Posthuman Blues

I've been uploading more CDs to my new MP3 player -- boring work, but rewarding. Assuming the thing doesn't break I'll consider it money well spent.

A few minutes ago some of my neighbors* from across the hall yelled taunts from the street. I couldn't make out all of it, but the word "motherfucker" was used with disturbing frequency. I think they have it in for either me or my car. Maybe both.

I have every intention of moving downtown within the next couple months. I can't take this endlessly protracted "eviction" -- not to mention the sour reek of marijauna and the omnipresent blather of television through wafer-thin walls.

* I've long since stopped keeping track of how many of them there are. As far as I can tell the place has become a flop-house for every dope-smoking, "gangsta" rap-listening loser in Independence. If posts on this blog suddenly stop it's probably because one of them shot me. (I am, of course, kidding. I think. Dear god, get me out of here.)