FILM WORMS - Cluttercore
The underground film school for kids - disguised as a watchlist.
Our apartment runs on a system I call the Pile File. A loose, ever-expanding network of heaps. Not quite mess, not quite storage. Just collections of things waiting for their next purpose. Or a small earthquake.
There’s the kitchen pile (unopened mail, a collection of empty sunglass cases), the toy pile (Lego limbs, action figures, Pokémon cards, slime), and the aspirational adult pile (unread New Yorkers and a resistance band). Each one quietly grows until it could apply for historic landmark status.
My son is the true visionary of the Pile File. His desk is a miniature landfill: Rocks, books, sticks, markers, tech Decks, half built Legos, a rubber rat, a paperclip chain, one giant post card shaped like France. But he maintains a two-inch clearing between the chaos, where he’ll sit and play for hours. Like a bizarro Marie Kondo, where nothing has its place.
Did he learn it from us? Probably. Our home runs on soft monuments to indecision: the unused tortilla press on top of the “family photo album project” by the couch that’s been there so long it’s become a side table. Eventually, every surface gave up. Time for a stoop sale.
A stoop sale is like a garage sale for people with no garage or a like yard sale for people with sidewalks. We mined our piles and unearthed treasure: like vintage Levi’s, pickling kits, a fluorescent track bike (thanks, Sperduti), another bike (thanks, Adam, but seriously friends, stop giving me bikes) and so much more.
My son’s job was to pick which toys to sell. You’d think I’d asked him to auction off his soul. Every cracked action figure had a backstory and moral arc. That night, before bed, he told me,
“I love our junk drawer.” “Why?” I asked. “Because you never know what you’ll find. There’s always treasure.”
The stoop sale went surprisingly well. Everyone wanted the Levi’s; no one wanted his toys. Apparently, the Lower East Side isn’t the hot market for used Bluey playsets we hoped for. His pile of unsold toys sat in the sun like a small exhibit called Childhood, Unclaimed.
We cleared almost everything, but my kid’s piles stayed. He guards them like they’re on loan from the Met. I caught myself staring at them… not as clutter, but as relics. The Velveteen Rabbits of our home, loved once, ignored now, and still here because no one has the heart to throw them out.
Later, my kid looked up from the lego landfill that has claimed our coffee table and said, “In my Lego junk yard there’s Peter Parker’s house and he’s cooking hotdogs.”
I nodded, because of course he is. That’s real enough for me.
x Lenski
This week’s theme: Cluttercore
Unearthed treasures, controlled clutter, perfect confusion, and the fine art of keeping it together badly.
🌀 Chemical Brothers — “Let Forever Be” (1999)
dir. Michel Gondry — 3 min 41 sec
Reality and dream collapse into a single anxiety spiral disguised as a pop video. The same girl dances through infinite versions of herself until you realize: this is what your brain looks like trying to do a simple task.
🎤 Grandmaster Flash — Wild Style (1983)
dir. Charlie Ahearn — 2 min 47 sec (scene)
How it all started. One man, two turntables, zero wasted motion. One man, two turntables, infinite swagger. Proof that clutter, when looped right, becomes rhythm. It’s the exact opposite of how you look trying to untangle your headphones.
🦷 The Powerpuff Girls — “Moral Decay” (2001)
dir. Craig McCracken — 11 min
Bubbles learns capitalism. Teeth are lost, money is made, and morals are optional. Think Wolf of Wall Street, but with cuter animation and more dental trauma. Possibly the first kids’ show about inflation.
⚽️ Shaolin Soccer (2001)
dir. Stephen Chow — 1 hr 27 min
Kung fu meets soccer in a blender of joy. Every kick defies logic, gravity, and narrative restraint. The kind of movie that reminds you not everything needs to make sense to make you happy.
That’s all for this week. Class is dismissed.
P.S. Got a clip, short, or lost gem you or your kids loved? Send it my way. I’m always looking for the strange and wonderful stuff that slipped through the cracks.
-Lenski