The Obscure

Hey y'all. I just got back from laurens house, fun times all around. My shirt smells like her apply-spray now. CURSE THAT SPRAY!! Also my head neck and knees hurt, so that's cool.... Jeez I can't think of anything to say at all. I really should stop putting up these mundane and pointless posts. I've got "redemption song" stuck in my head, except I don't know any of the words other than the chorus.

My hands are burning with a desire to touch, my brain is melting out of a habit I picked up in the war. The fabled war of yore, not mine but your fabled war of fabled yore. Your war of yore was quite a bore, the war of yore was kept in store for those who weren't afraid of gore and bloody cuts and bruises and of course dread emaciations brought upon by dread starvation and other twisted delights from the Prince of the macabre scenario. I fear to stand, I'm scared to sit, I (me, myself) am in quit a snit; because no matter whether I stand or sit, my bowels always squirt out shit on the head of the god I once did worship and now have befouled again and again. This perpetual motion of my nether-regions causes me to loathe and despise those who claim that we, man, as a whole, are a result of following the best possible course; the very idea of it is preposterous, nothing so inconvenient and flawed could be created by something as perfectionist as nature, nay, we could be ONLY the work of One Mind, with the human tendancy to overcomplicate and over simplify in such a misproportionate and inefficient manner resulting in a potent, permanent, more-over quite irreversible condition of Death in mankind and animal kind alike, not to mention the abundant plant life which is of course also doomed to die along with the fanciful creatures who fought in the war of yore, who never before were classified by any feeble minds of Men, and that chapter being closed to us, Never Will.