The Obscure

The graduation party that my family wanted went very well, a million thanks to all who attended, and to those of you who didn't: You have made a powerful enemy.
The only minor ish I had with the whole shabang was introducing Katie to my family members. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it was just that it kept not happening. Mainly because I kept forgetting, I always assume that everyone within my sphere of influence knows all I know and sees all I see. Unfortunately, this does not seem to usually be the case.
Long story short, Katie had to shake less hands than she was quoted.
The Savings!
I don't know why my family holds parties anyway. Nobody actually "parties" in the usual sense, it's just an excuse for a large group of messy families to congregate in one messy family's normally messy house and all force themselves to maintain ONE clean household for just ONE day. It would be easier, methinks, if we partygoers all got printed-out lists of chores to complete during the actual event in question. I think it would save time. I also think the host (or hostess!) should do absolutely nothing to prepare their house for the celebrations.
Essentially I just think 30 or 40 people should come over our house on holidays to clean and cook for us. You are all cordially invited!

Ah, transcendence. A young man finds shelter from life's turbulence in the form of a dark, burning love-affair with words. Who shall stop me? I ask everyone.

I haven't written in a very long time, as I am sure at least one of you must have noticed. As to which one of you, I haven't a clue; but that is not really the question at this point.
My subconscious mind, fearing atrophy, started to plague me with ideas for different essays, verse, and prose, until I could take it no longer and decided to excercise my lax literary muscle in this public place before endeavoring to create something of any "worth". As usual I expect to give up before I begin to get comfortable writing something of "worth"; I will then go to bed, mournful and depressed, and lie awake for hours listening to the weird noises that are made when I lie with my ear against my pillow for too long--an act that I have been doing since long before I can remember, but still can not comprehend. Where do these noises come from? There is no movement or action inside the pillow, inside my room everything is still. Yet, night after night, my entire being becomes focused on these small, sporadic flashes of sound that in the stupor of my psychotic sleeplessness almost sound like the comforting words of a lover, sharing my pillowcase.
Of course in the light of day, there is nothing supernatural seeming about it. The blood-flow to my ear drum is restricted, so it is pulsating in an unusual fashion. That makes sense to me now, but if one tried to explain that to me during my nightly illogical mental binges it would be very similiar to, as my dear friend Ryan used to quote, talking to a very sleepy wall.

I was thinking earlier today about how the idea of "comedy" has metamorphosed over the years. I don't remember what conclusions I came to, though, so that is the end of that spiel.

That thing happened where I lose my energy for this mindless bullshit. Goodnight ladies and gents.

A locksmith sang the praises of the turning of the keys
Now he's beaten up and upside down, he has a rare disease
I broke apart his knees with a pair of ancient skis
And his bones came marching out

I don't really know where that came from. It's a song, it's supposed to be to the tune of that thing that goes "The people sing the praises of the coming of the Lord." or whatever. At first I was trying to make it stupid and funny, but it just ended up being nonsensically morbid. Don't blame me, I just write what comes out.

And now I am done writing at all. Goodnight!

Oh man, I woke up this morning with the worst sickness of all time. I don't know what it is exactly, all I know is that it takes a combination of vicadyn, sudafed, and coffee to make me feel anything like a living human being.
I'm hanging out with Teresa today, and doing laundry. I'm finally cleaning my room, on account of that whole "Graduation Party" thing that is going down this Sunday. Speaking of which, any readers of this blog who would like to attend a graduation party for my cousin Danny-boy and myself this Sunday are cordially invited to do so. The party is more for Dan than it is for me, I think, nevertheless I am required to be there; therefore, I would like as many as my friends to attend as possible, to alleviate my discomfort and boredom. You can meet my grandparents!

I started this post at like 4 o'clock this afternoon. I have no energy now though, I decided to clean my room, which in turn cleaned me right out... cleaned me right out of ENERGY, that is!
Anyway, seeya later, ladies and gents. I hope and pray that I am more healthy tomorrow, because I really can't miss work again.

I woke up this cold, awful morning one diploma and a pair of hideously swollen tonsils richer. It is strange when you have some kind of Itis, be it sinusitis, tonsilitis, dignititis, and so on--in time your entire being revolves around this one disfigured body part. I assume that would be the same with any painful disfigurement. Luckily for me I am not really very disfigured, as long as you disregard my face and my personality.
Long story short, I feel like crap. On the plus side, "Bic Z4"s are excellent drawing instruments.
Taylor said this asian dude was watching me draw at the Brubeck show, which kind of freaked me out. It's alright though; I'm dating an asian, so technically it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to be racist.
The word "asian" brings me to my next point: The Brubeck show was incredible. I fell asleep for Take Five though, the parts of it I woke up enough to see were really good, haha. I have little more to say about this, except that if you look to your right, you will see a herd of inflamed tonsils, grazing majestically.

That is all for this morning, toodle-oo fellas.

Another day has come and gone,
One step closer to my Zion.
Here by the road, I break my bread
And quietly make the grass my bed.

So I just got back from all the tremendous prom happenings, prom was an enormously fun time; I got to kick it with my ridiculously beautiful dolled-up ladylove, gawk at all my ridiculously beautiful dolled-up female friends (gawk in an entirely platonic way, of course), and for some reason a large amount of my Senior school buddies were in attendance, so I got to catch up with them a bit. Come to find out my ol' friend Timly Lee writes comic strips but needs an illustrator. Come to find out my ol' friend Timly Lee likes my sketches and wants to try and collaborate on some projects. Come to find out I am happy about this, and intend to hopefully do something that has something to do with this subject in the near future.
Dave Brubeck tonight! I'm totally stoked about that.

It is weird to me. Through my veins runs the blood of the strongest men and women I have ever known, and yet I have a rotten core of weakness in me that contaminates anything of my flesh that could have had any kind of purity or goodness.

I loved tonight. Katie was beautiful, Becca, Darcy, and Deirdre were stunning as well, as were the rest of the ladies who were there whom my sleep-deprived mind cannot recall at this current point in time (my apologies to ANYONE concerned, bear in mind, I am an idiot).

I am out of school, I have a truck, I had a wonderful night, and the Bergeron's very kindly gave me a much needed twenty dollars as a graduation gift.
Pray for my Mother if that is your thing, keep her in your thoughts whether or not praying is your thing, if you would. I love her very much, and she has somehow found a way to have more hardship in her life than she already did.
I am sorry about this rather stream of consciousness update. My graduation is on Sunday at 11. Anyone who would like to attend is invited.
Anyone who will remember, remind me to go to the Brockton Middle School on Tuesday to pick up the letter of recommendation that Mr. Ferris is writing for me. Mr. Ferris is a very nice man, way more so than a lot of people give him credit for. What a strange turn of events that somehow it is a guy like he who has become the premiere teacher of my life to date.
I repeat, Katie and the rest of the girls were all beautiful. I'm pretty sure Darcy's shoes got her up above 5 feet. Deirdre was pink, and pink Deirdre kicks the ass of pretty much any other Deirdre I have ever met. Becca wore high heels and a slimming dress. She must have felt about ten feet tall tonight, guys. She sure looked it. And what can I say about Katie? She was gorgeous, her dress made me want to bite her shoulders, which I did multiple times. She then got upset with me and asked me to stop.
I of course ignored her pleas. Further biting followed.

This is the end of a pretty long and wholly unnecessary post-prom blogpost. Remember kids, stay in school; unless you can find some weird loophole where you don't have to actually go to school, and your english teacher who is actually a gym teacher respects your writing abilities and tries to get you a full scholarship to Umass Boston. If you can get that to work for you, do it. It totally rules.

*Edit*
Also, I might add: My apologies to anyone weirded out/offended by my admiration. If my close male friends were in attendance, I would be showering them with the same praise. I am just surrounded by sexy people, is all.
And I always have to look bad next to you jerks.

*Secondary Edit*
Furthermore, I am up at 4:30 in the morning right now and I have work tomorrow at 9. Will someone please tell me why the hell I do this stuff? Damnit!

Forgive this post, I'm hopped up on clonapyn


For too long I have neglected this public diary of mine, I think it is about time I replenished it's supply of incomprehensible words.

It is beyond me to create imagery. I can think and think and think, but for some reason I always seem unable to convey the thoughts in my head to the head of another man. I must always settle for this mindless introverted humzummery that does no good to anyone but my over-burdened brain; and my over-burdened brain really does not need anymore help than it already has.
I have some chemicals in my blood today, chemicals that seem to crush my creative spirit to a thin filmy substance that now coats the inside of my eyelids.
Where am I supposed to go now? All these people have a clue, but I stand here perpetually clueless. Give me my engine, and I shall drive with full force into the flood of my extinction.
These words are not new ones, these are but a repeat of past mistakes. My lover with the golden curves cares deeply for me and has sympathy for my pain, little does she know that I have long given up on my own happiness and comfort. My physical well-being is no longer an issue, I can just drug myself till I forget the pain. My emotional health is beyond my reach now, all I can do is work and sleep.
So here stand I, in the frontlines of a great army. Around me fly flaming arrows, broken shards of steel, the severed limbs of Men, and I sway, slowly stretching my hands out towards mine enemy, cutting a swathe of red death across the thousands of necks of those ordained as the evil ones.
Here I stand, kneeling before the gates of heaven, praying to the shining visage of the Christ for just one small taste of righteousness before he sends me on my way. The afterlife, to a traveller, is just a rest-stop on the side of an eternal highway. Ours is not to live and earn our keep, ours is to walk, and walk, and walk on past the end of time, and join Omar the Ageless in the pantheon of Immortal Sons.
I alone can open the gate to the truth, I alone can slide that golden blade across my throat.
There walk I
Past the wicked men of old
Past the dragons, hoarding gold
Past the lady in the lake
Travelling for my own Sake
And on I go, and on I run
And never can I say I'm Done
'till I walk past the end of Life
And end Me with the Golden Knife.

Hey there ladies and gents. I'm here with a bit of time to kill before I go out and kill my plans for the evening, so I figured I might as well give the ol' blogsky a quick updatesky.
Everything is on the up and up in the Colón world, except this poison headache I have had for the past five days or so; I've had to be perpetually Perked just to remain alive.
But that is a whole different story, my friends.

I am a wee bit daunted by the enormous tasks set in front of me. For some reason I took it upon myself to make my life more difficult by applying for college. I don't remember why exactly I believed that course of action to be a good one, but apparently at some point, I did--and now I suffer the consequences.
Therefore, I have a whole host of things that I should have been doing gradually all year all dumped onto the pinnacle of my fragile skull at once, and my once formidable brains have now been smushed into a fine gray paste.

I must now go kill my plans, away!

Man, I have been so dag-fwiggin busy lately, I have been entirely unable to update this fine blogatorium.
"What has happened to John recently?", you may be pondering. The answer follows, with extreme prejudice.
Firstly and most extreme-i-ly: I got my truck! Registered, insured, and everything. In the end the whole process ran about 1500 bucks, which is actually a real good deal, because I found out the book value on the truck is like 1750.
Anyway, Taylor and anyone else who has heard about my Standard-Transmission Fumblings (or STF), knows that I have miserably failed in all my attempts to operate a stick-shift thus far. But! I totally ruled it today, it's a lot easier for me to work than Taylor's truck, I managed to drive home from Fall River without stalling (if I remember correctly).
Long story short, I LOVE it.
Anyway, I'm done writing this now, I cannot continue this now.

Ah. Once again, night-time finds me here; tending to my thoughts like an animal tends to a festering wound. Squeezing the puss out of my flesh with my teeth, sucking the rotting pieces of my body down my throat, lest they infection take hold of my body as a whole, and swallow me.
The doctor's cures do not seem to be helping me with my ailments, tonight. The doctor's cures don't seem to be doing a great deal of helping with anything, come to think of it; save get me doped up enough to forget my woes.
I wonder what good ol' doctor Gilson would say if he knew how often I fantasize of violence? Yes, I have told him about my self-loathing, and he is medicating me for it the best that he can. But to tell him of my fantasies of the destruction of the Other? To tell him that the laughing faces of every vile human on this planet, up to and including your own, bears the mark of the Other? I can see in all humanity a piece of the Other, I would cut a wide swathe of blood across the neck of mankind, and set myself to die in flames, if it would eradicate the Other. He has no name, no face, only Loathsomeness, only a disgusting, rude, vile, unmentionably perverse nature; the Other is the part of myself that gives me my sense of humor. The Other, the Beast, is the part of myself that keeps me up nights thinking of smashing a young man's face to pieces with something hard and blunt--for no gain aside from the experience and the release. The Other is the one who laughs at me while I fumble through my social life, while I break my promises and disappoint my loved ones; he laughs and he shoves fragments of fear and hatred and lust into my once happy mind.
I know that I created the Beast. I created him so that I could have a good heart, and he could have a rotten one. As with Les Enfant Terible I needed a guinea pig in which to put all the unwanted parts.
But he is stronger than I am, and he knocks around my good mind and makes me hate, and makes me cry, he pounds and pounds against the inside of my skull and makes me hurt, he numbs my mind so that I cannot feel the emotions that a normal human would; and then he shoves all my guilt into my chest like a razor-sharp icicle.
He climbs inside my eyes, he makes me see him inside everyone I know. Through the eyes he makes me wear, everyone is spiteful and mocking. Everyone knows my secret thoughts, everyone knows that I am controlled by this malicious being.

But all along, I've just kept on singing.
Tabletop Joe, I'm Tabletop Joe
Now everyone knows, I'm Tabletop Joe

*Continue*

Man, I cannot leave well enough alone, even when I am depressed about the futility of life. Note to self: Don't listen to Alice when you are feeling psychotic and depressed.
Additional note to self: In order to avoid becoming psychotic and depressed, don't listen to Alice ever.

So I am sitting here listening to Alice, which is one of my favorite albums, but it's totally depressing and insane and... that's pretty much it. I wasn't comfortable just sitting there and grooving like I usually do though, so I came on here and began to add to the obnoxious exercise in introversion that I had already completed.
I drove around for a couple of hours with my cousin Dan today. It was a good time, I've realized what a good guy he is. He really is a great dude, he is as smart as hell, too. I hope he can find his niche, cause once he does, BAM! Herpes.

Every now and again, I realize just how awful of a writer I am. To hell with this, I am going to go to bed now. Feel free to not comment on this post if you don't want to, nobody ever says anything pertinent anyway.

Hello ladies and gents. I am updating only because I haven't updated in a pretty long while, I don't have anything on my mind to write down, though.
I hung out with Katie, Darcy, and Steve last night. We went out to eat and then we went to go see a play. I was totally drugged out of my mind at the time, so I slept through most of the play. I did eat some grilled cheese and a little bit of soup, though, so that's cool. The whole play thing is remembering like an acid trip though, because I was drifting in and out of consciousness the whole time. I think Katie may have been upset with me about that, but I am not sure.
The doctor gave me a bigger prescription to percoset, and I am trying to use it more sparingly than I did last time. He also gave me these "anti-nasuea" pills and some antibiotics; all of which heavily sedate me. Consequently I have spent the past three or four days in a confusing haze. I'm going to have to figure out a better way to take this stuff so that I can continue going to work wothout being too dopey.
The neurologist dude I want to a while ago (who, at the time, really ticked me off) is actually really good at diagnosis I guess. He said he thinks I have cluster migraines; a condition that is extremely painful, entirely NON-lethal, and completely unpreventable. All he can give me for it is narcotics. Doc Akill (the Neurologist) said that he thinks I am in the middle of a particularly bad cluster right now, and that it should clear up somewhat in a month or two, until the next cluster comes, which could be a few months. I have to go get checked out at MassGeneral, and I have to get a catscan, and an Eye-exam.

Anyway, I just figured I would give you guys a bit of an update on what my life has been like lately. That's pretty much it. Also, keep my sister's family in your thoughts and prayers, they are getting dose after dose of hardship. I think I am going to go by there house later to visit, and try to help out if I can.
Take care, fellas.

*Edt*
Also, keep my Uncle John in your thoughts and prayers, as well. He had a seizure a few nights ago, I don't know exactly what his status is, but a seizure isn't a good sign.