June 26, 2006

(Mostly) Fictional Friday (on a Monday)
His writing life began by virtue of being an inveterate collector. At age eight, hiking in the woods, he'd pick up rocks and lift up bark and whatnot in a hopes of taking something home in order to extend the experience into the morrow. He wasn't yet conscious that collectors don’t have experiences for experiences’ sake but for the re-experiential purposes: a photo, baseball card, a book.

A natural outcome of the collecting mentality was to preserve travel memories in the amber of a journal despite the fact that he rarely went back and to re-read what he’d written. But he had great need to preserve the experience in writing as a hedge against a "travel famine".

Only permanency was charismatic. He liked the experience of things but didn’t take them too seriously due to their short shelf life. They vaporized upon contact, so ‘twas better to collect some artifact that could be referred to repeatedly in the future. Later he would begin to believe the rather obvious fact that life on earth was itself extremely impermanent.

Maybe there were three kinds of people, he thought. Those who live for the moment. Those who collect for an earthly future. And those who collect for eternity.

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