obscurity will not begin nor end in castration

So, my story begins about ten days, immediately after having received some photographs taken of myself and my band at a january gig here in Hamilton. The photos are excellent, but also contain indisputable evidence of several large bulges eminating from my pants. Not good, healthy, rock-induced bulges, but rather large, mundane bulges causes by my obese wallet, nine dollars in pocket change, and a ring holding every key ever entrusted to me since high school. I essentially carry the same volume of personal affects in my pockets as the average woman does in her purse. Looking back over other photos throughout my life, I realize I have always been this way. The bulges have been with me since the beginning. This is who I am. I am a man who barricades his crotch with personal ephemera and debris.

I have subsequently concluded that the reason I unconciously befuddle my middle region has to do with some kind of self-hatred: hatred of my own arrogant, penile energy. This is the energy that would cause me to do angry, horny things in this world: make a fool of myself fighting to fill my own ambitions. I have always striven to be a proper, sensitive, pro-feminist, civilized sort of lad, but I am wondering if my bulges are not some kind of symbollic castration. I wonder if in the quest to become a likeable metrosexual, I have neutralized my own phallic power source. Maybe superimposing on my crotch all of the trinkets of my civilized identity--money, wallet, keys--has muted my primal drive.

I am now worried that my quest for sublime obscurity might somehow be compromised. After all, I am trying to acheive the kind of obscurity attained by those who plunge down the darkest tunnel because an urge keeps pushing them. I am not trying to acheive the other kind of obscurity that comes from hiding, from compromising one's own purpose.

Therefore, I have begun trying to keep my wallet and keys in other safe places on my person. My wallet goes in the top pocket of my jacket, over my heart. Somehow that seems right. Keys in my back pocket, or maybe my satchel. I am just spending the change as it accrues. My hope in the coming days is that my hips will swing a little more brazenly as I walk, maybe my general direction will shift a degree or so. We'll see what happens to my little pecker now that he has a little swingin' room.