Smothering

I'm allergic to most kinds of smothering. I think most people are. Can't go far when you're being gradually suffocated to death by cupcakes and honeypies.
I also have a tobacco allergy that means I swell up, can't sleep and I want to pluck up my eyeballs and scratch the sockets to get the itch away, when I've been exposed to a room full of puffers. (Is it the GM tobacco?) Anyhow, that generally means no parties. However, since June last year, I've been able to go out to pubs.

How did I first find I had this allergy? Four years ago when I was going to a poetry gig at The Dan O'Connel hotel, I drew a series of pictures in my sketchbook. Automatic doodling while I listened to the many brilliant poets on stage. Some of these pictures ended up being about the heavy smoke around me. My automatic pen knew what was going on before I realised why I was getting sick and had a talk to a GP. She said stay away from places with smoke. I insisted that I couldn't do that. So I got steroid nasel spray. It worked for a bit then na... besides steroids have problems of their own, even in small doses. (And I'm not talking about hairiness. That sort of thing doesn't bother me.)

Anyway, I got used to the idea of not socialising and made a really rough animation out of the automatic sketches.

Trouble

just some dialogue I had with my computer

“How much more of this do you want to play. Could get you into trouble huh? Well, no matter.”
“Trouble is a game apparently.”
“I heard some rich bitch called her pet pooch that and Trouble inherited most of her wealth.”
“Yes, but I prefer to think about the game.”
“What kind of game is it?”
“The only kind of game.”
“There’s lots of kinds of games. Think you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”
“A game where you can get into lots of trouble.”
“Oi, tell me what I have to do.”
“It very much depends on the circumstance.”
“Right. Doesn’t sound much like a very well set out game to me. Let me give you a few rules.”
“There are no rules. For it is when you make rules that you get into trouble.”
“So you’re not meant to get into trouble.”
“Not if it goes against your rules. And if it is trouble then it would, see. People have automatic rules that they make up. Trouble seeks to work out the boundaries of the taboo.”
“Like a who dares wins game.”
“Winning is an abstract concept.”
“Oh boy, see you later, if the game doesn’t have any rules and no one wins except abstractly, where the hell is the game but in the limbo of someone’s butt. You’ve got to have more than an umbilical cord to play with, otherwise the game will just get bloody and mind-numbingly introspective.”
“Well, that’s your limitations.”
“Can’t get into much trouble then, can I? So, do I win?”
“You’ve got to do more than you usually do to feel like you’ve got anywhere in the game. You have to at least get close to trouble to be considering that you’re playing it. But it is only when you’re in trouble that you can be for absolutely certain that the game is on.”
“Okay. But I find it a bit hard to do much without some sort of set of instructions… some sort of guide of how-to play.”
“You think about it. The more you think about Trouble, the more you get into it.”
“Don’t know if I want to.”
“Then I guess you won’t play it. But it is better to know you’re playing it, than haphazardly follow someone else who is and be right into the game without having a clue what you’re doing because you’d prefer not to taint your pretty little mind with it.”
“Now that’s asking for trouble.”
“Ah ha.”
“Okay whatever. Interesting, but, really…? I mean where do I go from there?”
“Up to you and those who affect you.”