What Can You Say Against a Death Machine?

The TV's volume had diminishing returns. It went to 100 arbitrary volume units, but topped out at 50. The manufacturers thought I wouldn't notice, but I sure as fuck did. I wanted to rival the neighbors' noise, which is the sound of dying.

My neighbor is largest factory in the world. It's a factory factory. It makes factories. Most people don't know that the sound of factories being made is the sound of dying.

The factory is the size of 20 Empire States. The smokestacks are each the size of a luxury cruise ship, billowing clouds that fill the sky. I haven't seen the sun in months. Nothing grows here.

I bought this house for a song. Nobody wants to live here. Nobody does live here. I have one neighbor, and that's the factory.

At the time of purchase, my primary concern was landing a house. I didn't care about the conditions or environs. I just wanted a place that was mine; that no matter what was going on in my life, I have a place to stay.

That was all well and good for awhile, but the noise and the gloomy sky began to wear on me.

I tried to drown out the factory factory with a TV that was made in a factory that was probably made in the factory factory. I was outmatched.

I ordered a stereo system. It too was made in a factory, but it was built for loud noise. I ordered it from a catalog over the phone. The salesman was very helpful.

He asked how he could help and I told him I needed to drown out the sound of dying. He didn't miss a beat.

"Now what kind of dying are we talking about here? Is it more of a blood-curdling scream, or a low sustained moan?"

"It varies, but it's usually in the scream category," I said.

"So you're going to need a lot of treble to balance out that shrill noise. Let's see what we have here..." I heard pages flipping and rustling. "You're going to want the super plus model. That'll get you the power you need."

"Super plus? Okay, super plus sounds good."

"Do you need anything else?"

"I guess I need some loud records."

"I'll add some Iggy Pop and some MC5 to your order."

The order came a week later--a week of languishing in noise and dark smog. I developed ticks. With every tortured holler from the factory, my hand would tremble, or my head would shake.

The stereo system was beautiful. Brushed aluminum knobs, wood-paneled casing, a luminous electric display. I set it up where I thought there would be the most sound-dispersal throughout the house.

I put on the MC5 record and kicked out the jams. The stereo was so powerful I only had to crank it halfway before I couldn't hear the factory anymore.

I danced throughout my dark house, free from the burden of wretched noise. I slept soundly to Lust for Life, and woke to a newfound lust for life.

I called up the salesman and told him how well the stereo worked. "I don't have to listen to bloody horror anymore! I'm very happy with my purchase," I hollered over the music.

"That's fantastic! I'm glad that everything is perfect in your life."

"Well, I wouldn't say that everything is perfect. I mean I haven't seen the sun in months because of all this damn smog."

"Weird coincidence," he said, "weather-resistant sun lamps are on sale right now. You could set up a few of those bad boys outside your windows and wham-bang-boom you've got yourself a sun."

I looked at my vitamin D supplements on the counter. "You said they're on sale?"

"92% off if you act today."

"92%? That's almost all of the percents."

"You bet your sweet ass it is. So how many windows do you have?"

I bought four lamps with stands. The package arrived a week later, during which time I listened to the few records I had countless times. It's possible to get tired of anything, it turns out.

I set up the lamps outside my windows. It was an unpleasant experience going out into the bleak and screaming darkness. I tromped through the soot of my yard in my boots. I couldn't hear the music outside and the dying was much louder.

Before I turned on the lights, I looked up at the great factory of factories. It was daunting site. A brutalist monolith blotting out the sun.

Back in the house I flipped the switch and I had light! It wasn't just like having the sun. It was obvious that lamps were involved. But the facsimile was similar enough that I felt slightly less miserable.

I had to call up the salesman to let him know that I was happy with the product. He was elated to hear from me.

"I'm so glad to hear it! You're an important customer and that makes you an important person."

"Yeah... I am important," I said. I thought about how the bleakness was slightly more manageable now. I thought of the factory and its eternal commotion. I said, "Do you ever get lonely?"

The salesman paused. "Of course not! I get to talk to nice people like you all day."

"But that's your job. What about in life?"

"My job is my life! I get to help people's lives slightly less miserable. I bring light to those who live in the shadows of factories. I am a conduit for commerce and it sustains me."

I thought about what he said. I thought it was the dumbest fucking thing I'd ever heard. I said, "That's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard."

He didn't miss a beat. "I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like some books on how to be happy in an awful world?"

I ordered the whole set of books.