Facing My Cyberdemons

ROOO! What an unexpected and terrifying sound it was the first time I arrived at the Tower Of Babel (E2M8 of the Ultimate Doom). In fact, I thought I had met the devil himself. He was big and mean and stuck terror in my heart (at least for the first few times I fought him). And for all these long decades I faced him alone... Until now. After all these years, I finally figured out how to network two computers together to play network Doom. That's how the boys (my grown kids) and I spent the weekend, playing Coop Doom. It was awesome, even if Big Bad Cybie kept handing our butts to us. I forgot about the multiplayer only monsters. An elaborate story on why not to trust AI. I am a fan of the original Doom games. In my universe, Final Doom was the final Doom. Aside from all the cool levels you can find online, Nothing came after. Just crap with the name, but not the real game. Okay, Out of curiosity, I asked Google just how many Cyberdemons were in Plutonia level 32. Cybie is a big monster who fires rockets and roars, "ROOO!". He's the final boss of E2M8 and he's one tough cookie by himself, even when your kid is helping you fight him. As to my question, AI thought it would butt in and claim there were only 3 Cyberdemons in Go 2 It. The Doom Wiki page says there in fact, 13. Now that's ten more big and mean cyberdemons than the stupid AI would have you believe. (Artificial Stupidity) And any poor AI believing newbie's day is going to be ROOO-ined. The Big Bad Cyberdemon is by far not the hardest demon I have ever fought or continue to fight. Dodging rockets in a game is by far easier. It is after all, only a game. Big Bad Cybie is far from subtle. He's big and mean and in your face. But that's not the most dangerous demonic trait. It's not the demons that roar and stomp around. It's the ones who quietly whisper a bare magnitude above perception, almost to convince you that the words were your own. The worst is when they tell you that you are unworthy of love, and you start to believe them. That is the danger. Okay... Moving right along, clean cup move down. Damn it's hot and miserable already. Ding! Your steamed space cadet deluxe special is ready. You can turn off the steam now. Anytime, buddy oh pal! The crowbar was invented because no crow should ever have to drink alone. The Crow Bar got to be very popular. There were several murders there every Saturday night. Yet nobody died. Riddle me this, Riddle me that. I imagine a Jamey Sheridan Randall Flagg as the bartender. So, what's your poison, Lloyd? Bring him out a Long Island Iced Tea, Nadine. Careful with that lantern, Trashcan Man! I have no right at all to be this damn hungry this morning. I've been eating like PAC-MAN since I woke up! Wocka wocka wocka wocka wocka! But I'm so damn hungry I feel like I could drop and Eww woo woo woo plop-plop! I blame Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde! Cosmic Thought of the day: Never let anybody steal your joy. If they say it makes you be weird than just be weird. I promise you it's not fatal. It might even be good for you. Go on, give it a try. Four out of five Gonzos recommend it. The fifth says you need to be even weirder! I never thought the humming of machinery could be so soothing, a close cousin to television snow. Maybe I like it because it washes away all the other noise. Walking the tightrope of sanity is hard enough without little flarkers trying to push you off the line. Still, I owe a certain leprechaun an apology. I'm sorry, Lucky, for assuming that annoying shrill whistling was you. I was wrong and I apologize for my snap judgment and unfounded accusation. In the future I will work on not being so fast to accuse or judge. This was clearly my own failing and I am truly sorry for my actions. Now there is one very important thing about anxiety that I wish everyone knew about. For I have seen this in others and even in myself with my relatively mild case. Anxiety puts words in our mouths sometimes, words never meant in the first place.. Someone in the middle of a full blown panic attack can sometimes have absolutely no clue what they're saying. It's fight or flight, choosing flight, and so very desperate to get away. I have seen a dear loved one be badly misunderstood in a situation like that. A mind in panic is not thinking rightly, or clearly. It is the mental version of a power surge, a transformer overload. I am not saying we shouldn't be held responsible for the things we say, but certain things need to be taken into consideration. I understood it because the same thing has happened to me. A quiet darkened room is the only real solution, a safe place to settle down. Slow breathing, mental grounding, meditation, focus, until the inner electrical storm passes. The brain is a marvelous miracle. Any zombie would say brains are wonderful. But I think the devine creator, that master builder would make for a lousy electrician. Because, sometimes He wires us wrong. Or maybe our software is unique and we're just wired to fit it. Either way, we're wired. That's for sure. It had been a good while since I had been as totally exhausted as I was yesterday. I was so very happy to have made it home. It was only a quarter till five, the sun a long way from the horizon, when I passed out in my bed. Aside from fleeting moments of consciousness where the clock would jump ahead by hours, that was the last thing I remember. I was a miserable grouch yesterday. It would seem that the emotional intelligence that allows for interacting properly with other human beings is the first thing to go in a sleep starved brain. When I am well rested, I am a lovely thinking machine who gets along smoothly with most everybody. But I didn't, so I was an unreasonable grouch. It was hot and humid, so you could say I was a steamed crab. I need my beauty sleep, every minute of it. It helps keep my personality from getting as ugly as the witch of the west. The second problem is that heavy brain fog that a lack of sleep brings. Simple problems become a complicated mess I just can't think past. So, basically I become as dumb as a Pack-Led, and as grouchy as a Klingon in a bad mood. RAWRRRR! GAH! TOSHAVAHHH! And I wonder why nobody loves me. Clean cup move down! I, just as The Lord Humongous, am gravely disappointed at the price of gas. Why? Because they hoard their gasoline. They won't listen to reason. I might have to start just paying at the pumps. [Mohawk Dude angrily interrupts] "Noooo! Not just gas! We go in! We get chips! We get sodas!" Settle down, my dog of war. We all want sodas and junk food. When the price finally goes down, the gasoline will be ours. Then you shall have your sodas and snacks. Take him away! There has been too much brokenness, too much financial pain. None are here without sin. But I have an honorable compromise. Just walk away. Leave the sodas, the chips, and the junk food. Leave the energy drinks and the gasoline. Just walk away and there will be an end to the horror. Everybody's selling. Everybody's shilling. Everybody's talking, but nobody's listening. And the only ones who leave you alone are the ones you wish wouldn't leave at all. It's one hell of a conundrum, a contradiction of chaos, and confusion where the new Murphy's law is simply the inverse of how one wishes things to be, caught in the sight of everyone but those you wish would see. They leave you alone, but never in peace. The irony is that we are all miracles, every single one of us. And shouldn't it take one to know one? Don't you hate that feeling? This slow burning within your soul? Does it feel this way for you like it feels for me? And which is worse? To be discarded or to be forgotten? Or is it simply never knowing which? Quick question for the void: In the age of social media, how does one define friendship? What is the difference between just a friendly acquaintance and an actual friend? Is it a matter of degree? Or is it something that either is or is not? Just wondering. Because how many you have depends greatly on that definition, doesn't it? Meanwhile, I sure wish the lowjackers would stop lowjacking. Not everyone has or wants a smartphone up their ass. (Though I am sure the Ass App exists) Not all of us want it tied to our money or any other aspects of our lives. Now they want to lowjack my forklift so it won't run unless connected to their computer. So that whenever the computer system flarks itself like it did yesterday, I can just sit here and twittle my thumbs and do nothing. Technology, like religion, like a wang should never be stuck where it doesn't belong. No more lowjacking off. As Captain Montgomery Scott once said, the more complicated the plumbing, the easier it is to clog up the drain. Okay, the world has once again been a bit much for these nerves. The time has come for a strategic retreat, or at least as best as I can. To game land or the realm of sleep. Anywhere that's not right here. I picture my heaven being a room with two doors to two distinct game worlds, The pixelated anime romance world, and the pixelated FPS 3D violence world. Romance the anime girls, fight the monsters and aliens. Never confuse the two. Though games like HDoom and Monster Girl 3D can add to that confusion. What the hell? It is strange how I know fictional places like Yamaku Academy and the UAC Phobos moon base as good if not better than places in the real world. I have spent a lot of time in those places. Sometimes they have been my only refuge. It's the only place where I can feel like a winner, be it from conquering levels or winning hearts. It would seem the only things I conquer in real life are these long days, one at a time, with each and every one of them meaning I have one less day to live. I would much prefer Yamaku and Phobos, where hearts are winnable and monsters are destructible, where there are milestones and goals to reach, where there are beautiful sunsets to walk hand in hand, where there are victory screens and a grateful Earth for me fighting all their demons... As opposed to real life where it seems I can't even conquer my own demons, much less find true love. Yes, I would much prefer Yamaku and Phobos to this desolate place. At least when the monsters return in Doom, they are like old friends. But these figurative monsters I must face in real life are certainly no friends of mine. I would rather face down an army of Cyberdemons with just my fist. At least, there I could have IDKFA and IDDQD. (All weapons and God Mode). Bow down low before the meanest son of a bitch in the valley! As Job Smith said, this universe is mine! I am God here! Meanwhile in the real world, I'm as Pinhead said, not quite. For now, I have got to get my game face on and tend with the real world. Also, I have a decision to make today. Either I take the day to get all my errands done, groceries bought, my overgrown yard mowed, Last weekend's coop Doom demos, and even these very words safely stored in a bank vault, and Yadda Yadda Yoda.... Or I can work an extra day just to be in the presence and the company of the beautiful Queen Limerence. The queen of beauty, wonder, and mixed signals. All for the crumbs this starving heart perceives as love. It's not her fault. It's mine. My feelings soar high but then I fall and crash. The unstoppable force meets the immovable object. Brought to by ACME and by Isaac Newton. Kaboom! And one poor Space Cadet Coyote gets it again. "Why me?" So, two very unrelated facts to glean: 1. The most dangerous laws on the highway are neither federal, state, nor county, but Newton's, which are never broken but do the breaking instead. And 2. A starving heart will see even crumbs as love. It's the same reason not to grocery shop when you're hungry. Though it seems avoiding hunger is far easier than avoiding loneliness. Not everybody is suave enough to pick up a girlfriend at Burger King. I'll have an angel with a super-sized heart, please. Otherwise I think this space cadet shall stay planet bound tomorrow. I'll settle for the mild dopamine microdoses from accomplishing the actually possible. Not the mega high of feeling loved just before the brutal crash afterwards when she goes her way and I go mine. It's as hopeless for my love as it is hopeless for life for that baby bird she brought me. It's not the first poor creature she's brought me to care for. Sorry, but nature can be cruel and there is no replacement for the mother bird. There is not much I can do, but I guess I can't in good conscience leave it here to die. Man, why do they do this to me? Do I look like a momma bird to you? Such poor creatures die in the woods all the time, never noticed by anyone. Yet, since this poor creature has been passed to me, I can't just leave it. Damn it. Why, why, Universe, do you keep sending me lost causes? I thought opposites attract. Do you know what also sucks? Not having a single human being you can trust enough to confide in. Not a one. I honestly wish I had at least one true friend. They wouldn't have to solve anything, just listen. See, the danger of speaking out otherwise is not just paranoia. Not everybody has your best interest at heart. But sometimes it all needs to be expressed. Hugs are not necessary but would be greatly appreciated.  See, metaphorically, I am in full control of the Good Ship USS Sanity. Full control, be it the engines or the wheel or whatever... But I can't control the weather and I can't control the waves.  I can't control the mega shark, the giant squid, or any of the creatures of the deep. I can't control the U-Boats lurking below, or those lost missiles at the bottom of the sea. I can't control the mother bird or the mother cat or any creature on this earth. I can't control what anybody on this earth thinks of me, nor can I make anybody love me. There's only so much that I have any power to change. And while I have been holding things together for a very long time now, I still have my moments. And sometimes they put together a damn near perfect storm. And it's only a combination of luck, skill, and faking my way through that gets me past the moment where I am free to meltdown just over the horizon from anyone who might use it against me. Because, honestly beyond this point, it is the only way to get over it. After all, why would we be able to cry if it wasn't a necessary mental/biological thing? I'm not saying it's pretty. I am not saying I'm proud of it or would want anybody IRL to know about it, But tears are a dangerous volatile liquid that need to be gotten rid of when the pressure goes critical. Sometimes the Enterprise needs to vent plasma to keep from exploding. And like in Doom, sometimes you must face and fight your demons before progressing to the next level.  Please wish me luck, Universe, and by all means, stay with me.    

The Hermit Of The Valley

He's the hermit of the valley he calls home, far from the mountains, far from the humans, surrounded but alone and on his own. Some days he's a king. Some days he's the poorest man in the valley, a man who has wondered and wandered, like a spirit in exile. He has wandered the Earth as he has wondered all the while a thousand realms within his own mind, hoping to find the thought or the place that would make sense of the senses, answering every why and every how and what to do now. For it would seem the old show has faded into television snow. Where, where, where should I go? I don't know. Conjured from fog as if this were the very day of creation, does the road ahead even exist? Did it ever? Will there ever come a day when I should venture into that dense expanse to find nothing there at all? What will I do then? Forever fall? Time sneaks around in the background, taking whatever. It takes and it takes and gives back never. It turns the subtle into gross and the gross into the empty void left behind. People, even places along with the faces, fade and fade away. Taking, taking body and mind, leaving nothing behind but the hell of an empty shell. Long in the tooth, long in regret, we always remember what we could never forget. Moments come, and moments go. Why do you remind me so of what I already know? To stand in the same place with a slightly different face, explaining how it's somehow no different now than it was before? Am I still here? Is there any more? Is this still me? On a far flung planet, standing on the ground to which I'm bound, not an angel to be found, no matter how I look around. For it seems I'm awake and not in a dream where the harshness and the starkness fade behind the gleam of a haze of a few blurred lines so that everything seems fine with all things divine within this reach of mine (if only I would try.) It gives the illusion of a choice that I didn't really make. Of a stand that I didn't really take at a time of choosing while lost in all this confusion over an illusion. Constantly musing that I have always been, yet I never was at all. Never the same as before the fall. Never noticed, never seen, never there at all. Not even for a moment. Not even for an instant. Not for the blink of any eye, for even in that instant, one needs to be seen as if to exist at all. It all depends on what we see, for the elephant in the room or the alien in the stomach will certainly be noticed in a timely manner. But who knows how long either has been there, invisible, beyond notice, obscured by distraction, fog, and time. There is a feeling of irrelevance out here on the perimeter, out here in the darkness, in a place beyond all thought and anything remembered. Can we really exist as these remote islands that are, so very far from anything resembling love of any kind to be found or to find? Going out of our minds? Can the loner on the shore take much more of watching the others sail away all day where the ocean meets the sky, wondering why, why, why, am I still still here today? How is this okay? To be watching the sun settle beneath the waves, still standing in the end, the very end where the depths begin, for whatever sin for which a soul must pay again and again. Yet I am surrounded by life, by beauty, by green and growing things, where every scene of life and of living brings deep thinking and deep dreams, yet still seeming so barren in so many ways. All green has a bit of blue, and that blue is the last bit before the light leaves too. I see beyond what is around me, this present day that has found me and bound me, to what is and could never be. It makes me wish my senses would just stop now and then, at what is, never going beyond the barriers of what might have been, for there is nothing more lonely than if only, if only, if only. That dreadful echo that never ever ends. That infinite divide, a chasm with no bridge to the other side. For the flip of a proton, go I. For the collapse of a waveform, hello. Neither the wiser one nor the luckier one. Just I who never thought I'd be the old hermit in the story. I had always imagined the end to be quick and permanent, something that just happens so fast that I would have never had the time to think about it. See, it has been proven! I can be wrong at times. I certainly was wrong about this. For it very well seems the end has already happened long ago. I just happen to be still alive, indeed living in an avalanche aftermath of afterthought. Maybe God's greatest punishment (or the cruelty of random chance and chaos) is for a soul to have plenty of time to think about it. You might think I am being a drama queen when I say that everything that (for me) ever really mattered is over. But it's sure feeling this way from my point of view. It seems to me that I am merely running out the clock, hoping that I get things as best prepared for my kids to give it a go instead. They're still young, and they still have chances at a life that is long gone for me. Oh there's a lot to think about at this point of a human being's life. There's a lot I wish I would never think about at all. All the little sources of joy have been leaving me one by one, just like my beloved. One by one, the room is getting empty. Ah but here I am. I keep trying to see things differently. I keep trying to change these deep blue lenses for something that could cast this life into something a bit brighter and a lot more cheerful. I have tried and I have tried and I have tried. But this shadow of loneliness, loss, and dark depression cast over my world just so difficult to escape. The Sun is out there, somewhere, I guess. Sometimes I have been guilty of chasing an illusion instead, knowing it well for what it is, but refusing to let go. A very beautiful and smart lady by the name of Jewel Kilcher said (sang) it best, that a starving heart can hallucinate. Now while I know absolutely nothing about this lady's life beyond her music, I can certainly say that I understand that concept and identify with that sentiment multitudes and magnitudes beyond how I ever have with any other. My own heart has been bad to do this. It keeps trying, reaching out for a reason to hang on to, sometimes even a person. It reaches for what I logically, intellectually, know I can never have. Sometimes, for what I know I could never be. Maybe it is not going as far as turning monsters into angels, but expecting a divine light from fallible human beings, placing them on dangerously high pedestals, and just expecting far too much.. Even when they're honest and up front that I've been in the wrong place, asking the wrong questions. Maybe because the alternative (reality) is just too damn frightening for me to face. As I said earlier, I expected the end to be a lot of things, but subtle was not one of them. It just didn't come at me in the wide open and maul me like a lion. No, it was more like a weasel, just stealing in the darkest night. It stole from me slowly, one thing, one chance, one dear loved one at a time. The end did not come banging on my door announcing itself. I just began to find my house emptying out a little more each day. Losing Marsha was the biggest kick to my heart. It was so damned unexpected. But the truth be told, I was falling apart bit by bit long before losing my baby sister. The real kicker is that there were some things about that I would never talk about with anybody but her. She understood me. Others did not, could not. My baby sister and I had a few demons in common, that we each understood what were like to have to fight against. Many loved ones loved and cared about me, but only Marsha truly understood me. With her gone, there's nobody left who does or even can. Though I have found myself talking about some of these things to that illusion, 'My' Angel, That one person I met a few years ago that somehow can't help but be open with. I'm not sure if it was the weight of my grief that has made me this way. It just sort of happened. Meanwhile, losing my mother and my father, while far more in line with the so called circle of life than losing a sister eight damn years younger than me, still hurts me in ways I can't exactly put down into words. One could have always done better by their parents, especially when they were there for me from the day I was born to the day they died. Although I wasn't the type to shout to the world, "HEY!!! LOOK WHAT I DID!", every time I did something for them. Because my actions were not for the world. In fact, to hell with the world. Was it their damn business? I think not! But, still, I could have always done more and better. Life is hard, man. And the world never stops demanding your last ounce of strength and your last drop of blood. It's never going to be good enough, even when we're dead. Don't expect them to lighten up on you when you start getting older. If anything, it seems they turn up the pressure. And it seems to me from what I have observed, retirement is death. It's probably better to never retire. Although, the thought of dropping dead on the job is not something I find appealing either. Maybe we've just got to be lucky in the way we time it. Just make a guess and hope we're close to being right about it. Sometimes I wish we could know when it was coming. That way we could quit and go home for the last few weeks or so. Hell, I don't know... And that's the problem. Meanwhile, there is life and living, or whatever approximation of it we can come close to. They say loving is living, but that's a whole other fine mess, isn't it? There are aspects I could live without.... And have for a very long time, now. But there are little moments I wish I could experience, little moments I have been missing for all of this life, really, things I wonder if others think about.Does anybody ever daydream beyond the obvious thing? As in the one you love falling asleep on your shoulder, as you let her rest and hold her? Or maybe you share an umbrella in the rain? Moments and scenarios, wonderful yet mundane? Does this sound sane? But, just because some life experiences are common, even mundane for some, does not mean they're not rare, special, and totally out of reach for the rest of us. It would seem that only certain types are lovable, desirable, or even visible. I am not one of those lucky ones at all. There is fare more hopelessness than romance in being both a loner and a hopeless romantic. And as far as for that certain angel, maybe it actually is a bad case of limerence. Could it be? It's more likely than not. Just a waste of time, energy, and even sanity, a prison of a daydream I have been trying half-heartedly to escape from. It's a struggle between the self that knows I must be rational and real, and the self that just doesn't want to let go of the illusion. I think it would be easier if I really did have friends. But these last few years have done nothing but give me a thousand examples of how I have none. I am the Great Cosmic Wie, The Invisible Man that HG Wells didn't write about. Forever invisible, forever alone... And it gets just a bit too rough to handle sometimes.

 

The No Fishing Sign (Sorry, Charlie!)

I saw a news article today about someone finding a live frog in a bag of lettuce at the grocery store. My first question is how did he not run out of oxygen? My first statement is Ribbit-ribbit, pour some ranch on me, ribbit-ribbit! The things poor Kermit will do to hide from Ms Piggy. Oh well. Subject change! Ribbit-ribbit clean cup! Ribbit-ribbit move down, says the frog! Then I saw a meme speaking the hope of living rather than merely surviving, something I speak of often. There was something my mother used to say. And I have to say it's true. Happiness just doesn't simply grow wild as if this were Eden. Just like in a garden, it must be grown, The ground tilled, the seeds planted, watered, nourished. Moments need to be created. Or that's what I believe. Though I will too say that it's much easier when you have a helper. And there is indeed a flower I wish would dwell in my garden. But if Eden indeed was the plan, then even that godly plan fits all too well among all the best made plans of all mice and men. Ah, the best made plans! Even the greatest cities have fallen. Not only did it take far more than a day to build the city of Rome, but Rome has fallen and has been rebuilt countless times. Speaking of the folly of we humans, I can understand why some of us have problems with (your and you're), or (there, their, and they're). But folks confusing through and threw really gives me a headache! Oh, English Language, the dear mother of all my thoughts, how it hurts to see you mistreated so! Woe to you, and oh woe is me! Otherwise, today has been all about plumbers, pigeons, and princesses. No, seriously! There was a pigeon wandering the factory floor. The plumbers are here to fix the work bathroom. The princess is just my princess.... It's a me, a Mario! It wasn't Bowser who kidnapped my princess, but the damned comforter packing department. And it would sure be nice if she could come back to my area. I needa the princess to rescue me, eh? Sadly, reality intervenes. Also, unlike Mario, I'm not on mushrooms. And I have enough problems without being harassed by blue smurfs and green leprechauns. The princess, however, is not an illusion at all. It's merely the 'my' in front of princess, that happens to be my own delusion. Yet it's a pretty delusion, almost as beautiful as she herself. It is a delusion of there being any hope, or any chance for me to have said princess in my life. Because reality happens to be one slow burn bummer, dude. What I wish for and what I know to be true couldn't be more different. And that's what I need to let go of, if and when I can. I guess even the kindest, most subtle rejection still stings and just makes me feel unworthy of anything resembling love. I tell myself that there is much more to life than love and belonging. Indeed, there are hobbies, distractions, and time wasting activities. But there's no such thing as wasted time in the presence of someone you love. In fact, such time will always be time well spent. What sucks is that time winds down on us all, loved or unloved, happy or unhappy, whether we appreciate it or not. It doesn't change the fact that we only get so much. Wasted or well spent, each day gone is a day less left to live. I don't know about you, but I'd sure like for this time that I do have to be something worth living, something worth remembering, a book with some good pages somewhere between the beginning and the end. Otherwise why read the damn thing at all? I am nobody special. I understand that. Still, it would be nice to feel as if I were. Call it a delusion, but it would be a nice delusion. And I could really use that right now. High tide, low tide, tsunami. There truly is such a thing as having too much time to think. I have done my best to keep myself busy, and it has helped some, but these heavy feelings have definitely returned. This is certainly not a good time to go scrolling in that social media vortex sinkhole of rage bait and depressing reminders of how far everything seems to have fallen. Not to mention all things wonderful that are so out of reach for someone like me. Nope. I think the good Doctor Blog-ieo would recommend that I pass on that today. Though I would like to find something to do that might lift my spirits a bit. Kicking the blues can be hard. And the Eric Clapton method is probably not a good idea. I guess I'll have to settle for getting out into the sunshine of this beautiful day. Do you remember when I said how a soul very much needs to know that they, too, are worthy of love? Yeah, that's one hell of a bummer. Outer friendzonia is one shitty place to be. And beyond that particular situation, I just don't have the courage to face the modern-day mess of meeting somebody else. I don't think the number of fish in the sea is the problem. I think the well to do mackerel living in a sunken pirate ship full of treasure has a whole gaggle competing for his attention. For him, it's going just swimmingly. For them, there's simply not enough good fish out there. For the good fish out there, most have to "fin" for themselves, unseen, 20,000 leagues under the sea, and out of every one. It's all a game and not a very fun one at that. Sorry, Charlie. Better luck next time. To me, it's just not worth the headache or the heartache or being made to feel, somehow less. So, these last few shreds of dignity and self-esteem I think I'll keep. But good luck, by all means to the rest of you. Go get 'em like Red Holland. Go figure. Go fish. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Damn this human need! Is there not some way I could just purge it from my being? I would destroy it all in a heartbeat. I am so damn sick of this lousy feeling. This has just been a tough week for me. Not on the outside. I mean work was okay, but it sure has been a storm on the inside, and with all things, too, regarding my feelings for a certain someone who wants me to help her look for someone else. Has anyone ever been so deep in the goddamn friend zone as me? I mean, really! It must have been a shock, this first solid NO. It's not a word I have said very much in her presence. Like I said, I'd steal the moon if she asked me to. But, no, not this. So, that no may have cost me a friendship I have long treasured. I hope not. But, it's a thousand bridges too far. And a true friend who knows how I obviously feel wouldn't put me through this. If I am supposed to be Cupid, then I have bad news, My Angel. I fell on one of my own arrows while looking into your eyes. Well, can't be helped now. I love you. Though she has never been under any obligation to return these feelings, she doesn't need to crush me under them either. And it would hurt me more than I can stand to lose that friendship, even if it is less than what I truly want, and even that it may not be the best friendship, my part for feeling the way I do, her part for reading me so well. It's a flarked up conundrum that even the great Grand Admiral Thrawn-bot might be at a loss to figure out. Maybe this is truly the end. Or maybe that drama queen, Queen Anxiety, has taken over my thoughts. Damn, I hate the way this brain of mine works, these randomly firing neurons making it so I never needed drugs to go on a trip. She might be all smiles and everything forgotten. And Great God, that smile.. But never mind. I need to get her out of my mind. These next few days are going to be long, long, long. And so much of this is just in my mind. Really, as I have said before, this is my problem. These feelings I have were never a choice. But, damn, what the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I just drop it? Why can't I just dismiss them, put them out of my mind? Oh, I'm a good friend. There are a thousand things I would do for her that I wouldn't at all for anybody else on this flarked up planet. But now, she's finally happened on the one thing I will absolutely not do. Looking for someone? Found someone you have! As the stereotypical revolutionary French soldier said of John Ritter in "Stay Tuned", But of course, she's wanted, you fool! By a me! I admit it. It's jealousy. No doubt. You bet I'm jealous! Because, like it or not, I'm in love. I didn't choose to be. In fact, I wish I wasn't. These feelings have caused me nothing but pain. I would be so much happier without having them. I can respect the fact that she has absolutely zero romantic interest in me. I am not the type of guy who can't take a hint. At the same time, however, I don't want to be involved in any romantic quest that does not end with me. Baby, you're on your own. I'll let Yoda speak once more. Mine, or I will help you not! If you need help in finding me specifically, here I am. Wherefore art thou? Right here! Otherwise, no. I will not. I love her, and I care. Of course, I want her to be happy, even if it's not with me. But I can not be a part of that search. It is the mental equivalent of me kicking my own ass. Because it hurts me to be reminded again and again how it shall never be me. I can well take a hint, but I don't need to be taking an emotional ass kicking every day over it. I can take no for an answer. But I can't take no, but you're going to be involved as a matchmaker. No, no, no. I'm going to be like Paul Revere And The Raiders, What's it gonna be? Him or me? And I guess if that blows everything to hell, then I would have truly lost a friend. Though would a true friend be willing to put me in such a position? None of this is helping with this bout of depression I have been fighting of late. It seems the fastest way to feel alone is to really need somebody, anybody to say they care, and of course nobody ever does. At least give me an illusion. Just say you do. Tell me a sweet lie. I will believe it out of a very desperate need to believe it. These feelings will pass eventually. They always do. When that happens, I'll be back to my "I can be happy on my own" self. Until then, I need a bit of comfort and reassurance. Though I know I won't be getting any such thing. So, I will write and vent and vent and write and hope it's enough to get me through this storm. It is far from my very first, and I have gotten so much better at hiding it so I can be outwardly nice and stable in the real world. Otherwise I would really be in a mess, wouldn't I?. (You should have known me 40 years ago) (I really was a mess then) Though most of my progress is being better able to hide it from others. I really do project an illusion of being stable, steady, and reliable. Though I guess, outwardly, I really am stable and steady. Only I know what it's like inside this brain, so only I know just how totally flarked up I am. It would seem I'm being a grouch again. I don't mean to be. But life sucks, you know? It's this damn body of mine making me feel old, useless, and gross. And to think, the only direction is down and I have a long way to go down from here. Getting old is a cruel reward for spending a lifetime working and doing your best to do the right thing. My dear parents did not deserve what the years did to them. My father did not deserve to become a prisoner of his body. My mother did not deserve to become a prisoner of both body and mind. It was neither fair nor right. Of course they both believed strongly in the Christian faith, and maybe Jesus really did restore them both... If only I, too, could honestly believe. But I have said so many times where I stand, what I can do, and what I can not do. That aside, if two people ever deserved to go to heaven, it was my Momma and My Dad.... And my baby sister. If it truly is so, then my inability to believe is maybe the greatest tragedy of all. As I would be essentially slamming the door on ever seeing them again. Not out of pride, or a wish to be evil, but simply because I see the universe, where we are in it, infinity, eternity, yet even universes begin and end. But back to this body of mine... I feel like shit today. I feel unlovable. I feel almost like Jabba The Freaking Hutt. Though I ain't the fattest or the most flabby, I sure do feel that way. It just compounds these other feelings I have. It really does make me wonder the value of living. On some days, I am a-okay, and I can see value everywhere. But, today, I just feel lonely, unwanted, and unworthy.. And I can't see the value of a life that is just going to consist of wasted days. Why should I bother? Why should I fight? Why should I struggle? On days like today, these really do seem like legitimate questions. On days when I am in a better frame of mind, the fact that I seriously asked such questions is a bit on the scary side. It reminds me that this is not the bleakest day I ever lived through. I have seen worse, far worse. I have had worse thoughts than simply wondering why. There was a time when I had worked out what and how and was seriously debating on when. Then I realized the significance of such thinking and I had to make some heavy choices to pull myself out of that bad place.... Even if nobody could ever understand. You can never get away from yourself, but you can certainly try... You can discover aspects of your true self along the way, but there is only one way out otherwise. The body can be a prison, but the image in the mirror can be a surreal kindness. And none of this will ever make sense outside of my mind or the time when such thoughts were crucial for survival. I am alive today because I went just a little bit crazy a few years ago. Let's leave it at that. And now, after a lapse lasting a year or three, I am back. Well, mostly... I guess I'll never be exactly the same, hopefully better, but I'm back nonetheless... And I had help. I was sort of rescued, just not deliberately. But it still counts. And so, I am not in so dark a place these days. I guess that's what I need to remember. I have been through so much worse than right now. I really should try to be happy. It it really that bad? Is it? Of course not... I guess it gets lonely with so many lost and gone, and for the one I wish were here with me.. That's all. The Stones sang about how we can't always get what we want. I understand that. But didn't they also sing that we'll get what we need if we try sometimes? Then I guess it all comes down to determining between a want and a need. One can often feel like the other. So maybe, too, the question I must ask is just what do I need. Food, oxygen, shelter, a job, and a way of going... I have all of those. What else? Is to be loved actually a need? Well, I guess I am loved by whatever family I have left. Just no romantic love or any lover to be seen. And, like I said earlier, I'm not merely talking about sex. But no love? No snuggles or cuddles? No falling asleep to a heartbeat other than my own? I guess the fact that I am still alive after living without such things for a very long time means that maybe wants rather than needs. Still, say that to me on days like today when the loneliness is kicking my ass so damn badly. Go on and say this is something I merely want. There is a sort of peace I can't even remember, of being able to rest so completely in loving arms. Today there is no peaceful rest. There is only the collapse of exhaustion, and the hope of dreamless sleep. Want or need, I guess it all depends on how one defines each. To change the subject, I wish Mario and Luigi would hurry up on fixing that bathroom. Nobody should have to walk a long ass yellow brick road to see the wizard. The wizard? The wizard? But nobody can see The Great Oz. Not no way, no how! Alright, Green Dude, you're blocking my path! Don't blame me for what happens next! It's been hellacious, ladies and gentlemen. It has sure been rough. Rougher and tougher than both Mr T and John Wayne toilet paper combined! Complete with all the Ugh's and the Ahhhhh's, pilgrims! It's barely nine in the morning and I already just want to go home. But, we've all gotta do what we've all gotta do while hoping the remaining thirty percent is worth facing the seventy percent bullshit. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it's not. Though it certainly would be worth it all the time if I had a certain someone by my side. But as Conway sang, it's only make believe. Some days are longer than others. I do believe today qualifies as just that. It seems like forever and ever amen. January molasses would definitely win the race today. It's even gotten to the point where I couldn't resist checking the social media vortex. Oh and what did I find there amongst the religion and the politics? Ambulance chasing lawyers advertising civil judgments as if they were lottery winnings and damn gambling ads. Both should be illegal in all 50 states. With such a lack of care for harm, we might as well go back to advertising cigarettes, too. And gambling? Now, that's the most exploitive vice ever. At least with drinking you get a buzz, then a hangover. At least with drugs, you get a high. At least with sex, you get an off. But what do you get with gambling? Your money taken. Nothing else. Possibly your life ruined. These online platforms only progress and improve in sucking more and exploiting more. It truly is a vortex, a hell scape, a no man's land, a vast waste, a desolate place. There is truly nothing there. Not anymore. The golden age has long gone. Now comes the age of shit, and it seems to be going nowhere anytime soon. I guess the gambling ads even make a certain logical sense from these scumbag's point of view. They already exploit their users in every way they can. So I guess getting a few dollars more from a few sleazy, shady, online gambling places shouldn't be any more shameful than they already are proving themselves to be. Wouldn't your parents be proud? I guess if you're already in the mud, you might as well wallow. Can you say oink oink? I do find that the less time I spend on social media, the better I feel. It is not at all designed to help you connect to others. It is designed to exploit and to use you. A happy, healthy human being makes for a lousy customer. They want you to be a miserable money making machine. You are the grapes, and they'll squeeze you for the wine. They're like that alien from the movie "Lifeforce"... They're like the Sketsies from "The Dark Crystal." They profit and thrive from draining your essence. Connection is an illusion. Though, I too, have the bad habit of returning, myself. I will never delete this account because of the dear loved ones and dear friends still in this 'friends list' who are no longer here. Still, true friendship is not a list, not some photo with a few lines of text. True friendship and connection is a rare treasure to be cherished, that can never be harnessed by a faceless corporation. It can only be heart to heart, soul to soul. There are no artificial equivalents. It's either real or it never existed at all. And that's the bottom line even if Stone Cold didn't say so. 

After The Crash: Exploring The Depths

I truly believe what a soul really needs most is to know that they, too, are worthy of love. Not every bad experience is because there's something wrong with you. Self reflection is a good thing, but we sometimes take it too far. Or at least this is what I tell myself while on that tightrope ride of the edge. That or falling down from the sky as the Great Cosmic Wie. And so I find myself once again at the destination to which all cosmic flights lead. It will take a while to get back up to ground level. So, with that in mind, I think I shall take a detailed note on how I am feeling right now. The first important thing to know is the logical understanding that these feelings are only temporary, not permanent, never forever. The problem of course is that they do not feel temporary at all. The first and the most prominent is this feeling of profound sadness, of hopeless despair. If emotions had weight, this would be the heaviest of all. It is a weight I can feel throughout my being. It is a pressure from all directions. Beyond that is a strong anxiety of situations and people I must face in the future. Once again, temporary, but feeling like a life sentence anyway. Then there is this weird combination of feeling so terribly lonely, yet wishing not to be bothered at all. It makes absolutely no sense at all. Yet, there it is, a devil's conundrum designed to confine us to a hell of our own making, a nice little recursive paradox. Alright, coffee break's over. Back on your heads! Hell, ain't it? But that's what it's like here in the depths of the underworld. While every cosmic flight aims for the heavens, every crash leads to hell. The return trip is never a planned part of the journey. It just happens at the end anyway. And so, I find myself here once again. Never mind the fire. Never mind the coal and brimstone. Never mind the demons. Never mind their laughter and the spiteful comments. "Oh, you again? I thought you weren't coming back!" "We kept your seat nice and warm for ya!" Man, this particular state of being totally sucks. I'll be so glad when I can climb out of this abyss once again. I can't say I like being here very much. Zero stars, wouldn't recommend. They really need to turn on the lights and fix the AC. Oh, hellacious hell, one hell of a place to be. Goodness gracious me. A masochist's golden fantasy, or any glutton for punishment there may be. Ah, but not me, never me. What can I say? No flarking way. As for my dearest angel, I admit it. I am jealous, extremely jealous. And to speak a favorite quote from Bicentennial Man, Yes, I am jealous. And if I am jealous, I must be in love, and if I'm in love then all hope is lost. I have lost her. And not to a guy with the protruding chin and the face of an antique can opener, but to a guy that doesn't treat her with the loving care that I would, if only I were hers. And beyond that, to every other guy on this planet. I am not even Option B. There is not enough letters in a thousand alphabets to show just how far down the list I am. And while I know this should be no business of mine, it hurts just the same. And it is also why I absolutely refuse to help in such a search. I just can't. As Meatloaf sang, I would do anything for love, but I won't do that. A search that does not end with me could never start with me. I can accept if reluctantly this harsh reality, but I sure as hell don't have to participate in it. So this is one rare yet resonate NO to someone I would otherwise never deny anything. I'd give the moon and stars, but not the last shred of my dignity, not to mention sanity. 'Avid readers' might notice that such sanity has been hanging by one very thin thread for quite some time now. One can witness the very foundation crumbling. Yet, against the odds, here I remain. Thank you very much, Doctor Blog-ieo. Domo Arigato Blog-ieo Sensai. Maybe these words are that very last thread. Maybe they're all I have left. God, I am so sick of this loneliness and despair. It's been around for a very long time and it's starting to get just a bit stale. It's like background noise. On my better days I don't even notice it, even if it is always there. But it's the quiet moments like these. It is in the wake of heart shattering reminders that I don't matter at all. That is when these feelings of invisibility, of being inconsequential, unwanted and unlovable reign supreme. Next to the unresolved grief that I can't get out of my head for the people I love and have lost, this is the second greatest pain and hurt I have ever known. In reference to a Tom Petty song, nobody knows what it's like to be me. It's not that they won't know. You can't. Don't even try. (Thanks, William T. Riker) It's nobody's fault. I can't blame the world or the people. I can't blame an earth angel either. And for once, I see no logic in blaming myself this time. God? The universe? There are far too many greater flark ups out there than my own emotional state. When it comes to things being horribly wrong, God and the universe have far bigger fish to fry, big enough to make a megalodon look like a flarking minnow. I am only one human being after all. So, just as I have a lot of love with nowhere to go, so do I have anger that is equally lost. Nobody to love and nobody to blame. When the great Cosmic Wie crashes, he crashes catastrophically. I hate being a human being with human needs. I wish I were some sort of a robot. Have you ever just had such a great need to be held with love? I'm not even talking about sex here. Anybody can go flark themselves. But you can't hold yourself. You can't be your own shelter. You can't fall asleep to a lullaby of your own heartbeat. You can't snuggle yourself. You can't comfort yourself. And you can't love yourself, at least not in that way. But, yes, by all means we can all go flark ourselves. Damn this. Damn it all. Why does everything have to be so damned convoluted? I could go without sex for the rest of my life, having only been with two women in that whole life and be fine with it. I could really take it or leave it at this point. But to never ever be held, never to be loved? The very thought of a life of years, decades totally devoid of love leads to darker thoughts of ending it all. I can live without sex if I absolutely have to. I can't live without love. I've got to have at least that or it's just no longer worth it. I am very tired and I need to come home to somebody. Now you must understand that because I am speaking from the abyss, this dark place I find myself in sometimes, my words are a bit heavier than normal, that I reference certain things I usually stay away from. But there is no need to call the men in the white coats just yet. I am still not through writing the note, and I am fairly certain there shall be more chapters after this. Better than three megabytes should be a world record for such a note. This one could never be taken away by the wind. To be or not to be. That was the question asked by a certain Prince Of Denmark. Either way, the key is to never finish writing the note. Start the note by all means. Expand and expound. Say everything you ever needed to say. Say everything you ever wished you could say. Just never finish it. An unfinished note is unfinished business. And we can't leave this party with unfinished business, can we? Or so has been my working theory. It's worked so far, anyway. I guess there will come a day when somebody knows exactly, but I seriously doubt that someone will be me. There has been so much time, so many years, an ocean of water under the bridge. There are the would have's. There are the could have's. There are the should have's. But the waveform has long since collapsed and we are left with this, only this, whatever this is. Everything that has been lost can never be recovered. What has been lost shall be lost forever. There is no going back. It could be that going back would be an agony the soul could never bear, especially when they realize they're powerless to prevent a future they know is coming. Maybe ignorance, even when contributing to past mistakes, truly is bliss. The hell if I know. Clearly I know nothing at all. Remember kiddos, the first thing you learn on the day after you knew everything is that you never knew anything at all. It's a shock to the system that burns hubris to ash. It's an eye opener and a mind expander. It's quite an experience if you are lucky enough to survive it. Though this crazy circus had better be about a hell of a lot more than just survival. I'd better be able to do some actual living for a change. I am so very tired of just surviving. I want to live, really live. I need something worthwhile and I need that something right now. Otherwise why bother? A soul without a goal is like a ship without a course, adrift on a stormy sea with the deep dark depths beckoning, summoning, calling. Come down here where the storm can never reach. Come down here where there shall be no more sorrow forever and evermore. Why fight it? Why deny it? Why sail against the tide? Why swim against the current? Down, down, down. Where not even the light can reach. Into the darkness, amongst the bones and treasure of sailors who have long lost any meaning or connection to either. Into the darkness where all is formless, where all is nameless. Where nothing ever did or ever will matter. Into the timeless depths where centuries pass without change, and without end. Only there, only then, shall pain fail to be even a distant memory. Only there, and only then shall we truly rest in peace. Remember the legends of the Sirens and their beautiful voices, leading sailors to their doom? I think through my own words I have discovered the lyrics of their song. I have to admit the appeal of that enticement. I certainly feel that gravity. At these depths it is a good deal stronger. Still, I resist it without knowing why I resist. Maybe because this note remains unfinished. That has to be why I remain unmoved by that beautiful song. I have miles to go, as Robert Frost once wrote, miles to go. Oblivia is as patient as she is beautiful. She is waiting and won't mind waiting just a little longer. A few years is nothing to a being such as the Eternal Oblivia. Her loving embrace will be no less permanent, no less infinite, no less eternal. If only I, too, could be so patient. Infinity minus a day is still Infinity. Infinity minus a thousand years is still Infinity. Meanwhile I've got the longest note in history to finish writing. Such are the crumbling cookies. Such are the breaks. Shit happens so I must write about it. Doctor Blog-ieo to the rescue. He has been of decisive help this week alone. I have vented a lot in the past couple of days. I think I may have set a new record for the most ramblings for a single day. It seems I have had quite a lot on my mind and I very much needed to make some room. Words on a page do not shout across the room which goes mighty far in keeping me out of the nuthouse. I almost feel like Commander Riker in "Frame Of Mind." I'm not crazy! You bet I'm agitated! (Maybe you need another treatment) Noooooo! Actually all this venting helps me more than anyone could realize. I feel a lot better, if a bit tired. Such is the way of things when the feelings slowly begin to fade. They leave one tired soul in their wake. I think my sleep tonight will be deep and hopefully dreamless. I have a few specific game demos I want to look up online and hopefully get working and syncing well. Anything to take my mind off of all the above. I continue to pull out all the stops to keep this runaway train on the right track. My mind and body are the warp engines and the USS Enterprise. And I am Montgomery Scott, trying to hold the old gal together and keep her from exploding. And I'm giving it all she's got. You canna change the laws of physics! Or psychology for that matter. Oh but I'm trying my best. Another law is the law of averages. I continue to beat that law, too. I keep avoiding the worst-case scenarios. I even amaze myself with that one. But I dunno how much longer I can hold her together. Easy on my engines, Captain. The Planet Of The Hot Alien Babes dunna require warp factor nine to get there! Easy, easy. Slow and steady wins the race and gets the girl. Or so I hear, anyway. Sadly, The Great Cosmic Wie isn't exactly an expert and will probably never be. Besides there is only one I want and she so happens to be the queen of mixed signals, messing with my head. But never mind. Keeping this figurative ship in order needs to be my main focus. I hope this major venting of emotional plasma will get the warp core back down to levels that don't give the chief engineer the heebie-jeebies. Cosmic Wie out. 

Welcome To The Spiral

This is your Cosmic Captain speaking. Do put on your seat belts, for it's gonna be one hell of a ride. An almost vertical rocket-like takeoff, then a supersonic descent. And remember, every crash is a landing of sorts. We here at Wile E Coyote Airlines realize you have a choice in airlines, and today, you chose wrong. If you'll look out the pilot's window, you will see the Gobi Desert racing towards us. Because we're flying low, baby. Flying low. The harsh desert of Outer Mongolia (especially of the Friend Zone) would be a rough place for any of us who are not Ghengis Khan. And even he thought it a good idea to invade greener pastures and was way too assertive to be kept beyond such a border. Heck I'd settle for being Khan Noonan Sighn. Superior strength and intellect, bad luck on Ceti Alpha V. Still, he secured the love of Marla MacGyvers with that Ricardo Montalban charm. Me, I'd have no luck even if I chased her round the moons of Nibia and 'round the Antares Maelstrom' and 'round perdition's flames. For love's sake, I stab at me, I hurt myself and spit into the wind, at me. And the needs of the many always outweigh the needs of myself, no matter how painfully lacking they may be. Meanwhile, I have a life to 'live' and some mighty shoes to fill as best as I can, no matter how lovely, dark, and deep the woods may be. (Yet another Robert Frost reference). So much duty and responsibility. Nothing but old age and death to look forward to. In surfer speak, it's one big bummer, dude. Most non triumphant. Life sucks. At least when you're lonely. And I'm not sure if the (and then you die) part is insult to injury or a saving grace. I guess I'll find out on the day I can no longer write about it. There are days when it's okay, sometimes even nice. But those old feelings have a way of returning somehow. And this particular space cadet has a bad habit of flying high emotionally, then crashing down catastrophically. I logically see the error of my ways, but I so often leave logic behind in these cosmic adventures. When I am happy, the joy is boundless. When I love, I do so with everything I have. But that love hurts so much when it is for the ones I have lost forever and for the one I can never have in the first place. There is nothing so painful as love with nowhere to go. Oh dear Universe, mother, father, and baby sister, what am I to do? Is there anything left to live for besides bills and obligations? Besides duty and honor to a past that has never before been so clearly absent and gone? Is there any real chance for happiness, love, and belonging? Is there? Are there no other challengers? What was it? I wonder. Was it the daredevil deer that dashed out ahead of me? Was it the moron from the other direction that pulled over on my side of the road, leaving on their brain penatrating bright ass flarking lights in my face? Or was it that rolling junkyard that keeps having the audacity to block my view of Heaven? What was it exactly that caused this momentary blind rage? Well, at least I handled it by walking away. But, Great God, that was unexpectedly intense! Oh, and not a fun start at all. Sometimes, I really do feel that a successful navigation of the pre-dawn deer N idiot maze should offer better prizes than simply a day at work. You know, like a loving embrace from my angel? Maybe at least a smile or a warm conversation? Something to make it worthwhile? Because these are the days that do not feel worth it at all. BTW, did I mention the deer and idiots? Yesterday was Mother's Day. Yet another without Momma. Most everybody loses their parents eventually, so I know I'm nobody special. Still, it hurts, as it does with Dad and Marsha. This year, the words simply wouldn't articulate at all. So, I let my sister do the posting and the talking. Being social is her talent, not mine. It just felt that no words I could have come up with would have done my dear mother justice. She drove me crazy. I drove her crazy. But she was a wonderful mother. And of course, I think of moments when I could have been a better son. I don't think of the times when I got it right, only the times that I got it wrong. I think our similarities to each other were sometimes a strain on our relationship. But it was very much due to the fact that I was and will always be very much her child, the apple that didn't fall far at all from the tree. Days like this can be really hard on a heart and a great weight upon the soul. Especially when I have nobody to talk to, essentially no friends at all. You see, when God or whoever was handing out talents, He was down to only one each of (Social Skills) and (Financial Survival Skills). He gave the former to my sister and the latter to me. Depending on how you define friendship, I have somewhere between zero or maybe three or four. Though they could be better defined as friendly acquaintances. Real friends? Zero. Nobody gives a shit about me unless they feel obligated to. Friends, and I use the word figuratively because I am well aware that I have none, I am under no illusion that (as I live and breathe) that anybody is reading these words. Maybe a robot or two who I would dare to build anything useful based on my words. But, no human eyes, no, not even one. I may not be able to equate my own talent to the painter, Vincent Van Gogh, but certainly my situation while still alive. Nobody appreciated him until after his death. And who knows, that may not change for me as it did for him. Still one can't help but wonder how a dead man's expression carrys more weight than when he was still alive. Nobody listens to the living. But they drop everything to pay full attention to the words of the dead. The final cruelty of this world is you've got to literally die in this place to be seen or heard at all. Ain't that a kick in the ass? It's quite a bitter irony, don't you think? You've got to die in order for anybody to know you lived at all. Now, that's flarked up beyond all flarking recognition. I didn't make these rules. In fact I am beginning to wonder who did. Then we'll see just who truly needs their head examined. Social media, that vortex, proves this beyond the shadow of any doubt. I can make a well thought out post that's barely noticed. My sister can share that post and get ten times the engagement, sometimes more. Social media is hazardous to one's mental health. If you're not quite feeling invisible enough, just log in. That'll do it. Growing older brings time for reflection, especially when one's world has been fast emptying out of loved ones to talk to. Welcome to the day after everything ended. The second greatest difference between now and many years ago is that I could still hold hope for the future, even while down and out with what I couldn't have. Now? The only future I can see clearly is old age and death. And, what I do not have now, I will almost certainly lack for the rest of my life. There seems to be no such thing as a second chance. Some of us didn't even get a first chance. Sometimes, we were fooled by others. Sometimes, we even duped ourselves. But it all boils down to when one flarks up, then they're flarked. And I? I am flarked beyond all recognition. I feel the very proof that this world was not made for us is the very nature of the world itself. Reality is rigid. Reality is hard. What we get in return rarely matches what is in our hearts. I see no justice here. I see only a harsh reality that rewards and punishes without regard to any merit or any sin. I see no grand design here. I see a slow awakening of mind, heart, and soul, emerging from the dark jungle of natural selection. And harsh reality makes no distinguishment between those of us who have risen above that jungle and those who have not. If God did indeed make the world, then the devil also had a hand in the building. If God indeed made man and woman, heart and soul, then the devil also had a part to play. I see a world that does not bless the just. I see a world that does not punish the wicked. I see chaos random chance raining down in us all. And all too often it is that meanest son of a bitch in the valley who triumphs. I hear people say it all the time, not necessarily to me, but to each other. Toughen up, develop a thicker skin, and be a man for God's sake because we're all supposed to impervious to absolutely anything and everything. And maybe this is sage advice for facing the world and making a living, for there are a lot of jerkwads out there. And it just ain't easy. But, do you ever get sick and tired of having to keep your guard up and the walls a mile tall 24-7? I do. I get damn tired of playing a role that I just don't fit. Don't get me wrong, I am one independent self sufficient son of a gun. Nobody's got to look after me. But do you ever wish somebody would? There was a vision planted in my head a long time ago, about people being strong for one another. Silly, right? Tell me, do you ever miss the feeling of truly coming home? It's nobody's fault that I feel beyond my capacity for dealing with people today. Nobody said or did anything wrong. It's just that my batteries are drained, so to speak. And when one overthinks things like I am often bad to do, well it can go nowhere fast. It is so easy to say just stop it. But it doesn't work that way. As I said, it's like Micky Mouse and the marching brooms, except that Micky started that shit and just couldn't stop it. I neither start nor stop. I just deal with it as it happens. Rocket powered roller skates. Wile E Coyote, super genius. I don't light the damn fuse, but I'm still taken for the ride. And I absolutely hate this about myself. What part of 'There is no need to panic' does my subconscious not get? Anxiety sucks. There is absolutely no reason at all to feel this way. None. Everything's fine. Everything's okay. All is well. So, why? It makes no sense. It does pass eventually, leaving a powerful exhaustion in its wake. You wouldn't believe the lengths I go through to avoid it, but sometimes it happens anyway. Sometimes without any reason my conscious mind can discern. It's the marching brooms not needing Micky to start them up. It's an avalanche when nobody spoke or breathed. It's shit. And shit happens sometimes. I'm not a smaaht man, but I know what love is. And love just plain hurts. It's one big choke-hold on the heart, and one big bite out of the soul. Love hurts. And unlike the Tin Man, I would have been overjoyed to not have a heart, for the damn things were no doubt made to suffer. Nothing has hurt me more than love. Because I can't turn it off when I so desperately need to. It's a runaway marching broom with no shutdown sequence. I, too, need a wizard to fix me. Better yet, a princess! Ribbit-ribbit, fix me, said the frog. But, instead she picked the toad. Ribbit-ribbit, flark this! I'm going back to my pad. Lily Pad, that is! Ribbit-ribbit! Some toads have all the luck, some frogs have all the pain. But, Ribbit-ribbit remember this, lovely princess. (Snags a fly) Don't come crying to me when things continue to go wrong. Ribbit-ribbit! Okay. A question for the vortex: Does it seem these days that there is a concerted effort to fan the flames of hatred on both sides of the fire? Especially when it comes to politics and race? I was just wondering, because it looks like they're trying to provoke us all. The best way to win is not to play their manipulative games. That's the vortex for ya. It's a tool to drain your essence. We are now Gelflings. The Dark Crystal is that screen we're hypnotized by. Ironically, the only time we're free of it is when it's dark/off. Turn it off. Find another way to pass that precious free time. As for me, I have been focusing on playing demos from my 1990s games, untouchable by modern day bullshit. It turns out that the Final Doom demos needed a bit more tweaking to all synchronize. It was not only an exact version of the DOS executable, but the IWADS, too. Now, everything plays until the end. Well except for that one that bombs out with an error at the end of TNT's "Habitat". Zeromaster's always breaking limits. Anyway, I have now switched goals and decided to collect all the demos for Ultimate Doom made by a certain Badass Russian dude from around 20 or so years ago. He loves using the Berserk Pack. I have never seen a Russian dude do so much punching since a certain Rocky movie. Hey, yo! It's one of the coolest things I have seen in a demo. Highly recommend. Better by far than mindlessly scrolling, if you ask me. Or if you don't. It has gotten so repetitive, I don't even have to look. Either it's pictures and videos of beautiful women, some real, some AI, all out of my league. many way too damn young, even if they were. That's one variety. The other posts are the provocations, the fanning of the flames I referred to earlier. I would say that it has gotten a lot worse in the last year or so. They want you angry because angry people stay engaged in the vortex. They want you to believe it is as simple as black and white, or red and blue. It's not. They bemoan the very violence they're instigating. As Yoda said, once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. The vortex is poison. If you glean nothing else from my words, understand this fact. According to my feed, they want me angry. Then they want be to be as horny as a toad. Then they want me to be sad, depressed, and lonely, knowing the illusion is out of reach. We have to be careful not to be puppets of manipulation, because someone sinister is pulling the strings. Smash the illusion and set yourself free. Also give a thought or prayer that I can do the same. It is as addictive as any drug. There was some serious dark psychological component to the very design of the social media vortex. You can bet that just like the casinos, they had people with college degrees in psychology embedded in that design. Both promote harmful behavior. Both see customers as potential victims to be exploited. They are not out there for the benefit of humanity, but to the detriment of souls who have lost their way. They are not your friends. They are predators of minds, destroyers of souls. And before you accuse me of exaggeration, take a good look around. It should scare you. Then in the midst of all this insanity, they're also trying to sell me shit. Talk about adding insult to injury. I do believe 'go to hell' is an almost strong enough response, aside from the classic, 'go flark yourself.' What about both? How about go flark yourself in hell? I won't buy anything these assholes are selling. In fact, if it was something I was going to buy anyway, an annoying advertisement is the quickest way to change my mind. Stay away with the ads. Stay away with the rage bait. And stop with the hotties whose birth years I can clearly remember. That goes quadruple for those who I was old enough to buy alcohol the day they were born. Are you as mad as a hatter? My name is not Chester, okay? Damn the vortex. I'll stick to my Doom and Duke demos instead. At least they cheer me up sometimes. Vortexes only pull in a downward direction. They lead nowhere good. I have got to find a positive island in this dark ocean. I sure don't anticipate being rescued by the Love Boat. The way my luck is going, I'd be able to freely choose between The Titanic, The Bismark, or The Edmund Fitzgerald. With an annoying crab singing 'Under Da Sea' in my ear. Yarr! We be heading for Davey Jones' locker. Errrr, his socks be smelly! Arrrrrr! A poor unfortunate soul, indeed. Narf, poit, egad! And all I've got to look forward to at the end of this long day of impossible to kill Michael Myers time is the peace of going home. Oh, and watching a big bad Russian dude punch the daylights out of some Doom monsters. Those poor creatures are always getting their demonic asses handed to them, and I seriously doubt Sly Stallone is going to step in the ring on their behalf. Hey, yo, I got better things to do. To survive a war, you gotta become war. Even 20 year old Doom demos are better than staring into the social media void. I want to keep whatever essence I've got. I've got enough problems without that. It's lonely out here. I have had enough of this exile and I would ironically prefer being alone to this. Whatever this is. I know it's not meant to hurt me, but it hurts me just the same. Some situations are far lonelier than actually being alone. And I am just so very tired, emotionally drained, to the point where I don't even know how to feel anymore. I meant everything I said in that earlier Richard Marx blog entry. But, feelings aren't exactly static, you know. And the real kicker is that too much is being asked of me. There are some regions of the desert that even I refuse to go. I will not help anyone search for what is already standing right here. What am I? What am I really? And if that makes me a terrible friend, then I guess I am a terrible friend. But I have already said that I feel like I have no friends at all, and it's things like this that make me feel this way. If the search is not for me, then it needs to be a search without me. I will not humiliate myself in such a way. I don't have much of an ego, but I have just enough of one to never allow this. (Or is it dignity?) There is just enough of my old self left to straight up say no for the first time in a long time. No, and as much love as I have in my heart for this person, this is a bridge too far, and a true friend would never ask such a thing of me. A true friend would care about my feelings, no matter how they choose to respond to them. I can accept no for an answer, But I can't be involved in any alternatives. That road is for you and not for me. This just has not been my day, folks. Now I just learned that stupid health insurance is trying to screw me out of using the pharmacy I prefer using. What is the flarking point of having insurance if you can't use it where you want and have every goddamn right to use it? Why is it only them who can place flarking restrictions on everything when it's my damn money they're stealing? Flarking criminals! Now see here, you money grubbing butt munching jerkwads, I'll quit my meds altogether before I ever give a damn dime to Wally World. I hate that flarking place. Besides, every dollar I keep away from Crazy Chairman Mao's Psycho Palace People's Republic Factory outlet, is a dollar spared for America. Merica, flark yeah! You know, I get tired of always getting the bad end of the deal when it comes to companies and the damn government. I am tired of getting the crappy end of the deal in far more aspects than the financial. Quite frankly I have had way more than my fill of bullshit of any and all flavors. I must apologize for my grouchy mood. I promise I am not like this all the time. It's just been an extremely shitty day, that's all. I promise to make every effort to be better next time. But, not today, Zurg! 

Universe Kenobi And Doctor Blog-ieo

Okay, Doctor, we both know the drill. You take the notepad and I'll take the couch. Help me Universe Kenobi. You are my only hope. This, indeed, was my darkest hour. It was the beginning. It was the end. And what does one do on the day after the end of the world? It's not anything that ever occurred to me before. You see, I once thought and thought myself wise to think there was no such thing as the day after the end. The revelation of the day after was amazing beyond belief in only one way. Amazingly horrible. And the lessons I learned that day might as well have been branded to my soul. Some days I shall never forget. Because of that day, and ever since that day, I am someone else. And I will be that way for the rest of my time on earth. On a very dark January day in 2022, I deleted my entire blog and started over. It was a day all my previous words suddenly lost all relevance. I reached a milestone of sorts today. Three Megabytes in four years plus. It's a jumbled mess just like me, But I certainly win on quantity. Well, hello, Universe. I still think of you every single day. Your picture on my wall is the first and last face I see every single day of my life. A lot has changed, but you have never left my heart and you never will. More of the circle these days is with you than is still here with me. Our parents, with you now, have made that circle more complete. As the song goes, may it be unbroken some sweet day. I guess I have remained behind to ensure everything is in order, for the future and generations ahead, to make sure the pieces are in place and that the reins will be ready for fresh hands to guide the future. Maybe I am here to connect past to future, to set forth a guiding course for others to complete. Could that be why I'm still here? If so, I've got a bit of work to be finishing up on. And when I am done, I shall be coming home. Clean cup. I say. Move down! Hello, there! General Kenobi! You are a bold one! Funny how this same situation feels different depending on the day I'm living it. We human beings are not DC current or a calm lake, remaining at the exact same level, day by day. We are the ocean, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, High tide, low tide, never the same. We are the glass, half empty, half full, spilled on the counter, shattered on the kitchen floor. We are the lens, rose colored, aquamarine, or the deepest darkest blue. And I, and I, well, I just don't know anymore. I think I just might need a better reason to be here than all that spouting I did in all that rambling above. Can I for the first time in ages finally get to live for myself? Can I live in reality rather than daydreams? Can I just for once drop this wish for what and who I can never surround myself with? I'm quite sure that even if I got my every wish, reality could never live up to the pretty picture I have painted in my mind as how things could be. I really should know this by now. Yet there seems to be a part of me that shall be ignorant of such things forever and ever amen. This being the self of my childhood who believed in all the fairy tales, of living happily ever after. These are the idealistic visions we plant in the minds of our young, visions forever dashed by angsty teenage years, followed by grim adulthood. There are two categories of knowledge in reference to me: Things I did not know back then that I wish I knew then, and things I that I didn't know then, and wish I still didn't know now. Though I guess selective ignorance is a luxury beyond our reach. Knowledge can be a burden, knowing can be one serious responsibility. The ignorance card loses its magic at the toll booth, not only from knowing, but beyond the time when one should already know. And I truly feel I am far beyond that time. I find myself in this waiting room where I work and I pay bills, and of course, wait. While the waiting has been so long as to seem static and eternal, I well know it is not. There will come a moment in the future where everything as far as I'm concerned will end. And while I have no idea if we're talking hours, days, years, or decades, I well know that each day means one less to live. It's a worry and a comfort blended together in the weirdest smoothie ever. Maybe a touch of bourbon would make it better? Knowing what, but never when, with just a bit of flavor. There absolutely has to be better ways of passing the time. Work is non negotiable and is certainly one way. Mindlessly scrolling though either mean ass people fighting or being ugly to each other, or impossible beauty, either AI generated, or real but unreachable, or political and religious rantings and ravings... All for 'entertainment'. This is a terrible way. There is maintaining my parent's house and home, and my garden, not only to pass the time, but in their memory. There is my computer hobbies, my old games and demos... But it seems these days I have become ill with Mick Jagger Syndrome. I just can't get no satisfaction. Some take comfort in God and thoughts of Heaven. With me, it's not that I refuse to believe, it's that I find myself unable to believe in anything at all. It's a vast empty universe that I have found myself in. One would think that damn near infinity would leave room for all possibilities, even Heaven, even God, but I just can't see anything out there but darkness and a few points of light. Don't you think I want to believe? I'm not getting any younger, and if this life truly is my only life, the future seems quite grim, dark, and lonely. I want to believe my dear loved ones are somewhere out there and that they are happy and together. I want to believe I will be with them again someday. But I am finding it difficult to believe that anything awaits me but old age and death. I am in a waiting room, nothing more. I know this will sound silly to those who wouldn't understand, but I need an apprentice to pass my old games down to. While the games themselves are mostly accessible, my decades of searching has netted some rarities that would be difficult to find these days, old versions, levels, demos where you can watch someone from 30-something years ago playing the game like it was yesterday, and even things I made using my healthy knowledge if the command line and the old DOS commands, leaving future generations to just point and click. Or maybe they can learn the old ways by examining my files. It would do my old heart good just to know someone might enjoy what I built, maybe even add to it, long after I'm gone. And that is only a small part of the great digital pyramid I have been building, containing not only my stuff, but that of my parents and my baby sister. Behold, the great pyramid of Wie, and I can never let my people go. You know? I think I'll spare the wider world my musings for today. I think they may be just a bit too grim for public consumption. Today's words shall be between myself and the universe. Also between all friends, Romans, robots, strangers, and of course the good Doctor Blog-ieo. Just keep taking your notes and stay away from the telephone, Doc. If anybody's going to call the men in the white coats, it's gonna be me when I'm good and ready. I've got some things to wrap up before they wrap me up. Congratulations, you're a mummy. Can't have a pyramid without a mummy. It's really a gradual slow acting madness, a slow rust of a particular tin man who unfortunately does have a heart. Nothing says you have a heart like the permanent ache constant enough that you can (almost) ignore it. Though some things one just can't turn off or tune out. Not when it is the very foundation of your current self. I'll bet that somewhere in these three megabytes, I have said this before. In the unlikely event this ever becomes a book, I would suggest to the editor to just pick where I said it best and move on. I was watching a few psychological videos about the danger of burying your feelings and your true self for the sake of survival. They say you can get to a point of never being able to feel good or bad again. One destroys their happiness and sadness alike to live in a desolate limbo. I hope my method is better. I still feel, but what I truly feel goes here and nowhere else. I vent here instead of in my personal life elsewhere. I put the emotional energy here, all of it. Then I go out into the world a bit more stable and rational, with a lot more control. I do not repress my feelings. I am just very selective in how and where I express them. It's like the Tin Man stoic in his journey, never saying anything, but writing it all in his journal. It's the Lion courageously storming the castle, fighting the guards, yet writing of all his fear before and after the battle. It's the scarecrow writing about everything he's learned along the way. So, it's more redirection than repression. While I could debate the health of this for the rest of my life, I also know I'd be even more of a mess without it. I have my highs and my lows, but my lows can be very dark and deep. I've still got to function even on the days I feel like crying, so I turn tears into words that stay. There are times when frustration gets the best of me, even days that really piss me off, yet again I turn that frustration and anger into words. Even when I'm happy, if my garden or my angel was especially pretty, I write about that, too. When I love someone, I love them dearly and deeply. When that love has absolutely nowhere else to go, it goes here. As does my love for those long lost, those I miss, those for whom logic and reason coldly tells me I will never see again. All of the grief, all of the pain, all of the guilt, all of my love, everything goes here. These are the things I can not express anywhere else. Sometimes I feel Doctor Blog-ieo is the only friend I have in this world. Why would anyone else care to listen to better than three megabytes of this? They would have to practically love me, and I have my doubts that anybody truly cares about me. Its just myself, the universe, and Doctor Blog-ieo. Help me, Universe Kenobi. You are my only hope. Maybe the only reason I'm still here is that I am not done writing the note. There's a serious part of me that really needs to explain my motives in microscopic detail. That's going to take several more megabytes to be sure. This will be a note worthy of world records. I have been through several pairs of shoes. And if this were hand written, I would have been through several notebooks, too. They would make a great paper weight, perfect for keeping the wind from scattering them. I guess I'm not really up to dealing with the world and all its bullshit today... This calls for minimal contact. Today is minimal contact day with the least possible interaction I can get away with. There are days when I can spread my social butterfly wings and fly high, or at least fall with style. But not today, Zurg. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe. But certainly not today. Even on a good day, nobody understands, but it's s mainly on the bad days that I wish somebody did. Anyone can hang around when everything's going right. It's when things get tough that things get real. It's a lonely life when you feel invisible and unwanted. Staying away from the social media vortex is crucial for me. It only makes me feel worse and comparison is the most direct road to hell I have ever known. Really it's the worst thing ever invented, at least for the user. I only keep mine because my father, my mother, and my baby sister being in my friends list. Actually I have a lot of deceased friends in that list. At least ten of them. Ain't that messed up? So, that's why I'll never delete my account. I have already lost them in so many ways. I don't want to lose them again in that way. If that sounds crazy I guess I must be. It's been one long and treacherous walk in the sand. Only a year or three in these particular shoes could ever bring understanding. A few loose marbles are inevitable at this point. Still, so far I remain functional. Maybe these sessions with the good Doctor Blog-ieo are partly why. Once again, I find myself wondering why I am so damn tired. This makes no sense at all. I shouldn't be tired, you know? Yesterday, the sun wasn't anywhere near the horizon when I gave up the temporary ghost. And I was out cold until the alarm so rudely forced me back to the waking world. But, damn, I feel like I didn't sleep at all. I could probably sleep around the clock if I didn't have anything more important to do. Notice I didn't say better? Because right now at this very moment there would be nothing better than a few hours of unconscious. Bring on the television snow, and let me fade away, or from my perspective, let this world fade away. Quite frankly, I need a break from everything and everyone, including myself. Maybe I am physically tired because I am also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually tired... And maybe it's overflowing into the physical realm. This relationship between mind and body is something else. I really learned this in 2022. I was physically sick and didn't bother leaving my bed for several days. Grief can be a literal illness, just as physical as mental. I never knew that before. But I've sure known better since. Though I'd rather lack the knowledge and still have my loved ones. Such is the way of the force. Life can be one mighty letdown, one big bummer, dude. It still hurts, but I manage to drag myself out of bed most days. You gotta do what you've gotta do. My life hasn't been the same, will never be the same, but the bills roll in like always. There is the burden of the role. There is the burden of loss. There is the burden of loneliness and unrequited love. My figurative backpack must have infinite room, for we just add everything, dropping nothing at all. They tell us we are stronger than we think. Then what am I? Hercules? Superman? I doubt the man of steel ever cries. Man, I am really having a bitch of a time getting myself together today. I don't understand why. It's been comatose sleep with weird ass dreams every night. Last night's was a doozy, and one I don't recall having before. I dreamed I was some sort of a prisoner and my fellow inmates kept trying to convince me to eliminate the dude across the way. He was a nice guy and I didn't have a problem with him, so I kept refusing to harm the dude. The whole dream was me refusing to go along, over and over again. Alright, Doctor Freud, decode that symbology. I'd sure like to know what the hell that was about. Meanwhile this dry weather has me breaking out like I were 16 again. What the hell? Life sucks enough without this shit. It's embarrassing to be sure. I wonder if I might be allergic to that blanket I have on my bed? It was my mother's, so I sure as hell ain't getting rid of it. But I may try putting it away and see if these damn breakouts stop. I though I was through with this bullshit decades ago. This is coming from someone still keeping their mommy's blanket for a security blanket. But, hey. I am still surviving in a grown-up world. Life is hard enough. Little shards of bullshit just makes things harder. Nothing wants to leave me in peace. Everything wants to leave me lonely. Okay. Maybe I'm just being a grouch today. But, damn. I've been passing out in a deep sleep every single night, yet I am plum exhausted all the time. The demands of the world sure as hell aren't letting up. And forgive me, but these damn breakouts are robbing me of my pretty face. I know this shouldn't be a concern for somebody like me, ah but it is. Confidence translates into energy and I need all the energy I can get. Damn it, man. Can't I get some relief here? Oh it only one more straw. Surely you can handle one more straw. No, I literally can't. I did say it was like the tide, didn't I? I just can't figure out what is wrong with me today. I shouldn't be tired, but I am. I shouldn't be grouchy, but I am. Nothing about the world around me is any different from yesterday. So, what the hell is wrong with me? I just want to go home and back to my bed. Ah, but I can't. Besides, in the long run, I think it just might do more harm than good. Those bills keep rolling in, and I just can't stop until I drop. Maybe I'll feel better as the day goes on. I can't place it exactly. Tomorrow may well be a better day. I've just got to get through this one first. I don't want to be a grouch, a buzz kill, or a wet blanket. I want to be the type that others like to be around. I try my best to be self aware when it comes to my moods. My feelings are nobody's responsibility but my own. It's not anybody's fault. It's as Cronkite said, just the way it is. Speaking of Cronkite, Newsflash: This just In: It's the next day and the great Cosmic Wie seems to be feeling a heck of a lot better. Excellent. My face has stopped resembling my former teenage self, or a maltreated tomato.. Maybe it was Momma's blanket I am allergic to. I guess I'll keep it put away with all precious things, if that's the case. Now this day could improve even more by allowing me to spend some time around my earthly Angel. I really hope she's okay. When it's someone you love, it's only natural to feel their pain. She deserves so much better. And I'll always wish it could be me to make it better. Such is the stuff dreams are made of. I love her. Clean cup move down yadda yadda Yoda. Hmph! Pointless, this is! A subject change is most definitely in order here. Order, I say! Order. I made a major improvement to my DOSBOX games. I had been having a problem with Final Doom demos and speed runs de-syncing and going haywire. It turns out I was using the wrong executable for playing them back. They're both from 1996, but it's the June date that is the correct version. I was using the one from October. Once I switched them, everything plays back perfectly. It's hard to believe that such a simple problem had me stumped for years. But, it's all good now. Now, if I could get all of John Romero's Doom Legacy demos from 2001 to sync properly. There's something going on that flarks everything up when he fires a rocket. The first three play fine, but after that, they all de-sync. I have tried several versions of the Legacy executable from that time and they all fail. The windows version does a bit better, but still messes up in places. I would sure like to know the exact version he recorded them with. But anyway, enough nerd talk. This day sure seems to be going by awful slow. Michael Myers time is in full effect. And Doctor Loomis is still one hell of a poor shot. Oh well, more nerd talk then. Since that one change fixed so many things, I think I should do a major backup of the files, replacing the old versons while I'm at it. I want my files to be as awesome as possible. Hopefully the only desyncing demos will be Romero's. Besides, I have made a few improvements in other areas. It happens that way. I'll go months without changing a thing, only to suddenly be hit with mega inspiration. And every time it seems there is nothing more to do, I find something else. I have been building on this for more than two decades, yet I always find more. Who was it who said that a work of art is never completed? Only abandoned? It's the actual building and creating that I enjoy. Some of it is my creation. Some of it is the creation of others that I make easier to access. There are a lot of obscure files that I use my knowledge to put within the reach of a single click. Some of what I found years ago is no longer out there. I enjoy saving these things for others to appreciate, all credit to where it is due. But the collection itself has been a long labor of love. It has kept me going through some very dark and difficult times. I have poured a lot of myself into this. That's why while it may seem minor, it is anything but. This, ladies and gentlemen, along with the rest of this great digital pyramid, is my heart and soul. May it stand long after I fall. I wish I could build a real pyramid, surrounded be majestic statues of the ones who deserve to be remembered every bit as much as the kings of Egypt. But it's merely this digital collection that is within my power. Far from a king, far from a god, I am just a human being trying to make sense of what remains, and of what has been lost. Ruling an empire sounds like too much work to me. Fixing this flarked up universe would be a monumental undertaking even with god-like powers. So, not a king and not a god. Just a mess, when you really get down to it. Mostly I'm just going through the motions, on autopilot, kinda like that ghost plane that crashed in the Dakotas. I have not crashed yet. But there is a dreadful knowledge that the crash is coming. The only question is when and how long I've got left to fly. Any minute, now or decades in the future. That is the question. How long? How long? I feel like Wile E Coyote, strapped to a rocket with no steering or navigation. That cliff face is inevitable. There is no doubt. I just hope this whole circus has been for a whole hell of a lot more than one scrawny roadrunner. Meep! Meep! Mothatruckas! Meep! Meep! Though I'd put my trust in ACME before I would dare trust those criminals at AT&T. Not saying much though. I would also sooner trust the devil himself. It's been four years and I'm still pissed off. Meep! Meep! You bastard sons of bitches. And the AI false god you rode in on. May that entire corporation rot in hell. Okay, kiddos, subject change? Something we can all sing along with, okay? Okay here is one for all the head shrinkers out there. Why do feelings linger? Why is it when something gives me the blues, the feelings remain even after the cause has passed? Logically I should be able to move on, yet the feeling stays. Why? It's like a switch when activated, but like an old rusty valve when trying to turn them back off. It's like Micky Mouse and the marching brooms. Except that I don't start it. I never want to start it. All I want to do is get through my day and live as peaceful and as happy as I can. But damn it. It's never a single blues song. It's the whole album. It's a night at a blues venue. It's the old man from that crossroads movie showing up with his guitar. I wrote a song about it. Like to hear it, go! Once the blues get turned on, the blues stay on. The feeling doesn't go away. It takes all my effort and quite a bit of time to kick those blues. I can't afford using the Eric Clapton method. The feeling just lingers and hovers. It casts a shadow over everything I do. As Andy Rooney once said, I hate that. I am so tired of feeling what I just don't want to feel. You can't judge this old book by its cover. If I ever understood anything, I understand the blues. I live them. I just write this instead of the songs.