I’m not a collector, at least not anymore. I moved into this new apartment in April, and it’s refreshingly empty. Right now, I’m enjoying this minimal life, unencumbered and full of possibilities. There are a few things that survived my purging, I admit. There are a few books I’ve kept like the worn-out hard-cover of, The Moon and Sixpence and a book of quotations from my father’s library. I decided to leave I love Dick and several Murakami books I can easily find at any corner bookstore, though I regret not taking Rimbaud’ s A Season in Hell. It’s funny to think I shipped my rock collection across the Pacific via cargo ship, but…