there's these dumpsters i walk past everyday on my way to work. they sit in the corner of a parking lot of what once was a big box pet store. the dumpsters attract all manner of disused detritus; piles of garbage, and odds and ends tucked neatly behind the stolid metal box. an oxymoron. the box itself is clearly marked that it is meant for cardboard. and though this is the case, we all know the penchant for some people to outright ignore such signs and so they are wisely locked, so no errant material can go inside.
and i've always noticed that these disposed items don't last long around the boxes. someone is clearly cleaning up after the litterers.
what bothers me most about this strange choreography is it demonstrates how we view our stuff or how little we consider its possible value to someone else. our dumpster is often full of dispossessed furniture and household goods.
take this piano. it has fallen victim to the same fate. but unlike all the rest of the supposed trash left behind it has been left to suffer the ignominious fate of being harassed by elements and vandals like a carcass left for a succession of scavengers. every day that i walk by its condition is a slightly more dire. i was immediately attracted to it and attempted to tap something on its keys. imagine my disappointment when it didn't respond. to my chagrin i also observed that its surface was covered in a cheap plasticky veneer, curling in protest to the rain. surely, when it was originally disposed it was still of some value. to someone.
it was to me. with my lack of knowledge of these things, i thought that surely its internal workings held an intrinsic value and i thought that someone, anyone, should see them.