The Drivel Thread

[Was I ever any good]

A wise choice

 

[nicky wire's legs]

@nicky wire's legs I’m putting you on ignore. Your meanness isn’t worth your fascinating stories. I just can’t take you. You’re too damned loveless when it comes to me.

Care factor: zero!

 

[Light Housework]

I dreamt Morrissey and I were mutually affectionate for several minutes.

 

[Light Housework]

To elaborate a little, I dreamt of being clinging (mutually) with Morrissey, affectionate, holding hands,…he moved his face down to my crotch, and I hoped I didn’t stink.

 

[Lucifer Sam]

“Look at our pair of naked bodies as they lie here, chastely and asexually, on your rickety thrift store bed, Sharon. Let us assess with candor. It is no longer the 1980s, and you are not a stripper peeling off your miniskirt to More Than A Feeling, and I am not the lithe shirtless dervish who twirled and shuffled and sang his wounded heart out on the world’s stages, and … I’m sorry, but what is that smell?”

 

[Light Housework]

I am afraid of life. I woke up at eight in the morning, and went back to bed at nine, because I felt afraid to face any task. Afraid to paint, afraid to do housework, afraid to go out for a walk. Afraid to watch concert footage of Morrissey. Afraid to read Mozipedia. Only my bed, I didn’t feel frightened of, and sleep, so I had a nap, and it’s past eleven. I’m considering going to a vegan Vietnamese restaurant near where I live that makes a delicious dish with peanut sauce. I’m usually the only customer in the place. I wonder how they stay afloat.

One of my mental health workers has become very curious about Morrissey. She’s impressed by what she knows of him so far. She had me submit photos of my artwork to a gallery via email. I haven’t heard back from them, but it’s fun having someone so impressed with my work that she has been investigating a gallery for me to exhibit my paintings. The gallery asked for ten photos, and I sent them ten Morrissey portraits.

 

[Catholic]

This just shows that you have poor reading comprehension. I specifically said that I would avoid bumming around London for the reasons you mentioned. I do not trust my wits to allow me to survive among the homeless/illegal immigrant population in a large city. I said I would go someplace smaller and safer.

Living hand to mouth is not that hard. I once worked in a bookstore with a girl who had no address and was living out of a camper van. She was a goofy "white girl with dreadlocks" type, and nicky wire's legs probably would've disliked her because she often smelled like marijuana. Other times she smelled like scented hippie oils. You could tell there was a lack of access to running water and that she was trying to drown her bodily stench in aromatics. She said she occasionally checked into a welfare motel to have a shower. And someone else, who didn't like her, mumbled out of her hearing range, "yeah, I don't think so, honey."

I've been where that girl was, except for the dope. In many ways, it was one of the richest times in my life.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

Can't she have a sponge bath in her van? I don't get that because even if i went weeks without a shower I don't think I'd reek.

I also know a girl who lives in her van. A nice pretty quintessentially canadian Christian girl. It was her goal to live in a van while in school when i met her, and she made it happen and has been living in one for over a year now. It might easier here though. Mild weather, lots of public amenities and parks, perfect for van life.

 

[Lucifer Sam]

Can't she have a sponge bath in her van? I don't get that because even if i went weeks without a shower I don't think I'd reek.

I also know a girl who lives in her van. A nice pretty quintessentially canadian Christian girl. It was her goal to live in a van while in school when i met her, and she made it happen and has been living in one for over a year now. It might easier here though. Mild weather, lots of public amenities and parks, perfect for van life.

Yes, I think the weather would have something to do with it. Not showering is one thing, but not showering during the summer when you don't have air conditioning is another. Add the fact that everyone perspires and has body odor to different extents.

 

[Light Housework]

Dear Moz,

My sister would be calling me if she thought you were in my life, but only because she’d smell money. She refuses to chat with me over the phone because I have the belief that she tried to kill me, and that she killed animals because they were more mine than hers. Also I suspect her of killing our adoptive father, his mother, and even eventually our adoptive mother. She denies everything, but I wish you’d take her and I out for a swanky vegan dinner, and let her stew in her jealousy, because she wouldn’t be able to murder you.

 

[Light Housework]

She’s a gun enthusiast, so she’d have to be frisked first. She, her husband, and their two daughters hunt. Big surprise.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

She’s a gun enthusiast, so she’d have to be frisked first. She, her husband, and their two daughters hunt. Big surprise.

shes native american, isnt she? its in her culture to hunt, you racist.

 

[Light Housework]

shes native american, isnt she? its in her culture to hunt, you racist.

She’s first nations blooded, judging by her looks, but she was brought up in white culture and has no affiliation with her bloodline.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

She’s first nations blooded, judging by her looks, but she was brought up in white culture and has no affiliation with her bloodline.

Still has native American instincts. You can't get rid of it. Residential schools are proof of that.

 

[Light Housework]

Will I Never Hear Another Howl

Will I never hear another howl of love meant for me from The Dancer
Is it all over now
Like the horrid Jagger ’sang'
No more two drugged out men up the road
For decoration and distraction
The sidewalks here are plain
As I plainly ignored the call
When it was there to be answered

 

[Lucifer Sam]

“Strike another match, go start anew | ’cause it’s all over now, baby blue.”

 

[Light Housework]

Another sick post trolls can put down. Another lame attempt at a poem:

Jack the Nabber

I don’t expect you
Yet I hope you will come for me
If pressed for information
On where I was
I can tell everybody
I was with an old friend
And leave it at that

Only in the wasteland of my diary
Will I speak of it
Unless you tell me to reveal where I was
I doubt you would
Seeing as there is no relationship history
My mental health worker could find
Of course she hasn’t read your autobiography

So I go for walks
And ask God to help me enjoy them
While I know it’s unlikely I’ll see you
All the while hoping I will
It keeps my head up to hope
Maybe someday this dream will come true
My Dancer nabbing me

 

[Light Housework]

But you singing my name is fair game. I might let my psychiatrist hear it, and tell him what led up to it, but I swear, if you come to see me, I can tell no one anything but that I saw an old friend. The past, I’ve already written about here, because it was my only way to try to communicate with you about it, but the future I will keep between you and I, unless you say otherwise.

 

[Light Housework]

Bring on the insults and dismissals. I’m just a delusional schizophrenic and no one could possibly love me etc.

 

[Light Housework]

No sleep tonight. I feel like I’ve taken caffeine pills. Come morning, my habit will likely resume, of getting sleepy, and then sleeping until nearly noon. I want to break out of this habit, as it’s depressing. I wish I had someone to chat with, during this insomnia.