October 28th, 2013

evil nii from chomiji

I am Sherlocked

Clearly channeling spiritus mundi, I dream Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock, a bunch of Lou Reed-inspired louche thin types (mostly in black clothes including pale blond boy all bony angles, possibly not human, possibly David Bowie) and fuse both influences in an Irene Adler figure, also pale, blond, and bony, and for most of the dream naked, making amorous advances to me. Me: 'Sorry, I have a lunch shift.' And left her to the pale blond boy who'd been growling at her, 'Are you gonna do this slag or do you have time for me?'

(Reed I knew about, obviously; Sherlock I did not.)
red-eyed goujun by _mrowr @ muffyface


A patient man am I, down to my fingertips,
The sort who never could, ever would,
Let an insulting remark escape his lips.
A very gentle man.


whenever I'm out in the neighbourhood shovelling snow, say, or clearing ice from drains, or as today, raking a mat of sodden leaves from the street gutters so they'll dry out before Thursday's scheduled downpour creates the lake effect at all corners the way Saturday's did, there's always one bloody oyaji who comes up to tell me that The City Ought To Do That. Yes well, say I mildly, the city has twenty square miles of streets to clean and a limited budget and I don't expect to see them this week for sure. At which oyaji solemnly declares, 'Well, *I* wouldn't do that.' And I smile Buddhistically and continue raking and do not say 'No you wouldn't, because you're a lead-assed tits on a bull layabout and the term 'individual responsibility' is not in your vocabulary.' I say it here, and feel much better for having done so.

(Women who talk to me at such times just say thank you. Or offer a basket to put the leaves in, as signora down the street did today. To be fair, so do a lot of the guys. But there's always that One Oyaji.)
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