July 28th, 2022 10:06am pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.




The Burning Time

 read ( words)

"Well, here I sit on the same day as the last entry was published, a mere half hour later. The time is now 0922 and I have only enough ambition for the routine. The weather is very cool and gray, rather like the inside of my head right now. I have a movie from the afterglow on the television until something better comes to mind. The gray outside and dim lighting reminds me of fall. It will arrive soon enough, likely before I realize the passage of time. It is burning away like a fast fuse.

Yesterday I grabbed one of our new, small table lamps to test my LED flame bulbs and there was no power. The second lamp worked just fine, so I brought the failed unit to the garage, tore apart the base, and found a faulty connection. It is now repaired. I’m thinking that when we decorate the living room for the holidays, I can place both of them at opposite corners of the room for effect. The bulbs look even better than I had hoped. Now that I know how well they work and how much they resemble candles flickering, I am going to fabricate two boxes to mount below the hexagram in the garage. When the color is lit, the painting will glow with yellow from above and active orange from below. That will look really nice and tie into the other lighting very well. Unfortunately, I don’t feel like working on anything today. At least I repaired the failed lamp. Better than nothing, I guess.

I cannot even scratch the surface or begin to describe all that is missing. The story I began to write (and continue to write, very few sentences at a time) has begun to haunt me and represent the very pinnacle of something I sought for many years. Time arrived and disappeared more quickly than a gasoline-soaked cotton ball tossed into a wood fire. The time burned away far too quickly for my sanity, and now stands as a period unequaled in my recent history. I haven’t begun the routine yet because I see little value in doing anything right now. The situation is as such: I am home all the time – which for years was a huge wish – I can enjoy many of my favorite foods and drinks much of the time, and have the space and resources to work on projects and other hobbies however my mood may dictate, yet underneath everything good is a simplistic loss which continues to cause me to fall on my face. This takes place every single day. And I mean every SINGLE day. Right now, in fact. That fucking story is going to be the death of me. Maybe I should leave it alone forever. None of the facts of that essay are here. Not one single fact. Everything has been so shaded that even I have trouble understanding some of the time. The underlying situation is clear, however.

Well, here I am at 1124 with the routine finished and nothing on the schedule. The same movie is playing. My boss came by to pay me for the work last week and to catch up a bit. There is little on the horizon for me working, though. I don’t really like to work more than a day or so (even less, honestly) because being away from home means a lack of control over my surroundings and I can’t keep an eye on everything which has become gospel, like the climate and such. I need to maintain my hold on this house or I’ll lose my shit. Being away for a few hours is fine because upon returning I feel wonderful and secure. We discussed an upcoming project, though, and one here in town. The woman for whom we will be working is the sister of a fucking unbelievable goddess, and the only real-life example of a match to the Raven. She is so beautiful that when I am in her presence I can’t think AT ALL. Thankfully, we will not be at her house, but only the sister. That job should be several days and will require me to mentally prepare for being outside this little house for extended periods. I can adjust some, but not enough for a full-time schedule. I had to keep my distance from him as we spoke because I’m halfway through a glass of whiskey and do not wish for anyone to know that I live each day with half a snootful before lunch. Funny, but not all the way funny. Sad, really. This is what I have become as a result of time and circumstance. I am nothing more than a product with time-ash behind me.

I badly need a road trip and shall commence the planning I abandoned some months back. And when I say ‘need’, I mean it is necessary for my survival. Period. We go.

Oh, here we go again...

I worked in the space program and served in the Marine Corps. I was an engineering technician, encompassing expertise in electrical work, electronics, and mechanical disciplines. I held licenses in multiple skills, most notably explosives handling, cryogenics, and all manner of hazardous materials. I’ve demonstrated a knack for learning and understanding any number of complex systems and solving problems. I was effective and valid. I was also walking with my head held high.

Every single accomplishment and positive situation in the preceding paragraph has been either removed or destroyed by the search for beauty and understanding. Something is very wrong here.

Friday. 0706 with coffee. The usual, except I have advanced to the third show for a while.

0804. Not much here this morning. The business is finished and I have peace and quiet for as long as I wish. I may go out and pick up a few things later, but nothing dramatic. Wine and potatoes, perhaps. I’m not terribly ambitious today. Still reeling from yesterday’s foray into allowing my head to implode over a lion. I am not proud of myself very often, and I must say that right now I feel very small again. Not proud. I feel weaker than ever and there does not seem to be anything I can do about it.

One of the guest stars in this episode is six feet tall and her name is Julie. Wow. Sounds like something I would have included in fiction. Heh. I don’t think I paid that much attention to her when this was on television early in ninety-three. That time was but half a year from the end of the glow. I probably had other things on my mind. The summer of radios and tools, perhaps. Julie was beautiful in this episode. Stirring. Sometimes tall women are intimidating, other times not so much. The feeling only comes along when face-to-face, though, so the concern is not a situation which comes along very often. Julie’s face can be intimidating but it doesn’t matter. She is portraying a fictional character and must abide by the script and direction. I know nothing of her aside from two roles. Imagine a woman like her in heels... Six-three? Six four? Holy shit. I’d probably run away at high speed. I used to be acquainted with a woman here in town who was a half inch shy of six feet, and she often wore three-inch heels while attending shows at the bar. The height was unnerving at times, although her eyes seemed kind.

I don’t know what it’s like to grow up having to deal with standing out from the crowd. The woman on the screen and the one I used to know may have had trouble due to being so tall, but I cannot know for sure. I find height to be attractive sometimes, but not everyone feels as such, least of all those other kids in school. I was attacked and chased more than once due to a girl I liked and a nickname. Aside from that, I was invisible. I did not stand out in any way. This brings me to a dinner in Dublin with friends some years ago. Laura was with us and commented upon one of the hosts being very tall as compared to others. I may have mentioned this before. I stepped forward to ask about her height, and she appeared embarrassed to tell me ‘six feet’, but still smiled a bit. I told her that Uma Thurman is over six feet and she agreed with a knowing expression, and then a bigger smile. I then leaned and whispered to the host that she was beautiful. Bigger smile. Moreover, after that small exchange and my boosting of the girl’s self-esteem, Laura smiled at me with an expression of appreciation. Holy fuck, what a situation. Anyway, the host struck me as the type to have lived through some difficulty due to being so tall. I empathized. We moved to our table and I wanted to ravage Laura immediately. Even that many years ago I was moved by much more than I realized. I couldn’t recall a time when I wanted a woman so badly. All the way back to middle school with this shit, too. From height to pain to desire, and then back around the curve to pain.

But I digress. Julie is lovely and menacing at the same time.

0926 and I have half the routine finished in anticipation of driving over the hill in a little while. Perhaps the wine store. Maybe I'll go sit at a bar and have lunch, too.

I wish I could talk to Ashley again, damn it. Eh, she is probably married and otherwise mired in life. Nineteen years is a long time, and in two months the calendar will be on its way to twenty since I was held by that doll. I hope readers are not growing tired of her name, either. There will be more because she is becoming increasingly important to me. That girl represented an otherwise nonexistent facet of life. The Raven was close, and then there was another, yet Ashley still stands out due to a few statements she made while in her apartment. The Raven was different in enough ways to push Her back. The paragraph below – I’ve mentioned it on too many occasions to recall now – is intimately related to Ashley’s viewpoint. There was no such thing as ‘perfect’, however. Nothing can be perfect outside of mathematics, and life is often incalculable.

‘Allamaraine!’ This episode is not as bad as others may contend. I actually rather like it after all these years. And one of the background characters is gorgeous (naturally). Jesus, her legs...

0944 and I don’t know whether or not I want to go anywhere but the market. Time will tell, I suppose. I may have mentioned that the nearest electronics store is being remodeled and I can’t shop inside until it’s finished. The next nearest store is quite a distance from home. Yesterday I ordered the keyboard and trackball for the new computer, too. I want to have some things ready for when I can pick up the machine itself. I’ll need twin monitors, as well, which drives up the cost. And the speakers. All in good time. The morning is nice and quiet and is beginning to cause feelings of staying here all day rather than gallivanting around in search of whatever looks good. I just don’t know. As much as I’d like to shop for a desktop computer, I really don’t feel like running all over the place because the nearest store is closed.

Cocktail time.

1122. The kitchen is clean and polished. I still don’t know if I want to go over the hill to the wine store (partly due to what I often see over there), yet the need for staples may dictate my decision regardless of wanting to remain here. Having the routine finished does feel good and opens the door wide for whatever may be necessary for my comfort, yet driving into society rarely looks appealing these days. The obsession and my need for isolation get in the way more often than not. Aside from my housework, I broke out the big camera to get it in order for the race on Sunday. Yes, the fucking race. I may have mentioned that we are going to spend more time in the pits and vendor areas than in the past in order to get into the lenses. I have not brought the DSLR to that event, ever. This will be quite different than following along with the brackets as I have done for years. I’m looking forward to not having the need to adhere to the race schedule, too. The time should be very relaxing. And yes, I am going to seek the race girl from last summer. If she is there, I plan to ask her for a photograph. After nearly a year of gushing and trying to convey just what those moments meant to me, I simply must go further. The dream right now is for the failed project to bear fruit, and with regard to one of the most beautiful sights of my life. It’s a stretch, of course, but such are the obsession and my feelings for that girl. There is no way around it anymore. If I make a fool of myself, so be it. Everything will end up here. The burning time has forced me into a desperate position, and the race girl may be one figure that has become a representation of the same. I may even love her. Shut up.

I don't know what the fuck I've become, yet I also know exactly what I am. Go ahead and try to make sense of that shit. I can't.

I see flames all over the clocks.

1402. I went to the wine store and the nearby market. Thankfully, the wine store was nearly empty, but the market was fucking stuffed with people. I should know better than to shop there on a Friday after lunch time. The self-check helped minimize my time, though. Not too bad. Any ideas regarding shopping elsewhere quickly vanished upon returning to my car after the wine store. I don’t know why, but I had a strong instinct to head home. I didn’t see anything at either store. Thank the maker. The dry cleaning and laundry are finished and put away. I still have three-plus hours until the afternoon relaxation and no idea of what to do, so here I am yet again.

I would seem to be the only individual who likes Kai Opaka. To me, she seems deeply spiritual and very kind-hearted. Those two traits combined add up to beauty. Maybe it’s just me.

This show brings up the wondrous and wide-open period toward the end of the glow when I worked the swing shift at the glass plant with my buddy. We always recorded new episodes of the second and third shows each Thursday before work and then rewound and watched both after returning home sometime after midnight. We then discussed the episodes at work on Friday.

This essay is going to be fucking stupid very soon.

Here I am on Saturday morning after spending a little more time working on the neighbor’s clutch. I actually solved the problem at the same time as another friend of his called with similar information. Aside from some adjustments, the clutch is working just fine. I spent a bit of time over there last night discussing various cars and bikes, and went into the past for a while before finally deciding that my path in life has resulted in all of the mechanical and racing experience I’ve carried since the seventies being absent. Yes, I will be at the race tomorrow. That is not the same thing. I used to race cars myself, not just watch others.

God damn, some of the beauty on this fucking program. I swear to all that is holy...

0730 with coffee and gray skies outside. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be parking the car at the track and getting ready to find a cup of coffee under the grandstand. Some time after that, I’ll be seeking a large, red trailer and banners indicating a vendor display possibly encompassing the beauty of the universe all rolled into one pair of cat eyes and a mass of blonde hair. Whether or not she is actually there again, my intention is to roam and shoot. As for this morning, I don’t really give a shit. My plan today is to reflect and possibly work a little bit in the office. Everything aside from the usual routine is just not appealing after falling down again last night. All I need now is something coming along to derail what is a peaceful morning.



01


I may be spending some time perusing the electronic surplus store in the south bay very soon. The fact is I have a friend coming to town in about eight days to see some sights, and I might make one of those sights the wonderful world of electronics. The opportunity to do some driving to places within an hour of home without going alone is a nice thought. There are other destinations, too, but I have to get down there during that week. I’d rather have company along for the ride. I’ll probably lament the losses of the last several years, though. There may be no avoiding stories of what ‘was’. Anyway, the week might be like a mini vacation from the norm. I hope so. Right now I could use something different.

So much time has burned... I can’t see it some days. Last night was quite a realization of just how far back some aspects of life have drifted. All my experience seems to be worthless anymore. Well, I mean to say that it doesn’t seem to benefit me. Just other people who need help with something. My accomplishments are black with soot and my past continues to lift people around me. I wish it could lift me. Burning, at this very moment. Clock hands.

Another morning which appears full of possibility at the outset and then fades as the time wears on (burns away). Maybe ‘falling away’ is a better phrase. I don’t know. The fact is I am sitting here yet again and wondering how I am going to feel in twelve hours. There is no way to predict. Sometimes I feel that the sheer amount of time that has burned away should push me up and force me to realize just how precious each moment is, yet every day I continue to fall down and lament everything which is missing. This morning, for example, shows me that despite the cold, drizzly weather outside, there are endless options for what I can do with the hours ahead. The problem is the morning is also that period which often finds me falling down over weakness and desperation. I am on the cusp of it right now. The emptiness becomes like a harness, keeping me down and dimming the rest of the day. Sometimes I break out and become productive, while other days I cannot seem to move in any direction. If this is what I call ‘paying the tab’, well, my actions and decisions of the past may have been worse than I had already thought. I don’t know how to proceed.

One idea I had some months ago when first considering replacing my desktop setup was to sell off one wristwatch that is very valuable, and one I almost never wear. The value of the watch to me is less than it was two years ago, as well. It sits there, all pretty and amazing, but the truth is I often feel that to gain something, I need to let another item go. Not only will the timepiece go into the hands of someone who appreciates it more than I have, but I will also be able to build another computer system without worrying about the cost. The transaction would be a trade of sorts. That single watch could finance the entire setup and then some. Ever since first moving the old table into the garage nearly two years ago, I’ve been thinking about how it felt to sit in the office surrounded by the technology I need to carry forward in life. I can shoot some beautiful images which will help the sale, too. Maybe I just need to think about it more.

0903 and I am about to care for half the routine. I still need to keep the house quiet for a little while, as today is like a Sunday due to the race tomorrow. The days have been flipped around for scheduling. Maybe I’ll care for some of the garbage business later today so the work tomorrow is eased. Right now I can’t get myself to care, though. Too much shit stinking up the inside of my head. I’m hoping this dissipates in the next hour so I can do something other than complain.

The discussion last night spawned all sorts of past situations and events of which I was an integral part, most notably the fact that my dad and I used to work on the family vehicles regularly. He had decades of experience with both weekly maintenance and drag racing. I inherited his vast knowledge over time and became quite the wrench myself. All of that culminated in a first-place trophy for an open road race in Nevada nearly three decades back. One uncle on my mother’s side was also a car aficionado and helped to influence my interest as far back as the mid-seventies. Some twenty-odd years after first seeing what would soon become my ‘dream’ car, I acquired a prime example and quickly realized that it was even more amazing than I had thought in the past. That was the Slipper. The car has been gone for over a decade now and not a fucking day goes by when I do not think about the loss, not to mention the fact that a fucking lion was the catalyst. Well, my desire for the lion, anyway. The years have burned away and forced me to realize that those cars are even more rare now and more difficult to acquire in good shape. Not many were built, honestly. Breaking down the numbers as they relate to my favorite year and the fact that I would only own one with black exterior and interior, there were exactly 905 matches out of a total production of 3049. Considering most ‘average’ family cars throughout the last twenty or more years enjoyed production of over half a million each, the Slipper was very decidedly rare, especially for someone as picky as myself. The conversation last night gleaned my ownership of the Slipper and I began to fall off a cliff before long. All those years of being directly involved in auto work and racing, and now all I have is a little model truck sitting in a display case, unfinished. A person of my upbringing and skill should not be in such a position. This is very bad for my depression. The time is now 0935 and I still have not done anything but complain. So much for thinking about the day.

Maybe I should avoid the Slipper and racing subjects in the future. The guys with whom I spend time are always either working on the bikes and cars or making plans for future projects. Me? Nothing. I drive a family sedan to go shopping and nothing more. At least it is turbocharged. Better than not, I suppose. And think of tomorrow... I’ll be near race cars with eleven-plus thousand horsepower that accelerate more quickly than any other vehicle on earth. I know all about how they operate; nearly fifty years of knowledge. Ugh. Subject change.

0738 on Monday morning with coffee and the wondrous sounds of garbage trucks. I am tired this morning. Some kind of dream derailed my sleep pattern and then completely left my head soon after. I have no idea of any part of it now. Whatever. This morning is like most others thus far... Cats asleep, flags out (the POW flag has replaced the blue and yellow until my mood improves), third show for posterity, and the day ahead wide open for the taking. The next couple of hours shall be very nice. I need the quiet right now.

The race yesterday was uneventful. No race girl (or anything else for that matter), very few interesting sights after we first arrived, and a short day, above all. We were out of there before noon, all worn out from walking. The one fascinating tidbit was a funny car (AA) sans body and sitting in the pit area. I quietly asked a crew member if we could walk nearer to the car for a closer look, and he immediately replied, ‘absolutely’. Very nice. I haven’t seen some aspects of those machines for many years. The few minutes we had around the car were nearly the best of the whole day. The huge, professional race teams have tons of shit everywhere and fans can’t get near much. But the smaller teams are generally more connected to the spectators. We never went up to the seats in the grandstand, choosing instead to remain on the ground and wandering into areas we have avoided in the past. Yesterday was the first race in memory without me in the seat filling out the ladders for competition. No big deal. And my plan for remaining in the lens did not pan out. I took three images upon arrival and nothing more. I carried that camera for four hours and should have left it at home. Our visit to the track did not go as I had envisioned, although today it really doesn’t matter.

I am very pleased that the race girl was not there. The exhibit was staffed with four others, none of which were noteworthy in any fucking way. Had I seen the goddess from last year, my brain probably would have ceased most of its functioning and I may have said something too forward or completely ridiculous. I’ve done it before. I can picture her right now, too. Yesterday I had quite enough worry in my head without being destroyed by the power of those eyes. And beauty or anything related were not the problems. My head was and still is in the past, focused upon all that time which has burned away. Walking around and seeing other people didn’t bother me. Memories of the races and my past interests were key and likely held back my ability to relax and enjoy the atmosphere. The girl would have served to worsen my day, honestly, and I really didn’t need anything so stirring to trip me up. Aside from one pair of legs for about five seconds, I saw nothing at the entire event worth mentioning. Just the race cars. I love that stuff. The fuel is in my blood, methinks.

0815.

I don’t know what to do today. The routine will kick off in a little while, though. I enjoy seeing that work finished so I can move on to other ideas, yet sometimes nothing bears fruit at all. Today, I do not know what to expect.

0902 and I have half the routine finished. We left here so early yesterday that I did not perform my usual sweeping. I am pleased to have the floor in better shape for the day. I still have a few things to do, but there is a little coffee remaining, so I’ll sit here for a while.

Some of the burned time is very special, other periods not so much. Obviously, the average day is nothing of note unless a person follows the adage, ‘life is what happens between the big events’. Sometimes I agree, other times not. I don’t know what to make of it, honestly, but I do miss enough to leave me mentally crippled for a good portion of my waking hours, mostly during the morning. Today is a prime example, too. The eyes, the smiles, and the fucking closet doors come to mind every damned day no matter what may be taking place in my life or where I may be. I’m sick of this, and the fact that there is nothing I can do about it may eventually cause more destruction than imaginable. The anger never stops. Everything good took place during certain time periods, the clock caught fire – much like the inside of me – and left only ash and memories in its wake. Every fucking day I catch a glimpse of what had been, and then my mood drops and causes me to fall on my face. I wish I could destroy everything.

One more time for posterity, or just in case I haven’t driven the point home with enough emphasis, I don’t understand why there are two sides... At one moment I am told something and then a while later I am told the opposite, or at least the idea that I may have been misinformed. I don’t fucking get it. The shitty mood has pushed me so far that I don’t even want to ask another question in life. There does not seem to be a point to my attempts. All I have are those moments when I can talk about other aspects of life and shove the shit aside for a little while. The rest of the time? Anger due to a lack of understanding. Oh, and in case I failed to mention it recently, no one is fucking listening.

I sit here right now at 0930 on July the 24th still feeling every fucking knife which has ever been plunged into my being. All of them, from the late eighties and on through a long dry spell (thank the maker) and on to more recent times. Just over a decade back, there were jabs into my heart ON PURPOSE. And yes, I know that for certain due to supporting information upon which I stumbled while deeply hurt. Those situations arose most likely out of either curiosity or coldness, possibly a combination of the two. I still hear them despite the time having burned to a crisp. I see the words. And there is more, most of which I cannot easily deal with no matter the understanding or how hard I try. I am on one side of the wall while others are on the opposite. Not even the Raven could set foot toward this side. Yep, She was one of them. I wish I could understand why things like that had to occur... Stabbed over and over with nary a respite. I can recall key periods even now, some of which are pretty fucking far back in time.

Maybe paying the tab of my life means never understanding why. Maybe I have not yet paid enough. Maybe hell is nothing more than a mindset, a person being tortured over and over without the involvement of another. I don't know because I don't seem to know much anymore.

The way I feel right fucking now is the main reason for a cocktail in the morning, usually when I start cleaning the kitchen. Inside my head is a cyclone of frustrating anger, loss and a lack of understanding why the world must be this way. The cultural derealization is going to continue to expand until my end, all the while finding me questioning, drinking, and falling down that familiar hill to failure over and over. This is a very bad morning and there is nothing I can do about it.

1158 on the clocks. My routine is finished. I don’t know what else to do now. Maybe I’ll do nothing for the rest of the day. What does it matter? There is no face smiling at me despite so much time burned away. And the flames continue, unimpeded. I have no power. I have no saving throw anymore. Lions, foxes, anything. Bereft of hope. I had sourdough toast with peanut butter. Not just any peanut butter, mind you, but the natural stuff. Delicious.

0734 on Tuesday morning. I successfully avoided completely losing my way yesterday by way of a few loads of laundry to keep me on my toes. Three legends on the television during this episode of the third show, all of whom portrayed the exact same characters nearly thirty years prior to this masterpiece being produced. The whole thing is fucking amazing. Coffee. Cats asleep. Flags out. Today will be like any other. The usual routine and a trip to the local market for a few things. I’m trying to reconcile going on a bit of a run last night, one full of stories and memories. Nothing bad, really. I was trying to recall the two trips to Arizona when my parents moved there in zero seven.

I have been recalling Jana and the way I felt on that trip to the Luxor. The word which immediately comes to mind is ‘desperation’, a term splayed all over the site for more than a year, yet notably absent during the zero years when I ran away more than once. That word could have been interspersed all over more than one story, yet for whatever reason I avoided it. I believe while writing about those times and the insane measures I took to feel a certain type of comfort, part of me still thinks that despite being so desperate, I did not wish to admit it. Well, now I’m using the word in nearly every essay. Something has changed inside me, and sometimes I feel bad about recording such recollections about my gallivanting and childish weakness. The site has been offline for quite some time now, too. I need to decide whether or not this endeavor is worth it anymore. I know what I did and who I affected, but that does not mean I need to spread it around as if I’ve been romanticizing my questionable, reckless behavior.

0947 and there is a big glass of whiskey next to me. I finished half the routine so far, the rest will likely be performed after I visit the market. I can’t go over there without a bit of a numbing effect floating inside my head. All morning long I’ve been proofreading one story about Vegas, a trip I cannot forget due to still feeling guilt over the very idea of what I did. That trip was sixteen years ago this month, yet I can see details even now. All the time has burned away and left a gaping hole inside my being. Above, I mentioned the word ‘romanticizing’, and I meant it. There is no positive glory in anything I did while in Nevada. Even the most recent trip – my birthday week from four years ago when we veered off the path and spent the last two nights in Las Vegas on a whim – I was no different. Perched in a cozy spot inside the Alto lounge, we sat and perused the multitude of people awaiting entry to the Omnia nightclub on a Friday night. When I say ‘perused’, I mean typical people-watching from an elevated position, with me gazing at every single fucking woman within view, and believe me... From that lounge, the available space one can see is enormous. It is along one of the main thoroughfares through one of the largest resorts in town. I was not sitting there alone, but my brain operated just as it did many years earlier when I sat in Aurora daydreaming of the arms of a beautiful, understanding woman wrapped around me. Yep. As I sit here right now, I can recall at least a dozen examples of the obsession and the process which takes place inside me every fucking time. The most recent was next to the pool, and I am quite certain I need not go into further detail. There have been well over a hundred occurrences of the word ‘pool’ in three years. The point is I am worse off now than I was when those crazy trips took place. Jana popped into my head because I have been considering a road trip to visit friends in Arizona, not far from where my parents lived when I took off and connected with that stunning Czech beauty. I still miss the way she looked at me.



02


I would do it all again. Jana reminded me quite a bit of Ashley the living doll, and I believe after all this time you likely have a good idea of my feelings for her. The odds of finding that type of understanding again are beyond the exosphere, honestly, but would I still try? You betcha. I am weaker and more desperate at this very moment than I was during those blurry, suicidal excursions to places beyond my confining world. All of the time that has burned away feels more and more like a separation from happiness and wonder rather than the simplicity of the clock hands rotating. Time is the seemingly unending progression of events. It is also a vast wasteland of ash. There will probably not be another Ashley, Jana, or anyone else. The world has changed and advanced beyond my ability to dream of possibility.

The routine, my projects, the booze and familiar media add up to my world now. I need very badly to break out of this, yet there is nary a chance of me doing anything wondrous in the future. A visit to the goblet may indeed be the straw after all these years.

The paragraph below and within the document application about which I often complain, is DIRECTLY related to my time in Vegas. There are keywords in that paragraph which have come up within the site, albeit spread out over space and time, and have narrowed my recent vision enough to help me realize that I knew what I needed many years ago. Such a thought is coupled with the manner in which the keywords coincide with my current mindset. The difference is that I felt more in control during those times and had access to resources I no longer possess. All of this shit adds up to the fact that I’ve been considering dumping much of my life in order to amass funds and run away. The thought occurs to me quite often, and more with each passing day. I’ve been sitting on my fucking hands for more than two years and repeating a ton of fucking questions, and to regurgitate my own words from zero three, ‘The answers are undoubtedly in Vegas’. This is not a positive realization, either. Such thinking is born of unfeeling behavior and a lost connection to reality. Believe me when I say my connection to reality is thinner than my patience with society. Read that again.

1046 and the numbing effect of the whiskey is pointing toward visiting the market. It also helped me to switch primary domains again, meaning the site traffic is now heading to ‘coma’, rather than ‘the Vegas diaries’. I don’t believe the change was a good idea in the first place. I was probably in a bad mood and wished to steer people into a perpetual loop. Whatever.

Her soft kindness drew the information out of me. I was not looking for her, either. She just happened to be within view and very playful. A thought occurred to me a little while ago, and one which forced me to yet another realization. I rationalized each second spent in search of that elusive comfort, but not while in the arms of Ashley. She allowed me to open fully and flood her ears with everything that came before. And then she loved me. Of all the trips and insane, reckless vacations I lavished upon the likes of more than one woman, the time with Ashley never qualified excuses. This probably does not make any sense at all, and I don’t fucking care.

1535 in the afternoon and I have lost all drive toward anything productive. The routine is always finished by this time, and today is no different. I moved a few things around in the office but nothing more. I keep thinking of the doll and my need to glean the paragraph below. Such a process is finding me void of any ambition whatsoever. I’m glad I went to the market this morning because otherwise I would not have left the house after sitting here trying to rediscover the loving nature of that woman’s effect upon my psyche. I may never be able to go back. I’ve had the third show on throughout the day, the current episode serving to inflame some fears. None of that applied to how I saw Ashley, though. Just a television show up there with power over me, but one of the most beautiful, stirring women with whom I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time? Nothing. I do not understand, but at least I know. This is likely a good portion of my fear of everything else in the world.

I am feeling more and more lost with each passing day. Two years ago I hopped to the work on a typical weekday, whereas now it takes all of me to process one fucking load of laundry. I don’t know what happened, though. There are memories and the appearance of these bright times of the past, most of which can bring a smile, yet I cannot seem to detach the feeling of everything being so much worse. Or, otherwise simply gone. And I am not only speaking of the Vegas shit and those other trips all over the country. I’m referring to every fucking aspect of life beyond sitting here at the IDE and complaining. Bitching. The endless cunty mood will not let go. One key situation change that I have noticed in the last few weeks is the kitchen time. I used to love either cleaning everything or preparing food with my favorite programming in the background. Lately? I don’t feel so strongly. I truly hope that is not the last bastion of my life. Without it, I have very little. Even the prospect of building a big desktop system is not pulling me as it did weeks ago. I just don’t feel good. The burning time is catching up to the present at breakneck speed. This is a very negative situation.

1648. I cracked a beer to quiet my head. I am considering avoiding the typical evening whiskey on ice in favor of just beer. Right there is a thought which has been alien for years, meaning this mood is either going to further damage me, or it is temporary. I honestly don’t know. Empty.

A little while ago I ended up inside a wormhole of Slippers. I sought cars for sale and found several in various parts of the country. Would replacing that car help me? Or would it further my downward slide? Trying to relive some of the past by acquiring an item related to that time is unwise. Even I know that. I don’t know what the fuck to do. When I visited the market, I picked up a small pizza in hopes that it would bring me a bit of enjoyment. I honestly don’t know what the pizza accomplished. Nothing seems to help. I keep thinking that to replace the car will feel like the pizza, meaning it will be wondrous at the outset but then appear as a representation of a very bad fucking time period. That time has burned away and cannot be revisited. Tens of thousands of dollars could be spent for an object to sit there in the garage so I can stare. Is that a wise idea? I will be exactly the same.

'They say that time is the fire in which we burn.' Thanks, Malcolm. That is the second mention of the quote.

I could be paying the tab. Maybe the total is much larger than I had previously thought. Again, not good. Do I deserve this? Or is that question even valid for a person?

I wish I could wake up like the three people found floating through space in a cryogenic freeze. That would literally solve...

EVERY FUCKING PROBLEM I HAVE.

Nice, huh?

I made it all the way to 1715 without completely losing my mind. How? No idea. But here I am, nine hours after first being alone, and still breathing. Third show, whatever. I don’t care. The shit earlier regarding the Slipper was probably a bad idea. When I first bought the car, I had been riding a big wave in life for quite some time due to repairing past damage and accomplishing much. The car was like the cherry on top of a sundae. Everything was on the up-and-up. No crazy financial crap, no posturing, and none of the finagling I’d performed in the past whenever I wanted a material item. I actually felt like the car was well deserved after years of living the way I should. The Slipper was not long after the house. One victory facilitated the other.

0642. Wednesday. The usual. I need to start awakening earlier. This after-six crap is for the birds. I had trouble this morning due to a dream. There was lots of crap all over some garage. I don’t even know why I was there, yet the mood in the space was quite pleasant and laid back. There was a woman present, one who I knew somehow (I think), and she was partly attached to another male. She was very sweet and with big, dark eyes. Sound familiar? Well, the situation was very foggy, others were around in support of the couple (although I have no idea why), and eventually I embraced her as I had to leave. She kissed me and I tried to pull back without pushing further. There was a split-second glimpse of a purple underwire. Awake. For some reason, I recall her now as a figure who had done something wonderful for mankind. I cannot explain this. The bottom line is that as usual, I miss her. She was alluring and resembled Cristin, the girl up the street, and a few others. I need more coffee.

0742 with the morning business out of the way. Now I have lots of time to sit here and bitch the day away. Third show – with the magnificent Mary Kay Adams gracing the screen – and coffee while it lasts.

‘Put this on.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if you do not, I will kill you.’

Bless her for being so forceful. She is quite the reverse of the little, needy and clingy types to which I was attracted many years ago. Without any self-esteem, the one sure-fire way to make certain the girl I was with wouldn’t go anywhere was to be in a relationship with someone even more needy than myself. I realize this sounds like shit, but I was young and had no way of valuing myself without the validation of another person. Mary up there on the screen was one of the most powerful female characters I’ve seen, and a person for which I have a ton of respect. That atmosphere is not for me, though. I would probably run away. Ashley was very young – fifteen years my junior when we were together – but more like Mary than those young, female whelps I used to seek. And then the Raven, even stronger and more forthright, yet still soft and loving. The Raven was just a year shy of HALF MY FUCKING AGE. I did not realize her age in the beginning, however. She seemed older. Anyway, seeing Mary and hearing those fantastic lines reminds me of my younger years and knowing her personality would most likely have caused me to flee for my life. I will avoid placing blame for the millionth time.

Oh, that fucking paragraph. Every time I grab content from this application and transfer it into the IDE, the paragraph ends up right below where I am typing. Good and bad there, honestly. As I said before, denying the truth is not going to help anything. I cannot mention the subject matter at all, unfortunately, and the exploration could actually help. Typing out the words rather than just thinking is often a catharsis of sorts. In the case of what is below, I simply cannot go into it, however. Well, unless I wish to keep everything to myself. Since I first jotted those thoughts to the keyboard, much time has burned away. I still don’t know what the hell to do about it, either. The dream this morning was a good example of just how desperate I’ve become over the course of many years. I reached on more than one occasion and ended up right where I so badly needed to be. The words in the paragraph were related and often the subject of conversation between myself and whomever was wrapped around me. The girl in the dream was representative of everything I find attractive and alluring enough to draw me like a sword from its scabbard. I really didn’t need to see the purple and her sweet smile. I have to rise and work soon to hopefully remove her from my head. Part of me wishes to return to that dream so I can gush the entire paragraph into her waiting ears. What a fucking maroon I’ve become.

0838. Chores very soon. I can’t have a repeat of yesterday.

Everyone has burned away like the time.

I believe the girl’s face in the dream resembled Georgia, hence the images here. I can’t be certain, however. It’s just a feeling. She was smiling at me when I kissed her forehead and drew up the sheet to cover her half-shirt and hide the purple bra. I felt tremendous loss and disappointment upon waking. Damn. I still see her eyes. Just like Cristin or Georgia, yet different somehow. I cannot explain.

Ashley had screaming blonde hair. I was attracted to her height and face immediately and did not pay that much attention to anything else. Her name tag drew my eyes to her chest, though. That is natural, I believe. The Raven had black hair, as did the goddess. Darkness has been key for a very long time, likely all the way back to NASA and the co-worker I’ve mentioned on several occasions. Hair color is not a requisite by any means, and often came second to more important (obsessive) concerns. The girl in the dream was manufactured by my subconscious, meaning she would naturally appear as whatever I may find most attractive. The sweet eyes reminded me of all three mentioned above, and tended to draw my need to speak of everything. As of yet, I have not told a single person of everything inside. Something always holds me back – perhaps only fear – and I hesitate to go into much detail. I had many opportunities throughout nearly two decades, and now they are all gone. The most recent was last year. Like everything else I hold dear to my heart, all has burned away. The clock just keeps rolling along as if everything is just fucking peachy. I miss all of them, and only very few were not alienated by yours truly. I will not sit here and make excuses, either. I was – and am – an idiot. That will probably never change, not even if another doll like Ashley allows her hair to flow all over me while my eyes well up with tears. I am fucking torn to hell inside, blame be damned.

All that I need can never come to pass because it is too unrealistic and based in fantasy. Such a thought is likely one line item on the invoice of life. Said invoice is beginning to resemble one of those long-ass finance contracts that come about during the purchase of a new car. What are they now, like three feet long?

1008 and everything is finished save for one skillet that needs to soak for a while. The episode up there right now is one that drops me down a few pegs every time it airs. The individual in question is remarkable and the role is amazing. The actor kills it. Unfortunately, I am reminded of one of the stories I wrote a few years ago with a bit of dialogue between myself and a principal character. He is fictional, of course, yet manufactured from many examples of people throughout the course of years, most with whom I interacted directly. The second unfortunate circumstance is that same paragraph below which is directly related. Thank the maker I have a nice, cold glass of depressant. Opposite thinking? Not for me.

I am supposed to meet the group of diners this afternoon for an update. That means the bar and all those feelings which will likely be dredged up after spending a couple of hours sitting within such an atmosphere. I’ve had zero trouble since the last visit and wish it to continue, yet the truth is everything is beyond my control while there. Our first dinner outing is still a few weeks away but we have some details to be fleshed out. I’ll probably head over there around 1430.



03


Ah... The individual is rapidly developing into adulthood, meaning the paragraph and gradients are becoming more and more relevant to my life. I wish this episode was crap so that I could skip it, but it is actually very compelling and well-made. Too bad. And this is but one of two series’ out of five of which I do not need to skip any episodes. The other is the first. I cannot go back and forget anything, for fuck’s sake. Every time this one rolls around I feel absolutely minuscule. Maybe I’m just old enough to feel the burning time more acutely than years ago. Holy Jesus fucking hell on a rubber crutch in winter, one of the guest actors is an exercise in sheer beauty, at the same time appearing as a lion. I know that look intimately. My life was burned as a result of the same. My decision... Not that of anyone else. Burned. I burned everything to ash, including my beloved Slipper. I also referred to the car as ‘the precious’. I am all over the place today.

He is fucking amazing, for crying out loud. Damn, did they ever cast this role well. Out of the fucking park.

I am watching this series in its entirety yet again because I’m awaiting a few key episodes that move me to tears, but I will not jump around to watch them out of order because I’m a basket case. I need everything in the original, intended context. I just happen to have the time, too. The episodes have become more important to me – not to mention my deep love for some of the characters – than the whole of real society, and such a statement includes those close to me in life. Yep. I am more fucked up than what you read here. Believe it. I love more fictional characters in just one series than I do in actual life. Reality is just not cutting the fucking mustard anymore. Fiction rules over everything. The burning time is not enough to help me deal with reality, to be honest, so I must embrace whatever brings comfort. ‘Burning’ includes the importance of people, and this paragraph pretty much sums up my entire life.

Maybe I should nix the idea of the desktop computer and instead grab two more televisions to flank the one above my current position in the living room. That way I could watch three shows at the same time. Media overload, but not in the same manner as other people who watch whatever the networks ram down their pathetic, sheep throats. Three televisions in one room. I used to dream of such a thing many years ago while in the Midwest because I saw an advertisement in a magazine displaying such an idea.

The dream is still haunting me several hours later. Her eyes are key. There is more, though, and I’m quite certain I need not go into detail regarding my thinking after all this time. Just try to recall the stories I’ve told about my adventures all over the country throughout the years.

In the beginning, I viewed Ashley as a toy, a doll. After spending hours in her arms, however, she became a symbol. Don’t even fucking get me started on what I saw when I emerged from her little bathroom in the middle of the night. Jesus fuck, I saw everything. I cannot emphasize the importance of her heart, yet I can neither overstate her beauty. When I finally take the initiative, her body will be in mind. The end of the end, as it were. I will probably recall her after all the others, and then at long last simply lie down in tears. I am finding that remembering that one girl from so many years ago is taking priority over others, even Andrea the angel. Oh, and the goddess, who constantly and consistently supported my fucked-up nature no matter what may have been taking place. I was an idiot, yet she continued to be one of the most kind and loving souls in my entire life. I don’t have enough years left to apologize adequately. Most of the names mentioned here were fleeting. The goddess was much more. Another symbol... A representation of what I have become and the negative effect I have upon other people. I feel like shit all the time and no one can erase it. I am a failure with zero excuses. I can’t even fail without failing further. The anger is expanding exponentially. The only positive is that I am a gentle person.

This is not a good day, but not like yesterday. Today is different. More anger, less regret. I am so fucked in the head right now that the bar visit later is actually looking better than it had been this morning. This entry may never be published because it may never cease being built.

I don’t know what the fuck to do now. All this exposition has accomplished nothing. I have some dry cleaning going right now and at some point I need to clean up before heading out. One stop at the parts house and then the bar to see what is what. I’m not leaving for two hours, though. All that time may find me lost yet again.

1312. All I’ve been doing is paying partial attention to the show and daydreaming. Spinning my wheels, really. This feeling of being completely lost has gripped me again. I finished the dry cleaning and will probably clean up soon to go meet the group. I must say that I don’t feel like doing anything for the rest of the day, though. Not a single possibility is appealing these days. Dinner is one pull, but even that one is losing ground. I’m tired of feeling this way. It’s happening far too much. Time is burning.

1455 and I am sitting at the bar. Well, a table. All alone. Three of the regulars were here when I arrived, but they have since left the place. One may return. I'm expecting the others to appear within the next hour or so. On the way here, I visited the parts house for light bulbs. I have since learned of the replacement procedure thanks to the Internet. Very good. Later this afternoon I'll take care of the car. When I was younger, cars did not have displays to inform the driver or owner of issues. Now? A warning light on one display states that a brake lamp is out. Too easy.

There is a large and very well-rounded pair of globes attached to the bartender and nothing else in this room right now. I really don't need any visions right now. Fortunately, the bartender is not one about which I would write volumes. She is pleasant, yet a touch unnerving. I can't explain why. Lots of curves, though. Lots. She moves around the room and my eyes rarely follow.

Sometimes I miss recalling the past in this application while here during those early mornings when I was still working. I would not trade places now, though. Despite the bad aspects of being home most of the time, there is still a bit of good to offset the bad. Being at the bar for a while today will help me appreciate being home. I hope so, anyway.

1710 and I am home. I ducked out of the bar before most of the group arrived because I was becoming less than comfortable. Plus, I wanted to make sure I had time to get some dinner preparations out of the way before cocktail hour. Now there is plenty of evening to relax. Nothing aside from the bartender's prominent chest appeared before I left the area. That is a very fortunate happenstance for someone as weak as myself. In the past, I've been completely floored and distracted by forms in that fucking place. I need more of that like I need another hole in my head.

0647 on Thursday morning. I am pleased that I do not have to leave the house today unless I desire a drive. Such a thought is about fifty-fifty right now. I don’t have much time before kicking into gear for the morning business. My plan is to take it easy this morning aside from the routine. I’m not certain of what may come to mind later – I am already having difficulties as of sitting here – and will have to try being vigilant should the mood change. I’d like to avoid failing today. Enough time has been lost or burned already. I’m feeling lucky that there were no troubles yesterday while I was in public.

0743 and here I am for the duration. Morning business is finished and the house is nice and quiet except for the television. Cats asleep. Third show, third season. Coffee. So far, nothing bad has happened. My brain is fragmented right now, with sections focused upon everything from computers and tools to the beauty and other related aspects of life which continue to elude. Problems. Sick of this. I am beginning to get angry again. Agitated. Being alone right now is a wonderful thing, mostly for other people. I cannot have very nice words for anyone when feeling this way. Fair or unfair, I hold the general public responsible for this type of mood. I need to try to hold it together for the good of the housework and the few who may be near me.

I don’t believe that Georgia could be my ‘type’ of person because of some media I’ve seen, along with a few images that show off some attitude. But honestly? Sometimes her eyes look super kind. I don’t know why. In the images here, her eyes remind me of that dream the other night. I really needed to be inside those eyes looking back at me, and not necessarily anywhere else. When I look at the images on this page, I see something similar, though I am probably just reaching in whatever direction makes the most sense. That is a behavior I’ve exhibited over and over for many years; making something out of what, in reality, is nothing at all. A dream, really. I thought about that kind of situation while alone at the bar yesterday, too. Some of the daydreams I’ve experienced recently (and a few pretty far back in time) had been centered upon a lifestyle change that is nearly impossible, yet so appealing and necessary for my happiness that my head created it quicker than you can slap a tick. The eyes on this page are along the same lines... Impossible, but so appealing that I cannot help manufacturing another situation which can never come to pass. I am not speaking of the fucking machine again, either. Just a turn of events with the ability to fix everything. As I said above, such ideas are impossible.

That kind of dreaming came about when I was single-digit years old and continued all the way into and through the Midwest period. And then a pause. Now it has returned to me. There are precisely two aspects to said dreaming. Just two. That kind of dreaming came about when I was single-digit years old and continued all the way into and through the Midwest period. And then a pause. Now it has returned to me. There are precisely two aspects to said dreaming. Just two. Neither is possible in reality, so I sit here and try to push the dreaming away in favor of focusing upon whatever I may be doing around the house or watching on television. Projects, too. I need to push and push and push some more if I am to actually remove those types of thinking and do something productive without falling on my stupid face. One of the worst aspects of this current situation is the burned time, because when I was in the Midwest, there was a very specific turn of events of which I dreamed daily. Just a few years ago when I was on the driveway prior to five in the morning while waiting to go to work, that exact fucking dream came up more often than not. The amount of time burned away in between those two periods is twenty-five years. Time will not cease its burning just because I am having a hard time. I mean, who the fuck am I, anyway? I should expect only the bad. The burn, too.

The burning time is leaving me sans options. I’m certain someone out there who has read all this crap throughout the last few years probably believes that I am making everything seem or sound worse than it actually is. Well, that is bullshit and no one has a clue as to what I am thinking these days beyond the words here. The truth is the anger never goes away. I simply leave others out of it most of the time because otherwise my place will be at risk. I cannot tell anyone how I feel or why, lest I end up in a very bad situation. In fact, my head is so bad that I have to candy-coat much of what is placed here. Details have almost never been revealed. It is the rare occasion in which I will actually spell things out, rather like some clarity in the stories about Vegas. They became graphic because of how those situations jaded and affected my psyche, but you can bet your fucking pathetic ass that everything laid out on those pages came to pass. Those insane times had a hand in shaping who I am right now, and believe me when I say that to sit here and sling a bunch of shit would be fucking pointless. I am indeed in a worse mental situation than I’ve stated. Accept it.

Moreover, a person recently took issue with the idea that I may have ‘dramatized’ certain stories just for the value of making them surreal and idyllic. Well, fuck you. Go write your own stories. I bared my soul with regard to the damaging situations through which I lived. And those times were idyllic because I spent tons of fucking money and placed reality on hold. I felt that I had nothing to lose. Idyllic is probably not even a strong enough term, honestly. The reverse came about at the end of each adventure and left me so fucked up that the real life I had been living all of a sudden appeared that much worse in comparison. Nothing good came of anything I did, either. Not a fucking thing.

All I’ve done is lit a fire and helped time to burn away.

0942 and most of the routine is finished. I’m going to let the dishes drip dry for a while so I can relax. My eighty-proof depressant is next to me at this very moment. Yummy. I need something on these types of mornings. Suppression is key lately. It worked yesterday, and I am hoping today will follow suit. I could use a fucking boost, yet my needs are NEVER fulfilled. Yes, I said never. Believe it. The more time that burns, the less possibility exists.

I keep thinking about that ‘thing’ I’ve mentioned on a few occasions. It is a rarity, to be sure, and something I’ve never been able to understand or predict. In fact, the idea is so far back in time (burned) that I had let go of such wonder until seeing it again, and then I fell down. Well, I’m still under such weight and can rarely get up. The power of certain aspects of life is beyond my ability to withstand even a portion. Part of the other story involves the same type of incident, as I felt writing about it may help me come to terms with so much having been torn away from me in recent times.

‘Caught in the burning times; when all the witches died. Still hear the children crying; the burning times...’

Torched for good. Ash cannot be remade into anything. Too many situations have come to pass and flattened my hopes and dreams. Only the fictional bullshit at night holds sway anymore. Mornings are engineered by Satan himself... His foot upon my neck.

Smiling faces left no traces;
Now neverending chases.
Joyful time, sweet as wine;
Mere images in long-dead spaces.

For all intents and purposes, I am already gone. It is only a matter of time until the physical follows suit.

There is no girl. There is only me."



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