Something has come over me lately. I am not who I believe myself to be. Let me explain further: my uncle’s premature death came about on the 5th of May. I would’ve loved to think that I would have reacted quite bitterly to the news, since my uncle was the best of my remaining friends. But I didn’t. When my uncle died, I felt as though my world changed for the better.
“You seem rather excited…” my friend John said with a smile. His voice trailed off as he examined my demeanor more closely, as if to bite back his words. I smirked.
“He’s dead, Johnny. My uncle’s dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I could tell Johnny knew I wasn’t crazy. I was genuinely happy about this revelation, this gift.
My friend continued to talk, but I began to tune him out, just like Gregory, the dumb bird that Johnny had found abandoned in an alleyway next to the apartment, cage and all. What was that thing doing here? It just squawked all day while sitting in the corner of the room. Eventually, I had done us both the favor of putting a tablecloth over him, but even the dark apparently meant nothing to the likes of old Greg. He would not shut up.
“Are you still there, bud?” John looked distressed.
“Yeah, just thinkin’.” I said, a little bit uneasily. “My family’s basically dead, and I’m happy about it. What is wrong with me?” This was honest.
John looked over his shoulder and then back at me. Gregory had fallen asleep for the first time in our company that we could remember.
“Darren. There’s a lot of talk going on at the factory.”
“What factory?”
“The one we work at, Darren. How could you forget that?”
It was true. I had forgotten that I had a job.
“I dunno,” I said. “I jus’, I don’t know. I feel like something’s changed.”
John put his hand on my shoulder and told me everything was going to be all right. I chuckled as he moved towards the kitchen. The factory was quite a job. 18 hours was a typical shift at that place. At midday, a group of examiners would come in for about thirty minutes and peer at everyone through large, round glasses that magnified their eyes to a level of uncomfortable detail. I was told by my supervisor that these examiners had moved in near the factory to help make sure that safety protocols were up to date. I believed that this was honest.
The factory made boxes that came from a conveyor belt that passed through a hole in the wall to the factory’s other main assembly area. We had always been in Assembly Area Y1, so I had never seen the other room; the other workers barely acknowledged it existed. They just continued about the mundane task of taping these cardboard boxes together with no idea of what was inside them and who was working in the other assembly area, who were obviously privy to the secret, forbidden content of the boxes.
John was right though. Despite the other workers’ quiet, unquestioning obedience, there was a lot of talk going on at the factory. The other workers had come down with similar conditions to mine, and had made an effort to find other jobs, believing that the factory job was in fact the root cause of our mental and emotional anomalies. There was some rumor though that the factory was one of the few in the country that had not been transferred overseas, that it was fighting tooth and nail to stay where it was.
Other jobs, occasionally available at restaurants and convenience stores, soon attracted my attention as well. Johnny continued working at the factory, but eventually, I made the decision to become a clerk at the local bank. It was at this point in time that something horrible happened.
Something changed very drastically.
I came home to the apartment early. Gregory was asleep, but when I switched on the lights, he began to squawk. It was at this point that I felt a mild itching on bridge of my nose. Good old Greg started to become even more unruly as I itched my face and went for the tablecloth. Then I noticed the great pool of blood in the corner. For whatever reason, this did not disturb me at all. Instead, I decided to call John to see when he would be home. As I pulled out my smart phone, I realized that I could not push the buttons like I normally could. Upon closer examination, I found my right thumb was missing. Only mildly disturbed by this, I stupidly decided to take a walk and get some fresh air. Later, I would be found on the side of the road, wondering where I was and why I only had nine fingers left.
Since then, I have concluded that I am not who I believe myself to be. It is an ongoing issue, but one that my psychiatrist assures me that I can resolve if I just stop thinking about it. John never came home, but I did receive a letter from him, or someone purporting to be him. It contained a letter, which I will write here:
Dear my dearest Daren,
I have something you had. I wish you to retrieve. The bride is wait. He say that he no know his master. He lie. The bride lie. I coming. I bring my host. No way since way is shut. The bride lie.
I coming,
Jhon.
supported by 4 fans who also own “Industrial Sector”
The first piece sounded like what I imagine the red eye storm of Jupiter sounds like with winds blowing hundreds of miles per hour that could shred through flesh like wet tissue. I heard a intriguing bass synthesizer in the background. The second track was more harsh noise with an angelic choir in the background and the final piece was a cacophony of machines. I really don’t like Harsh Noise Wall but I can’t deny that it is art because it can evoke an unsettling feeling. This was not to my taste Dionysus Virus
supported by 4 fans who also own “Industrial Sector”
Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I love the beautiful sounds of this album but I don’t have a favorite song. I have a favorite title, it’s called “I Am An Idol, But You Can Call Me The Pope”.. p.s- The Pope Smokes Dope! Dionysus Virus
C. Diab describes “Exit Rumination” as “a sonic exorcism,” and its dark, swelling songs are equal parts catharsis and tension. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 26, 2018
