The White Suit
Polyester. Flammable. Priceless. Never worn outside. Okay, once — but it rained, and it was worth it.
Do not touch
Please Remove Your Shoes
This is the part of the house I built for a feeling. Museum-quality artifacts, museum not included. Viewing by appointment, or whenever I can corner you.
Polyester. Flammable. Priceless. Never worn outside. Okay, once — but it rained, and it was worth it.
Do not touch
Laminated, framed, and insured for more than my car. I have not told the insurance company what it is.
Do not touch
Bought online from a man named Gary. Gary says it's real. I have chosen to trust Gary.
Do not touch
He's a pilot, so I bought a toy plane. We are, for all useful purposes, co-pilots now.
Do not touch
Ordered once in his honor and preserved in resin. Do not eat. Do not ask me to explain.
Do not touch
Worn out from rewinding. I talk back to it. It does not reply, but it listens better than most.
Do not touch
He is the reason the shelf exists, so he gets the shelf. He does not get the website.












“Everything in this room is a piece of a plan. The plan is a dance. The dance is waiting on a partner. The partner is on the wall, looking fine, and completely unhelpful.”
— Chilone, giving the house tour