My friend
Berty told me the other day that he was losing his memory. He told me that he was
forgetting things a lot. He is on a lot of meds is poor old Berty and they are
affecting his memory. Berty has a wicked disease and he is in constant and
often excruciating pain. American surgeons have chopped him up. They have
fucked him over.
The thought of
losing my memories frightens me and I despise the fact that Berty is losing
his.
I hate it.
We share a lot
of them. Good times and great times. Berty is my best mate and he always will
be. Memories are what warm you up from the
inside. They light your fire but they can also rip you asunder. These imprints
of our past are both angels and demons.
I
wish I had taken more photographs throughout my life. Images capture moments
that have disappeared forever that can never be properly reproduced. They jolt
memories – well they do for me anyway. I like looking at old photographs and I
have been doing it a bit lately. I have been reminiscing. Nothing is ever truly
lost to us if we in fact remember it.
The
brilliant Flannery O'Connor wrote:
“Where
you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and
where you are is no good unless you can get away from it” .
We
can do this by remembering.
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