On Things

July 14, 2011 § Leave a comment

I am moving into a van. Due to some strange circumstances, GT and I have been forced out of The Magic on Mississippi. He’s moving in with his girlfriend. I’m moving into a 1971 yellow Dodge conversion van.

I had to get rid of most of my stuff: furniture, plates, glasses. I saved some clothes, my instruments, my books and my favorite low ball glass (which I didn’t mean to steal but did in fact steal from a gay bar in SE Portland. I was walking home and thought I’d just take my scotch with me). As weird as it is to move into a van, I love getting rid of things. We have so much we don’t need. So many plates and couches and televisions to tie our bodies down and our minds up. Good riddance.

I long for this feeling of freedom in space. So much of our lives are dedicated to a sort of anti-entropy campaign, where it’s like we fight to constrain ourselves – in neckties or blue jeans, in houses filled with gee gaws and knick knacks and jimcracks, in lovers and debts and boxes filled with files and photographs and ticket stubs. Let’s sell our couches and our coffee tables and buy back our souls with the money we get and burn our papers and store our memories in our minds so we can just take them with us when we go. I want to always be leaving, never arriving, always on my way out. I like the feeling of being on the run.

Give me a bottle of whiskey, a good book and a dry, lonely place to put my head and I’m set.

Well here’s the evidence of human existence
A splitting binbag next to two damp boxes
And I cannot find a name for them
They hardly show that I have lived

And the dust, it settles on these things
Displays my age again
Like a new skin made from old skin
That had barely been lived in

I didn’t need these things
I didn’t need them, oh
Pointless artifacts from
A mediocre past
So I shed my clothes, I shed my flesh
Down to the bone and burned the rest

-Frightened Rabbit, Things

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