Things Fall Apart / Things Pile Up: Junkyard House (Photophobia / Via / Larger).
Among the various low-grade forms of insanity that constitute normative behavior -those tics and quirks that are common enough to statistically override their seeming aberration- we can distinguish whole worlds of unclassified dysfunction. One area of lunacy that resonates: the panic one feels over the accrual of things, the anxiety one experiences when one realizes how much stuff one has, how it hems one in, how it can never be organized, cleaned, sorted, arranged, used, perfected, or discarded.
Maybe there ought to be a name for the dementia of object-anxiety; maybe there is. In the absence of a name, a disorder is just a description, and no matter how bizarre it is it disappears into the private sphere of individual idiosyncrasy: one retreats into one’s junkyard house and nervously wonders what to do with all these wrecked machines.
