Here Come the Bastards (This is not paranoia, this is really happening.)

Just what the hell do I think I'm doing?

This job is gonna kill me if I don't get out soon.  The bastards are closing in on me.  I swear they're out to get me.  Three weeks and I've already been written up.  I should've asked for proof.  They pinned me for something neither they nor I could back up.  I shouldn't take things lying down like that.

This week, I so gratefully accepted the 17 hours of $9.98/hr. pay they offered me.

Did you know it's against company policy to discuss hourly pay grades with other employees?


These guys are so serious about their jobs.  You'd think they grew up wearing blue shirts and khakis every year for Halloween.  Beside the managers and a select number of contemporaries, I could be in worse shape.  I met a few good people I think may save my sanity in that place.  But I'm not getting comfortable.  As soon as I let my guard down, the bastards are gonna promote me and next thing I know I'm brainwashed blue and yellow.  I need to find a new job soon.  I need to go back to school.  I'm told I should find my niche and get settled in it.  I think I might be nervous to tell my family what my niche is:

• Filmmaking
• The Avant-garde
• Music
• Surrealism
• Writing

I don't have any idea where or when these interests were bestowed upon my rotten little brain, I just know I want to be part of that culture.

I suppose my ideal career would be a job with a magazine or website like Pitchfork, where I listen to music all day and night and write reviews.  That would be magic.

So Tired of Fire

Started working again today at a new store.

Feelin’ pretty low again for working such a dead end job.

Stopped at Vinyl Conflict to maybe pick up a new album,

Cheer myself up.

When out of the blackness a horseman did ride.

Flippin’ Tony Foresta of Municipal Waste!

I bought the new album, something I was waiting for this particular store to get in before I bought it. He signed my copy, shook my hand and Bobby of V.C gave me a bonus 7” for being one of the first five people to buy a copy.

Amazing album! Limited Edition First Yellow Pressing with poster featuring art by Andrei Bouzikov (http://andreiboo.blogspot.com/)

Favorite Tracks thus far…

Repossession

Unholy Abductor

Covered in Sick/The Barfer

and of course

THE FATAL FEAST!

Check out more about Municipal Waste @

www.facethewaste.com

Also...

If any of my readers are interested, I will also be posting the same content on Tumblr, at moderationandtheredtickertape.tumblr.com

All of this, in perfect synchronicity

Sean made the effort to wish the world well...

I will be trying something new.  As it appears that some blogging websites are more popular than others, I will be posting all content I post to this site, on thegardentheapparatus.wordpress.com

I'll be taking a few posts from this site and copying them to wordpress in case anybody interested in wordpress would be ready to make the switch. Of course I'll continue to post on both sites, unless I find that I enjoy one better than the other.

~Perth

The Other Night I Dreamed I was a Beetle Living Beneath the Carpet of a Russian Czar

The other night I dreamed I was a beetle,

living beneath the carpet of a Russian Czar.

He had so many guests.

I had the same dream the other day.

I dreamt you had a day to yourself.

It ended beneath the carpet.  That must be where we met.

Click Click.

Baskets

This is a video I mashed together on my phone.  "Baskets".  Any eerie feelings you may be experiencing watching this are fully intended.  The music is courtesy of Richard D. James, a song entitled, "Nannou".  The voices in the beginning are me.  Enjoy!

Breaking Glass Bottles

I've been reading "Crash" by J.G Ballard. When I'm finished, I'll watch the film.  But the carnage and eroticism of this book has inspired me a little.  I'm a big fan of breaking glass bottles.  In the city, walking among the bruised concrete structures and green overgrowth, I find glass bottles half buried in the brush and dirt. The bottles make different sounds.  Thick glass bottles, sealed by a cap caked with grime and dirt makes a loud POP.  Thin, 40 oz. glass bottles make a thin quiet burst when they crash.  This act has attracted me in it's appeal.  Reminds me of angst and trailer parks.  I'll be working on a story about breaking glass bottles in the future.