A house alarm goes off, one of those noises halfway between a whistle and wail, modulated to sound both nauseous & like a toy. You expect to see someone pushing their house across the carpet of Barnes towards the river, while sparks come out a turret somewhere near the front. “I’m a victim! I’m a victim!” the alarm goes. “I’m the victim! (No, I did it.)” This is not just an ordinary house. This is a Twenty Five Beautiful Homes house. It has a sexy inturned smile of entitlement when it thinks you aren’t looking. It pretends to be disempowered, maybe even violated. “You’d love me even if I was on trial in Italy for sex-related crimes. But I’m the victim!”


When I say “nauseous”, I mean I’m sick of hearing it. I have intellectual nausea; I am sick of being able to see straight through the last thirty years like a glass window, while that stupid self-satisfied noise keeps on making itself. (“You must always love me,” goes the nice house. “I’m alpha! I’m the victim of my own success!”)

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Filed under outright politics

3 responses to “entidalled

  1. In NYC the car alarms are always and everywhere and often malfunction right outside my loft. My idea was to hire a gang of kids on bicycles to swoop in on the wailing autos and paste huge obnoxious bills right over the windshields–with the kind of glue that takes you quite a while to scrape off. I think you should write the text of said bills. The scrapers would have plenty of time to try and digest your words…
    some might even laugh

  2. uzwi

    But Mia, they’d feel so victimised…

  3. Z

    Strangely enough, I feel like I can visualise the sexy inturned smile of the house- it’s like something from a bad dream.