The Obscure

I was watching the episode of "Thomas Beats the Space-Bullies" where Thomas finally ends up beating the Space-Bullies, and I didn't buy it. It's just that, I know I believe in Space-Bullies, I just don't know if I believe in Thomas.

That was something that came into my head while I was trying to sleep. I stayed up a little bit past the time when I could just lie down and let the clonodine knock me out, so I had to take a third one, and now I have to wait a little bit until the third one adds it's power to the power of the first two. Then, I will be able to sleep ok, without thinking about things like Thomas and the Space-Bullies.
Lately, my life has been kind of a weird trip. I feel like I've jack-knifed straight down into the reservoirs of my mind, like my subconscious is kind of taking over. My fore-conscious is taking a powder, I suppose.
It isn't a state of being I'd recommend, you find out a lot about yourself that you probably didn't really want to know. Some of the little things that have nagged at you a bit over the years become obsessions, others do a complete 180 on you and suddenly you don't care about them at all. Those are generally the good things you are supposed to be doing or thinking or saying, your normally conscious mind gives you this little guilt complex, so you get this nagging urge to behave in that sort of manner; but when you are in a more primal state, that shit doesn't really matter much. When you find out what it is that you really care about and what it is that your mind just knows that you should care about, it can leave a bad taste in your mouth. You begin to realize you aren't even the usually relatively nice guy you thought you were, it's just another mask you put on when you go out to do a show. I'm sure everyone has those masks, but nobody really knows how deep it goes, except for the thousands of people who do.

Then again, maybe I'm just depressed. I like to fuck with myself when I'm depressed, to make myself more depressed. It's like poking at a canker sore, you can't really help it.
So who knows, maybe every action isn't just a put-on, maybe I haven't lived my entire life wearing a mask to cover up for the fact that I'm not a nice guy.
But that's how I feel today. Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow. In fact, I'll probably have forgotten about it entirely.
As I said, it's a weird trip. A weird fucking trip, man--and I don't recommend it.