The pyre

Between the purely practical and the purely sentimental lies the vast bulk of the stuff we collect.

It might have a use and/or it’s imbued with some sentimentality.

Disposing of that is the tricky bit. It’s kind of all or nothing.

I realised that spines on bookshelves weren’t the barcode of my life.

I had a big fire of all the things that don’t define me.

Yes, I’d like to think that was everything.

A coronal mass ejection of stuff.

A pre-emptive strike on sentiment.

Decommitment by diesel.

Fire, and forget.

I stopped curating landfill. Think of it as material anorexia.

But I notice that minimalism never goes full bore.

You’re just saying, ‘I can do without everything…except this.’

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