Where the Magic Happens
So this is The Bed:
Over here you can my windowsill, where I keep my belongings most of the time because it is within reach of The Bed:
Note the warehouse in the background which is the view from my window. I have no idea what they keep there but I have decided that my top preferences are, in order, cigarettes, soap, and stolen Dutch masterworks. SPEAKING OF MASTERWORKS:
This actually took a while and is still sort of precarious because I am bad at things/my walls are weird/&c. But it pleases me. At this point I feel like I am never going to grow out of my tween-y wall art preferences, i.e. lots of postcards/stuff ripped out of books/old pictures scavenged from garage sales stuck up in a random pattern instead of Paintings or Photographs in Actual Frames. A brief tour through the current exhibit in Museum Kate at Kenya:
The Goo cover is from an actual compact disk, LOL. And the picture at the right is from this great place in Ames called Casual Revolution that was tragically only open for like 14 months. To me it looks a Suprematist composition almost but on the back in pencil it says “east side of garage”.
“Little Bit O’ Heaven” is I think from a big envelope of old pictures I bought at a flea market in Virginia my sophomore year of college. The river picture’s from an antique store in Marquette. In the middle is something I used to doodle a lot, a tree on a hill with the roots visible beneath it. Around the edge it says “your firmness makes my circle just / and makes me end where I begun” from “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning”. I used to think I wanted this as a tattoo until I realized how pretentious I would sound talking about Donne all the time, a prophecy I then fulfilled by getting a Berryman tattoo.
Okay I got tired of taking pictures so the rest of it is: an Epictetus epigram that Bobby Gibbs made on the JE press three years ago; a card from a Civil War generals deck (J.E.B. Stewart, eight of clubs); a picture of a menu board that says “I’M SERIOUS”; a picture of two people kissing made entirely of vegetables; a Keith Haring postcard from New York; an “ELVIS LEBT” postcard from Munich; a polaroid of a cemetary labeled “May 1960”; a ’20s (?) picture of four women on all fours; a postcard of Nina Simone; a postcard of Egon Schiele; and a picture of a horse painting in my parents’ house that my mom slipped in my suitcase before I left.
So. Sometimes the stuff falls down when I open the door too fast, and I might have to pull some caulkmagic when I move out of here, but so far my little images clothesline (picture staff?) has been worth it. I think the reason I decorate this way is probably the same reason I like lists: there’s always been something more interesting to me in a group of disparate but somehow related parts than in a unified entity. Accumulating meaning instead of deriving it entire. “The whole is other than the sum of its parts.” Or I just never got over the desire to piss off Dad by taping things to wall and ruining the paint. Go fish.