I was trying to relax in my Suicide Tower apartment when there was yet another racket out front, loud knocking on my neighbour's front door that wouldn't let up. I knew Cursula was hiding in there but she knew an admonishment when it came knocking and so was not answering.
I'd stupidly left my front door open to catch a breeze and thus a disembodied voice whined into my apartment, "Could you please help!" I asked who it was and was told, "the RSPCA. We've heard your next door neighbour has a rabbit in her flat which she is treating cruelly, can you tell me anything about it?" "I dont know anything!" I yelled, but the guy persisted, "You've got to do something about it, such cruelty can't go on!" "Look buddy, it's got nothing to do with me. You're disturbing me so please go away!" "But I'm from the 'prevention of cruelty to animals society', it will be on your conscious if you don't do anything to help rescue the poor creature!"
For the zillionth time, I lost the plot, "Listen mate, do you know how much disturbance we get here? The cops, ambulances, the fire brigade, social workers, Catholic nuns and Ice zombies, brawling Kouris and drunken teenage gangs! Now it's the RSPCA! Gimme a break! Fuck off!!!" I heard a gargle of dismay and footsteps receding and returned to the pleasure of reading my book.
Cursula next door not only filled her flat with trash from the dumpster, thinking it's her duty to rescue all unloved consumer garbage, but to compensate for an unloved life, she also runs a menagerie in the junk jungle. She tried to keep a wallaby but it was taken from her and returned to the bush, and losing our beloved Teddy the cat, she's adopted a budgie and a rabbit to run around in all the piled up garbage. I guess this pleased her for the animals have turned the flat into a compost heap, her mulching down with all of it, the rabbit gnawing, shitting, strewing old lettuce leaves about, fungus sprouting from Cursula till she looked like the Swamp Thing. Even when she got moved up to the suicide tower while 'Big Brother' renovated her kitchen, the only thing she took with her was the rabbit, which apparently gnawed all the new furniture and shat all over the temporary flat, and let the bureaucrats know what filth we her neighbours have had to put up with over the years, for armies of mice and cockroaches are forever on the march into my abode direct from her door.
She is so partial to her heaped up rubbish that even when given an ultimatum by 'Big Brother', "It's the trash or your kids, make the choice!" she chose all her precious mess of junk and the State took her kids from her and put them with the grandparents. Obviously, she's mentally challenged. The poor creature's in this sado/masochistic relationship with her boyfriend, Bawl, who relishes verbally abusing her, cursing her vitriolically 24/7 which she laps up like a sponge, used to it from a life-time of abuse, it makes her feel wanted. Thru the thin walls I hear a constant dirt opera sung to much tinkled guitar playing as Bawl is an ex-junkie musician, "You lousy fucking slut! You dirty no good low-down cunt! You sleazy, drug-fucked brainless cow, why do I put up with your rotten existence? Get that rabbit out of my arse!"
"Oh Saul, dont speak to me like that. I'm trying hard, doing the cooking, paying all the bills, and you just sit there playing your guitar, you won't even fuck me any more! Do you want tomato sauce on your sausage?" Such absurd cursing and wailing flies out her open windows and echoes up thru the whole apartment block, making everyone aware of the Bride of Frankenstein and her Lurch boyfriend living down there in the basement next door to me, for all their saccharine "Hellos" to the people passing by their door, pretending they're normal people who care about others' happiness, in reality they couldn't give a shit, they just want to get stoned, fuck and play godawful music to the rats and cockroaches.
They totally don't give a flying fuck about their neighbours trying to live quiet lives, like me. With all the variegated dirt-operas warbling, screeching, hollering and yammering around me, I rarely get the contemplative rest my monk-like nature seeks in the Himalayan cave of my basement apartment at the Northcott Housing Ghetto. Aint it a dirty shame?
