Will Bueché

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Heat

Posted in Dream,Personal by Will on Monday, January 26th, 2009 ~ 3pm

Why do I even expect there to be heat at the office when it is sub-zero outside? Again, as it has done twice before when the temps dropped far below normal, the boiler for the entire building stopped working.

Our office has paid for the last two service calls, while the Pizza Calorie guy on the floor below us claimed that he “doesn’t need heat, we have pizza ovens.” So to test his claim, we’re not fixing it this time. In this way we’ll force the pizza guy to either pay for the latest service call, or to pay a share of the previous calls. He won’t want to do either.

Myself, I am now at home, where it is warm. And I’ll watch some Doctor Who.

I had a terrible nightmare last night that the Chinese mafia executed someone in a record store I was shopping in, and, since I witnessed it, they could have killed me. Instead, the head mobster (in charge of a dozen goons) offered to “let” me pay him $2,500 instead of dying. I had to go get a money order because I didn’t want them to have my name and address (printed on a check) or else they may have killed me later on. I was angry, but, I had no choice. I literally could not tell anyone I saw the murder, nor could I tell anyone why I suddenly needed $2,500. This was going to wipe out a lot of my money, so I was angry, but, I was in a no-win situation. The murder was grizzly by the way — the victim was standing still in fear while one of the Chinese mobsters lurked around him, and the head mobster stood 20 feet away, perhaps talking to him about whatever the victim had done to suffer this. The mobster first drew a blade lightly up his forehead so blood spilled into his eyes. Only then, after the victim had seen his own blood, did the mobster raise two blade behind him, and in one motion, drove them down into each side of his neck. The man dropped. I’d tried not to look; I’d put on the best “I’m not with them, I’m just browsing” demeanor I could, but, the doors were locked and it was obvious I was as trapped as the owner had been.

It was actually an analogy to record collecting. The mobster was of the mentality that a man must possess everything, no matter how small. He would overlook nothing. All would be his. The analogy was to record collectors who want every single, every rare track, not just the albums. I am such a collector (though I only want every track — I don’t collect every edition of every track, i.e. I am not into packaging). And I suppose the mafia’s extortion of me was a representation, also, of the RIAA’s tactics.

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