and at the same time, i want to always remember. i want to cradle the moment like a jpeg in a storyboard is frozen and forever captured. i feel such remorse that i can never do this.
It's a sweeper, that, a mind-sender; a comment on photos and the places onto which they act as portal: sand-scoured citadels of doors in doors, amaze with terraces interlinked; ear-pressed chests of sanctuary thrummed with the lyricism of softened stories; dripped fruit lazy and uneaten in frames of far-off days; meadowed trees; the 3pm dune grass pushed by the salted shadows of noon-quickened clouds. As long as I've known her, she's refused to forget... She recounts episodes so accurately that she's even remembered for me where I was on a particular day, who I was with, even what we had talked about while spilling what we had eaten over what we had worn... And now, if I read her right, she wants to plunge into Lethe... or at least steep a curative tea in its waters. I wish her much luck.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lots of people said 'hello' and gave me quizzical looks as they walked past where I stood outside the funeral parlor tonight. I am tempted to say that perhaps I should take that as a cue to double the amount of tinfoil I wrap around my head (right now, I'm only at 4.5 oz. a day), but that would only serve to make my creton and jam sandwiches harder to retrieve. Instead I will institute a 'hello' community amongst the general populace, maybe handing out complimentary sachets of Sweet and Sour sauce at the most inappropriate times ('Do you have a light?'... 'Hello. Sure. Here. Good for springroll!' - - - 'There's been an accident, can I borrow your phone?'... 'Hello. Indeed. Voila.') That and hide Jehovah's Witness pamplets atop the blades of resting ceiling fans. That and that and start making googley faces at babies' owners as well. If they respond with affront, I will point at the infant and ask them how much they'd like for their haggis. 'Hello' I'll say under their rain of scorn. 'HelloHelloHello....'