Restless

September 29th, 2006 § 0 comments

Right now I’m chilling out in the desert. It’s night time and the weather is warm and pleasent. I’m going to sit out in my back yard, look up at the sky, and just enjoy the quietness. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I’m going to do when this is said and done. I’ve always wanted to hop a fraight train, dive with sharks, and see David Bowie live in concert. Now, since I realize that death is a much more imanent factor to life, I don’t feel like not doing those things as soon as possible. I have begun to notice that life is something you have to be a part of to enjoy, and if you aren’t you are only waisting time.

I suddenly don’t trust memory, it can’t be relied upon to really remember, I want empirical proof that he existed and still does somehow. I want facts and figures, times and dates. Or really just to undo it, go back, relive time, and do it differently or all the same, I don’t care, it can be worse or better, but I want it all back in reality and not memory. My art history professor says memory is the process over time of remembering and forgetting, and that every time you remember something you lose a little bit. Pretty soon I will have no real memories of him, only figments and fragments of things I made up that might have been real once. Maybe it does not matter, maybe that is the only way to keep someone who is dead alive. I don’t care how, but he is going to see me live my life, he is going to watch my blunders and mild successes, he is going to be there when I die, and there after. Even if I have to make it all up, he will be there by sheer force of will. Why else have an imagination? They always say in movies, you have to move past them, and let them go, but the truth is that he has moved past us, and all I can do is follow blindly behind.

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