(no subject)
Pink Floyd turned down low and it's time for introspection. Can't seem to get my loose, vague thoughts down on the page, though.
Keep wanting to just get rid of all my belongings except for the utilitarian items, such as some clothes, sleeping bag, tent, etc. What's so important about it all anyway? I've got a memory, what use are items kept only for nostalgia? What use are posters, candles, books I love but have read a thousand times, clothes I rarely wear, letters and cards and school assignments and journals, childhood toys, dishes, binoculars, uncomfortable shoes, fancy coats, my old computer, cassette tapes, scraps of fabric, clothes that need mending, knick knacks, boring posed family portraits, board games, and a thousand other things? What use are all these pretty, purposeless possessions? I have a pair of hands and an imagination, I can make new pretty things anytime I want.
But then when I sit down with a giveaway box in my hand and start sorting, something goes wrong and I get all caught up in the nitty gritty and this is why my room has been a mess for two straight years. I want to be ruthless and get rid of most everything. In my head and my heart I know that life is not about collecting things, it's about living.
Lots of time I want to grab what fits in my backpack and walk out the back door, and keep walking far, far.
Once I'm gone from here, from this basement, from this house, I'm not coming back. What I mean is, I'm not living in this place any more, and it will never again be my home. It's a negative place, a tight, shrivelling place. I can't be fooled into thinking there is nothing good ahead of me.
I know that I am going to be free.
Keep wanting to just get rid of all my belongings except for the utilitarian items, such as some clothes, sleeping bag, tent, etc. What's so important about it all anyway? I've got a memory, what use are items kept only for nostalgia? What use are posters, candles, books I love but have read a thousand times, clothes I rarely wear, letters and cards and school assignments and journals, childhood toys, dishes, binoculars, uncomfortable shoes, fancy coats, my old computer, cassette tapes, scraps of fabric, clothes that need mending, knick knacks, boring posed family portraits, board games, and a thousand other things? What use are all these pretty, purposeless possessions? I have a pair of hands and an imagination, I can make new pretty things anytime I want.
But then when I sit down with a giveaway box in my hand and start sorting, something goes wrong and I get all caught up in the nitty gritty and this is why my room has been a mess for two straight years. I want to be ruthless and get rid of most everything. In my head and my heart I know that life is not about collecting things, it's about living.
Lots of time I want to grab what fits in my backpack and walk out the back door, and keep walking far, far.
Once I'm gone from here, from this basement, from this house, I'm not coming back. What I mean is, I'm not living in this place any more, and it will never again be my home. It's a negative place, a tight, shrivelling place. I can't be fooled into thinking there is nothing good ahead of me.
I know that I am going to be free.