my flu hurts

I’ve moved four times in the past year, all within the same city. The personal connections I developed with each neighbourhood is, well, it’s not really a spiritual thing- more of, like, a quasi-sexual relationship. Mmm, well, maybe not so sexual, but the same kinda idea: I get attached to it for it’s physically appealing attributes (flaws and all); it’s character; it’s uniqueness from other neighbourhoods; it’s valuable ass(ets); it’s smells; etc.

So when I look out my bedroom window, I can’t help but feel a bit excited. Looking at my neighbourhood- the place where I live- through the eye of my window, the strangest thoughts go through my mind, reminding me of that stupid infant failing to grasp the difference between square pegs and circle pegs, confused, yet still learning. When I see low-hanging clouds floating past my apartment window, the permeable ceiling reminds me of my own mortality. And I can see my eyes gazing out at my neighbourhood, fascinated, yet terrified.

At first glance, these connections seem loose, at best. Why are the clouds reminding me that there’s an imminent end to my once-thought-to-be infinite life? I guess it’s the whole star-gazer thought process: the environment, which we all learn to externalize so strongly, when you stop and think about it, clears the mind. (Isn’t it ironic that the very thing that we pollute so faithfully works to clear or depollute our minds?) And I find it fascinating that thoughts traditionally inspired by stars, nebulas and galaxies can be inspired by the very thing that prevents me from seeing them: clouds! Star-gazer’s thought processes when the clouds are out- isn’t that impossible? But, when there’s not one other thought going through your mind, it’s easy to start thinking like that. You’re forced to internalize when you stop daydreaming, and life becomes clear.

I find all my neighbours fascinating. No matter if they’re crazy; if they play their music so loud I couldn’t even concentrate on Jesus Christ himself; if they ask me about every detail of my life; if they speak perverse franglaise, drunk on bad wine; if they want me to babysit their kids for an entire summer; if I suspect them of beating the Tuscan shit out of their tiny wife; if I smell feces-like odours coming from their apartment; if they yell at me to turn down my music cause they wouldn’t even be able to concentrate on Jesus Christ herself.

I have a nice view right now, but even without a view like this, I make do.