On Being Human - Half A Life

How often does "You Deserve Better" translate into "You could do better"? And... Is either one of these mutually exclusive? Or are they like peanut butter and jelly? Sometimes it truly is nobody's fault. The glass breaks. The cookie crumbles. The storm rises. Life goes on. Life doesn't. We spend a lifetime asking questions that can never be answered, questions that linger, questions that burn. And when the asking changes nothing, helps nothing, heals nothing, why do some of us have such difficulty letting go? It is not failure. It is not forgetting. It's understanding that the weight of care can and must be directed to where the power remains in our hands. It's understanding that letting go does not mean you no longer love. If anything, it means casting that love in a different and better light. Alright, void. I think I'd rather write than shout. And so I shall. I wonder if the time has come indeed to put away the old things and try to build a new thing. My wondering might be just a little hazy, though, with the fog within just as thick as the fog without. If sleep is the new party, then I have had one wild weekend. Between the rain, the disappointment, and general fatigue of the past several days, I have to say I was asleep more than awake for the whole time. Every time I thought I had slept all the sleep out of me, I'd get still and off I'd go again. Vivid dreams, recurring aspects that make no sense at all to me. And what makes the least sense of all is on this foggy morning in this foggy mind, I feel like I could sleep this day away, too. Only it's suddenly Monday, and therefore I can't, even though I could if only the world would let me. As McCartney sang, When you've got a job to do, you've got to do it well. But dedication and a good work ethic is not the same as passion. One can be dedicated. One can care very deeply about their workmanship. But passion? It's a job, not a girlfriend. Interview an entire elementary school with the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Put every answer on a list. Now you have a near exclusive list of jobs people can be passionate about. Still, 'Company XYZ' please don't break up with me over this. I'm still your dedicated partner in every other way. Now, sleep? That's something I could be very passionate about. It's the only lover who could make me forget about absolutely everything... At least for a while. Bring on that beautiful void, that final frontier. In space, there are no absolute coordinates, only reference points. Space is meaningless without context or the contents. And do you know something? I think life and space have a lot in common, don't you? To know where you are, you've got to know where you were, what's around you, who's around you, Yadda yadda Yoda. Hmmmmph! Space, the final frontier it is! <(- _ -)> In a racket not even Capone could have dreamed of, we pay for the bandwidth for them to serve us ads. At least with bootleg booze, Al was delivering a worthy product. Plus he fed the homeless and created a lot of jobs. It's something when modern day cooperation make mobsters look like good guys in comparison. Actually from what I've read, if you treated him right, he'd treat you right. He was a generous man who didn't get brutal unless he was double crossed. Only then would he'd get ruthless. Either way, I think I'll head to the speakeasy and order me a clean cup move down. Wow, man. Where the hell am I? I'm not sure where the universe went for that gap of hours. All I know is I feel pretty darned good this morning. Now if I can stop Michael Myers time from killing me, that would be grrreat.... I slept good. It felt good. Now, I want more. Give me that television snow. I want to do a nice fade. I do feel good, but I'd feel even better after a few more hours. If sleep is the new party, then I am a party animal. I'd be that one guy from the college fraternity that wakes up half off the balcony with a beer in my hand... That is if sleep were indeed the new party. If not, then I'm just the old man snoring while the rain is pouring. Really, that's far from the worst fate that could befall me. Clean cup move down. As I may have recently talked about, I went through my old files and reassembled some of my favorite websites from the past into nice neat little 7-zip archives. It seemed like the right thing to do, knowing that the internet of old is long dead now. I will never stream jack shit. The social media vortex is no good. YouTube is full of low effort AI slop. The site that I download my game levels from is constantly robo-checking me and it's beyond annoying. Even the high seas aren't what they used to be. Either that, or I already have all the treasure I could ever want. That leaves banking and of the like. One doesn't need a super fast connection to check their balance or pay a bill, do they? I don't need bandwidth to decompress and reminisce, do I? I do believe it is time to put away the old and go for something new. Am I too old? Is it really too late? And just because I put away the old does not mean I don't keep and treasure it. As the online madness has gotten more intense, I have retreated more and more into my old games, ones that were made long before absolutely everything just had to be online. But there is a problem. The fact that I love them does not prevent me from getting bored of them after a while. So, it's a cycle, a burst of creativity that lasts a few months, followed by more months of absolutely nothing. And while these months have added up to years and the years to decades, having built up a very complicated collection in that time, something destined to be abandoned rather than completed... Like any work of art.. I think maybe I need a new project. Though what exactly that might be, I have not yet figured out. My garden this year has done wonderfully... But this depression I've been fighting has taken away a lot of the energy I started with this spring. Like I've said, all I seem to want to do is sleep around the clock. It wasn't any special event, just a large collection of the things that have already happened, nicely mixed with a few impossibilities, and a dash of isolation. Under such circumstances, it is intensely difficult to keep up any enthusiasm for anything, really. Then there is the unrelenting summer heat, broken only by the rain. And the rain just makes me want to sleep more. That was why I spent so much of this past weekend in unconscious bliss. What more could be said? Except, of course, that I really need to find something new. The vortex has let me down. People in general have let me down. Fate has brought me low. The distractions have only been a temporary reprieve, just as this sleep has been. Work, sleep, and bills, oh my. No love in sight, no peace, no refuge, only a reprieve, only a brief escape. It's just repetition, the same treadmill, the same hamster, running to nowhere at all. This is how I feel. Sometimes run to for reassurance and emotional support, which I give when I can, but nowhere to run to for the same. It does get old, ladies and gentlemen. So I run to my computer and I run to my garden, that is the time that this dark cloud leaves me the energy to run. I run seeking all that I want, and maybe I find a shadow of what I need. Mick Jagger was wrong. I can't even get what I need sometimes. I do seem to go on. I do seem to survive. But, is that enough? No, not really. Not even close. Well the rain is gone and the sweltering heat is back. It feels like I'm being steamed like broccoli. It's barely nine o'clock in the morning, and therefore just the beginning. Oh, joy. It would be absolutely wonderful to have something to look forward to besides passing out under a fan tonight. You would think all this sleep would have helped me get my mind right. There is this audio book about sleep that I sometimes fall asleep listening to. It tells of the many physical and mental health benefits of getting sufficient sleep. After these past several days, I should be as stable as an Egyptian pyramid. I guess I am, outwardly. But, you, avid reader, know better than that, don't you? The pyramid is one thing. The mummy is another. Apparently, I will never let my problems go. Conversely, maybe it won't take me 5,000 years to learn how. And as the subject drifts, let me say this: I think this whole thing about history being written by the winners of wars goes back to the Romans and beyond. That's why the Druids had such a bad reputation. Also for the Romans, having a written language to actually write history certainly helped. Just a thought. I'm sure that worked well for the Greeks and the Egyptians before them. Could you imagine an alternate universe where King George III is seen as Lincoln? He preserved the British Empire. Who knows just how the text would be written if different nations won? Like I said, just a thought? What if Carthage had defeated Rome? How different might this world be? Though my biggest what if is far more recent. What if RFK survived and defeated Nixon in 1968? Haroooo! Not cool! Defeated by two Kennedys. I thought you were my friend, Cosmic Wie! Seriously, I think Nixon was a good president. I just wonder how differently RFK would have handled that turbulent time. Okay. Enough of this. Clean cup move down. If I could change one thing about myself, I would remove this tendency to worry myself sick about things I can't do a damn thing about. Sadly, once that train leaves, I'm not the one driving it. It's not steam. It's not electric. It's not diesel. This baby runs purely on anxiety and ACME rockets. There's no stopping it. This part of me with enough reason to write? I'm only a passenger. And I'm the first one to want to get off of this damn thing. But, as I said, I'm not the one driving. Maybe a bit of grounding and reassurance would help, but there's nobody here. I need no promises. Just a kind countenance to take up my entire field of vision. Just a steady set of arms to reassure me. Just another thing I must learn to live without, nothing to do but disappear within and let the committee of residual aspects of Wie make all the decisions for me, pure logic at the wheel, detachment at the controls. Alright guys, keep the ship together until I get back. "We always do." True, it's all me, but even grown-up space cadets have to pretend once in a while. It is a form of retreat I have learned to perfect over the years. This is what I do when everything gets to be more than I can handle. I'm the opposite of Voltron. When the shit hits the fan, I divide into aspects and let them handle it. I only reassemble when it's all been taken care of. Sometimes I need to turn on autopilot and retreat to my cabin before my flailing arms accidentally press the self destruction button. Damn! And on my first day! I will face absolutely everything. Just not always with all of me. It's just like Captain Kirk said in a star trek episode I just made up when Scotty called him on the communicator about a problem with the Enterprise in the middle of him getting it on with a hot alien babe. I'm busy right now! Let Spock handle it! It's like the rules of succession, except I reassume the presidency afterwards. Don't get too used to that Oval Office, Vulcan! It's mine, haroooo! But, yeah you handle things for now. I'll be baaaak. I will return momentarily. I can't say I'm a fan of the aftereffects either. Sometimes it takes quite long for them to fade. It often takes a good night's sleep to let the brain finally settle down those misbehaving neurons. I don't know what the hell dreams about the ex have to do with it, but oh well. I guess I'll endure them. It's not like I get a vote. That's the thing, really. It's not just the event. It's the way my central nervous system reacts to it. It's an allergic reaction in a way. The event is over. The reaction continues. All I have are sleep and time. No friend. No lover. No drugs. Sleep and time, only sleep and time. So, what the hell happened to set this in motion. Basically me. I didn't check to see if that damn car payment had already hit my bank before budgeting and paying other damn bills. Then the damn thing hit like a photon torpedo, and I was at red alert. And, I the great starship captain had nobody to blame but myself. Luckily said car payment was covered, so I didn't have an even bigger financial mess to clean up. When I found that out, the pure relief from being worried so much was so strong and so sudden that it literally made me swoon. The counter was my support for a minute or two. I damn near cried. So, I've been dealing with the aftereffects of a pure panic attack. Those damn things will damn near knock the wind out of you and the stuffing out of your pillows. No fun at all. Zero stars. Would not recommend. My guess is that it's like being on coke or speed without the high. The crash, however, is about the same. Ah, undiagnosed anxiety, undiagnosed depression... Well, the depression is partially diagnosed, I guess, since my doctor has had me on Paxil since 2021... Though 2022 and its extreme tragedy has long had me wondering if the damn medicine worked at all. I had been on those meds for three or four months before all hell had broken loose, so I really don't know. It's hard to say whether I feel normal when there has been no such thing for most of this dreadful decade. And I was struggling enough to need the medicine long before everything went to hell. So, basically, I don't know. I don't think a cure exists. Not for me. Maybe actually by being loved, by being held with love would help. But really, I don't know. Perhaps I never will. I try to avoid those kinds of thoughts that bring me down whenever I can. That's why thinking too much is not exactly a good thing. Especially when such thoughts are preambled with a question as to what I am living for anymore. Though it is a valid question. Maybe the only valid question there ever was. Just what am I still here for? For the people who aren't anymore? For the ones who brought me here? Wanted me here? For the ones who truly believed in me? For the ones who saw me for much more than I have ever seen myself. All the old distractions have long ago lost their sparkle and lost their shine. I think maybe I have just been pretending for the longest time. Why do I bother waking up when sleep feels light years better than reality ever will? Negative reinforcement, I guess, knowing that absolutely everything will go to shit if I don't. That's why I drag myself out of bed. Because reality will beat me harder if I don't. What a lovely motivation, don't you think. It's never because love and happiness awaits me. Because it does not. Only work and stress, blistering summer and brutal winter. Purgatory awaits. Limbo awaits. Hell awaits. Yet far worse awaits me if I don't. Damned if I do. Damned even worse if I don't. It's like that game show on Hell TV, "You Can't Win." I am forced to play a game I no longer believe in. There was an episode of Star Trek The Next Generation, "Half A Life." Have you ever seen it? Apparently, there is a planet where everyone at age 60 must perform a ritual. Due to robotic censorship, I can't directly say what kind of ritual. Let's just say nobody on that planet ever sees 61. If I lived on that planet, I'd still have a few years to go. How would I feel about that? Would it surprise you to say I don't really know? Ask me again at 59 and a half. I guess, here on planet Earth, barring misfortune, It is my plan to have all my paperwork and affairs in order by then. Financial affairs, of course. I certainly see no other kinds in my future. Nope, not even one. What gets me about that episode was how upset the guy's own daughter was for him wanting to stick around. Cultural differences, I guess? Call me selfish, but if the choice were mine, mine would still be around. 80, 90, 100, and more. Still going strong like Dick Van Dyke. But, sadly, I had no choice at all. I think of "Half A Life", and I think of the book, "Q-Squared", particularly the character of Jack Crusher. In a vast multiverse, there was only one Jack Crusher. Thousands id Beverly's, Picard's, and Riker's, across the dimensional divide. But only one Jack Crusher. Trelane used this fact to manipulate Jack, saying things like, "You're pathetic, you're alone , you were never meant to be." But that wasn't true, was it? Even in those alternate worlds, he was remembered. He was honored. Even still loved. And even if all that wasn't true, and unlike in science fiction, one can never see or touch any realities that are not their own. And if you truly are the only Jack Crusher existing in the multiverse, does it not behoove you to make that existence count for something? Now, as far as I know, Just as with Captain Crusher, there is only one me. I guess there could be alternate universes, but I haven't seen anything proving they exist. Though it would be a comfort knowing somebody is still alive beyond this reality, that maybe they for the flip of a proton, lived instead of died. I cling to anything that would give me such hope. But, even if so, in this life, in this reality, I guess it doesn't matter. Not here. It doesn't matter here because they are not here. I can't see or touch any other reality. And as far as I can see, there is only one. What is beyond my senses might as well not exist at all. Would I totally flip out like Jack did? Probably not. I would prefer a more discreet exit, myself. This is still the note, ladies and gentlemen. That has not changed. What does change is how I feel about it. That constantly morphing glass, half empty, half full, spilled and shattered on the kitchen floor. Call it a constant flux. Call it the tide. Call it the lens. Call it the Hoover Dam for tears, and the hope to generate enough power to live for another day. Call it anything you like. Naming it doesn't change a thing. It's reality. Sometimes Pinhead's description fits it best, especially when the tide is low, when the lens is blue, and the glass lies in shards at the bottom of the well. There are of course brighter days, though so very difficult to picture in the darkness. Can one close their eyes to a darkened room and see light? It's not so easy. But, it may be possible. I honestly don't know. Oh, Universe, just what do they want me to say? Do they wish me to drown in fake positivity? I am still angry at a certain self-help book. I thought it might contain some useful wisdom. Instead, it was about this poor guy that found himself in a concentration camp, a poor soul who somehow still managed to look on the sunny side of life long enough to survive. So, I guess the whole point of that book was, "Be happy because you're not being tortured by Nazis." Really? People have it worse than you, so be happy? Going by that logic, I should also be pissed that people have it better than me. Comparison is the road to hell, ladies and gentlemen! That poor inmate had a strong and resilient soul. Stronger than mine. That's the only thing that damn book proved. The absence of evil Nazis does not make my life better, even as their presence would certainly make it a hell of a lot worse. Though they would certainly love the level of 21st century antisemitism on display. But that's a whole other topic. I don't mean to downplay the man's story of surviving in that horrible place. But it should have never been framed or marketed as a self help book. The fact that yes I have it better than those poor human beings does not in itself make things better for me, no more than Bill Gates or Elon Musk sitting on a solid gold toilet, wiping his ass with hundred dollar bills changes my own struggles in the least. Comparison is the road to hell. Nobody's struggles should be trivialized. Nobody's suffering should ever be downplayed. When speaking of another's life's struggles, how do you know? We don't know. All I know is that working hard and doing the right things should be better rewarded than it is. Treating others right and with respect should be better rewarded than it is. I am so sick of seeing good human beings catch hell, while jerkwads get rewarded for being assholes. This, too, is comparison and also leads to a hellish place. Only God knows the struggle of one human being. And if action speaks louder than words, well.... Let's just stay off that road, shall we? In fact, how about another clean cup move down? Do you want to know what it means to be alive? People, companies, governments, and the whole damn lot with their hands out for your money. If you have a heartbeat, then you owe. But, I have a plan: She's hella good with numbers. She's my financial advisor, actually. Her name is Helen Waite and she's in charge of all invoices receivable. In short, if you want money from me, you should first go to Helen Waite. Sitting on a hot coal is optional, though. They'll probably want money even when I'm long gone. Hopefully far in the future. In such case, I have left instructions for my kids to tell them to go to Helen Waite. Being alive sure is expensive. Damn near a luxury. Too bad we can't all live luxuriously. For what it costs, we certainly should. We pay the price in other ways, too. I can't say I like this unsettled feeling that is so often in the background. There is no one and nothing to help me forget about it. All I can do is write about it and hope expressing the feeling will dull the sensation just a little bit. It never goes away, but if it should just fade a bit, I would be okay. A slight edginess might actually keep me on my toes. Still, just as there is a time for vigilance, there should be a time for peace. Even the Bible, so full of war, says so. Do we really have to die just to rest in peace. Why can't we have that rest, that peace, while we're still alive? Must life always be a struggle from the time we are born until the day we die? Must it really be this way? We really do pay a high price just to exist, and it's so much more than just this money. Maybe the Sith code, though fictional, is still accurate. Peace is a lie. I sure haven't found any. There is only passion. This I have in abundance, in all flavors. There is my deep love for those I have lost. There is my anger and despair at having lost them. There is my frustration with this life and this world I must live in. There is my deepest unrequited love and affection for a certain earthly angel. There is my sorrow in knowing such feelings can never be returned. There is my loneliness. There is indeed passion. Though how it might make me strong, I have no clue. Anger of course can make you strong, but it can also make you stupid, and that strength is only temporary. Anger is also a demon that can kick you out of the driver's seat and take the wheel. And you don't want that. Act in haste, repent in leisure. Blessed is he who is slow to anger. There is wisdom. Passion must be properly directed. Though that's difficult when it has nowhere to go. I guess that's what these words are for. Though they barely describe this unstable mix of emotions worthy of a scientific experiment. Exploding labs, scientists with smoking, singed white hair. Great Scott! She blinded me with science! We're gonna need another Timmy! Actually that's why I often leave my "Mr Spock" in charge. All of these illogical human emotions. I find them fascinating, but let's be logical despite them. It was "Spock" who dealt with the bank. It is "Spock" who decides at work. In fact, I try to let that green blooded son of a gun make the majority of my decisions. Then when I can finally be alone, I'll let the Gorn vent and rage. ERRRR!!! He's probably going to have a lot to say during my alone time drive home. There might even be a Klingon battle cry involved. RAWRRRR! Otherwise, I need to be cool and logical like Spock. Except for when he slapped that phaser out of Valerious's hand. Though that was an awesome Spock moment. If you've managed to make a vulcan angry enough to rage, you've obviously done something. May my Mr Spock never get to that point. Also may my two bucks never get to that point either. Release the force field! 

Beloved Image Of A Soul Unknown

I could picture you rising from the ocean, standing upon that shell, the birth of Venus, indeed. A brief visit to the mortal realm and gone again. Shining down from heaven, the very vision of an angel, I see you there. The Brightest Of The Constellation, how does this light not catch every eye? The one to outshine them all, helpless to look, helpless to love, a blinding afterimage, a brilliant ghost lost to time, Yet, still you shine. I'm late on the scene, but not too late to see you there. And seeing is so much more than believing. To see is to know, to know is to love, knowing a love for a light long gone. But if it means anything, I still see you there. The way Elton John feels about Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana, The way L.A. Guns feels about Jayne Mansfield, so do I feel about Willy Rey (Wilhelmina Rietveld). She would be my mother's age had she not fallen to tragedy. She was born the same year as my mother and died a month before I was born. As far as for photographs, she is by far, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No exaggeration. Beyond the obvious, It would be very difficult not to get lost in those eyes. And her life was no less tragic. I think she deserves a song, too. It's only a picture, I know. But I wonder about the story behind the picture and the mind behind that angelic face. What was she like? What were her dreams? Maybe this is a weird thing to think about, but hey, I've got plenty of time, so why not? None of these modern-day TikTok queens could ever hold a candle to her. If I were a beauty contest judge, I would crown her Ms Universal Spacetime, for nobody in all eternity comes anywhere close. Or at least I have not seen them. As far as for physical beauty, she wins. Though I wish I knew more. I would have loved to have known the person and the soul within, but I was born way too late. I don't believe for a minute that her death was on purpose. With anxiety it is not so easy to quiet the nerves. And there's just no sleeping when it gets bad enough. One pill here to calm the nerves and ease the mind, just enough to be able to sleep. But, it took more and more, and one tragic day, enough was too much. That's what I think happened. Now, I don't know for sure. I could be wrong, for I sadly never knew her soul. But, still.. It's a dangerous game just to have a little peace. Either way, it was a tragedy. So young. So achingly beautiful. What a waste of a beautiful soul. It's a big bad world full of sad stories, but this one somehow hits me personally. Though I can't understand why. I know, I know. Such is the way of the force. It's just so sad for someone so young and beautiful. I also have a feeling she would have lived to be a beautiful old lady. Let's see, she would be turning 77 this year, same as my mother. I sure wish I could have kept my parents a little while longer. Circle of life, I know, but I still need them, still wish they were here. The real loves of our lives are the ones who loved us from the beginning. That's a lesson I wish I knew sooner. I miss them. Okay, before I get upset, back to the earlier subject. Wilhelmina Rietveld is no doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in pictures. She outshines them all. A close runner up would be Linda Ronstadt back in the day. I suppose it is a matter of personal taste. Interestingly enough, that it is women from that era that really shine for me. Also, that I have never gone crazy over blondes. For me, it's often redheads and brunettes. On "Threes Company", I preferred Janet to Crissy. I suppose everyone is different. There's how it stands with pictures of those I could never hope to meet. As far as for real life and in person, it does get a lot more complicated. My feelings often put their figurative thumb on the scale. If I try to be objective in subjectivity, my middle sister's best friend would take that crown, hands down. She was adorable in high school, and she's downright beautiful now. Thank you, Mario, but your princess is in another castle. Damn, you Mario!!! Go for it, Bowser! But... When I bring my irrational feelings into this, it's a certain angel I refer to, now and again. Though the logical fact is that when you love someone, it makes them even more beautiful in your eyes. I guess it's the only area of debate where bias makes perfect sense. Of course there are real memories involving real people I love, still photographs of the mind, certain memories never leave. I wish for only the happy ones to stay. Special moments can never be planned, at least not in complete detail. Sunsets and soft light just happen sometimes. Maybe a face, if you're lucky, an expression, a softness one never forgets. One can't just plan. One must build and one must hope. The best moments are when you know they're happening before your eyes. The toughest moments are only realizing after their long gone. It is good to know they were real, that they happened at all. Such is the way of the force. The social media vortex glitched and damn near locked me out, robo gas lighting me as to wonder which password is right. But what if it did lock me out? Would that be such a bad thing? It's true it's the only link I have left to the accounts of Marsha, my parents, and several dear friends who have passed on. But, I have screen grabbed a lot of that, and it's not like they're going to be posting anything new. Unless it's a damn hacker or something, which is not something I'd like to see anyway. Should any aspects of my dear ones be held captive by these sinister corporations? Or should it be in my hands instead? I think I can answer that question. The social media vortex is, as a certain Star Wars Admiral from under da sea would say, a trap. And the vortex long ago ceased making me feel connected to anyone. Quite the contrary in recent years. It makes me feel invisible as always. What's worse is they seem to promote general ugliness more and more. I am more than sick of seeing people hating on each other, hurting one another. Friends, I would love to see some love out there, even if not specifically for me. I am tired of the cruelty, the ugliness, and the way it's promoted on social media just to keep us engaged. Remember how before all this, that was a good word? Okay... Better subject, please. Clean cup move down. Between the yards, the garden, numerous, and various "Round 2 it's," I had an extremely productive weekend, I mean, I got a lot of things done. I rocked. I rolled. I really should feel good about myself. (As it is, I only feel 'okay') But, okay is good enough for me. I hope to keep my rocking and rolling going into the workweek. May we all rock. Though this morning has been just a bit shitty, literally speaking. You know, everybody in the land of Oz has to go see the wizard sometimes. There is just no getting around it. But what the hell is going on today? Did everybody in this place have a big Ex-Lax platter breakfast or something? It should be added to the Emerald City Bill of Rights that everybody has a right to wash their hands or see the wizard without two nasty asses shitting in the same room! I fled one such room, walked across the building to another, and guess what? Literally the same shit going on in there, too! Geesh! This weak stomach quite literally ain't up for this shit. Gah!!! The weatherman on channel 7 says that we're in for a heavy tropical downpour later this week. Which is good because I hope it cools us down a bit. Sleeping, even under a fan on full blast, has been a bitch and a half. It has been hotter than three flips and a flark, and I've been miserable. The AC is broken and it's going to be a while before I can afford the repairs. So, come on, tropical rain. I am ready Freddy for ya, baby. My garden is, too. I just hope the roads stay intact. But I guess that's another problem. [A day or so later] It's awful gloomy outside, but it's cool and comfortable for once. That's a worthy tradeoff if you ask me. Actually, these rainy summer days are perfect sleeping weather. If only I had the time. To fade into that television snow sounds like bliss to me. When your work interferes with your hobbies, that's a bummer, dude. These days, sleep is the new party, and I want to party all the time. Do I really have to be a functional cog in the wheels of civilized society? Do I really have to? Really? The Egyptian taskmasters had nothing on the almighty dollar. I've been building pyramids all my adult life. Just not for myself, sadly. I don't even have the time to fall asleep and dream one up. I said where's the freaking bourbon! Wrong dream, Fred. Okay, new subject, clean cup move down! The recent demise of the last couple old world web hosting sites has given me enough pause to go over my favorite old websites and make sure I've got them preserved as well as I can. The old internet is sadly dead. It has been dying for a while now. Mainly what I have tried to hold onto are the pages for my favorite old games, 90s FPS, and those cute / fun visual novels that people put out there for free. Each site was a work of art and it's very sad to see them lost. Marsha had a page (Dedicated to Guiding Light's Buzz And Jenna) on Angelfire that I am glad to see the Internet Archive has saved. I, myself, saved it many years ago, and again in '22 just to be sure. The internet of old was more than just a few large corporate sites to bounce between. People who were passionate enough to build their own web pages, never went with bland and boring. When they loved a game, a show, or a movie, they wanted the world to know about it. The old internet was an experience and an adventure, and it's so sad how short a season it was, and how only a lucky few, myself included, will ever know. There once was a cool Beetlejuice site, called the "Website For The Recently Deceased". What a cool name! Though, these days the site itself is long deceased, just as the wonderful person who gave me the link so long ago. It sure didn't last 600 years. Though, who knows? Maybe on my M-Disks it will. Plus it's on the internet archive. Though, since I saved some files roughly 19 years ago, my backup is more complete. Though I guess it's no big deal so long as the spirit of the site is saved. I can't think of a more deserving spirit than The Ghost With The Most. There is a YouTube video with PJ Harvey singing an acoustic version of "Down By The Water." To me she looks just like Lydia Deetz in that video. The only one who looks more like Lydia is Winona Ryder herself. Maybe it's that Goth motif? Hey, Lidz! Whatcha singing about, babes? I guess that is one of the hardest lessons of life, is that all things wonderful, all things beautiful, be they websites, people, places, things, wonderful hearts, or beautiful souls.... They're only here for a season. When they're gone, they're gone. And I wish I could have saved those beautiful people as I saved those pages, on disks that will almost certainly outlive me. But I can only save their pictures, their writings, and their voices. But a voice can never be the same as a presence, and a picture can never be as having them by your side, to laugh with, to cry with, to embrace, to love and be loved. That, my dear friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, was lost long ago. There is no way I can soften, downplay, or sugarcoat this harsh fact of reality. It's a dirty secret that is really no secret at all, except in my admitting that I keep trying so hard to forget. That's the ugly monster barred behind the closet door. It's a hideous fact of life. And that's why I always clean cup move down. Michael Myers time is once again in effect.... One long hour and fifteen minutes to go, and it's going oh so slow. Fresh out of wanna, but a lotta gotta. Hocus pocus focus focus. Or so spoke us. Not enough ooja. Too much mobooja. You gotta do what you've gotta do. Get ta woik! Damn it, Scotty! Beam me home! I know, I know, you cannaduit. Levitate me to the house, Yoda could, but always with you, it can not be done! Hmmm? I guess the best way not to lose one's faith in humanity is to stay the hell out of comment sections. Article: "A young lady's life was lost." Random jerk: "And?" How about "And, you are a jackass!" People being jerkwads just to be jerkwads. If you don't care, then it takes zero effort to shut the hell up. Maybe the best answer is silence. They're just saying these things for a reaction. Don't engage. Don't feed the trolls, yadda yadda Yoda. Hmmmmph! Karma, this shithead deserves! So, I said nothing. Still, I think of my sister. That young lady could well have been somebody's sister. She was definitely somebody's daughter. She certainly had people who loved her. And if somebody had dared to say "And?" in my presence, they might have needed to borrow that computer Stephen Hawking had for further communications. Talking thereafter just might be difficult. Just sayin'. I'll tell you what, though. Nothing enlivens the workday quite like a tornado warning. But, why the hell did it have to happen right at quitting time? Well, at least it didn't tear anything up. I need my job. I need my house, too. Looks like that tropical rain is here, ladies and gentlemen. Okay... Let me sum it up and break it down, Agnew. Haroooo! Five Ways that I am weird: (1) I have pizza for lunch every day at work and I eat the topping with a fork before I eat the bread. (2) As I said earlier, on "Three's Company", I prefer Janet to Crissy. Joyce DeWitt was one beautiful woman, no matter how the show tried to downplay it. Also, Janet was intelligent, witty, and had her own charm. (3) I can't sit through a whole movie or TV show. Even my favorites. Not anymore. If patience is the Jedi way, then just call me Darth Cosmicus Wieus, Dark Lord Of The Sith. (4) I am a computer wizard so long as said computer was made before the turn of the century. (5) To me, sleep is the new party, and I love to party all the time. And now, for the bonus round. Even though I am using one to type these very words, I am not a fan of smartphones. I don't care for the apps or the games. Except for Notepad, which I'm using right now. What I dislike in the stongest way is just how every company, every government, and every bank expects absolutely everyone to have a smartphone up their ass to be lowjacked to. I mean if I lose this damn thing or it gets stolen, I am screwed. Even though I have never put anything involving my money on this thing. Hell no! I do all my finances and bill paying on a Linux machine that I know how to lock down. Aside from having to deposit a paper paycheck every week, I miss the days of paper forms, when there was no such thing as applying online. The internet used to be for fun stuff only. Now it sucks enough to spill over into real life. Though I have to say, Amazon takes the driving and the crowds out of shopping. I'm going to try and order a certain magazine from February of 1971, if they have it. It's a shame she was not on the cover. With that angelic face looking back at you from the cover, I bet it would have sold twice as many copies. I just wish I existed back then to buy it brand new. One issue only. I really don't care for the rest. Only Wilhelmina. Aside from that, I get my computer stuff from there, along with several household items that are less costly even with shipping. If I knew they would fit properly, I would order my clothes there, too. I may have to anyway. When the only alternative is Wally World, I will find another way. Just like Mr Spock. Even if I seem illogical. Why? Because I despise Wally World. I hate that place with a passion for which words could never do justice. I have no love for Crazy Chairman Mao's Super Mega Factory Outlet, aka Wally World. I'd sooner shop in Hell. It would probably be a more pleasant experience. Though leaving would be almost as difficult as navigating out of Wally World's crazy parking lot full of crazy ass people. Ugh, Crazy Humonz, gah! I must be Ferengi, Klingon, Or Romulan. Long live the Star Empire! Down with the Federation! I'll shop for my Romulan noodles elsewhere, Captain Picard! Clean cup? Move down? Set a course for the neutral zone? I skipped my usual morning caffeine because my heart thought it was in a race. Now that the afternoon is here, I had to drink a soda to settle my stomach. I guess the alien inside was going through withdrawal and needed a fix. Well, it's a Another stormy day. Another round of Michael Myers time. I guess I can live with that. Just spare me the tornado warning this time. That's not the kind of excitement I was hoping for. Really, there is only one kind that's acceptable. Not to spell it out, babes, 'cause I'm not exactly the Ghost With The Most, but it sure feels like it's been about 600 years. Ugh! Otherwise, no excitement please. And not at quitting time again either. Getting me out of some work is one thing. Making me late going home is another. Tropical storms of the round table, allow me to introduce Arthur. Though I think Merlin would have been a more awesome name for a storm. You know, friends, there is a vast difference between dreams and delusions. Now, there are indeed times when it's nice to entertain the delusion, but it is imperative to be able to differentiate the delusion from the dream. Because reality can be pretty damn harsh when you are forced to return to it. Quite the shocker for sure. It's the difference between parachutes and rocket powered roller skates. Especially when you have an ACME heart. Wile E can take it. The rest of us can not. Dreams have steps, goals, and possibilities. That's the difference. 

A Meeting Of The Wie Council

I look at you with love, for love is the only lens I am able to see you through. I see a countenance that time and age could never fade in these eyes of mine. And in that countenance, in those eyes of yours, I see a universe, and a soul I could never help but love. And as I walk away, I see an infinity stretching before me. And as I look back, I see the illusion of what could almost be, yet could never be at all. Forbidding distance, foreboding time, an endless storm of hours and days. Disappearing ink, reappearing angels, so are these days, woven deep within my very fabric, beyond the very substance space and time. And there is a lot of space in which to be lost. And there is more than enough time to think about realities, of kingdoms, of horseshoes, and nails, of photons phasing, of protons flipping, and just how close a world ungained can be, even if not for me. Such is the universe to which I'm bound. Anyway, salutations, Universe. Sorry to see you are no longer a martian. Ah, Galaxy High School. That was my favorite Saturday morning cartoon back in the good 'ol 1980s. I have two favorite episodes, actually. The Brain Blaster. That was an anti drug episode. But, if brain blasters were a real drug, you'd bet I'd be on them. See, they make you really smart about any particular subject, depending on the brain waves you choose. I'd stay away from those Bill Cosmos brain waves, though. They just might get you in trouble. My second favorite episode is the Martian Mumps. A contagious disease spreads through the school, turning everyone except for Amy and Doyle into martians. Though, I must mention that if you replace 'martian' with any slur word, you've got one hell of a racist episode. "Getting rid of the martian menace", for example. I bet the writers didn't think of that. Though if there is a stereotype for those who walk around like zombies and follow every rule, no matter how minor, I have never heard of it. All I know is that they did not want any martians in their school. While normal zombies think brains are a delicious treat, this zombie truly believes brains are downright strange. We think we have will. We think we have a choice. But a mind can be totally hijacked by certain chemicals, especially by the ones the body itself produces. It may not be the Martian Mumps, but it's bad enough. The choice is still there, but something is messing with the scale and heavily influencing that choice. And during such an event, you might even think it's all you and only you making the decision. But, it isn't. If one ingests the chemical in question, we call it a drug. But see, that's not the only way. The social media vortex knows well how to affect the brain in such a way that it has that chemical influence. Casinos do the same thing. Gambling to me is the worst of all vices. At least with sex, drugs, and alcohol, you get an off, a high, and a buzz, respectively. Gambling is where they steal your last dollar in a creative enough way where we can't call it the robbery that it is. Ah, dopamine, dopamine, dopamine, that feel-good chemical the brain makes, and the very essence of modern-day mind control. If you control the dopamine, you control the mind. There's a dark psychology involved, and it is being used against you. And besides these clearly deliberate and evil manipulations, mother nature also holds sway. The little woodland critters need to know that (food and sex good) and (Predators bad). Otherwise, we would be fresh out of woodland critters, wouldn't we? We humans have a bit of that woodland critter DNA, too. Not in the way of those crazy furries, though. What the hell is wrong with those people? "I'm a squirrel! I'm a squirrel!" No, you're just nuts, pal. How many years has it been, and tell me how many lights do you see? Do you know all of the why's and the what for's? Because just like Mr. Spock, I'm all ears. Unlike him, I can't hold any valid claim of being any sort of logical being whatsoever. In pure truth, I am a total mess of emotions. Though I do try to keep up a good facade. The keyword is try because I don't always succeed. My mind knows what I should do, but the heart doesn't always comply. Sometimes, it's simply not in the game at all. With that in mind, I hang in there as best I can. Results vary, and some days are harder than others. Well, this morning is most certainly not going as anticipated. In that anticipation, I absolutely knew I really needed to be well rested, which was probably why I couldn't sleep worth a damn. So now here I am, a freaking zombie once again. However, the big rush of work I expected did not hit as expected. The bright side (if you can call it that) is that I have one more reason to stay away from the social media vortex... Somebody didn't bother about asking about bandwidth before making a long ass video call on my phone. Now I don't know what I have left, and I'm barely into this month. So, the chances of this being an extremely long day happen to be better than average, to say the least. Also, I have no friends. Just a few acquaintances, with one or two willing to just straight up use me now and again and disappear otherwise. So, how is your day going? It might make a more compelling story than mine. I'm being grouchy again, I know. It can't be helped, really. I am starting the day already exhausted, I've got a mean ass alien on board. My guts are killing me in ways best, sparing you the details thereof. Suffice to say it ain't pretty. I don't want to be here today in all definitions of exactly what here is: This place, Planet Earth, or the universe. Sleep, my only temporary means of escape, has been denied me once again. No, I really don't want to be here, not at this moment, not with these feelings, no, no, not at all. Why would I? Tell me, tell me, just what is the great attraction? What is the reason? Because it's all eluding me. I don't get it. It does not compute. It makes no logical sense at all. I would rather be adrift between the stars. I would rather be in supersonic orbit of Sagittarius A, millimeters away from the event horizon. Anywhere but right here. Any moment except for right now. Somehow, I know I'd feel less alone out in the cosmos than on this overcrowded planet, where I am either an opportunity or an afterthought, an abstract being in the background. I am utility. I am a resource. I am decoration. And that's in the few moments of actual visibility I get. Otherwise, situationaly and otherwise when, I am invisible. Better than half a century is enough of this, wouldn't you think? Okay, maybe I'm just being a buzz kill. Life just seems dreary on a Monday morning. Especially when you're just not feeling up to it, when your ancient heart is just not into it. And today is so that even that angelic face with that heavenly body can't turn my mood around. Maybe because I am unable to forget this fine morning that some distances can never be reached. And maybe I'm just not up to predending otherwise. Besides, in my best attempt at sarcasm, I know I am an absolute joy to be around, just a glittering ray of sunshine. Just let this little light of mine shine. Welcome to Purgatory, the land of Michael Myers that is... That torturous slow moving time that can never be killed. Nothing this evil ever truly dies. It just comes back with a Roman numeral. Between the slow moving time and these various forms of discomfort, subtle and gross, physical and emotional, Purgatory is seeming just a bit farther south than usual. People can't seem to understand that we don't have to die to go there. Though the unfortunate ones already here understand all too well. Unlike that stupid TV show, the walking dead are not literal zombies. They're human beings trapped in physical survival, alive but long dead spiritually, living bodies with dead souls or souls that might as well be dead. The body has outlived the spirit within. Can they be resurrected? I don't know. Perhaps by Christ himself if he's actually there. The Bible certainly says he has the power and is the way. Otherwise, I really don't know. Nor do I have any idea how the dead can learn to live again. That one is up to God, or the universe, or to fate, or the gods. I am no god at all. Just this biological organism, this creature that walked out of the dense jungle a long time ago. I know absolutely nothing at all. All I know is I would sure love to live again, to live to love again. But this will never happen so long as I chase shadows and illusions. Maybe never, regardless of whatever I do or do not. That is what makes me feel so helpless and hopeless, this knowing that there is nothing I can do. It's a runaway loss at the top of the third quarter, and I am not allowed to leave the game. The timekeeper of the game is none other than the indestructible Michael Myers. Instead, he prefers killing me slowly. He's not a believer in just getting it over with, is he? He just stares blankly through Jim Kirk's eyes, barely impressed, barely entertained. A soul slowly being crushed hardly entertains. So, here I am, probably not the best companion, even though they say misery loves company. I will say this, though. The water here is cold and delicious. That's especially nice since there is no AC in my area. The water makes this place a bit less hellish. Maybe hydrating will make me feel some better. I guess I'm just tired, ill, and grouchy, just not up to dealing with things today. This doesn't stop me from having to anyway. No day is ideal or perfect. Though it would seem some days come closer than others. My dear mother always said to have a friend you must be a friend. I doubt my grumpy attitude is helping with that. Nobody wants to be around a grouch. I am self-aware enough to realize that. The problem is that faking otherwise takes a lot of energy. This lack of sleep and spiritual tiredness tends to ensure that I don't have enough to be anything but honest. And honesty can sure drive everybody away. Maybe tomorrow will be better. It can be surprising how different things can seem from one day to the next. The bowl is the same. The fish is the same. Yet one day, it's a happy home, and the next, it's a dreary prison. And after hours of moving slow, time just as Michael Myers would sometimes do in a scary dramatic moment suddenly jumped forward. Lunch was halfway over before I even realized pizza time had arrived. Did I trip over a temporal anomaly? This I ask as I watch Jingles, the clown, go by on the high rise like Squidward in his wheelchair. This just goes to prove that jelly fishing isn't for everyone. Especially when they sound like high voltage substations. Happy Opposite Day!!! Now, how about a subject change? Clean cup move down. I am sure you know the feeling of that edge of decision, where you're weighing this and that, pros and cons, what to do, and yadda yadda Yoda. Hmmmmph! Not easy, some choices are! On one hand, it's clearly causing a few problems. On the other hand, I am convinced it saved my sanity (or whatever it is) a few years ago. Also, it solves a few problems of its own. There's no sense in having your motor running when you're all out of gas with nowhere to go. Then again, and keeping with that metaphor, there's no purpose in spending one's remaining years in a closed off garage and covered in a layer of dust. Why have a motor at all in that case? Then there is re-tuning one's motor in ways never mentioned in the factory specs. There was a rush I have never quite felt before or since. It was a natural high that was not quite so. And what a feeling it was. It totally short-circuited my depression for a season or two. It made me feel brand-new for a while. Maybe it made me a little crazy, too. But the main thing is that it made me happy. And friends, it was either that or that word that gets flagged by robots. I absolutely had to do something drastic, and I chose the lesser of the two. Now, a few years on, the rush is long gone. Though other effects remain, several that I'd like to keep, a couple I would love to increase, consequences be damned. I miss the beginning rush most of all, and how much easier it was to paint a pretty picture of how I wish to be. There, frozen in time, for want of a nail, for the flip of a proton, goes me. Running across those old moments can be quite a shocker as to just how far I managed to go. In the last couple of years, it would seem I have come back to myself, for time and various other reasons. I went all the way to the precipice, walked that edge, dangled my feet over it, then slowly wandered back to where I am today. For a while I seriously considered taking that final step, the one from which there would be no going back. But I never did. There were too many factors that would have made life even more difficult than it already was, and too many people who would not understand, even as I cared how they would see me. So, I teetered on that edge for a while, then I wandered back. And so, here I am, feet on the ground and wondering which way to go from here. Part of me will always wish to go running off that edge, to feel that rush of the wind again. There is no comparison to that feeling, except for maybe for falling in love with someone who loves you back. Or so I hypothesize. Sadly I'm the lab mouse and not the scientist to test that hypothesis. If we can't have the best thing, isn't it best to go for that second best thing? When it's this or nothing, then why the hell not? We only get so much time, so why not glean whatever happiness we can? I can tell you that a lifetime of caring too much about what others think can never lead to happiness, fulfillment, or to belonging anywhere or with anyone. And if we're going to end up alone anyway, why not be ourselves, no matter who it might piss off? I mean, just who are we being miserable for, anyway? There is what I want. Then there is what I have. There is who and where I wish to be. Then there is where and what I am. There is what is within my grasp. Then there is what will be forever out of reach. Should I really, even in this isolation, keep up a facade that was never meant for me to be? Who am I trying to please, here? I am no god, but I am what I am, and that I am. But, I can think so many different ways, I sometimes consider myself a committee making decisions for this one human being. Change the day, change the lens, change the mix of natural chemicals this brain likes to make, and you get a different member of the committee. It's not multiple personalities, just different versions of myself. It's all still me. But you'd be surprised at just how different that same self can be. It's the same chairman, but with a drastically different flavor. Let's call this committee of Wie to order! I move that we change the name. Henceforth, we shall be known as the Wie Council! Today's agenda will cover edges and precipices, Michael Myers Time, and unreachable angels. Of what can be seen so well with the eyes, yet can never be touched, can never be felt or embraced. So close, yet so far away. Let us talk about the differences between what is real and an illusion, and how they can be blurred into one, so often in the picture, yet so far from the subject. And in the midst of all this soul searching, my own mainly, let us come up with a plan for getting through the rest of today. Like Dumbo, Spock, and Ross Perot, I am all ears.

The Inescapable Box

Magic mirror on the wall, tell me, tell me, do I have any worth beyond what I can do, or what I can give? And tell me, tell me, if you can, "Baby can you dig your man?" Or am I an empty soda can? I just looked around and you were gone. This is most definitely not Sparta, but I could certainly look around and shout, "This is madness!" I just wish I could kick myself into my car and go home. Beam me home, Scotty! I cannaduit! Ya gotta drive! Damn. What do these things have in common? A faded James T. Kirk mask, Molasses on a January day, and this particular June day? Welcome back to what I call Michael Myers time. Why do I call it that? Because it's moving slow and impossible to kill. Where oh where is the good Doctor Loomis when you need him? Maybe he has terrible aim. Eh, what's up, Doc? It's still alive and still moving slow. Maybe you shouldn't lead him so much? Doctor, Doctor, give me the news. He's got a bad case of eluding you. Even imperial storm-troopers would laugh at you. "Hey, TK109, check out this clown! Ahhhh, hahaha!" Great goodness, what's a space cadet to do? Time is driving me crazy. People are driving me bonkers. Angels are putting me in awkward situations. And this place is driving me as mad as a hatter! Oh, and everyone thinks I've got something going on when I actually don't. What's a Cosmic adventurer to do? Go figure. Go fish. I've got nothing. It feels like purgatory around here, more like a sentence than anything else. You gotta do what you've gotta do. But it is rough when you've figuratively speaking, got Michael Myers staring at you from the clock. Menacingly! So, I'm (also speaking figuratively), just taking potshots at the clock and missing with every single one of them. Maybe that ticking in the Halloween Theme song fits properly. No, it's not Sparta, but this is definitely madness. Ah, but how are you, friends, Romans, robots, and strangers? How go the stars and the planets? How fare the galaxies and nebulae, and all of their protons, neutrons, and electrons? Still in orbit or zipping madly across space and time? Do tell. Inquiring minds want to know. Not really, but I'm bored out of my mind, and I indeed have time. I have been on a bit of a ride this week. The highs and lows of late have been quite jarring. I am not completely sure what's behind it all. Doctor Blog-ieo listens, but he never examines or gives feedback. He's unable to call the men in the white coats, although a vacation to the funny farm might actually be nice. I've never been there, but from what I hear, there are hot meals, good drugs, fun activities, and nice quiet rooms. Karen Carpenter's voice over the intercom is quite soothing. Damn. Maybe I should call those guys myself. Would I have to give them a reason? Just read my blog, dude, and I'm sure you'll find several. I am Napoleon, and I demand a room with a view! You know that panicked expression on Wile E Coyote's face when the ACME rocket he's strapped to doesn't take a straight path and just zips and zaps all over the place? That's been me this whole week. No roadrunners for him. No angels for me. Yet we try and try again, no matter how many times or how devastatingly we fail. [Holds up sign] Why me? I, like the fool that I am, have spent too much time in the vortex this week. I really should know better by now. But, yeah. There I went again. Therein, I only found regret again. Therefore, I say I won't again. But I probably will again. As the catch of the day, Admiral Akbar once said, "IT'S A TRAP!" My poor brain can't repel bullshit of that magnitude! Unless it involves bank vaults and the crime of the century, being invisible sucks. Imagine a box in sparkling wrapping, with all the promise of there being something meaningful inside. You open it, but it's completely empty, nothing there, nothing at all. Now imagine never learning. Imagine opening it again and again, finding nothing, learning nothing. That's really me and a certain place... I would be better off if the box produced Pinhead rather than nothing at all. At least he's a guy who would appreciate suffering. And returning again and again to a place where I am unwanted, unloved, and invisible should be a qualifying level of pain. This damn box! My own folly that never seems to go away... To keep looking in the same place, to keep doing the same thing, yet expecting a different result. Someone once defined such folly as the very definition of insanity. And from where I stand, I can't say I disagree. I was always taught (quite correctly) that it's a hard old world, and you've got to be tough. And it's not as if I don't understand. Believe me, after all these years, especially these last few, I do. And while I would be the last to ask for special treatment, I still kinda wish that the world (Or at least some of the people) would go a bit easier on me on these days like these last few. Because you see, not all moments are over when they're over. Sometimes, they linger. That's why we don't always find peace in a quiet room when the situation is long over. Sometimes, I feel my mind is in a downhill race with this body. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have to stick around until we have a winner in that race. Either way, I will be the one losing. Now, that's not something I really want to see. So, fellow travelers, do you ever get tired of this nonsense? Do you ever get tired of feeling so hopelessly empty and lonely? Do you ever think of [forbidden word that triggers robots and meaningless soulless intervention]? I do. As I have said many times, this is my note. And I am not joking when I say this is nothing less than THE NOTE. And could anyone with knowledge of this life blame me for considering it? (Even if I am helpless to do anything but keep writing this note?) Life is not supposed to be fair. I get it. I got it! But, Damn it! Why? I have all the struggles of any other human being. I just have nobody to come home to or to take rest with. Tell me, dear geniuses out there, just what in the hell makes facing another day of this emptiness worthwhile? Because right now, I can't think of any. All I can think about are obligations, duty, and keeping a promise to my kids (even if grown now) that I would never be the one to leave. That is a hurt they've experienced enough from others. Besides, they may be the only people on this earth who genuinely love me. They may be here because of me, but I am still here because of them. But, otherwise, no, I really have no reason to keep enduring this world and the cruel people who only have an interest in disrespecting me and draining out my last bit of essence and sanity. I know what it is to do all the things you're supposed to do. To force yourself out of bed. To go to work and do your job. To pay your bills. Every day is a struggle, a battle that must be fought and won again and again. Nobody acknowledges you. Nobody gives you even the slightest respect or understanding. They just bellicosly demand more and more. And on the day you drop dead, it will not be profound at all to them, merely a hiccup in their plans. They'll have the slight problem of finding another poor soul to exploit. Is this really the stuff that a life should be made of? If so, this is the most solid proof that God does not exist. What divine plan? This is random chaos, crushing souls under its weight. Go on and prove me wrong, because I would oh so love to be wrong about this. But I seriously doubt I am. This is a total mess. All I am asking for is a single glimmer of hope, a bit of light to follow. Is this really too much? Even false hope will do. Whatever keeps me going so I can do all the things I need to do and to be all the things I need to be. Can't I find a few moments of happiness to make this bullshit crazy ride somehow worthwhile? No more shouting out in the vortex. I have said this to myself many times. It never improves things. It only makes me feel worse by reminding me of just how invisible I am. It reminds me that even on those extremely rare occasions when I actually am seen, I am most often misunderstood anyway... In effect, still invisible even when momentarily glanced upon. I am so sick of feeling this way. I am tired of this heaviness in the pit of my stomach and everywhere in my heart. I am tired of feeling like crying all the time. I am tired of having nobody to talk to or simply to listen. Yes, I have my kids, but I will not lean on them so much. They've got their own lives and their own things they must face. Who am I to be a burden? I would have hoped that by this point in my life, I would have had everything worked out. Not so at all. Most of all, I wish I were loved. I would very much like to feel loved by someone sometime before I die before I become old and helpless. Actually, I would prefer to go all at once than to become weak and helpless in the first place. A sound mind trapped in a useless body would be to me a hell on earth. I think I'd rather just go completely and quickly. No being trapped in this useless flesh. I am in decent health, and it still sucks to be human, this biological organism devoid of needs, physical, emotional, and spiritual. I should be grateful, I guess, that I can still get up and go, that I can still take care of myself. Still, loneliness sucks. It's deep, and it seems it's for the duration. It's far more than the lack of a lover. It's absent loved ones. It's absent friends. I guess I have to admit to there being more than my kids that keep me merely writing the note. If there is any chance that my dear parents, my dearest baby sister, or my dear friends lost to time still somehow exist somewhere in the universe, I know they wouldn't want me to give up. Such an act would hurt them and I would never in a million years want to hurt the very few people who actually loved me, truly cared about me, was always in my corner and truly wanted me to win... I could not let them down. It has been one crazy busy day, but that's been very much a good thing. It's made me feel like I have a purpose, and it's solved the problem of having too much time to think. I am totally exhausted. Yet I also feel much better than I have in several days now. Maybe low tide had to run its course. But it's getting a bit worrisome as to how low my lows have been getting of late. Maybe a bit frightening, too. I can usually convince myself that low tide is not forever and high tide is coming. This time was like wondering in the darkness of 2:00 AM if the sun will ever rise again. I wouldn't rate it as one of my better emotions. Zero stars, ladies and gentlemen, wouldn't recommend it. And maybe, hopefully, I am seeing a hint of sunrise. There are many abilities of a certain android, Data, that I wish I had. Super intelligence, super strength, and super skills with Tasha Yar, but the ability I wish for most is to be able to turn off my emotion chip when pesky feelings get in the way. I think maybe I could have gone much farther in life. While I am no Albert Einstein, I'd like to think I am reasonably intelligent. It's this damn anxiety and dark depression that has held me back and destroyed any confidence I had in myself. I could have been the greatest if only certain things were removed from my brain, namely those particular neurons that love to spark and arc in a discordant way. Still, I have managed to stay a productive member of society, gainfully employed, supporting myself and others for many years now. So, there's at least that. I have the ability to stretch a dollar so far that it looks like poor George Washington is being spaghettified into a supermassive black hole. Which also means that the dear father of my country will no longer have to suffer the ravages of time. I am the king of my own castle thanks to the dear ones before me. I have a job where people mostly leave me alone as long as I do my work. My kids care about me, so there's that, too. Now, if only I could get my angel to love me as I love her, things would be A-okay. Nothing is perfect. Nobody's perfect. But if we could get just a little bit closer. Wouldn't it be wonderful? If only, if only. Those are some harsh words. There's nothing more lonely than if only. It's a real mess when a hungry heart and sore eyes fall in love with a mirage. Is it really just me who can almost see this heavenly glow, this golden aura around her? Surely, this can't be. Certainly others can see what I see. A trick of the light, a twist of a mind, oh how a heart hallucinates. And apparently there's no freaking cure. None, outside of the script of a daydream. Meanwhile there is are the highs and lows of reality. The ship is fine but the seas are rough. The depths are dark as always. As the Rolling Stones sang, you can't always get what you want. And what I want is to be lulled to sleep by a heartbeat, comforted by warmth and a breath. They say I won't die without it. I haven't so far. But I wish I could live with it instead. In the end, it is all I ever really wanted from life. I could conquer the planet if only I were loved. There it is again. If only, if only. How I hate those words. They mock and ridicule me. If they were a dude, I would slug him one, a peaceful space cadet, though I may be, proof positive that war is sometimes necessary even for the lovers of peace. There is not much I wouldn't do if I absolutely knew it would bring me into the arms of my angel. Even as a scarecrow, I would face a whole box full of matches if I thought it might change things. But, at the same time, I'm sure not going put myself through anything that I know won't accomplish anything in the end. I don't play any games that I don't feel I have a real chance of winning. And sometimes the only way not to lose is to not play at all. This mouse will not bother with a maze lacking cheese. I'm not Pinky, narf poit egad! I am the brain. There is nothing less than the world worth escaping the lab. What else is a mouse to do? Just squeak by, I guess. Clean cup move down. Twinkle Twinkle little bat. My boys and I keep improving our cooperative gameplay in Doom. We are about halfway through Wraith's Perdition's Gate, and coordinating well against the monsters. It's really enjoyable and it does my heart to know they enjoy helping me fight through those hellish levels. I record the demos so we can go back and watch ourselves kicking some demonic butt. It's making memories they can relive anytime they wish. Even after I'm long gone, they can still watch me play Doom with them. I tend to believe demos could very well hold more substance than just a picture would. But I guess I won't know firsthand. At least I hope I never will. Like Mufasa, The Lion King, I believe in the circle of life. Hopefully, it's a very long time from now, but the circle says me first. Losing Marsha was a serious violation of the circle of life. I was eight years and one week older than her. Early mid 1970s vs. early 1980s, Richard Nixon vs. Ronald Reagan. Pre-disco rock and roll vs. New Wave pop. Eight years is a long time. Still, even though I lived my first eight years without her, and these last four, these four seem much longer than the eight, and you can probably guess which years hurt. Loss hurts enough even in the fullness of time, yet so much more when the circle is broken. Of course I miss my parents, too. I couldn't imagine them getting old, even while it happened before my eyes, and I was angry at time itself for its cruelty to them. All for a lifetime of hard work, of taking care of us, of paying bills, a lifetime of doing their absolute best. Certainly they deserved better than this. It's a hell of a thing to be human and mortal. And I know well my turn is coming. I would be quite foolish to think I am immune or exempt from the things they had to go through. Though I would much rather go all at once.. Hopefully years from now, but all at once... Mind and body until the end. I don't want to fade. Then again, neither did they. I guess I'm just saying what I would choose if I ever have a choice. I still owe Mr. Death an ass kicking, and I would like to pay him in full on my way out. Death is terrible but inevitable. I am no better, no stronger than the ones before me. Time is a sadistic bastard and he will catch up to me eventually. I guess I can be okay with that eventuality, so long as surrounded by the people who love me. Still, the human condition is a hell of a thing. So far, it's been one hell of a ride. And I have no clue at all just how long I have left. My body sure loves reminding me that I'm not the spring chicken I used to be, and the way my mind wanders instead of wonders is getting just a bit concerning. I don't envy my dear mother for what she went through. If I find that same fate befalling me, It might well be the one reason to seal this note and make it official. No human being should ever go through that. And I have pretty much decided that I won't. Of course, I have been a bit absent minded all of my life. I daydream. My thoughts scatter. I sometimes forget what I'm doing in the middle of doing whatever it was. So, maybe this is just classic Cosmic Wie. I couldn't tell you how in the hell I find myself on this particular subject right now. Thinking of making memories, I guess.. But I do have wonderful memories of all my loved ones. My Dad taking me to that ice cream place in Chipley when I was little. They tore it down and built a damn dollar store, the bastards! The world doesn't need another dollar store. It needs more classic ice cream shops for daddies to take their little boys. (Damn that last line is kicking my ass). I have memories like that with my mother, too. Of all five of us. So maybe it was that that brought me here. Aside from the house that I live in, there are many places in those memories that no longer exist. And even the places that have endured can still be separated by time. There is no being on time when the hour is perpetually late. There is no speed to get you there. Two years ago is still soon to be too late. Four years ago is later still. Sometimes I miss being just a little kid. You can't really appreciate being young until you no longer are, much less realize just what you have and who's around, until they're gone. Growing up most always involves learning these things in not the easiest of ways. As with most things in reality, you get the lesson long after the test, long after any opportunity to apply it. It doesn't come with a time machine. I can't understand the purpose. Maybe it makes us into better people? I don't know. I guess that's why it's the old folks who have wisdom. When the tribe calls the wise man to speak, you'll never see a kid or even a middle aged dude. It's always an old man whose rough journey can be seen in his eyes. Chances are he, too, learned it all the hard way. Maybe I am becoming that old man.