Clutter, even clean clutter, is clutter

- 2 minutes read - 322 words

I had a mess of cleanliness.

I mean, I had heaps of clean clothes.

When I came home Friday night these heaps of wrinkling cleanliness taxed me, drained me, and brought me dooowwwwnnnnn (do that in a Jim Morrison voice when you read it).

I took care of that.

I cleaned my bathroom.

I took the heap of clean clothes off my bed. They had been sharing the spot where typically a girlfriend, or wife, or stuffed teddy bear should go.

As I have none of the last three, I didn’t mind sharing the feathertop with my bleached-clean whites.

With the clutter gone the dynamic of the place has changed. I don’t feel quite so drained.

I watched “From Hell” (not good) and “The Good Girl” (yeah, ok, whatever).

This cleaning is a real drag, but a messy place, even if it is messy with clean things, is a psychic drain.

I think I’m a bit off because I stayed up way late last night watching the Moyers interview with Joseph Campbell. I’m a sucker for that hero with a thousand faces stuff.

I’m hungry now.

My sister sent me 2 discs of her pictures . They’re so fine to gaze upon - the warm haze of Spain the chill of Amsterdam.

Looking at those pictures reminds me of something.

I love the way my sister asks me things. The way I tell her about the signs and signals of far away tribes she doesn’t know. I love the way she patiently listens and doesn’t roll her eyes (too often). I think about the music I hear there, and the colors and the breezes. It’s so wonderful.

I think about teaching kids signs of our tribes. How do you read long hair on men and cigarettes? What does it all say, what does it all mean?

It’s magic.

God help us all return to the state of being bewildered instead of clever.