The Drivel Thread

[Light Housework]

Began to paint Shirley today, with a mental health worker painting at the guest table.

 

[Light Housework]

Dreamt that a woman sent me to an old (probably ten years older than myself) man, and he grabbed me. I used my hand to subdue him with seduction. I caressed him like mad, all over, and he swooned and relaxed, and I guess he ended up having an orgasm. Then the woman showed up as I was gathering my things, and she said that on my next mission I was going to save her. I resumed gathering my things, wondering what I was getting into, and joined her as she was checking out of a respectable homeless shelter or hostel where you get issued a key or something. She was returning her key I guess. The staff were surprised she was leaving. Then I woke up. Earlier in the dream at some point I saw a life sized photo of myself as a child, posed in between two other children I didn’t recognize. I’ve never seen it before. It was propped up on a bench in a forested park.

 

[Light Housework]

I would have been about ten in the photo, with the red hair standing out as always. I don’t remember why I was in a forested park. I vaguely recall that I spent quite a bit of time in that park though, flitting from one part of it to another. Doing what, I forget. It was a generally fun dream, though I wondered what I was up to ultimately.

 

[Light Housework]

More dreaming, this time about waiting with others, to be picked up and taken to a bar. I went to a strip club and the strippers were stopped, because children came to the club for some reason. At another point, I was waiting at a bus stop, and the bus didn’t stop. The driver hadn’t seen me until he was already passing me at full speed in traffic.

 

[TheSmiths_1985]

More dreaming, this time about waiting with others, to be picked up and taken to a bar. I went to a strip club and the strippers were stopped, because children came to the club for some reason. At another point, I was waiting at a bus stop, and the bus didn’t stop. The driver hadn’t seen me until he was already passing me at full speed in traffic.

I was on a bus the other week, and the driver didn’t stop when I rang the bell. I stood and stared at him all the way to the next stop, while he pretended not to notice me staring at him. Once I got off the bus, I thought to myself, “why did you do that to that poor bus driver who just made an honest mistake?”
Felt bad for, ohhhh, I’d say 20 minutes afterwards.

As it turned out, the stop he let me off at actually cut about 3 minutes off my walk home.

But I still get off at my original stop anytime I get the bus, because I can’t let him (or any of his bus driver pals who he invariably recounted the story to) know that he actually did me a favour by holding me hostage.

 

[Light Housework]

Walked
Hoping to crash into your arms
I’m pretty sure I’m not infectious
That’s what my doctor said
That I’m not infectious

But she could be wrong
I might be wrong
I think it’s not contagious
A mold infected set of lungs
I’m fairly certain that’s what I’ve got

Exhausted
I didn’t bring my phone
To get a photo of us
Exhausted
I brought only my keys and umbrella

I’m not in pain at the moment
But throughout the day
I’ve had coughing fits
I thought I was over it
Then it dragged me under again

Exhausted and demoralized
I got little done today
Bath, walk, shop, write in ink, and nap
My lungs don’t feel healthy
It doesn’t make me smile

"So console me
Otherwise hold me
Trouble loves me"
My ability to love has just matured
And it’s being nipped in the bud

I’ll be surprised
If I get another chance at life
Never mind love
It’s exhausting to have distressed lungs
Tragic to be unable to save love

From underestimating itself
From not being assertive enough
From merely wishing and hoping
From the soil falling over its head
From lack of fulfillment before it’s dead

 

[Light Housework]

Walked
Hoping to crash into your arms
I’m pretty sure I’m not infectious
That’s what my doctor said
That I’m not infectious

But she could be wrong
I might be wrong
I think it’s not contagious
A mold infected set of lungs
I’m fairly certain that’s what I’ve got

Exhausted
I didn’t bring my phone
To get a photo of us
Exhausted
I brought only my keys and umbrella

I’m not in pain at the moment
But throughout the day
I’ve had coughing fits
I thought I was over it
Then it dragged me under again

Exhausted and demoralized
I got little done today
Bath, walk, shop, write in ink, and nap
My lungs don’t feel healthy
It doesn’t make me smile

"So console me
Otherwise hold me
Trouble loves me"
My ability to love has just matured
And it’s being nipped in the bud

I’ll be surprised
If I get another chance at life
Never mind love
It’s exhausting to have distressed lungs
Tragic to be unable to save love

From underestimating itself
From not being assertive enough
From merely wishing and hoping
From the soil falling over its head
From lack of fulfillment before it’s dead

 

[nicky wire's legs]

you are the grossest

 

[Light Housework]

Funny how right now, my cough is nowhere to be seen. I feel physically fine. I wonder how long this break will last. My resolve to get things done took a beating by the physical illness, and I can’t simply get the wind back in my sails as soon as I feel healthy again. I need to brood for a while, with my fountain pen full of the new ink I’m getting to know. I’ve written a record 30 pages today, of diary, on loose leaf paper! Talk about drivel!

 

[j*e*t]

Not to worry, I didn’t see it as a “Harvey Weinstein,” so to speak. It read exactly as you suggested, like the Spanish soccer kiss. I don’t know what difference it would make if the roles were reversed in that scenario, but at the very least it would be a little more surprising.

I had another look at that Spanish thing as it's in the news again. I feel the analogy might have been misleading as regards the tone of my dream. Relative to Morrissey, I am younger, shorter and slimmer, and in no way intimidating physically. In fact, I have long hair, no tattoos, and only ever wear the lightest make-up and jewellery, and always soft clothing, so I am ready to cuddle even the most delicate-skinned person at all times!

 

[Aubrey McFate]

I had another look at that Spanish thing as it's in the news again. I feel the analogy might have been misleading as regards the tone of my dream. Relative to Morrissey, I am younger, shorter and slimmer, and in no way intimidating physically. In fact, I have long hair, no tattoos, and only ever wear the lightest make-up and jewellery, and always soft clothing, so I am ready to cuddle even the most delicate-skinned person at all times!

Trust me, it came across as even less threatening than the Spanish soccer kiss. The fact that you were wondering if attempting to kiss someone who had just said "I love you" would constitute assault on the level of the Spanish soccer kiss made it clear that you were no boor. Plus you mentioned that you had been reading a book on the Mitford sisters, a winsome detail. Even though it wasn't in the dream, it contributed to your gentle, non-threatening motivations.

 

[Orange Crush]

I was on a bus the other week, and the driver didn’t stop when I rang the bell. I stood and stared at him all the way to the next stop, while he pretended not to notice me staring at him. Once I got off the bus, I thought to myself, “why did you do that to that poor bus driver who just made an honest mistake?”
Felt bad for, ohhhh, I’d say 20 minutes afterwards.

As it turned out, the stop he let me off at actually cut about 3 minutes off my walk home.

But I still get off at my original stop anytime I get the bus, because I can’t let him (or any of his bus driver pals who he invariably recounted the story to) know that he actually did me a favour by holding me hostage.

Bus drivers don't give a fork.

 

[Light Housework]

I was standing at a bus stop on a busy street, and a pigeon walked very close to my feet. I found it cute. Next thing I know, I’m watching the same pigeon, I guess, in the middle of traffic. I expected it to have reflexes equal to the traffic, to avoid getting hit by a car, but no, I saw a tire drive over it, and then another, and another. There was no blood. Just feathers. It goes to show how fragile life is.

I had just come out of a theatre, after seeing a play. I didn’t cough or suffer lung pain, the whole outing. I’ve coughed very little today, so far. The man who sat next to me in the theatre had a bad cough.

The new vegan ink turns out to be solvent based, and it dries so quickly that I’m afraid my pen’s nib will get permanently clogged. This ink is scary, because I’m attached to all my 7 fountain pens and don’t want to have one sacrificed to the new ink.

I had a visit from a mental health worker this morning, and I told him about my sister having tried to kill me multiple times. I know he believed me, and found my story interesting. He was dressed in black and tan, which reminded me of the extremely cuddly dog I had for nearly 14 years. We were supposed to paint, but I spent the whole hour or so telling him about ink and my sister. He has the same type of fountain pen I do, and is considering buying a ‘converter’ for it to suck ink into it from a bottle. I forgot to tell him that bottled ink flows much better than an ink cartridge. I will tell him the next time I see him.

 

[Light Housework]

I don’t feel like doing anything this evening very much. I’m broody. I’m tired of writing in ink. I wrote 14 pages today in ink. Solo is quiet as it usually is at this time in the evening. I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t feel like watching video footage, not of Morrissey, even. I don’t feel sleepy. I haven’t read in a long time and don’t want to now. What’s there to do? I don’t have the courage to paint. I feel I’m still recuperating from the last bout of coughing, which happened soon after my last post here, where I wrote that I had hardly coughed all day up until that point in time. Soon afterward it started. I’m not being a good sport about it. I’m sulking I guess, is what I’m doing, though my lungs feel okay right now. I want days without coughing, like the two consecutive days I enjoyed recently when I went to the art supplies store to celebrate not having coughed for quite some time, and treated myself to writing materials. Days, I want days, not just hours, because it takes a while to build up courage. A while of feeling capable, not just a couple of hours after coughing.

I want to be with Morrissey. That’s the only thing I want to do. That, and sip peppermint tea. But what if he developed a cough? That would be serious. It’s serious enough, that I, who don’t sing for a living, cough. Still, I wouldn’t say no, because I’m selfish, I guess. “They do not understand the urgency of life, but I love you more than life. I love you, more than life."

 

[Light Housework]

16, clumsy and shy, Red Face was, lying back on the bench a month or so ago. I didn’t see him that way, at the time he was there, and so couldn’t appreciate him that way, until I’d had plenty of hindsight to ponder his presence. He was truly 16, clumsy and shy on that bench, and adorable. I know this now. Now that he’s gone. He’s not gone, in my memory, but I wish I could reach out and touch his face, and handle his shoes, see how heavy they are and how worn the heels are.

 

[Light Housework]

I didn’t know
You were 16, clumsy and shy
With your blushing face
And exorbitantly expensive vegan shoes
Standing out like sore thumbs on your feet

I wasn’t very romantic
As if you were there just for me
And not for yourself too
I took it for granted
I’d recognize you

If you came for me
Once again
But what’s inside
Is what stands out as you
That perpetually 16, clumsy and shy child

The clothes could fit a scarecrow
But that shyness is recognizable
You leaned back
Your face went out of view
I wish I’d tracked it down

And snapped a picture of you
Or invited you to have some food
I wonder if you’d have walked with me
Along my street
And have let me ravish you on my bed

You’d give it back to me one hundred percent
I wonder how you’d paint
At the guest art table
While I’d sit at mine
Painting another portrait of your shy face

 

[Light Housework]

I didn’t know
You were 16, clumsy and shy
With your blushing face
And exorbitantly expensive vegan shoes
Standing out like sore thumbs on your feet

I wasn’t very romantic
As if you were there just for me
And not for yourself too
I took it for granted
I’d recognize you

If you came for me
Once again
But what’s inside
Is what stands out as you
That perpetually 16, clumsy and shy child

The clothes could fit a scarecrow
But that shyness is recognizable
You leaned back
Your face went out of view
I wish I’d tracked it down

And snapped a picture of you
Or invited you to have some food
I wonder if you’d have walked with me
Along my street
And have let me ravish you on my bed

You’d give it back to me one hundred percent
I wonder how you’d paint
At the guest art table
While I’d sit at mine
Painting another portrait of your shy face

 

[Light Housework]

Worked on this a little with a mental health worker today.

 

[Was I ever any good]

What’s happened with his ear ?

 

[Light Housework]

What’s happened with his ear ?

It’s a faulty drawing, and I didn’t erase and start over, so I’m stuck with his ear on his face. Maybe it means that his ear is prominent in priority to him.