(no subject)

the response to the call for anonymous comments was too good, i've had little to say since. thank you for that.

so I'll say a little about memories. i don't have many memories of childhood, I think somewhere along the way i decided they didn't mean anything so i disconnected myself from them. a trend which has stuck with me. nowadays i go through monthly cycles of forgetting who i am. but. memories. the lack of them. not lack, really. I still have memories. it's just that i can't feel very much from them. we'll say that my memories of childhood are Dim. though i have a synopsis of every ducktales episode ever aired still trapped in my little brain. but the memory dimming has still left me with sense-memories. memories without memories. things that strike me and i have no recollection of why. for example: the sound of porcelain or ceramic clinking together. especially ceramic cups. i must have found some ceramic cups as a child and felt them and clinked them together for hours. or just once. because now the sound and feel of ceramic sends me shivering. think of it, most of our formative years are spent staring at things, with all our senses, trying to get a grasp of them. fascination. is adult fascination telling us about things we never fully grasped? or, are we remembering the original fascination? my earliest memory, earliest memory that wasn't probably a photograph or something other than a memory, is.. well.. it's of a dream, really. but the dream is remembering something earlier. and later dreams have remembered this memory of a dream remembering the memory of this instant, this sense-memory. the memory itself is nothing it's... the feel of rolling something in my fingers. my fingers are too small and it's too big for my fingers. but it is small enough to give me that feeling, that odd feeling of rolling a pebble between your thumb and forefingers, letting it excite and confuse all those nerves that don't know if the pebble is there to stab or just hang around. that's it. one of the dreams is in the waiting room at a doctor's office. but that's meaningless, because the memory is older than that. i don't know where it started but now the very thought of it sets me on edge, makes me shiver motionlessly.. etc..

am I strange? what other sorts of sense memories are there?

train song

There's no point in going
When you have to return
When I miss you I miss you
I miss you

Come bail me out
come lift or destroy
or tie me
to the tracks

Hope is a creature
That jumps on your chest
Time is a skin
That grows on your eyes

There's no point in prayer
When you do it yourself
But the train says its prayers
When it touches the water

It kneels at the station
It believes in the end
At the end of the line
At the end of the line

I stop and I wait
With the smell of the ocean
And I turn to return
To you, to you, to you