“I can’t get rid of useful things” by Sasha on her couch

Tuesday May 1, 2018
9:19pm
Carpet Bomb
Kenyatta Rogers

“Never get rid of useful things,” Homer says, leafing through a Chinese food take-out menu from 1993. The restaurant’s closed. He’s comparing prices of spring rolls and proving his point about inflation. I wouldn’t call Homer a pack rat, or a hoarder, but I would call him a bonafeid collector. They say that our greatest gift, is also our greatest challenge, and that definitely applies to Homer.

“Touch anywhere” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday March 23, 2014
5:14pm
5 minutes
the Air Canada seat screen

When I meet Ray, he comes to his turquoise door in a red, velvet sweat suit, the hooded jacket unzipped to just above the convex beginnings of his belly. He wears wraparound sunglasses. He dies his hair a dark auburn and combs it a bit like Elvis. “Hi Ray,” I say, like I’ve done this before. “Come in!” He says. He shows me around his bungalow that looks like it belongs in Greece, or Las Vegas. Ray lives in a suburb of Buffalo. My friend Kitty tidied up Ray’s garden every spring because he liked to have big barbecues for his neighbourhood and wanted it tidy. His house is organized in its overwhelming chaos – stacks of phonebooks and newspapers, but the newspapers were bound. The recycling is in piles of “like” thing (frozen pizza boxes were collapsed neatly and stacked together, for example) but looks like it hasn’t been taken out since 1998. He was a chihuahua named, Franny, which, if I’m not mistaken, was also the name of his wife.