Bay Window (Part IV)

Yes, there have been too many posts to this effect, but I do spend the majority of my life in front of this window. And if I can't think of anything to put down, what impresses itself on me? It's the recourse of the lazy and recently unemployed (something I'm thankful for).

Well, today I'm thinking about our neighbours' front yard. It's best feature is that it's empty. By which I mean just dirt surrounded by trees forming a grotto-esque atmosphere. Except they had to bugger it up and throw down a dozen of those concrete slabs right into the middle of it. A discarded and melting (I'm not making this up) folding chair is facing toward my window. They ruined a perfectly good concept just like they buggered up their backyard. I once studied in there, on the hammocks tied to the unreasonably large sideways-pointing trees. (Some of the oldest trees in Toronto, by the looks of it.) That was a fine and peaceful experience, except for the textbook which was crushing my abdomen with its erudite mass. We haven't been back since this new crop moved in. Sometimes they burn random shit in there. Every other day, piles of garbage adorn what was a pretty unspoiled piece of urban-decay-turned-wilderness. (A family of raccoons lives in there, or somewhere nearby.) They also like to start hobo fires (garbage-can fires). I think they took our hobo fire can. So it goes, I guess. I suppose these neighbours are not the worst of it: between the rapist lurking on our street and the homeless people sleeping in the community garden (more loud than scary) they're pretty mild.

Consider: "Probably the single most influential articulation of a poststructural anti-universalism in the area of postcolonial studies remains Gayatry [sic] Spivak's 'Can the Subaltern Speak?' in which the author has famously declared that 'the colonized subaltern subject is irrevocably heterogeneous.' " (Actually, don't consider.)