My mom used to watch the original Star Trek in syndicated repeats, back when I was a little kid. I detested the program because of the grating sound of the “starship interior”, which was like a never-ending loop of whistly ping noises (to denote space technology of the future). The show was essentially a soap opera, in a 1960’s sci-fi setting.
I missed a necessary doctor’s appointment this morning. I just laid in bed as the alarms I’d set last night went off; seven-thirty, eight o’clock, nine o’clock. I might still be lying there if the loathsome fucks next door didn’t start in with their goddamned bass noise, as per usual.
Carve the following statement in a block of granite and display it where everyone can see; underground material belongs underground. When it becomes mainstream, it betrays its own nature, and is reduced to a disposable pretense.
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