Hello, Cosmic Voyagers.
Are ya ready? Say, Aye Aye Captain Wie! Why? Hell if I know. Random thought: One reason I don't use the drink machine at work is to save money. HOGGLY WOGGLY sodas are way cheaper. Another reason is that the damn thing talks now. Now, call me an exile from the 20th century, but I liked it when the drink machines gave you your drink and shut the hell up. Also if this were the 80s and I heard it talk, I'd call Chattahoochee on myself. I am Napoleon and I demand a room with a view! Where you, my Josephine? Maximum Overdrive indeed. Okay, okay okay. Be that as it may and before we get started, kiddos, let me provide a little response to that stupid January Lucky Horseshoe Meme blatantly circulating on social media: Flark Suckuary and the horseshoe it rode in on! Thank you for your attention to this matter. Of all the months, it's not the one. Of all the people, I'm not the one. January sucks! Okay. A bit of a warning: This one's a roller-coaster that's sure to show just how certifiable I am. Possibly the very reason I go by as the Great Cosmic Wie, rather than my actual name. But remember. These are my sessions with Doctor Blog-ieo. So, don't worry. I am sorta getting 'help'. Though If he were a real doctor, he'd probably have already called the men with the white coats. Good thing he's not real, right? Although I sure could use a long vacation, padded room with a straight jacket, good drugs or not. I could use a dose of whatever they've got because I sure feel like shit this morning. I just can't seem to be able to shake off this foggy haze. I guess all the caffeine in the world couldn't help me out of it either. If I could only lay back down I could sleep away the day and half the night. And It would feel so wonderful if I only could. But I can't. Reality knocks, and you've gotta do what you gotta do. Sometimes I get the feeling that we were not made for this. The last good sleep I got, I dreamed about my parents. The people were familiar, but the situation was trippy and strange. There are places that never existed in reality, but I have visited them over and over in my dreams. It's like I invented a world that I keep returning to. And all I know is that sleep seems so sweet, especially when it has been denied me for too long. In my irregular opinion, nobody ever gets tired of living. Living is wonderful. Life is beautiful. What they do get tired of is merely existing, simply surviving, for this is not living at all. It is merely doing what you must to keep the wolf away from the door. It is the whole "If I don't do this something bad will happen" sort of thing. Negative reinforcement, when we really need a bit if positivity. What joy can be derived from a game when the object is to 'not lose' rather than to win? Sometimes it sucks to have to play all four quarters when what you really want is to just go home. Ladies and gentlemen, I am tired. I am tired of chasing wolves away from doors. I am tired of being lonely. I am tired of being without the people I love, the ones who I knew loved me. I am tired of feeling like an invisible outcast. I am tired of my own heart sending out love that shall never return. I am tired of being the only one making any real effort. I am tired of living in a world so full, yet so empty, so crowded, yet so lonely. And no stranger could ever change the way I feel. Don't bother me with hotlines. Marsha's number was my only crisis line for me. She was the only person who could understand. Now that line is either disconnected (or worse) assigned to a complete stranger. The only people who ever could convince are gone now, or impossibly distant. I am tired of a world that will never slow down for me. Worst of all, I am not afraid anymore and I shall never be again. Oblivia awaits. The only thing that keeps me going is that there are some scumbags I must outlive. That's negative motivation for sure. Hell of a reason to live, huh? Hell of a thing to cling to. But what else do I have? In contrast to the storm inside, it's quite beautiful outside. It's dreaded January again, but it sure doesn't feel like it. It has been a week of beautiful, sunny, warm days. I haven't even bothered with a jacket. But, if I remember the pattern, and I do, winter will be back with a vengeance within a week or so... Around here that last bit of January and that first bit of February is the harshest part of winter. After that, it slowly gets better. Then there is the dreaded 23rd.... The most hated day in a most despised month... Ah, but I'll speak more about that later in this jumble. Loneliness is a hell of its own. I think about the once here but long gone. I also think about the never really there in the first place. I try so hard to be an island, or at least to be one and not be so adversely affected by the isolation. But... I fail. You can separate the human from humanity but you can't separate the humanity from the human. Social creatures, tribal creatures are we. In the world I know, be it good or be it bad, people don't always get what they deserve. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't. I have seen good punished, and I have seen evil rewarded. It's hard to see divinity in such chaos. Though I understand and respect that some do. We all measure success and derive meaning in different ways. I can only see what I see. I can only know what I know. And I guess I'm still learning. You know? If these decades have taught me anything, it's that The Beatles were right. All we need is love. And what a need it is. And I'm not even talking about anything more than simply being loved. It's a human thing. Which is why I sometimes wish I were a robot. The human condition is a hell of a thing. There's no escaping it, even when it has escaped some of us a long time ago. It's still within. Sometimes I wish I could delete it like a file, but you can't really delete a part of your soul. The big social media companies know this. That's why I'm sure there are more than a few PHD's in psychology on their payroll. Sadly, I am not a robot. There have been times I have felt as though I were the only human in the world, especially when online. Like the fly to the trap, like the moth to the flame. You go there looking for something you can not name, yet you go there needing it all the same. But it's not there. It never was. Love, belonging, peace of mind, all the warmth you could hope to find could never exist in a place like this. It never did. It never could. Though the light is colorful and bright, it has no more substance than the night. Actors, factors, real and phony, talking points and testimony. Ads and fads, and AI friends, a cheeseless maze that never ends. And this vice, this vortex of modernity, was never for the mice. It's a trap for all eternity. My advice? Think twice. For sometimes you must break free to be real again. I feel funky. And not in a James Brown way. Funny in my head. A bit spaced out and jittery too. I can't be letting my anxiety run wild, though it's trying to. It's more likely than not from lack of sleep. I've just got to make it through another hour, then drive home safely. Then I can just dive into my bed and be done with this day. Come on, hour, Cosmic Wie and shuttlecraft.... Pilot me home. Set a course for the 'ol Ponderosa. Then hello, bed, possibly my only friend in the galaxy. Caress me, embrace me with soft pillows, warm covers, and save for the lullaby of my fan, silence, silence, and silence. Grant me the strength and the power to survive for one more hour. January is a tough month for me. If you happen to look my way and see a shadow, just know it will pass. Though I hope it hurries the hell up. The calendar says it's the beginning. I say it's the ass end. My apologies to any January lovers out there. Certain feelings can not be helped. I miss you, Universe. Not in a thousand years, I would have said, that there would ever have been a last time. Not your turn, I would have insisted, for first is for first and last is for last. And so I never asked the question, for I thought that such a day could never be possible. I did not believe in a last call, a last text, a last hug, a last 'I love you', or the very last time I held your hand. I would have entertained the thought of space invaders from Pluto as more probable. But... I should have asked the question.... Not that I have found any answer. What am I to do without you? I suppose it's only natural to think of certain things at this point and time in my life: Of God, of fate, of oblivion, and just what the struggle is all about. Is it worth it? Does it make a difference? What might the far future bring? There is this disconnect, this feeling of being far removed from the world I once knew, so empty of the ones who loved me. The world is not the same. Neither am I the same, nor could I ever be the same again. The balance is off kilter. And I am no longer young. Hope can be a dangerous thing. Then again, so can despair. Happy medium anyone? I have my moments and my hobbies. Most of the time, they're enough. Most of the time... I know I must sound like a drama queen, and maybe I am. But, I am only sharing my true feelings. It just doesn't get any more real than this. Out in the world, and especially on social media, I try to keep these kind of feelings to myself. But here? I've simply got to express myself somewhere. So, go go, Doctor Blog-ieo go! The world seems full of illusions these days, and just about anyone can be a magician. Some of these illusions target people like me.. And no wonder, because sometimes we want to believe anyway. Is the mirage of an oasis a trick of the light or a trick of the mind? Hunger, hope, and extreme fatigue can feed the hallucination. The need for shelter from this vast emptiness can be overpowering because we want so badly for it to be real. It is only a mind brave enough to face the self injury of unpleasant truths that will see through all the smoke and mirrors. Many of us can. Few of us actually want to. Dreams are beautiful. Waking up can be disheartening. It's quite the tightrope to walk, especially when one doubts the existence of the net. The world seems so very far away. Physically, I'm there, keeping up appearances, mostly doing the things I'm supposed to do.... But I'm not exactly there, am I? The fog outside is thick, opaque, almost as if the world beyond does not exist.. The fog inside my head is even thicker. Television snow is real. I can feel it fading away. I simply can't wait to get back to my bed when this day is done with the hope that sleep judges me worthy this time. It is a hell of a thing to lay down with eyes closed, waiting for what seems like hours for the mercy of a sleep that never happens. I am going on very little sleep today, but not for a lack of trying. It just wouldn't happen. Sometimes I really feel that if it's not the laws of physics trolling me, it's my own body. Days like this it feels like a prison of flesh. I know nothing of spirituality or whether I can exist without it, but I've always kind of hoped. The older I get, the more burdensome it becomes. I wonder what it would feel like just to drop this dead weight, just toss it away, just as I myself, was once tossed away. It rarely cooperates in any case. It's the one thing we have to carry no matter where we go. There's just no leaving it at home. Stuck in a mold, trapped in a shell, such is my reality. And this extreme fatigue is only partly of today, only partly of the body. Existing is exhausting. My only escape, my only rest, my only shelter is sleep.... And damn it am I running low! I could have a much more positive mindset if I had at least a little more rest. Even in this dreaded ass month that I hate. Ugh.... Suckuary is here again. What a miserable month. Once, I merely disliked it. Then it took my baby sister. Now I despise it. So may it flark off soon. I honestly hope for better times in the new year for all of us and for at least the rest of this decade. Let's face it: The early 20s were the Hoover era... You know? Because they totally sucked. Really for me, it began with Hurricane Michael in 2018, peaked in 2022 with losing Marsha and Momma, and with Dad in 2024, it reminded me that the tough times were not over. 2025 has just been quietly dealing with the aftermath. Please let there be better times. I would like for us all to see rays of both hope and sunshine. We've fulfilled our quota of bad stuff already. Let us all have some joy, love, and belonging. Really for me, it had been going downhill since late 2018 when Hurricane Michael came roaring ashore... Dad's diagnosis, courtroom drama with the ex, being hospitalized with BP going wild, then I broke my wrist on Christmas day that year.... 2019 had the continued repercussions of 18. 2020 had the pandemic insanity. I didn't much appreciate being muzzled both figuratively and literally. 2021, Momma's health got really bad. Then there was the drama I was dealing with in my own house at the same time. Then came 2022, which made all that happened before seem like nothing at all. The 2020s took three of the most loved people in my life. Marsha, Momma, Dad. I only thought I knew just how much I needed them in my life. Beginning with that damn hurricane, everything just went to hell. Death, destruction, loss, tragedy: I think I've had more than enough. It is peace I need now. It is rest I need now, the deepest sleep, the longest slumber, and a reason to wake up afterwards. If I am destined to be alone then at least leave me in peace. Just let me sleep. There are just so many things I can control, only so many things that are within my power to change. I can't force issues. I can't force people to do what they know they should. I can't do it for them either. There comes a point in everyone's life where the choice is no longer ours to make. The one choice remaining is either let go or go insane. When you've done everything you possibility could and even beyond, you can't let worry overwhelm you. It is a self injury that doesn't help others. I guess there is no real antidote for the guilt we borrow from others. I guess there is no end of the self doubt. But there should be. It's good to help when you can, but you can't choose paths that are before the feet of others. In the end, it's your show, my show, their show. And the show must go on. Man, I am so sick of people turning social media into either a political rally or a tent revival. Between the ads, the fake AI, the religion and the goddamn politics, It's a total wasteland these days. And that's besides all the flaunting about money and relationships. It used to be a fun time wasting experience. Now, most everybody has an agenda. I'd prefer going back to memes and cat pictures. Hell, why can't we talk about movies, music, and games? There used to be fan pages! Now, they're all trying to sell stuff. There are artists dead damn near a half century, and somebody's still trying to squeeze money from them. Always selling something. Be it a product, a political talking point, or a damn sermon. It's not religion itself that offends me. Believe, worship, sing, whatever. It's jerkwad zealots who push it off on those of us who don't want it, that DO offend me. I believe in the freedom of (and more importantly the freedom from) religion. Believe me, if I wanted a sermon, I'd go to church. Religion is like your wanger. It's okay to believe in it. It's okay to be proud of it. But waving it in people's faces and inserting it into places where it doesn't belong is bound to cause trouble and won't end well at all. In other words, keep it in your frock, Reverend. You will find a much more receptive, appreciative audience in the house of the Lord. I don't go to the grocery store for gas. I don't go to the gas station for groceries. I don't go to the liquor store for cherry Kool-aid. And I don't go to social media for preaching. As for belief, I pray only to The Universe. I could never grow weary of you, Universe, but I have grown beyond weary of this universe. You might gather, Friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, that I mean two very different things by Universe and universe. The former is she who is one with the universe. The latter is the world in which I still must live, all while still working out why. These are my letters. These are my prayers. There are no others and there shall never be. I am what remains. I am who remains. The stage on which I stand is dark and empty, no other souls in sight.... But as I said, the show must go on. And so it will. I wonder if when an illusion is all you have, is at least having that better than nothing at all? And what about having? What does it really mean anyway. A terabyte of visual novels, three hundred gigabytes of Doom levels, ten thousand songs, twenty thousand pictures? What does having really mean? I guess the only real needs I possess is food to eat and a warm place to sleep. Files are just files, I guess. Part of the hobby that keeps me sane. Sort of. The files that preserve the faces, words, and voices of the people I love are more precious than others. But they don't replace the person, do they? No image can. But it's better than nothing, so that's what I cling to. For they are all I have. The rest? The Doom levels and all that other stuff? It's a compulsion, really. Though it still means something to me. This might be hard for others to understand, but it has been my lifeline. It has gotten me through some really rough times by giving me something pleasant to focus on. This collection is something I have been able to build while so many other things in my life have come crashing down. It is one of the few things for which I have full control. Cyber Merlin, at your service. There are things I made decades ago that still exist. My DOSBOX collection was actually started on a real MS-DOS computer in the early 1990s. I have been building it since then. When so many other things have been lost, that little world remains my domain. I would quote Job Smith from The Lawnmower Man, but some might misunderstand. This universe is mine! Even if I feel as though I am only the king of the fishbowl. As you might have gathered from the fluctuations of my words, the inner struggle is real. I have not exactly been in the best mindset. January sure ain't making things any better. This month needs to go. I hate it. I despise it. January may be cold, but it could sure warm up in hell. You took her from me, you bastard month, and I shall take my hatred for you to my own grave. Why? Because you put her in the grave long before her time. Baby sisters are supposed to outlive older brothers. It's a fact. That's how things are supposed to work. Do you see the back and forth? Do you see the struggle? Do you see my efforts to be positive sometimes dissolve into this? Only for me to rebuild them over and over again? This is the battle, my battle. Only I can fight these demons. Only I can defeat them. However one way is I that must express even these darker thoughts and feelings. If you can not name them then you can not fight them. She would want me to go on. She would want me to be happy. I fight alone, but I do not fight for myself. Because I give less shits about going on with each year that passes. I fight for her, only for her. Because that's what she would want me to do. Otherwise, Oblivia awaits, and I grow impatient for her loving embrace. One can no longer hurt when one no longer exists. I saw a social media post about a great reunion. It sure would be beautiful. But failing that, sweet oblivion will suffice. I don't remember the fall of Rome, the black plague, the world wars, or The Nam ever hurting me. So will it be with what comes after. Other than living for she who would want me to live, my only other motivation is outliving a few sorry muthaflarkahs. Because Audrey II from little shop of horrors was right about one thing he said to Rick Moranis. There are some folks who desperately deserve it. But we've got to wait on fate and slow ass Karma, since we are afraid of chairs, gurneys, and having Diddy for a cellmate. Therefore the only solution is to wait and to live long enough to see it happen. I am not a murderer, but I'm waiting for that bony bastard to finally and for once take someone who actually deserves his special touch. He also deserves my fist. Let's see how well hinged that skeletal jaw is. I owe him for the people who didn't deserve it. I don't wish merely to stare death in the face. I want to punch him there, too. I want to slug him one too. I am not afraid of him. He can not hurt me directly. But that bastard coward does hurt me by taking others, the people I love. But I double dare that motherflarker to come at me directly. I may go down, but I will leave a mark. This I swear. This ain't over. Nothing is over. He may have a bill to collect, but I've got one of my own. Years may have gone by but these feelings never fade. I am tired of the injustice. I want to see things finally made right, or finally unmade. And there, dear friends, Romans, robots, and strangers: You have seen my worst thoughts made bare for the whole world to see. As for this day, as for myself, I have the rest of this day to get through. Then I'm going to go home, boot up my old computer, and enter the only world I feel I belong in. My pixelated friends will be in that first room of the hangar as they've always been, waiting patiently for my return. They used to accuse Doom as being a violent game. I disagree. Nobody, not even those pixelated monsters, ever dies in Doom. Restart the level and they're back again, just like always. They never truly go away, and they're never too busy or preoccupied to play a game when you need them the most. They're really more like friends. Except for those damn skeletons. I hate those flarkers and the level designers who love them. There are those who apparently have a boner for bones. What the hell is wrong with those guys? And if I get tired of pixilated 3D violence, I'll close out Doom and Duke and go for some pixilated 2D romance. Shina Misha Mikado, how I wish you had your own path. Or I might make sail on the Bounty and see what treasure I can find, or go on Doomworld to find new levels. This is how I chase away the heaviness. This is how I survive.
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