I'm all mollified and quiescent these days after throwing temper tantrums across the city because of my supposed fuck-over at the art competition. I've got the local community in a tizz trying to placate me, people who know me gird their loins at my approach, trying to figure out how they will manage me and my "children of the dammed" glowing eyes. With much ringing around it has been arranged that my fabulous painting will hang in the red-light district library for a few months and so I'm happy again, a stunted Talouse Lautrec who finally discovers he's trully loved, by someone.
Here at Northcott Housing Ghetto chaos rules as ever, there's been another murder, 2 nutters had a fight on their 20th floor balcony, one tried to slash the throat of the other with a saw-toothed blade and got himself pushed over the edge in the struggle, to splatter onto the copncrete far below. The housing officers here must be mighty sick of scraping up the human detritus, they sure make a mess of the place when they come crashing down. It reminds me of the time 2 ugly cops knocked on my door and questioned me about a corpse found squashed on the pavement a few doors up from me, did I hear anything in the night, did I know the fellow, did I know anything? "Mate, bodies rain down around here like frogs!" I replied, much to their displeasure, a grimace on their mugs as they marched off to question other hapless denizens. I stay inside when I hear the squishy splatts, I dont need any extra aggravation.
Cursula and Bawl next door have gone sweetly quiet since my mental furor of a month ago, they don't dare rouse the sleeping dragon of T.Z., in all the years I think it's been my insomnia that has me raging so maniacally at the drop of a pin. On the other side of me Eric the Grey has lost his keys again and every 5 minutes climbs thru his window making a nerve-shattering racket, scrape, scrape, bang, bang, my teeth are on edge when I hear him limp by,why cant someone kill him? I'm often awoken by lots of shrieking, old Dolly and the gay guys freaking out cause the schitzo has left his taps running and flooded his flat again, this happens every weekend, no kidding, and we just cant get rid of him, like the omnipresent cockroaches.
Dolly and I had meeting number 1001, this time with the head of the whole housing complex, an avuncular bureaucrat who pretended concern and arranged a time when he would inspect the damage all the flooding has caused but then stood us up, we're just gutter waifs and have zero importance, and I've simply given up trying to improve our situation, I'll just run away to India instead. Apparently there are lots of empty apartments in the complex as most good citizens dont want to live here, at least for me it's good grist for my writing mill, chaos rules, making life interesting at times, dreary when it's inexorable.
Here at Northcott Housing Ghetto chaos rules as ever, there's been another murder, 2 nutters had a fight on their 20th floor balcony, one tried to slash the throat of the other with a saw-toothed blade and got himself pushed over the edge in the struggle, to splatter onto the copncrete far below. The housing officers here must be mighty sick of scraping up the human detritus, they sure make a mess of the place when they come crashing down. It reminds me of the time 2 ugly cops knocked on my door and questioned me about a corpse found squashed on the pavement a few doors up from me, did I hear anything in the night, did I know the fellow, did I know anything? "Mate, bodies rain down around here like frogs!" I replied, much to their displeasure, a grimace on their mugs as they marched off to question other hapless denizens. I stay inside when I hear the squishy splatts, I dont need any extra aggravation.
Cursula and Bawl next door have gone sweetly quiet since my mental furor of a month ago, they don't dare rouse the sleeping dragon of T.Z., in all the years I think it's been my insomnia that has me raging so maniacally at the drop of a pin. On the other side of me Eric the Grey has lost his keys again and every 5 minutes climbs thru his window making a nerve-shattering racket, scrape, scrape, bang, bang, my teeth are on edge when I hear him limp by,why cant someone kill him? I'm often awoken by lots of shrieking, old Dolly and the gay guys freaking out cause the schitzo has left his taps running and flooded his flat again, this happens every weekend, no kidding, and we just cant get rid of him, like the omnipresent cockroaches.
Dolly and I had meeting number 1001, this time with the head of the whole housing complex, an avuncular bureaucrat who pretended concern and arranged a time when he would inspect the damage all the flooding has caused but then stood us up, we're just gutter waifs and have zero importance, and I've simply given up trying to improve our situation, I'll just run away to India instead. Apparently there are lots of empty apartments in the complex as most good citizens dont want to live here, at least for me it's good grist for my writing mill, chaos rules, making life interesting at times, dreary when it's inexorable.
