The Drivel Thread

You gonna give the Dr a Morrissey
Sticky note then 😉
Thanks for reminding me. Yes.
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I saw my doctor and she’s going to get my heart tested. I’m still on the waiting list for a CT scan to notice something wrong with my right lung. She said she’s going to try to figure out a way to expedite getting me tested for the mold infection (aspergillosis) so that I can get on the antifungal medication. I’m waiting for phone calls for other appointments, for cataracts and a lung therapist. She doesn’t know why I haven’t gotten those phone calls yet, and she sent messages on her computer about them while I was there. I asked her how to go about making sure I get an autopsy when I’ve died, and how to go about donating my body to study aspergillosis. She said she would look into it. She told me to stipulate in my will that I want an autopsy, because I want to prove to my mental health workers and psychiatrist, and herself, that I did have a mold infection. I have never really looked into creating a will. I guess I will look into that over the weekend. My right lung feels plagued. It has all day so far, pretty much. I still enjoyed myself though, writing morning pages, bathing, brushing my teeth, running for the bus, riding the bus, using my phone for Solo posts in the doctor’s waiting room, chatting with a man in that room, and then making it home, where my food is, and I’m hungry. What to eat? The man in the waiting room said he saw a Sade concert in 2011, and she stood up for him, when he didn’t want to sit down. I guess there was a domino effect behind him of people having to stand too, to be able to see the concert. He also said that he gets physically ill if he doesn’t eat meat. I used to go out with a man who was the same in that way. His sweat smelled strongly of uric acid from all the meat and milk he ingested it seemed. He was autistic and would throw tantrums. My throat would feel congested with trauma for weeks after the fact of his tantrums. I don’t remember what the last straw was, that finally permanently turned me off. It didn’t help, that he had another girlfriend who answered his phone and told me to “quit meddling”. What drew me to him was my libido, and his innocent looking eyes. He had rock star hair, and sexual magnetism that he flaunted in sleeveless shirts. He played electric guitar and we made a few songs. A few were interesting, but they were on MySpace, and the recordings are no more. One song was to my sister, called You Tried to Kill Me. It was a good rock n’ roll song.
 
It's funny that all the real people you went out with were the most abject losers, yet somehow we're supposed to believe that sexy successful men of the world are in love with you. How is it then that you’ve never actually gone out with anyone who wasn't a total loser???
 
My right lung has not been feeling so bad for about four hours. I haven’t coughed in all that time, and almost feel healthy. At this rate I might get some painting done and watch some Morrissey concert footage tonight. I have Morrissey singing You’ll Be Gone in my head. That Japanese artist from the cafe is in my mind’s eye. I find her mien inspiring. I wonder how she and Morrissey would get along. Well, I’d bet. I wonder if she took my cue and checked him out yet. Her husband is a student and she’s supporting him on her income from her acrylic paintings. She doesn’t have a car. I wonder what she’d do if I offered her $300 to make me a small easy painting. I don’t think I will make the offer, but sometimes I wonder if I just might. Nah. Her work isn’t really my style, and I prefer watercolour over acrylic. I just like her. It’s Morrissey I most want to spend some time with though. I’m so sorry I looked down and then at the bushes as we approached each other on February 13th Morrissey. I’m sure you were delicious, and I ignored you, until the last moment, when it was too late for us to gracefully come into each others’ arms. I learned my lesson, and don’t ignore people I’m approaching anymore. A woman passed me on a bicycle when I was waiting for my neighbour’s dog to deposit her ball between my feet, and she made a face that showed she was freaked out about something, as she looked me in the eye. She had such a dramatically expressive face. She’d make a good actress. I wonder what was on her mind. Anyway Morrissey when will I see you? In the next world? I wonder what you’re waiting for. I don’t deceive myself into thinking I’m a bombshell, but you showed up for me on Valentine’s Eve, so I know you’re likely to give me another shot at taking you in my arms finally. Valentine’s Eve. This means you really love me. I hope you get to me before death does. If not, then know that you have inspired me greatly. I just wanted to die, until you sang my name. Then you showed up on August 10th 2023, and made me want to live even more. Then you showed up on Valentine’s Eve, and I knew you were in love with me. I’m certainly in love with you, and feel comfortable in my own skin finally, emotionally speaking, so that I’m confident I won’t be star struck if we meet, and that I will just appreciate you as you are, flesh and blood and bone. “Why did you stick me in, self deprecating bones and flesh? Do you hate me? Do you hate me, do you hate me?” I don’t hate you and I don’t feel jealous of your robust health at the moment, because I’m not feeling nauseous. On Sunday I felt so bad that I knew I wouldn’t be good company for you, but right now, I’m hoping I will get to spend some quality time with you while I’m not feeling so bad. Now I’m going to sip my cooled peppermint tea, and probably paint some of your portrait from the Grantley Hall photo, in about an hour. Then, watch some concert footage of you, from October 15th, 2019, in Vancouver. I wonder if my fingers would tremble while painting your eyes, if you were here while I did it, or if they would become absolutely steady. I think the latter. I remember your presence at the restaurant 20 or so years ago, how calming it was, as you watched me out of your peripheral vision. I was such a coward not to speak to you and ask you “Are you The Dancer I danced with in Montreal?” The fact that I recognized you were Morrissey, after thinking “That’s The Dancer!”, was eclipsed by me thinking that you are the dancer. Such a coward. I was afraid of offending the guy who had bought a painting from me for ten dollars and was buying me dinner. Can you believe how stupid I was? Sorry Doesn’t Help Us. Anyway, I’m just doing my best, and aiming not to worry. You still incredibly love me despite what a moron I’ve been, I believe, and have gently nudged me to wake up and smell the roses. I want to smell them with you.
 
Here I was imagining you sitting at the guest table and myself looking at you, before devouring you, or something. No, devouring sounds about right. On my bed, slowly.
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Painted some of the clothes of Morrissey In Grantley Hall. My right lung isn't hurting.
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BURN THEM BASTARD BOOKS.

BE CAREFUL WOT THEM BOOKS YOU BURN

Allah is great, you know it's true
And soon the world will know it, too.
Each earthly thing must meet its end
And into Jahannam, the West we send.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali is nuts
And Douglas Murray, we hate his guts.
Jordan Peterson is a phony
Nick Cave's a dork (Bony Moronie).

Unless they come to see the truth,
We must fight them, nail and tooth.
They may have their dumb UnHerd
But we have Allah's glorious word.

So as your world goes down in flames
Meditate on the ninety-nine names.
Perhaps you'll see Allah is One
And not a god who had a son.

Say "there is no god but God."
And Carlislebaz, you're rather odd.
Don't you burn that Holy Qur'an
Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron.
 
BE CAREFUL WOT THEM BOOKS YOU BURN

Allah is great, you know it's true
And soon the world will know it, too.
Each earthly thing must meet its end
And into Jahannam, the West we send.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali is nuts
And Douglas Murray, we hate his guts.
Jordan Peterson is a phony
Nick Cave's a dork (Bony Moronie).

Unless they come to see the truth,
We must fight them, nail and tooth.
They may have their dumb UnHerd
But we have Allah's glorious word.

So as your world goes down in flames
Meditate on the ninety-nine names.
Perhaps you'll see Allah is One
And not a god who had a son.

Say "there is no god but God."
And Carlislebaz, you're rather odd.
Don't you burn that Holy Qur'an
Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron.

mad skillz, yo! :gemstone::knife::trophy:
 
BE CAREFUL WOT THEM BOOKS YOU BURN

Allah is great, you know it's true
And soon the world will know it, too.
Each earthly thing must meet its end
And into Jahannam, the West we send.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali is nuts
And Douglas Murray, we hate his guts.
Jordan Peterson is a phony
Nick Cave's a dork (Bony Moronie).

Unless they come to see the truth,
We must fight them, nail and tooth.
They may have their dumb UnHerd
But we have Allah's glorious word.

So as your world goes down in flames
Meditate on the ninety-nine names.
Perhaps you'll see Allah is One
And not a god who had a son.

Say "there is no god but God."
And Carlislebaz, you're rather odd.
Don't you burn that Holy Qur'an
Da do ron ron ron, da do ron ron.
Only skimmed your reply Audrey.

Not interested in anyone’s reply.
This poem of mine wasn’t meant to be debated at all, and if it might be,
I won’t be reading it.

All religions should be banned

NOW f*** OFF.
 
Only skimmed your reply Audrey.

Not interested in anyone’s reply.
This poem of mine wasn’t meant to be debated at all, and if it might be,
I won’t be reading it.

All religions should be banned

NOW f*** OFF.

Burn the books and no debating. You're really committed to free thinking, Carlislebaz. You know what ought to be banned? You. I declare you: haram!
 
I just framed all 6 prints in dollar store frames for the November show, so that people can spend peanuts and get some Morrissey on their wall. Many people only have peanuts to spare after all, though some like to pretend that they can afford market prices for artwork. I can’t. I almost bought a $700 piece a month ago. I’m glad I didn’t. I really don’t have much money. But I’m surprised that the prints fit the cheap matting in the frames. I’d thought they’d be a bit off, but they fit perfectly, and the prints were not expensive this time. I get a discount because of how much dough I’ve spent at the art supplies store, and for 6 small prints it came up to about $13.50 each, which is shocking compared to how much they have cost me in the past. Maybe the clerk made a mistake. He told me they would be a tad smaller than I wanted, and I accepted that, and expected that, but they turned out perfectly. I’m stunned. I hope I’ll make it to submit my art to the November show. There’s no guaranteed that many pieces will sell, but I want the chance to give people the option to get some Morrissey portraits on their walls. Speaking of Morrissey, where are you? Will I end up in your arms on my evening walk? If not I will still probably continue painting you at Grantley Hall after I settle in when I get back home alone. I wonder how long it would take you to get bored with me. Am I boring you now? I don’t think you’d let yourself get bored easily with me on my bed. I wonder if you would enjoy watercolour painting at the guest table while I paint your portrait at my own table. Very much want to see your style of painting.
 
Enjoyment
I most value my own
Whose is in sync with mine
It’s wonderful to have an ally
Despite the mirror telling me I look like I’m dying
I don’t understand so much
Through the bus window
Going through the downtown east side
Someone with their bum stuck outside their pants
On the sidewalk sprawled out for all to see
It beats me
How someone gets that way
And how they deal with it
I imagine grasping at a gulp of slight comfort now and again
A mirage of being saved
Or maybe an understanding that it’s real somehow
Genius desperation borne
What to do without a home
 
Tags
anxiety bloody awful poetry testing the waters trying to feel good in your own skin trying to make friends wanting to alleviate anxiety wanting to feel safe to be honest wanting to have integrity
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