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jack_babalonHere's how the classified to my new apartment read: "Delightfully Lovecraftian attic efficiency near the heart of Little Five Points Atlanta. $595 a month w/o Utl. Includes walled in witch & her human faced rat familiar. Skylights and on location w/d."
"Wellll Robert" my potential new landlord drawls out in a voice that is somehow as slow as it is anxious. "what-do-you-think?"
I stand there, hands thrust in my pockets, craning my neck along the surface of the ceiling. I lend my eye the bored cruelty of an art critic, searching beyond the surface, beyond the obvious and going deeper into the details until I can find a flaw and pluck it out of the pool of vision to hold up victoriously before him.
The walls resemble the set of "The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari", shifting slightly in height as you step from left to right, disappearing into the sudden stab of an angle off the ceiling, shrinking into cabinets or exploding suddenly into an empty chunk of space. There is only closet in the place. It stands at just under four feet, has no door and stretches across the length of the bedroom. I can imagine hiding in there when the law is at the door or the inevitable zombie apocalypse strikes. Whichever happens first. There's a huge bathroom that reeks of ghosts and candle wax. There's a new A/C, space heater and refridgerator. There's a kitchen that looks like it was modeled out of a Bukowski novel. There's two doorways into the apartment one at the front and one at the back. Both open into narrow passageways that snake and wind into the second floor landing, which also has two sepearate exits leading to the first floor landing or out into the parking lot. That's good because I feel better when there are at least two ways in and four ways out!
"Well what do you think?" I ask my friends a month later. The three of them are gathered around an island of deconstructed furniture, cardboard boxes stuffed with books and roughly two and half tons worth of comic books stacked in plastic crates. The Attic has been set on BROIL since I was last here and agreed to sign the lease. My friends cast weary eyes at me through a sheen of sweat. Tired. Hung over. Bored and beat. They look around at the 'Non-Eucleadean' Geometry, nod to themselves in an exhausted agreement and tell me:
'It's you!'
"Wellll Robert" my potential new landlord drawls out in a voice that is somehow as slow as it is anxious. "what-do-you-think?"
I stand there, hands thrust in my pockets, craning my neck along the surface of the ceiling. I lend my eye the bored cruelty of an art critic, searching beyond the surface, beyond the obvious and going deeper into the details until I can find a flaw and pluck it out of the pool of vision to hold up victoriously before him.
The walls resemble the set of "The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari", shifting slightly in height as you step from left to right, disappearing into the sudden stab of an angle off the ceiling, shrinking into cabinets or exploding suddenly into an empty chunk of space. There is only closet in the place. It stands at just under four feet, has no door and stretches across the length of the bedroom. I can imagine hiding in there when the law is at the door or the inevitable zombie apocalypse strikes. Whichever happens first. There's a huge bathroom that reeks of ghosts and candle wax. There's a new A/C, space heater and refridgerator. There's a kitchen that looks like it was modeled out of a Bukowski novel. There's two doorways into the apartment one at the front and one at the back. Both open into narrow passageways that snake and wind into the second floor landing, which also has two sepearate exits leading to the first floor landing or out into the parking lot. That's good because I feel better when there are at least two ways in and four ways out!
"Well what do you think?" I ask my friends a month later. The three of them are gathered around an island of deconstructed furniture, cardboard boxes stuffed with books and roughly two and half tons worth of comic books stacked in plastic crates. The Attic has been set on BROIL since I was last here and agreed to sign the lease. My friends cast weary eyes at me through a sheen of sweat. Tired. Hung over. Bored and beat. They look around at the 'Non-Eucleadean' Geometry, nod to themselves in an exhausted agreement and tell me:
'It's you!'
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no subject
on 2006-08-29 07:09 pm (UTC)i actually jumped in the center of my living room and spun in enthusiastic circles with my arms outstretched.
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on 2006-08-29 07:36 pm (UTC)xxx
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on 2006-08-29 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-08-30 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-08-30 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-08-30 09:34 pm (UTC)You rock!