Dimensions of Memory

Today’s topic is about being personal. That means the flow of these words are supposed to be close to my essence and about something more tangible to what I might think about or muse about, or ponder over, or even deal with on a day to day basis. So, to jump right into to it… Chaos!29818832163_91832c4010_k

Or at least a complex flow of mind that starts with a calm blank gray slate and then slowly picks up motion and color until at some point my rational reasoning ceases it’s logical flow and the universe inside my nogin turns left and falls down. Thus everything starts running along a path into an area of darkness that is what some people might consider the standard consistancy of the every day emotional thought process. Did you catch all that?

If you didn’t, no matter. As the real reason for me writing today is a conundrum in itself and if I could even half articulate the emotions of the moment, I might actually come upon the reason for life, the universe and everything else. So it’s okay for you to be baffled and confused. If you need to use the bathroom, it’s off the left and down two and half steps. But be careful of the trip wires that my mind left along the way. Oops. It’s okay to yell out if you’re having issues assessing the true nature of my personal state. The quicksand can work rather fast I’ve been told.

Now that the preamble is out of the way, I shall dive into the thought that warps and pours from the inner reaches of my soul.


“It was an old place. Dusty perhaps, or at least the scent of dust upon the stale windows. Aging glass cracked with time, rotting wood without, one strong to keep the windows safe. An irony of time had occured, as a few shards of glass littered the floor.

It was alone, or at least that was my muse. Old stuffs laying in odd ways, their time, a passing memory that no one remembered. Yet, there was life, or the decay of what might have been. A banana peal, an empty pudding package and the occasional rat and mouse droppings. Silence, other than my curious slow breathing.

It was a choice. I came to let my curiosity take the lead, my feet following the thoughts of those old boards, cracked wall plaster and old faded picture frames tilted upon that one lone hallway. The enterence was the main room, the backroom a bathroom, or at least was in times gone past. Now, only a fold out cot with squeeky springs and a canvas top lay ready for a midnight crash of some secret neighborhood meeting.

It was a shiver. A passionate desire perhaps that bade me continue into this place. A need to understand it’s very essence, so that my own might find enlightment. That was why, or at least how I would explain it in years to come.

It was an inch, a chill and a shiver as thread by thread, clothes, top, bottom and more fell to the floor. They would lay quiet and unheard along with the shoes and stockings.

It was being that burst upon the soul as the cold canvas connected with the skin, hair laying where gravity would take it. The cealing full of questions and cobwebs, an imagination of the tales that it could tell if it could speak in a language I might hear.

It was cool, nothing but reality. At peace was the beating heart, alive the spirit racing around the room. Excited, knowing that I might not be alone, some eyes having chanced upon my pale flesh. Perhaps… Yes, a dream maybe. Or mabye some flow from a deeper place within the essence that I was at the moment.

It was a moment. A time, a piece of a watch’s guard, clicking away for only a short while. A memory of a musty old place, a dusty piece of history, a scent that would linger with me for all my days.

It was about being alive.”

No one can say that memories can’t be full of twisted and bizzare things. Sometimes we remember an incident in technocolor and each and every time our mind slides towards that date, our thoughts explode from feelings of yesterday. Other times, memories are like a cracked vault leading to some dark and scary labrynth, that even the greatest of “Indiana” types would pale and turn from.


Such is life. Mine, yours or the person next door. You should ask yourself the next time your mind perks up some strange bubble of yester year, “What am I really thinking about?” You might just find that answer is far more impressive than those dark and scary places.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s