Poetry, art, music, books, stories, adventures, love, visceral experiences, passing moments, fantasy, observation, the unknown, falling in love with new songs. These are some things that come to mind when I think about what is my “necessity”. Not my physical necessity; everyone needs food, water, a healthy dollop of anxiety, but more my spiritual necessity. To keep me in good spirits. It’s funny how something can just throw you back into things you had maybe forgotten, or just let go the hand of somewhere.

I’m shedding things. Real things. In preparation for the great migration across the plains in reverse, I’m paring down what I call my own. It starts with you, shelves full of poorly organised square objects. Maybe you too, multitude of mismatched desks bearing all my musical paraphernalia. I could lose one of you. Maybe all three of you. No one is safe. All you similar guitar effects pedals, you trinkets, you cords! Fear me.

I entertain myself with the idea that one day I could write something. I mean, write a piece or collection of pieces and show them to people. Poems? A novel? Novella? Short stories? Non-fiction? Who knows! I oscillate between fantasy novel, fantasy short stories, just regular novel, regular stories, and poetry. I think I’ll still collect poems anyway for some currently inscrutable purpose. But stories, I have only very few of those. Do I need to make more?