The Drivel Thread

Time to pull out the word 'lies' again people.

I was in a Chinese restaurant with a fellow student who had bought a watercolor painting I made, called Humpty Dumpty. He said he was from Kuwait. Ibrahim. It was his treat, and at that time I ate animals for pleasure. This time it was sea life chow mein.

The restaurant was fairly large, and empty except for Ibrahim and I. Suddenly, in walks a man and instantly I think he’s the same person I danced with at 12 or 13. My next thought was that he was Morrissey. Two older compact men trailed in behind him, and where do they sit, but at the booth next to Ibrahim and I. Morrissey grabbed a chair from a table, and sat just outside the booth his companions were in, so he could easily see me out of his peripheral vision.

His companions talked quietly among themselves and ignored Morrissey. He didn’t say a word through my meal. We never made eye contact. Once, Ibrahim went to the washroom, and I had been so brainwashed by slut shaming in my life, that I was afraid Ibrahim would be offended if I spoke to Morrissey in his absence, so I ate, robotically.

Then it was time to leave. I had enjoyed Morrissey’s company, and his companions were respectful, but I may as well have been a remote controlled robot, the way I got up and followed Ibrahim to the cashier where he paid for our meals, in my shiny black puffy jacket and shiny black knee high boots.
This was in Chinatown in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. It was decades ago.

I identified with Kylie Minogue for several years. My strange way of surviving. She would have been a successful stripper. I admired her pride in her libido, because mine had a stranglehold on me. No matter what I should be doing, if I found a man sexy, I was a goner. I’m not proud of that now, but at the time, I was built that way, for whatever reasons, and because I was stuck with it, I wanted to be proud of it. Proud of my ass, proud of my hussy's body overall.

So when Morrissey dissed Kylie, I felt he was slut shaming her, and therefore, slut shaming me, as I identified with her. I took it to be hatred of my kind, so I started making fun of him, in my journal as ‘redpathetic’. I remember posting a poem about Morrissey being on a stripper pole and having eaten too much potato or something like that. I posted taunts time and time again.

Around that time, I saw an interview of Morrissey by Russell Brand, called Wrestle With Russell. I glommed onto how sexy Russell seemed, and thought it was harmless fun to post a video I found on YouTube of pictures of Brand, set to Kylie’s song Wow. I didn’t know what I was getting into, but that’s another story.

One day I was in the liquor store, around that time, and some guy hands me ten bucks, out of the blue. I was always dirt poor in those days, and accepted the ten dollar bill. Later, on the street, we chatted, and he wanted me to do some housework in exchange for cash. I went to his apartment to assess how to possibly go about helping out. Somehow he ended up buying a couple of acrylic paintings from me, one of a paparazzi photo of a naked Kylie on a beach, and I think the other one was of Morrissey, perched on a table, as if avoiding a mouse on the floor.

The guy was guzzling hard booze constantly, but he was pretty laid back, and he didn’t mind my dog being with us. He even liked him. He didn’t force himself on me sexually, another big point in his favor. And, of course, I needed the dough. He’d sit on the couch drinking, and we’d chat while I cleaned, arranged, and cooked, in the adjoining kitchen. He said his money was from royalties. He wouldn’t say what songs they were from. I remember two of his buddies coming by for a beer. They were polite, but they must have wondered where it was going.

Where it went, was we were watching YouTube videos, and he said I reminded him of Jeff Beck. That was flattering, but when it was my turn to play a video, I chose Kylie’s song Come Into My World, with The Scissor Sisters, and in it, she makes sounds at an interval, that make her seem like she’s in sexual ecstasy. I asked him what he thought of Kylie, and he said “She’s a slut!”

You can guess how I reacted. I took my dog and left, and went home. He called, or I called him, and I told him I wasn’t having anything to do with him anymore. I didn’t explain why. I didn’t know how to communicate with people. I hope I’m better at it now. He cried out “What about me?”, and I don’t remember what I answered, but I believed that calling Kylie a slut was hateful, and because I identified with her, that he would hate me too, when he realized I fit the bill of ‘slut' too. I guess I was a slut, but again, that’s another story.
Listen to Kylie.m4a by Sharon on #SoundCloud
That user account was for the forums, but I also had a redpathetic journal on solo, which has disappeared with upgrades, along with the bygone chatroom.
This was when I freaked out about Morrissey dissing Kylie. I took it so hard.
Transcribed from paper diary...

I posted on my drivel thread, and rifke said I'm weird and icky. I added that I'm moronic. Moz was not angry at Minogue. He was angry at me, when he ranted, saying her name angrily. He was fed up of me going for Kylie's music and neglecting his. I don't blame him, now, but at the time I couldn't understand. He was frustrated with me for walking away from him on Broadway. That's what it was triggered by.

I really don't blame him, but I don't blame myself either, well, I do. I was in the wrong, for ignoring, his music often in favor of Kylie's, but when I walked away from him on Broadway it was because I was terrified of sex trafficking and I was afraid by the obvious display of money and power, and I attributed it to possibly being money made from sex trafficking, and I didn't really register that it was Morrissey, because the man who pointed him out, his voice was drowned out by wind or traffic or something.

I didn't hear what he said, and it was only later it came home to me, that the man who exited the expensive car, after his bodyguards, was Morrissey. I didn't knowingly walk away from Morrissey, that time. f***ing horrible. Hence, "I'm throwing my arms around Paris."

What can I do now? It's all so sad. But, he seems to be doing well. Maybe it's not too late for him. It's pretty late for me, as I hope my tooth infection clears up on its own, and my dry cough goes away.
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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