one hundred forty one

I was lost in my head at work, thinking the most important of thoughts.

I’ve clearly  a preoccupation with time and memory, how neither really exist but are dependent, one on the other, for memory cannot happen without time and time would be nothing without memory. Anycase, i’ve no memory, a constant crumbling castle, floating ephemerally through cloud and over ocean. I think it’s because of imagination, how imagination’s more real than the days and weeks i live, how my dreams are memories of the future, and the future is already a forgotten past by the time i get there.

I think it’s fitting, my out of time, out of memory existence. I get lost in worlds of my creation or worlds others have created, but i’ve been able to see through their words or their visions. I lose myself and the ground and the sky. My imagination and my malfunctioning memory are intertwined and dependent on one another, like time and memory before. I’ve false memories from dreams or imagined lives that i forgot to live or forgot to forget about, forgot to remember that the memory’s not mine, but someone else’s, or that the memory is of the future and that it’ll happen soon and i’ll feel it, that deja-vu sensation.

But, anyway, my memory. When the life you didn’t live is just as real as the one you do live, who’s to say which is whose memory or which rememberer is the owner. It’s dangerous business, confusing time and space with memory and imagination.

I remember nothing. But i remember everything. Everything that matters to me, anycase.

tomorrow we’ll shine
tomorrow we’ll be perfect

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