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!