over, subsequently stopping it cold for the second fucking time. I am wrecked as a result. Wrecked. Never before has my decision-making ability gone so bad. Unbelievable, especially considering everything I have caused in the past. Others continue to become victims of my shit decisions, forward wording, and forceful nature. And I did not even run away this time. Yet. The whole world is aslant again. I am changing things and the result is still partially clouded. Months will have to pass before I can actually see what may be happening and what the differences are going to mean. Right now, nothing is good. Yesterday I did my best to take time, think about my worlds and take care of some business, but in the end I feel no different. The worlds are most decidedly separate and will never combine into what was envisioned more than a year ago. I just have to wait and see. The routine takes me, the issues continue to pile up like those air molecules, and the impact wall awaits... Something.

Hydrogen push. Hollow point. This is the 'nothing'.

Nothing. Yes, that is what I have accomplished as a human being throughout the last fifty-three years. Oh, there are little things here and there which push others to see me as intelligent and productive, however the downsides are many. Too many, in fact, for me to recall at this moment.

As I look ahead and behind, I see only wreckage and pain. Yes, ahead, too. Because? My track record for dispensing others at the cost of my endless search for comfort continues unimpeded. No one can stop it. Not even me. Something comes along and effectively erases my ability and willingness to simply let it go and turn away, and then the planet is shifted at my will in a direction which leaves others unable to respond. They are buried, mired, and encapsulated within the shit river of forceful words that I manufacture at high speed and shove down their throats. The process is so ingrained and familiar that it happens quickly and automatically every fucking time. The only aspect which was available years ago and barely present now is the option to leave everyone behind. Throughout the past eight years I have ruined my future and removed the freedom. The last several days have demonstrated my affinity for dissecting whoever comes along at the wrong time. There is no getting around it... Not for them, anyway. I can do as I please and then the Gatling gun of pointed words comes flying out and liquefies any possibility of fighting back.

Yes, this title is the antithesis of the movie from nineteen-eighty. Suck it up.

And moreover, the title does directly span all of the issues within me at this moment. Jaime, the object, and the resulting damage born of my words and actions. I do not deserve anything good at all now. Nothing. The beauty sitting in that box is appropriately no longer mine. It has been purchased and paid for by another person and will be gone for good in the morning. That is right where it should be because I am a fucking idiot for the umpteenth time in this life. At my age, a person might believe that wisdom has grown throughout years of living, however I continue to demonstrate that the opposite is true. All I do is cause pain.

'I sit here with my Appletini and television wondering what the Boat must feel like -- swaying gently under the awesome power of the Mediterranean, the breeze tickling the enormous sails above, the crew scurrying to secure comforts for the fortunate that are aboard -- to be sitting in the comfort of the aft salon unconcerned about the 104 degree heat in Pleasanton, California, or the traffic that is doubtless on 580 right now flowing like molasses in January. Sometimes the thought is overwhelming, and contributes to the futility of a day without the distraction of work. Deciding the lesser of two punishments can be difficult.'


Jaime knows a way out? I no sooner try to wrap my head around the thought of the entire sordid affair coming to an end when she grabs me and plants a kiss the likes of which I have not felt in years. As much as I dreamed of Jessica all over my body, Jaime just took that away in less than a second. God damn does she feel good and absolutely exudes passion. I cannot process anything with her against me so I go with it like the wreck that I have become. She pushes at me to sit back and climbs on top while ripping off her vest to reveal a light blouse. I hear her heavy name tag hit the wall as the force of her throw causes it to let go of the magnet. Within seconds, her blouse flies away as well, leaving me completely overwhelmed by the attack upon my sitting there wondering for moments about her telling me there is an out. Right now? I do not give half a shit if we ever leave this hotel. The passion is heating me like a blowtorch and causing all manner of thoughts to swirl within my brain regarding every single situation I have been through for years... Countless connections, living on high wherever and whenever I deemed it necessary, and throwing my being into an abyss of suicidal distraction. I lived it over and over with nary a second devoted to real life nor what may come next. And that woman from Florida was the clincher... She took me to a place which I dreamed and felt did not exist. At this moment, everything is coming into play as my senses are flared in the extreme. As much as I need information, help, and answers, I cannot stop. The heroin is right there and attached to a woman seemingly designed and built for my deviant mind. I dive.

Jesus God in heaven, what a fucking slam.

I can no longer think straight. Jaime took me away from all of the worry as we drowned into each other for what seemed hours. The woman exhibited behavior and little mannerisms of affection just like others from the past, as if she could read my mind and go in whatever direction I was feeling. Relaxing on the sheets afterward feels warm and wonderful, and that is a state I have been seeking since meeting with Julia on the caboose. Memories of so much comfort flood me. I roll toward her to gaze at that mass of hair everywhere and something catches my eye out past the dragon. Light, falling from the sky and illuminating something...

'Afraid to see, as clear as day;
This plan has long been underway;
I hear them call, I cannot stay;
The voice inviting me away.'

There are the rails, and off in the hazy distance I see an object I had hoped would never appear again... A passenger car. Yes, just like that one. The worst discomfort and mounted fear I had ever felt, and there is a reminder out there which twists my stomach into a fucking pretzel. Only one situation in this fucking world causes me to feel worse than the horribly terrifying scene which played out and subsequently pressed me into a state of futile survival. I was hardly prepared to deal with the images and actions within that car, and now I see a second example of my fears. Did Julia do this? I will gut her with a fucking spoon. Did I do this? Maybe. Jaime? Hmm... I do not know. Her affection has thrown me off center with the force of a moon striking the planet, so I need to keep in mind how weakened and vulnerable I have become throughout such processes. In. Fucking. Mind. Please.

The fucking reminders never cease. I need to destroy everything.

Jaime is lying there looking like a magazine cover as my head tries to wrap itself around from where she may have come. We have not spoken much, so the questions are still floating. As I gaze at her from my vantage point across the room, I see many things over which I have ruined lives. Details, curves, softness, and all those Goddamned radii that steer me in whatever direction is necessary for indulging my fucked up psyche. Added to that? The two of us embracing and wrapping ourselves around each other as if the hotel was burning and we had mere moments left to live. He warmth is unreal and sends my head back to Florida with the angel and her never-ending affection and understanding. I can't just sit and stare without thoughts of that fucking railroad car sitting out there, though. It is alone, just like me. Yes, Jaime is there like a dream, but still I know that nothing in this backward and fucked up town is real. The illusion no longer has the ability to throw me off the trail. Well, except the woman.

Time to drown into the arms again. Tired. Tears. Fuck.

And Jaime is experiencing something similar. Damn it. I need to learn everything. She seems distraught and lunged at me the way I have thrown myself at others while feeling as if I have nowhere else to go. As the quiet becomes overpowering, I gently push her to share. And then I see it... Her eye color has changed on one side. Blue, where the dark brown had been. Huh? Different colored eyes? Did I not see that downstairs? Not one word from her for many moments, and then brown again. What the fuck? No sooner does my confusion peak when Jaime announces that we need drinks. To the phone, hair flying, breasts bouncing under that blouse, and my head trying to pry itself out of her nether regions. She reaches for the receiver and I can take no more of so much beauty in my eyes. Pressure, both within and on display. Pushing. There is everything, right in view, just like the goddess looking east out the window in Vegas while leaning on the sofa. I lose myself dreaming for mere seconds as Jaime turns to see my fire while she orders. A smile, and her pupils are fucking red. What? Fuck it all, I have to know.

She returns and again drops to my lap. Her eyes are absolutely blood red, so I ask... They reflect my mood. How in the fuck is that possible? Red? Is that passion or flame? Again, I do not understand. The goddess pops into my head with her big, beautiful windows and the way they looked right through to my soul. Jaime is different, naturally, and the confusion over her ever-changing eye color is really beginning to send me to the depths. Red. Before that? Blue and very dark brown. Pools of wonder. And I wonder, is there something going on that I am supposed to see or understand? My instincts are not very sharp anymore so any stretch is a guess. I just don't get it. She looks up again, and there is the brown. Dark, like the darkest eyes I have seen in years.


'Over there. That place. Two people, intertwined like only imagination. Loving, caring, feeling, smiling. Hand in hand. Understanding.

Yes, the difficulties still exist. They do not go away. The woman eased some of them quite often, however. The underlying issue related to the visions and all those dreams of furthering my interest (along with that fucking failed project) related to her. Not like Andrea or even the Raven, but enough to take some of the pain away and help to keep me focused upon other aspects of life. The extent of my worry is not solely related to the loss of those angels, but does extend from my painful past to knowing that the chances of others coming along had narrowed to the point of causing despair. The meantime had become tolerable (and even blissful at times) due to much care and understanding being lavished upon me by the dream. She listened, absorbed, and offered loving support during those trying periods which will continue for my remaining days. Aside from removing the source, there is literally nothing which can be done to alleviate the pressure, pain, or my attempt to find a place within which I can survive myself.


I can hardly watch the fucking television at this point. Last week things were not so difficult, but now I feel that with each passing moment I am coming apart more and more. The damage is happening quickly and narrowing my vision to very few parts of daily life. I am not accustomed to this taking place alongside other issues. Yes, I have dealt with the mitigation and minimization of the threats in the past, but now such a charge has been combined with my attempt to keep my head above water with regard to the other existing problems that have taken over my life. The combination is unhealthy and causing me to withdraw. And I mean severely. I have turned inward to such an extent that has until now been unknown. It is bad. I am uncomfortable. Just a little push and I will quit work and remain holed up until I die. The television may not be that push, but then again it could be just enough to send me spiraling.

In this day and age, the media is available in many ways. That means I am not at the mercy of the dial (heh, dials are gone), but in control of a vast array of options. The screen is mine. Still, I know that the threats are being broadcast, the dysphemisms are flying along with much laughter, and out there somewhere is a massive problem which caused a gap to develop between me and the remainder of the world. Said problem likely would have meant the end of me, and outside my own impulses that is rare. Oh yes I have been here before, but the fact remains that every single fucking tidbit of discomfort is cumulative. My slow, approaching withdrawal from all that know me has solidified, like a path in snow after the cold tightens and makes ice. There is to be no thaw.

'Full of lobster and salad, (and maybe some Goose), I took off for the MGM Grand's Studio Cafe at 11:00pm. It's a hell of a walk from the pyramid, only half a block, but it takes a tremendous amount of time to negotiate. With eyes on me everywhere, I trotted to the best of my ability over escalators and along sidewalks feeling like dropping into traffic at every step. It was very warm, still over eighty degrees, and quite windy, making it tough to sail along the large bridges between the Excalibur and Tropicana. The wind made my hair into what looked to be some sort of half-assed bird's nest from another planet. This did not help my present state of mind as I was already apprehensive enough about meeting Lena at all. For whatever reason -- maybe my own small sense of self-preservation -- I had hoped she would bring some comfort into my blurry, excessive weekend.

I suppose the bar at the Steakhouse probably would have been a better choice of venue for an evening conversation, but the fact that she was employed by the Mandalay Resort Group conveniently removed four of our choices for locale. (Apparently, there had been a recent memo dictating some guidelines for contact with casino patrons beyond the normal chit chat. It was for this simple reason that she recommended the MGM.)

The cafe was busy, as I'm sure it was most nights, being the only food available during the late hours. I arrived after only a 28-minute journey to find Lena nowhere in sight, so I decided to make myself scarce to the viewing public in the casino. She arrived a few minutes later sporting some kind of spandex dress that immediately sent me into hiding (mentally, of course) and forced me to continually check my own appearance for fear of not being dressed for the Grand atmosphere. This can be exceedingly taxing over the course of a meal and drinks. Fortunately, I had enough insight to request a booth in the corner. A curved, high-backed booth overlooking the casino floor and elevated slightly above the heads of the other guests made me somewhat more comfortable for the moment. Soon enough, though (and as usual), my comfort level dropped significantly far to drive me from Lena and the cafe, stepping with a purpose the entire distance back to my home on the 26th floor. After a brief fight with anxiety, I was able to relax and drop into sleep. She understood, being a degreed student of the psyche already, combined with a bit of conversation with me at the Pyramid, that I could not stay any longer with what felt like a million pairs of probing eyes taking me apart.'


Issue four has materialized and caught me unprepared. It is difficult, agonizing at times, and something I have not considered for years. I am afraid of what this new development will do to me. Jaime has the ability to calm me with her big eyes, but the brewery inside will not completely fade. The other issues have been manageable until recently, the goddess helping to alleviate what goes on inside me for a long while. She telegraphed caring like a giant CW key and absolutely broadcasted in my direction at times. Jaime pushes toward the same behaviors, but something is off there. The problem could be within me, or external. I have to think. This new mindset that is being developed fills me with worry. Just like months ago when issue two was beginning to reveal another weakness, I am seeing possibilities and the need to isolate approaching again. I am powerless. And yes -- fuck you -- many have taken up with me in arguing over my choices and freedom to avoid those situations. Well, I have already demonstrated throughout more than a decade that if I state a limit within myself, don't push. Issue two is partially veiled at times, otherwise it flares. Trying to keep my head up during each week is not easy. I realize that last statement likely applies to many others, but I can only relay what takes place within me. The past three days have shown me that I am weak and powerless. Whereas once I had control and support, I now have nothing. Yes, there is that word again. The nothing. Me. The hole, the space, the void of everything that I must have in order to live with myself. I mentioned television back there somewhere. Well, this is not the same, nor does it hit me with a similar type of force. Number four is all my doing.

Three fucking days. That is all it took to send me into the ground. Today is one of them. There is little reason now to push myself to improve or care. Good thing, too, because I have never felt weaker.

As of a few days ago, I do have a plan. No one is going to like it, but they can all go and fuck themselves in frozen thistle. My opinion of me is paramount and will not waver no matter the issues at hand nor the source. This is it. The last few months have had me at sixes and sevens over relationships, people, and the manner in which society has jaded so many aspects of daily life. As of this morning, I am completely ruined and will never be the same. I passed up a few things years ago taking what I felt were the paths in my best interest and strongest possibility of handling things, and then all of it went to shit in the space of a tenth of that period. When I say ruined, I mean for all time. I am done with all of it. The proven fact is that I am not strong enough to separate myself from the others and feel as if I matter and can be effective as a person, so the whole fucking idea has been splintered and burned away like so much dry wood. I cannot do it anymore. Thus? The plan. And that rhymes with 'man'. I wish to God in heaven that such a sentence could be funny, however right now nothing is funny at all. I did it, but still some was done to me. I realize that for the last several years I have railed on about others having little to no effect upon my psyche because I would not allow such a fact, but I am not ideally suited to pushing enough to send them all away. I can't do that because I am a nice person. That is how I am viewed. The very idea of me being unkind in any way aside from this space is alien to me. So, here we are. Or, more appropriately, here we are again. Just like a causality loop, the shit has flowed right back to me after being slung at high speed all over the place. The fruit of my efforts is rotten.

I cannot stop this anymore. Back in the late nineties and even into the first half of the following decade, there were little boosts which helped to shelve the fucking crap and allow me to get through a given day. Well, all options have been exhausted. I feel so horrible that even my command of language cannot do justice to the horrendous storm which has developed as a result of the situation. I just do not have the tools for traversing the massive trench within which I have repeatedly thrown others.

Worse than the possibility of being dead? No one will ever know the true extent to which I have been damaged as a result of both my actions and the fucking hammer of society. There is another soul out there who is representative of two worlds: One which has the ability to illuminate all of the understanding and love in the universe, but also one of the most frightening parts of my brain. The situation is such that no matter what I may have chosen, my end would have been known. Neither could matter for long. I knew it... I fucking felt the firing pin pulling back and aimed at my future for months and it won. I could not stare it down because I knew that whatever may have developed in the short term was going to crash. I became more frightened than in the last twenty years and do not have the will nor the constitution to survive such a powerful press against my life. Scared, weakened, broken. Such is me. Just like the fork, either tine leads to the same choice. Now, later, whenever. I do not care any longer. In fact, the sooner the better. That way I can be free of the landslide of shit and emotion which is crippling in the extreme.

The casting sand of my existence was flawed from its infantile beginnings. The die? Broken. Holes, spills, damage in every direction. Burned by the forge, singed by the molten metal that should be me.

Welcome to the nothing. I am no better for the experience, nor do I know how to proceed.


The more I gaze at Jaime's form, the more I am realizing that she is carrying traits from the others. All of them. The eyes are mysterious, though. I don't get it, but being alone there with such beauty is something I know too well to pass. I need it. Once again, I shelve the odd circumstance in favor of absorbing Jaime as much as possible until forced to face anything important. No learning, just dropping. Ignore. My hands begin to wander as her eyes darken even more. A deep red, unnaturally colorful. Her response to my touch is to heat up again. God damn, I cannot believe the woman across my lap. Andrea, Ashley, and Juliette all rolled into one, yet something else is going on in her head. Once we kiss, the walls fall away quickly and we carry each other into the late night with love. Wow. Jaime's touch and motions are unreal. Andrea and I had a physical connection unlike any other, but now I am taken further away.

Night? Always night here. Her eyes are blue again.

I suggest we shower and lie down but Jaime wishes to remain warm and wrapped. Wonderful, but I'd like to be clean. And the thought of Slippery, soapy hands is very enticing. No matter.

As I lay and listen to her breathing into my neck, I am reminded of a resort and being attached to vast beauty through the night. There were no limits to anything at that time, and being hidden away so far from home seemed surreal. I made it happen with force, fucked up my financial situation for the tenth time, however all of the post difficulties did not enter into my head at all. I was floating away on soft clouds of wonder and love and simply did not care what happened next. Oh the shit hit the fan soon enough, but during those warm, quiet nights everything else in the world melted away. The entire idea of taking that trip did not fully sink into my brain for quite some time after returning home to the damage. Andrea and me in Florida, too. I pooled resources for weeks, leveraged everyone and everything in my life to get away, and after those weeks the horrible situation I had caused became much worse. Seeing those characters permanently injected into Andrea's beautiful thigh slammed the point that my time in heaven was never to return. That hurt, still hurts, and yet here I am with a stunningly gorgeous work of art all over my skin. Much time passes before I am able to let go and fall asleep. When I do... Dreams of the goddess. Damn it.

Morning? Still dark. Big fucking surprise. Jaime's fucking breasts are uncovered next to me. Jesus fuck, anyway, I don't want to disturb her, but holy shit. Distraction. Coffee. Something. I can't avoid staring on and off as I grab my shorts and head for the phone. Visions of the goddess lying under nothing but a sheet first thing in the morning and looking so fucking picturesque that I lost myself in the dreams every time. Damn it... Room service incoming and my head filled with the image of Jaime on all fours with those succulent globes pointing away from each other and drawing the desire out of me as if she were the entire definition of sexuality. To the bathroom for a bit of freshening. She stirs, the globes move, and I cannot stand it any longer. I have to try to focus and think of our situation and what I need to do. She said she knew a way out but we attacked each other and all reality (reality? Here?) went flying out the window. Water, toothbrush, stop it. Relax, think. And then when I pull my head from the sink, there she is in the mirror with black eyes. I jump a bit at her appearing so suddenly but Jaime does not react. Still as a statue, completely nude. Holy fuck, I don't even see those lovely breasts rising and falling from breathing. What? How? No motion whatsoever. She speaks...

'I must recharge before we go out the door and to your locomotive.'

And I then know... The most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and a warm body that was all over me the night before, is not real. Jaime is a fucking Cherry 2000.

'Is this not what you wished?'

Holy shit."