Stepping back to look at the whole picture now, and I see my room. It is not specifically my room in the sense of ownership, but to be that specific, neither is it belonging to my father but rather the bank issuing whatever mortgage there is. I see an ugly room, perhaps through the eyes of an outsider or someone who knew little about things besides the aesthetic, though to my own eyes the beauty is slowly warming.
There are bits of this and that, none of which are too important; the marble mortar and pestle in which I grinded some salt for personal alchemy, the coffee pot which serves dutifully, the prism and dinosaur contstructed by 3-D printer for the sake of my daughter’s development, the nag champa incense for deep meditation or special guests. There below the fold out table, on which sit several computers and the stereo receiver for my home sound system, and the Numark Mixtrack PRO II audio interface for my Traktor DJ program, hanging from some string is a quad T5 lighting fixture which I procured from a temporary position at a lighting retailer in town for the solid discounted price of $9.66, which is roughly the price of a single fluorescent lamp. It is being used to grow Marketmore 76 Cucumbers, Marvel of the Four Seasons Lettuce, Serrano & Cayenne Peppers, and Brandywine Tomatoes. They are thriving under there, if not a bit yellowed from the homesick nature of being kept under artificial lights for extended periods–something with which I identify due to my period of incarceration from Summer 2012 until Winter 2013.
There is the forbidden drawer, with hundreds of feet of various ropes, sisal, nylon, cotton Magician’s Rope–there is also the Hitachi Magic Wand personal massager with four attachments I got for a bargain from the internet, the various cuffs and pleasurable torture implements. This drawer is reserved for only the very most special guests, of which there are few lately, whose items were collected on behalf my interest of keeping a very exquisite and rare creature under my spell. She broke that spell in six weeks, which broke my heart for six months. Plus.
As I step back, I take it all in, and realize the grandiosity of my little life, and begin to consider everyone else out there with their nooks and crannies and baubles and bibelots. The things you can’t see are even more numerous, upwards of forty thousand songs, novels and poems and smut, all of a passing quality, and educational material digitally swirling among the other debris across several hard drives (though never enough!).
There are Coral’s little Elsa Croc’s, designer clogs with Disney emblem–a high ticket item only Grandpa had the heart, and wallet, to purchase for my daughter. The memories in this little room, the experiences, the joys, and the terrors.
The absurdity of it all.
And in sum the human condition rears its fanged visage to spit the venom of discernment cleanly into my mind’s eye–it is to this fate which we are all doomed: To stack, to collect, to grow accustomed-to, to feel, to think, to love, and finally, to lose.