Mark Blackwood, Untitled. Digital photograph, 2013.
Mountains graced the abode of a certain fellow. For decades, this retreat in the heart of San Francisco provided space to a slow accumulation of packaged goods. By the time this dear mouse left the mortal world, a legacy of clutter was testament to his name. Every square inch of space was utilized to welcome the arrival of each new commodity. A set of lower cabinet shelves in the kitchen housed stacks of unwrapped National Geographic magazines. Metal shelving units graced living room, hallway and bathroom to support unopened boxes of VCR players and recorders, a voluminous amount of uncut plastic-wrapped packages of recording discs, 8mm projecting equipment and metal lockers of 8mm films, DVD and Blue Ray discs, an inventorium of unknown proportions. Sisters arrived from the South; they came and left, unable to account for the narrow passageways betwixt these mountainous ranges through which they once and only navigated the apartment. Nay, it was left to the building manager to take account of a hermetic life lived in electronically animated seclusion. Just an initial trip to remove the first truckload of film discs resulted in $500.00 worth of sales to a San Francisco video store known to pay $1.00 and $2.00 per second-hand disc. But for all the organizational worth of this seasoned hand at the follies of human entries and exits, what to do with three unopened cases of Vaseline?
dpduckworth 
David: I love the phrase “… electronically animated seclusion.” Perhaps we’re all moving toward that, some with more baggage than others. Thanks for sharing. Perri
Dear, Perri. I find the disconnection between people to be frightening. I am trying to stay connected, but without the surrogate devices that give us the sense that we interact. Yours, David