By now you should know that this coatrack is actually the ever-elusive
it. The Real Thing, to quote Faith No More. There are statues
of Elvis and dead presidents, but no coatrack statues. For the
coatrack is the statue itself... a testament in whatever form, medium,
flavor, style, to some strange feeling that there should be a place
for things.
A dash of I think I know... and I find myself strapped into
chairs of rigid thinking... like how my dresser isn't a coatrack.
But it seems it is, no?
Coatrack/sweaterrack/flannelshirtrack... This desire for a place to
put things, a place where things belong... Where did it come from?
Walking out the door and thinking, Hmm, I need to go back and get a
sweater...
Seeing it makes sense to put some new prop somewhere...well, there you
go, it makes sense. Plant a sweater tree next to the door.
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