The most striking thing about moving house is the myriad of new sounds that keep you awake at night. And by 'striking' I mean lashing cowbells infused with the maniacal laughter of drunk hobos blended with the deep errs of salmon-shirt-wearing boets, not to mention the eggbeater bat out of hell occasional motorbike and down tempo drag racing, infused with the soulful grooves of delivery trucks. This album comes in a box set.
Corlett Drive is the loudest, most obnoxious street in Jo'burg. Corlett Drive is an asshole. Corlett Drive is the Comic Sans of streets.
To get an obsequious word in while I can still hear myself think (this is bound to change in 0 to 4 seconds), I lay before you a collection of limericks chronicling my gradual hearing/sanity loss.
Gotye in the Citi 1.4
One night while lying in bed,
Somebody that I used
to know came into my head.
The beat was now techno,
From car speakers of woe;
One more time and I’ll be dead.
Pinkie Fest Aftermath
(Andiccio Edition)
One day while reading a book,
Three loud men heckled the pizza ‘kok’.
All clad in pink,
“Fok julle spilled ‘n drink!”
The window’s begging me to look.
Garbage Collection
One night quite late I went down to the bins,
To throw some rubbish away for my sins.
A sudden ROAR! from the garbage truck
Made my lil’ heart go cluck-cluck-cluck,
And now I only go down before dins.
Blue Light District
In the dead of the night I came home from a bar,
I climbed into bed and heard noise from afar.
WHOO! WHOO! said Mr Hungry (hi)Po-Po
“Oh no”, said Drunkie, “to jail I won’t go!”
Grateful am I I’m not in that car.
Bat out of Hell
Every AM at the exact same time,
At a quarter to six we hear the ol’ chime.
The motorbike with broken exhaust,
Backfires under my
window (of course),
And now no more sleep can be had so I whine.
Prossie Power
Sometimes, during the Witching Hour
A woman can be heard, her voice hollow and sour.
From a car she steps out,
Adjusts her skirt all about,
And click-clocks back to her street tower.
