CrystalGeezer
My secret's my enzyme.
That's what the psychiatrists always tell me it's called. It's different than "signs" but employs the same language. I'll give you an example of a "tour" I went on yesterday that is most likely what I call a "trick." It's usually a lot of signs drawn out over the course of a few days that leads to a conclusion which usually is false. Sometimes the conclusion is true, it just depends on if I'm paying enough attention to know if I'm going up or down the wheel of fortune and given the last few days I can assure you I was too wrecked to pay attention to that so I offer you my little tour and glimpse into my sad self.
So. I love Morrissey. Not because he's a singer and famous and blah, blah, blah, but because I just do. And I love that he sings. SO in addition to loving Morrissey, like any delusional fangirl I suppose, I want to be a part of his life. I want to meet his mother. I want her to know that despite all this nutso sign talk and seemingly incoherent rambling and sometimes potty mouth I show here, that I am an honest, nice, loving person. Suitable to take care of her man. I know, super pathetic, right? And it's not like I think of this constantly, but it's definitely on the back of my mind. I have a very ginormous dowery of symbols and connections and gknowledge. I don't imagine that appeals to her too much, so I want her to know that that stuff comes second to being a caring human which I am. Okay, so I've established that much, and like I say, this isn't on my mind all the time so what happened on my tour yesterday left me questioning it enough that I'm writing about it openly here today.
So last Thursday I went to the Santa Monica Pier with my friend Jonathan and on the way he was telling me about this Steeley Dan album that was recorded live at the Auditorium in Santa Monica. He wants me to hear it. He said that before the show, the band picks out some random drunk dude from the crowd to introduce the band. You could tell that he was black and super cool with a smooth voice that only a black man would have. And he was wasted. So he introduces the band to "Sama Mamaca." End of story. Then during the rest of the evening, Jonathan proceeds to repeat the words "Sama Mamaca" all night long, it's like a running joke.
So yesterday someone said they spotted Morrissey at a Target on Santa Monica Blvd. I was at a Target on Arrow Hwy and I parked very close to the door as well. Does this make me Morrissey? That part doesn;t matter so much as what happened inside. So I'm walking around in the aisle where the stuff is I need to buy, it's personal lady stuff, when I see a woman who is very, very petite and looking for something and saying "It's not here." and she's with a younger man. And she looks familiar to me but I don't like to gawk. But before I saw her, something told me to linger, it was weird, like my body goes into slow motion and I just hang around. It happens sometimes when I'm supposed to be in the right place at the right time. So I don't think anything of the familiar lady and go about my stroll in Target. Office supplies, looked at a sweater, tried on a dress, blah, blah, blah. Then I pay and leave, but have to turn around and go to the restroom. THen I go home.
So a few days ago I'm with MY mom and she wears dentures and I'm driving, she's in the passenger seat and she says "I'm talking funny." because her dentures were falling out.
So.
The trick is I'm supposed to believe that Morrissey's mom was in Target with me yesterday getting a glimpse. Other little things are encouraging me to believe this, but I want to shave this fool's beard with Occam's Razor by saying:
1. Why would Morrissey's mom be in America?
2. Why would she fake an American accent and stroll mindlessly thought the feminine hygeine section of Target?
3. If I was the love of his life and he was introducing me to her, wouldn't she say "Steven, why don't we just sit down for lunch together?"
So I conclude that these Ideas of REference are JUST THAT, Ideas, because MOrrissey's mom wouldn't put up with having to act in front of her daughter-in-law because I don't believe she;d buy into the business of bullshitting her. None of it is true. Also my most commanding piece of evidence, fighting signs with signs, is that I left my CD Play with an ORCHESTRAL MANEUVERS IN THE DARK CD in it on the dryer, or Dwyer.
Dark magic to get me to believe. I'm going to RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE THOUSAND POINTS OF LIGHT!!!!!!
Okay. I feel better getting that off my pained chest.
So. I love Morrissey. Not because he's a singer and famous and blah, blah, blah, but because I just do. And I love that he sings. SO in addition to loving Morrissey, like any delusional fangirl I suppose, I want to be a part of his life. I want to meet his mother. I want her to know that despite all this nutso sign talk and seemingly incoherent rambling and sometimes potty mouth I show here, that I am an honest, nice, loving person. Suitable to take care of her man. I know, super pathetic, right? And it's not like I think of this constantly, but it's definitely on the back of my mind. I have a very ginormous dowery of symbols and connections and gknowledge. I don't imagine that appeals to her too much, so I want her to know that that stuff comes second to being a caring human which I am. Okay, so I've established that much, and like I say, this isn't on my mind all the time so what happened on my tour yesterday left me questioning it enough that I'm writing about it openly here today.
So last Thursday I went to the Santa Monica Pier with my friend Jonathan and on the way he was telling me about this Steeley Dan album that was recorded live at the Auditorium in Santa Monica. He wants me to hear it. He said that before the show, the band picks out some random drunk dude from the crowd to introduce the band. You could tell that he was black and super cool with a smooth voice that only a black man would have. And he was wasted. So he introduces the band to "Sama Mamaca." End of story. Then during the rest of the evening, Jonathan proceeds to repeat the words "Sama Mamaca" all night long, it's like a running joke.
So yesterday someone said they spotted Morrissey at a Target on Santa Monica Blvd. I was at a Target on Arrow Hwy and I parked very close to the door as well. Does this make me Morrissey? That part doesn;t matter so much as what happened inside. So I'm walking around in the aisle where the stuff is I need to buy, it's personal lady stuff, when I see a woman who is very, very petite and looking for something and saying "It's not here." and she's with a younger man. And she looks familiar to me but I don't like to gawk. But before I saw her, something told me to linger, it was weird, like my body goes into slow motion and I just hang around. It happens sometimes when I'm supposed to be in the right place at the right time. So I don't think anything of the familiar lady and go about my stroll in Target. Office supplies, looked at a sweater, tried on a dress, blah, blah, blah. Then I pay and leave, but have to turn around and go to the restroom. THen I go home.
So a few days ago I'm with MY mom and she wears dentures and I'm driving, she's in the passenger seat and she says "I'm talking funny." because her dentures were falling out.
So.
The trick is I'm supposed to believe that Morrissey's mom was in Target with me yesterday getting a glimpse. Other little things are encouraging me to believe this, but I want to shave this fool's beard with Occam's Razor by saying:
1. Why would Morrissey's mom be in America?
2. Why would she fake an American accent and stroll mindlessly thought the feminine hygeine section of Target?
3. If I was the love of his life and he was introducing me to her, wouldn't she say "Steven, why don't we just sit down for lunch together?"
So I conclude that these Ideas of REference are JUST THAT, Ideas, because MOrrissey's mom wouldn't put up with having to act in front of her daughter-in-law because I don't believe she;d buy into the business of bullshitting her. None of it is true. Also my most commanding piece of evidence, fighting signs with signs, is that I left my CD Play with an ORCHESTRAL MANEUVERS IN THE DARK CD in it on the dryer, or Dwyer.
Dark magic to get me to believe. I'm going to RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE THOUSAND POINTS OF LIGHT!!!!!!
Okay. I feel better getting that off my pained chest.