Monday, 7 September 2015

What is with this memory? II

How do people with good memory look into the past? Is it as clear as your last meal? As your last feeling? Can you still touch it?

How can I write about all that I've lived if my memory is my biggest obstacle? Will I get old enough to remember?
My memories are ethereal, I can't touch them. All I do is collect feelings. Where are the factual visions? All I see are flashes. Some beautifully warm, others cruelly cold. But all of them blurry.
All I do is collect feelings, impressions, thoughts, dreams. Some good, some nightmarish.
My worst nightmares are made of feelings, not monsters. Monsters, you can fight against. But ethereal stuff... if you can't grab it, you can't fight it. You can't win.
Can I still use it for my benefit as before? Can I channel my nightmarish thoughts into creative outputs? I used to. It should be like riding a bicycle.
Suddenly I'm back in my last flat in Coimbra, next to the States club. I'm writing furiously. Pages and pages, and pages after pages. The paper suffers.
I know the exact number of the repetitive pattern on the wall - multiply vertical with horizontal, boring actually. I could see a lot on those walls. They had a common form of a somewhat butterfly but it was easy to see new different forms in it. Two to three paintings lay around. At that time my favourite painting technique was oil colour; so the fumes of turpentine, oil and the paint itself played probably a good part on my sensorial visions. Lest forget, those were crazy times and certain 'flashbacks' were easy to reproduce.
There, a memory. Even if short, it becomes quite vivid after writing about it.

Maybe it is possible. Maybe if I start writing it down, the details may come and make my past sharp.
Someday I will remember. I'll remember everything.

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