This room that I write in is cluttered. Which is very symbolic of the kind of person I am. But that’s another entry on another day where I'm feeling braver. Right now I'm talking about this room. And its full of crap.
Records surround me. Always. I have shelves of them and them in shelves. Next to books and old art and under shoeboxes filled with receipts and wires and old toys I'm too scared to throw away.
I've got the movie poster for jimmy cliff’s ‘the harder they come,’ rolled up in a rubber band sitting between two 30 count boxes of promo cd’s. I’ve got a box of old mix tapes that are only practice and aren’t good that I refuse to give up because they are actual documents of my growth. I've got lamps. Books. Broken alarm clocks. Shit. Shit all over. Shit for days. I've got a lot of shit sitting on top of my records and that’s not even a fraction of the shit I got.
I've got a model of a wraith from the movie lord of the rings that I bought for a friend for his birthday. Apparently he didn’t want it. Cest la vie. Now its mine and I'm not going to throw it in the trash. I’m gonna keep it.
And the shoes. There are shoes, everywhere. Covering most every inch of my floor space. Old running shoes that are scuffed and split open. Basketball low tops that have permanent stains on their tongues and ripped lining around the toes. Slippers. So many slippers. Warm cozy wintertime slippers and loose leather casual summer joints. Sports sandals and flip-flops. And don’t even get me started on the promotional soccer jammys. Mad shoes. Covering everything. Like a rug on the hardwood. Like a fog on a city.
And bags and belts and electronic equipment that ill never use. Cd’s of all genres. Books of every interest. There are earphones that need repairing and music that needs to be burned and ashtrays and ashes and plugs and files and letters and bills and shit shit shit.
I've got to get organizized. That’s what Travis Bickle would say. I've got to take this life and shape it up. I’ve got to purify myself. I’ve got to do all that. Right after I write. And maybe have a few more drinks. And grow a year older. And rest a bit.