We have a lot of clutter. I personally hate clutter, and I like to spend my money on experiences, rather than stuff. Stuff collects, doesn’t mean anything and is a waste of money. A wooden carved turtle reminds me of a trip to Antigua, and that’s fine. My t-shirts consist of bands and geek stuff and places I’ve visited. Craft brewery shirts.

Experiences. I have books galore, comics, video games, movies, box sets of television shows. A healthy collection of music from the Forties to now.

Experiences.

But stuff… stuff drives me nuts.

I have cigars and lubricants and sex toys. A well stocked bar, beer fridge and wine rack. (I am nothing if not decadent; the world’s quietest hedonist.)

Experiences.

Cookbooks, cooking supplies. Practical items like lawnmowers and vacuums.

Useful things. Experiences.

Not… stuff.

Stuff sucks. It’s junk. The kind of stuff that should never be anywhere near a house. And I know everyone’s experiences and what they enjoy are different, but if it doesn’t turn you on, if it’s not useful, if it doesn’t speak to you of something you’ve done or could do, then fuck.

What’s the goddamn point?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1105 words, novel: Father Lightning