Wednesday, 28 July 2010

sometimes











I forget people's names. Like, people I know really, really well. Memory is an odd thing.
Sometimes, I'll stand in front of the fridge and just stare at it like I've never seen one before. (A fridge that is)
Sometimes I'll walk into a room and just stand in the middle of it and wonder why I am there.
Sometimes, I'll forget that I am riding a bike and I'll wonder to myself how my mind knew to stop at the red lights and to go at the green ones.

I wonder if what we remember is real. I wonder if we don't manufacture memories to suit ourselves. I wonder if we're not in jar on a shelf in a room somewhere, just a figment of our imaginations.
Sometimes I'll recall something that I did with a group of friends, and we'll bring it up at a get together, and we all remember that very same event in such different ways. We all have such different takes on what happened, and how and when and where. We "create" our lives. We recall and reconstruct how we want things to be.

I choose to not remember so many things. I choose to leave them right where they are, hovering somewhere with the rest of times gone past. I am not sure that what I remember is all that accurate anyway.

ht.

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Jeff Bridges.

Jeff Bridges.

I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest,hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

It's a hard warm place of mystery, touch it, but can't hold it

i cat you.

Locking rhythms to the beat of her heart, changing woman into life.She has danced into the danger zone, when a dancer becomes a dance.