The Obscure

I have so many thoughts whizzing around in my mind that I find I must put them to some use, be it for good or for evil.
But first... Ladies and Gentlemen, Jethro Tull!


In the morning, gonna get my things together
Pack them up and leave this place
I don't believe you'll cry, I'll see
A smile upon your face

I didn't think, how much you'd hurt me
But that's something that I'll laugh about
Bring in the good times baby
And let the bad times out

Oh that old sun, Keeps on shining
But someday it won't shine for you
In the morning I'll be leaving
I'll leave your mother, too.

Yeah, that sounds about right. Everyone do the John Colón Shuffle, if you know what that is. If you don't, then take pity on yourselves; and to you, everyone who knows the John Colón Shuffle, take pity on that less fortunate multitude. For as it is written, "We are all as equals in the eyes of God."

I don't know if that is an actual writing, but it sounds good enough to be one, doesn't it? I haven't been able to sleep all night, my Aunt's espresso helped liven me up enough to say hello to people at the christmas party, but it was slightly to potent for one who has been on less than one cup of coffee a day for months. Remember when I was a six-cupper? "Quit drinking coffee," they said, "it's the number one source of migraines." they said. So I quit drinking coffee. I went through a pretty hellish time but I gave up drinking it, at least drinking it as religiously as I used to. Change in migraines? Nah, no such luck. Nothing can penetrate this skull; ask my parents, or any of my former teachers. Nothing gets through, and everything gets out. It's like some sort of thing that I can't come up with an analogy for. One of those crazy things.
Osmosis Jones fell in the ocean
Osmosis Jones, what for amazing term!

My headache was gone for a little while tonight, it came back just now, I didn't even notice it creeping in and then, BAM! Can't really see anymore. But I won't let that bring me down, it's only castles burning, after all.
If you have noticed any increasing bitterness in my tone, then kudos to you, I may not have expressed it properly here. I'd apologize for it but it doesn't really feel necessary to do so. I've begun to hate my headaches and doctors so much that I am seriously (actually seriously) contemplating quitting everything and going on an incredibly long road trip of indeterminate length until my untimely demise is brought about by some serial killer hitch-hiker picker-upper (last part:joke).
By quit I do not mean only my job, I mean my entire life. All my ties, responsibilities, all of the things that I cannot deal with because of my thinly veiled and, for some strange reason, often flaunted psychosis.
Would that be trading one junk heap for another, though? Would copying the actions of my father's youth bring me any more happiness, any less misery? Or is it that my spirit itself rots within me?

Hypomania, mania, insanity, sleep-deprived dementia, called it what you will. As of this moment there is nothing changed about me since last year, or the year before that, or the year before for as long as I can remember. I am just as aware now as I was when I was 5 years old (I know I've said this before); and I do not think I will ever change.
Writing these personal things in a public place, how childish must I seem to you, the Immortal You? Thinking the same thoughts I thought when I was thirteen years old, knowing full-well that all around me others are changing and learning and doing something with themselves, knowing full-well the capacities of the mind with which I was born and the things I could do if I were to use it, and finding myself unable to do anything but sit here in my depressed, strange little hole and stare out at the normal world.
I wonder, "What drives them?" I think to myself, "What makes them do the things that they do?" But I cannot answer these questions, nor could you, the Immortal You. Neither could one of you who possess the ability to walk on two legs understand why I lie on the floor night after night, wondering if my arms can move by conscious choice, or if it is something purely instinctual.
Grab, I think, grab the pen. I put all of my will, all of my mental power into the action of grabbing the pen, but my hand remains still. Then I simply stop thinking, I reach out and I grab the pen using the basic motor skills I have had since childhood, after wasting half an hour of useless time trying to will my arm to move. Oh yes, he's such an intelligent boy.
I constantly test out that idea, that I could think myself into moving without.... moving. I suppose that would be classified as some kind of telekineses, which is fair, I've tried that out too. Never does jack.

Grab all you bags and grab all your bitches, let's go inside and hit all the switches.

I wonder where all of us will end up? Will one of us die? Will one of us someday write in their memoirs, "Things were never the same for me since (friend) died."
What if it is me who dies? Despite my suicidal tendencies I have always felt a need to see this horrible play through to the end; call it masochism. Hell, there is pain enough. All I need now is a scary woman in a leather suit, I think Taylor could play that part admirably.
But what if I die? What if I die tomorrow? What things will I not have done? Is there some way out of my mountain of problems that I would have found the day after tomorrow?
Who is to say? Certainly not I. In any case, I think I finally feel like I can go to sleep, so goodnight ladies and gentlemen, I'll leave you with just a few more lyrics that mean an extra special lot to me.

SNIFF
Driving that train, high on cocaine
Casey Jones you better watch your speed
Trouble ahead, trouble behind
And you know that notion just crossed my mind

This old engine makes it on time
Leaves Hazard Station 'bout a quarter to nine
Hits Trouble Junction at seventeen to
At a quarter to ten you know it's drivin' again

Driving that train, high on cocaine
Casey Jones you better watch your speed
Trouble ahead, trouble behind
And you know that notion just crossed my mind

Trouble ahead, the lady in red
Take my advice, you'd be better off dead
Switchman sleeping, train hundred and two is
On the wrong track and headed for you

Driving that train, high on cocaine
Casey Jones you better watch your speed
Trouble ahead, trouble behind
And you know that notion just crossed my mind

Trouble with you is the trouble with me
You got two good eyes but you still don't see
Come round the bend, you know it's the end
The fireman screams and the engine just gleams

Driving that train, high on cocaine
Casey Jones you better watch your speed
Trouble ahead, trouble behind
And you know that notion just crossed my mind

And you know that notion just crossed my mind


Goodnight, and Merry Day-After-Christmas.