Everything wears out. I think that is the law of entropy or some shit. More years ago than I care to remember. More years ago than I can actually remember, I ran away from home. It was all part of my exodus from Maryland and then my singular diaspora back to California when my shit got too weird for even me to handle.

I sought enlightenment then, I worked at a little restaurant in Santa Barbara, lived in Sterling’s extra bedroom and explored consciousness. Somewhere in this twisted blog I think I wrote about sitting on the woofer and building a small sensory chamber in my closet, but I don’t think we spoke about the curtains.

The goal for the sensory space was to keep light out. In this endeavor my buddy Sterling and I made the sojourn up to K-Mart and I reconnoitered to find some fabric that would be thick enough to use. Finally I settled on some very large very thick black terrycloth bath towels.

This was neigh onto 15 years ago. When I left, the towels came with me and in Chicapee’s hands they were returned to their original purpose.

Getting out of the shower just now I grabbed for a towel and pulled back an artifact. Now it has bleach marks where somebody fucked up the wash once upon a time (undoubtedly me) and it is now a moth grey instead of sterling black. But still it serves its purpose. Sure, maybe it’s not as absorbent as it once was, but it still hangs proudly in whatever spot we call home and presents itself for my pleasure and my toilette.

Out in the shed there is a cupboard with old towels. These are the restless souls who are no longer presentable enough to hang in daily service. They may have holes, or stains or just be worn through in spots. They’re no longer proud absorbers of moisture dripping from human skin, but have been retired to wiping up spills and polishing bumpers.

When they retire from here they rest in an even more remote pile that gets cut into smaller pieces. Now they are disposable, lapping up one last spill before they become compost themselves.

It’s hard for me to tell exactly what my towel age is. I don’t think I have been squared or shredded yet, but there is something comforting in knowing that I will eventually be towel lint.