Friday, December 14, 2007
I have stuff.
As a wantabee hippy in the 60s,
I thought I could reduce
my belongings to what
would fit in a duffel bag.
I even included the provisions
for a darkroom, and jumped onto
a bus to Oregon.
Now, if I only had two of everything,
I would not feel so excessive.
Somehow I've acquired multiples of
multiples, and only their inventory
list would fit into the duffel bag.
If my brain remained a mirror image
of the simplicity of
that old army duffel bag,
I wouldn't be so alarmed.
But no, as I look at my piles of papers
and stacks of computer equipment,
video tapes, and books, I can't
help but think that my clutter
must be a reflection of my noodle —
a dead ringer for the serpents of Medusa's head.
I told my grandson Charlie what my teacher told me 60 years ago... that a work of art is finished when none of the original idea remains. So...