You know that building in the first Ghost Busters movie which was specially designed to be a magnet for supernatural activity? Well my building is kinda like that, it was even built in the same time period (“Deco… very nice”) except that instead of ecotroplasmic temples and rabid Rick Moraniss, my building is a magnet for crap!
There always seems to be junk mysteriously turning up and lurking around. There was this huge blue velvet winged arm chair that someone chunked out two blocks down and a flight of stairs away for my building. For three weeks it sat there mouldering in the in the rain, I’m pretty sure a neighbourhood cat started to live in there. It changed colour, swelled up like a dead whale and started to smell of cheese. Then, one day, it was gone only to mysteriously appear on our roof, next the flaking veneer sideboard, the water swollen chipboard table and the rusted through barbeque. See! There’s crap everywhere! And I have no idea who puts it there.
There seems to be a culture of putting crap on places in this building. In the Art Deco foyer of my building is a coffee table which has become the unofficial trading post of the building, where people leave anything from CDs to lamps, bags of rice to corduroy paisley shirts. I’ve gotten some of my best 2009 Men’s Health magazines there. Things are arranged in artful little piles, orderly towers or strew across the joint like someone like someone was trying to escape a fire. Today I found this tantalizing object d’art.
There always seems to be junk mysteriously turning up and lurking around. There was this huge blue velvet winged arm chair that someone chunked out two blocks down and a flight of stairs away for my building. For three weeks it sat there mouldering in the in the rain, I’m pretty sure a neighbourhood cat started to live in there. It changed colour, swelled up like a dead whale and started to smell of cheese. Then, one day, it was gone only to mysteriously appear on our roof, next the flaking veneer sideboard, the water swollen chipboard table and the rusted through barbeque. See! There’s crap everywhere! And I have no idea who puts it there.
There seems to be a culture of putting crap on places in this building. In the Art Deco foyer of my building is a coffee table which has become the unofficial trading post of the building, where people leave anything from CDs to lamps, bags of rice to corduroy paisley shirts. I’ve gotten some of my best 2009 Men’s Health magazines there. Things are arranged in artful little piles, orderly towers or strew across the joint like someone like someone was trying to escape a fire. Today I found this tantalizing object d’art.
Inside were a bunch of old cd’s which is laughable in itself, (CD’s, scoff! As if anyone has those anymore, you might as well have put a pile of 8-tracks and a Sega console out there!) but the selection of rejects was bizarre.
Amongst old Triple J top 100’s and a Matchbox Twenty album were four Queer as Folk CD’s, the soundtrack to Sex in the City Movie 2 and Fame Monster, see?
…. It’s like someone gave up being gay for New Year’s!
The bottle, I should mention, smelt suspiciously like vomit.
I figure it was worth a mention. I’ll be documenting the weird stuff I find on that table, if I find anything really good, I let your guys know about it before I swipe it.
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