The Drivel Thread

[Lucifer Sam]

DEATH TO THOSE WHO SAY ISLAM IS NOT A RELIGION OF PEACE

In darkest Cumbria there once dwelled
a man whose head was mighty swelled
with ego and pride and drunken rage
who vent his spleen upon the page.

Pressing down hard with a ball point pen
he thought to critique me, there and then.
He said my hippocampus was shot—
but the neocortex makes rational thought.

Can't this drunkard get anything right?
Not if he toiled for all the night.
At fifty-four years he claimed to be gay,
and wrote poems on cunnilingus all the day.

"Labour!" he bellowed, "until I'm dead!"
And then to refute himself he said,
"I really don't want a political fight
I'm just here for fun, so keep things light."

But Allah is a political thing
And you, El Bazzo, shall know death's sting.
You'll regret your jollity and all your jest
When I put on my suicide vest.

 

[Light Housework]

DEATH TO THOSE WHO SAY ISLAM IS NOT A RELIGION OF PEACE

In darkest Cumbria there once dwelled
a man whose head was mighty swelled
with ego and pride and drunken rage
who vent his spleen upon the page.

Pressing down hard with a ball point pen
he thought to critique me, there and then.
He said my hippocampus was shot—
but the neocortex makes rational thought.

Can't this drunkard get anything right?
Not if he toiled for all the night.
At fifty-four years he claimed to be gay,
and wrote poems on cunnilingus all the day.

"Labour!" he bellowed, "until I'm dead!"
And then to refute himself he said,
"I really don't want a political fight
I'm just here for fun, so keep things light."

But Allah is a political thing
And you, El Bazzo, shall know the sting
You'll regret your jollity and all your jest
When I put on my suicide vest.

A much appreciated laugh.

 

[Light Housework]

Back to being serious here. I'm going to do my best serious look.

 

[Light Housework]

I have Pashernate Love playing in my head.

 

[Was I ever any good]

DEATH TO THOSE WHO SAY ISLAM IS NOT A RELIGION OF PEACE

In darkest Cumbria there once dwelled
a man whose head was mighty swelled
with ego and pride and drunken rage
who vent his spleen upon the page.

Pressing down hard with a ball point pen
he thought to critique me, there and then.
He said my hippocampus was shot—
but the neocortex makes rational thought.

Can't this drunkard get anything right?
Not if he toiled for all the night.
At fifty-four years he claimed to be gay,
and wrote poems on cunnilingus all the day.

"Labour!" he bellowed, "until I'm dead!"
And then to refute himself he said,
"I really don't want a political fight
I'm just here for fun, so keep things light."

But Allah is a political thing
And you, El Bazzo, shall know death's sting.
You'll regret your jollity and all your jest
When I put on my suicide vest.

What a 4cking dick head you are.
I AM GAY…
This is a typical example, why , the likes of me, don’t ever want to respond, to the likes of you.
Audrey, you need a slap girl

 

[Was I ever any good]

THE CULT OV LUCIFER SAM.

 

[Light Housework]

On my walk, I came across a black woman playing an acoustic guitar, and we talked a little about Morrissey. She wants to learn to play How Soon Is Now. I wrote I’m Not A Man on a sticky note for her. Then up further in the park a man playing a guitar was friendly, so we chatted about Morrissey a little and then I sat on the bench next to his to listen for about 20 minutes until he finished his session. His name is Matt, and he works with people who have disabilities. He played and sang some Tom Petty. I showed him 3 portraits I did of Morrissey on my phone, and he suggested I submit them to an art show at The Roundhouse. I’m hoping that my skin lesion will heal, but I’m nervous that it may not. I’m not experiencing lung pain now for about 3 days. It was good to sit on that bench and watch Matt sing and strum his guitar, despite the fact that he was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt. I think I’ve just felt a few tiny twinges of foreboding sensation from the skin sore on my chest. The birdsong coming in through the window is pleasing, as is the sun filtering in through the blinds. I’m feeling pretty good but am worried about the skin mystery trouble. It’s sending me slight hints of malignancy via almost imperceptible shooting discomfort. It was a very pleasant walk in the mild spring sunshine. I hope I will paint tonight.

 

[nicky wire's legs]

A much appreciated laugh.
View attachment 103821

Imagine arranging your face into a smile to take a selfie and then pretending the smile was genuine and spontaneous. What a sad hag.

 

[Was I ever any good]

I’ve just listened to what could be an
Interesting fact.
I’ve just listened to a song by the new York dolls, and to my surprise I heard it said
Diana doors.
The song was it’s to late.
FWD… do you know anything?

 

[Was I ever any good]

FWD… could be franinstein also

 

[Light Housework]

I made an appointment for Monday morning to show my doctor the chest sore. It looks awful, and doesn’t feel good. I hope it won’t stop me from painting or sleeping.

 

[Famous when dead]

FWD… could be franinstein also

Yes, it was "It's Too Late"
FWD.

The off-site Wiki cites:
Grown Up All Wrong: 75 Great Rock and Pop Artists from Vaudeville to Techno (2000)
As explaining the song.

I have the book, its relevant part:

"Since the phrases that stood out often signaled ‘‘decadence’’ and/or ‘‘camp,’’ this tendency reinforced the impression that the Dolls were purely (and exploitatively) decadent and campy. Even when it was quite explicit, for instance, that David was looking for ‘‘a kiss not a fix,’’ the song’s shooting-gallery ambience (not to
mention the way David used to tie off with the mike cord and jab himself in the bicep as he sang) wasn’t calculated to imprint this on one’s mind. And in ‘‘It’s Too Late,’’ which posits lessons from trivia history against the latest nostalgiac fads, the name of camp heroine Diana Dors has had more initial impact than the speed-kills putdown she’s featured in. On the verbal surface, this is a band of kitsch-addicted, pill-popping teen Frankensteins on the subway train from Babylon to nowhere. Not only do they consort with bad girls, mystery girls, and other trash, they aren’t even sure whether that jet boy up there wants to steal their baby or be their baby."

 

[Was I ever any good]

You’re so good FWD.
I’m in Coventry in May 10-13.
Fancy a pint ?

 

[Was I ever any good]

Come on …. A night on Carlisle Baz

 

[Was I ever any good]

 

[nicky wire's legs]

Come on …. A night on Carlisle Baz

Stop harassing FWD!!

(FWD can I live with you?!!)

 

[Light Housework]

The skin sore hurts and is interfering with my sleeping. I have an appointment on Monday with my doctor about it.

 

[Light Housework]

It’s been great to not be suffering lung pain these past few days, but now this skin infection. I knew that technician was bad news when I first laid eyes on him. Yet I let him reach into my hospital gown and gouge and rub my skin with something horrible.

 

[Light Housework]

It’s biting into me, and I can’t paint or sleep. By the time my Monday appointment rolls around, it will be much worse. Maybe I’ll go to a walk in clinic this morning, because this feels rapidly aggressive.

 

[Light Housework]

I slept some, and the skin infection has significantly spread. Still no lung pain. Remembering my first impression of that technician, how I knew distinctly he was a bona fide sadist.