Let’s imagine this.
walking down a street that when you remember later you will remember that time, walking down that street on that day, the day when the newness of the street passed into familiarity (but only memory sees this atmosphere of the day). Perhaps it is a year later when the memory is recalled, under the same falling leaves
And what is remembered is the anticipation of a new night spent with a new friend you already feel like you will remember in a certain light. But when you remember the day, the warmth of the pavement, the smell of an approaching cool twilight already present in the late morning air, a scratchy memory of rain in the gutters, , when the memory drifts back to you it lands on your skin that has already lived through the past that unrolled itself on the breath of that anticipation.
So you know the anticipation was based yet on the unfamiliarity, and what became familiar
What became experienced and what remained in ever anticipation. And this environment of remembered anticipations. The certain lights that never censured us in the way we thought we would remember them. And the way we hold our hand, waiting to grasp that future memory, letting pieces of what will have happened fall to a ground, collect dust, and fill out spaces
Reacting to the past, it isn’t the fruit we cling to, but the arch of the branch drifting to sleep under the weight fo its results. Apple. Orange. We have relationships with objects not based on their qualities, those veils some scientists seek to lift —
not based on their qualities, but on their rhythms, the rhythms they produce to form the hand of our grasp. And what we think of as an object.
are less scary when they have a name. nameless state
It is curious to think that we only communicate with what we think might answer us. As if understanding was ever reflected back to us. What can only ever answer us in our own words. Remember that Echo’s infatuation was with a man who loved his own echo. XXx So even talking talking to a wall reflection