The Obscure

"The time has come," the jackass said, "to speak of many things. Of wrath, and sin, and manly love, subterfuge and rings. Of why my beloved loves me not, and whether broken shins will sting."

fucking A, I am losing my touch.

Tonight, of all nights, lands me here. The thoughts whirling around inside my skull are oppressive and distasteful. I don't know how to spell.
A long long time ago, in a washing machine very close nearby.

No thread, no thread at all. It is because my mind is not working like a normal person's mind does, it is on two tracks, hurtling through the shadow like a meteor trailing flame produced by the consumption of human souls. I should write things that challenge me, I know that much, but tonight is not the night for that, tonight is a night in which I loosen up the wheels inside my brain so that I can once more write in a fluid fashion. I enjoy splattering my thoughts on a page, the draining sensation is very pleasant. Too many words, too many words, I say! The shining golden web that glitters, it extends in all directions, it reaches every juxtoposition merely seconds before logic finds it. I do trust you are doing well.
I can see all that there is to see, now. I can see all that is or ever was. I will not remember it come sunrise, but the insanity reaches deep into my soul, the insanity stretches it's ice-cold fingers and punctures my heart. Where do I go to from here? Everything is going to be all right.

So I was wondering what strange things have occured within this strange black hole we call life, what seperation of church and state does require of us fealty?Strange days, indeed. Five hundred years ago I gazed upon the body of my most beloved. She gave her last breath in the defense of the sanctity of human life, ironic that she was willing to die for it, more ironic, I was unwilling to save her.
Up and down, side to side, right to life, gliding snide; snipes and jibes and he coaxes our hoaxes, front and back, dead railroad track, cars and bars and feets of strength, misery drawn out to longest length. I give and love and shove, I shove life on others who lack the strength to grab it for themselves. I do not understand the things I see or feel or hear or think out here, outside my body, outside my soul, where should I go when the places I once called my own no longer welcome me?
Where should I go when I no longer wish for my home?
Where should I go when I forget that I have a home?

Time exists, this I know, but my concept of it is skewed. Of course, I am an insane man.
Love your suit.