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www.kevacho.com
©2002-2024
Kevin Michael Vance
Writer - Portland, Oregon
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October 02, 2017
Neighbors...
So I've got these neighbors, and I hate them. It's a pure kind of hate, not muddled by morality or ideology, just a hatred born of too much time spent together in close proximity. You see they're on the other side of my living room wall: a wall with no insulation of any kind, a wall so thin I could literally punch through it with one strike. Through this wall I have heard them fuck multiple times in their living room; I have been privy to their rat-looking dog gleefully barking up a storm when I leave for work in the morning and return at night, or more often than not, when someone walks by their living room window; a wall that cannot hide the fact that they like to play an acoustic guitar. This latter fact is the one that drives my ire to pure hatred. And already I have made a mistake; to call what they do to that defenseless guitar "playing" is an insult to all musicians. I have likened it to this- they are blind, deaf, and retarded monkeys banging away at a thing they have no word for with unwieldy digits more akin to plump sausages than nimble fingers. They beat the same inane strumming's out of the instrument every time they sit down to go at it, with all the pomp and circumstance of a butcher cleaving through meat. And they do this every single day and every single night of their pathetic little lives. (They are as far as I can tell, both shut-ins- they never leave the apartment, they are always there.) I wouldn't be so full of hatred and malice if at some point they improved. I mean, even at this point, for as long as they've been doing this, a blind, deaf, and retarded monkey would have at least discovered, even by accident, a different tune; or improved as it concerns their picking and or strumming. But no. These two idiots just keep dully banging away the same god-awful strumming day in, day out, night in, night out, a constant stream of mediocrity and ineptitude that would try even the most patient man.
This is the soundtrack of my life when I'm not working, a living breathing festering sewer of humanity. And yet I go on. Oh well, at least there are headphones.
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