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.