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House | Feb 28 2003

Yesterday I had an idea to build a house out of something, only now I’ve forgotten what it was. I was talking on the phone with a friend and she said something that made me think of these things, whatever they were, and so I said I would love to make a whole house out of them. “Like we used to do with Popsicle sticks,” I said, “but on a grander scale.” It was a funny idea, I swear.

What was it? All I remember is that the forgotten things were somewhat larger than Popsicle sticks but shaped kinda like that. Also, I was going to have to ask certain people for their used stockpile of these things, only these people weren’t going to give them to me, I don’t remember why not. Also, these people may have been corporate people, although I could be wrong about that.

Two paragraphs ago I was certain I was going to remember and in fact was trying to slow down the process so I could write what I’ve just written in a genuine state of forgetfulness, but now it seems I may never remember.

Another clue: It struck me at the time that the idea was yet another one of my anarchist fantasies. I’ve been noticing this a lot recently. Half the things I think are ideas for a world that can never be, a solar-powered utopia in which the bad people lose every time and you can make houses out of anything you want.