i'm trying, really trying, to get rid of all this stuff i spent so many
years accumulating. ever since i was a child, i was a collector, and i still
have every baseball card, foreign coin, and Mad magazine i ever bought in
my innocence, thinking: some day i'll sell this stuff and be rich. too bad
every other collectible-savvy kid of my generation had the same notion. but
it's not just about the money, it's about material sickness, compulsive
acquisition to fill the void of purposelessness. or maybe it's just the
inevitable consequence of mass market conditioning--buy this, buy this, buy
this. [on the surface, this probably does not seem like a very effective
sales pitch, but i don't think most of my fellow americans will believe me
when i say owning stuff is a sickness, and so i hope to sell myself into
material absence.]
anyhoo, the sale-ing goes on, with another open house this saturday morning,
but that's not the point of this. the point is i had just managed to unload
about a box of books when what to my wondering eyes did appear in the mail?
a box of books from my sister in minneapolis! whoa. and in this box of books,
a campy diet book, which in itself is mildly amusing, but what got me laughing
in the midnight kitchen was her own (forgotten, i'm guessing) childish
underlinings. i think they're pretty great, so here ya go, scanned and ready
to click through.
maybe tomorrow i'll scan a used tissue.
open up
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