Another pile of dreck from the blue filigree notebook, marked for my reference in fuchsia and powder-blue Post-It notes. Sigh…
I want someone to tell it’s alright, even when it’s not.
“At least it’s intense.” -Kathy, 1986
“At least you know you’re alive.” -Ann (who is no longer alive), 2002
I look at pictures of us together and think, “did it really happen?” (Applies to everyone)
In his last dying days and suffering a brain tumor, V was asked if he saw people where he was going. He counted eight.
There’s no going back now. There’s nothing back there, anyway.
Then I find that even looking in the mirror is too much to bear.
I lent him a cent for lent
but now I relent
for the scent
is that the cent
I lent him for lent
has been spent
for lent ~Dream fragment, 1993
As if any of you care, that’s it for the blue notebook.
I look at pictures of us together and think, “did it really happen?”
This struck a chord with me. Many times I have seen photos of a particular event/activity in which I participated and yet have no memory of that event/activity. Or the memory is decidedly ethereal in comparison to the stark reality of the photo.
There is a possibility that I was constructed at a later date than once believed, at which point all “earlier” memories were simply written to my brain. (Yes, I’ve seen ‘Blade Runner’ too many times.)