Ain't LIfe Grand in Fayettenam?

I sit in my room, I sit on a shelf, like an elf.  Delphi.  Smelt.  Smells like fish.  Smells like rendering animal fat.  Smells like cat chow.  Funk, and not the good kind.  Smells.  I sit in my room, and it hovers all around me.  Funk.  Electrical funk.  Acoustical funk.  Not the good kind.  For the period of one month, funk, for the period of one month, we, the underprivileged are inundated with funk.  Electrical funk.  I have not been able to work in my home recording studio because of the funk.  I call it the Fayetteville death ray.  It is on right now.  The first time I experienced the Fayetteville death ray I lived in Cow Town.  (Columbus, OH)  Ohio I say.  I lived five hundred miles up the road in the Midwest, but I could feel the Fayetteville death ray as clear as a bell.  (That doesn't make sense, but neither does the world in which we live today)  I could feel the Fayetteville death ray.  I was evicted from my apartment for threatening my neighbors.  First when I moved in the maintenance crew did not torque down the sink trap.  I bumped it with my popcorn bowl, and it moved just enough to allow the water from my sink drain to pour underneath the unit.  Straight through the cabinet floor underneath the unit.  In a week or so that rogue water accomplished something.  I don't know exactly where it went, but suddenly the subflooring of this apartment came loose.  Now when I walked inside there was play in my floor.  It was like a trampoline.  The inside floor of my apartment was a trampoline, and now when my neighbors walked around my floor moved.  I'll repeat that.  When my neighbors walked around next door, my floor moved up and down.  It made me sick, and I wrote them a letter asking them if they could take it easy.  They were not sympathetic.  They did not understand that water had been flowing from my sink to the underneath part of my apartment for over a week.  Where was that water going?  I complained to the management, and they came and went into the crawlspace.  Clearly I heard them say, "He has a leak."  Then promptly they boarded up that same crawlspace, so no one else could take a look.  The denied any damage to the subfloor.  It was a gymnastic event, living on a giant trampoline with three people next door competing.  I've never felt so sick.  I complained to no avail.  They denied any damage, so I put the rent in an escrow account downtown.  This did not go over well.  Before the apartment manager could get her rent, they had to attempt to make a repair to the floor.  They did not.  Instead she evicted me and turned me over to the FABCO collection agency.  She also gave my personal information to a telemarketing company, so the junk mail just began flowing.  It took a while, but I used Legal Aid.  They negotiated a bargain with FABCO, and got her request $1,400.00 down to $400.00.  Promptly I paid the debt.  It now was reasonable.  She had trumped up the fees including replacing linoleum in the kitchen where my piano's wheels had made ruts.  I asked her first if it were okay to have an acoustic piano.  She said yes.  I drove all the way, five hundred some odd miles, to Fayettenam  all the while getting closer to the source of my disturbance.  While my subfloor was damaged by the water and possibly cracked, there was another element at play.  It was the Fayetteville Death Ray.  When I pulled up in our driveway, opened the door of my Toyota Tercel wagon, and stepped onto our asphalt driveway there it was.  The Fayetteville Death Ray, not to be confused with Jeff Ray who was a guitarist who attended OSU when I was there working on my doctorate.  Jeffy was hit and killed by an Amtrack train while taking promotional photos for his music career.  Jeff was killed by an oncoming Amtrack train.  How could they not hear this train?  A passenger train traveling over sixty miles and hour, and they didn't have time to get out of the way.  Damn.  Poor Jeffy.  I instinctively knew he would not live long.  I knew it when I met him at OSU.  Jeff would not live long.  He would die tragically, and he did.  It is a tragedy.  I stepped onto our driveway, and I could feel my movement reciprocated in the air.  The air in Fayetteville was pressurized to a point of being animated, only it wasn't.  It wasn't animated.  It was not cartoonish and happy.  It was alive, moving, and angry.  If I pushed on it, it pushed back.  Later I discovered these are the properties of "Standing Waves."  RADAR is a standing electromagnetic wave.  Instead of dissipating into the air they stand.  Acoustic standing waves are created in a variety of ways, and often if there is a reported haunting it is because of an acoustical standing wave.  Standing waves mostly are low frequency, because they have much longer wavelengths and move more air.  Below twenty hertz they become sound pressure rather than audible sound.  Vic Tandy can tell you a thing or two about standing waves.  He has studied them.  Later I came to understand what causes this pressurization in our air.  We are lucky to be at the crossroads.  It's too bad I can't strike a deal with the devil and find success in the music business.  Instead at our crossroads we are at a common point for multiple rail freight yards.  Yahoo!  (and not the internet kind)   Multiple rail freight yards.  How, you say, is that possible in the burgeoning megalopolis of Fayettenam?  Easiest answer?  BRAC.  Previously before BRAC there was Bush.  What's worse, BRAC or Bush?  They are about the same.  Bush Sr. invaded Panama back in say 1989?  This is when I became depressed for the first time.  I was living in Columbia, South Carolina.  I no longer was working for the university in their music department, and I was living a Park Place Apartments.  For some unknown reason my mind and my senses shut down rendering me helpless.  After many years of trying and exploration, it only was a few months ago I connected Bush Sr.'s invasion of Panama with my depression.  Able American fighting forces mobilized and descended upon Panama from all directions.  It must of been something.  All of these American military bases bugging out to harass Manuel Noriega, who died only recently about the same time my father passed.  It is fitting I guess.  My depression was from low frequency sound previously that did not exist.  My tuned, sensitive, and artistic inclinations using sound in music were being bombarded by the war chants of Bush Sr.'s invasion of Panama.  AC traction had just come into existence in the railroad industry, and rest assuredly they were going to use it to haul all that military might around the world.  Still they are doing it, and it all originates at Military Ocean Terminal Sunny Point south of Wilmington, North Carolina.  Here in little old Fayettenam we are lucky to be in the cross hairs of multiple rail freight yards.  What you say?  How is that possible?  Multiple rail freight yards?  1.  Honeycutt Marshalling Yard, Fort Bragg.  (Their mainline runs underneath Gruber Rd., where they have built multiple loading ramps to be able to load munitions on the down low.  These are in buildings and go underground to the tracks hidden below Gruber Rd.)  Please correct me if I am wrong.  With BRAC came Ground Forces Command and a plethora of other high profile military commands.  Shit is coming and going 24/7, especially since our Army is a privatized security force for corporate America.  Ask Cheney.  Along with those underground ammo dumps, I'm sure there are a handful of nukes sitting in silos.  All in all it has become a high profile establishment, and little old us are of no consequence.  Who cares if they load trains 24/7 with heavy haul AC traction locomotives, like the Taos Hum transmit low frequency sound and vibration through the ground.  We are so grateful for such a thing.  That is just number one.  2.  DAK Americas.  CSX-T hauls out their polyresin supplies, and evidently N/S switches them.  My Google Maps shows a Norfolk Southern locomotive sitting in their freight yard.  I would wager my left testicle that that old hunk of junk has been rebuilt to AC.  3.  River Terminal.  This is the Aberdeen and Rockfish's piece of cake.  I always ask the question why a shortline railroads engine house is in Aberdeen, but they drive those antiquated rust buckets to our fair town to do their business.  Whore?  10:45 A.M.  Used to be their engineers would blow that infernal annoying horn.  It toddles past our neighborhood, a two stroke turbo-charged outdated diesel engine, to the N/S switching yard on Russell Street.  It is unmistakable, the vibration of this machine.  Always I have said it is like sleeping on the hood of a running eighteen wheeler.  We are so lucky to have this each and every day, an A/R locomotive or two freely roaming around Fayetteville.  Then they drive back to Southern Pines to bed down for the day.  They drive to Fayettenam to do their work, then drive back to Aberdeen.  Convenient set up, huh?  Isn't that nice.  I'm sure Pinehurst appreciates it as well.  Do you're dirty work in "The Ville" and come back to a golfing community to rest.  3.  CSX-T Milan Yard.  They have been putting trains together continuously for one month.  The engines run all night, sitting, idling, just the way Hunter Harrison would have wanted.  That's four, right?  Four discreet railyards, and what is the bonus prize?  If I take a scale and measure the distance to each of these railyards on a Google map, what is the result?  1., 2., 3., and 4. all are about the same distance from our crossroads.  Five miles.  You could have not achieved a better triangulation in high school geometry class.  Assault from all side, north, east, and south.  What's on the west side?  The Normandy Drop Zone.  Ain't life grand, in Fayettenam?