I scrolled through to the end of the very long and angry screed without bothering to read it word for word. I decided not to look at dozens of other unopened messages with headers such as: The Denizen Really Sucks, Taylor Wimpey Ripped Me Off, Taylor Wimpey Unfinished Estates Shoddy Workmanship & Crumbling Homes, If This Is A Luxury Apartment Then I’m The Queen Of Sheba, and The Denizen’s Feng Shui Is Killing Me. I wanted to die during orgasm but the daily flood of complaints from my fellow ghost home owners were a depressing distraction from my erotic fantasies.
“Feng what's the matter? What's this murder Edgecombe’s told me about? Good grief! What’s that anti-Masoist rant written in Tao's blood on the wall? Shake in you shoes bureaucrats! Stalinists denounced by the ultra-left indeed! No wonder Lenin branded left-wing communism an infantile disorder! My God, this whole building has such terrible feng shui! I wish I'd never bought an over-priced so-called luxury apartment in The Denizen.”
Hermann had bought into the Denizen off-plan, an iconic cascade in the heart of the City of Old London Town, built in the something-or-other vernacular. The super-glossy brochure promised James Bond in the luxury, bespoke cinema. Plus a play room! The most exciting rumour was of top-notch escort agencies operating a 24-hour service in the … Continue reading Deni-Zen: 1
Junkies became a problem around here a little bit before The Denizen was built. There used to be a police section house where your luxury apartment now stands and when that had coppers living in it, the junkies stayed away. But as soon as the old bill went the junkies took over. They use the telephone box just outside The Denizen as a shooting gallery. We’ve been trying to get the phone box removed. It's known locally as The Cripplegate Shooting Gallery. There's a huge problem with both used needles and human excrement.
At the foot of my bed stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was tall with a face like Lu Xun and the brow of a banana tree ghost . She had the sweetest pair of eyes I’d ever seen. But there was something in them I didn’t understand. It wasn’t just bewilderment, it was as if she looked out at the world from inside a dream. The woman regarded me with a curious sort of wonderment and my manhood stood to attention beneath her delirious gaze. “Where am I? Have we met before?” “I don't think so. But don't be alarmed. You are quite safe. You must have been sleepwalking." “But where did I drift in here from?” “That is a question you will have to answer. Do you live in The Denizen?” “The Denizen?” "We’re in The Denizen!” I cried. “This is a luxury apartment block in the beating heart of the ancient ward of Cripplegate, just outside the original walls of the City of London, an area historically notorious for its cony catchers, bawdy houses and molly houses.”
Shake in your shoes bureaucrats, the international power of the workers councils will soon wipe you out! Humanity won’t be happy until the last bureaucrat is hung by the guts of the last capitalist! Long live the factory occupations! Long live the great Chinese proletarian revolution of 1927 betrayed by the Stalinist bureaucrats! Long live the proletarians of Canton and Xinjiang who have taken up arms against the so-called People’s Army! Long live the Chinese workers and students who have attacked the so-called cultural revolution and the bureaucratic Maoist order! Long live the Wiccan revolution! Down with the state!