I've always envied those with room for all the things they've collected along the way. Sticks, stones, shells, whatever. You see, I've always lived in an apartment - one bedroom, one bath. And collecting that sort of shit seemed inappropriate. Over the last few years, however, I've made space. I've started collecting things. Little things. Don't know how it happened. Suppose it helps me remember where I've been and what I was doing there. A piece of red rock from Moab, a brick from Tiberius' mountain mansion, a shell from somewhere down south. Pieces to a puzzle. Picked up a few more on Friday.
1 comment:
Know what you mean. I don't have a house and I've never been one to collect big dumb souvenirs. But I have taken to collecting tiny fragments, insignificant to others, but to me they represent a place, a person, an event.
I travel by motorcycle, space is *really* limited, but I'll find a corner to jam tiny things. A bit of green beach glass is Tofino, a tiny conical shell is first night camping in Baja, a bead necklace is a girl in Mexico, a volcanic rock my friend in El Salvador, a matchbox a cockfight in Panama. Biggest thing I made room for was a Lucha Libre poster from a match I saw in Mexico, and that folded flat.
These little scraps somehow make the memory concrete in a way not even a photo can. A piece from the past like a little bit of time travel.
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