defined as: a material that can be seen and touched.

so this idea that it will end makes me wonder about those left behind, about those left stuff. to seize being in my capacity and plan for them. where does all our stuff dissipate too? i look for clues and found some when it shows up in the background of this video that was shot seven months before the great Johnny Cash abandoned his stuff for good. The team that brought this song to light were varied and talented and on display below, but look at the stuff from his now closed down House of Cash museum in Hendersonville, Tennessee. Listen to his words about the stuff, look at the disintegration of it, it happens to all.

“Trent Reznor was born to write that song, but Johnny Cash was born to sing it, and Mark Romanek was born to film it.” — Bono

museums are overflowing with gifts from benefactors, lives of collections bestowed to them and the responsibility of caring for them. one thinks of these things as life begins to taper off, like an end to a vacation and only so much fits in the luggage. so one leaves a few things out, edits it down a bit further, there are things left over. if a fire were to break out what would you bring? your laptop and passport aside, are there objects that without life would be different? one goes over the objects in their head, Marie Kondo says you must love the object, must feel connected a hard stretch but they do help decorate life for some of us. we can place them around our homes, use them from time to time, and marvel at both their usefulness and insignificance. after acquired, they typically do not need much care. they are not like the living things, filled with emotions and needs, they sit on mantels and tables, displays of crafts or vessels for other objects, they are relatively easy to deal with. dependable, stationary and constant.

in our quest for meaning objects seem as good as anything to bet on. physical manifestations of miniature conquest. collections that become games and ornaments that allow us to distinguish ourselves from others. we are naked without them, they come to define us as much as we value them. the loud motorcycles and delicate silk scarf as different as night and day cross in front of us, both attracted and disgusted by certain elements in each one. nothing matters more, nothing less then the bundles of objects all around us we scatter and collect and place memories and meaning into.