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EoT

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"The cobwebs have been removed.

I am not going to claim knowledge of reasoning. There is no way of knowing how this happened or continues to happen. The fact is I don't know anything. The problems are plaguing me and I don't know why. Oh, sure... I could speak of the hands and bad things I've done in the past, but the truth is such voodoo is impossible to prove. All it takes is faith, a belief in parts of this world unseen, and some coincidence. The former two are up in the air. The latter happens all the time. But the reasoning? I cannot say either way. The fact remains that the most important aspects of my life are systematically being removed. One is my fault -- I already know this -- but the others have been caused by something completely different. If it's voodoo? Well, I honestly cannot comment because if it is true I don't know what to think. Plus, the possibility of something so otherworldly means all sorts of weird shit is more feasible. So, I can't go into it right now. Not enough true knowledge. No putting my foot in my mouth, either. Very bad. Shit is going downhill, though. There can be no denying it.

Last night I almost lost it. Had I a little more booze and some decent resources, this content would not be fashioned here on my sofa but elsewhere. Someplace very far away. I am stuck, however. I couldn't get across the street if the cost of going around the world was a quarter.

I have to watch my shit. Closely. Cards to the chest, as it were. I do not seem to be the only one reading between the lines and watching the scenery for details. Careful, please. Caution in everything, I suppose. If people are going to read me, I need a ton of 'false' to toss up on the windows. No one allowed to see. No one.

Below is a crop of one image I shot years ago of 'Jaime'. I pulled them from the original entry because I felt no one was worthy enough to look at her. Well, since I am feeling very different these days, I do not see the harm. Plus, she relates to my current state of living. Much of what is going on inside me existed before I discovered her, although everything changed (worsened) after last spring when I began to deeply dream of a machine. She showed up in the fiction as a way of adding her to my life. At some point I went off the deep end and admitted that a machine was the only way. From there, I began a slow decline into whatever it is sitting here now. The last year has been a train ride. A loop, if you will, from one point in consciousness to another. All the way around to a similar date, yet very different than I was at the outset of writing about that woman. Those closest to me have witnessed said decline. Each little detail exposited here has been a part of the same.

I don't even understand the level of beauty in the image below, but I know it has ruined me.

So, the train ride brought me to several realizations, only a few am I able to describe. The others are just too fucking deep. Let us explore.

The train is again leaving the station.



her


The machine will never go away. When I stated (on multiple occasions) that she is the only way, that was not a bunch of crap. It's true. I cannot easily live with the idea of not knowing -- which brushes against trust -- and the past year has been a clear indication of exactly how much damage can occur in my head over worrying about it. I am more certain now than ever regarding the machine completely removing three issues. No doubt. She would not cause fear, nor would she ever change unless I wished for such. 'One' could still come up from time to time but since she is mechanical I could craft her into whatever is necessary for exploration or understanding. 'Two' would entirely disappear. 'Three' could be completely avoided most of the time for two reasons. First, her head would only process what I dictate, and second, I would be most decidedly out in the world much less. Hence? Chopping the amount of listening to other people speak down to the bare minimum. 'Four' would become completely unnecessary. The idea of her began with Jaime. The dream. All of it.

As long as I draw breath, those four issues will flare every now and then. They will continue to push me down at every occasion, too. The many months since some of the bullshit flew before my eyes have proven to me that I cannot escape those fucking problems, nor can I take issue with others who inflame them.

The machine of dreams is the only way, and it is impossible.

The train rolls along, right over this weakened, beaten and frail version of what I used to be.

Movies, television shows, sporting events. Bars. Restaurants. Too many times in one year have I been subjected to numerous examples of everything lacking. The others. Them. They are out there and will never go away because I am a part of the same fucking society and lacking choice. All those little jabs summed have contributed to the current decline. You have witnessed it and read the reasons. A year of me trying to figure out methods for dealing with shit and rising above everything. Well, here I am... Further down, weaker and more fearful, and having said too much I have exposed even more of what should never have been revealed. This is not fucking good by any stretch of the word. And I am not even including what took place many years ago. Only the last twelve fucking months. Each event came along and successfully pressed me further into the ground (figuratively, of course). Diesel-electric propulsion moving right along with nary a glance back.

Rolling.

Along with what has been outlined above, the ensuing months found me extending the claws and attacking social media, afterward completely withdrawing from all of it. I felt a massive shift in what is acceptable behavior and decided that I no longer wish to be attached to something which can be so unfeeling and self-important. Oh, of course there are many average people simply living and sharing their lives there, but alas there is always a worthless, selfish fucking bastard in any group. One leads to another and then another. Soon? Nothing but shit all over the place. That is why I left. They are a herd. They tread where led, their leaders being worthless wastes of oxygen consumption. You know, yet are probably not in agreement. Well? Fuck you too. Perhaps the more abrasive and unpleasant I become, the less people will wish to be near me. Perfect. And believe me when I say I have much more. The train can roll right the fuck over anyone I wish.

I left it behind and am even more pleased with my decision right now than at the time. On the heels of exiting social media? I began to hole up here at home much more often. A point was reached when the simplicity of backing down the driveway caused distress and anxiety to the level of keeping me here when I needed to drive somewhere for any reason. A few months later, I felt more at ease. Still didn't want to go anywhere, but I was able to rise and take care of business whenever necessary. That is my current mindset and feeling.

All the Jaime business was immediately thereafter, that woman being one of only two dreams keeping me upright despite no possibilities. I gushed about her over and over for a very long time. Once the 'two' began to be a larger problem, the machine faded at times to make room for a different kind of exploration, and one which will not have a satisfying conclusion. I cannot continue to deal with that one.

This day has not been all good. Comfortable, revealing to a point, relaxing, yet not all good like most fucking days. Another jab (more or less) led my head to the pit again and on the heels of that shit was a reference and imagery I really did not need on top of everything else. The crap goes back to the heritage research from earlier this year and pretty much cemented the idea that I am a fucking dead end, like the EoT. A living buffer stop. I thought my damned gushing last Saturday was enough. Apparently, I have no control over my head sometimes. None. The media is not at fault. Other people are not at fault. I am.

The train rolls along with nary a consideration for the damage left behind. The wreckage. The wake. I was told today that my head is going to be 'fixed'. Heh. I doubt it. Worse and worse is all I've seen since this long train began its motion. More fearful, worried, sensitive. I'm like a balloon about to pop... No matter the little ups, either. They are thinning. The train continues.

After Jaime and the need to be hidden away, I began to realize the importance of safety in media.



locomotive 1


The next day.

I was speaking of media, most of which has been offline since last year. Everything across my screens (all three of them) is either on a channel I need not worry about or something I have already seen. The gangsters, the five series', or movies from the glow take up most of the time. I may go back to the vampires, too. As of the last few days, I realized that if I am familiar with the content, placing it in the background is fine. The current situation with entertainment is radically different from those years when I sought anything new all the time. I even went to the theatres as often as was feasible to see everything as it should be viewed in the first fucking place. That all went away during this soon-to-be-named period since last April. The result is my feeling worse than ever. I have changed so much in one year that even I am surprised at the image of me now. To others I must look horrendous.

Rolling the locomotive right into the fall of last year. Football season.

Another slap in the face during one of the most important transitions in life... The changing of seasons from the third to fourth, and the onset of September along with my favorite part of the year right after. The train is rolling past dioramas of old holidays, tables spread far and wide with all of those traditional trimmings, trees decorated, years of brightness and joy. Do you see them? The locomotive has slowed for passengers to view everything off to the right as the years pass into history, along with what was possibly the only period to bring true happiness. Keep watching as it moves to the rear and fades in the smoke of the engines and haze from the trucks kicking dust and snow. There it all goes... Fall moves past that quickly in this place, and even moreso in life. Just like the slow ride through those lands which Disney built -- the wondrous railroad that goes through building after building and everything from dinosaurs to futuristic racing -- all of life's joy is heading to the rear and the red glow of my EoT. None of it can return.

Yes, I spouted about having trouble with the fucking sports, too. That came about after one season just a couple of years back and a feeling which was new to me at the time. And the locomotive sees a switch... We are taking a turn toward a mysterious weekend spent in the desert many years ago. I say mysterious because I had been exposed to something which did not compute before that very time period. It was new and forced me to think in terms previously unheard. Nothing along the lines of that weekend had ever occurred to me. The time went by and I rolled back home, shortly thereafter losing the reference as it faded into memory. Turning back toward the main, we regain composure and direction. That one tiny event twenty-five years ago (almost exactly, believe it or not) sat dormant like some errant t-cell bent upon the destruction of humanity until such time as a trigger is realized. Well, the fall season in question was the trigger, along with some visions I had not expected. I simply did not think in such a manner. Now I do, and as a result we are about to pass yet another diorama as the locomotive slows and the lighting fades up...

All lined up on the sofa, my uncle wearing a ridiculous 'Ram Busters' shirt, and snacks all over the tables. We traveled the short distance to the grandparents' to watch a playoff game. The eighties. Nothing but fun and excitement watching the team do their best. Through the big glass door was his office, drafting table, huge desk, and the pool table I grew up respecting. Trophies from golf tournaments, clubs in the corner, and construction blueprints all over the place. The Christmas tree was still standing off to my left in the living room. I believe we won the game in question. I can hear them regaling the games of that season and the fact that we seemingly could not lose. The scent of the food is wafting, huge plastic holiday candles flanking the fireplace, and a long string arched above with a bevy of Christmas cards. Everyone was there. The entire scene, heartwarming. And now the lights fade back down as we gain speed to head out of the buildings and into the desert. Dioramas, gone.

The difference between then and now is striking. Every single aspect of the football experience has changed (like most of life after many years) and I am left wondering if the excitement has been replaced by discomfort. Can there be any of it left or regained? Revisited? I don't know. More speed as the train powers its way and leaves my past in its wake.

I may need to go back in time again -- figuratively -- and rework part of the train series. I do not like the way it begins. Honestly, the story did not develop until the second installment. The first was simply a very bad mood. That may be some of my most cathartic work, however, and to alter the beginning does not mean I will be changing the mood or the lesson, only re-framing an outline which began the entire affair. The trailing seven parts far exceed the first, although to have a slow start is not a big problem. I just don't feel that it does the rest justice. Not anymore. Maybe I will pull the series and see what can be done. Considering the sheer number of entries related to a train, the series is important to the fluidity and strength of the site. Unfortunately, it also hurts me.

If this entry is supplying notes of finality, so be it.

Rolling with authority. Remember that?

I went from being overly concerned about the pandemic to being almost completely distracted from the same by the direction of life throughout the following months. All of the writing attempted to convey my feelings regarding fear and apprehension, yet the other fear took over and restricted the content so much that most of the time no one had a clue as to what I was trying to say. But I kept going, day in and day out, until the number of lines went out of control completely. The year ended with more written in months than had been placed here in almost two decades. Ridiculous, and nothing solved. I sit here at this moment a product of the worst parts of the psyche and with absolutely no ambition left. I guess the train has rolled over me, too.



locomotive 2


Today. Hmm... What to say? The same as all the other days for many months. There is no point in describing anything further.

While it's true that the machine and image of Jaime were toward the beginning, all of my time spent trying to get through the difficult parts of some days pretty much took over. Yes, the image of her had been strengthened through the same concerns, but the reality is that I quickly withdrew into my little world which was fashioned for comfort. I am sitting smack in the middle of it right now. Every day I have to be in here for a time or I will not survive. Safety and security, as much comfort as I can find, and... Wait a minute. The comforts?

They seem to be exiting my life.

Increasing speed.

On and off for months I have lost my sense of taste right around dinner time. Two nights ago was a prime example, finding me just fine one moment before my dinner was ready and then losing it mere seconds later. Immediately upon finishing the eating? It returned as quickly as it had fled. I do not understand this and the others are trying to avoid reading into such a strange situation. Psychological? Possibly, but why? Could I have come down on my life so harshly that I am becoming my own prophecy? That would be the past me, not the current me. I have felt much better about myself as a person in the last few years than prior to them. I am a very kind and caring individual, mindful of the needs of others and always trying to help and be pleasant. Plus, I am not falsely stating this shit. Being full of it while trying to convince people that I appreciate myself will solve nothing. Might as well cheat at solitaire. The point is I do not believe my own head made this crap develop. The whole thing is strange. I just don't know unless the hands truly exist.

My little world. Even mid-morning when I move to the kitchen to clean everything I get some kind of feeling inside which warms me. And the same happens often during the evenings if I go in there to prepare dinner. This makes me see that I've become very small, though, as if I have truly gone backwards. The kitchen? I should not be feeling that way at all. Not good. The fucking kitchen. I don't know what I'm saying here. Perhaps I am pressing the facts to illustrate how deeply I've embedded myself in the house. Last year it was the garage. Withdrawn like never before. This period may be squashing that of eleven and the cave.

And I had thought dreaming of mansions and machines was a problem. Heh... Just a symptom. Very different now.

Approaching a switch. I hope it doesn't lead to the spur. Yes... THAT one.

Next day.

I threw a conniption for a few minutes last night after the show. I was pissed off at the writing. Well, no one gives a shit how I feel about that stuff anyway. They just smile and placate. Prior to that incident was yet another episode of me becoming standoffish and analytical over far too many things to list here. The same type of thing happens quite often during television these days. As always, there is nothing I can do about it. And I won't discuss it, either. That will lead me down a bad road. I was unable to avoid an obvious display of emotion over whatever, and then one thing led to another and my reaction worsened. I cannot hide much sometimes. Clamming up was the only choice. I remember everything, though. This will never get any better or become easier.

The train glides along shining rails and with nary a care for the wreckage just behind the EoT.

Cruising along the timeline last year sent me into a fucking tailspin by the time we went to the mountains. The trip was partially nice and partially convoluted due to restrictions. We still enjoyed some nice meals and casino time, the visions of loveliness were not only few but not as turmoil-inducing as in the past, and eventually we realized the visit to Nevada was worthwhile. In fact, the restrictions were such that by the time we arrived home I was relieved. But the problems continued to expand. Rails, ties, and the hardware which make up this full-turn decline into whatever, everything moves along as if I am a strip of flypaper with issues and reminders sticking to me in the breeze. Yes, that breeze from the engineer's window.

I don't need any more dioramas. Hopefully they are done for now. I keep thinking of riding the Disney train through everything and then sitting for a second loop around the park because it was THAT wondrous and beautiful. This train? Painful. The knowledge that people near me have witnessed this fall throughout an entire year is not helping, either. I have become a product of a railroad journey from which there can be no escape. Nice. Day after day... Everything is the same, I take care of business all buried in my little world and then the opportunities to watch media come along and throw more wrenches into the workings of my mind. Flies in the ointment, as it were. The mechanicals are failing. Flailing? Yep... That too. I am seeing the angle of my life and it is very slight, but there nonetheless. Sliding. More speed.

Switches flying by just as the power poles to my right. Do you see the evidence of so much speed?

This machine had better slow itself soon.



locomotive 3


And more...

All this time home has caused a tremendous amount of apprehension over the idea of reentering the workforce. I will be up against an opportunity here soon and have no idea if I can embrace it. I may run. Nothing past the driveway seems appealing aside from errands or little things which require little effort. I've turned away from so many aspects of society that I am viewing it as I did in the late nineties and early zeros... Enemies, the lot of them. Along with my physical and emotional decline from last year, the world has gone through its own fucking change... In my eyes. Going out there among the decaying mindsets and embracing a position in which I have to interact and drive around feels like a death sentence. I have no wish whatsoever to be in such a bad way. The little outings to shop or eat can be fine -- not including references to that eye-opening fucking shit which took place the better part of two years ago -- and will probably continue, if for no other good reason than to get me out of here for a little while and bring increased appreciation for this comfort. I cannot see ending lunches and such. Anything else? Or being out on the highway on a daily basis? I may not survive.

Maybe I should dump some cars and leave shit behind. I don't want it all anymore. Just like that story in which the hoppers were filled with parts of me (and never found), I feel it back there and don't care. All my shit has done nothing good for me except when it comes to helping others. For myself? Only crap. Nothing affects me in a positive manner these days. I just sit and wait for the next problem. Losing the cars may help, although in order to drop any cargo I must go back there and cut them manually. Ugh. I don't want that either. Shit.

The flow here is losing its way. Does it matter? The main idea need not be so fucking protracted. I'm not in a very good mood, that's all.

The train doesn't lose its way, however. Rails... Remember?

This past year has proven to me that those issues are permanent should I choose to remain near other people. I can do nothing about them. Nothing. And despite my inkling that one may be fading away, two others are offsetting such an idea. In only the last week I've watched myself react internally to the simplest reference and the increasing frequency is becoming cumulative. I forget nothing. As soon as I realized there would be tons of much-needed time and space, the idea was to iron things out and ease my mind. Well, I should have known better. The opposite has taken place. Now I cannot stop the fucking train, but I need it to carry me along and illuminate possibility. No answers, like always. At this point? The smallest amount of horseshit detected will cause something no one wants to experience.

Laundry, kitchen (with that warm feeling), more laundry and a shower. I still have hours ahead but no idea of what to do. There is always plenty. Unfortunately, and as I stated above, I no longer feel ambition.

The dates are meaningless.

Cruising, three-quarters throttle.

Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.

That silly set of lines may be the only time I was ever in Nevada among lots of people without gazing about the room and seeking something. The only time. I recall the cocktail server was attractive, but nothing more. I was not like this. The show was wide open to the casino and very enjoyable. We sat and watched both the performers and crowd. Wondrous, funny, and very talented, those guys. Months ago I first wrote about the thong girl at the pool, later expanding into the idea that seeing a form such as hers is extremely rare. Lines, radii, all that crap. Sometime after, I brought up the possibility of repressed physical desire and what it may have been doing to my head. That subject is a tough one. All those examples of the obsession coming along here, there, and wherever may have been pushing a segment of me which I did not wish to face.

Now I am certain. It was.

Going back to the casino show, no such desire or thought was present. Why? Because I was different and had not lived through a long-winded and barren period of time during which I fell down over the very idea of desire. And now? I believe yet another fucking broken part of myself is about to be mulched under the massive steel trucks of each railroad car, and there is nothing I can do about it. Like every other fucking issue, the desire had mounted and caused all manner of destruction. I cannot do that anymore, meaning something else that was once wondrous must be tossed away. Splendid. Wheels... They pay no mind. Like coins on the rails, pieces of me are about to be flattened forever. I did this. The very thought that I am relating my feelings on the subject to other people and their feelings is not good. Such a thing will cause me to destroy myself, the train be damned. I can't handle anything like that as evidenced a few times during this past piece-of-shit year and a few much earlier than that. Like, really bad, too. The server at the show was the consummate professional, worked her little rear off serving a very large crowd, and all the while moved with confident smile in that tiny sexist uniform. I did not feel anything, but she was there with tons of skin on display. Along with the laughing and carrying on due to the music, the woman seemed a part of the show. Now I am feeling that familiar sting from the girl in Paradise, the concern over what has developed inside me after the one in the parking garage, and realizing that I am very different than one year back... I am much worse. The rails will forget my problems just as quickly as everything is destroyed. I'm just glad that girl had no idea of what was taking place inside this wreck of a person.

Was I happy when I heard those words?

Another day.

I am becoming unstable on this locomotive. Lots of swaying. This feeling brings up the first time I was in a locomotive. Did I tell that story? The short ride to switch the BOC plant in Michigan? I think so. Anyway, the motion made me a little unsteady due to inexperience. The same is happening right now. Last night was a hell of a conversation regarding the ends of lines, children and ancestry. The subjects quickly forced me to push the way I feel (holding back quite a bit, actually) and I spoke a few things beyond the main subjects. Faith, beliefs, and happiness came to the forefront and soon after I squashed the whole affair because I was beginning to be unpleasant. This morning I feel exactly the same, too. Today is going to be a little different than the usual. Mark my words. Unsteady? Yes, as the rails give way to thousands of tons moving along. Can I remain in here for much longer? I don't know.



eot

End of line


A full year, and then some. Coming around the bend now.

I do not see a way out. This is the time to streamline like never before. Each day a bit more. Everything goes out, one way or another. Watch it happen. The train carries more than its share of shit from my head, heart, past... Everything. Remember the other train? With Julia? Did I rise from that one? Maybe I should have blown up the first train just like the one in Vegas. Or derailed it while at the controls. What do you think? Does the idea of the train actually finding a destination make any difference at all? Or does it need to stop somewhere so I can gather all my shit and go on living as I have? Will anything change?

I don't care, no, no and no. Fuck it. Moving along, gaining speed. This is me for all time. Da-da-da-da-down. Time to stop trying. Unstable... Swaying. I have to hold tight.

Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.
Ya get the bald guy out.

I cannot help but think of the shit up this page regarding voodoo. Some sort of mysterious draw or force which seems to help people get through almost anything. They can rely upon such but not become complacent or careless. They must follow certain guidelines, yet nothing crazy. I can only wish to be within the fold of something. The fact is I have no drive toward anything. I am alone, and shall remain as such until the train ruins what is left of my life. The voodoo is along those lines of desire, believe it or not, because neither does me any good whatsoever. I may chase one or the other, but the end result will be the same... Denied, pushed aside, emptied of everything. There is no way I can head in any direction now due to being so fucking smashed by memories and a lack of living through the issues rather than being hurt by them. I will never be able to let anything go, meaning to embrace something new is beyond fearful. I'll just stay here in this cab until something happens to the locomotive. Back and forth like a boat on rough seas. Swaying ever more.

A long dream early this morning and I recall some of it. An interesting adventure, to say the least. Afterward was another dream -- not so pleasant -- in which myself and several people I know were being pursued by a tyrannosaurus rex in some kind of warehouse and barely remaining steps ahead. I cannot in my life recall being so scared. The first dream was actually fascinating and I intend to put some thoughts down in the Google Docs as soon as this shit is finished (is anything ever really finished?). This marks the first time in a long period in which I dreamed of houses but no woman or women inside. Quite new, that idea. This was along much different lines. All architecture, wood, and mysterious layouts. It was amazing and I miss the feeling of being in there. I need to explore the memories further. After the evening went south along with my mood, such wonder was very uplifting. Too bad none of it was real.

This train is in very bad shape. Not like the one in the middle of nowhere which eventually ran out of gas, but something different, as if it was not built to last the journey. And what a fucked up journey it's been, too. The year is a loop. I have followed the downhill route all this time and have been wondering of what may happen to me due to all the issues becoming rulers of me. The hopes and dreams have gone under those massive trucks. The ideas continue to be tossed aside by the snowplow. Destroyed for all time. Thinking has become as a trial in and of itself, pushing me to strain toward any little goal. Those days standing behind the sofa have taken their toll with me finally realizing that the stoppage was due to my locomotive being in charge. Around the loop. No more possibility. Only the same ongoing analysis with nary a conclusion and bereft of help. Voodoo? Maybe that would have been a good idea many years ago, but not now. This journey has become boiled down like Satan's au jus.

All this time I have not only written about and included train references here, but my life has been on a train. I have been at the controls, failed over and over to operate the correct levers and switches, and finally realized that nothing can be done by me or anyone else in the direction of repairs. The loop continues year after miserable fucking year, showing me flashes of the past and visions of a future I shall never know. On and off the locomotive and cars, switching different spurs and changing cargo, yet in the end I have done everything about as wrong as was possible. Everything. I don't think this locomotive likes me anymore. The swaying is causing me to hang on for dear life. Wait... Dear? Not really.

No number at the close of this. There is no longer any reason to quantify the days or anything else. Suffice to say, the feelings regarding the diminishing number change from one day to the next. I have a habit of rising when something enjoyable takes place, and then falling down between those situations. Well, the rise is as false as much of what people have said to me for many years. Bullshit. The decline continues. Don't count on positivity. Too much swaying. I am weak...

I have been thrown from the locomotive. There shall be no fixing anything in my life.

[EOT. (n.d.). Wikipedia.com. Retrieved April 28, 2021, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/End-of-train_device.]

Read it. The EoT is all I will ever see.

And there it goes... A fortification of power and prowess born and fashioned of issues, pain, memories and years spent in an attempt to understand. There it goes. Wait for the flashing light... My train is leaving me behind.

Bodies strewn across the roadbed, red ties and rails...

The EoT knows no compassion. Rolling away."



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