The Obscure

Welcome, one and all, to the incongruent ravings of an inferior mind!

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

I come to my senses tonight, fully prepared to kill.

For reasons that I cannot rightly explain, I have decided to abdicate pain medication for a time--if not permanently. I have come to resent the fact that I must spend the majority of my life in an near-catatonic state merely to be comfortable.
Therefore, right now I am in incredible pain. A small price to pay for lucidity, some might say; but experiencing it firsthand would dissolve such illusions.

Some part of me does not like to sleep. I think it is my paranoid center that does it to me. I am a very heavy sleeper--so I know that, in sleeping, I am entirely vulnerable to some inconcievable (but still terrifying) attack.
I do not think that is what I am here to talk about right now. I do not know exactly what I am here for, however. So I must leap from subject to subject until my strange longing for offensive words is satisfied.

I am finding myself in the same state I was in some four years ago. My father had cancer, I was crazy, I wasn't going to school, and I stayed up late every night thinking that my contemporaries hated me.
Now, my father is in remission, but my mother is getting gradually sicker, both myself and my sister are crazy, I haven't even APPLIED to a school, and I haven't had a straight night's sleep without the aid of completely incapacitating drugs in months. Positively, I do not stay up because I think people hate me. Negatively, I stay up because I hate myself and I no longer care whether others think at all, let alone think about Me.

I do this thing where I think too much, I start philosophizing about things that don't matter and have no bearing on the world. Sure, everybody does it. But there is a line that can be crossed. When you start allowing those inane philosophies born of loneliness invade your conception of reality, the world becomes strange and twisted.

"You're the Weather man?"
"No, I'm the Whether man. For after all it's more important to know whether there will be weather than what the weather will be."

Ah, another early morning in the life of John.
I woke up at about 5 AM, totally bewildered and surrounded by what the doctor has informed me is my "aura". My "aura" is the thing that preceeds my headache, it hinders my motor skills and does funny things to my vision (I sometimes even hallucinate!). Mainly today it just feels like I took too much fioricet, I can't really stand up without falling down, I can't really see straight, and that little barrier between my conscious stable mind and my subconscious insane one is a little thinner.
Let me quote for you, a few lines from a page I just wrote. I was drawing pictures, each thing is said by a different person in the picture, with no particular rhyme or reason.
"You aren't what you appear to be, boy."
"But, why do I find myself here?"
"And why do I waste my time?"
"Are all of these things just manifestations of a psychotic mind?"
"Or, is there more?"

This is the inscrutable internal conflict that I am apparently going through. I don't know what they mean, but I cannot escape these things. Strange as it may seem, it is this confused rambling that drives me forward in life. Without the ability to release the emotional pressure I feel in this way, I imagine I would explode. Perhaps not physically, but I'd explode nonetheless; and if I go, all of the western civilization is going with me.

I can tell from the all-encompassing, crippling nature of this morning's "aura" that I am going to have one whopper of a headache in about an hour and a half. I don't think I can go into work today, but I missed yesterday on account of a migraine, I don't know how much good grace Hillary has left. Then again, when you are caught in the iron grips of a poison headache (but you feel alright) it is extremely difficult to be productive in something so irritating and trivial as work.
That's really the headache talking. When I am feeling alright, I actually enjoy work. But when I am befuddled by this "aura", this precursor to something that I know will make me yearn for a bullet through the head, I can truthfully say that I hate everything mankind has ever produced. If mankind had never gotten anywhere technologically, we would have died out--or at least not been the dominant species. If that were the case, I wouldn't be here; and the pain in my skull would not be mine to bear.
Selfish. Selfish!
I know that there are many in the world who suffer more than I; but I have always maintained a working theory that every man's pain is his own, from the child who gets his finger pricked, to the old man in the terminal cancer ward who's pain can not even be relieved by morphine. There truly is no real comparitive. I cannot get inside that child's head, how am I to know how much that fingerprick stings him? How am I to say how much that needle galls him?
Nor can I get inside the old man's mind, the cancer eating away at his gut is foriegn to me, as is his pain, as are his memories.

Look into the eyes of a dying man at the end of a great life and you may find joy, happiness and gratitude, knowing full well that he has drunk his fill from the spring of life and can now lie back to rest; look into the eyes of a dying man at the end of a sad and tragic life and you may find sadness, death is a chance to find happiness, lost.
You may find these things, but I, in the height of my neurological confusion, do not think you will.
For the unhappy man, death is a release, an escape from a lifetime of hard-luck and persecution. For the Great Man, death is a thief, stealing away the one thing that, among all other things, he valued most. Misplaced sorrow surrounds us, my loves, and we are nothing but more misled consumers waiting in line to retrieve our fair share of it.

With that poorly constructed analogy, I must leave. Thank you for your time.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Bitches and hoes, bitches and hoes, life ain't shit but bitches and hoes.
Ooooh, I'm the greatest MC, from here to Tallahasee.
Bitches and hoes, bitches and hoes, life ain't shit but bitches and hoes.

I am contemplating wearing a sweatshirt that I haven't put on in over a year. Why this sudden, unexpected twist in my wardrobe selections for the evening? That is for me to know and you to wonder, my dears.
Lo and behold, a fantastic voyager has made itself apparent to me. But, where did he come from, I ask all of you?

Forrest Gump is on, and it is bringing back awkward memories of my childhood when I watched it and my mother found out, and she got very upset because she wandered into the room while I was watching a weird sex scene.
Then Bubba dies. Or before, I don't really remember which. In any case, it's the most depressing thing ever.
Poor Bubba, he'll never get to work his shrimp boat now.


02/01/2002 - 03/01/2002   04/01/2002 - 05/01/2002   05/01/2002 - 06/01/2002   06/01/2002 - 07/01/2002   07/01/2002 - 08/01/2002   08/01/2002 - 09/01/2002   09/01/2002 - 10/01/2002   10/01/2002 - 11/01/2002   11/01/2002 - 12/01/2002   12/01/2002 - 01/01/2003   01/01/2003 - 02/01/2003   02/01/2003 - 03/01/2003   03/01/2003 - 04/01/2003   04/01/2003 - 05/01/2003   05/01/2003 - 06/01/2003   06/01/2003 - 07/01/2003   07/01/2003 - 08/01/2003   08/01/2003 - 09/01/2003   09/01/2003 - 10/01/2003   10/01/2003 - 11/01/2003   11/01/2003 - 12/01/2003   12/01/2003 - 01/01/2004   01/01/2004 - 02/01/2004   02/01/2004 - 03/01/2004   03/01/2004 - 04/01/2004   04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004   05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004   06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004   07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004   08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004   09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004   10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004   11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004   12/01/2004 - 01/01/2005   01/01/2005 - 02/01/2005   02/01/2005 - 03/01/2005   03/01/2005 - 04/01/2005   04/01/2005 - 05/01/2005   05/01/2005 - 06/01/2005   06/01/2005 - 07/01/2005   07/01/2005 - 08/01/2005   08/01/2005 - 09/01/2005   09/01/2005 - 10/01/2005   10/01/2005 - 11/01/2005   11/01/2005 - 12/01/2005   12/01/2005 - 01/01/2006   01/01/2006 - 02/01/2006   02/01/2006 - 03/01/2006   03/01/2006 - 04/01/2006   04/01/2006 - 05/01/2006   05/01/2006 - 06/01/2006   06/01/2006 - 07/01/2006   07/01/2006 - 08/01/2006   08/01/2006 - 09/01/2006   09/01/2006 - 10/01/2006   10/01/2006 - 11/01/2006   11/01/2006 - 12/01/2006   12/01/2006 - 01/01/2007   06/01/2007 - 07/01/2007   09/01/2007 - 10/01/2007   10/01/2007 - 11/01/2007  

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?