Saturday, November 11, 2006

Memory

Golden warmth of afternoon rays,
Glimmering unnoticed by two,
Snuggled on too small a sofa,
Listening to now forgotten music,
Scarcely touching, fingertip to hand,
Hair brushing wrist, foot tapping foot,
So brief, yet, fighting time so hard,
To make that moment persist evermore.

7 comments:

Molly Bloom said...

Lovely. Time is sometimes a wonderful thing and sometimes something we fight against, as you say. It is a cruel and harsh master. How fast it goes at time we wish it slow.

Pod said...

our perception of time is just not constant. i have never understood that.

Inconsequential said...

more exponential than anything, i fear...

and i do


fear it.

Inconsequential said...

or rather, it's potential effects upon me.

i can picture mindless dribbling loon, but will the future loon picture me?

which is the worse torment?
knowing what was, or not...

Eleuktra Starsoft said...

I always found memories a consolation. They were medals that couldn't be stolen. Proof be, if proof be need be. The truest validation of action. Evidence of the Good Conscience on the day of judgement.

Now I am old and alone in my infirmity I know that memories corrode like sandstone cliffs in a storm, or ships metals on a reef.

Even memories are taken from us. We are just temping existential caretakers and squatters. We have no possessions. Even our minds are borrowed. Our thoughts and memories even; booked out from the library, given back, and sent for pulping.

Continuity of consciousness. There's the rub! Am I him, who was him there but not me? Geh! Yes, I am not me, but therefore was.

Move on! There's nothing for you here! Move on now! Forever the wanderer until you fall overboard one dark night, unnoticed, becoming fishy food and cod plop.

Eleuktra Starsoft said...

Pod!

Perception! I have never understoof that.

Wish I did. It was once my intention to try.

But I always had the slight fear that in actually understanding it I would break the magic, and become a lower-order reptile half-brain, with the internal cinema all switched off and dark and silent. Not seeing-tasting-touching-smelling-hearing but just reacting to external stimuli. A robot. A machine with no ghost in it. Switches and sensors connected to a CPU connected, in turn, to several motors. Tzzzzztt. Crackle. Movement.

Eleuktra Starsoft said...

"Understoof"?

German WW2 rocket fuel?