The Drivel Thread

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.

 
Yessiree that is some crazy rambling
 
i mean, i can understand not washing your hair for a month, if you dont feel like it. not washing your hair is inconsequential. but you've gotta brush your teeth. too painful and expensive not to.
 
rifke said:
i mean, i can understand not washing your hair for a month, if you dont feel like it. not washing your hair is inconsequential. but you've gotta brush your teeth. too painful and expensive not to.
Click to expand...
I know, but get that through depression's head.
 
Carlislebaz said:
How’s things Shazzz you well ?
Click to expand...
Yes. I was productive today. I made it a point, to not let myself on this site until 8PM, so I got lots done. Painted, drew, cooked, wrote, walked, bathed, brushed my teeth, even cleaned a little and did laundry. Will transcribe what I wrote later, from paper to digital.

How about you baz?
 
Light Housework said:
Yes. I was productive today. I made it a point, to not let myself on this site until 8PM, so I got lots done. Painted, drew, cooked, wrote, walked, bathed, brushed my teeth, even cleaned a little and did laundry. Will transcribe what I wrote later, from paper to digital.

How about you baz?
Click to expand...
All work and no play at the mo Shazz...
Good to see your busy as a bee 🐝
 
Danny

I met Danny at Reflection in Weredale, which used to be a sort of orphanage for boys, and then it was turned into a facility for wayward and unwanted girls and boys. Danny and I wrestled in the secluded pingpong room.

Allan Cobb was a blonde staff member who was flirtatious with me and had a reputation of f***ing the girls. I didn’t want him that way and he never forced himself on me, but I remember he asked for a spoonful of what I was eating in the recreation room, and when I gave it to him, I could feel the vibrations of his tongue flicking lasciviously, as he looked me straight in the eye. He said something at the door of my room at bedtime, and I felt like prey.

At any rate, I wanted to escape from Reflection. I felt Allan was in hot pursuit, and I didn’t want to another of his trophies. I never thought about it until now, why exactly I ran from Reflection, and that was why. I felt he was honing in on me, despite me giving him no encouragement to do so, other than being an attractive young female. I would have been late 12, or early 13.

We had gone down to lunch in the dining hall, and to get back up to Reflection afterward, we kids would flock up the stairs, back into Reflection to be locked in until supper. I whispered to Danny as we were headed toward the staircase, “Do you want to run away with me?”. He nodded, and I motioned toward the exit. We bolted out.

Danny took me to his brother’s apartment, and we lied down side by side that evening, hearing the songs on the radio. Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong, and We’ve Got Tonight. We both laid on our backs and neither of us made a move on the other. The songs sounded romantic, but only for the lucky. We just laid there, stunned and shocked by the lives we’d had I suppose. I’m guessing Danny was about 15, and seemed mild mannered. I wonder what he thought of those songs on the radio that night.

The next day we went to Danny’s mother’s basement suite on Walkley in Notre Dame De Grace. Walkley street was a ghetto. Danny’s mum was extremely obese, and seemed to be part of the couch, with many pill bottles on the coffee table. There was not a scrap of food, and only a gram or two of soap. Everything was greasy to the touch. Danny had twin sisters, about 7 years old. Someone told me that they would go with their social worker to the McDonald’s at the end of the road, with instructions from mum to bring the food home to her.

Having no money, and no guidance, Danny and I were walking along a quiet road, when I noticed a middle aged Italian woman walking leisurely with a money pouch held loosely in her right hand. I whispered to Danny, that I would throw him the pouch, and he could run with it. It was easy to snatch the pouch and throw it to Danny, but then, instead of running down the sidewalk, he climbed a fence, and fell, and left his boot in the snow. I guess he wasn’t feeling predatory like I was. It was alien to him, this mugging business. It was new to me too, but my survival instinct was driving me to seize the opportunity to get some cash.

When I got back to Danny’s, he gave me the pouch and I opened it to find a measly seven dollars. It wasn’t enough for a new pair of boots for Danny. The woman had called out a man’s name, and I figured he’d be looking for us thieves, so I didn’t dare go retrieve the lost boot. Instead, I did what I knew I was good at. I went to a big department store to steal him a pair. I had been an adept shoplifter at big chain stores since the age of about 9.

I made a beeline for Miracle Mart, in Alexis Nihon plaza, which was a hop, skip and jump from Weredale, downtown. At 12 or 13, I had no sense of wrongdoing about taking what I wanted from those huge stores. Nowadays, I do feel it’s a breach of trust to steal, in any way.

I took a large bag from behind an empty cash register, and began to fill it, starting with construction boots for Danny, since they seemed to be what was considered cool for boys. Then I decided to get myself some muk luks (fake fur boots), and then I still had room in the bag, and I grabbed a fedora. I simply walked out and through the plaza, when I saw a kid, who turned out to be the brother of a girl I had lived with in St. Bruno Girls' and Boys' Cottage School. His name was Mark Garbett. He said he liked my hat, and I offered to help him get one.

So off we went, back into Miracle Mart, and Mark was acting guilty. His eyes were darting from side to side, and when I tried to direct him to nonchalantly walk out the way we’d come in, he insisted in a panic that we go up the escalator leading to the 3rd floor of the plaza concourse, which was exactly what shady characters would typically do. His body language was purely up to no good, and naturally we were nabbed by 3 plainclothes security guards.

I was interrogated by three people in a small office and was told that 18 year old Mark had shown contrition and so was let go. They wouldn’t believe my name was Sharon Smith, and grilled me endlessly to get my ‘real' name. Finally I got so sick of being interrogated, I thought up a lie to feed them. I said I was Sharon Claven, Danny’s last name. They smiled smugly and called the police to come get me.

The police brought me to the Westmount station, where I was placed in a cell. They phoned Danny’s mum, and she caught on and got off the couch incredibly, and was there fast. She sprung me, and I walked with her to the bus stop, then left her to go on my merry way back to Miracle Mart. I went through my routine of getting a large bag from behind the cashier counter, and proceeded to reload all three items that had been confiscated – Danny’s boots, my boots, and fedora. I left, and walked through the plaza. I’m just remembering there were security cameras overhead in Miracle Mart, but I was sure of myself at that time.

As I walked through the plaza, a guy who I figured was Pakistani flirted with me. He offered to buy me a drink. We went to a tropical themed bar within the plaza. As usual I had no problem getting into bars at 12/13, and even getting served. The sprightly waitress gave us our drinks. She said she liked my hat or something. Maybe it was my police style pants she complimented. I had a tequila sunrise.

Mike turned out to be his name, and years later I would find out he was Hispanic. After our drinks, he invited me to his apartment he shared with his foster mum, Donna, a tall, lithe, gorgeous, kind woman. Mike was 16. Donna wasn’t home, so Mike was all over me with lust. I gave him some resistance by calling him a Paki and telling him he was ugly, but he saw I was amused. I’d push him away but not hard, and my expression probably let him know I was having fun.

What finally tipped the scales in favor of us engaging sexually was that he put his mouth over my jeans on my crotch and blew hot air into the fabric. I was now begging for him to take me. He promptly did, and I guess I stayed the night. Donna had no problem with me being there. She even gave us joints to smoke.

The next day I guess, I brought Danny his boots, and then I went to the affluent neighborhood Westmount, in search of a house to burglarize. I found one with a vulnerable back door, and broke my way in. I didn’t like the impression I got of what I perceived was the single parent of a teenage girl. Looking through his file cabinet gave me the willies, and I felt angry at him, so I pulled down a shelving unit, and tossed confetti everywhere.

I took some of the girl’s hippie jewelry, and some records from the living room, along with a tiger skin rug. I’d never heard of Queen, Pink Floyd, Manfred Mann, and Fleetwood Mac, but I would soon hear them. Fleetwood Mac’s album Rumours became the anthem for Mike and I. We played it constantly. Or maybe that was just me doing that.

I hauled my loot to Mike’s place, and we had sex on the tiger skin. I remember being on my back with Mike between my legs, wanting him. That was before I found out what a lying cheat he was, 6 years later. I guess I began living with Mike, because I was in his apartment with him a lot. I never rejected Danny, but we drifted apart, though one day I was at a friend’s place, and Danny’s mother came over, accused me of calling her twins retarded, and she sat on me, all 375 or so pounds of her. She didn’t really hurt me. I never called the twins retarded by the way. She only said that so she’d have an excuse for punishing me for not having become Danny’s girlfriend.

Mike and I would have a relationship rocked by children’s services, foster homes, street life, and me getting raped by a stranger who ‘kindly’ let me use his bed. I’d thought he was cool because a few girls had brought me to him. I figured if he was good with them, he’d be so with me too, but I guess those girls delivered me to him as prey.

I felt dirty after that and stopped calling Mike, but eventually he got in touch with me via a letter in which he told me to get off my high horse and call him. I was overjoyed to, and began seeing him at his new group home, with me finally in a compatible foster home at 16. I guess Mike must have been younger than I thought, or else, would he have been in youth group home at 20? Maybe he was just 14 when I first met him?

I wouldn’t see Danny again until Mike and I had broken up for good, and I was on my own. I invited him to stay in my huge empty apartment, and he borrowed my bicycle and sold it for drugs. The next time I saw him, I was on my way to the bus stop on Broadway, after volunteer dog walking, and I came across Danny. He invited me to have a can of beer in a parking lot.

He had a puppy with him, and it was cold. I held the pup on my lap to warm us both, and Danny reached for it and tossed it about 8 feet away from me onto the cold cement. I scrammed. Cowardly, I know. The next time I saw him, he was sitting on the sidewalk in Gastown, asking for spare change. I gave him a toonie. He told me his knuckles were arthritic from fighting in prison.

I found a film about Danny and his brother, called The Streets, showing homelessness, rehabilitation with horses, and Danny stating that his father used to rape him in a closet. I haven’t seen him since that time in Gastown. I remember him saying his twin sisters were dead. One overdosed on prescription pills and the other set herself on fire. One of them was made to prostitute herself and give the money to her mother. Think I’ve had it bad?
 
Light Housework said:
Danny

I met Danny at Reflection in Weredale, which used to be a sort of orphanage for boys, and then it was turned into a facility for wayward and unwanted girls and boys. Danny and I wrestled in the secluded pingpong room.

Allan Cobb was a blonde staff member who was flirtatious with me and had a reputation of f***ing the girls. I didn’t want him that way and he never forced himself on me, but I remember he asked for a spoonful of what I was eating in the recreation room, and when I gave it to him, I could feel the vibrations of his tongue flicking lasciviously, as he looked me straight in the eye. He said something at the door of my room at bedtime, and I felt like prey.

At any rate, I wanted to escape from Reflection. I felt Allan was in hot pursuit, and I didn’t want to another of his trophies. I never thought about it until now, why exactly I ran from Reflection, and that was why. I felt he was honing in on me, despite me giving him no encouragement to do so, other than being an attractive young female. I would have been late 12, or early 13.

We had gone down to lunch in the dining hall, and to get back up to Reflection afterward, we kids would flock up the stairs, back into Reflection to be locked in until supper. I whispered to Danny as we were headed toward the staircase, “Do you want to run away with me?”. He nodded, and I motioned toward the exit. We bolted out.

Danny took me to his brother’s apartment, and we lied down side by side that evening, hearing the songs on the radio. Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong, and We’ve Got Tonight. We both laid on our backs and neither of us made a move on the other. The songs sounded romantic, but only for the lucky. We just laid there, stunned and shocked by the lives we’d had I suppose. I’m guessing Danny was about 15, and seemed mild mannered. I wonder what he thought of those songs on the radio that night.

The next day we went to Danny’s mother’s basement suite on Walkley in Notre Dame De Grace. Walkley street was a ghetto. Danny’s mum was extremely obese, and seemed to be part of the couch, with many pill bottles on the coffee table. There was not a scrap of food, and only a gram or two of soap. Everything was greasy to the touch. Danny had twin sisters, about 7 years old. Someone told me that they would go with their social worker to the McDonald’s at the end of the road, with instructions from mum to bring the food home to her.

Having no money, and no guidance, Danny and I were walking along a quiet road, when I noticed a middle aged Italian woman walking leisurely with a money pouch held loosely in her right hand. I whispered to Danny, that I would throw him the pouch, and he could run with it. It was easy to snatch the pouch and throw it to Danny, but then, instead of running down the sidewalk, he climbed a fence, and fell, and left his boot in the snow. I guess he wasn’t feeling predatory like I was. It was alien to him, this mugging business. It was new to me too, but my survival instinct was driving me to seize the opportunity to get some cash.

When I got back to Danny’s, he gave me the pouch and I opened it to find a measly seven dollars. It wasn’t enough for a new pair of boots for Danny. The woman had called out a man’s name, and I figured he’d be looking for us thieves, so I didn’t dare go retrieve the lost boot. Instead, I did what I knew I was good at. I went to a big department store to steal him a pair. I had been an adept shoplifter at big chain stores since the age of about 9.

I made a beeline for Miracle Mart, in Alexis Nihon plaza, which was a hop, skip and jump from Weredale, downtown. At 12 or 13, I had no sense of wrongdoing about taking what I wanted from those huge stores. Nowadays, I do feel it’s a breach of trust to steal, in any way.

I took a large bag from behind an empty cash register, and began to fill it, starting with construction boots for Danny, since they seemed to be what was considered cool for boys. Then I decided to get myself some muk luks (fake fur boots), and then I still had room in the bag, and I grabbed a fedora. I simply walked out and through the plaza, when I saw a kid, who turned out to be the brother of a girl I had lived with in St. Bruno Girls' and Boys' Cottage School. His name was Mark Garbett. He said he liked my hat, and I offered to help him get one.

So off we went, back into Miracle Mart, and Mark was acting guilty. His eyes were darting from side to side, and when I tried to direct him to nonchalantly walk out the way we’d come in, he insisted in a panic that we go up the escalator leading to the 3rd floor of the plaza concourse, which was exactly what shady characters would typically do. His body language was purely up to no good, and naturally we were nabbed by 3 plainclothes security guards.

I was interrogated by three people in a small office and was told that 18 year old Mark had shown contrition and so was let go. They wouldn’t believe my name was Sharon Smith, and grilled me endlessly to get my ‘real' name. Finally I got so sick of being interrogated, I thought up a lie to feed them. I said I was Sharon Claven, Danny’s last name. They smiled smugly and called the police to come get me.

The police brought me to the Westmount station, where I was placed in a cell. They phoned Danny’s mum, and she caught on and got off the couch incredibly, and was there fast. She sprung me, and I walked with her to the bus stop, then left her to go on my merry way back to Miracle Mart. I went through my routine of getting a large bag from behind the cashier counter, and proceeded to reload all three items that had been confiscated – Danny’s boots, my boots, and fedora. I left, and walked through the plaza. I’m just remembering there were security cameras overhead in Miracle Mart, but I was sure of myself at that time.

As I walked through the plaza, a guy who I figured was Pakistani flirted with me. He offered to buy me a drink. We went to a tropical themed bar within the plaza. As usual I had no problem getting into bars at 12/13, and even getting served. The sprightly waitress gave us our drinks. She said she liked my hat or something. Maybe it was my police style pants she complimented. I had a tequila sunrise.

Mike turned out to be his name, and years later I would find out he was Hispanic. After our drinks, he invited me to his apartment he shared with his foster mum, Donna, a tall, lithe, gorgeous, kind woman. Mike was 16. Donna wasn’t home, so Mike was all over me with lust. I gave him some resistance by calling him a Paki and telling him he was ugly, but he saw I was amused. I’d push him away but not hard, and my expression probably let him know I was having fun.

What finally tipped the scales in favor of us engaging sexually was that he put his mouth over my jeans on my crotch and blew hot air into the fabric. I was now begging for him to take me. He promptly did, and I guess I stayed the night. Donna had no problem with me being there. She even gave us joints to smoke.

The next day I guess, I brought Danny his boots, and then I went to the affluent neighborhood Westmount, in search of a house to burglarize. I found one with a vulnerable back door, and broke my way in. I didn’t like the impression I got of what I perceived was the single parent of a teenage girl. Looking through his file cabinet gave me the willies, and I felt angry at him, so I pulled down a shelving unit, and tossed confetti everywhere.

I took some of the girl’s hippie jewelry, and some records from the living room, along with a tiger skin rug. I’d never heard of Queen, Pink Floyd, Manfred Mann, and Fleetwood Mac, but I would soon hear them. Fleetwood Mac’s album Rumours became the anthem for Mike and I. We played it constantly. Or maybe that was just me doing that.

I hauled my loot to Mike’s place, and we had sex on the tiger skin. I remember being on my back with Mike between my legs, wanting him. That was before I found out what a lying cheat he was, 6 years later. I guess I began living with Mike, because I was in his apartment with him a lot. I never rejected Danny, but we drifted apart, though one day I was at a friend’s place, and Danny’s mother came over, accused me of calling her twins retarded, and she sat on me, all 375 or so pounds of her. She didn’t really hurt me. I never called the twins retarded by the way. She only said that so she’d have an excuse for punishing me for not having become Danny’s girlfriend.

Mike and I would have a relationship rocked by children’s services, foster homes, street life, and me getting raped by a stranger who ‘kindly’ let me use his bed. I’d thought he was cool because a few girls had brought me to him. I figured if he was good with them, he’d be so with me too, but I guess those girls delivered me to him as prey.

I felt dirty after that and stopped calling Mike, but eventually he got in touch with me via a letter in which he told me to get off my high horse and call him. I was overjoyed to, and began seeing him at his new group home, with me finally in a compatible foster home at 16. I guess Mike must have been younger than I thought, or else, would he have been in youth group home at 20? Maybe he was just 14 when I first met him?

I wouldn’t see Danny again until Mike and I had broken up for good, and I was on my own. I invited him to stay in my huge empty apartment, and he borrowed my bicycle and sold it for drugs. The next time I saw him, I was on my way to the bus stop on Broadway, after volunteer dog walking, and I came across Danny. He invited me to have a can of beer in a parking lot.

He had a puppy with him, and it was cold. I held the pup on my lap to warm us both, and Danny reached for it and tossed it about 8 feet away from me onto the cold cement. I scrammed. Cowardly, I know. The next time I saw him, he was sitting on the sidewalk in Gastown, asking for spare change. I gave him a toonie. He told me his knuckles were arthritic from fighting in prison.

I found a film about Danny and his brother, called The Streets, showing homelessness, rehabilitation with horses, and Danny stating that his father used to rape him in a closet. I haven’t seen him since that time in Gastown. I remember him saying his twin sisters were dead. One overdosed on prescription pills and the other set herself on fire. One of them was made to prostitute herself and give the money to her mother. Think I’ve had it bad?
Click to expand...

What a sad sad story...
 
They are yet to be written. I will be writing them in the coming months I expect.
 

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