Over time, I realized that each piece of furniture in my little apartment at 26th and 3rd Avenue had its own collected frequency patterns that, in human terms, are called memories. I should clarify that these phenomena were not limited to my personal possessions, but as my apartment was where I spent the largest blocks of time, my interactions with objects there were the most acute and sustained. The fact that every stick of furniture I owned was second-hand, and, thus, had a history of previous emotive environments exacerbated matters somewhat. One particular wooden chair, liberated from outside a gutted building on the lower East Side, had a dreadful history with several past owners. The chair had been present during acts of truly sickening abuse and violence, including an attempted but drunkenly botched murder. I’d had the chair for many months, but after divining these facts I could no longer tolerate the thing in my environment. One night I took it back out to the street and left it standing upright at the curb. Somebody made off with it inside of an hour. Good riddance.

 

A small armchair, which I had purchased from a couple in Brooklyn Heights for thirty dollars, exuded the confusion and emotional pain that was manifested during their divorce after only eleven months of marriage. I expect the chair had emitted these frequencies since I’d bought it, but I was not previously “tuned in” to receive them. Each piece of my mismatched cutlery possessed subtle anecdotes of past meals, dinner chitchat, and mixed emotions. I practically hated my old bed now (a hand me-down from a former girlfriend’s parents), and it wasn’t too fond of me either.

There were plenty of objects that emitted more pleasant, even amusing, memories/frequencies, too. There is nothing inherently upsetting about psychic receptivity. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the time, I admit, but I believe that was because I was thrust into the situation unprepared. I didn’t have the option of working my way up some evolutionary ladder by way of, say, first becoming intellectually sophisticated, or emotionally stable, even. The upset and the stress that I’ve yet to describe were the result of the inordinate circumstances, not the advanced faculties.