Robin Abcarian, Tribune News Service
Itâ€™s coming up on two years since my father died at age 91. I miss him terribly, of course, but his death left me with a personal struggle I had not anticipated. While you might understandably think his death left a void in my life, it did quite the opposite.
His death left me with so â€¦ much â€¦ stuff. Heâ€™d lived in the same house for more than 30 years, and even though heâ€™d engaged in some half-hearted Swedish death cleaning â€” a decluttering aimed at easing burdens on oneâ€™s survivors â€” what he did, mostly, was just put things in boxes. Boxes I had to open to figure out what they contained after he died. It is hard to describe the feelings of dread and fatigue when I open yet another drawer and have to decide what to keep, what to donate, and what to toss: rubber bands, flashlights, expired passports, ancient tech, electric cords for ancient tech, headphones, cuff links, tie bars, his collection of small colourful bottles, his various higher education degrees (all framed), his uncleâ€™s elementary school diploma (also framed), tchotchkes from his travels that only have meaning to me because they once belonged to him. And, of course, a small libraryâ€™s worth of books.
I want to keep all of it, but I also want to pile it up and torch it. Last week, I was bemoaning this dilemma when Anton, my future son-in-law said, â€œYeah, all the kipple.â€
Kipple? I thought it might be a Yiddish or German word, but Anton told me it was coined by the great science fiction writer Philip K. Dick in his 1968 dystopian novel â€œDo Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?â€
For those who need a plot refresher â€” or have not seen the 1982 movie â€œBlade Runner,â€ which was based on the novel â€” the story takes place in the future, after Earth has been mostly destroyed by a nuclear global conflict, World War Terminus. Most animal life has been extinguished. The population has emigrated to â€œoff-world colonies.â€
The word is used by the bookâ€™s protagonist, Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter assigned to kill some uncannily human-like robots who have escaped involuntary servitude on Mars and returned to Earth, where they try to pass as people.
So what, exactly, is kipple?
â€œKipple,â€ Deckard explains in the book, â€œis useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers or yesterdayâ€™s homeopape. (Dickâ€™s incredibly prescient vision of a digital newspaper.) When nobodyâ€™s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning thereâ€™s twice as much of it.â€
Boom! Every once in a while, a word comes along that perfectly describes a feeling or a situation that felt, until that very moment, amorphous, hazy or indescribable. How did the junk drawer become so jammed? Sometimes when I look at its jumble of stuff, I want to curl up into a ball and go to sleep because I donâ€™t know whether to keep things or toss them, and the indecision is exhausting. Before personal computers became ubiquitous, and we began carrying around small devices that put the entire sum of human knowledge in the palm of our hands, I used to keep a typed list of words Iâ€™d just discovered.
I discovered that if you want to expand your vocabulary, there is nothing like a William Styron novel. When I was in graduate school, â€œSophieâ€™s Choiceâ€ provided a bounty of new-to-me words, including â€œcoprolalia,â€ the compulsive use of obscene language and â€œphiloprogenitive,â€ which means having many offspring.
Iâ€™m sure my ancient list still exists, buried somewhere in all the kipple.
In the long run, maybe nothing I do will matter very much.
As Dickâ€™s fictional futuristic bounty hunter put it: â€œNo one can win against kipple, except temporarily and maybe in one spot, like in my apartment Iâ€™ve sort of created a stasis between the pressure of kipple and nonkipple, for the time being. But eventually Iâ€™ll die or go away, and then the kipple will again take over.â€¦ The entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.â€
Pretty soon, Iâ€™m going to have to move on from the junk drawer and the house to the garage. Before I do, though, I think I need to lie down for a little while.