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Memory - Blog Posts
Loitering
Smoke curls from the ashen tip
of a long-lit cigarette on a moonless night
The streetlamp light arcs through the rain
tiny diamonds disappearing to dust
He breathes out death, lungs burning
one more light will make it okay,
further from the end, another hour
for the pain to fade a little.
Smoke disappears like the rain in the
navy air, and yet the cool ice of her eyes
is all the more vivid in his empty mind.
Has this been done yet ? I hope not.
people say to live in the moment as if I remember any other moments
Life is...
I paint with my pencil graphite on paper heart on display an image, a word evoke emotion but will never mean what it did to me when it occurred. Just a reminder a place holder in time a memory as art.
I am an artist.
I only have one piece. it has no price. it encompasses the entire gamut of emotion. The closer you get, the more you understand its meaning. it can not be recreated or duplicated. I am this piece.
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Theres a part of us thats no longer here,
and one that never was.
but when you feel it,
it makes you ache.
for better or for worse.
Fades each day,
yet never goes away.
The ability to forget...
has been forgotten.
My Hands, Your Lips, Our Eyes.
My hands, you use to say they were perfect.
That I had perfect hands.
I wonder if you even noticed them before you left.
I see my hands everyday, but I never really look at them.
At least I havnt in years. But… Im looking at them now.
Time is showing, the texture is changing.
Fine lines cover my knuckles.
There seems to be more wrinkles where they bend.
They say you can tell someones age by their hands.
I wonder if it’s a fair representation.
I wonder if what my hands where to you, is what your lips are to me.
Soft, pink, plump, warm, delicate, perfect.
I wonder if Id recognize them. If in fact I were to ever see them again.
If we ever see each other again.
Our eyes looked so similar.
Like the same eyes on a different day.
They knew each other so well.
But I wonder if they would recognize each other now? Or later?
Somehow I don’t think so.
A change in shade, hue, fine lines, and wrinkles.
Lines of happiness and pain. Everything in between.
One just as indistinguishable as the other.
I wonder if itd be they cant, or wont want to recognize.
Or maybe theyd wish they had never forgotten.
Everything
The thing is, I remember everything. Every inch. Every curve. The curl of your lip. The way your nipple rises when I go for seconds. Each little skin tag and mole. The depth and deceptive tightness. The sounds you make when we move to a new speed, a new depth, and fresh helplessness. I remember what I see when you cross the room. I remember how you feel as I lay on you. I remember everything Clothes and time and distance do nothing to blur what I know. You think we are apart now and again. But we are not. Because I remember everything.
I looked at you in the mirror, that day I realized I had a scissor; to cut every memory of ours. You never sent me letters not either flowers, thus I am grateful— of how sharp the scissor was.
It is funny how I write about the letters you never wrote and the flowers you never gave me, while in my memory, what you did was only calling my name.
I’ve been cursed with a vivid memory. I remember everything. Mistakes I’ve made, people who hurt me, that girl in the 4th grade who told me we would get married at 28, all the criticism I’ve gotten, the bad things my friends say about people when they’re not around, the text message I accidentally read when I looked over your shoulder last night, and everything in-between. A vivid memory is unforgiving. The world can be a hard place to navigate when you’re constantly being reminded about all of the things that didn’t go right, or trying to smile at all of your critics. Sometimes I just want to shut down and close myself off, and take a break from pretending. Acting like I don’t remember what happened yesterday, or last year, or when I was 8 becomes exhausting.
Eternal Sunshine
My grandmother is slowly beginning to lose her memory. No, she hasn’t been diagnosed with anything because she refuses to see a doctor, but every now and then she will ask me the same questions over and over again. Like, “hows grad school?” and I’ll tell her I graduated over a year ago and she’ll congratulate me for the 5th time and I’ll just nod my head and say thank you. The bright side is she’ll offer me 4 or 5 slices of pie and serve each one to me like its the first as long as I sit through the same story that she’ll tell to me 3 or 4 times. I try to act just as surprised as the first time I heard them.
Eventually she starts to do things like leave the oven on, and forget who she’s talking to on the phone, and what day it is, and what she had for dinner last night, and how to get home when she goes somewhere she hasn’t been in a while, and everybody else thinks this is a reason for concern. Except me. Because I see the beauty in slowly losing your memory as you get older.
There is a certain magic in forgetfulness that God rewards us with if we are fortunate enough to make it into old age. Because after a few years of the mundane every day is something new. An opportunity to experience old things for the first time as those bad memories fade away. In her mind, there is eternal sunshine and that's all any of us really want anyway. The look of surprise on her face every time I tell her I already got my degree means, to her, every other Sunday is graduation.
Every visitor is in town for a holiday. Every birthday is a surprise when you wake up and don’t know why everyone you know is calling you to tell you they love you and every package you ordered is like a present to yourself. You no longer recognize people in old photographs. There is no more living in the past. No regretting old mistakes or wishing you had second chances because as far as you know, you’re still on plan A and everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to be. Beautifully.
Until that day we wake up on a beach in Montauk and feel everything fading from our memory we will drag our regrets to the shore and relive our mistakes over and over until we bury them in the sand and treat every morning as an opportunity to start over.
Just don't forget who I am.
Mitochondrial Gene Study on Mice Has Revealed Possible Links to Memory
Researchers used mitochondrial gene editing to model genetic disorders in mice. While previous attempts have been made, in-depth phenotypic changes resulting from mitochondrial gene knockout, for example the alterations in observable characteristics when a specific gene is inactivated, remain largely undocumented. So, researchers used a programmable DNA base editing technology to analyze the genotypic and phenotypic impacts of knocking out the ND5 mitochondrial gene, and they found profound impacts on brain function, metabolism, and thermoregulation. They employed a specialized DNA editing tool to induce mutations in the ND5 mitochondrial gene, disrupting energy production and causing learning deficits, hippocampal atrophy, and obesity. I just found this incredibly fascinating as this is the closest we've gotten to documenting when a gene is inactivated like that.
Our friendship deader than the sea on which we sailed,
Too long ago on a cloudless night.
Maybe if I'd known better then, I would've paused,
And never let myself drift out of sight.
3D_XPOINT Advanced Computer Memory from Intel.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wgk4U4qVpNY&feature=share This New Highly Advanced 3D Computer Memory from Intel might someday replace Today's Computer Memory Technologies (like, Random Access Memory and Most Types of Flash_Memory) and yet it might even Replace The Microprocessor or CPU in Many Desktop and Minitower Computers someday!
…unfortunately, it’s true: time does heal. It will do so whether you like it or not, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. If you’re not careful, time will take away everything that ever hurt you, everything you have ever lost, and replace it with knowledge. Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the original moment back in its uncategorized, preprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.
Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe (via naranzarian)
A song that was on all of my playlists, and I would never leave the chance signing it to myself, became the worst 'cause of some memory that I connected it with.
Memory
We're enjoying the last moment in this house, togetger with hand made table and sofa!
引越し
引越し準備も大詰め。手づくりのテーブルとソファーで思い出いっぱいの場所を満喫しています！(*'▽'*)
Memoria
¡Estamos disfrutando el último momento en esta casa, junto con la mesa y el sofá hechos a mano!
That time I hijacked the music at a graduation party.
So, I was at a party when I noticed some music playing. I found the speaker near the food tent, and a phone connected to it via bluetooth. All that played was bland, overrated Pop music. Every songs sounded way too similar, and they were all about love/romance, because apparently that's all that matters in these poorly sung 1st grade poetry performances over some drum loop + bassline labeled as a song.
But for me, I realized something, In my heart, I knew. I knew that I had a mission, a quest I must perform.
During the first attempt, I pressed the bluetooth button, which cut the connection between the speaker & the phone, causing the music to stop abruptly. I tried connecting my phone to the first thing that showed up when I pressed “connect new device.”
An old guy came up, seemingly the owner of the phone who just put on a top hits playlist on spotify and called it a day. He assumed I was trying to get the speaker to start, or chose certain music. When talking to him, I soon found out that the name of the speaker was “Trailblazer” which was one of the names on the list of parable bluetooth devices from my phone (and not the one I connected with first). I added the speaker as a new device.
Everytime I turned the bluetooth back on and pressed connect, it would just connect to the guys phone rather than mine. I moved his phone out of the way so the speaker would pick up my signal first. It did, I already had a song ready.
As I told a group of girls & one boy, I consider it my mission to spread my music around, shed light onto underrated artists who deserve it, & allow people to hear their favorite songs that they’ve never heard before.
So basically, I hijacked the speaker & started playing my first ever live set as a DJ.
I unleashed an evil villain, as I announced to everyone what I had done.
Starstorm in the house coming at you live from someones backyard.
Always take some coffee and go into some museums! One of my last year goodest memory!! I miss this sooo much 😍❤
Fog-Borne Snapshots
All would be consumed by shadow if not for an unseen, smudged streetlamp blanketing all beneath it in everlasting burgundy mist. In some space-time ripples, it is evergreen. For other eternities, it is cerulean. Despite the variance, universal commonality is found in its blurred glow.
This light delineates all forms, together interlocked in a state of static, monochrome bliss. These relics change, but never while I see them. Those that have graced my apertures in eye and mind include wet playground equipment, monoliths with tops trapped in mist, and abandoned antique cars.
The aura that permeates my body remains the same. It is the tinge of warmth felt within someone’s embrace, somehow gleaned from facing someplace where this had last occurred at least a decade ago. It is a sign of life found in one of countless mounds of dilapidated structures in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It is a spiritual sign of the possibility of solace within the cold, concrete walls of an insane asylum whose inhabitants offer only volatility. It is an infinitesimal, but nonetheless unmoving constant in the midst of chaos, contained and concealed forever from the surrounding universe.
In my disillusion, I believe in the approach of a day when I may graze my fingertips across all of the surfaces. Thought ensnares me while my frozen body maintains a glassy stare as my daydreams and memories, whether fabricated or true, turn to burning rubble where no flame dances. I once again watch the fog-borne snapshots fade to charred blackness behind my eyelids.
https://twwrt.wordpress.com/2023/08/04/fog-borne-snapshots/