If you missed the last Cubisian ramble, in which I promised a more cohesive column this week, and can't be bothered looking it up, I'll summarise. I've been thinking a lot about a quote from George Carlin: "A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff. A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it."

Maybe I'm going through a Trainspotting, Fight Club thing (without all the drugs and violence) or maybe I've been hanging out with too many old hippies.

All I know is, my rampant consumerism's gotten out of hand.

The problem isn't that I've gone out and bought special eight-disc editions of every movie I've enjoyed on any level, despite knowing I've never get round to watching the special behind-the-scenes documentary on how actors defecate comfortably in latex superhero outfits. The problem is I want to.

There's a drive, deep within me, to spend all my money on stuff. It's why I never visit libraries and don't feel comfortable in video stores. If I'm gonna spend $6 renting a cinematic piece of shit dressed up as a serious, interwoven thinkpiece like Crash, I might as well spend $30 to own it.

Part of me thinks this drive to own is calculated to impress people. There's a swell of pride in my bosom when a houseguest admires my bookshelf, wishing he owned the complete set of Promethea graphic novels or an autographed copy of TISM's Guide To Little Aesthetics.

Well, hypothetically. No-one's actually commented on or been visibly impressed by either of those titles, but I'm hoping you are.

The other school of thought running through my brain paints me as a being akin to the dragon Smaug, sitting on my hoard of interesting and sometimes kitschy products. Admit it - you'd like to have a wind-up Bender toy or an Alfred E Neuman figure on your bookshelf. Part of you envies the furry Mogwai I bought for my girlfriend. My first edition of Talisman has you drooling to play the Prophetess, doesn't it? Don't touch my Doug Anthony All Stars Icon CD - I'll know it's missing as soon as I walk into the room.

Actually, I think the main reason I continue to buy boardgames I rarely play, videogames that've never seen a drive and books with uncracked spines is so there's proof I don't spend all week working solely for the purpose of rent, bills and mooching sponsor kids. Look - I did some overtime this fortnight and I have a copy of Runebound and season two of Entourage to show for it!

The worst space-wasting criminals are CDs I've long since copied to mp3 and comics I've read once then lovingly slotted into a bookcase, never to be enjoyed again.

Obviously I have a problem. I'd like to propose a painful, hypothetical solution. It involves a thought experiment in which I leave this massive flat full of goods and move into a small room...let's say it's in a sharehouse.

I don't have the mental fortitude to sell or give away all my extraneous stuff. When I moved to Sydney from Wollongong I chucked out all my teddy bears and other juvenile paraphernalia, and I don't think I could do it again. So for the time being, consider my DVD, CD and comic collections sold for a middling sum, my books placed in vaguely weatherproof cardboard boxes and my games put on shelves in a storage unit somewhere.

Here's where the audience participation comes in. Let's say you can only own enough to fit in a big backpack and a laptop bag. What would you keep?

Here's my list:

• Five shirts, undies and pairs of socks
• Two pairs of pants (jeans and shorts)
• Various toiletries (including a towel, in honour of Douglas Adams)
• Whatever book I'm reading
• Diary/notebook
• Mp3 player
• Laptop
• Mobile phone
• Various chargers
• Dice, deck of cards and a couple of small, portable boardgames
• Nintendo DS and cartridges

Tell me what you'd get rid of and what you'd keep - if you had the guts!