April 13th, 2021 10:10am pdt

The static navigation bar is operational. The Clodmaster link has returned, as have the contact, legal notices, and 'about' sections. There may be some minor tweaking to the bar in the near future, but otherwise it is here to stay.




Ceaseless

 read ( words)

"A helmet and face shield will not help you now.

Still 4-11 and some things have improved beyond expectations... For the moment.

The new lateral has been fully tested and is flowing beautifully. I actually went into the front yard, opened the new cleanout, and watched the flow as the washer drained. No issues whatsoever. This is very good. Upon learning that the section of line under the house is fine, I disassembled the temporary drain from the backyard. After nearly five months of concern, the problems have gone away. In fact, the washer is running at this moment. I am overjoyed to have the long drain line absent from the patio. It served a necessary purpose, but I must admit that the last week or so has found me irritated when looking at it.

All of the Sunday business is complete. Not yet five in the afternoon and the time is all mine. I recall when I was working weekly and Sunday was more sacred than it is now. I used to set a goal of some time in the early afternoon for having everything finished so I could take advantage of the hours before returning to the hellish labor on Monday morning. Well, not anymore. And believe me, I don't miss those days. If and when I am willing and able to return to the workforce, the weekends may go back to the precious time. Considering the way I have felt lately, I don't know if I will ever go back to that shit.

Do-do-do-dodecahedron. Sing it.

The facets of life; the facets of time; the facets of strife... The facets are mine.

4-12.

No cream for my coffee this morning because I never went to the store yesterday. Oh, well. I have the powdered stuff and it's fine. After waking to believe there should have been new images on my phone from an adventure down the coast somewhere, I am not very concerned about the fucking coffee. Everything was too realistic and I now sense a loss due to awakening to everything in life being exactly the same as yesterday. Exactly the same. Sometimes the unconscious steps to the front of the line and shows me precisely who is in charge. Not me... Not by any stretch. Dreaming is out of most people's control, and for me represents just another facet which shows me wonder and then rips it away just in time to make me fall all over myself with sadness. Well, ever since the storefront with the girl and knowing I had nothing to worry about in the world, each day has gone just a little bit further down. After so many months? I see no reason to try any longer. Motions, nothing more. The cream is not missed as much as it would have been had I not been dropped on my proverbial head for the tenth time, and the most important.

'And I wanted to be as I had been yesterday, a boy again, without the heaviness of doubt, this pressing fear, this new treachery that lifted to realms of singing gold, and in a little space, flung to pits of night.'

Now what the fuck do I do? I suppose the cream will have to be picked up before mid-morning or my cocktail may be absent from the kitchen work. I saw faces in the sky as the cloud patterns and lighting changed. Faces. They looked to each other and I tried to capture the details and color. Everything was bluish, like the sun was off to the south on a winter evening. I saw two faces and went out of my mind to grab images of them up there, huge and foreboding. And then someone else was with me and I tried to express the importance of shooting pictures of what was up in the sky. He seemed unimpressed, so I went back the other way and saw four faces, like from a movie poster. The first two faces were different... Softer somehow. Emotional. Staring at each other. The four were all looking down at the world blankly. I know not why, but the idea of raising my phone as the clouds moved became of dire importance. I had to capture the two faces in such a way so as to retain what I was feeling upon first sight. Slowly everything moved about the sky until the first two faces returned and the moment was there... Click. Ideal colors, both faces clear, and the surrounding clouds in a circle as if to frame them for all time. There it was, the moment I wished to keep forever. And I grabbed it just in time. Looking up at the sky again showed me everything was gone. I felt as if I shot the picture of a lifetime. Awake, loss, sadness. It carries on right now nearly an hour later. Something important was in that image and I will never know.

A facet? Could be. Yesterday I began to feel that nothing was going to come along like in the past. My future has been routed already. Through whatever chance, action, inaction or whatever, this is it. Relegated by something I cannot identify and forever reaching toward anything which has a chance of feeling special. Those faces did not look at me. Maybe they were looking at the fucking geometric shit within which I am now mired. I will never know because they are gone, just like that fleeting moment. It felt like the end of the world in a good way, as if I did not have to worry about anything in life from that point forward. Not anymore. The concern has amplified in the space of three hours.

8:14am.

The day ahead appears decent from the work standpoint. I did much yesterday and left this Monday wide open just in case a measure of inspiration came along. So far, not much aside from the usual and maybe a few listings. I still have just the one auction going which ends tomorrow. More must go. I can only WISH to remove parts of my head and sell them off. Not funny. My time is somewhat limited today due to a trip to the airport this afternoon. Sometimes having a schedule is good. It will ensure my chores are completed in a timely manner. I still see the faces, though. They are following me and reflecting off one of the facets.





Garbage trucks. Thumbs up to those guys. Gangsters on the television again, too.

I guess the new site with all of its advanced functionality and authentication does not need to happen now. Part of the reasoning behind developing all that crap was better navigation for visitors. Well, two thoughts about that... One, the new bar at the top pretty much does what I wanted (not exactly, but close enough), and two, if I really need to restrict my audience I can truncate everything here which is sensitive. There are few enough visitors anyway, so going through a shitload of work may not be worth my time. This is fine. Honestly, the only change may be from this massive laptop to something compact and light. I originally opted for a rugged machine due to all our traveling. Now? Not much at all. We will probably not be in the mountains for some years, and any other trips may be of the road variety for exploring with cameras. A smaller machine with power will fit the bill nicely and be easier to pack up. I don't know yet, though.

There are so many words and thoughts either missing or veiled here that sometimes even I don't know what I said just two or three entries back. I keep stating that everything is related, and that is the truth. The more I think about all of the facets which feed off each other, the more is added to the pile. The series will be continuing soon, too. More on top. I worry all the time about what may be developing in someone else's fucking head, and no matter the media nor what takes place out in the world, it never ceases. There are times when my turmoil is eased, however. Not much, but I'd be lying if I said the time when my head is relaxed does not exist. Many facets are defined by the two, when I think about one it leads to two at some point, and then the media drives more into me like a fucking harpoon gun. And considering my belief that there can be no end to any of this shit, a change must take place. I am going to pull one of the facets and work with it exclusively. Unfortunately for other people, the act will make me very unpleasant to be near. I don't care. Either survival or destruction. At least I still have a choice, thank Christ.

The train leaves today.

'There is no fence or hedge round Time that has gone. You can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough.'

After all this time I have to make a massive change and show others that everything which has shaped me into this mess is not a fucking joke.

The dodecahedron must now be scrutinized for some sort of relief, like a drain valve for everything to run out thus allowing me to flash it all into hell. I'll have to remain mindful of the facets and the manner in which they are connected. Normally this type of shape is a simple exercise in geometry. In reality -- and considering each side carries trouble born of my living conditions -- it is a representation of everything in my head. One facet leads to another. And despite the indications, they are all the same size... Even the second.

1:19pm.

Heading to the international terminal garage in less than three hours. Afterward? My usual evening. The day has been productive but I am out of fuel right now. Hence... This. Sometimes I have no idea of what to do despite having tons of options. Nothing is appealing at all most days. I finished the routine and prepared a marinade for a roast I will grill tonight. I just don't feel like doing anything else. My brain is saturated with worry. The odd aspect is I never feel this way earlier in the day, only after twelve or so, or whenever the usual crap is finished. Whatever is inside with the ability to push me along through a given day seems to disappear at some point. I don't understand myself anymore. Plus, I am usually alone. That means I should not be concerned with the thinking of others, but it is still there. This is not fucking good at all.

The not knowing will be my end.

The day is not all bad. Having the time and space to think used to be a problem while I was still working, but now I have literally several hours every day of the week. For a person like me with an endless slew of issues and little piles of shit to dispose of, the time is a godsend. Even after a year of being home, I still appreciate the hours. Nothing ever ends, honestly. I spin with memories and the words and imagery which are always there. Ceaseless, completely. I don't even know how I made it through the last few months, especially with the second day of the year being such a line anymore. All the way back twenty years that day has been a fucking problem. And then when the warm weather hung on deep into October I thought of how short the best time of year had become. Don't get me started on the administration's extension of daylight savings time. I realize the power situation dictated such a maneuver, but for Christ's sake... Those of us who yearn for the shorter, cooler days, that alteration to one of the most important shifts of the year has been tough. Only November through March now. Crap. As for the positives, I have to say being here most of the time is one of them and I have been embracing the comfort all day. Hours alone to do as I need or choose, combined with such quiet is literally soothing. Those eight-plus years of toil forced me to cherish each second, yet no matter how much free time I enjoyed, nothing was ever enough. Believe me when I say this day -- no matter the turmoil inside -- is still appreciated beyond words.

Less than two hours until the airport.





Not knowing.

'For it is discomfort's own essence to be near a man and to feel him in torture of misery, to feel with him the very pain of the misery, and yet to be unable to help.'

There are several possible causes for such worry, not the least of which is my past. All the way back to the fucking eighties was I subjected to insensitivity. From time to time, no matter where I lived nor those with whom I spent my time, cuts took place. There was a period in which I was feeling very confident at work and others had commented upon my demeanor. Very nice, to a point. Inside me the memories still resounded and caused difficulty. In the last entry I mentioned a situation with my coworker in which I was slighted in the extreme, and from that point forward the way others viewed me had been at odds with my confidence. None of it really stops, ever. And don't point a finger at me and state what is my own fault, either. I already know everything and will not entertain criticism. The causes notwithstanding, I only see the same from here on in. No matter the definitions, the facets will not dim nor cease. The way I am right now sitting here at the keyboard is the way I will be for as long as I last.

Gangsters on the televisions. Yes, plural. Their voices are echoing in the kitchen. Heh.

There is but one facet which is unrelated to the rest of the works but remains shiny. Along that line, I recently purchased another curved patch for my vest which advertises -- complete with respectful coloration -- the heritage I loved and embraced for fifty fucking years. That's right, it is incorrect and I don't give a flying fuck in the wind. I did it anyway, and certain there would be no questions because everyone who knows me -- except for two -- already sees such. The patch is wrong. Well, fuck those who may take issue right along with those who educated me. I lived with it nearly all of my life and then a fucking door was slammed in my sad face, leaving me to realize that there was going to be anger inside over this for the rest of my life. As I said before, there is no one with which I can learn any further. They are all gone, leaving me to despise from where I hailed. Yep, unrelated to the other facets of this shit which is killing me a little at a time, and I need to go around the world about it anyway. It is that important. I suppose the only positive in the whole shit stew is the idea that my heritage has absolutely nothing to do with the other eleven facets. The knowledge that my line will cease when I die is actually becoming a good thing. That's right, kids... No more of the bullshit I lived through. Not for anyone else, anyway. Maybe after raising this fucking fiery subject for the third time has clearly illustrated the level of my frustration. I will wear that Goddamned vest wherever and whenever necessary and the thought of the patch being bullshit will not leave my brain for a fucking second. Nice, huh? Fuck everyone. The difficulty is ceaseless, no matter the possibilities of the future.

If you read the previous entry you already know I am about as pissed off as it gets. Who knows, maybe something else will come along and cause a worse state. I honestly doubt nothing anymore.

'Oyer et terminer.' Not in this life. It will kill me on the fucking spot. I cannot.

Finis vitae, indeed. Why am I still doing this? Do you have the fucking answer? No one does, and if they claim to know, they are speaking from the side of their neck. Believe me, years of study and analysis have lit the real world.

Nothing ever ends, it just continues to jab and subside. Jab and retreat, and then jab again. I am supposed to embrace the moments between, right? What the fuck is that going to accomplish? Feeling good for ten minutes only to fall down again after being stabbed in the fucking heart? Prove me wrong. That is referred to as false hope or blindness. No one can be trusted for shit anymore. Never-ending circles. Shining facets.

This is where I go off the fucking deep end. The blue dress and the knives. Remember the face shield from last time? Pull it down and lock.

The main facets are going to continue rearing back and striking at me as if I were a knight fighting a three-headed dragon. I will lose, too. There is no hope anymore. All I can do is try to keep my head up long enough to enjoy some aspects of life, keep drinking just enough to relax me a bit, and then work on whatever I can to bring a possible smile from time to time. The not knowing will continue because if I ask the questions in question, the result will be my being completely cut off from communicating with another human being for the rest of my life. And I am not fucking kidding, either. I will stop every type of language imaginable except typing. Those three facets are attached to the behavior of people. Yep, true. My fear grew from many parts of life, but believe me when I say that what happens inside me is driven in spades by the words and actions of others. Fabrications, too. I may strike back just to illustrate the point in such a manner so as to push back as hard as I am able. If they are going to continue attacking, I must defend myself. Unfortunately, and as I have demonstrated on countless occasions, they will soon be painted into a very small corner.

Blue dress, indeed. Empty.





'How green was my valley then, and the valley of them that have gone.'

We rollin'.

Rolling over the feelings of those fucking people, perhaps. I can do it. I've left wake which still exists. They all remember. Waves of discomfort, just like those I deal with daily.

The ambition of the day is gone. I will sit here until leaving for the airport in less than an hour, return to begin preparing the roast for grilling, and pour a few to calm the thinking of this day. That pretty much outlines the next six hours or so. The positives are there, too. Dinner, relaxing and contemplating my auctions (two live now), and watching an episode of the series we have been following. No, not that one. The other one. Going to the international terminal is somewhat of a positive. It gets me out of here for a while so I can appreciate returning, plus I love the airport in general. It feels full of wonder and possibility unlike many other parts of life. Reminders of flying with my grandfather are in every airport. History never to return. The joy of visiting the airport cannot wipe the shit from my head, however. This is not easy. Ambition, indeed. Did I really have it this morning?

6:47pm. Back from the airport and the evening has begun. I prepped the grill and charcoal chimney for cooking the roast. Cocktail next to me, thank the maker.

The terminal was mostly empty. Well, unless there is a sizable aircraft arriving, the international lobby is generally deserted other than a handful of employees. Very peaceful. Plus, there are two smoking areas flanking the massive structure. I parked early, and having spent many days waiting in that lobby, the familiarity took me from the hesitation of being out and about in this climate. I was transported to the past, a time when I was in that lobby every month for a few years. Not good, but not too bad either. Once again I was reminded of flying with my grandfather for decades and all of the fun we had in airports. Well, that is all gone. At least I have knowledge of the processes there.

4-13.

And speaking of my grandfather, I believe today he would have been one hundred years old.

Once again I am sitting with coffee, computer, and the third show up on the screen. Not early, but early enough. In less than an hour will come one of my favorite parts of the day. And unlike yesterday I have nowhere to go at all unless I choose. A realization... Right at this moment...

When I had my Escort -- I recall my parents helping me to purchase the car in ninety-six -- my main ambition in life was to build an overbearing audio system within. I had performed tons of work on my own vehicles and those of others for years and finally felt that I wanted to do something crazy in my own car. Before the period with my ex, my buddy and I worked on our cars together at my parents' house. I had a nice sound system going for a while before meeting her. After? I went a little crazy. That was the time when I shifted work away from the glass plant and went to join my parents after they negotiated the calibration lab. The electronics work in the lab boosted my knowledge enough to facilitate a similar boost in the sound system. Throughout many months I was behind the lab after hours working on that huge project, eventually testing it and enjoying. I recall that I ousted the spare tire in favor of a massive subwoofer enclosure which also served as an amplifier rack complete with crossovers and cooling fans. The entire system was triple-amplified and supported eleven speakers throughout. The door panels had to be half made from scratch to hold all of the drivers, and the crossovers were so large that they did not even fit anywhere else in the car other than the hatch. I even installed a stiffening capacitor to handle large transients without dimming the headlights. The trunk-mounted computer equalizer and sound field controller had its display just below the CD player. The entire system was rather crazy, but it was also my passion.

'Hard it is to suffer through stupid people. They make you feel sorry for them, and if your sorrow is as great as your hurt, you will allow them to go free of punishment, for their eyes are the eyes of dogs that have done wrong and know it, and are afraid.'

[One little aside before the bad part of the story. My audio system comprised six channels, and one of our clients at the lab was a liaison for Monster Cable. I did some work for him on a Saturday (side work, really), and he repaid me by bringing a six-channel set of THX-certified interconnects at the perfect length for my system. This was at a time when THX equipment and processing was at an all-time high, and the set of cables was a prototype that could not yet be purchased.]

Within a year of completing the system (except I never carpeted the fucking door panels), people came over the hill from a shitty town and ravaged the car, taking everything except the smaller speakers. At that point -- and as one could imagine -- my mood went very far south. Very soon after that event I began to embrace much harsher music. Another use for the word 'ceaseless'... The anger which arose that morning when I realized my car had been robbed did not leave. Still there, in one form or another. Originally I blamed the bad people from the other side of the hill for causing such a mood, but over time I know I blame the whole of society, and by extension, every person making up that society. The more I considered all of the sweat and blood left in that little car for more than a year of building the most powerful and complex audio system I'd ever attempted, the more the disdain for others grew. None of it ever ceased. I have little to no regard for human beings, and remember that is but one tiny speck of an event throughout the whole of life. Just one.

You wanna talk about a bad mood? Go for it. The system meant more to me than I can convey here... Ever. And I am not referring to the material cost. I am speaking of the cost incurred to my being. One of the worst aspects to come of that time is the fact that I have not since worked with car audio at all. Not even for others. I dropped it entirely due to having my ambition destroyed and hope burned to death. When I think of those exciting trips to the merchants with their endless arrays of technical prowess, I recall the same with a dash of hatred.

I am more angry about it now than I was just hours after losing everything. And I do know that I left my car unprotected aside from locking the doors. I expected it to be fine. It didn't take long for those who knew me to tell me I was partially at fault for what happened. Really? Me? I am a person who expects only bad things to take place in life now, but then I still had some hope. Their reaction and subsequent bullshit about spending too much time and money on the audio system has never been accepted. In the end, and due to the shitty mood carrying on for more than twenty years, I now categorize those people closest to me as a part of the fucking problem. Read that again. Fucking sheep. Disagree with me and see what happens.





I told that story as an example of why I am the way I am these days. The music became more harsh over a very long period and now others do not understand the motivation. Consider that the violation of my precious car was but a few years after my becoming completely disillusioned with society in general and the nature of people in particular. Before moving across the country, I had been seeking some sort of 'out' in order to be far from most people, or at least as many as possible for the time. I made tentative plans to get the fuck away and continued to refine them depending upon the circumstances. Even after heading to the Midwest, the instinct to flee the mass was very strong and did not let up until I settled back into the comfort of home two years later. Everything contributed to my near-constant dissatisfaction and disgust with the manner in which the wheels of progress rolled over all which was important to me. Ceaseless, just like the rest of life's pitfalls.

A lack of promise, to be sure.

The culmination of all the shit from forty-plus years is the very core of this writing. The realization of my anger toward people partially stemming from what was taken is something I had not considered thus far. I didn't forget, just failed to see it due to all the other shit inside me. Now you know.

The day is ahead of me. One package on the mailbox, one high-value auction is live, and I plan to take advantage of the time today. My usual stuff first, followed by listing perhaps two more items for auction, and then a bit of work in the garage. The current mindset is pretty damned reckless, so I'll have to stay away from the booze until evening. Once my thinking loosens after a morning cocktail, the road to completely losing my shit is very short. I can't have that right now, especially after sitting and describing my sheer hatred for everything mentioned above. My head is in a bad place and other people need to realize that before addressing me, thus no alcohol until the sun is at a threatening angle. Yesterday I began to feel helpless, but that shit is behind me. I need to make plans.

I flipped the switch myself. Flipped out, flipped switch... Whatever you wish to call it, the deed is done. I will no longer accept any platitudes from people regarding me or anything else. The forest? Don't worry about that worst of moods because this is only partially related. The blue dress will be forever empty, the dreams cannot come to pass, and I am left with a fucking geometric shape ruling each day. The anger will grow from one moment to the next, leaving me a battle in maintaining personal relationships. Ceaseless anger. Would you care to volley a comment about all of this? Good fucking luck. I hear nothing. Back to this day.

Part of my routine is finished, leaving some dry cleaning and the kitchen. I have to push the auctions in order to keep pace with the rate at which I need cash piling up. No more purchases for the time being, as well. Only those items necessary for the daily operation of this house. Once this crap is pushed to production, I will move forward in whatever direction seems best. The days are later than I care to admit, my ambition to further anything in this place is at an all-time low, and the idea of heading out into the world to work has pressed me to think of those fucking people. I have to remain indoors for as long as is necessary for me to tolerate others. The shallow, unfeeling and lying souls who inhabit this shit world. Them. So, by working around here today and keeping to myself, I am not only advancing my own needs, but saving them from what I have become. The work will be fine. As of yet I do not know if I will uncork any bottles. They are always waiting, just in case.

The bottom line of the relationship between what was taken from me and my disdain for society is fairly simple, yet extremely harsh: The anger has boiled down of late, and to a place in which I feel that if I do not know who is responsible for anything exacted upon my happiness, I will blame everyone. They are out there, and not knowing means they become grouped as a whole. If there are a thousand people crammed into a warehouse and you know for certain one of them will cause mass harm to others, the solution is to eliminate them all. By retaining such a standpoint, I am protecting myself from everyone. Ceaseless resentment.

I will continue to minimize myself and my belongings. Right now I have little else to go on. I have less and less reason to do anything as time passes these days, so perhaps a pile of money can make me comfortable for at least a little while before I fuck the world. I can't fucking deal with all this shit anymore. Beware... The fucking knives are out and I am not joking. Wow, the instinct to drink and bring up harsher wording is strong right now. I will have to be vigilant and keep busy.

'How can there be fury felt for things that are gone to dust?'

That question has already been answered.

I warned you this would be bad. Expect more of the same. Well, if anything else is ever published, that is.

263. The ceaseless, diminishing number.

She is dead."



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