Going... going... gone.
That is nuts. I can’t imagine making it big as a poet and my tatty blanket I had as a kid selling for thousands!
My handwritten journals. They go back to age 12 and track my evolution as a writer and internal states (and secret longings and stories)
Fran Lebowitz has a clever photo essay in which she showcases the objects from her life as an unknown writer -- threadbare towels, an ashtray -- as an estate sale catalog titled "Mementos Pori."
Honestly, it'd probably the Consider This you've signed for me and Snow. I don't think I own any things of value currently. I'm also not famous. That's helps lol
This is tangential to the question you asked, but the discussion made me think of it. Years ago I had an elderly neighbor who died alone and wasn't discovered for several days. She didn't have any close family, and no one came to clean out her apartment, leaving the building super to have to deal with it. The apartment was on the 5th floor, which happens to be the top floor of the building. Rather than hauling all of this woman's belongings down the stairs, the super took them to the roof and threw them off. I will never forget sitting in my living room and watching all of this woman's possessions falling in front of my window. Her entire life ending up in a broken pile behind the building. It was one of the most depressing things I have ever witnessed. That was probably 15 years ago, and I still tear up thinking about it.
Joseph beat me to it, but my signed Chuck memorabilia (followed by the rest of my autograph collection) of course!
I was prepared to pay any price for the personal effects of my favourite composer of all time Oliver Schroer. It turned out that the winning bid (at a virtual auction in 2008) was ~US$22. It still breaks my heart (and I did get the stuff and pay multiples of the bid.. there's no rule against that).
I don't run in circles where anyone would want my belongings. Although I'm slowly trying to divest of my turtle collection, mostly to innocent kids who haven't shunned materialism.
I like eating off my grandmother's chipped dishes though.
I have some artwork that might be worth something. But the wire scalp massager? That will sell for a grand.
I’ve just started a collection of antique medical supplies as a new hobby. Small things really so far but cool stuff. I’ve got a 19th century bone saw, an old irrigation needle, and a dissection kit. I want to work my way up to bigger items like an antique but still functional EST (electro shock therapy) machine. My hope is that this is the most valuable of all things.
I keep a rock by my bedside table. I call it my Gratitude Rock. Every night, I hold it in my hands and think of at least three things I’m grateful for. It’s the last thing I do before I pull the covers up and close my eyes. I’ve had this bedtime ritual for years now. I even travel with the rock, keeping it in my carry-on. Too anxious to leave my totem in checked luggage. Still waiting for a TSA agent to pull me aside and ask about my rock.
I own a collection of soccer cards, 2004-2005 season of the Spanish League. I forgot about it ti'll now tbh. I'm calling my mother, to check if a young Lionel Messi card is there, might be worth something. Besides this, a lousy copy of major arcana tarot cards, worth jack shit. But, I love how the cards look, very Holy Mountain-esque.
My grandmother recently passed and the things I wanted most were her African toy doll that she'd decked out in racially insensitive clothing as a child, her robotic talking alarm clock that startled me at all hours of the night when I sat with her all night towards the end, and a 1980s wedding photo of a young black couple that no-one in the entire family knew when we found it. All of them now have pride of place in my living room.
When I go, whilst I do hope my massive book and CD/record collections go to appreciative homes, I also hope there are things found that touch the same nerves those things of my Grans did with me.
I always think the 'crap of life' is way more interesting than anything actually worth money.
Chuck, do you still have the pixies?
If I become successful, probably my desk, which I hardly ever actually sit at, since I have to move around. I got it at an Indian-British furniture shop here in Sweden. My favorite thing about it is the restoration of the gold-colored edge on the green leather desktop. Someone used a gold glitter pen to try and replicate the stamped design by hand on the corner where it had all been scraped off. It's motivating when I'm struggling to do some monotonous task to think about the restorer painstakingly copying that intricate pattern. It's a desk for grind work.
The article was written so very well!! Wow— read like silk feels.
Funny, I morbidly think about my possessions selling at an estate sale. I know the Pyrex will do well and vintage chalkware hangings. Actual photos of rockstars from a local photographer that took them— most of all— a brick from James Dean’s high school when the gym was being torn down. I grabbed one from the pile in Fairmont, Indiana while visiting many years back. There are photos to prove it. Then, my massive— subversive book collection.
I can’t get past what I read about the super throwing the woman’s things off the roof and it being watched as it falls past a window. That hurts. Reminds me of the Instagramer in New York— the trash walker— all the things she has come by as people pass and their belongings are thrown out of their apartments— beautiful Christian Dior and Gucci ties— paintings— all tied up in clear trash bags on the sidewalk. That was someone’s life. Ugh.