Friday, August 12, 2005
Fire and Stones
My plants are growing at speeds undreamt of until recently. The sun and the glare of street lamps helps to keep them fuelled up. The growth of those plants, I don't know their names, are the fastest thing happening around here. The shelves are standing still and the ants and beetles are able to hide behind and upon my collection of museum show cases. The rough carpet, hidden by as many rugs as I can afford, shows the accumulation of dust and hairs like a hair dressers salon. The heater hides behind the sofa and I know that it is not quite happy but anyway I have to sit on that side to get the view of the distant hills for eye training. On either side there are neighbours and I imagine they are absurdly cheerful maniacs with an obsession for opening and closing windows at various levels for fresh air and to fend off condensation. The families of the mentally disturbed swear and shout and tell their children to get out of their flat! A man talks loudly out of his window having come back from his regulation weekend night out. He swears and mumbles obscenities about tenants that he does not name and slams the window shut. The corridors are full of people peering out and checking if other people are around, then walking towards the stairs quietly so as not to make a noise, running back up at the slightest pin drop. The cars on the fore court are guarded by the short tempered ground floor people who are able to run out at a moments notice to fend potential young ball players away, keeping there vigil, eyes darting through the gaps in the blinds.
Children play and are turned away. They pretend to swim on the uncut lawn, ruining their new clothes. They kick walls in frustration only to be smacked across the legs and led home. Monday morning crows line up on the grass like policemen with black rain coats searching for today’s dead bodies, spading the soil with their pointed beaks.
