Everything There Is In My Apartment

My winter coat. The other winter coat I like more. My “Jesus Got Er Dun” hoodie I bought drunk in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. A zip up hoodie. The hooks the coats and hoodies hang on. A metal trash can. A roll of bags in the bottom of the can under the trash. My running shoes. My wet running clothes and dry ones from the last two days draped over a metal rail. A garbage bag I spread out beneath them to catch the sweat. A small rug I don’t like pushed into a crack.

Five cabinets. Three packs of pasta I have used some of. A can of sauerkraut. A bag of sugar. A tin that used to have Christmas cookies in it but I ate them. Some plastic bags. A box of instant grits. A bottle of lighter fluid. A coin tray I bought at an art show. Mail I am saving for her. Four cans of housepaint. A paintbrush. A coffee maker. An ice cream maker. Five pots and pans of various sizes. Some discarded shelving materials I have no idea where they came from or why they are here. A tennis racket she left behind. A long skinny rug.

My refrigerator. Two sacks of ice pops, one unopened and one mostly empty. A mostly empty box of ice cream. A box of Omaha Steaks hot dogs someone gave me a long time ago, frozen. A box of berry-flavored LaCroix. A mostly empty two liter of Diet Ginger Ale. A Brita. Two random beers that have been in there forever. Condiments. Some sushi takeout from two days ago.

A jar of JIF. Two bottles of Tanqueray, one half empty. A bottle of Bulleit, one third empty. An empty decanter. An empty flask with a B on it. A stopper for the sinkmouth. A dishwasher, partway full with dishes. Five clean plates. Seven clean bowls. A box of tea packs. A chip clip. Two wine glasses. Two coffee cups. A to-go cup. A salt shaker. Hand soap. A roll of paper towels. A BIC lighter. A coffee cup that says Laugh Out Loud on it and that I’ve never used. A sculpture my mom gave me one year for my birthday. A small black trashcan. Raid. Liquid dish soap. Dishwasher soap. Windex. Mr. Clean. A paintbrush. A blue cup. An oven. A microwave. A block of knives. A sugar container, empty. Lightbulbs. A box of salt. Coffee filters. A chain. Some random keys. A box of baking soda I don’t remember ever seeing. A trivet. Scissors. Loose papers about the house. Silverware. The plastic silverware tray. Various kitchen utensils including ladles and can opener. Storage bags. Two screwdrivers. Pliers. Zip ties. A coozie. Extra router wires. Instructions for the stove. Instructions for the dishwasher. Instructions for the disposal.

A small tall kitchen table and two stools. A lamp hanging from the ceiling. Various unopened junk mail. Press sheets for books I have been sent that I didn’t throw out yet. An empty red water cup that’s been there more than a year. Postcards in a stack. Another plastic flask with a sticker of a girl in her underwear on it. Some water tablets. A stack of recently acquired books. A stack of coasters. The pool pass. A piece of art a friend gave me for my birthday. A single quarter. A runner’s odometer I found at a state fair and have never used. A Polaroid my sister took that is mostly black. A cable modem I have not returned to Comcast. Four pictures in frames. A router. A cable modem I actually use. A multiplug strip. My shoes. Some papers I left out on the floor so I’d remember to do something with them.

The central heating unit. A large blue plastic tub I use for mopping. A mop that’s falling apart. The water heater. A crappy broom. A dustpan. A plunger. A plug that goes to something but I have no idea what or how it got in here or why. A paint can opener. An extra filter for the heater though I can’t remember how long it’s been since that was changed. The pipes that rise out of the heating unit and the water heater to carry the air and water around the house. The emergency fire water system piping.

A slot machine I won at a poker tournament with books and folders piled on top of it. The cube the slot machine sits on. A stack of books I have received from places I do not want. A tote bag. A rolled up poster for a reading I did. Polaroids my sister taped to the wall. Three pairs of shoes I never wear. A tall house fan. A paper box full of paper. Some art I bought from a friend and intend to frame but haven’t yet. A framed photo of a parking lot I bought at a thrift store and never hung. Hanging clothes that fill about five feet of space on their hangers. Boxers. Running clothes. Socks. A sit up facilitating machine I bought but rarely use. A mat for sit ups. A softball bat I found in my parents’ neighbor’s yard when I was twelve. Two containers for dirty clothes, one for regular, one for exercise clothes. A blanket my mom made out of my t-shirts. A computer case I don’t use. Two shoulder bags. Two extra sheets for my bed. Three sweaters. A chest of drawers that only have clothes she left behind. A down comforter my sister gave me. A sleeping bag. A framed poster of the Cremaster cycle. A tall lamp that doesn’t work. A light up portrait of Jesus. Extra towels. A poster tube. A fluffy blanket I have never used here. Jeans I no longer wear. Some CDs still wrapped in plastic. My bass guitar in its case. A priority mail mailer full of chapbooks. Two paintings I did a long time ago. A tall roll of brown paper I started to write on and put away.

A wicker basket. Two kinds of cologne I never wear. Allergy medicine, OTC. Watkins salve. Various generic antihistamines. Hair gel I never use. Gold Bond cream. Softsoap. Listerine. My toothbrush. Three kinds of toothpaste. Chapstick. Deodorant. Q-tips. A book someone sent me and I don’t know why it’s in here. A pick for cleaning teeth. A mirror. Six lightbulbs, all of which are burnt out. Empty box for Q-tips. A travel case with scissors and things. An electric toothbrush without the charger. Lotion. A sample of cologne. The box one of the colognes came in. An ID card for someone I’ve seriously never seen before. One bandaid. A Harley Davidson keychain. Matches. Razors. Daytime cough syrup. Nighttime cough syrup. Claritin. A travel sized deodorant. Wart remover pads. An old prescription medication bottle. Tiny scissors. An empty bottle of cough syrup. Two bottles of shaving cream. Various bottles of cleaning supplies. Toilet paper. Downy. A travel case for contacts and solution. Drano. Tinactin. Another toothbrush. Extra shampoo and conditioner. A pack for fixing the flush mechanism on my toilet I have been too lazy to use. The toilet brush. A trashcan with some trash in it. An overhead light. The toilet. The bathtub/ shower. Shower curtain. Shower liner. Two kinds of body wash. Two kinds of shampoo. Conditioner. Bathmat. Three towels.

A tall black Ikea bookcase. All the copies of all the journals I have published in. Back issues of literary magazines I have bought. Books about poker and some books I haven’t been able to figure out what to do with. A sticker than says “Guns don’t kill people lazers do.” A drawing by my sister. My iPhone charger. A copy of The Recognitions on the floor that’s been there for about a year in hopes I’ll actually read it. Three large posters from a book from the 70s I bought from a library sale. A box of copies of my last book I have to remember to take with me soon. My laptop’s shoulder bag. Some wires in the bag. A pen in the bag. A multipurpose tool in the bag.

Two pillows. A down comforter. Sheets, mattress, boxsring, bedframe. Two blankets my mom made out of my old t-shirts. The clothes I wore today and took off before going running. A travel bag. A rubber band. Dust.

My bedside table with one drawer. A white noise machine. A reading lamp. A thing of post-it notes. Ear plugs. Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. A wooden bust of Don Quixote my mom gave me when I was little. Two pens. A foreign coin. A note I wrote “Bunker Sigstop” on in my sleep. Two collages by a friend. A mixed media piece by another friend. A doo rag. Some CDs I’ve never listened to. Lube. Medication. Condom wrappers. My passport. A ziplock bag of push pins. Charger to an old phone. An old phone. A pen. A Comcast work order. The box my iPhone came in. A bunch of literary magazines and books I have not read and don’t intend to. A box I have no idea what was in it. Chap stick. A mostly blank handmade journal.

Two large Ikea cube bookshelves. A sh-tload of books. A wine holder shaped like a giraffe. Two small sculptures of heads. Loose change. A print out of Jesse Ball’s The Way Through Doors. Several tiny chapbooks. My AWP badge from two years ago. Old batteries. An electronic toy that reads your fortune. A glass die. A sharpie. Tao Lin’s Brittany Spears stickers. A Newcastle bottle cap. A letter someone I don’t know sent me written in calligraphy. Some CD-Rs. A baseball card with Elvis on it. A candle. A postcard advertising Enter The Void. A Wachovia receipt. Matches from a mexican restaurant. A pen. A magnet that says don’t give up. A ceramic turtle. A chip clip. A small stone on a fragment from a blue headband she mailed me. A mexican jumping bean toy. A tiny calendar. A ceramic man playing stand up bass. A coin bank shaped like a hippo. A lamp from Ikea. A bright blue chair. A space heater. A collage of a man’s head I bought from a friend. A stack of books on the floor I plan to read soon and so leave out where I will step on them. Clothes I have recently taken off. A windbreaker. A folded pair of jeans. A drawing of a chicken Andrew Weatherhead sent me and I have yet to hang.

Two smaller bookshelves containing books I have not read yet and some copies of books I have published. The remote control to my cable box though I no longer have cable or the box. A pack of plastic playing cards. Some HTMLGIANT business cards I always forget to carry with me. A wallet made out of duct tape I got online and never used. An audio book in CD form read by Will Oldham that I didn’t like the story of. A cork pot placemat. A bible. Some literary magazines. Two paintings recently given to me that I like to just have laying there as I pass. A pin with Adam Robinson’s face on it. A digital camera I never use.

My desk salvaged from a high school science room. The can of LaCroix and glass of Bulleit I am drinking from. Two novels, a book of poetry, a magazine. A letter. Lots of pens and Sharpies. A container of Tootsie Rolls with no Tootsie Rolls left in it. A pamphlet of payment stubs for monthly payments to my HOA. A pack of page labels. A bookmark my mom made. Two thumbnail drives. An external hard drive. A gift debit card with $.49 left on it. Some chapbooks. A plastic case for carrying trading cards with a few loose Magic: The Gathering cards leaned in it. A pencil. A paper clip. A chapbook. A chair I took from my parents’ house that has been in my parents’ kitchen as long as I can remember.

Two large DVD racks lined with ~200 DVDs I’ve bought over the last ten years. A large painting I made last year by painting over someone else’s painting I won drunk at an art auction and decided I hated. A rug my mom bought me after I said I couldn’t find a rug. A small collage I bought from a friend. An MS Paint portrait of Muggsy Bogues I bought from a friend. The ceiling fan. A long black coffee table from Ikea. Several random books and magazines stacked on the coffee table. A pen. A burnt DVD of an interview I did for a local public access channel. A chip clip. A pillow on the floor. My larger black leather sofa. Two green pillows. My iPhone. A book called Arcana: Musicians on Music. My Macbook Pro. My Macbook Pro’s charger. My headphones. The sweatpants I’m wearing. The boxers and socks I’m wearing. The t-shirt I’m wearing. Me.

My entertainment center. A flat screen Philips TV. A set of speakers and a remote to control the volume. A DVD player. A VCR. A multiplug unit. Two cases containing movies I burned about five years ago. An audio control unit that I no longer have the speakers to and is not plugged in to anything. A blank journal with gold edged pages. The DVD’s remote control. About 40 issues of The Believer. Several issues of a few different literary magazines I haven’t looked at since they were placed there. A bunch of random wires I no longer know what go to what. The box my wireless router came in. A printed out manuscript of my last novel with handwritten edits. A DVD of the original version of Funny Games left out from where I got it out last time I watched it.

My black leather recliner. My black leather loveseat. Shoulder bag containing all the Magic: The Gathering cards I currently own. Two brown pillows. A stack of back issues of Vice. The Atrocity Exhibition by J.G. Ballard. A book on Alejandro Jodorowsky a friend sent me. A pen. Five sets of blinds over five different windows of varying size. A large art piece by my sister. A slightly less large framed collage I bought last year made by a friend. A small floor mat. TC mark

image – loosepunctuation

More From Thought Catalog

  • Mr Huckyfinn

    doesn’t sound too mundane to me.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=612928768 Samie Rose

    TL;DR

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Breonmr

    interesting concept but i think you could have done much more with it (in half the words)…

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • ???

    what the fuck is this

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • jess

    thought the last paragraph would make it all great but eh

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Anonymous

    …..I leave my Ikea bookshelf to my brother John, and my silverware to my friend Stacy………..

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • JessSaysHi

    I really wanted you to weave more of your story with her in this. You teased me with snippets but I  wanted more from this. More story. More loneliness from the items she left behind. A space that she no longer fills.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Anonymous

    I don’t know why I read all of that.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Hazel Butnik

    Holy Shit.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • http://twitter.com/tannnyaya Tanya Salyers

    Congrats on taking a full inventory of your apartment.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Emily

    dude..wash your clothes

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

       what do you mean

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1363230138 Michael Koh

    sell your dvds

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

      • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1363230138 Michael Koh

        200 is a lot, that’s basically what i was saying

  • guest

    SERIOUSLY, TC????? This was chosen to publish.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

       what do you mean

  • Anonymous

    Good job, Blake.  Interesting.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      thanks andrew

  • Sama

    I started reading, then scrolled down, then saw that the whole thing was a list, then I just stopped.

    • http://twitter.com/blakebutler Blake Butler

      what do you mean 

  • Sal

    What do you mean?

  • Natalie

    I liked this piece. I’m moving soon, so it feels somehow relevant.

  • Kffb

    what do YOU mean blake butler?!? HUH?!!?!

  • Anonymous

    Gatlinburg!!!! I love that city/town/real-life amusement park.

  • Blazes

    Blake, dear, you forgot the air.

  • http://www.facebook.com/grc15r Gregory Costa

    blanket, laptop, pillow, dead hooker, poster, cell phone, backpack 

  • richardkiyosaki

     upload a picture of the potrait of muggsy bogues, please

  • Blake Butler

    what do you mean

  • Joyce Bermudez

    what does this mean?

  • ;)

    i like u blake butler

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