Brain sludge.

Earlier this morning while actually feeling the effects of my brain trying to malfunction its way into full on migraine headache, I started to ponder for a moment if years of living with stress, sleep deprivation, and anxiety had left me with the brain chemistry of an abandoned swimming pool.

Nah. It’s not that bad— migraines just suck. Basically, the brain entirely misfires and screws up, best I can understand of the medical science behind it. It’s like when you’re playing a pinball game and a multiball begins and the balls all immediately loft off of each other and off of the slingshots and other unpleasant parts of the playfield and suddenly drain at the left and right outlanes and SDTM (straight down the middle).

But then I had this one intrusive thought, or more like, memory, that keeps haunting me to this day. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT MYSTERY PARTY EVERY WEEKEND?

 

It was, oh, 2004 or so. The Quad was a neverending source of excitement in my neighborhood but there was one thing that I could never, ever figure out. It was fairly harmless, except to one’s sense of logic and reason, trying to figure out what it was or why it was happening.

 

Our house was in the middle of the block on the south side. On the northeast corner of the block was a house on a slightly large lot which had a big yard and a large covered patio on the back. There was an extended family living there, which isn’t uncommon at all. Every now and then they had parties which had a lot of people in attendance – seemed like most of them were family for the most part.

 

I suspect the house changed ownership as I saw different vehicles outside and an older lady who used to walk around the block every day wasn’t there anymore. I never really spoke to them much as the language barrier was pretty bad – I’ve never spoken enough Spanish to hold a conversation and they didn’t speak English. Everything thus had a kind of mystery about it— but then came the really… really big mystery.

 

The family there started holding parties every weekend and brought in a DJ (by which I mean some guy who had a mixer, iTunes, and a set of speakers). The first couple of weekends, it was just blasting salsa, reggaeton, and random pop music, with his voice occasionally booming over it all distorted. The music was POWERFULLY loud and was very audible inside our concrete block house, probably a good 300 feet away. They’d start up maybe 1 or 2 pm, and it’d be over by like 6 or so, never running into the night (thank goodness). Cars would be parked on the swale all over the block from the people in attendance. Following these first 2 or 3 unremarkable parties, they developed a unique and bizarre format, and that is what haunts me to this day. What was this and WHY?

In radio, a lot of programming adheres to a format clock which dictates what goes where in each hour. There are certain times for the break, station identification, locally inserted advertising/sponsorship, etc. In television it’s the same way but a little more standardized between shows. These parties—- they… could have had a format clock, because they all ran exactly the same. I don’t know what the hell they were doing but it was like this:

12-1 PM: Setup with random music playing, no voice.

1:00 PM: Music cuts off, followed by talking on the mic

1:05 PM: Beginning of Dragostea Din Tei loop.

…..

6:20 PM: Burst of shouting followed by the party ending.

 

Now, the loop is the super perplexing part.

Each cycle of it started with the guy shouting. His voice was heavily distorted, and I was hearing the reflection off houses and the back side of the speakers so it was muffled beyond recognition. I was never once able to understand what he’d say on each cycle.

He’d start shouting something (unintelligible due to the distortion and echo between the houses) then start playing what’d be 30 seconds of the chorus of Dragostea Din Tei.

(this video is not set to autoplay, if it does for some sick and twisted reason decide to autoplay, please inform me so that I may go drive down to San Francisco where this server is located in a VPS container in a datacenter, pull it offline, and fill it with beans)

The first 15 seconds would play out clean.
The last 15 seconds would have a police whistle blown on the backbeat.
The last 10 seconds had the whistle blown on every beat.
The last 2 or 3 seconds were covered by the whistle blowing constantly.
Then he’d yell something again and seconds later the pattern began over again.

This…. went on for hours. Pretty much the only time this pattern ever changed was the one week that I knew myself and the three neighbors in between were all getting very tired of this, and I just happened to have a single weird damaged PA speaker that came from the university’s surplus warehouse and had a strangely narrow dispersion angle. I put it up on the edge of the roof and blasted tracks from The Conet Project in their general direction. This caused the Dragostea Din Tei loop to end and be replaced with the guy shouting occasionally instead…. until my amplifier overheated and shut down. The brief shouting and Dragostea Din Tei resumed IMMEDIATELY.

 

This continued up through when the neighbors who lived directly behind us moved out and someone else bought the house and turned it into an entirely unauthorized and horrible banquet hall. That was….. a whole new form of fresh hell, but at least it did not leave me with a baffling, bizarre mystery that will haunt me until the end of days.

funny, I usually see Aqua Net recommended for adhesion on a glass bed, but I guess Rave works fine when you’re printing a dickbutt

The slow reveal

I’ve had this same building appear in my dreams three times now and I’ve wondered what’s up with it. It’s a pale yellow building, and I’m thinking it’s somewhere in an older section of Miami based on a couple of details, but it might not be. It has two floors above ground and one below. The middle floor has come up as having a center entrance/lobby that’s no longer in use and a space that’s open on one end to the outside, and it’s shown up once as housing a little cafe/bodega, and once as housing an ice cream shop. In both cases, a hallway towards the center of the building accesses a restroom and kitchen area to the other side of that center entrance.

The center entrance is the intriguing part though. As you go through it, there’s a space where a narrow wooden staircase would have once stood, since removed. It would have gone up one floor to a hallway to where there are some living areas, and down one floor into a basement level which continues WAY out of sight. There is no other obvious way to get into the basement level, but the living areas above seem to be in active use.

It’s partially built into or against a hill.

The first time I saw it in a dream I just noticed the basement level and missing staircase. A roughly built wood railing would keep one from walking into the hole. I began to contemplate sneaking in a ladder somehow so I could climb down there and see where it went.

The second time I was in this building in a dream, someone had sort of covered the hole with plywood but it was really obvious it was still there.

The third time, it was back open again, and I found the entrance to the upper level. A staircase outside the other end of the building took me up there and it was a hallway to some apartments. The hallway had amazing royal blue carpeting.

However, this third time, I was reading SOMETHING that gave the history of the building, and had diagrams, showing this building and others nearby. It had been constructed in the late 1800s out of wood and stone or coral rock. The basement level wasn’t a floor of the building, but rather an opening into a tunnel system that connected at least a dozen different structures in the same early settlement! The tunnels were originally kind of a happy accident, the result of an excavation during the construction process that the builders found would be trivial to just cut-and-cover to leave as a set of passages for everyone to use, shielded from the weather. It kind of barely went below actual ground level at that point because this building was built on a hill, and continued into the hill or ridge to go through two other residential buildings, a church, and a theater. Only the church remained in its original form. Someone’s account of having gone down the tunnel in recent years was in this article, where they found someone had partially filled that branch with concrete, but not enough to limit passage to where it went under a nearby street.

In this third dream appearance, the side of the first floor opposite the ice cream shop also housed a small datacenter room.

I wonder what the significance of this may be?

One star review.

Not surprising or amusing: getting cockplugged in traffic.

Surprising and amusing: getting trapped indefinitely on a closed road in front of an escape room.

https://youtu.be/L7jnk2mv3PU

One star review. Was not pleased with the experience.

Ways to tell you may be at Miami International Airport

* No employees speak English

* TSA checkpoint opens an hour late

* No air conditioning in concourse

* Powerful stench of hot stale piss

* Pasty fukkboi who thinks he’s PitBull circulating around the overheated concourse rapping

Ya know man as awful as Chicago’s O’Hare airport supposedly is, there is no way it isn’t a step up from this.

There is no way to convey the sadness in this space in a mere photograph

An important South Florida driving tip:

Get a full size rim and full size spare for your vehicle.

Otherwise you will be stuck in South Florida’s unique sort of tire hell when you lose one.

The tire in question is NOT an uncommon size.

So far here’s what I’ve found:

* Sears. They have the tires in stock– three hours away. I can take my car in right when they open and maaaaaybe get out same day.

* Tire Kingdom. Need to make an appointment over a week in advance. All the cars there had bullet holes in them. All except this one, which I’d be mad if someone defiled. Because….. Look at this majestic thing

Just look at it. Majestic woody.

* An independent shop I’ve used before. Out of business.

* another independent shop I’ve used before. Gave me an appointment then took TEN walk in customers ahead of me, filling them up for the day. Gave me another appointment two weeks off.

* Goodyear. Need appointment weeks in advance. Doesn’t acknowledge that my tire size exists.

* Firestone. Doesn’t acknowledge that my tire size exists. Offered a tire the wrong size at $190 a pop with two days lead time.

* Pep Boys. Backordered, next availability not known.

* Costco. In stock, ready to install, but I don’t have a membership. Yet. Probably will soon.
Oh but that’s okay. If your car isn’t in good shape you can just take the train. No wait… You will not and never will be able to take the train. Thanks Gimenez.

suburban ghosts of subhuman life

Every time I start wondering why I’m foolish enough to dream of moving far from here, I’m reminded by a zombie bum fight in the middle of the road in a blinding rain that maybe it’d be more than just a regrettably useless change of scenery.

One was throwing construction barricades at the other, both next to the only lane out of town.

h e r t z i a n w a v e

gave up waiting in line to get out of the county tonight and went to visit one of my beasts. at least there are sometimes productive things to do when the roads fail.

I’ll take a silly tube rig that likes sending me on tuning wild goose chases over four hours of traffuck…..

why thank you officer nitpick

Crawling down the road and a car suddenly leaps out behind me from a driveway and starts the bad red, white, and blue disco lighting.

Officer comes to the passenger side window and asks for my license, registration, and insurance card.

He doesn’t even walk to his car to look up my license or anything, instead, leaning in my window right above the huge TV camera on the seat, he offers wisdom…

Why the hell are you still driving that beat up piece of shit?!

And here is where I regret not having that thing running.
I recognize the officer. He pulled me over a while back and then the exchange was more insensitive than tonight’s.

Where are you from? You don’t look like you’re from around here.

Oh, you are?

… Native American? Aren’t you guys usually totally covered in tattoos and shit? Well I’ll believe you because you’ve got the hair…

Once again you leave me without any cause to write a citation.

Cry me a cuntpuddle canal.

Truckwall is the worst ransomware

For over a year I’d been trying to rent a storage unit to stash some of my equipment in when not in use. I had no luck for a very long time– every offering I found was either over $300 a month and/or required an astronomically large deposit and a yearly contract. Finally one place I’d gotten on a waiting list with eight months ago had a unit available and it was surprisingly affordable, especially for a climate controlled facility, even after the $10 a month extra fee for the 24 hour access they never disclose anywhere as requiring an extra fee!

It’s built in and around the site of a former large bakery, which left South Florida due to a necessity to consolidate and the exorbitant costs of producing their goods here.

It now houses a large number of climate controlled storage units in the old bakery building and some additional ones in outbuildings, as well as a maintenance facility for rental trucks.

Of course there’s gotta be a reason it’s so cheap, and that’s that it is nearly impossible to access.

Access to the facility is only possible via one road, in one direction, which in turn is only accessible via one small isolated industrial district. During the day, that’s a two hour queue to get in and another half hour to get back out.

At night, it’s perfectly fine…. Until they suffered the Truckwall infection.

A tow truck driver collected the shattered remains of one of the company’s rental trucks from what looks to have been a pretty severe crash. The whole front of the pickup was smashed in and the cab appeared to have been cut open to rescue the occupants. The tow truck driver came in and dropped it…. right in front of the only access gate to the storage facility.

I came up trying to get in as he was filling out his paperwork and asked if he had to leave the truck there or if he could move it a few feet away from the gate to restore access (if anyone is inside the facility right now, they’re trapped as well!!)

He told me that he would…… If I gave him $150 in cash within the next ten minutes. Otherwise he’d just leave.

OOPS! YOUR STORAGE HAS BEEN BLOCKED BY TRUCKWALL!!!

I gave up and left after calling the city’s police department, who outright refused to send anyone.

There are just some things you have to, sadly, come to live with as a fact of life in South Florida, and one of them is that you sometimes you’ll find yourself locked out of where you want to go due to road based stupidity.
Infection resolved!

As I feared, TruckWall had trapped users of the facility. One of them had a large pickup truck with bull bars on the front. TruckWall’s payload was shoved back from the gate…. with slightly more damage than it had originally.

The toxicity simply explained

Gate erected by Sylvester Stallone to seal off access to a public park and trail.

The one underlying rule of living in Southeast Florida:
If you can afford to make life difficult for everyone else, you are required to make this investment.


Examples of this include the pictured Stallonegate, countless ten foot concrete walls in residential areas, the building of condo towers in areas where the infrastructure can’t support them, the entire city of Golden Beach, people paying $14.50 a pop to further encourage the spread of Lexus lanes, etc…