Hello! Join us on a leisurely stroll through the past. Come back to reality and stay for the next show. Please follow along with me. Dispel all doubt and disbelief. We’ve been there before, but maybe you forgot? It’s all coming back to me now. The backstreet walkabout to the center of your mind. It’s a wild trip through the past and back again, with this present day right now, here today. Anyplace else is a foggy back alleyway. Come for the memories and stay for the neglect. Gone tomorrow. Remember when?
Consider reminiscing, meanwhile guessing things that never happened before you arrived at melancholy conclusions. Anything else is simply forgone word games and trite conjecture. Try not to dwell on the past too long because it’s a waste of time that you’ve already wasted. Get it out of your head. Could it be possible that it only went down in your mind? Everything goes linear in one direction, ever forward to your inescapable conclusion of repetitions inner truths. Retelling the story is different from the original. The same story’s changed from others’ retelling of it.
Thinking aloud inside a cluttered skull, a hoarder’s house full of simple facts confuses the complex fiction of life. It makes you think outside of your personal experience, retold as old lessons learned. Or never relearned. It could be a false recollection. Remember what happened the last time? A sort of solitary amnesia that has images flicker and events flashback that never existed. A custom-made version of this recycled reminder. Making things up in a make-believe world of everyday conversations. Stinking thinking about the past. Sleep on it and get back to me tomorrow. The overload of vivid hallucinations, other people’s dreams, turned into nightmares mingling with reality.
The encyclopedia of useless information is the universal bible. I won’t pray about it. Recalling someone else’s connection to your existence. It could be another example of any John or Jill situation segued into sentimental improvisational hogwash. A moonlight rejoinder, the pathway to the hidden garden. Everyone knows where it is, but nobody knows where it’s at. It’s a secret deep between the ears. The place where yesteryears dwell. It’s knowing intimately, the paradise of delight. Counting off the hours and days until you can’t remember how you got there from here and back again in the first place. Clueless about the mystery behind this one thought and another pondering afterthought. No impressions from other’s recollections affect my experience of remembering on repeat. Look back at expressions in old photos from someone else’s life. It seems unreal. Abstract memorabilia.
The law of averages doesn’t add up. Subtracting from the mindfulness of brainwave equations. The fuzzy math of the future. Remember me when you think about the past. I’ll always think well of you. An ode to a dirge, a dip in the sea. A song about memories. The standard record of events is cloudy, and the recaps limited. Life’s important moments go on in circles like the sun and the stars. A zany zodiac sign in a bright day pratfall into the dark night bumping heads.
Jog the noggin. Clear the air. A brief respite—a pause that lingers long enough to stir up the pot of memory. Fragments, bits, and pieces of another life. One autonomous entity collides with another one. On and on in a loopy forever timepiece spinning all at once. In somebody else’s head, there are two distinct but different worlds recanting the same timeless life stories about how each of us live together in our little worlds. It’s all mixed up.
Gazing into the crystal ball of your eyes. A memorial to recognize the loss of memory and the meanings of every utterance inside your stuffed skull. The repository of every emotion in the brain bank. No deposit, no return. The stuff of remembered dreams that change with each passing thought. I’ll remember later. A thousand memories recycled, combined with a few more thousand unrelated erased moments. Hanging out in oblivion, life hands us over to thoughtless acts of disappearing dreams. As soon as you wake up from your slumber, you forget about the dreams. The stuff memory makes, riding a train of thought without a ticket. Remember to remember to forget.