Peppermint
Well-Known Member
Lordy. I had to stop listening, it made me feel embarrassed and voyeuristic. Which is probably also very English.
Post Whatever You Are Thinking At This Very Moment
- Thread starter virtually dead
- Start date
Lordy. I had to stop listening, it made me feel embarrassed and voyeuristic. Which is probably also very English.
ThePoliticalRevolution
Well-Known Member
I'm into it *shrugs*
Light Housework
The world is a cattle farm and slaughterhouse.
I'm no good at appreciating musicians, unless they're using my vocals. It's always the vocals I notice, otherwise.
ThePoliticalRevolution
Well-Known Member
Someone introduced me to Andy Rourke about 15 years ago. It happened at a bar in Brooklyn. I said hello and then I walked away. But thats just me.
S
smileface
Guest
Andy was very talented, almost at James Jamerson level.
Johnny's peerless.
It's Matt's chords but Johnny's Harmonica melody at the beginning and Johnny's guitar melody during the chorus. They're easily up there with what he did in The Smiths
T
Trans
Guest
I think Andy will probably only get his musical due after there deaths and the drama goes. People are very invested in the smiths story and characterizations almost as much as the music. If Andy had put out more material in some fashion he might also have changed minds. To me it’s always just been really strange that both Marr and Andy don’t seem to want to play the way or in the same style whatever as they did while in the smiths. Not much seems to call back to that imo. At least in ways that I can identify as Marr would probably tell me some really technical similarity. Anyway I don’t think Andy’s gonna get the credit he deserves in this lifetime. To many people wanna believe that Marr controlled every aspect of the music and that morrissey just writes words. Morrisseys career and discography is the only one of the fours that actually grew out of the sounds of the smiths
T
Trans
Guest
It has been a long long weekend. Admitted Friday to the hospital for induction they tried a folly tube that wasn’t in all the way and then gave her pitocin to start contractions. After hours of that they discovered that it was in place correctly and that they couldn’t manually break the water so then come another try with the tube which worked correctly and another round of pitocin that that just resulted in contractions with no real progress. She was induced because of abnormally high blood pressure in the first place and that complicated the whole process. They broke the water at two thirty pm Saturday night and she sat through more contractions with no real progress before breaking down and asking for drugs Sunday morning. We then get a c section that seems to go ok. Baby then has a low temp and low oxygen levels so they took him to the NICU. This happened after I left to get my four year old who’s been away the whole time. An hour after I get him home I get a call from the nurse that she going into surgery as soon as possible as her she almost fainted. Turned out she had internal bleeding and her uterus had a liter of blood in it. This operation which I barely made it back for started at quarter to midnight And she got back at three. Just for an added bit of fun we found out that she was very allergic to the gel the sensors use to read the heartbeat etc and had a terrible rash the whole time. I’m very burnt out
Peppermint
Well-Known Member
Wow. Horrendous. Hope all are doing okay now, Trans?
T
Trans
Guest
baby’s out of NICU and fine. She still has some bleeding but it might not be something terrible this time so we’re hopeful. I’m the only one allowed in and with my family gone for our reunion finding care for my son has also been challenging
H
Hello not goodbye
Guest
Light Housework
The world is a cattle farm and slaughterhouse.
Clean lines
New product purchased
Slam dunk score
Who needs more
Action, scrubbing, scraping
Clicking, gaping
Set a timer
I want to be a happy robot
Look what I did
See what I got
For you my fairy queen
Can you be keen
New product purchased
Slam dunk score
Who needs more
Action, scrubbing, scraping
Clicking, gaping
Set a timer
I want to be a happy robot
Look what I did
See what I got
For you my fairy queen
Can you be keen
Light Housework
The world is a cattle farm and slaughterhouse.
This guy's wearing my favorite shirt on the news.
Light Housework
The world is a cattle farm and slaughterhouse.
What I wrote today:
After I fell for Chris, I lusted after him like a slimy slug. I would ride my bicycle out to Port Coquitlam from New Westminster often, being whatever his whim asked for. A delivery service for beer, Oh Henry chocolate bars, frozen personal size pizzas, or sex. Eventually he would use me as pest control, to drive out Charlie and his new girlfriend Catherine out of his apartment, repeatedly. One thing I am thankful for, is that his friend Ken introduced me to The Smiths, and Morrissey. The music.
To be continued…
I first met Chris when Charlie and I lived on Snowdon. He looked like the Frankenstein monster. He and Charlie had met at a center for people with spinal cord injuries. Chris had been tree planting and on the way back to Montreal, slept on the back seat of a car a fellow tree planter was driving. The guy driving fell asleep at the wheel, and they crashed. Chris flew through the sunroof, and wound up with a broken neck. He’s a quadriplegic, but only partial. He’s floppy on his left side, and lacks some sensation on his right side. When I met him he had a metal halo, attached to a brace on his upper body. The halo was screwed into his skull.
Charlie and he would hang out together. No big deal. They’d drink. I’d sometimes dance naked. I did at least once anyway. I remember, Chris's jaw dropped. We didn’t have any problems with each other, in 8 years of us just being around each other through Charlie. Once, Charlie and I went to dinner at Chris's parents’ house, and Chris’s sister Hillary was there. I recall she said she wished she had skin as clear as mine. Her skin was fine, but it turned out that her mind was not. She had a crush on Charlie, but then just about everyone did.
One day, I heard that Hillary had committed suicide. She was on the balcony, or roof, of a hospital. She’d been committed to a psych ward. She jumped off, and her hip bone went through her skull. Her parents took her off life support. I was told that she’d tried to kill herself several times previously. It’s sad, because she was a really pleasant person, judging from the few times I saw her. She studied French, Chris told me. Touchy subject I’ve always been too afraid to probe Chris about. He did say something about himself being favored by his parents because he’s male. Hillary,…when I hear that song by Morrissey, Staircase At The University, I think of her, and feel glum. She dressed preppy. No stripper her, but she never seemed to judge me for being one. She had a very innocent mien.
Chris took off to go to university, in Vancouver. I didn’t see him for years. Then Charlie and I decided to go to Calgary together, which brought us one province away from Chris. I’d been living at the new house Auberge Madeleine bought, in the gay district. It was now for women in crisis, not just for battered women. I was there that time because I’d been about to be homeless. I’d been renting a closet sized room in a rooming house full of men, and I made a friend there, or so I’d thought. Rene. He was an old man I’d bum cigarettes and coffee from. I’d visit him in his room, and he never put the moves on me.
I went away on a gig in Sault St. Marie, for a week, came back flush with cash, and took Rene out for a spaghetti dinner. I remember he stole the pepper shaker. Soon after, his nephew (I’ll call him Pierre because I don’t remember his name), who was the property manager, summoned me to his room. I entered, and the whole house full of men were sitting on his bed. Pierre gave us all this grand speech about not standing by to watch as I tried to dig Rene's gold! He painted me out to be scheming, and he made it clear, that I was to be hated. I felt I was in danger, as I stored my meager belongings down in the basement with Pierre. I went to Auberge Madeleine thinking I’d return for my possessions in a few weeks, but I never had the courage to go back. I missed my plastic soled black high heels, but I felt I’d been lucky to walk out of that house alive.
Back at Auberge Madeleine, Charlie would visit me. Once, his pitbull, Max, killed the next door neighbor’s cat. I saw him do it. One of several cats he killed in front of me. There was no stopping him once he got hold of a cat. Another time, on Avenue Parc, I picked up a big boulder, and tried to smash Max's spine with it, to save the cat he had in his mouth, but he didn’t even flinch. Oddly, a kitten he encountered, he just sniffed and let carry on bumbling about, on St. Lawrence boulevard, on a balcony. A cat there wasn’t so lucky. Charlie used to bang Max on the head while pulling a chew toy. He celebrated his obstinacy.
Charlie also had Max pull him around, using a harness attached to his wheelchair. Max always had a muzzle on for that activity. Once, Charlie came home and told me he and Max had a tumble, and that Max tried to rip his guts out. *sigh* Is it any wonder? I remember being in the back of the van, as Charlie drove away from Max, who was chained up on the ice in the backyard. I recall helping Charlie fix his van, and then him throwing his tools around in anger, willy nilly, just missing me. I remember Max running beside my bicycle, on a leash attached to my bike, and he was play biting me, but his excitement kept mounting, until I could sense he was merging into kill mode. I yelled his name, and he snapped out of it. No more indulging play biting with poor Max.
To be continued…
After I fell for Chris, I lusted after him like a slimy slug. I would ride my bicycle out to Port Coquitlam from New Westminster often, being whatever his whim asked for. A delivery service for beer, Oh Henry chocolate bars, frozen personal size pizzas, or sex. Eventually he would use me as pest control, to drive out Charlie and his new girlfriend Catherine out of his apartment, repeatedly. One thing I am thankful for, is that his friend Ken introduced me to The Smiths, and Morrissey. The music.
To be continued…
I first met Chris when Charlie and I lived on Snowdon. He looked like the Frankenstein monster. He and Charlie had met at a center for people with spinal cord injuries. Chris had been tree planting and on the way back to Montreal, slept on the back seat of a car a fellow tree planter was driving. The guy driving fell asleep at the wheel, and they crashed. Chris flew through the sunroof, and wound up with a broken neck. He’s a quadriplegic, but only partial. He’s floppy on his left side, and lacks some sensation on his right side. When I met him he had a metal halo, attached to a brace on his upper body. The halo was screwed into his skull.
Charlie and he would hang out together. No big deal. They’d drink. I’d sometimes dance naked. I did at least once anyway. I remember, Chris's jaw dropped. We didn’t have any problems with each other, in 8 years of us just being around each other through Charlie. Once, Charlie and I went to dinner at Chris's parents’ house, and Chris’s sister Hillary was there. I recall she said she wished she had skin as clear as mine. Her skin was fine, but it turned out that her mind was not. She had a crush on Charlie, but then just about everyone did.
One day, I heard that Hillary had committed suicide. She was on the balcony, or roof, of a hospital. She’d been committed to a psych ward. She jumped off, and her hip bone went through her skull. Her parents took her off life support. I was told that she’d tried to kill herself several times previously. It’s sad, because she was a really pleasant person, judging from the few times I saw her. She studied French, Chris told me. Touchy subject I’ve always been too afraid to probe Chris about. He did say something about himself being favored by his parents because he’s male. Hillary,…when I hear that song by Morrissey, Staircase At The University, I think of her, and feel glum. She dressed preppy. No stripper her, but she never seemed to judge me for being one. She had a very innocent mien.
Chris took off to go to university, in Vancouver. I didn’t see him for years. Then Charlie and I decided to go to Calgary together, which brought us one province away from Chris. I’d been living at the new house Auberge Madeleine bought, in the gay district. It was now for women in crisis, not just for battered women. I was there that time because I’d been about to be homeless. I’d been renting a closet sized room in a rooming house full of men, and I made a friend there, or so I’d thought. Rene. He was an old man I’d bum cigarettes and coffee from. I’d visit him in his room, and he never put the moves on me.
I went away on a gig in Sault St. Marie, for a week, came back flush with cash, and took Rene out for a spaghetti dinner. I remember he stole the pepper shaker. Soon after, his nephew (I’ll call him Pierre because I don’t remember his name), who was the property manager, summoned me to his room. I entered, and the whole house full of men were sitting on his bed. Pierre gave us all this grand speech about not standing by to watch as I tried to dig Rene's gold! He painted me out to be scheming, and he made it clear, that I was to be hated. I felt I was in danger, as I stored my meager belongings down in the basement with Pierre. I went to Auberge Madeleine thinking I’d return for my possessions in a few weeks, but I never had the courage to go back. I missed my plastic soled black high heels, but I felt I’d been lucky to walk out of that house alive.
Back at Auberge Madeleine, Charlie would visit me. Once, his pitbull, Max, killed the next door neighbor’s cat. I saw him do it. One of several cats he killed in front of me. There was no stopping him once he got hold of a cat. Another time, on Avenue Parc, I picked up a big boulder, and tried to smash Max's spine with it, to save the cat he had in his mouth, but he didn’t even flinch. Oddly, a kitten he encountered, he just sniffed and let carry on bumbling about, on St. Lawrence boulevard, on a balcony. A cat there wasn’t so lucky. Charlie used to bang Max on the head while pulling a chew toy. He celebrated his obstinacy.
Charlie also had Max pull him around, using a harness attached to his wheelchair. Max always had a muzzle on for that activity. Once, Charlie came home and told me he and Max had a tumble, and that Max tried to rip his guts out. *sigh* Is it any wonder? I remember being in the back of the van, as Charlie drove away from Max, who was chained up on the ice in the backyard. I recall helping Charlie fix his van, and then him throwing his tools around in anger, willy nilly, just missing me. I remember Max running beside my bicycle, on a leash attached to my bike, and he was play biting me, but his excitement kept mounting, until I could sense he was merging into kill mode. I yelled his name, and he snapped out of it. No more indulging play biting with poor Max.
To be continued…
ThePoliticalRevolution
Well-Known Member
i am desperate for a vacation. desperate for one.
nicky wire's legs
Christ is king!
Oh sending letters is cheap. less than a dollar. parcels are expensive though. maybe because i tend to order heavy things like coats, and also i tend to order things from the states or the uk. but i think our mail is a little bit expensive as well as being notoriously SLOW.Blimey. How can it be so expensive? Don't you have the equivalent of our Royal Mail? How much does it cost to send a simple letter? That's extortionate! I'm shocked!
nicky wire's legs
Christ is king!
*sigh* okay.. i know im going to regret this though...Aw, can't we see the kindergarten pic? Or at least the part with Eddy in the plaid (tartan??) dress? Plus, it would be interesting to know, now he is older, what he thought of being made to wear a tartan dress. I think we all have those photos from our younger days which might cause us to look accusingly at our parents and ask, 'Why did you do that to me?'
i present me an' eddy when we were both young and fluffy. eddy mustn't have even been 2 in this picture. awwwww baby edddyyyyyyy.... and he wants you to know that it wasnt his choice to wear a dress because he's no sissy.
also, as to my goofy smile, i was trying to smile like a cabbage patch because that's how i thought you were supposed to smile in pictures.
funny story about that hat he's wearing. one day when my sister was like 10 she incomprehensibly decided to wear that hat out when we went to the grocery store. she tucked all of her hair up in it and when my mom and i made fun of her for wearing it she became all hilariously defensive and aloof and said something about how some kids have cancer and dont have any hair and have to wear hats (but not hats like that!!!) and then proceeded to act like she didnt know us. i brought that up to her when she sent me this picture and she said "omg! i would be so embarrassed if my kids wore that hat!". i was like yeah.... i KNOW..
NealCassidy
FREE SPEECH #FBPB
T
Trans
Guest
This is a neat idea
Peppermint
Well-Known Member
Awwww! Honestly, it's hard to say who's cutest and fluffiest! The tartan dress is a bit of an abomination, but Eddy shouldn't worry, we all have those old photos with outfits we have come to regret. I am a little baffled by why your sister wanted to wear a floral Mrs Mop hat, but perhaps she was just going through a Victorian phase. That is a GREAT photo! And I can't help noting your taste for ruffles and puff sleeves was already in evidence.
Peppermint
Well-Known Member
Wow. Overpriced mail AND phones. The powers that be in Canada really don't want people to communicate, do they? Is there also a tax on ink and pigeons?
Similar threads
- Tags
- * no social life frink advice artie lange awesome bitching blush bored brooms candies chat cheese with your whine? college is tough companionship complaining epiphany episiotomy friendships funny happy i think u stink just lust moaning never to be replaced rabid monkey sad suck my teeth sweet caroline wowzers
