As satisfying as it seems to get a bunch of junk out of the closet it seems the pile of garbage never recedes. Today I piled up another heap of useless electronics. A virtual reality headset none could ever use again. A no-name bluetooth keyboard its origins I cannot even remember. Packaging for cheap trinkets that look like it cost more than the trinkets contained within.
From these boxes and suites of e-detritus I salvage what should still be useful: USB cables, earbuds, adapters. Things small enough that I feel not like the accumulation is rising, but also not that it completely recedes, as will eternally happen to all objects, people, places, and things.
The same is true for the garbage in my head. As much of it as I expel the more rises up, a sinus-like endless burbling of mucous weeds, each blob of mental snot struggling to emerge before the other, dying instantly upon exposure to the air and light, as if being first matters in the rush to die.
Everything down the drain. Everything. Or up, I don’t care which way, just so the drain works and effectively incinerates all that is, all that we know.
So much comes out yet so much stays in, wanting out. Is it an allergy? If so, there is no allergy pill for this.
