Georges Perec.

I just read him fr the first time today and I already love this French modernist stuff.
Species of Spaces- The Bedroom. Love it.
For my FYW class we needed to take one of the samples from Species of Spaces and rewrite it as our own, taking an entire page.
I chose Placd small thought no 2.
Perec's says "The passage of time (my History) leaves behind a residue that accumulates: photographs, drawings, the corpses of long since dried-up felt-pens, shirts, non-returnable glasses and returnable glsses, cigar wrappers, tins, erasers, postcards, books, dust and kickknacks: this is what I call my fortune. "

Thats the extent of the sample so to extend something like that is a bit difficult becase he doesn't go into detail, but I decided to detail it up. And I'm actaully really proud of what I did. I don't care if its exact, its my own interpretation and I like what I did with it. And yes, its very stream-of-conciousness, but whatever. And to warn if your reading this you might find somethings within that you recognize. And so...


Day go by, passing one into another. Nothing to show but an accumulation of stuff, junk. Miscellaneous items meaning nothing, or something. Remove a box from a shelf and what do you find: scraps of paper, ripped and crumbling, snatches of words legible through the folds, “Love ya, Shannon!” or “What happened with Adam?” Meaningful or meaningless? A flowered card wishing “the Best” from Rob. The results of a failed game of MASH, living in a shack with 17 kids. A peg game. A paper plate “Sweetest.” Hockey memorabilia. A rainbow admittance bracelet. A hospital bracelet. A voter registration card. A British pound. A singing birthday card - “Mmm-Bop.” A wooden ruler. Collections of poetry, bad and good. A card, filled with writing, recollections, and Pamela Anderson. A Grassroots Inc. script for getting money on the street. A collection of snapshots; nine smiling girls on a beach. A sign reading “Homecoming 2004, Go Juniors!” A boy in a suit and a girl in a dress, smiling and happy. A group of young students, none older that four years, awkwardly still around a teacher. A line of cheerleaders waiting for competition scores, expectation and dread on their faces. Three children, one an infant, sitting on the lap of an elderly man in flannel. Four young women on a train, invincible for a moment. Everything and nothing. Postcards of insults, postcards of secrets, letters of hellos and goodbyes- all never sent. Burned down candles, broken necklaces. Doodles and drawings and diagrams of life choices. Pro and Con. Yes and No. A box of cigarettes still unopened. A green plastic lump labeled PICKELEFOUR. A red leather book, filled to the brim with quotes. Ads for plays, flyers for shows, concert tickets and playbills. At the bottom a folded fortune teller. “Yellow, Green, Red, or Blue.” The entirety of my life kept within a box on a shelf. Junk meaning nothing and everything.