Paper Trails Can Lead You Places From Which You Struggle To Remember the Way Home
All my months of sorting have given me a better sense of the scope of my "archives" without doing much to instantiate a new and improved attitude towards them. Sometimes I feel the first stirrings of an urge to be rid of the rubble. But then I remember that it's less the result of natural destruction than of the aesthetic impulse to construct ruins that precede the passage of time. Pas faux? Perhaps. Still, to dispense with the material would be to invalidate my existence, which is mine whether it's authentic or not. Maybe I just need to acknowledge that I'm less an anantiquarian than a purveyor of pre-distressed goods.