The Obscure

Pure Unadulterated Misery

Sometimes I fancy myself an intelligent man, but then days like this roll along and I realize that I have been as dumb as nails the whole time; I just wasn't smart enough to figure it out sooner.
Me and my decimated blue-jeans will live to fight another day; but will you, my sparkling, sequined lover?
Welcome to the house of the inane! Where anything can happen, but usually doesn't. Once inside, you'll begin to lose large pieces of your memory and you will start to exhibit symptoms of a disease I have come to know as "psychonostalgicwhineadrosis."
Things will remind you of other things, small fractions of depressing poetry will constantly pour through your mind like oil into the famed Iowa Oil Duct, and every man, woman, and child you come across will suddenly become appealing in some strange and sadistic way.
Yes, it is a hard life; a hard-KNOCK life. But it is the life we have chosen. We, the Discombobulators of Man. We, the few who stand against the enormous, tumultous, crashing wave of chaotic normalcy that could break through and destroy mankind's god-given right to unhappiness in a single splat. I understand full well that it is an impossible task, that for every person we convert to our peculiar strain of insanity there are thousands who walk across the earth with confidence and ease; or worse, a smile on their face. But we fight on nonetheless! We are the few, the proud, the Obsessive Journal Writers. And brother, we will whine and moan and even BITCH at you, if necessary, until you are in a thoroughly disagreeable mood and don't want to talk pleasantly to anybody; because by GOD, it is our job.

Uhh.. Let's see, what else is on my mind? I know that I was thinking about something...
Oh yes! I hate myself and I want to die! Now I'm having seizures again and I'm NOT on any psych meds, so I'm as crazy as all hell again, AND my central nervous system is falling to ugly electrified pieces at an alarming rate.
What else, what else?
Oh yeah! My brother-in-law needed to borrow my truck for an extended period of time because his van is out of commission! The fact that he is borrowing it doesn't bother me, of course, it couldn't possibly. But it does leave me with the funny little problem of not having a la mode of transportation.
It does sound like a deliciously tempting lack of transportation though, doesn't it?

Time does strange things to a man.

I guess it can be assumed that time would do strange things to a woman, too. Or a child. Time might even do strange things to an animal; but let's not jump to conclusions. Because, as they say: once you jump to conclusions, it is very difficult to get back again.

*Several Moments Later*
A flush of my cheeks and a spin of the chamber and I am back where I started. Attempting to write on an incredibly full stomache is difficult work, but it appears that someone has to do it. Verily, if I do not write now, it may be that I will never write again. That wouldn't necessarily be tragic; but it would be pretty boring.

I got a great big pointed fang
Which is my Zomby Toof
My right foot is bigger than my other one is
Like a regular Zomby Hoof

As true today as it was, when it was written.

Why can I not think thoughts with any kind of correlation between them?
What a terrible state of being. Amisare Waswere. Damn you, Mr. Bendikson.

Late at night I have discovered that I am omniscient. I know everything at all times, but I also cannot ever understand anything. At night, though, something clicks in my head and I realize that everything means nothing, so by understanding nothing I can truly say that I know the meaning of life. I just can't repeat the meaning of life to anyone, think about the meaning of life at any time, or act upon my knowledge of the meaning of life in any way, shape, or form.
Perhaps the true meaning of life is to muck about in pointlessness? No, if it was, I wouldn't be able to do it.

My mom woke me up this morning by jabbing my wall with her cane. As some of you may know, this enrages me for some reason that nobody understands. In my sleepy stupor I punched the wall (really hard) to let her know that I was awake. I put a dent in the wall and, more importantly, a dent in my knuckle. Don't worry, though, the dent in my knuckle was quickly filled up with blue, swollen flesh. I think I may have broken it again.

Oooold Franky Zapps. The things you have done for this world.
But what does Bobby Dyls have to say about this?

Bobby Dyls: Heh, I'm masqueradin'.

On that note, I leave you all. I hope you enjoyed this poorly written and entirely unplanned descent into crap.

Bass! How low can you go?
Death row what a brother knows
Once again, back is the incredible
The rhyme animal
The incredible D. Public Enemy number one
Five-O said "Freeze!" and I got numb
Can't I tell 'em that I really never had a gun?
But it's the wax that the Terminator X spun
Now they got me in a cell 'cause my records they sell
'Cause a brother like me said "Well
Farrakhan's a prophet and I think you ought to listen to
What he can say to you, what you ought to do"
Follow for now, power to the people say,
"Make a miracle. D, pump the lyrical"
Black is back, all in, we're gonna win
Check it out, yeah y'all, here we go again

Chorus:
Turn it up! Bring tha noize!

Never badder than bad 'cause the brother is madder than mad
At the fact that's corrupt as a senator
Soul on a roll, but you treat it like soap on a rope
'Cause the beats in the lines are so dope
Listen for lessons I'm saying inside music that the critics are
blasting me for
They'll never care for the brothers and sisters now across the
country has us up for the war

We got to demonstrate, come on now, they're gonna have to wait
Till we get it right
Radio Stations I question their blackness
They call themselves black, but we'll see if they play this

Chorus

Get from in front of me, the crowd runs to me
My deejay is warm, he's X, I call him Norm, ya know
He can cut a record from side to side
So what, the ride, the glide should be much safer than a suicide
Soul control, beat is the father of your rock'n'roll
Music for whatcha, for whichin', you call a band, man
Makin' a music, abuse it, but you can't do it, ya know
You call 'em demos, but we ride limos, too
Whatcha gonna do? Rap is not afraid of you
Beat is for Sonny Bono, beat is for Yoko Ono
Run DMC first said a deejay could be a band
Stand on its feet, get you out your seat
Beat is for Eric B, and L.L. as well, hell
Wax is for Anthrax, still it can rock bells
Ever forever, universal, it will sell
Time for me to exit, Terminator X-it

Chorus

From coast to coast, so you stop being like a comatose
'Stand, my man? The beat's the same with a boast dose
Rock with some pizzazz, it will last why you ask?
Roll with the rock stars, still never get accepted as
We got to pleed the fifth, we can investigate
Don't need to wait, get the record straight
Hey, posse's in effect, got the Flavor Terminator
X to sign checks, play to get paid
We got to check it out down on the avenue
A magazine or two is dissing me and dissing you
Yeah, I'm telling you