babyblue babysock yellowpaper drinkumbrella

– a baby blue baby sock
– a black hairband
– the orange disposable razor cover
– a bright blue piece of glass
– green beads as if from a mardi gras necklace
– a Nokia cell phone battery
– two green tags as if from teabags, but without their teabags
– a yellow paper drink umbrella
– a “keep this ticket” ticket from a parking garage
– pink foam peanuts


“I spent my childhood as a boy in the midst of my family, always enthusiastic about toys and string, and always a junkman of bits of wire and all the prettiest stuff in the garbage can. When I was a kid of eight my father and mother gave me some tools with which to work wood and I began to do everything it took to augment my toys.” Calder

I have what might generously be termed an obsession with Calder. If he were alive, I would stalk him.


I think I know what the book wll look like now.
1. it will be a book of ghost-poems. i’m still considering various titles, among them A Treasury and hauntography.
2. the paper will be handmade from found paper and possibly from found water (ie, the cleanest sewer or rain water i can find). only the ink will be non-found, unless i happen to come across an ink cartridge that fits my printer.
3. the book will be bound with found string. there is plenty of this.
4. the flyleaves will be made with whole sheets of found paper that are too pretty or interesting to be made into pulp for the main pages, such as the shiny silver paper i found last week, or the short story page that Ginny found.
5. each book will contain a small souvineer. So far I have collected about 7 objects that I think would make good souvineers. They are not so much “trash’ as they are “treasure,” although they were found on the ground.

This means: I need a blender.
The books will probably not be done till summer.
You can have one for free if you want a book about litter that smells like sewer water and is made of trash. Otherwise, you have to pay for it.


I have become more used to being the strange girl who picks up trash, but I rode the bus to school today (and walked home) and found myself muttering to myself on the bus. It is one thing to walk along muttering to oneself and picking up trash on relatively empty streets. It is quite another level of madness to mutter to oneself on the bus. I need to beware of this.


About Jessica Smith
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