Sunday, May 8, 2011

What I keep.

Am reflecting on how I naturally arrange objects in my personal space (with the exception of the cat). Sometimes I look to my things to remind me who I am and where I came from.

Once upon a time I used to collect absolutely everything, and I mean everything. Everyday I'd find different things on the street, hub caps, stand alone frying pans, small pornographic photos and fill my pockets with the left over starburst wrappers that came in so many pretty colors. Which meant my room was this claustraphobic shrine. The objects took over and often I'd find myself sleeping between piles of things, unwilling to move them because they were asthetically pleasing. Like there was a big god like camera watching from the outside. Was very much the same with my wardrobe. I'd sometimes buy things just because I liked the fabric and hang them up, never really bothering to wear them.

This isn't so much the case anymore, because eventually I couldn't stand it anymore, and the great purge commenced. To most this wouldn't seem as such a huge life event, but it was definitely a turning point.


  1. Hah, you actually hung that thing I gave ya.

    I find it amusing that you have an outlet cover without any sockets.

  2. Morgan, I know and like that you support my blog. But sometimes it makes me uncomfortable when you use the comment box to somehow stake a claim to what I post, or abstractly make it seem to the other readers (if there are any) that you play a larger than average role in my life.

    Please refrain from sharing personal things in a public forum, it's not the place and tends to make a statement that's meant to be warm and warp in into something resembling self-gratification.