• stuff •

• stuff •
Paring down – it’s come to that time of life: but, what to “throw off”, and, what to keep. That’s the question, repeatedly, in my mind, of late. Sometimes, it all seems so simple. And, then again, sometimes, not.
“Ill-fitting things”, must, of course, go, without question. But, what defines, “ill-fitting”? Well, obviously, anything that doesn’t “fit”. But, what defines, “fitting”? Well, isn’t it obvious, on a case, by case, basis? Well, to be completely honest, not exactly. In full honesty, by no means – and I do mean that. So – oh, my – it’s to be “fuzzy logic”, is it? Oh, Lordy, me! Oh, man. And, here, me, fresh out of LSD.
Well, off the top of my mind, Phil Collins, I could do without, truthfully, and it’s not because he’s short, so, naysayers, nip that in the bud, at the outset. Sorry. Never a fan of Genesis. Never for me, made a lick of sense.
As to clothing:
Do not put before me, a load of unnatural fibers, and expect an hardy “huzzah”! Poly-anythings, collect B.O., like a rehearsal studio, in Lower Manhattan, on a Tuesday night, at the Sandra Cameron Studio. Plus, for me, wearing even a fimble-full of the stuff, against my skin, makes my heart pound fast. If I wanted my heart to go fast, I’d hang out with what remains of the Allman brothers, and Cher, with a penchant for death. Been there. No thanks. It’s all-natural fibers, for me, from here, on in, thank’y. Wool. Linen. Cotton. Alpaca, etc., etc… Yeh, unbelievably, that’s me. Mister Natural. Oy vey.
[An aside: if you know me, at all, then, you know that I am not wealthy – I “make due”, and will, I suspect, until I am officially carted away. But, if you wash your own clothes, as I have done, since the age of fourteen, then, you will have noticed, probably, on your tumble-dryer, the setting, “Air- Fluff”. I know, it sounds, “fluffy”, which is to say, “silly”, or “insubstantial”, but, let me tell you, if you have wool sweaters, “Come to Papa, (or Mama),” you may say, with alacrity, for you have found a friend, come Winter. Pop ’em in. Those sweaters, those “hand-washables”, those “delicates”. Air-fluff, won’t shrink, your precious Cashmere sweater, and won’t dismay your “lambs-wool” shirts. It’s true. I’d swear upon a stack of Alpaca cardigans, against a tumble of Llama-lined briefs.]
Then again, when it’s cold and windy, look for leather, on my bottom-half. And a plethora of split-cow-hide, on the “above”, where the major organs like to abide: I tend to be bent, that way. Come the snow-storm, that would be me, grinning, despite the blustery winds, with the five-second sound-bite, about the “loveliness of the day”.
~ Tim Burchfield



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