The Drivel Thread

[nicky wire's legs]

oh yeah, you're a real intellectual. Everything you say just goes over our heads. That's your problem. Sure thing, honey.

 

[Light Housework]

oh yeah, you're a real intellectual. Everything you say just goes over our heads. That's your problem. Sure thing, honey.

I wasn’t implying that I’m an intellectual. I only meant that your egg beater mouth hasn’t scrambled my brains.

 

[Light Housework]

Alma Matters
Morrissey

So, the choice I have made
May seem strange to you
But who asked you, anyway?
It's my life to wreck
My own way

You see, to someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
In part, and in whole
Because to someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
In part, and in whole

So, the life I have made
May seem wrong to you
But I've never been surer
It's my life to ruin
My own way

You see, to someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
In part, and in whole
Because to someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
In part, and in whole

To someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
Part, and in whole
So to someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Alma matters
In mind, body and soul
Part, and in whole

To someone, somewhere, oh yeah
Oh yeah
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Oh yeah

 

[Light Housework]

@nicky wire's legs All that matters to you are cheekbones.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

And wrist and collar bones!!!!

 

[Light Housework]

All that matters to me is Morrissey, when I know what’s good for me.

 

[Light Housework]

I want to hear him whisper in my ear.

 

[Light Housework]

Just thinking of Morrissey’s voice, prompted this song to play in my head. I don’t know why this particular song.

 

[Anon in London]

Please Light Housework go outside! I'm going outside, I'm going to pick up twigs!

 

[Light Housework]

I’ve got to matter first. My feelings, have got to come first. I said that all that matters to me is Morrissey, when I know what’s good for me, but this doesn’t feel right. What matters to me are my feelings, and if they tell me that Morrissey needs me, then I’ll go with them.

 

[Light Housework]

But what it boils down to is that I must feel good about myself, always, so if ever I need to go against my feeling that Morrissey needs me, I will have good reason, as he surely has good reason for going against his feeling that I need him. That said, I’m more in love with him than ever, though my lungs have been rattling and I haven’t been feeling very attractive.

 

[Light Housework]

Please Light Housework go outside! I'm going outside, I'm going to pick up twigs!

I can’t sleep, so I will take a little walk. I hope I don’t trip in the shadows under the trees.

 

[Light Housework]

Please Light Housework go outside! I'm going outside, I'm going to pick up twigs!

I went for a 40 minute walk and arrived back home at ten after 4AM. It was quiet, and I walked into many strands of spider silk, and passed by a raccoon that was sitting on its bum watching me. That was refreshing, though I was a little nervous, being a lone female “asking for it” by walking on the deserted streets in the middle of the night.

 

[Light Housework]

I’ve got a couple of spider bites on my thighs from them crawling up my pant legs, after I walked into their yarns. I doubt it’s anything serious, like a brown recluse’s bite. I’m going to try to sleep now, and am hoping I don’t have spiders hiding in my clothes.

 

[Light Housework]

I have First of the Gang to Die in my head, egging me on, to at least paint a little, soon. I just finished writing morning pages, and don’t know how I’ll spend the next hour before I paint. I slept four hours, which my psychiatrist would not approve of, but I think I slept the evening before too, for maybe 3 hours, so his approval rating would go up with that. I think he insists on 8 or 9 hours a night though, or he’ll tell me to take extra medication, which I hate.

What to do for an hour? Eat, and watch Morrissey in concert, write in ink. I’m not feeling bad this morning. Coughing hasn’t happened yet really. Ever so slight headache, that I wonder about. Could be caffeine withdrawal as I gave up coffee a few days ago. At the cafe I drink peppermint tea nowadays. Could be that the beer I had yesterday, what little of it I had, is just a really shitty beer. It’s a brand I hadn’t bought for a long time. The play I saw last Wednesday had a small selection of beer on its menu, and the only one that appealed to me was Red Truck lager, so I had that, at $9 plus tip, and liked it during the play, so I went out and bought a box of 15 cans. I’ve been slowly drinking them, but maybe not slowly enough, as I first noticed that headache immediately after drinking it. Maybe it’s a toxic beer. All beer is toxic. I gave up coffee. Next, I’ll give up beer.

I’m savouring these minutes of not feeling ill, and am afraid to ingest anything that might bring it back on, like beer, which is so terribly sweet, that I know it’s bad for me. Even one regular sized can of it, is too sweet. I tried to find out the ingredients in this beer, with no luck, other than barley and hops. I wonder if they used malt, or plain sugar, or both. I think I smell sweat. Dried sweat, not the foul type, but the calming reassuring kind. I shut the windows and cranked up the heat as I was too cold to sleep, even under the blankets, so I guess I sweated when it warmed up. Many years ago, a neighbour had cancer of the lungs and it spread to his brain, and as he was living out his last days up in his apartment on the top floor of the house, he felt cold, and it was a sweltering summer. I have wondered if I’ve been cold because of illness, but I doubt it. That may be down the road, if I’m unable to fight off my lung infection, which may spread to other organs, and then I may experience what my neighbour did - being cold even in warmth.

Got to be positive though. “Just do your best and oh, don’t worry, oh."

 

[Light Housework]

Postponing painting for an hour. Going to sip peppermint tea and write my guts out in ink. I keep seeing myself in a nursing home. “I Live in Oblivion” comes to mind. I’d rather die than live in one. I volunteered in two nursing homes. The first one smelled of urine that’s been sitting around, and I passed a balloon between myself and an old man, who was very easy to please. The second one, I was there as a volunteer for the Stanley Park petting zoo, and gathered up animals to take there, and then helped to display them to the residents. I placed a chicken on a dining room table, for an old woman to view, and maybe pet. She looked at me angrily and punched me in the face. The punch was so feeble, it didn’t hurt. I didn’t say anything to anyone about it. I’ve heard about those places. They can be a nightmare of neglect and abuse. Life is scary and usually sad. My peppermint tea is ready. I feel so lonely. And doomed. I hope painting goes well. I want the double portrait of Moz and Shirley Manson to be good enough to professionally frame, and find room on my wall to mount it. I can’t believe Shirley stuck her tongue out, just as I had wanted to do beside Moz for a photo to show my shrink. I just can’t believe it, but I’ve seen the photo. That girl did it. Lucky duck!

 

[Light Housework]

I’m disgusted with this infection of my right lung. It’s very off putting and distracting. Especially, when it comes to watching Morrissey, because he has the healthiest lungs in the world, and I guess it’s hard to relate, now that mine are plagued with a sickly sensation.

 

[Light Housework]

My mental health workers have cheered me up, seeing plays with me, going to the cafe, the symphony, making art with me, chatting, going to the MacMillan Bloedel conservatory to see the plants and birds, going to art galleries, and they’ve got me hooked up with counselling, starting Thursday morning. I’ve been taking them for granted.

I’ve got a ton of beer in the fridge, but it’s too sweet, but I crave the hoppy, yeasty taste. I’ll be glad when it’s finished. I doubt I’ll buy any more after that. I know I’ve said that before. I’m saying it again. I think I’ll only drink beer on social occasions when the fridge is rid of it.

I hope I’ll get around to painting before too long, then clean myself for a walk in which I hope to crash into Morrissey’s arms, which hurts no one.

 

[Light Housework]

Note to Morrissey: This time, hit or miss, I’ll keep quiet about it here, unless you tell me otherwise, and unless I come away with proof I was with you, I will not tell my mental health workers or shrink that I saw you. I’ll surprise you, how discreet I can be, unless you tell me to tell everyone, which doesn’t seem to be your style, and I’m sorry for having divulged so much here, about your last attempt to attract me. It won’t happen again, unless you tell me to shout it from the rooftops.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

What part of 'you're disgusting nobody wants your decrepit ass least of all morrissey' don't you understand???