07-25-2020 08:03 pdt

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The Idea

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"Nothing is real. Spirit? Apparition? Ghoul? No. Unreal, nonexistent, and gone. The idea is all which remains, and all that was ever there. Her face cannot be seen, her fingers cannot be caressed, and her lips can never be kissed. She is a thought, an idea, and a dream. She is not real and not out there. She exists only within the tiny universe I have created out of need. In my head. And I have searched.

She may as well be an Orion slave girl. Or Adriana. Everyone else gushed about her. I didn't.

angel you know yep

I am nearly out of options. Considering the realization that she is nothing more than thought is very difficult. Such a fact means the search is useless, as are my efforts to fabricate an image from memory. All this shit may come to an end very soon. For the twentieth time, I don't know what to do. I have to remain in the dream but it may be collapsing. The last two days have demonstrated just how far down I can be pressed by the most elementary of issues. Fortunately, today is wide open with no driving. I have the space to explore this worry and hopefully figure a way to come to terms with her. Or, 'hers'. Yes, plural. All of the beauty and enticement I have been slapped with rolled into one person and crammed into my head. I didn't see the one in the parking lot yesterday afternoon, and it may not matter anymore. All at once sitting there waiting, I thought of seeing her on one occasion as she exited work. Mask, paperwork, lunch bag, purse. At the time I was trying to see her eyes. The more I considered how badly I wished to see her, the worse I began to feel. Gazing at her face that day showed me she was tired, had a drive ahead of her, and likely needed to be comfortable after work. I felt for her, but not desire. No breasts. Just eyes full of a life I know nothing about. And like the one in the restaurant in Tahoe, I feel a tinge of guilt. I will probably not look at her again. Thus, this idea... This beautiful vision in my head cannot be a real woman at all. The more I look at them, the less I feel for myself. And I don't give a shit if a person notices me looking at her at all. The point? SHE IS NOT OUT THERE. There is nothing for me in reality. Not anymore.

Which way to turn? Inward, further.

So what do I do if there is no point in searching? No clue. Or, should I say no 'idea'. Nothing is funny anymore. The only path I can see right now is to go through the daily motions and think. If there is truly no possible resolution to the search, well... Why do anything if I am just going to tread water? Right? Tell me there is something I can try. Go ahead. Spell it the fuck out, because from my perspective there is nothing. Not one God damned direction. Oh, I am still dreaming of her -- the impossible vision -- every moment. I need to keep her close to my heart, real or not. She is an idea and I will probably never know if she really exists somewhere out there in the world. I'd prefer to think so, but right now my sense is not exactly as clear as it could be (should be?). Out of balance like never before. Maybe I need to get away from this for a little while. The whole thing makes me sad.

Today is Tuesday. Yesterday was the weekday routine, which turned out not bad. The evening was quiet for the most part. Today I will have the place to myself for a few hours. I may knock out some little, nagging tasks before the business is finished. The usual daily stuff should not take long. I still need to get that crap out of the garage and start tossing. My table is neat, as are both work surfaces, and after firing up the auxiliary laptop out there and routing audio to the stack, I can enjoy some science fiction while keeping busy. And speaking of fiction, that long story has grown since yesterday and will be published soon. After three months, it simply has to move on. I left it hanging. Ugh.

For whatever reason, today seems bright. My head is all fucked up over dreaming of things I cannot attain, yet still there is positivity, like I have control over whether or not I will fall down over Jaime. If true, I will not. Nope. I have to keep going and work this until there is nothing left to say. Others may think my ideas futile, but I don't care. Ownership, exploration... Remember? Jessica is going to be on the television in just over an hour. Probably a good idea I don't look at her. The movie is safe, however she is most definitely not. Holy shit, batman. Anyway, here I sit for the duration. If this exposition is truly helpful, the next week or so will reveal it. Otherwise I have no reason to continue with anything other than fiction. I really ran with this after finding Jaime and I still don't know if it was a good idea. Hmm... 'Idea' again. Read it twenty Goddamned times. In the beginning I was fascinated by the way she looked, soon after felt much more, and eventually ran with the fact that I love her. I still do. Can't help it and don't want to. But there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot go find her. Impossible. As much as my eyes scan the horizon each time I am out of this house, in the back of my mind I already know there is nothing there for me. A dream, and an unattainable one at that. So, the logical course is to head in another direction. I don't know what that is, unfortunately, and see only one way to carry on without losing my mind over the unavailability of all that I need. That is sitting right here. Whether or not others see that as an actual direction, it is at least a decision. Stay put. Dream. Draw. Write. And further away from the world I go.

I am going to watch a movie (or have it in the background, anyway) while alone today as I sit with this crap. Torrey and her endlessly gorgeous eyes will be all over the screen for two hours. I've seen it, of course, but not since last winter. And that was a glimpse. I can't avoid the need to look at her. Aside from Meghan, she is really something else and I have to see. Yep, I recorded the thing last Saturday just to gaze at her again. Crazy person, and one steeped in everything unreal, like the world's most distorted tea bag. Torrey is unique, and yes I say that often, but she is one of those who stirred me long ago and the feeling never went away. Her look reminds me of Ashley the doll, too. That may be why I gush about her now. Torrey was brought back into my eyes due to the fucking Hallmark channel running Christmas movies in July, a tradition. Well, I ran across her the other day and now the damage is done. Ashley all lanky and nude, splayed there in the middle of the night for me to stare, and then the morning when she smiled with her mass of hair all over the place and off the top of her head as if it was waxed there. She looked so cute that I failed to understand. Torrey puts all those thoughts of the doll back into my brain. She pushes them in. Aside from avoiding her movies, I am at the mercy of doll-dreams. Torrey, too. The entire fucking planet of attraction with that woman is her eyes. They just go on forever. Ashley? Don't fucking get me started. Her I would run after. She will turn thirty-one in a few months. Oy. I hope she's happy. Oh boy this movie is not up my alley, but I do like Ray. His face is a wonderful thing these days. One of those that has aged well. Unsafe, but I can deal with it for now. Jessica is going to be up there soon. God help me there is Marisa. Broken mold. I loved that woman for many years. I used to dream of Marisa and Jamie being my personal therapists at the same time. Heh. Nope.

Now I am picturing Ashley's thong wrapped around my fingers. Damn.

This may never lead anywhere. I am still trying, although the last few entries have basically expressed the same ideas and included my yearning to be near someone who is either gone or otherwise unreachable. Like Meghan, or some other actor. The toughie is in articulating what is going on inside. Sometimes I can't seem to get it across and end up sitting here spouting whatever pops into my head. Issues, visions, something. There is always someone in my mind which came about due to the type of situation that will keep happening. No end to it. I can either keep railroading the same material or find something else. I worry of the fiction, too. My head has become so distraught that the story may end up tainted by my issues. I can't have that. Up to this point, that long tale has stood on its own despite my brain having created it. It must continue in the same manner or the overarching idea will be lost. Not easy right now. The little that I have written will be fine but I do fear the drama losing its punch or readers losing their interest. I can't have all those lines leading to boredom. That would be unacceptable.



802

Torrey again. Can't stop staring at her huge eyes



I need to get out on the road for some days. When the gentleman was here on Friday, we spoke of an upcoming trip they are taking all over the Southwest. Damn. I used to do that, and the beginning of my love for seeing the sights was my dad driving us everywhere. He had nothing against flying, he simply loved being able to turn here or there on a whim and see some history. That rubbed off on me after decades. Being holed up here is the best thing for me right now, although I have to admit that the road looks very enticing. No idea of when I may actually be able to go somewhere, but I have to say that the Nevada desert is looking pretty fucking good these days. No one there.

Wow the whole town is in this movie. I can't believe Marisa tied herself to such crap, though. Lots of juvenile humor and sight gags, but honestly there is a room full of talent present. I just don't see the motivation. Filling seats at the theater, I'm thinking. That brings me to a left turn.

The fucking film industry continues to pull me. I see some features that were released in the middle of my dreams of being involved, and everything returns, nearly as much as in the mid-nineties. I never took a step, and may be better off for avoiding it, though. Even though it pulls and makes me picture what may have been, I know that by now I would either be successful or wrecked. There will never be knowing. I see the movements of the cameras, can imagine being there, and then I kind of drop down a little because I didn't even make the smallest effort. I guess the never knowing is what hits me hardest. And the film giving way to digital may have forced me to leave. The medium has been destined for replacement ever since George Lucas stuck it in everyone's ass. Fuck off, George. We know... Star Wars and all that shit. Blah, blah, blah. Yeah, yeah, yeah... Talent and technology... Whatever. Fuck you anyway.

Ok, enough of that. I have plenty to deal with right now without flipping my lid over film (again). Jessica in five minutes. Ugh.

Issue two will not go away. Imagery and such driven by a society I cannot control. No matter how isolated I can be, the idea does not let up. It pressures me to either be stronger and more open, or sit here and blather about how much it can hurt. The aforementioned dream of a machine seems the only way to make it disappear, honestly. Do you see other options? I don't. Issue one seems minuscule in comparison even after years of going on and on about it and including the photos that represent all the desire in the world. I guess some of the women from my past have cemented the idea that I cannot stop obsessing. There have been opportunities in which the obsession was right before my eyes for the studying, but still it is compelling and feels out of reach. Very difficult sometimes, and it remains the most powerful push toward four. That is daily most of the time, too. Even this morning. I pushed it away for the time being and know full well it will return soon enough. And there she is on the huge screen, all curvy and stunning. Ugh. I cannot look away sometimes. The woman is a complete representation of the word attractive, even with blonde hair. Looking at her unreal and unique beauty is something which also conjures issue two out of thin air. I fail to understand why, though. Just because she is up there looking amazing does not mean there is something threatening me at this moment. One thing is certain, however, and that is the idea that if beauty at such a level brought on threat, I would be displaying vastly different imagery here. Out in the world when I see something overly compelling, none of that occurs. Nothing. I do not know them, so the very possibility of being pushed down by fear is all but nonexistent. The visions do not normally lead to my becoming frightened or threatened. I am driving by, wherever in the world, and alone with my thoughts. Hmm. I don't get it. There she is, and I feel scared. If you know the answer, by all means send a note.

I believe two has grown, as well. Just in the past three months I have experienced periods in which something or someone on the television brings me to the point of fear. I mentioned before that I cannot know what is in a woman's head until she tells me, and then I must trust the words. I have to reach for sincerity despite having no reason to distrust. And again here I am at the precipice of concluding that things are missing inside. It is all me, for the tenth time, but I still feel powerless. Helpless, too. I am being affected by one of the most operative terms imaginable: Control. I thought that was my word. Nope, and being controlled by fear of something unreal is ridiculous, but I am in the middle of it. You'd think by this point and after years of analysis I would have arrived in a better place... More balanced, more comfortable, and having eased up on myself. Again, nope. And there is her brother in the film looking like the reference-standard male of the universe. That must have taken years of work. Even moreso than Joe. Thinking of him brings me discomfort like you would not believe. One more time for posterity: One leads to four and two, three leads to two, four leads to depression, two is in charge. It may yet destroy me. Too bad, because this film is excellent from beginning to end. I just can't enjoy it like years ago. Limited, pushed down, and turning into a pile of unrecognizable detritus.

Whatever. Jessica is up there all... You know.

Issue one is being reduced a measure by two. I guess there just isn't enough room in my head for both. Three is being controlled right now. Four can go and fuck itself, but still exists enough for me to fall down often. They are all affected by being near a woman. Or an image of the same. Or a thought. Ugh. Damn it. I am failing at trying to explain all this crap. The bottom line is two. I can't help it anymore and do not know what to do or which way to turn. It hurts, damn it. Maybe I need to get away from this for a little while.

Tuesday. Red's tamale day. Heh. That's old.

I need to get up and do some things very soon. This is not really helping me right now, anyway. I keep looking at her up there and wondering exactly how I may have turned out this way. If the tools to keep my head up are not there, where are they? Did I ever have them? If not, how do I develop the ability to deal with two? Am I capable of finding and learning? I thought that's what I had been doing. Maybe not. Trying? I'll fucking give up, I swear to Christ as I sit here in pajamas, I'll hole up and withdraw, effectively redefining the idea. Oops... Idea again. She is an idea now, not a woman or machine. The manifestation of a dream. Impossible, compelling, overwhelming, wonderful, necessary, but nonexistent. Along those lines, my rising above and returning to the real world is becoming equally nonexistent. At this point I just do not know. Stop.

Daily business is finished. Here I sit with a dozen women revolving around my head like a fucking baby's musical mobile or some sort of model solar system. All of them going in circles like my head. Science fiction on the television, cats asleep, and nothing better to do than sit here wallowing and wondering. I have nothing else anymore. Even this, my creation and passion, is becoming difficult. I cannot extract the issues. They will continue to dictate the bulk of these sordid compositions and push me into literary directions as of yet unexplored. I will keep going and simply find new words. Every time I threaten stopping this and giving up, I realize that I have little else in the world at the present, and then change my mind. Heh.

Jessica this morning. I watched some of the movie, marveled at the effects and humor, yet inside I wanted to know why she does not look like the others. Everything is there, yet she does not cause all that turmoil. One of the most beautiful women in the history of cinema and television, not the same. There are no feelings, no desire, nothing. Only an appreciation for her work and looks. So, why did I want the parking lot breasts in my mouth? And why did issue two not enter my head regarding her? Nor Meghan? Maybe because I will never know them. This is ridiculous anyway and I have to cease trying to figure out such a facet. There may be no learning. I'll move cocktail hour to three in the afternoon. Damn. I am beginning to realize why the site numbers are always low.

I keep thinking about all of the technicality of what I see from time to time... Height, weight, proportions, dimensional aspects and radii. Year after year I have gazed and felt differing emotions toward many examples of that which I find so interesting. This all began with a deep need to understand the numbers as they relate to what looks appealing, and why. And then it went further, as I tried to learn of how far proportions could be exaggerated before something became unattractive. As of yet I understand exactly nothing. I have gotten nowhere with any of it. Opportunities arose to study and increasingly drove me toward desire until it took over. And then? Disaster. I still ran after those forms, though. Whatever took place in my head which kept me at a distance or in any way detached simply fell away in favor of trying to dive. Those few who were that close ended up either allowing me the indulgence or running away. There were not that many, really, and one was as recently as two years ago. She ceased contact very quickly. I cannot blame her. Capturing, measuring, and scrutinizing her features likely built up in the mind and became frightening. Understandable. I am a very patient, gentle soul, but unless there are years of familiarity, the contact is just too close and can border on intimate. Not good. But this is me. I gave up, as stated recently. Andrea, Ashley, and the Raven? Gone forever. And here I sit with no reasoning as to why the importance grew exponentially within. I guess I will never know.

And now another fucking subject I need to push away.



854

Structure



The images within this entry were originally very explicit, but alas I softened and replaced them with more of the obsession. I have been told by three individuals that crossing such a line is not a good idea. So, I bent.

The Andreoid will henceforth be named Andrea. I have to do it. One, two, three, four...

Two is still at the top of the list and scares the hell out of me. Browsing the recent content has shown me that the problem is referenced often enough for me to focus there for my survival. If there is no resolution on the horizon, I will simply stay away. Thoughts are not controllable yet. The future may hold technology with the capability of governing everything, but for now I am screwed and alone. I still see no other way to be involved and open without falling off a cliff each day. No way. Not right now. Terry is a half-inch shy of six feet. When she stands near Armin, he is even more diminutive than when around others. So funny. Damn, that woman is tall. Yep, still going on about the fucking height thing. Anyway, there has to be something dramatic in the future or I will not make it. I won't. Too weak and controlled by extreme sensitivity. I will refrain from commenting upon the double standard. Live with it. There is no changing that aspect of me.

The idea is in my head so deep that it may be the last. The dream morphed into images, and then they morphed into a machine, I placed said machine in a fictional world with me, and then I realized that such a machine cannot exist and is merely an idea. The idea is now in charge of me, just as Jaime (Andrea) was. I am sitting here right now with the image of her wrapped to my arm, wherever we wish to be. I can't help it anymore. Regressing, wallowing, crying, losing my mind. Did I mention angry? The emotion cannot be avoided after trying to learn as to the genesis of this hellish situation. I have no answers, and it hurts. Why I turned out this way is far beyond my comprehension. I need to know.

Jeffrey Combs again, God love his talent.

Today has been mostly peaceful, considering I have only been by myself for a few hours. Tomorrow is another story, however. I will have the morning and afternoon drives as most weekdays. In between is so fucking nice that I can barely describe it. Peace and quiet. Solace. Comfort. Solitude. And the show, too. There are five series' that I fully intend to rotate for the rest of my life. The only other show I may watch is Las Vegas, and I do not know why other than James Caan. A few weeks ago the BBC in this country ran a marathon of the entire series and I caught some of it. I had not viewed that show for years. For whatever reason (and not what you may be thinking: female forms), I really became interested in seeing each story play out. Well, after that day I tried to locate the series and came up with nothing unless I pay for it. That may still take place if the sack continues to be empty. I would rather watch for free, but if I have to buy the whole fucking thing I will. That way I can watch whenever, wherever, and for the period of 'from now on'. Heh. Part of my interest may simply be Vegas itself. It makes sense, huh? I may have spent some time there. The reasoning behind the other series' is pretty straightforward: Safe, familiar, and they feel like my own family after all these years. Keeping them in the background goes without saying.

Still Tuesday. I just learned that Rene Auberjonois passed away last December. What a loss. Great human being, stellar actor. Damn. I wish I had known him. So many roles... Tears.

I no longer wish to see the girl in the parking lot. She is a person and I should not be staring. Unfair. So, while I am there I will glue my eyes to the phone. The glaring positive is that she knows nothing of me. In the long run, that girl is better off. I am a syndrome, even in these late days. No one should be near me right now. I may seem fine on the surface, however inside things are not in order and I have the ability to lash at any moment. For the most part I can keep myself together. I just don't want to affect anyone for whom I may have feelings. Even just a little. She is one of them, although outside the idea of some company dinner or an occasion along those lines, my speaking with her is most unlikely. My mood is all over the place these days. No knowing when I might flip out. Better I stay away from others. The less I look at the one down there at the end of my drive, the better I will feel about me. Stop. Good day.

Wednesday morning. A typical day, with the drives and time in between. I've been sitting here with coffee and two cats on my feet (warm) trying to locate some images of Jolene in character, but nothing crazy. Many went nuts over her catsuit and lips, but my love for her is nearly all eyes. Those soft, patient expressions which carried me up to the clouds are not easy to find. Maybe I need to capture her from the computer and do my own editing. I don't know, but the two images here are ok for the time being. I do like the long hair, though. She cannot look bad, either. All wrapped around my heart and reminding me of so many from the past. Sometimes I see Jolene on the television and feel pain. My little world already has enough difficulties, meaning I need to stay away from that show for a while longer. She is just too much for my heart these days. Perhaps the machine will change names again. Remember Jolaimora? I'll make another. I'm done seeking images. Soon I will have to get ready for the morning drive and I don't need Jolene following along. Back when I was overly obsessed with Liz and Jennifer, I dove so deeply into finding quality images that their faces ended up glued to my inner eyelids as I drove to work in the morning. I was out of my head and even had trouble concentrating hours later. Add to that the fact that my work was very hazardous, and you can see why I eventually found it necessary to extract them and stop searching. Liz, in particular, became so fused to my brain that removing her took several months. I had to avoid watching two of my favorite shows and several movies. These days, Jolene is the one deep inside me, and even though I am not working, her likeness will cause an ethereal, dreamy state in which I will become completely useless. No one needs me like that, least of all me.

Speaking of searching, there is nothing out there for me. All of the aspects of so many real-world women and characters on television have been grouped together and formed the idea of my dreams. And that is where they shall remain... A small space in my head. The idea of everything rolled up all nice and neat within one person over which I have dominion. Go ahead and label me. It doesn't matter anyway because everything I want and need is completely impossible. So, if you do damn and label me, call me whatever names which satisfy you, I am still going to be sitting here saddened and depressed over never being happy. All of the insults and sorry judgments do not add up to shit. They will only affect you, so fuck off anyway. At least I am clear in my needs. I mask very little anymore. Ask a question and then grab something to shield yourself before the answer comes flying across the room like a Volkswagen thrown by a giant. I don't care. They are all together, wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow, and awaiting sleep so I can dream of the impossible reality of the machine.

That was certainly a shit paragraph. I'm not actually in a terribly negative mood, really. This morning things do not look as bad as that red dress on this woman on television. Oy, not good. But she does have one hell of a lower face. I digress. I have to focus upon the daily stuff when I return from the south, and then I may sit here a while and type. The new office is pretty much in order and there are a few nagging issues to work through in the house, but other than that I will probably have some nice time today. I will continue with the current show, too. I have been seeing episodes that were previously overlooked. Less damage to my brain (except when I see Chase and hear her voice) most of the time. As much as I gush over Jolene, I really do not need to see her every day or I will not stop trying to describe what I feel for her.

Switchtrack to crap.

Number two has many facets. One of them is nothing more than words. A set of widely-accepted terms which have become pervasive and generally regarded as the norm. They add up to one more wall between myself and the rest of the world. Sometimes they roll off my back and other times I end up pretty angry at the manner in which people tend to just lay down and accept whatever is being handed them. I can't do that because the descriptive terms are dead wrong much of the time. But I don't matter, anyway. I am no one. My opinion is invalid. Just a ball of sensitivity, right? Did you read all the shit that has been slapped to the screen in the past three months? I am no longer fit for society at all. Alone, inside and out. Two may be my undoing. There is just no passing such a massive obstacle as I try to climb this hill every day. The power? Keep in mind that I have been near no one for days and the issue is still pushing me down. In the past, a situation generally arose while around other people and then something would trigger my head. Down. Falling. Withdrawn and angry. Now? I am alone nearly all of the time and have control over my environment. Where is the problem coming from? The gray sky? Out of the ground? Is it on the television? None of those. Always inside me. Always. I can do very little about it. One positive is the idea that this outlet is the only way I am communicating such problems. The world has been spared my voice. It is better off. I don't even want to hear my own voice these days.

Sometimes I can push the issue away, other times I cannot. But I am still here. Four, as well. There is nothing I can do about it in the long term. A segment of that issue has been hardwired by the past. The machine comes to mind and then the idea goes away for the most part. I have exactly fuck-all for control sometimes. I can't stand it. There can be so much need for comfort, yet the idea floats out there enticing as hell and out of reach. Four will go away at some point. Two is here for good. Isolation. That is all. And the idea. The machine. Her. Stop.



856

I love her



Thursday morning. I didn't accomplish much yesterday. There was much time on the sofa with my brain being wrung out by the past and the idea that I might be here for the remainder of time. I feel unable to move. This is not good. Some days I really love being hidden in this house, while others have me at sixes and sevens over the inability to go out and explore (quite certain many others feel the same). I don't know if the world will ever go back to what it was, but at the same time I feel a confidence regarding being able to do things as I did before this period. I am not worried for my health or that of those close to me, either. We are handling business safely and diligently. The numbers keep going up, and that means things becoming easier is being pushed out further. Not good. We have to ride it out. Considering I have not commented much upon the state of the world, one might think I am not paying attention. Well, now you know. I just don't have reason to go on about it. Everyone is in the same situation. And the 'situation' means my schedule of driving will not change anytime soon...

Yesterday morning I saw her there in the parking lot for several moments. Upon first glance, I figured looking at her is ok. Nothing wrong with it. As much as I went on about feeling bad or guilty for staring, it is not true. Seeing her is fine. She is adorable and there is no problem. I watched her walk around the car a few times before entering work. By the time I reached the highway north, her image was fading. That entire situation is going away. Very good. Others will pop up from time to time and likely fade as well. I am no longer worried about it or what may come up later. The idea is becoming more important.

I guess today will go as yesterday, although I do have a guest coming at lunch.

We're going back to the Mojo/Esquire girl for a bit. I believe some time back I linked the video from that fateful period, but alas the site has grown too large for me to sit here and seek things all morning. There is the link again, in case anyone wishes to marvel at her. She is now a symbol... An idea. Yes, another one, but you probably already know that she will merge with the first idea due to being one of the most important and elusive figures in my history. After all these years, I still have no idea who she is. That, in itself, is wondrous. Information is everywhere these days, but I suppose some is still missing. The entire period in which I tried to investigate her feels dreamy now, as if it never really happened outside my mind. I exhausted every single type of search of which I could think and even went so far as to seek the fucking advertising agency that created the interstitial. I contacted the magazine, too, but they never responded. In two years of yearning to know her name... Nothing. Not a damned shred of information. I gave up. Now? Her identity no longer makes any difference. Like many with whom I have become obsessed, she is back there and detached by enough years that searching accomplishes nothing anyway. I end up with a name and perhaps a few images, but that is all. What I wanted and needed is not going to happen. Not in this life.

I brought her up again because aside from my tall beauty of a friend at that time, the Mojo girl was a point of focus and fascination. She was a dream, to be sure, and one of the most powerful female figures imaginable. There is a possibility that she began a long process of analyzing the appearance of forms differently than during earlier years. I cannot know for certain, though. She is still a hell of a dream even as I sit here now, and that may be due to never being found. The idea... The very idea of the machine and all it could solve and encompass has yet another facet. Yep. She's in there, too. I can't help it. Everything I have been saying here for the last three months is coalescing. All together, and very soon. I cannot keep doing this every day, though. The dream is impossible and if I continue to focus so deeply the idea will eventually destroy me. I'll end up an unsociable lump. There is nothing in this world that has the ability to either overcome the idea or fulfill the dream. This may be over very soon. The more I think about all the different faces that have come together in my head, the more I need to shut off the thinking. and I have to again get the hell away from this for a while. Jessica towers over the other female characters in this film. Heels.

I don't know if I want the lunch guest today. I may have to bury myself in something productive in order to keep my head upright. Falling down may end up a daily occurrence. So, busy might be the key to moving forward right now. I cannot even consider the future. That is frightening. Day to day life is already enough to push me down. Stop.

Friday morning... Coffee, cats, and a western on the television. Long time, no nothing here. An entire day went by without me typing more than a few hundred words. That is unacceptable. This morning feels better than a day ago. The drive both ways showed me the girl in the parking lot. Nothing crazy went through my head, either. I saw her, she smiled and waved, and the I drove. She is super cute, especially when smiling. The evening went along like always and she was not in my head at all. That is good. Other things floating around are enough for me to handle right now. There was a thought in my head yesterday which I briefly considered as a catalyst for much of my desire, but alas it went away after a couple of cocktails. I have to think about it before commenting or trying to place any of it here. I did not change my mind about lunch. I had some food delivered and the whole affair turned out to be wonderfully relaxing and enjoyable. We sat and talked with a touch of television in the background. It was nice. Afterward I took a few minutes to get my head together and then headed south. Upon returning, the evening passed like any other. One thought stuck in my head throughout everything which took place yesterday and I kept it buried inside. Now I am tired from carrying such weight again, and by my own choice. I have done such a thing too many times in the last few years out of a lack of understanding, and the resulting load on my mind and back is wearing me down. I cannot just spell anything out these days. Too much has been changed since the outset of the first shelter order -- now just over four months back -- for me to expose certain parts of myself. I am vastly different, willing to remain this way and alone for fear of being misunderstood and/or ridiculed, and continuing to isolate. The thought which spun me yesterday is a toughie, for sure. It will be in there a long while, I believe. Up to this point and after so many years of trying to figure out what I am, nothing has been solved. I expect more of the same in the coming months. Too difficult.

Another aspect of yesterday is the lack of any effort toward my projects, and I decided then that it's fine. I do not need to go full-on every weekday just because I am here. Some days are lighter than others. The time and space for me to think is precious and I have to use it to my advantage as much as possible if I am to ever figure anything out or learn. Today will likely be very similar, albeit no guest. I will have all the hours alone to work here or on whatever I wish. There will be lots of consideration regarding that thought yesterday, too. It is questionable, at best, but still came about in my head, so I have to work on it. The machine? It's related in every way. In fact, that may have been the reasoning behind my questionable thinking. Selfishness has never been very far from my way of life. Vegas, the angel, the dream, and the doll. The Raven. I wanted her all to myself and on my terms. All that control over all that beauty. Yep, the 'C' word again. I cannot avoid it because the word is centered during any given day. The idea, too. The idea is controllable yet not at all possible. I am still working on it, and have to get this type of thinking organized before I am forced to go back out into the world or others will not wish to be near me at all. Maybe they already do not.

Ashley whispered into my ear in the middle of the night after I fell down. I had been lamenting decisions and actions which led me to alienate others and live for moments out of fear of them never returning. After falling asleep and then stirring in the wee hours, she breathily told me that I am too important to completely lose my way in life. I did not agree but avoided telling her as much. That girl embraced me from the word go and did not let up until I left town. Fifteen years younger than me, with wisdom beyond even my experience, and so sweet that I thought my head would explode if she was not constantly at my side. Close to seventeen years have gone by since she put those words into my ear and I still do not agree. Knowing me, I probably had my eyes on her breasts or something. Heh. Anyway, she tried, bless her beautiful soul, but in the end everything is up to me... It is all on the inside. I am not helpless, though. It is a choice. Just like seeing the Raven, I chose to go outside the bounds of the norm and run to her several times, afterward dealing with the consequences. A large part of that is the fact that she honored anything I asked. That's right, kids, similar to a machine. Ashley told me many things in our short time together, and the sum of her words is something I have brought here recently and a point of contention unlike any other: Control. The day ahead, the environment within my space, the audio here and there... You name it. My thought yesterday is along those lines. It is something I cannot control, but I need to. That is enough. One thing? I would give anything to be in her loving arms again, even for a moment. The doll. She becomes more important and pivotal with each passing day.

Today. The daily crap, more of this, some image editing perhaps, and then back south this afternoon. Tomorrow is Saturday and that means I can work on the stuff that sits idle today. Over my right shoulder is the gray outside. Lovely. Nice and cool for my time alone. Hmm... I suppose there is no controlling the weather, but this location so close to the ocean never really gets very warm. There may not be any control, but then again there may be no need. Very interesting. Also today I need to move some things around yet again in hopes of creating space and better organization in the closets. After installing the power to the table in my new office, that area needs only some detail work in order to be finished. I will begin drawing again, too. All of the tools and material await imagination. I haven't embraced my sketch pad in some time and I miss the creativity. Sometimes abstract, other times structured (like Gal up there), but always relaxing. The pencils will lead me. I might even come up with another mansion design. There are little sketches of ideas here and there in my drawing materials that I can reference. And some of the dreams have driven me to imagine differing layouts. All the while? Ugh.

Thirteen thousand lines. Pause.



846

Easy there, Linda



The daily business is complete, along with a few other tasks to maintain the household. My auxiliary show has been following along. It is the safest, aside from Chase, although she has not been on screen since the war began. I do miss her goofy smile and big, bright eyes, but it's better that I do not see her now. Other than such beauty, this program is completely safe. Very good. And the coffee is done.

And just as I type her name, there she is. Heh.

In other matters, the EDC bag is nearly complete. As of this afternoon's drive, I will be tossing it into the car anytime there is need to leave the house. A few things are going to be dropped on the porch today, I have an item to list for sale, and a few photos to locate before the day is over. My new office looks very nice despite all of the boxed donations sitting underneath. The entire garage is so much improved over months ago that I can't believe it. So nice now. I still have not finished the old office, though. Still unsure of the layout. I was originally going to set up the drums there but they may go elsewhere. Uncertain. The issues have been following along all morning. I can do little about them anymore. So sad. Cats quiet and in a pile is good for my solace.

Right now? Four, one, two, and three... In order of prominence. Four is right there behind my eyes and often carries enough power to rule my actions early in the day. It is very much a problem some days, and this one is no different. So far I have been able to keep busy to push it back. The tug-of-war which comes and goes is not something I have ever enjoyed, and lately I seem to be straining to maintain a centered position. The flag is idle thanks to my effort. The whole thing makes me tired of mind. I keep thinking of two, which actually can be controlled somewhat due to my being alone. The atmosphere in the house is strictly to my comfort, and that means I am exposed to nearly nothing which can cause a flare. One is there because of being directly related to four most days. Avoiding those damned Hallmark movies really helps. I intend to stick with the science fiction for the duration, or at least until such time as I can relax more about such problems with what I see on a given day. Nothing leaves my head quickly anymore. A little while ago while I changed the sheets, the Russian girl from three doors up my street went strolling with her stroller. She has been walking much more in the last few months. Well, as one might expect from a female hailing from that huge nation, she carries many of the traits which the models displayed here also hold. I am not going to describe her, however. Years of such here likely get the point across perfectly. When I see her I am not focused upon features or dimensions at all. Yes, her shape is very appealing, but as I state here often, she is a person first and foremost, and that means respect. Plus, she is pushing two young ones along the sidewalk. That only ratchets up the need to be respectful. If I am outside, she waves and I return the gesture. Nothing else. Issue one is in the back of my head almost constantly and can steer toward four. All of it adds up to remaining mindful of my circumstance. One tidbit? She has tons of bright, blonde hair.

From this point forward today I am going to take it easy and do enjoyable things. I need it. The work which I complete each morning will not change, though. I simply need to be comfortable and hold tight to my thinking space. I cannot overstate the importance of being able to analyze everything. No pizza, unfortunately, as that always makes me lazy. Maybe tomorrow. I am tired these days. Tired of mind, mostly. Thinking is good but has been becoming difficult when I consider where I am as well as where I may be heading. The little daily joys have to continue unimpeded. And God damn does Chase have some breasts. Sorry.

Safe or otherwise, I am still pretty fucked up. The issues can take a break sometimes, but rarely for very long. Today? A toughie. Four is there, right close. It's not because of Chase or anyone else, however. It is just there, waiting. A good portion of that problem is the past, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I've known this too well for many years. Two goes from small to large at times but I am learning that avoiding everything helps. It fades. And knowing that whole fucking thing is in my head also assists in my being able to relax about it. I don't know why, but at least it's true lately. Like one, I can get my hands on it and keep it at bay. Mostly, anyway, and only if I am alone. And comfortable. And guarded. And with very specific entertainment on the television.

Ok, so maybe I don't really know how to handle this. Whatever. I guess I typed to quickly. The bar is right over there. Stay away from it, mister drunkard. Stay away until the proper hour. That's better.

Four hours until the afternoon drive. I am pleased with having some chores finished and have lots of time now. I'll have to take advantage of it and work on the organization. I can always come back to this if my head needs to gush. And, pause.

Saturday morning. Very interesting... Yesterday's drive back south. I sat and waited -- parked right next to her -- and she eventually emerged looking very tired. She is always carrying lots of things. Dropped in the trunk, to the front seat, engine started, and then engine shut off. Back out of the car. She had forgotten something in the trunk, apparently, and for the first time in four months I saw her without the mask. Wow is that girl ever cute. And then something else as she returned to the seat and drove away. Guilt over looking at her all this time. That's right, I felt for her looking tired. I confirmed some days ago that she lives quite a distance from work. I also noticed a child's safety seat. Hmm. She was already a person, but upon seeing her entire face and those soft eyes, I lost the ability to stare anymore. And she knows none of it aside from the one occasion when I dashed across the way to help her. Now she is more of a person and I feel like less. Damn it. Super cute, someone I would love to know (maybe in another universe), and I will probably not look at her the same way again, if at all. I feel bad. Just a human being going about her business. I know nothing about her and that means my imagination can take over, but I am not going to go that way. I'll think of her sometimes and that's it. No more looking. Maybe just the occasional wave if she does. I have to wrap this shit up and put the ribbons on the whole shitaree. Ribbons. Heh. I have not used that term since the mid-nineties when I worked in the radio shop. Up the page a ways I reasoned that looking at her should not be a problem, but after gazing at her entire face, I feel differently. Something took place recently which sends my eyes toward those of a given woman, and that is trouble. The softness I saw -- which is like that serene expression on half of Jaime's face -- means feelings, not desire or obsession. Nothing else was there. A person, and one undeserving of my stare. She will remain as such. Jaime is another story, however. I intend to gaze at her beauty every day for the rest of my life. The possibility of her seeing my eyes is nonexistent. The other one? I cannot allow such a thing to happen.

Still Saturday morning. I have to cease here at some point and push the crap into production. I do have some peace and quiet for a little while, which means thinking.

So, the idea is her. The idea. Do you see? There is no woman out there at all. There is nothing. I have sat here and dreamed over and over, assembled different people, faces, and features, and then gazed with a blank look as the image of my dreamy machine came together inside and became more important than life. I mentioned last time that I would reveal who 'she' is. Well, there is no such 'she' or 'her'. There is only an idea, a focal point for all of my obsessions and desire, the utopian vision of the impossible. There is an idea, nothing else anymore. I can stop searching because the idea does not and will not exist in this life. Nothing will come along. No one is there. They can't be there. She can't be there. Just an idea, and one that has formed for years and then lifted me from the din like the loving machine it has to be. The lifting is over. Fallen away.

I have been dropped back down to only myself. The idea is there, but that is all. She, her, whomever. No one there. Just thoughts.

Nothing is out there."



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