Friday, October 9, 2015

Rant in E-strada Minor - Marbles and memory

Within calcified cranial confines, marbles dance to and fro. Some brighter than others, size differentiating them, of course, and all perfectly round in the lies I tell myself. The small pouch of memory holds it all, forgetting some, and clickety clacketing replay on favorites from the playlist.

Ah yes, how the mind plays favorites with mental mirages. Inaccurate depictions of what once was and now shall forever kind-of-sort-of-be from what one perspective can recall.

Have you ever rolled a memory in the palm of your hand? Allowed its warm light to tickle your nerves and show you how awful or wonderful something was not?

Memories lie after all...

And so do we.

We tell ourselves a version of a version of a momentary lapse of reality, registered by the distractedly drunken yet omnipresent mind. The subconscious knows all, yet the ego insists on knowing best what is and what had to be.

Rolling, crashing, banging into themselves do these memories fight for attention. Childlike in their hunger to feed their "look at mes".

Remember me

Think of me

Cry because of me, but also smile a bit without knowing why

Memories are wicked little creatures that change through time. Other memories slam into them, blowing sands off the mental dunes we gaze at from the outside in.

All goes a bit nutty when questions start to mingle with memories... sometimes the Hindsight Brigade offers insight... other times a Mexican hat dance ensues over one particular memory. A merry-go-round of obsession looking, searching, prying for a why. Sure, the hows and whats mingle with the who and where, but the why. The why is never ending in certain memories. A dark infinity sign unraveled into a question mark.

Why this

Why that

Why not this

The search for the unicorn of Because, fathered by closure and teasing at peace of mind.

Memories... how they vary, how they differ, how they swear on the truth.

Sometimes bits are forgotten and other times lies are remembered.

But the marbles remain, even if sometimes they are lost.

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