Well, I knew that I would be punished for closing the door in Richie's face.
First, there was a card pushed underneath my door one evening stating that I was playing my television too loud after 9:00pm, and that I was being unkind, inconsiderate and breaking the law. Hmmmm. I wondered about that one. Hey, as loud as these chumps play their music and talk in the hall, whoever slid this shit under my door is no doubt NOT slipping it under the doors of others. But, so what the fuck? I'll put on my headsets at night. Lord knows I don't sleep any longer so why let others know that I'm up by allowing them to hear my television playing all night?
Then there is a knock on my door, and for some reason, this one night I decide to answer it. It's fucking Richie. He's standing across the hall from his door, glaring back at me. "I had security come up to your door the other night because you were playing your television too loud but you didn't answer it." I never answer my door, Richie. "Why is that?" Well, if you need to know, I suffer from delusions and social phobia. He smirks. "There's no such thing." Well ask my psychiatrist downstairs, Dr. G. She'll tell you otherwise. "Oh yeah? I've read medical books and never seen anything like it." Oh, so you're a doctor now that you've read one three page pamphlet? "Look, the next time, I'm calling the cops!" Whatever, Richie. "Close your door, Hobnob." I laugh. Wow, did he really think I wouldn't? I closed it gleefully, exhausted from wasting my precious breath on such a stupid individual. Shit, I'll need to breathe later...like when I'm drowning.
I take my first cat nap around four in the morning and around five I hear Richie and Paula blasting their radios on the other side of my door. This is the warfare that they wage. Their apartments are separated by a simple sheet rock wall and they blast their music to irritate each other. Richie, of course is a fucking crackpot hypocrite. Then he is banging on Paula's door, calling her 'Paula the Ugly Assed Bitch". She screams back through her closed door leave her alone or she'll come out and stab him. Richie takes offense to this and rants and raves that his life is now in jeopardy because she threatened him. One of the witches finally comes out and addresses all the noise. I hear them outside my door, clearly. I'll not fall back to sleep, but then again, I wouldn't have anyway.
I try to keep my headsets on, ignoring them and watching television, but their rantings are too delicious to pass up. In moments their shouting match escalates to threats of calling the police. I'm pissed. I want to go downstairs while it was still too early in the morning for people to rise from slumber to get some junk food from the store two doors down. You know, snack on potato chips, and nachos while listening to this insanity outside my door. But I DO NOT want to wade through their gross stupidity just to get to the elevator. Soon, there is another voice. One of authority, with a two way radio squawking. Ahh, the police. Oh...no, it's Security from downstairs.
Richie goes into explanatory mode. Trying his best to sound reasonable, but unbeknownst to him, he's a fucking lunatic, and even by evening out his tone and measuring his words, he still sounds quite fracking unstable. I hold down a hearty laugh. Paula comes out of her door, distressed and pleading for help to keep this maniac from banging on her door. Richie, on the other hand pleads that he is frightened because she threatened his life. Again, I roll on the floor, stifling a laugh because he sounds so pathetic trying to sound vulnerable. He only sounds more insane.
The Security officer warns them that he will call the cops if they can't leave each other alone. Paula closes her door. Richie walks off behind the Security officer, still pleading his case, begging him to call the police. Soon, he returns to his room, slamming his door. I listen to my television until I hear a bang. I remove my headsets, smiling, waiting for the next heated interchange between the two psychotics. Richie is back, beating on Paula's door, but this time a heavy male voice calls out to him to leave her alone. They bicker for a moment, and then Richie warns the male that, "You don't know me. You know nothing about me. Mind your own business."
Shortly, it's quiet again for a brief pause. Then Richie is back again, ranting in front of Paula's door. "OH, you're going to stab me, huh?" Over and over again, a corrupt MP3 file. Then, there is the squawk of radios once more. Voices of authority. This time more than one. Ahhh, the cavalry has arrived. Richie goes into explanatory mode again, which I will now call, 'Lunatic Mode'. Paula comes out and complains. It's very funny now, because the cops ask each of them if they are taking their medication. Paula, who has had many run ins with the law knows the proper response. Yes, she has been. Richie proudly boasts that he doesn't take medication. Now he is the focus of the officer's questioning, obviously not realizing that he is proving to them that he NEEDS to be on medication.
Soon, the cops grow weary of their back and forward, talk to each other for a moment and then tell the both of them that if they are called up to their doors again that they'll cart them both off to the station. Now I laugh loudly. The officers point out that they are both an irritant to the rest of the tenants on the floor and both of them will be fined severely and faced with immediate eviction if they are called again. Richie is completely surprised, stating "Wow" over and over again with each statement from the officers completely oblivious that doing so only proves to the officer that he is severely unhinged. They have been warned. Their doors closed. I haven't heard a peep out of them in three days.
I no longer have any real time entertainment in my room. Only my television. I go downstairs and get some snacks. At least I can eat them because lately I've had no appetite for much else. I don't sleep. I don't move much. I never leave my room. By staying up for hours on end and cat napping I've experienced my first TIMEWARP in some time. I took a cat nap on Friday afternoon around two, and woke up at four O'clock MONDAY! Yep. I lost the entire weekend. I was so confused that I was frightened. But I've been having some time jumps for some time now. Firstly, they were only small jumps. I went to the post office a couple of weeks ago and then had to go grocery shopping some ten blocks away. I swear to you, I walked out of the post office, crossed the street and entered into the grocery store.
For a moment there I thought I was imagining it. I stopped, backed up, and looked at the sign over the store. It actually WAS the grocery store ten blocks away from the post office! Holy shit! What the fuck happened? One night I cooked dinner, literally fucking up all of my pots and plates and cups and utensils. I was tired. It was time for a cat nap. I left all of my dirty dishes in the sink, vowing to wash them as soon as I awake, since I fear bugs so much. I think the time was about 9:00 am. I napped for like four hours and when I awoke I dutifully went to the sink, only to find all the dishes already washed and stacked away. What the fuck?
Yeah, literal time jumps, only to conclude with a full-fledged time warp. Losing days now instead of hours. Really freaky. I was disoriented like that at another time in my life. When I was working for my Wall Street firm, when I worked at night and went home to sleep in the morning. Sometimes I would awake, thinking that it was one day, when it was the next. But that was just a matter of losing track of hours in relation to daylight and nighttime. This is altogether something completely different. I'm thinking about telling Dr. G, the psychiatrist downstairs, but I don't want to seem more disturbed than I already am. These people in administration here have a great deal of power, and monitor you quite closely. They can have you spending the week in Bellevue Hospital in the psych ward if you are not careful of what you tell them.
Not that I am opposed to the psych ward. Hell, I just might find it relaxing since they pump you full of those amazingly relaxing drugs, but I do know that once you are committed for a period of time it stays on your record like a police record. I've had enough of those too. Naah, better keep tight lipped about this for now until Dr. G puts me on another drug...I forget it's name but it's supposed to help with my bipolar disorder. Maybe these time distortions are because of that. I'm wondering what the fuck? I'm just biding my time until something comes my way. I don't know what fucking train I'm waiting for, but I'll know it when it arrives.
I was still writing my screenplay until something told me to just go to the ShowTime website to see how to submit my work to them for review. After searching around a bit I found a FAQ page which stated simply...don't bother. They do not accept unsolicited work from authors. What? What is that about? But no, they want to avoid any lawsuits so they return all work unopened. I nod. Typical. It's becoming apparent to me that in this country there are the select few that can ply their trade, and make a living from it. Sometime lucrative, sometimes decent. And then there are the faceless millions left out of the loop because they don't have an 'uncle in the business'. I was once told, when I was working for Lockeed that it's not what you know, but who you know, and it's not who you know, but who you blow.
So, I'm locked out of the race. I have no 'in' in the business. There are no back doors for me. I'll forever remain a faceless minion just because I am a shut in. There is no longer any place to showcase your art. There is no where to prove yourself good enough to join the favored ranks. There are so few slots as you near the top that there are lines already formed for each and every one of them. The same goes for musicians, actors, artists, or anyone else creative. There is no room at the top, and nothing but trapdoors to the path there. You have only two choices in this country. Either work supporting the rich and famous, or fucking die.
Well, who cares about fame and fortune anyway? So you live in an SRO. So you get public assistance. So you say goodbye to pussy forever. So you live shoulder to shoulder with Skeks. So you starve four or five days a month. So what? It only makes you harder, and meaner and more tough. Yeah, I'm ready for the collapse of society. It's already on shaky ground. Just a little more unemployment...just a little more people losing their homes, cars, families and lives. Just a little more and we'll see what happens. The rich are sucking up so many resources that the country can no longer support their greed.
I mean, how many houses do you need? How many rooms in your house do you need? How many cars? How many diamonds? How many clothes and shoes? How many airplanes and islands. How many slaves, maids, butlers and chauffeurs. How many people do you have to suck their blood from before you are satiated? The rich hoard. Simple as that. They hoard and shortchange hard workers. They squeeze companies and employees. They find ways to charge for resources that once were free. Greed, the fat leech that is sucking this country pale. It's sad. This was a great nation at one time. Now, the rich are uncontrollable. The poor are poorer. People are losing their homes, and I have to tell you, when so many are faced with being homeless and living in their cars or on the streets, they will kill themselves.
Like I said in a previous post. No one deserves life. Life is NOT a gift. It's a hard fought for right. Like freedom. People think freedom is free. Well look at some of these pisshole nations on this planet. Freedom is just a word and not a right. Here in this country, many young men fight so that we remain free. But the same goes for life, which we all will soon find out. Life will soon be asked of us all, and the question then stands. Do you give it up when they come to take it from you? Or do you fight for it as if it is the most important fight you will ever undertake? Yeah, mark my words. Life is the last commodity. The very blood surging through your veins, the rhythmic breathing of your children, the souls of your spouses. It'll all be asked for. Do you deserve the right to keep it? Are you willing to fight, to suffer for it?
Think about it then next time you go home. The next time you close your door behind you and kiss your spouse on the cheek and sit down at the dinner table with your children and then tuck them into bed. When you jump on your couch and watch cable TV and have a beer or a glass of wine. All this can go away faster than the flash of lightning. All of this can be rendered rubble as if a tornado waged through your town. It only takes the stopping of a handful of paychecks. For some of you, just one. One missed paycheck and you're out on the street. One layoff, one firing and it's over. Then the GAME begins. Given to you by Jigsaw. The best game master ever.
Your game will begin. Trust me...count on it. It's only a matter of time. Until then, the best I can tell you is to enjoy and deny. Deny it all until it arrives...then trust yourself that you stop denying when that day comes. That's the best you can do.Either that, or kill yourself.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/11/put-gun-in-your-mouth.html
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