February 7th, 2021 7:56am pst

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The Forest of Fear

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"Still 2-6, morning. The sun will be shining soon. No more rain for a while, I guess.

No one can understand for two reasons. First, I will not talk to anyone, and second, because no one can understand. Make sense? Of course not. When we used to camp several times per year, I was often pressed into a situation in which one fear outweighed another, like flying insects near me that caused the hair on my arms to stand up. The instinct was to dash away, but the other fear took over... That of losing my composure and looking like a child in front of other people. So, the booze and my will to maintain appearances drove the fear of the insects to the rear. I am experiencing the same feeling lately, meaning I have to keep my head up and come across as confident when something causes two to flare. I simply cannot look like a fool. Or maybe I already do.

Today. Saturday, and movie time is less than four hours away. I'll have to take care of my routine prior to eleven so I can set up for the screening. My head is approaching the forest today. I believe yesterday drove some of it, too. There was no falling down due to everything remaining inside, although I know there are devices at work in there which I cannot handle. I don't know if the forest feeling is going to come to a head and force me to spill everything or not. No clue right now. I must say the idea is compelling at times, and often I end up on the worst precipice imaginable. Hmm... Imagination. Part of the problem. The game tomorrow will most likely involve that word in my brain. After everything throughout the last ten months, the issue cannot be avoided. I'll have to hold my tongue for fear of driving the day into oblivion. No one wants or needs to hear my mood. The wall has to be fortified some before kickoff.

I can be very cold, hurtful, and leverage pretty much any situation or mood right straight into hell. And I can do it without a shred of remorse. Hold the tongue. Shoot me in the face.

The two events last year are still stinging and fresh, leaving me a smoldering ball of fear much of the time. I've been unable to reconcile the ideas floating around during those two days. A more recent stab did not cause much at the time, but as the days roll by it is increasing my downward trajectory into a hole. I may end up writing very bad words soon. Like, the worst. Wait for it, because I do not see an avenue to happiness any longer. I can only go on so much before something must change, and that will not be good for me or anyone else. The words still swirl. At times they become very cutting and there is nothing I can do about it. Too much has transpired.

Still, and for whatever reason, the day looks bright. Maybe it's the sunshine. If I can keep that feeling going for a few more hours and then through tomorrow, some good could come of it. I am not always negative, believe it or not.

Shoot me anyway... Send me to the real forest. No more fear there, only retribution.

Soon I will have to pop off the sofa and work on my stuff. Most days when I decide to clean the kitchen, the show goes on both televisions and I pour a nice cocktail for calming the nerves. I have probably mentioned it before, but I honestly feel that the kitchen time -- be it cleaning alone during the morning or preparing food for dinner -- has become my favorite of the day. The feeling is of warm comfort while in there with my surrogate family keeping me company. There were days last year (before the lateral bullshit) when our kitchen was thrashed from the night before and I became overly excited at the prospect of spending much time there to get everything in order and clean. That is fucking pathetic, but honestly not entirely a bad thing. I really believe that if I can find enjoyment in housework or anything productive, the feeling can help me maintain a level head in spite of all the damage and fear. It's my own little world. I'll be in there soon. I also plan to reconnect the washer drain and care for some linens. By noon things will be in order for the film. Very good.



961

Shoot me, but look beautiful while pulling the trigger


One foot in the forest. I said it was in there, and now the other foot is gaining on it. Both feet inside means I will change, and as many times as I have stated that I would be different on the other side of certain lines, this is not the same. I have been different, somewhat, yet the feeling inside me is that of something temporary, as if I have not fully committed to altering my stance toward other people. Well, the move is happening right now. And I have to fucking pause for the noise in the house.

More like a stop.

2-7.

Morning, after what I would define as the event of the year thus far. The last of the trilogy was screened by yours truly and a good portion of the day was required to view the entire film. Heh. We had lunch, snacks and enjoyed a few breaks here and there. Wonderful, honestly. Now I have today to contend with and the imagery still floating from two days ago. Tired of it. The big game later, too. Vigilance. This is too much sometimes.

The most important figure described here in the last ten months is the fictional Jaime. She was in the hotel, on my arm, wrapped around me and otherwise gushing her feelings for quite a while before my realization that the woman needed to be plugged into the wall every now and again. While I was worried about being flattened after flying off a building or shot in the head at any given moment, the bottom line is my head did not go into very bad places because that woman was next to me. She disappeared here and there as the timeline continued to reset, but in the end I knew she would return. And the critical part is the idea that I was even happier with her after learning the nature of what was going on inside. That's right. The inside is the problem constantly. Even yesterday during the screening... Jaime popped into my head not due to a visual or memory or even her beauty, but due to worry. Yep, nothing ends and everything turns to shit. Even my favorite trilogy ran into a snag right there at the fucking trailing end.

Everything remains in my head and everything is related.



962

Holy shit


So, now what can I do if even my films are subjects of concern? Watch nothing? Or stick to the same five shows for the rest of the year? Here is a statement from beyond logic (or so it would seem): Everything remains in my head, but also know that everything originates in my head. Whatever comes across the screen at either the right or wrong moment is not the fucking problem. I am. And there may be no fixing it in the real world. I will not be able to do this much longer. The wondering and worrying has got to cease. If there is any possibility of thought, there is possibility of damage, and I will be the last to know. Right over there... Remember? One over there and the other over there. And the thinking must come to an end.

Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it, and I am in control of it. Keep waiting. I am not trying to be dramatic or funny. I can only carry this on for so long before a change must be forced. Fear is driving me toward the most hideous and worrisome move imaginable. Unpleasant, to say the least. Coming soon to a person nowhere near you.

Sunday business later this morning. Perhaps a little work in the garage, too. Then off to see the game. This right now... Sitting here with coffee and the space to think about everything may be the best part of the day. Well, this and cleaning the kitchen. Remember?

220 entries -- give or take -- have accomplished nothing but I am still doing this. I'm going to try to avoid asking why this site still lives here or where the motivation comes from to get thoughts to the screen. Too many entries have had me asking. There are no answers, so the questions will cease. Something comes out of this, and such a fact may be all that is necessary. Along this journey into the forest, I am realizing that the writing has become a good measure of the reasoning behind heading toward the forest to begin with. The exploration seems to cause me to think more deeply and with more regard for others, making the pathway into the forest necessary not only for my survival, but for theirs as well. Once I am out of the daily rigor, others will have less of me to deal with. Sitting here each morning is paramount to creating the steps into that dark place.

And the fear pushes at my back, just like the hand of Satan. The fear is also in the forest along with isolation. It is in there because I cannot free myself of it and regardless of the depth within the trees, I will still be afraid of many things. Just because I can be separated and distanced from people does not mean my head will not continue to manufacture all of the bad thoughts. The difference is no one will get through, and they will not even know, meaning eventually all will fall away, just like my patience with the world. Clear? Unclear? Who cares? I have no expectations whatsoever. The forest is not the answer to everything, either. It is merely a fact. There has to be somewhere I can go to be alone.



963

The expression outweighs everything else


I am continuing to see examples of the possibilities I have yet to embrace, and they are causing me to become irritated. I used to be different. There were reasons. Now there is nothing. Not a damned thing anymore. The change to which I refer is beyond my grasp right now. It is being outweighed by the fear, yet the change would likely alleviate one aspect of the fear. Another paradox all wrapped up with a bow. I am frozen in this condition, unable to move toward even those things which can help due to fearing the difference.

Both feet in there now, but nothing more. This day will likely result in a big pile of shit spinning circles inside my head and then I'll go further in. I already know... There is no longer reason to fight it. I will do just like Arnold and skip to the part where I feel bad to save everyone a little time.

Soon I have to rise and close this for the morning. There are chores to be tackled and preparations to be made before heading out to watch the ill-begotten game. This may be the last year I enjoy football, and the second half of the season was the clincher. Anyway, my tasks await. I am running out of words, too. Might as well just kill this for the day and do something else. Eh... More to say.

I wish I could just spell things out, but unfortunately there is fear of doing so, just like everything else in my fucking life. One fear leads to another and then I just fall all over the place. Weakened, frail, and constantly concerned for what may develop. Some days it's bad while others not so much. But the answer is always illuminated and waiting. Running out of words. I just fucking hate everything right now. And I am not quoting Angelina, either. I really hate it all.



964

Get used to it


So the master paradox of the universe is holding the reins. I cannot speak for fear of backlash (yes, even the slightest facial tick or change will set me off... Believe me I've seen it), but then keeping everything locked away is destroying me and needs to come out. Back to the other sentence, and then over and over. Mounting, growing fear, and increasing dissatisfaction with all around me is pointing to the trees. There is nothing I can fucking do about it any longer. I'll be in there soon enough. And then just pass the time as well as possible until the end of the journey. The need does not outweigh the fear. Nothing does, so I just go on making right turns and ending up in the same fucking place with a big sign on my head identifying the idea of others keeping their distance. The paradox is as stated. No way out.

Wow this movie is bad. Good actors (two, anyway), a slew of lovely women, but in the end it's crap. Too bad, because the two which came before were better. Alas, the machine wants money and remains unconcerned with how it is acquired. The film industry is ever-shrinking, like the number of words on this page.

Another image of Jamie and her eyes full of brightness. I wish there was room in mine for some of the same. No, not anymore. I know where I am going. The opposite of Tony... 'Who am I? Where am I going?'. For me, each has its respective answer. Slowly giving up one day at a time. Buried in myself.

No more wonder, promise, possibility, brightness on the horizon, excitement or anything positive in the future. Between the worry, fear, and tons of work, I have ruined myself for all time. Not even a machine could pull me up out of this shit. The forest is the only way. Fuck everyone. And good luck trying to understand whatever shows up here in the coming weeks. At least there will be less to read.

327.

She is out there."



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