My gf and I went to an estate/yard sale recently. It was kinda sad. You could tell that it had been an elderly persons home who had recently moved on to dust, hell, Kobol, or other. There were vintage things like dinnerware with intricate dimensional dots and diamonds, old magazines, cathode tube televisions, knick knacks, and mismatched art. Most objects looked like they hadnt been moved for years. Like many of the household objects, I imagined the former resident mostly just sat around in one room, in one chair, and didnt move much. There was a tiny bathroom. The faucet spoke... drip drip. I bet it did that for years. Someone who didnt need to control situations let it be. Drip drip, constant, like an analog clock. The house had not been updated, so the trim, floors, and appliances, were old. It was like stepping into the McFlys residence in Valleydale1955. There was a rectangular metal tin on the wall that read paper towels. A wooden box in the kitchen that read taters. It felt sad. Imagine if someone took the time to collect all the best of the unbroken trash at a garbage dump, and arranged them into a mildly organized clutter, that was this house. I hope when I die an honorable death fighting a cyborg T-Rex with only a shiv made from my toothbrush, I leave only tools and my art, possibly cat related kitsch, hopefully not mountains of it. I dont want a life of collecting things other people made. I hope to be the creator of things people collect.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 03:52:55 +0000
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