The Noise

22 Sep

st francis

Here I am in front of my house. Kevin’s in his kitchen. Windows always open. He thumps around. Clatters pots while screaming. You can ask him to stop making a specific noise at a specific time. But he doesn’t internalize the bigger concept. You shouldn’t do meth and play drums at 2AM. Crank your enormous top of the line subwoofer you bought the day after your new neighbor moved in, before sunrise. Judo throw your fat girlfriend, who screams from the diaphragm like a theater major, into load bearing studs and hollow core doors.

Never during business hours. Always when your neighbor’s home. Writing or sleeping or on a date. Likewise the construction project up the block which must implement machine gun loud industrial power tools at 7am. Every single fucking day the entire time I’ve lived here. When they stop it’ll be something else. My co-gentrifiers, the yoga mat Bumble Creative Directors with their packs of Bernese mountain hounds left alone all day to bark about social justice. So there just hasn’t been good writing coming out of me for what. 9 months now.

Kevin likes to scream FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. GOD DAMMIT from two to six AM. Although the white noise machine largely takes care of it at those hours. But also when I get home from work. Whenever I open a window. FUCK! FUUUUUUCKKK and Muay Thai kicks his appliances. Would earplugs stop this. Would earplugs plus airport guy who waves in planes with two big flashlights headphones, plus a white noise machine cranked up to 10 with maximum bass settings– I believe this is called “brown noise”– well I know this wouldn’t work because I have all this shit on now and I still hear the motherfucker. Would buying a shotgun or an AR-15 and judiciously– not doing a sloppy mass shooting spray ‘n’ pray but judiciously placing a single center mass bullet or buckshot load into each of these inconsiderate people work.

Soon too cold to type outside. Can’t go to the park. I’ll need to actually use the interior of my home as a shelter. While the building up the block slams on another Pieter Bruegel the Elder amount of floors and Kevin enjoys menages a trois with additional fat drug women he beats with sousaphones and Les Pauls plugged into Marshall stacks. No helicopters at least. In Spring when Mexicans fired guns in the air from their yards across the valley at stochastic Chinese water torture intervals no police showed up. No sirens. No Apocalypse Now chopper blades like my last neighborhood of former heroin addicts getting into music PR and father-of-five unlicensed plumbers/ Tier 3 sex offenders. So that’s good.

Well does he hear me singing the N word to the tune of Bowie’s “Changes” in the shower with the window up. Clean and jerking clattering ringing weights grunting. Droning out the St. Francis prayer before work so I don’t end up like him. That where there is hatred I may bring love, that where there is error I may bring truth, that where there is sadness I may bring joy, that where there is discord I may bring harmony, that where there is wrong I may bring Jesus Christ could you not fucking EDIT this slightly, St. F*ggot? Can he tell there’s no God and I just want it to be over.

Have to construct a situation where I’m somehow just as bad. I’m not. I leave the curtains opens so he can watch me digging out fat Asians. Dimples in her golden back winking below some other guy’s name as she flexes back and forth on top of me saying are you sure you’ve been tested.

In Pittsburgh a brother and sister lived next to us. Jewish family. Once every 10 days he’d blast Van Halen. Scream and scream YOUR’E A DIRTY JEW! DIRTY JEW! over “Hot for Teacher.” In Silverlake the lapsed Catholic Salvadoran landlords spoke in tongues upstairs with 30 church friends. Raced their grandchildren stomp stomp stomping across the hardwood floors. Why do none of these people have jobs. Why am I the only person on Earth getting worked like an old mule.

Why am I always under a cult and next to a too old to be hipster childless white man like the Ghost of Christmas Future. You’re gonna end up alone getting high, I’m warned. Obsessing over soon to be abandoned plans for art projects. The pattern keeps repeating. I learn less each time. My money, my body, my books– it’s Michael Jackson scourging his skin. Hacking up the scaffolding of his face trying not to be black. My death alone clear and unavoidable as ground coming up fast through an airplane window. Editor’s note: I’m never going to kill myself. Send nudes.

I’m a cautionary example for them. The sad man who gets up at the crack of dawn. Doesn’t get back till dark. You only ever see him at night, politely asking you to please stop living your life so he can quietly hate everything about you and himself and the planet.

I need to kill this guy. Could I leave a handgun out while she’s there. Will his dealer take 20 grand to slip him 5,000 mikes of fentanyl. Could I help him down the stairs. Could I suggest after 15 drinks that he take a nice drive. What can I do. Can I talk to him again, for the tenth time, can I explain man you can’t stomp loud as possible and scream at your fat 52 year old girlfriend when she’s not even there. Why don’t you say something about the beatings. Because no one leaves a lover who beats them. A fist feels like love to Irish people.

He’d scream DIRTY JEW all day and that got it out of his system. Kevin has fun and goes to concerts, gets it out of his system at home. Why am I crazy in a way that only bothers me and gets me no check from the government. I used to compulsively look at the undersides of tables. Because Satan might be hiding under them. Bend over deep and crane my head up at a cerebral palsy angle, in front of people, in front of my teachers, my classmates, to inspect for Satan. Whenever I think of the dead I think they can hear my thoughts. A part of my mind I don’t control starts “thinking” the worst thoughts imaginable. So they’ll hear. They’ll think it’s what I think and their ghosts will feel bad and hate me. Could I make this go away by yelling FUCK and DIRTY JEW. Beating my girlfriend. I can’t get a girlfriend so I guess I’ll never know.

16 Responses to “The Noise”

  1. Madrileño September 22, 2019 at 2:02 pm #

    What would be of us without fat girls.

  2. Bonnes Tacos September 22, 2019 at 2:57 pm #

    Kevin likes to scream FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. GOD DAMMIT from two to six AM.
    Whenever I open a window. FUCK! FUUUUUUCKKK and Muay Thai kicks his appliances. Would earplugs stop this. Would earplugs plus airport guy who waves in planes with two big flashlights headphones – I believe this is called “brown noise”–

    Oh fie on you.

  3. Grody September 22, 2019 at 4:49 pm #

    Ya but… Michael Jackson was actually good.

  4. Nick Kerz September 22, 2019 at 8:14 pm #

    get one of em prepaid cellphones, Tracfone, costs around $20 plus a set of starter minutes free. call your local police. file a noise complaint. anonymous. make an off-the-cuff remark that it could be domestic violence. give them a precise time window when the noise is at its worst, and even better when he’s beating his gf. then wait. see if the cops do anything. arm yourself at night in case this neighbor *thinks* it was you who called the cops on him. if he attacks you, defend yourself. if cops don’t do something, then we start thinking of plan B.

    problems have solutions, my fren

  5. Nikolai Vladivostok September 22, 2019 at 8:58 pm #

    You scream here instead.

  6. Tortoise September 22, 2019 at 10:37 pm #

    Have you thought of teaching English in Japan?

    It doesn’t suit everyone, but it can’t be worse than all that.

  7. Taxpayer Christc*ck of Southern California September 24, 2019 at 9:40 am #

    Please God, give me the strength to be selfless. Please God, let me serve You and spread Your Message through Good works. I wish to Serve: as Son, as Employee, as Blogger, as Twitter User, and as Patient Neighbor. Please God, help me only by eliminating any selfish thoughts from my mind. I was put on this Earth, Your Creation, to Serve all. Thank You for teaching me to Love My Neighbor. If Kevin wishes to make sounds, I must submit to his will, for he is Thy Creation and All of Thy Creation is Divine. If the IRS wishes to receive 30% of my income, then that is Good, for the Hebrews of Israel are the Lord’s Chosen People.

    Amen

  8. Randy Live-edge Paxton September 24, 2019 at 4:13 pm #

    Yinzers are God’s chosen people. Fuck the west coast. Much love from the pierogi belt DT

  9. Icey September 24, 2019 at 8:24 pm #

    DT, at this point you just need to shut the fuck up.

    You’re a lifestyle masochist. You ENJOY living a life that you hate. You make enough money from book sales to live like a king in any number of countries where you’d be happy. But you don’t. Because YOU PREFER TO BE SAD.

    Maybe you’re scared that if you were actually happy, you’d have nothing to write about. Guess what? BEING HAPPY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN HAVING A BLOG WHERE YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR VOLUNTARILY-TERRIBLE LIFE.

    you’re a lifestyle masochist. You ENJOY getting spanked by your daddy, the IRS. Quit pretending that you’re seeking happiness and admit that you ENJOY being miserable.

    Happiness is a plane ticket and a visa away — both things you can easily afford. But you don’t buy them. You don’t do them.

    I used to think you were a cool dude who wrote cool bukowski/mccarthy-style shit.

    But now I realize you’re a sad sack of shit who ENJOYS marinating in his own misery.

    You know the scene in Good Will Hunting where Ben Affleck is like “my fantasy is to wake up one day and find (Matt Damon) gone without a trace to go live the life he actually wants to live?”

    My fantasy is to wake up one day and find your entire blog deleted, because then I’ll know that you’re out there actually PURSUING HAPPINESS like a HUMAN FUCKING BEING instead of doing what you’re doing now, which is masochistically choosing to live a life you hate.

    Grow a pair and go chase happiness like an actual human being, instead of marinating in your own misery like you’ve become addicted to.

    -a former DT fan who is now a DT hater.

  10. Anonymous September 24, 2019 at 8:25 pm #

    DT, you need to shut the fuck up.

    You’re a lifestyle masochist. You ENJOY living a life that you hate. You make enough money from book sales to live like a king in any number of countries where you’d be happy. But you don’t. Because YOU PREFER TO BE SAD.

    Maybe you’re scared that if you were actually happy, you’d have nothing to write about. Guess what? BEING HAPPY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN HAVING A BLOG WHERE YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR VOLUNTARILY-TERRIBLE LIFE.

    you’re a lifestyle masochist. You ENJOY getting spanked by your daddy, the IRS. Quit pretending that you’re seeking happiness and admit that you ENJOY being miserable.

    Happiness is a plane ticket and a visa away — both things you can easily afford. But you don’t buy them. You don’t do them.

    I used to think you were a cool dude who wrote cool bukowski/mccarthy-style shit.

    But now I realize you’re a sad sack of shit who ENJOYS marinating in his own misery.

    You know the scene in Good Will Hunting where Ben Affleck is like “my fantasy is to wake up one day and find (Matt Damon) gone without a trace to go live the life he actually wants to live?”

    My fantasy is to wake up one day and find your entire blog deleted, because then I’ll know that you’re out there actually PURSUING HAPPINESS like a HUMAN FUCKING BEING instead of doing what you’re doing now, which is masochistically choosing to live a life you hate.

    Grow a pair and go chase happiness like an actual human being, instead of marinating in your own misery like you’ve become addicted to.

    -a former DT fan who is now a DT hater.

    • delicioustacos September 24, 2019 at 8:26 pm #

      Dude you’ve posted this comment three times. Maybe it’s not me that needs a life change.

      • warcrimes666 September 24, 2019 at 10:37 pm #

        It’s difficult to fathom the sheer audacity of these shitbags. I’ve been reading for years and never commented. I feel next to nothing in life but man do I feel awful when I see the quality of your comments. Men, women, and children, makes me sick to see the piss dribbling down their legs. I know you don’t, but sometimes you might for a moment, take it to heart in some small way. Continue as you do, soldier. It’s difficult and unforgiving but fuck if it ain’t something. There is indescribable value here and for that we salute you. I’m still checking every other day for something, anything, and fuckin happy about it too. It’s a lifeline for like minds.

        You are nothing like bukowski, bukowski was like bukowski. You are Tacos, keep making us proud.

      • Ben E. Gesrit September 26, 2019 at 10:57 pm #

        666, remember this guy made his mark w/okcupid-era undateables.
        it’s like wading thru a swamp; always gonna be a Leech on yer balls

      • Tracy Quan, MBA, SVP of Marketing at delicioustacos dot com September 27, 2019 at 9:15 am #

        @Ben E. Gesrit

        delicioustacos dot com search terms report, sept 2013:

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  11. K-hole October 2, 2019 at 11:11 pm #

  12. Diogenes October 3, 2019 at 12:44 pm #

    Speaking of Franciscans, Was given a tour of a house that a group of Franciscan monks lived in. They had a painting of the Virgin Mary on every floor of the house. Couldn’t wrap my mind around a group of gay men revering the Virgin Mary. Maybe it give them an extra thril to look at it while performing a circle jerk.

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