The Drivel Thread

Time to learn how to write fiction.
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Ah, it’s hopeless. I’m toothless and declawed, and though my right lung is not currently hurting, the sore on my chest from the technician’s rough mystery treatment of my skin, now and then claws at me slightly. Right now I wish I had underworld connections, because I doubt that I would get anywhere legally, if a week from now, that sore has grown. I fantasize about being a killer who hunts for people who look like sadists to me. I don’t know if I will take a stab at writing a fictitious story about someone who has embarked on such a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever written fiction, though it might not seem that way to others who read my real life stories and find them unbelievable. Time to listen to Morrissey’s song Ganglord…funny, I just logged into YouTube and saw that one of my neighbours has posted a video of himself talking about gun laws. If I write a fiction story about an illegal hero, I will probably have him read it. That would be fun. I wonder how long it would take to write such a story or if I can do it. I will find some time to try. Take some time out from reading true crime and write some wishful thinking fiction.
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The standard debunking of precognition in dreams is to say it violates the physical law of cause and effect. I'm certainly no physicist, because I don't see how it necessarily would. A dream about something is not the cause of that thing, nor is that thing the cause of the dream.
 
That neighbor bought a framed print of this portrait from me. He's a vegetarian and I let him listen to Meat Is Murder. He refers to Morrissey as "the meat is murder guy".
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I’m remembering when I scaled the fence to get into a patio where there was a neglected dog, to take it away from there. I had written a letter to the SPCA about the dog and my attempt to reason with its owner, and they didn’t act, so I trespassed and took the dog to a park, and the police came and took the dog back to its owner and sent me to the psych ward, but I remember a cop coming into a room where I was strapped down to a bed, and he said he’d read the letter, and he looked like he wanted to kiss me. He was darned good looking too. It’s an interesting encounter to remember.
 
At that psych ward, I was put on a ‘medication’ that made me feel like I was a tin man when walking. It was just torture. I had to apply for a review panel to try to get off that ‘medication’. The three people who were to make the judgement whether I was to remain certified or become voluntary decided to break my chains and make me voluntary, and I stopped taking that stuff called ‘clopixel’, which some people like to take, but affected me horribly. The world really is full of trauma.
 
That dog was trembling in fear on that patio. I took a video of that, and wanted to show the owner what I noticed, and she wasn’t interested, dismissing me with “He’s old.” I won’t reveal everything I did, what I ended up doing, when I went back there after I got off that horrible ‘medication’, to confront her and demand she hand the dog over. I wasn’t making sense. I was psychotic, because if she turned out to still be living there, and I had confronted her, I would only have wound up back in a psych ward getting pumped with ‘medication’. Fortunately for me, that time I was going to threaten her that she’d better give the dog to me, it turned out she’d moved away. A new, kind tenant had moved in, and knew nothing about the dog. That poor dog. She enjoyed tormenting it. I remember being on the bus heading down there thinking the dog was still living there, and I sobbed all the way down, because I couldn’t take it anymore thinking that dog was still miserable, and was determined to end the abuse. But I was nuts to think I could win.
 
Ah, it’s hopeless. I’m toothless and declawed, and though my right lung is not currently hurting, the sore on my chest from the technician’s rough mystery treatment of my skin, now and then claws at me slightly. Right now I wish I had underworld connections, because I doubt that I would get anywhere legally, if a week from now, that sore has grown. I fantasize about being a killer who hunts for people who look like sadists to me. I don’t know if I will take a stab at writing a fictitious story about someone who has embarked on such a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever written fiction, though it might not seem that way to others who read my real life stories and find them unbelievable. Time to listen to Morrissey’s song Ganglord…funny, I just logged into YouTube and saw that one of my neighbours has posted a video of himself talking about gun laws. If I write a fiction story about an illegal hero, I will probably have him read it. That would be fun. I wonder how long it would take to write such a story or if I can do it. I will find some time to try. Take some time out from reading true crime and write some wishful thinking fiction.
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I believe you could write. Do it.
 
This is for you Light. I have never had my washing come out in a single bundle until the other morning. All my washing came out wrapped neatly in a quilt cover. Usually there are a few socks,tea-towels and knickers left in the washing machine. There was even a quilt cover in the quilt cover. Weird innit.
 
This is for you Light. I have never had my washing come out in a single bundle until the other morning. All my washing came out wrapped neatly in a quilt cover. Usually there are a few socks,tea-towels and knickers left in the washing machine. There was even a quilt cover in the quilt cover. Weird innit.
Clothes need to roam freely so they can move and agitate the dirt out.
 
I had my appointment with the respiratory therapist. She did a bunch of testing, but she’s not equipped to test for a mold infection of the lung. I’ll be getting the test results in a few weeks, and my guess is that they’ll say my lungs are fine. I wasn’t coughing this morning, or during the testing, so I imagine the results will just show that I’m not having breathing difficulty. I met this panhandler on my way to my appointment. He came up with the idea of pretending he’s fishing, to collect spare change. His name is Eric. We chatted briefly, though it was hard to make out what he was saying, because he doesn’t have many teeth. He likes the idea of his photo being on my favourite singer's fan site. He said it might bring him more money, and I told him I doubt it, but that I'll see it and be reminded of him.
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See, now that's what I imagined your neighborhood being like, before you posted those quiet residential streets in lush spring bloom.
 
The standard debunking of precognition in dreams is to say it violates the physical law of cause and effect. I'm certainly no physicist, because I don't see how it necessarily would. A dream about something is not the cause of that thing, nor is that thing the cause of the dream.
No way! really?!
 
Ah, it’s hopeless. I’m toothless and declawed, and though my right lung is not currently hurting, the sore on my chest from the technician’s rough mystery treatment of my skin, now and then claws at me slightly. Right now I wish I had underworld connections, because I doubt that I would get anywhere legally, if a week from now, that sore has grown. I fantasize about being a killer who hunts for people who look like sadists to me. I don’t know if I will take a stab at writing a fictitious story about someone who has embarked on such a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever written fiction, though it might not seem that way to others who read my real life stories and find them unbelievable. Time to listen to Morrissey’s song Ganglord…funny, I just logged into YouTube and saw that one of my neighbours has posted a video of himself talking about gun laws. If I write a fiction story about an illegal hero, I will probably have him read it. That would be fun. I wonder how long it would take to write such a story or if I can do it. I will find some time to try. Take some time out from reading true crime and write some wishful thinking fiction.
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You saucy thing! How jaunty! Such elan!
 
The technician may have infected me with typhus. I'm rubbing thyme oil into the sore to try to kill it. I've been reading that the Nazis deliberately infected people with typhus.
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Tags
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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