The Diary Project

Weekly Journal

It's almost like I can't remember what happened during the week. Oh, that's right. Nothing much happened... nothing much, at all.

It Will Not Be Her Day

DREAM: Taking off my brown shoes, I found my thick hiking socks shoved down into the toes. Don't ask me how my feet still fit. The vacation was ending soon, so I decided to wash (as in, hand wash) my socks. Gathering up complete pairs was difficult and led to more singles than pairs. Finally, I got them in a bucket and the bucket in a bath. But the bathtub had a hinged access door in the back, which swung open and flooded the carpeted room, which had suddenly become much more basement like.

TALK: Trust & Money

WRITING: Brilliant Fool. And since it is Monday, Last Week's Journal.

TALK: Most words are worthless.

If you turn your back on what's right, then what's left?

MUSIC: Pink Floyd - The Wall. But I grew bored.

FOOD: Baked Rice along with Leftover Ribs and all The Fixings. I don't know how much I'm craving Ribs. But it's quite the feast.

WALK: Late at Night. The Moon looked Awesome: Dark Orange... like a Monk's Robes.

Sometimes, The Truth would just consist of a lot of swearing, followed by endless violence. Aren't you glad I learned how to lie?

Anger! Anger!
Hate! Hate!
I wonder how many abandoned poems start that way?


The Market is a greedy psychotic despot.

The Military takes care of its own... until it does not.

The Ways of Man (aka Mankind) is a multi-headed hydra bent on destroying itself.

Fate has decreed that some ships will sink while at sea. But fate has nothing to do with those that are scuttled before they ever leave port.

8:07AM: I got out of bed about two hours ago. Yes, it's worth noting. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sneeze.

VISION: I won four credits on a pinball machine: two in game, one for score, and another for matching.

10AM: It is time for the monthly civil defense sirens. I've only heard them go off once (other than for these monthly tests), which was for some Duratio... and/or Tornado like event.

TALK: I think we have agreement. Time for the next item on the agenda.

FEEL: Mellow. Wow. It's been a long time since I've felt that way... organically.

MEDIA: The Guest

WALK: Listening to the basketball players and recording a rant.

RANT: Drugs, DMT, & You

If you ask, they will be happy to tell you, "Green is for LeeZards!"

5:29PM:1x14-1. It's been so long. Is that the correct notation?

FEEL: Like I'm being a bit loud, like I need to find a way to shut it. Hence, the 14-1. Today, was going to be full-blown. But I was just feeling so mellow, earlier. Heck. Maybe, I just need to eat.

Sold! I hadn't made enough plans to get terrible upset. In fact, it's what I expected. Still, there is a tinge.

It could have...
It could have...
It could have...
Most certainly, it could have been nice.

MEDIA: The Gift

Just Sort Of Went

It seems to me, so often, 1 + 1 = 1.

I tire of writing up these dreams. But then, that just might be because I am tired.

DREAM: I was combing my wet hair. But I was late. So, it's on with the shoes. And please, let there be difficulty at every step. But we (a gang of maybe six) made it to the festival on time. We kept on getting closer to the stage: top of a rise, muddy bank. We slipped down the hill to the edge of the performance, standing in front of others, so close we were almost inside the scene. And then, it was time to leave. I don't know why. Ribs or something would have cost $20 in The VIP Area. They would have expected us to buy some. But they did not. We did not. Leaving, meeting up with the others, we were going back to that other area, maybe Area B. You were ahead, making time, cutting through the food lines when it was quicker. And that's where you lost me. Those chicken sandwiches looked good. Build your own. Turns out, the food here (ironically enough, outside The VIP Area) was free. It was the best fish sandwich I'd ever tasted. But you were gone. So, I headed off the way you went, running in the end. I never caught up or found you again. That's typical. But I did eat most of the sandwich. It was good. And Post Dream, I shared what remained of that sandwich with you, before proceeding to enjoy that festival mud in a more appropriate manner, all animal style, rutting, if you catch my drift.

So, maybe, a single extensive dream is more rewarding on reflection (and/or write-up) than numerous smaller pieces... not that I remember much else from the night, just more details from this Dream.

If 1 + 1 = 1, we obviously don't need that second one.

WRITING: Editing Brilliant Fool

FOOD: Pizza Party! The main event.

The last few days, I've been napping. Which is another way of saying, the six hours of sleep I've been getting isn't enough. I'm tired.

"A fly knows sh!t when it lands on it." Wha-Bam!

A fly may have just decided the election.

That Guy... Not Much All Day

{That Guy is the nickname My Darling gave to The Drill Sargent turned Southern Gentleman (aka Big Daddy), whose voice I have been using non-stop (to her exasperation) for the last few weeks. Please see last week's entry on an Alter Ego for further information.}

DREAM: I did a lot of running away. But I can no longer remember the details. I believe I had a partner in crime. I do not have a working metaphor for running away. Running towards makes much more sense in terms of neural pathways. But the difference is likely unimportant. I wound-up at a circular loop waterway, like a roller-coaster loop that folks were boogie-boarding through. But I never made the loop In Dream. It's odd how difficult I find imaging doing a loop after the fact. I guess that's because moment-by-moment a loop is pretty linear.

TALK: Debate Deconstruction

Even a Fly can smell Bullsh!t.

MEDIA: A Serious Man

MUSE: The house overlooked a forest. It had a hot tub on the mossy wood deck, which was fed by a spring... perhaps a hot spring. The Appalachian Trail lay nearby, as did a nice mountain lake. I was imagining ownership from various angles and the adventures which would ensue.


Even before I make the call,
There's nothing left to say.

Will I start that project someday? If I start that project someday, what will it look like?

EYES: Pretty Depressing.

I've had to deal with maggots two more times than I would have liked to in the last few months... zero times being the ideal.

Driving Lessons!

TALK: I wonder if Psychiatrists (and/or Psychologists) get The Good End Of The Conversation. {I bet they do.}

Going Blind w/ Style! What is the output? My deliverable?

Why Is Everybody Else F'ing Up My Garden Of Eden


I'm Just Trying To Save The Human Race, World, Whatever, Dude

Acceptance of another's failings does not mean joining them in Darkness. But Rejoicing in our differences inevitable leads to a joining in The Light.

I trust The Voices In My Head over all other sources of information.

Eh, let's face it. Morally, I'm not even trying. Maybe, I should. Along with the regular (monetary, practical, and hedonistic) considerations, perhaps I should spend a moment considering the moral implications.

And in contemplating the above, I came up with oatmeal for breakfast.

I would like to learn how animals negotiate territorial boundaries. {By Show of Force looks like the straightforward answer.}

It's Too Much Effort

WRITING: My Final Thoughts Rant. I expect from here on out, those will get folded into This Journal with more extensive thoughts being extended into Rants (if successful) and Data Dump Notes (if not).

FEEL: I go from mellow to hate.

The Forest Fires in California are nothing compared to what's happening to my soul.

Bottom line, I don't want to be linked.

WALK: Fall is starting.

FOOD: Oven Baked Rice. I've been trying to eat more whole grains {which I shall lie and say spell-check changed to woke brains}.

There's nothing like using another's hand as a remote control.

FEEL: I'm pretty F'ing sad. But, hey! There's a load of high-quality cold cuts in the refrigerator.

Nice Cool Fall Day

DREAM: To prove they were done with the shooting exercise, the Rangers needed to sit (or more accurately, lay on their backs) with their knees in the air until released. "Anytime, Sarge. Or I'm going to puke."

I feel like I'm on a down-swing for recording dreams.

MEDIA: I'm reading about Chimpanzee Border Disputes: i.e. War.

It's hard to make a kill while you're drowning to death.

WALK: Talk of expanding one's social horizons. Also, I'm wearing long sleeves w/ a hearty wind-breaker, these days.

FOOD: Lamb Meatballs.

My mind did not sink into a day dream or other writing project to the extent I would have liked, today.

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Or is it just not worth the effort?

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