Here under the suicide towers of Northcott Concentration camp I didn't sleep the whole night, my neighbours on all sides created a huge racket and my worries crowded in on me. Cursula and Bawl on one side shrieked, whined, nagged and cursed till 3am, "How dare you! How dare you say such shit!" "Oh, Bawl, get out of my head, you're putting thoughts in my head, you're controlling me!" "You cunt! What am I doing here? Why do I put up with such shit?" "I've tried so hard, I pay for everything, can I lick your boots?" On and on, I wanted to throw a brick thru their window.
The prick above me decided to lift weights from 1am onwards, thump, thump, clatter, clatter, bang, bang, as the metal hit the floor, it sounded like he was shifting mountains, he's an over-weight "muscle Mary" emigre from Russia, quite cracked and not to be messed with, pink eyes like an albino rat, I've tried to complain and risked my life for it, he would've ripped my face off if I didn't dance out of the way. Eric the schitzo on the other side of me howled like a jackal till dawn, it creeps me out so much I'm in danger of rushing out and chopping him with a meat cleaver and then pleading nervous break-down to the cops. He 's been leaving his water taps running 24/7 again, the flood seeping down thru the concrete and welling up thru the floor of my bedroom, turning it into a miasma swamp, he's undermining the foundations of the whole building, one day it will cave in on us all and put us out of our misery. A glance into his abode is a real shocker, worse than any 'Bad Boy Bubby' scenario, desolate bare, a dirty mattress on the floor, a milk crate to sit upon, looks like he's wiped his bum on the walls, but the Housing Dept have left him there all these years for us poor sods to live with, it's all too difficult to resolve.
Today the Housing Dept held a barbeque out front of my joint for all us residents in celebration of the renovations being completed. A crowd of pensioners, drug retards and alchos crowded around to snuffle up their free sausages and poor Eric sat at a distance on his milk crate watching with alienated pathos, the outcast who'll never join the human race, in fact we want him carted away to a nursing home where he'll get proper care, not eating out of the dumpster as he does here. His tongue hangs from his twisted mouth purple-brown, like a slug from outer space, it's sickening to see, I feel compassion but am driven to my wits end.
I ran away from the barbecue, from the smell of the burning meat, Eric's extruding invasive tongue and the milling gronks small-talking about the quality of the sausages. I'm the classic anti-social rebel, more of an outsider than Eric the berserker, I rode off sneakily on my bike, all my neighbours wondering, "What's that fucker's problem? Too good for us?" I find it so hard to mill with the 'group', it's so much more relaxing to be off on my own trip, a loner, recluse, individualist, wanker, it's enough that I visit the Piccolo Dickolo Cafe when I feel the need to gossip; also I nurse my fellow humans thru the dark of the night for a job, and then I go to the movies with my best friend for cheap thrills. I'm possibly as mad as the next dingbat, whatever turns me on, I suppose! Living in Northcott is like being surrounded by X-Men.
Yeah, I saw "X-Men 3" last night, a let down for all the anticipation. I'm getting thoroughly sick of comic-book movies, they're just so silly and unreal, good vs. evil with a big punch-up at the end, the same macho fist-fight ad nauseum at the end of every movie. Hugh Jackman, in the orgasmic climax with Famke, with a cyclonic wind blowing, should've lost his pants with the rest of his clothing as he tried to climb on top of her hot tornado self, that would've made it more fun. I'd like to make a porno send-up, "XXX-Men" with a character called 'Cocksucker' who, with the wiggle of a few fingers, all surrounding men's flies zip open and their dicks flop out, or the "Butthole Surfer" where with the wave of a hand everyone bends over, their pants split and their sweet little rosebuds get exposed.
At least I forgot my worries for a few hours and when the sun came up I got a phone call, a job I'd been chasing had fallen into my lap, only on weekends, not too big a strain, and double pay, perfect for this larrikin layabout, so the wheel of fortune can turn, I was truly blessed at that fabulous concert, "Shock of the Sacred" the other night at the Opera House, and my dream-guide dog is leading me in the right direction it seems. Yay!!!
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