“Despite the millions of times I have packed my suitcase, I still regard each packing “event” as a kind of metaphysical decision, a harrowing choice of self. Am I the person who cares not for image? Pack a hoodie and black sneaks, maybe some underwear, and your concert clothes, and fill the rest of the suitcase with Horace, Pound, Susan Sontag. Or, am I the snazzier metrosexual? Suddenly, my suitcase blooms with flowered shirts, orange sneakers and strange shirt-jacket amalgams, leaving no room for verse. (Always pack a notebook; then, you say to yourself, I can “work on my writing.”) In the midst of this decision–this quasi self-realization–one often forgets one’s toiletries! A concert without deodorant is not to be tolerated, especially by the pageturner. And so, at the eleventh hour, you assemble your sundries. Don’t forget your music, you idiot!!! And fill the humidifier. Hide incriminating evidence. Breathe.”

– Pian”blogger”ist Jeremy Denk, packing.