Contents of the Bag

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I’ve always been fascinated by stuff. It’s a troubled relationship. As a teenager, I was of the ascetic school, fantasizing about monks in mountains, philosophers in cabins. It was the idea of zero, attractive, impossible. Jack Kerouac (the one I’m always trying to distance myself from, like a political party of which one was once a member) — he wanted the same, and got to about the same place in his pursuits: You simplify, simplify, simplify, until you realize it’s a game. Certainly too many people have too much, and it’s usually these who worship the ascetic, it’s these who stow their valuables and head in the opposite direction of those who have lost everything or never had anything in the first place.

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