
The upsetting television show I spent a lot of the fall obsessing over has returned: Hoarders, the A&E documentary series devoted to—surprise!—hoarding, and produced right here in Seattle. I hold forth on the basic facts on Hoarders here.
Hoarders Season Two commenced the Monday before last, and is already better/worse than Season One. What more can I say about this alternately life-affirming and puke-inducing show? Nothing, and so I shall relinquish this space the poets, whose blackscreened words best capture the essence of Hoarders.



Thank you, Hoarders poets.
(Also, regarding last week's season opener, devoted entirely to New Orleans hoarder Augustine (another episode starring rancid cat corpses!), yes, it was horrifying, but her son Jason—who as a kid was forced to live with other family due to his mother's unsanitary hoarding, and who is now a guy living in Seattle—is a hero. This is someone whose mother literally chose three dozen piles of rancid garbage over her own son, and the now-grown Jason has clearly done a ton of work to grasp the fact that his mother chose garbage over motherhood due to mental illness. I can't imagine rallying that type of self-possession—for kids, parents are mythical creatures whose every gesture is a comment on your worth—but Jason somehow did it and rules.)
UPDATE/FUN FACT: The aforementioned heroic Jason sent me a sweet email telling me his name is Jason (not Josh, as I'd originally flubbed it). And his band Three Ninjas was name-checked in one of Larry Mizell Jr's recent My Philosophy columns. Small world.
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