My House
MY HOUSE
My home is a place where things can always change. Discarded beer cans evolve into ashtrays and large boxes mutate into trash cans. The furniture has a tendency to migrate from room to room as it feels necessary.
Trash, soiled laundry and miscellaneous items that serve no discernable purpose, flow like vibrant multicolored flora despite my sporadic efforts at cleaning. It is an ever moving organism; constantly trying to take a visible shape only to fall to pieces and return to an undecipherable blur.
My absolute favorite room to frequent would have to be the den. The constant hum of the computer tower is always present. Empty CD cases litter every possible surface along with a plethora of half consumed Food Lion brand soda cans (most of which have been colonized by a brood of cigarette butts). The smell of the den is ever changing and entirely dependent on whatever was last cooked in the adjacent kitchen. A four thousand dollar stereo stands sentry in the far corner next to a virgin fire place. The stereo tower looms like an intimidating fortress of buttons and knobs to a civilization of cds without cases. Because
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