Death Metal

I promise to keep this one as short as I can. Beauty is in brevity.

So we picked one guy to move in. Mike. He seemed down to earth, smart, studying ethics and ecology at University (but more of a grown up student than a couch surfing, tui swilling, shower-phobic one), and he rubbed moosh'es tummy for a good long while. Moosh took me aside afterwards adn said she friended him. In truth, he was the only person we liked at all. Slim pickings out there!

Why is it that there are so many more abnormal, neurotic, obnoxious, ugly people than normal, nice looking, relaxed people? It worries me. Anyway.

So Mike is also musical. Tick. Is in two bands. They're not big here, but they're tour overseas. Tick - will be away for extended periods. Would I know them? I ask. probably not unless you like metal? Overwhelming understatement: i don't. Well he tells me one of the bands is called Ulcerated. That word, ulcerated? Makes me want to cry. But in contrast to my usually ASTUTE gut feeling, I do a Michael-Jacksons-Kid and BLANK IT! I blank it from my awareness because mike is nice and we need someone to move in pronto.

So later Date One suggests I listen to ulcerated on youtube. My, what a clever suggestion. Can't imagine why I didn't think of that, say, two days ago.

I don't know how to describe this 'music' to you. And I have to take a moment to say, i'm sure mike is a great guy and very talented, and i mean no slur on their muscial ABILITY. And each to their own and ALL that but...

The sound that comes out of the computer literally makes every one of my cells recoil in horror, my brain starts firing off terror signals, i start uncontrollably crawling backwards across the bed not unlike Jackie O when JFK got shot, nausea rises in my chest, fear sweat is starting to prickle my skin. The feeling that music gives me is a supersize me combo deal of sick, afraid and upset. Possibly who you would feel if a guy in a hockey mask with a machete has just come through your bedroom door covered in the warm blood of your entire, now deceased family. We're talking the nail in the well in silence of the lambs here people. I'm sorry if that is all too graphic, but there it is. I know of NOTHING, i cannot bear more, than death metal. It is ULCERATING my mind.

I remember when everyone got into Korn. That word still irks me. I bought the CD (oh nostaglia) from REal Groovy (Oh nostaglia) and listened to it in my CD walkman (oh nostalgia) on the way home from town on the bus (nostalgia, you get it). And by the time i'd gotten home i could physically feel that in some previously untampered with part of my brain, mental unwellness had been dangerously close to being permanently triggered. The next opporutnity i got i took the cd back to real groovy to get my money back, when asked why, I couldn't like, I looked at the tattoo'd young funksta behind the counter and said: i just can't have this in my life. and he nodded in understanding and gave me my $24.95 back.

So here I am in my room pressing my hands into my ears, feeling a surge of hysteria at the realisation that my new flattie is going to play this 'music' in the house.
I have to call him up and say awkwardly, ah, that i hate that music and ah, are you going to, inflict it upon us?
To his great, great credit he says two things, that he is fully aware that no one else likes it, and that he does not intend to practise or play it at home.

Are there any other important questions you need to ask? he asks me.
Yes, i say, are you a serial killer?
No, he says, not that i know of, but then, they never know that they are do they?
Well played.

Let's just hope he really was joking.
Flatting, it's a crazy world out there.
In many ways, like living in a bus stop.