Many things cover my room nowadays. I say nowadays because of the fact that growing up, my parents prohibited any sort of pasting or tacking onto wall kind of things. When people walk into my room now, there has to be something going off in their head going “something is up with this guy…” or at least that I am weird. Maybe, of course, because that is just my honest opinion. My family thinks of it as a waste of money. A total misuse of common sense, and well, damn straight stupid.

Before, I bought into the whole “it will ruin the paint” or “the door is wooden, so you can’t put anything on it.” Dude, screw that... at least I finally came to that conclusion when I was presented with a room all to my will, as to what I put up in my part of the walls. This was dangerous. A nineteen year old boy with his first debit card ever? Yeah, that boy won’t show much restraint. It has been four years in the making, but when I came to college with five suitcases and thought that was my family being excessive, but that might only cover two thirds of the shit I own now, so joke’s on me am I right?

I can’t necessarily consider them to be for the room, but combining that money with all the concert shirts I've gotten across the gigs I’ve been to in the past is a sizable amount of money, so maybe my parents are a bit right to judge me for buying so many posters.

Tapestries, photographs. Framed ones, ripped ones. Concert ones, some from abroad. Lights, blankets, rugs, televisions. So much in the bag, I don’t even know where I’ll put the two couches and tv stand when I haul it out of here. Future me probs.

I love it. No one telling me what I can have put up, or how I can arrange stuff. Maybe I’m letting that teenager in me not die just yet, when he had to give up on it and settle with empty walls, but one reigns true, and forever will. I had always wanted it, always desired it. In movies, in tales. In family friends houses, in their office or guest room. I thought they stopped making them, as rare as a Stradivarius. I thought they were lost to the ages, and I thought they were pretty much unreachable to me. Something that makes time stop, or go as slow as you want. It draws you in, makes you be weightless as you drift off into the distance. You change shape, you go up and down. Endless, so subtle you barely feel it at all. You forget where you are, the place you are in now is the past. The rock music blasts in the background, echoing round the walls of your body.

“Kid just look online.” I can’t believe I had been that stupid. Shipped in three days, plugged in by the fourth. The lava lamp just sits there now, my peaceful metronome. ~ad astra ultraque