Watched this icicle grow and turn murderous over a period of a few days spent hibernating with a couple of historical avant-garde manifestos, a couple of foundational postcolonial texts, and a couple of Frankfurt School philosophers. After a day and a half of cancelled classes and a good three feet of snow on the ground, the snow on the roof came crashing down, knocking the icicle off my window. I still look for it first thing when I wake up. I guess I’d become strangely fond of its company.