Light Housework
Life is war, and at best, gallows humour.
This isn’t the best pen to do morning pages with perhaps. The color that reminds me of The Dancer, but, its tip's too fine? I’ll write with it and see. I’ve slept well. Now it’s time to go into my mind. Not out of my mind. So, I wonder if anyone has responded afresh to my wondering if Morrissey aided Russell with torturing me. It’s out of the bag and I feel I’ve a load off my shoulders.
Lindsay seemed to get grounded when she heard my purse snatching recording. She was then finally able to really make eye contact and stop it with the “Aw"s. My foot is really feeling the Blachut crookedness of my calf bones. Karate chops through the air in the recovery room do not straighten bones, I’m afraid.
I dreamt but don’t remember, though I know it was pleasant. Anything is pleasant after what I’ve been through. This Song Isn’t Over is in my head. Oh I remember now. I told a tall white woman “Shut up you bitch!” twice. I was hanging out with a petite Asian woman, and it turned out, she was a junky and wanted to come to my place. But I lost her somehow, much to my relief. I made my way to the bus stop to get home at that point, hoping to catch the 19 from a semi circular road on the side of a park, kind of like Stanley park’s layout.
I feel good. I’m not tired. So Morrissey did witness me running after Russell. He must have, or why would he shout “Russ!” at the end of a song. I don’t recall which one, but I remember the meaning of it. Complaining I wouldn’t try very hard for love, with the exception of Russell! I was hoping Russell’d have the spirit of The Dancer. He did not, it turned out, at all. I don’t know if it’s “at all", he’s got two eyes and two legs like The Dancer, but he’s definitely a Far Cry, from being The Dancer. I didn’t feel worthy of Morrissey while chasing Russell, when I saw Moz in the car, in the driver’s seat. If it was him, and who else could it be. No one else would look at me that way, so friendly and inviting, so mild mannered and reasonable.
I’m mourning that moment I was just outside the car now. Great body, great posture, beautiful wild woman, with the love flowing through my veins, the lust. And there he was, so welcoming, so inviting, so charming. But too good for me so I didn’t open the door to enter the car to sit beside him in that cozy, fun atmosphere. Boo f***ing hoo I can hear a taunting voice in my head say. Is it Ken's? Or my own, with Ken as backing vocal?
I don’t hear voices per se, but I hear in my imagination. Not my ears. Not in a way that is hallucinatory. Just, in a way that, I know they’re inside my head, and that they’re me, not some, well, I don’t know, I think they’re not coming from an outside source is all. I’m glad to be alive this morning. Yesterday for a couple of hours I wished I was dead. It comes and goes. I was angry and feeling disappointed, but then I watched videos of Morrissey and saw footage and photos of him while hearing his voice and felt reassured. So I’m okay now. And, no toothache, no kidney pain, no backache, no cough. No foot pain.
My nails are dirty. I’m due for a bath and a brushing/flossing of my teeth. I will get to that, and then go for a walk. I’m in my jean shirt and arctic fleece pants, and warm enough. I got cold for a few hours yesterday, even with two sweaters on, arctic fleece pants, and leg warmers. Probably it was emotionally caused.
So, all these women, in my dream, and telling one, that was quite tall and amazonian, to “Shut your mouth you f***ing bitch!” twice. She didn’t hit me fortunately. I don’t know why I said that to her. I have never spoken to anyone that way, though I did call rifke a f***ing bitch, when talking about her to Jean on Saturday. But I don’t use that word lightly because it means female dog and I don’t want to insult dogs.
I may transcribe and post this on solo. And then record it vocally and post that. Love is On Its Way Out, at the end of the song, when he sings “the wrong one, the wrong one, oh, the wrong one!”, I think he’s referring to me staring at him on Commercial Drive in the car he was at the wheel of. “Gaze with fondness on, the wrong one! The wrong one! Oh! The wrong one! The wrong one! Oh! The wrong one!”. I just had a dump while writing that. It was smelly and I got some on my thumb. I don’t mind.
Lindsay seemed to get grounded when she heard my purse snatching recording. She was then finally able to really make eye contact and stop it with the “Aw"s. My foot is really feeling the Blachut crookedness of my calf bones. Karate chops through the air in the recovery room do not straighten bones, I’m afraid.
I dreamt but don’t remember, though I know it was pleasant. Anything is pleasant after what I’ve been through. This Song Isn’t Over is in my head. Oh I remember now. I told a tall white woman “Shut up you bitch!” twice. I was hanging out with a petite Asian woman, and it turned out, she was a junky and wanted to come to my place. But I lost her somehow, much to my relief. I made my way to the bus stop to get home at that point, hoping to catch the 19 from a semi circular road on the side of a park, kind of like Stanley park’s layout.
I feel good. I’m not tired. So Morrissey did witness me running after Russell. He must have, or why would he shout “Russ!” at the end of a song. I don’t recall which one, but I remember the meaning of it. Complaining I wouldn’t try very hard for love, with the exception of Russell! I was hoping Russell’d have the spirit of The Dancer. He did not, it turned out, at all. I don’t know if it’s “at all", he’s got two eyes and two legs like The Dancer, but he’s definitely a Far Cry, from being The Dancer. I didn’t feel worthy of Morrissey while chasing Russell, when I saw Moz in the car, in the driver’s seat. If it was him, and who else could it be. No one else would look at me that way, so friendly and inviting, so mild mannered and reasonable.
I’m mourning that moment I was just outside the car now. Great body, great posture, beautiful wild woman, with the love flowing through my veins, the lust. And there he was, so welcoming, so inviting, so charming. But too good for me so I didn’t open the door to enter the car to sit beside him in that cozy, fun atmosphere. Boo f***ing hoo I can hear a taunting voice in my head say. Is it Ken's? Or my own, with Ken as backing vocal?
I don’t hear voices per se, but I hear in my imagination. Not my ears. Not in a way that is hallucinatory. Just, in a way that, I know they’re inside my head, and that they’re me, not some, well, I don’t know, I think they’re not coming from an outside source is all. I’m glad to be alive this morning. Yesterday for a couple of hours I wished I was dead. It comes and goes. I was angry and feeling disappointed, but then I watched videos of Morrissey and saw footage and photos of him while hearing his voice and felt reassured. So I’m okay now. And, no toothache, no kidney pain, no backache, no cough. No foot pain.
My nails are dirty. I’m due for a bath and a brushing/flossing of my teeth. I will get to that, and then go for a walk. I’m in my jean shirt and arctic fleece pants, and warm enough. I got cold for a few hours yesterday, even with two sweaters on, arctic fleece pants, and leg warmers. Probably it was emotionally caused.
So, all these women, in my dream, and telling one, that was quite tall and amazonian, to “Shut your mouth you f***ing bitch!” twice. She didn’t hit me fortunately. I don’t know why I said that to her. I have never spoken to anyone that way, though I did call rifke a f***ing bitch, when talking about her to Jean on Saturday. But I don’t use that word lightly because it means female dog and I don’t want to insult dogs.
I may transcribe and post this on solo. And then record it vocally and post that. Love is On Its Way Out, at the end of the song, when he sings “the wrong one, the wrong one, oh, the wrong one!”, I think he’s referring to me staring at him on Commercial Drive in the car he was at the wheel of. “Gaze with fondness on, the wrong one! The wrong one! Oh! The wrong one! The wrong one! Oh! The wrong one!”. I just had a dump while writing that. It was smelly and I got some on my thumb. I don’t mind.