August 27th, 2022 7:29am pdt

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




No Flies in the Whiskey

 read ( words)

"1105 on Friday, August 19th. My routine is finished and I have the remainder of the morning cocktail to my right. The first show is on the big television. Once again, I do not have the house to myself, yet it really does not affect my day at all. I can do as I please regardless of whatever else may be going on. Right now I plan to take a short break and enjoy the icy glass of depressant before working on the laundry and garage. The neon sign packaging must be broken down and recycled, plus there are other things which need to be tossed in the same bin. I also need to restock both refrigerators with drinks. I took a trip to the big wine store yesterday, so a bit of organization is on tap. This has been a very bad morning other than my housework. The face is still floating inside, the new physical issue which arose earlier this year is haunting my psyche, and too many visions of the past continue to plague me, effectively forcing the realization that my fucking cunty mood and never-ending bitching cannot prolong life. At this very moment, I am more angry, frustrated, lonely and desperate than at any other time in my fucking life. The last strike continues, unimpeded. There is nothing I can do, nor is there anyone listening. At least I finished my routine with all haste. A tiny plus, but I feel it nevertheless. This is by far the worst period of my life, and I am not exaggerating.

Yesterday I dragged out even more equipment than the day before in hopes of refamiliarizing myself with the operation of the steering controller and its associated software. Well, after a bit of trial and error, I once again learned how to operate the steering motor by updating the input and feedback learning modes. The downside is that the steering ‘block’, the actual mechanical apparatus which pushes and pulls the bellcranks on the axles to swing the steering from side to side, had to be partially disassembled in order to avoid anything going awry.

0703 on Saturday morning. I have my coffee and the first show on the big television again. Cats are fed. The day shall be much like yesterday, although I will be heading in the opposite direction upon working in the garage. My workbench is a mess after all of the mechanical aspects of the steering were disassembled and then put back together more than once. I learned much, yet there is nothing I can do at this point to fully operate the system. The truth is I made a system too complex to move smoothly, hence there is a large current draw on the motor, and that without the wire ropes connecting the linear motion to the bellcranks on each axle. The block alone requires more than three amps to move back and forth. At this point I am going to leave the wire ropes off the system, clean everything, and then place the truck back in its home. I am not completely giving up, but the fact is the only way I’ll be able to see the steering operate properly would be to replace my self-built idea with a servo, effectively negating all my design and unique ideas. I really don't want to do that right now. My mood has been awful lately, and adding the truck steering shit to the top of the pile will not help me survive.

Other than the truck, I finished the laundry work and straightened everything in the house and garage. The hours at my workbench were not lost, though. I learned quite a bit, plus found the necessity to flex my knowledge of both the mechanical and electronic aspects of my experience. That experience is one of the few parts of my life over which I still feel pride. Many others are still impressed with my abilities. Better than nothing.

I tried to convey quite a bit of insight in the previous entry. All that shit which adds up to my current condition is not easy to explain, though. At this point I have all but given up on finding ANYTHING with the power to lift my mood. Oh, I still have those moments with the little enjoyments, but considering the vast exploration throughout the last two-plus years, I just don’t see a positive horizon. Nothing is out there. Do you recall ‘she is out there’? Yeah, I was reaching desperately for any understanding of which there was zero. The most recent possibility went to shit due to my head remaining unable to open fully and allow for anyone to listen. Nope. That situation was shut down by no fault of anyone else. Just me. It’s always me because of the past. Yep, the past again. There is no getting around it any longer. My time has faded into history.

I included images of a face very similar to that of Jamie. I need to assemble a side-by-side in order to fully display the match. None of the images here matter anymore, though. None. Zero. They are merely decorations because I gave up exploration of the obsession along with examples of each detail. Forget about it. Pretty faces, nothing more.

0852. I have yet to work on my routine in order to keep the house quiet and I’d like to finish the last of the coffee. I did venture to the garage for a few minutes to see if the steering controller remembered the settings from two days ago. So far, so good. Still, I don’t believe the system is feasible with the current setup. Too much power is required to move everything.

1416. All I can say is ugh. The wicked strike came along and derailed me completely. I can’t stop seeing it now, and such a state after weeks of trying to extricate that fucking shit from my brain so I can function. I was in the garage after half the routine, cocktail next to me, and trying to reassemble the board to the truck chassis, and right there out of the clear, blue sky was a reminder of just how fucked up I have become. And that after a very difficult morning which left me desperate to forget such things and focus upon something enjoyable. Everything went to shit in a matter of seconds. Moreover, when I plugged the steering system directly into the board, one of the five connections was incorrect. Upon powering the entire shitaree, the steering motor traveled toward the rear of the block and seized. This is nearly unlivable. I don’t need visions in front of my eyes that have the power to render everything else in life moot. My mood has followed the issues. Use your imagination.

The other half went to her parents’ for a visit a while back, and upon her return, we are to head over to the pet store and then the market. I have no doubt that there will be all manner of fucking picturesque women in view for the sole purpose of adding insult to injury. This is the worst possible situation imaginable. The truck is fucked, my head is spinning, and I have to venture into society for shopping. I could burn down the planet right now.

Unacceptable, but what the fuck can I do? The mold has taken a set.

I can destroy myself. That is all the power I have remaining after years of trying everything else. Searching, yearning, dying inside. I don’t have anything left. Even the truck screwed me good this time. Give me another fucking option. I dare you.

0655 on Sunday. First show and coffee. I haven’t put out the flags in some weeks. Don’t know why. Maybe that day when I was in a pissy mood and hung the Norwegian flag by the front door changed everything. Or perhaps I just don’t see the point anymore. Each morning I am a little further away from reality.

Hunger compelled me to steer my car toward the Mexican restaurant on our way to the pet store. It was a nice stopover. No issues, either. Just some great food and a big, fat beer. Nothing at the pet store, either. We cruised into the grocery store afterward and I was overjoyed to see nothing there. I made it all the way back home without losing my shit again. Yesterday before we left there was wickedness again. I believe I mentioned it already. Well, that one is sticking with me and probably would have minimized anything difficult while out. The issue may have also truncated my vision for a while. The more I think about that second strike, the more twisted and deranged my head becomes. I cannot even begin to explain this shit, damn it. I wish there was a pair of ears available. Sometimes I need them more than the objects of my attention. The wicked strike was written some days ago, yet it continues to return over and over no matter how I feel. That problem can affect me more deeply than the physical crap from earlier this year, too. It really can because much of what I type here is related. I just wish I could get the strike and the dream out of my head sometimes. Yesterday, for example, I was deep into the truck work when I was hit upside the head right out of the clear, blue sky. Afterward? All I could see were bra straps. I already know this problem is not going away (partially due to my need to see everything) anytime soon, nor will I be able to get away from it. The issue follows me from the dreams to my actual, waiting eyes. And then the wickedness pushes me to believe that I have detached myself from society for very good reason. I’m sure at some point there will be another supporting dream just to fuck with my head. The more I am reminded of that first time, the less I’m able to resist anything else.



01


Again I saw... Too much. There may be no hiding anything from me due to prominence. I don’t know for sure, however. As of yesterday doubts are diminishing, yet still I am uncertain. I cannot do as I please or wish, nor do I have any power over the visions. I am a victim, really, and the issue is quite the reverse from what you may think. That is, if you can even follow along with what I am saying.

And here we go again. I did not want this. Understanding has flown away. There has been no improvement to the early part of this year when the ugly head of distraught need reared up and pointed its words directly at me. I am suffering at this very second. I’ve seen too much. I’ve shirked too much. I forget nothing. I don’t like situations without options. Very annoying. This makes me angry. 0754 and once again I’ve been left to rot by whatever forces are in charge of this fucking circus. My feelings no longer align with what may be considered the norm, meaning any ideas for how to deal with this shit are immediately squashed before they can pass the line of the fucking gate. The ideas are few, to be sure. As of yet, my condemnation of this condition has been equally meaningless. I can sit here and spout until blue in the face and nothing will change. I have consciously placed myself in an impossible conundrum, yet still the fault is not fucking mine. Read that three times fast. Good luck.

Today the truck goes back in its display case. The board may remain out, though. I don’t know yet, but I’m done trying to make the steering work properly. I’ll dust everything and shove it back in the box. The next item on my list is a mount for the neon sign. I need to make sure it is protected due to my choice of location. I don’t want anyone bumping it by accident. Other than that, I have the usual garbage business along with whatever else may come along. My head is all fucked up, like always. I have zero options aside from drowning into the housework and whatever else may distract me from the pain and sorrow of this existence.

1127. The routine is finished and I have a head start on the garbage work. The next few hours have me home alone, meaning I’ll try to complete my chores prior to the mid-afternoon in order to secure a comfortable evening. This is nearly all I have in life. Fucking sad. I also went to my workbench earlier and tore down all the connections for the steering system. My intention is to put the fucking thing back in its box when I return to the garage. I’m giving up for now, although one idea is to continue work at a later date when I can think clearly and operate the truck simply as a stationary model to demonstrate its capabilities. As for the model actually driving via radio control, I believe that pipe dream has vanished due to too much complexity. I should have known that one of the most amazing accomplishments of my whole life would turn to shit just like everything else. I just... Well, I should have known. Slice off one of my positives. The whole fucking day was a failure before I even lifted one finger. All I can do now is pass the time. Rising from hell is a myth.

Unpleasant music shall accompany my garage work in a little while. Right now I need to take a break with my friends on the television. The morning White Russian has been fully consumed, thank the maker.

1345. Leftovers for lunch. Very good. I like making good use of food these days. It is important.

I ran the preliminary wiring for the flame bulb housings and straightened the garage in preparation for whatever crap she carries back from the city later this afternoon. The wicked strike was glanced a while ago. I don’t need that shit right now. All my effort was required to shove everything back far enough to get some work done. And then? Wickedness. And then a bit more. I am ruined.

0646 on Monday morning. Coffee, first show, cats... Blah, blah, blah, everyfuckingdaycakes.

I don’t know what to make of yesterday. I took care of all my stuff, worked on some organization, yet throughout all of it the image would not leave my head. No, not the damaging dream or wickedness, the other one. That which I cannot mention, damn it. I had thought that discussing some of the past would help eliminate some of the shit from the morning, too. It did not. I went into the glory days of the twenty-one and everything related during that period, but to no avail. In fact, I still feel like shit an entire day later. One good thing? Today I’ll have the house to myself for several hours, unlike the past four days. Maybe that will help me to focus. Yesterday was very disappointing. I do not want a repeat, yet seldom does my head go where I wish.

0753. The morning business is done and there is a pair of lovely shoulders on the television. God bless this show’s costume design sometimes. Anyway, I have no plans for this day. A visit to the market for a few items, the usual routine, and I don’t know what else. Maybe I’ll finish the coffee and see what develops. The wickedness remains. At no time does it move away from my conscious mind for any decent duration. I have to almost continuously deal with what I saw and dreamed. This is not fun. I cannot speak to anyone about it, either. Stuck.

0951 and the kitchen is finished. All morning long there have been images floating in my brain which will not fucking leave, and I know a good portion of the reasons. The past catches up to me too often for my time to be peaceful. I cannot forget anything, least of all four decades ago. I am reminded of that incident every single fucking day of my life, typically in a negative light. There were positives born of the situation, however, and to deny those would be lying to myself. As a result of the feelings, there is a fat glass of whiskey to my right. I cannot get the fucking images out no matter what may be going on. They will not fucking leave. There are also too many aspects of life that I still do not understand. And despite this endeavor yielding a very low readership, I can’t go into further detail without fear of ridicule or embarrassment. The subjects are too personal. If I am paying for the past difficulties I’ve caused others, who is paying for mine? No answers, as usual. There is no lack of trying here, though. You may have noticed that the site went from focusing upon the obsession to an analysis of four key issues, and then on to my daily problems, both mental and physical. Maybe the site truly is all I have left. The keyboard never talks back to me, nor do I need to be concerned as to what it may be thinking. People are not the same at all. There must be an element of trust present, and I believe my ability to extend such a state has been destroyed. Moreover, there are few left on this fucking planet worth even a sliver of my time.

Isn’t this just a barrel of fucking monkeys? Chekhov and his toupee are flipping out.

Today may turn into a dead end. I don’t know for sure, but there is a feeling inside right now that may not go away before I can be productive. The market is definite, however. I need some items for dinner tonight and tomorrow. I’ll get there just before lunch, I guess. Other than that little trip, I don’t really see much going on because of the trouble inside. And this entry needs a different title. Now the cats are flipping out. Maybe they were watching the show.

I am not long for this world. All I see is a future full of the same shit I’ve been plowing for years. I can only take so much of this. And fuck you if you believe I am weak. There is a threshold, people. A fucking threshold. And fuck you anyway. Cuntypissycakes.

The archive is fully live once again. If I’m going to be damned, I’ll be damned for what I am. The train series is still absent, though. That one is just too much these days.



02


0646 on Tuesday morning. There are only eight days left in the month. And then September. That means football. Hmm. This woman in the episode is wearing an outfit which completely reveals one leg and both shoulders. When she enters a room (on two occasions, I believe) my brain cannot fully comprehend her shape. Just... Wow. She is amazing. The typical female guest star does not appear quite so slender, likely due to the way body image was viewed in the sixties. But this woman... Jesus. Absolutely ideal and right up there with my dreams.

A dream this morning gleaned the wicked strike and then expanded upon the idea. The damaging dream has now been updated. All I did was peer outside from my typical work area and there was someone peering back. No one I’ve ever seen before, yet the context was completely clear. And there was a bicycle. Curious, yesterday a bicycle was abandoned between this house and my neighbor’s, right on the sidewalk. He called me to inform me that he overheard a girl leaving the area and speaking quite loud, possibly into a phone. She was apparently upset over the bike for some reason. He proceeded to check out the bike, soon learning that both tire tubes were wrapped around the axles (and derailleur). He offered to dump the whole shitaree at his work tonight, so I waited until dark and hauled the bike into my garage. I soon learned that it is actually a very quality machine. I removed both tubes – worthless after being stretched to a great degree – and could see that the bike only needs a bit of care to be completely roadworthy. I am going to leave it on display all day long just in case it was stolen and someone is looking for it. The bicycle in the dream this morning was different. And there was a girl atop the seat, looking straight at me, and wearing an outfit more suited to the program on my television right now. Anyway, I’ll probably look at the lost and found in town via an application to determine if someone is missing the bike.

Good God, she is visible in more scenes than I had originally thought. Holy hell, what a beautiful gait. One of the reviews of this episode describes her as ‘some kind of valley girl from outer space’, which I believe is apt. Funny, too. The woman is fucking amazing. Always looking. I am always fucking looking for something. Nothing is there, however. Nothing is out there. Fruitless searches, misplaced hope, damaging dreams... Such as it is.

0800 straight up.

Today is looking better than yesterday. I already took care of half the routine, too. Sometimes I just get a burst of purpose and work earlier than usual. I would like to have lots of time at the IDE this morning. I am beginning to see the site as a mess again. I don’t know why, nor do I know what else is going to affect me or steer my mood today, but as of yet I feel better than yesterday at this same time. Some of the nagging issues around the house are beginning to aggravate me, mostly due to my leaving them completely idle for so long. That is mostly my fault, yet still I can point my finger in a few directions because others have helped shape me into this mess throughout years. I believe that if I can force the issue and tackle at least a part of one section I’ve left alone, my head will feel better and enable me to continue, possibly developing a pattern of success. I honestly need something to come along and help me. The phrase wits’ end comes to mind. I am THAT worried right now. Yesterday I went from not knowing what to do, then into a very sad period which I feared would get the best of me, and then toward feeling quite angry that I have been affected to such a degree. I simply will not allow that path to continue. I may be a fucking basket case, but for fuck’s sake... I still have abilities.

For now.

One of ‘those’ mornings. The feelings from dreams and the wickedness are beginning to coalesce into difficulty, and when combined with the bleak nature of my future, they could send me far enough into the black to ruin this fucking day. Well, I just can’t have that shit after yesterday. I need to rise and move around (not literally, though) in order to put some space between this morning and what has taken place on entirely too many occasions. I am fucking sick and tired of being pushed into the ground by a combination of loneliness and memories, not to mention the shit that has been thrown at me in recent months via dreams over which I have absolutely no control. This situation is completely unacceptable, yet there is not a fucking thing I can do about it. As I often muse, splendid.

Chekhov’s hair piece looks much better in the third season. There were occasions during the second when he looked like one of the Beatles. Heh.

Nothing is funny.

All those little sayings, cliches, whatevers... They are heavy and beating me down every day. Sometimes I can rationalize, other times such an accomplishment is all but impossible. I can’t stop thinking about it all, though. The world has too much weight on me due to the past. I can’t let it go. There have been those times with understanding ears – some even lifted me for a while – and I am now only seeing them fading in the rear-view mirror. This is not good at all. If anything can send me into the soil, it is the manner in which society has trivialized everything once considered sacred. We may have been in denial, closed-off and backward some decades ago, but now the opposite appears much worse. Well, to me, anyway. I don’t know why I have been cursed into thinking in such a fashion. Society is jaded. So am I.

1030. The kitchen is polished. I’ll probably shower soon and drive to the bicycle shop and market. I decided to replace the worn tubes on the bike and get it into rideable shape, for whatever that may be worth. It is a quality machine and I can’t just let it sit there all fucked up. I am compelled to repair the issues and see it ready to go. Afterward, I’ll list the bike on the neighborhood site and see if anyone is missing it. Otherwise, it may remain in the garage for a while until such time as I find reason to do away with it.

1411 and... Fail.

I have laundry and dry cleaning running right now, along with my friends up there on the television. Earlier, I took a ride to the bike shop and picked up two tubes – one of which I subsequently blew up due to not properly beading the tire – and rolled through the market for a few things. Upon returning, I repaired the bike and took it for a short spin. Everything seems fine. I don’t know if anyone will respond to my neighborhood message regarding the bike having been abandoned, but at least I put the word out. I will either keep it or give it away. Doesn’t really matter which. Plus, my new inflator worked beautifully. First the car tires, then the bike. Great little tool.

I may tool around in the garage soon, but I’m not sure. The neon sign needs some sort of guard around the outside to eliminate the chance that someone will inadvertently bump it. I have all of the materials, too. I just don’t know if I feel like working with lumber today. I also have a ton of paperwork to shred.



03


0707 on Wednesday morning. The business is very soon, and today I will be overjoyed to relax for a little while afterward. Once again, I need the quiet. And here I am at 0807, and with half the routine finished. My intention is to repeat part of yesterday. Back to the episode from the third season with two unbelievable shapes – one mostly, due to the relationship between her torso, shoulders and neck – and every fucking time I see this on the screen I want to jump off the edge of the world. Jesus fucking hell does one of the two women have the reference neck of the universe. Yesterday’s failure cannot be duplicated today. I just can’t have it. All the work I finished is a big plus, though. I’ll have to remain vigilant for the next several hours. There are ideas floating about as to what I can accomplish, much like a day ago, and I am going to begin work on the house very soon. Perhaps today I can build the canopy for the neon sign’s protection. I would also like to get some shit out of the garage permanently. I worked in the office for a bit yesterday and it looks very nice now.

The bicycle bullshit from yesterday forced me into dumping the local information in favor of privacy. I never should have let anyone know that the bike was here, and not because I wanted to keep it. The simple truth is that I feel I exposed myself to people when I should have left it alone and just brought the bike to the police. Now I am in for a penny... It is repaired and will be given away very soon. If it remains here much longer, I’ll be browsing bicycles on the Internet. Not good. I’ve been out of that hobby since my bike was stolen more than a decade back. My taste is still the same, however, meaning I would likely head in the direction of models from the nineties. New stuff is hideously expensive these days.

I may end up pissed off today. The typical work is minimal and I should have the kitchen finished earlier than usual. The shoulders and neck are pushing me into deviant and wicked considerations, much like the damaging dream with a twist. I can't repeat yesterday’s deep lack of understanding and difficulty. The best I can do is to leave this work very soon and move around the house to get my head out of bad places. And yes, this is the type of situation with which I am fed up. Sick of it. The feelings make me angry because there are no answers or solutions, two facts I’ve pointed out here much too often. I’m sick of typing the words, too. The shit will come to a head. I know I keep saying that, but just trust me.

'Spunky Ned' the bad attitude elf. Remember him? During the glowing period. The glow has increased.

The gardeners are here. That means I have to leave the garage doors closed until they leave. Otherwise, they tend to go easy on the blowers. They won’t be here long.

Part of the problem with yesterday was that the set of sayings and cliches remained with me for hours. That was partly my fault for endeavoring to understand, but mostly the selfishness and laziness of society took the reins. I can’t reconcile myself with those kinds of issues. It reminds me of years ago when I tried to convey the feeling of people becoming more sheep-like with the support of numbers and similar behavior. The main point was the ‘corner grass’ analogy, or whatever. One person cuts the corner to save either time or effort (or both), and then someone else does the same thing, soon after leaving a fucking trail of dead and/or dying greenery due to the formation of a path. Yep... A shortcut. Complacency, defined. The fact is when people all do the same thing, they reinforce the idea that their behavior is ‘right’. The rare individual will see the problem and endeavor to tread with integrity. Centuries of such shit has built what is all around us right now. And it all boils down to a tiny person unable to deal with much, and not at a young age.

Yesterday I was thinking too much and should have simply walked away from the computer in favor of anything else. Well, I did close the machine and move into the garage, but unfortunately it was already too late. I hate this shit so much that I can’t find enough words. Recognition of what has taken place so many times may help me to push forth and consider other options, if any. Conversely, I can just be angry all the time. That may be easier and comes naturally these days. The gardeners are in the back now. The house should be quiet soon. I need it. Anyway, the images and words never seem to completely leave my head these days. Maybe I’ve dwelled for too long. And the fucking gigantic cherry on top is the fact that I have no one with which to discuss anything. Not a fucking soul. All I have is this keyboard, but it pays no mind. This is not good and there is a good chance that I will eventually need to be hospitalized as a result of remaining so fucking closed off for far too long.

Let me say two things. First, people do not understand me because I do not give them the chance, but that is solely out of self-protection. Second, The more I stay here all alone and thinking, the more likely I will continue to slide. There is no arguing that one.

The dipshits didn’t pick up the leaves. I don’t get it. Whatever. Bigger fish.

Hmm... Fish.

1046 and everything is finished. I had some of my favorite toast, too. Yummy. As for the remainder of the day, I still do not know if or when I’ll proceed with anything productive. For the time being, I’ll sit with the IDE and my whiskey. Yes, I realize it will not help my mood, but I fucking need something enjoyable these days. Now is not the time for anyone to ask me to quit those few enjoyments I have left. The first show is close to ending, and I must say there are several crappy episodes within the third season. I plan to return to the fifth show afterward. One of these days I need to drive down the peninsula to return a pair of boots. Today is not the day, though. I believe staying home is best right now. I have no laundry waiting, yet the list of projects is as long as my arm. Can I work on any of them? No answers, just like with everything else in life. Nada. All over the map.

This episode is entitled ‘All Our Yesterdays’, and I keep thinking of mine because equating stories and characters to our own lives is perfectly natural, and can often lead to insight. Unfortunately, there is none in mind right now. I could use a bit of inspiration.

No one is listening. I need something, damn it. And I never knew Mariette was five-ten.

0700. Thursday.

I went on another hellacious tirade last night. Nothing bad, just a ton of memories regarding the trailing end of the glow. I’m trying to recall what brought up the subject of the radio shop again. Ah... I was talking about a friend of mine with whom I worked at the parts house, and that led to my car, and then on to the end of the glow and the beginning of the film industry draw. Yes, I realize I’ve already gone on at length regarding those subjects, but the fact is that is the one period of life held against everything else, and there is sufficient reason for me to be looking back these days. I am reaching for anything enjoyable.

0817. The fifth show with coffee. My head is trying to balance itself. Yesterday I fabricated a mock-up of two body mounts for the truck. I don’t know what compelled me to go out there and work on the fucking thing, but whatever it was resulted in the closest I’ve ever been to that damned truck sitting there in one piece. It won’t run on its own, but at least it looks as if the idea is possible. Honestly – and this has nothing to do with anything else – I could leave the big board as its own project and operate the truck with regular servos and an ESC. Yep, I could do that, and I may still at some point. For the time being, however, just seeing the fucking thing put together is good enough. I love it and I hate it at the same time.

The body mounts are actually made of plywood for two reasons. First, I have plenty and it is easy to work with, and second, I used the mock-up as a platform to design the proper metal parts. Maybe I’ll go out there later and tool around some more. The documents application just told me to correct my grammar by ending a sentence with a preposition. Such is the current period of history. Modern bullshit. Whatever it is, I don’t appreciate my effort being derailed by software. Anyway, if the mood strikes, I can continue where I left off yesterday. I may also look into the idea of operating the two main components via servos. Right now I just don’t know.



04

Do you see this fucking woman?


The conversation last night hooked me pretty tightly. I went on and on about the beginning of that summer – ninety-three – and then moved backward trying to recall one of my friends from the auto parts period. I remember his name, and in fact I have some stories that he wrote during the period in question. Short stories, written on paper. He even signed one of them because he was that type of person. Anyway, I spoke of all that stuff and how working at the parts house became an extension of the radio shop due to my experience. I met a few other people thanks to my interest in radio. Eventually, I found myself unable to assemble a timeline for those two jobs, the radio shop and parts house. I should look at the signed story because he also dated it. That may lend to recalling the order of events back then. Hmm. I’d like to put everything together so I can record my thoughts more accurately. The glow was far too important to be fuzzy. Last night’s discussion pressed me to remember the time. Now I need to go further and put some of the information in order. The more I think about the glow, the more I need to know details.

Ah... I’ve been reading a bit about some of the aircraft Howard Hughes flew as a test pilot. The subject led me to the museum in Oregon where the H-1 resides, and then on to the NASA facilities we toured many years ago. Well, now I’m in a fucking bad spot again. During the tour, the guests were asked some questions along the bus ride. I revealed that I was employed at the agency and others became wide-eyed due to my experience. Some questions from individuals were posed to me at each stop. Splendid. I was very proud of the work. We were on the other side of the country and far from my place of employment, yet I felt a deep connection to both the facilities and the history. I remember picturing the large images which adorned the south wall of the test section room, some dating further back than Apollo. I was in the thick of the agency during that tour and walked a bit taller because of it. These days, my head does not reach such heights.

1149. The routine is finished, I went to the market for a few items, and I have lunch in the oven. From here on in, the day is wide open. The fifth show has been traded for the third. I love these people. Sometimes pizza makes me lazy in the afternoon and today I really don’t care. My plans are few, to be sure. There are days in which I feel that taking it easy and avoiding much work does not matter. I do pretty much everything around here, so a break is typically well-deserved. I have received support for such a stance, too. My glass of whiskey is next to me, sans flies, and therein lies the title. Big whoop.

Here we are a day later and no better off for the time. Friday morning, 0810. Coffee. I don’t believe I need to go anywhere today unless the mood strikes.

Another dream up against the rails of the damage. That one is still resonating after months. I can’t seem to get away from the imagery and core idea of what was happening with me and another person. Well, this morning there was a third dream. Similar, yet with another fucking level of wickedness, and one completely out of left field. The very first dream was unexpected, although not a complete surprise. That came later. The dream this morning, along with conversation, imagery, and a closeness which felt completely natural, pushed through the second and final boundary separating me from the deviant nature of something I feared long ago. I can still see all of it right now. Not only was the boundary crossed, but I believe there is a chance the situation I dreamed of was stemmed by a few scenes in the show last night. They were a sort I cannot discuss here, naturally. Each strike creates nothing more than questions without answers, or discomfort without relief. There was plenty of the latter in this latest dream. I really didn’t need another reminder of the damaging dream, nor did I need to have the envelope pushed further out of sheer weakness. There is something wrong with me.

I will not stop watching the series in the evening. Too invested by this point. There is but one tidbit involving a regular series character of which I’ve been daydreaming here and there. Now it became related to a dream and has me all fucked up worse than the first time a few months ago. I can deal with everything, though. I have thus far. One of my strengths is the ability to take certain aspects of life and placing them behind a wall inside my head. This has become a necessary and almost everyday practice due to the power of such visions. I will say that the character in question was nearly a match to a person in my dream. I cannot say more, however. I just can’t.

I am not surprised by this latest dream. It feels like an extension of the already suppressed issues since the first one months ago. When combined with what goes through my head during some parts of the show, I can see how my succonscious assembled imagery from both situations and dropped more difficulty on me. I really can. None of this is good, but at least I can look back at the path and understand the motivation behind my brain moving in such a direction. Some of what I have tried to understand through exposition during these last few years has also had a hand in creating a dream in which I can fulfill wishes. Fortunately, the dreams have little to do with those four issues about which I gushed for a very long time. I believe this extension of what took place earlier this year was simply a matter of time given the circumstances. Very little surprises me anymore.

0918. I don’t know what this day has in store for me. I may need to force things to bend.

And now? 1056 and the routine is finished, as is the dry cleaning. Some items arrived on the porch, meaning I can probably complete the flame bulb project at long last. The third show is up there on the big television (with one of the two tallest drinks of water gracing my vision, God bless her), cats asleep, and my typical whiskey all icy and yummy is resting to my right. I’ll probably sit here at the editor until the drink is gone and then venture to the garage. I can gaze at all six feet of Julie’s beauty while waiting. I don’t know if I will be able to fully embed my brain in the project, unfortunately. I’ve been preoccupied with the dream and far too many ramifications related to yearning for something which could very well be completely ill-advised in this life. The garage work will either help to extricate the information or drive me right back to this keyboard. Right now I see both possibilities as equal. I need help, but no one is listening.

There are no flies in my whiskey, thank the ethereal forces.

Oh God damn. Again, right there. Sometimes I really have to battle myself in order to maintain control over my senses, to avoid letting slip the problems. Understand? No, of course you don't. I am not really saying anything because the risk is far too great. I’d like to let slip something else. I didn’t stare, though. The whole period was an exercise in willpower. Thankfully, by the time I nearly lost my shit, everything faded away and the period was over. In my head, however, well... Lots of thoughts kept going (as they are this morning). Sometimes I am too close. The dreams came back to me, as well. All at once they took over and I lost my way for a length of time, afterward finally recovering partially. Well, enough to function until resting, anyway. The time is 0703 and I have my coffee and the third show again. This is going to be a very slow morning. The battle inside my head has reached rampart conditions. That is to say, I have to cordon off myself to the rest of the world when thinking about this situation and the dreams. A barrier is built. I am behind it so that I can’t see what I want or need. The more I think about the original dream and what played out shortly thereafter, the deeper I am buried within a haze of the most difficult considerations ever. Haze, as in all in view being blurred by bad thoughts as my better judgment tries to take over. I believe the next paragraph will be a defense mechanism against losing my mind.

Last night I pulled the wheels and mocked body mounts off the truck, placed the board back atop its posts and relocated the chassis to the display box. I’m done with it for a while. Most of the afternoon was spent at my work bench with the axles being evaluated for smoothness and learning if anything is out of alignment. Plenty is out of alignment. Both the drive and steering do not function well enough for the truck to operate on its own, no matter the amount of power. I worked on everything for roughly five hours before straightening the area. At least now I know that the issues with my mechanical work had been adding undue stress to the motors and can be addressed. I just don’t want to get into it right now. Tearing everything apart after it has remained assembled for years is a learning experience all over again. Despite becoming refamiliarized with my design, I really don’t know what I can do to help. I no longer have access to the tools of the trade like in the past. I believe the best course is to leave it alone and maybe focus upon the electronics for a while. Staring at the truck makes me sad.

Not a defense mechanism. Only a simple distraction. The imagery inside has attached itself to other aspects of life which have already been very difficult, and now the sum is making me wish for..."



top

ren