Remember The Crush Entry ? Remember The Parallel You Entry ?… - Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.
Remember The Crush Entry?
Remember The Parallel You Entry?
Let's have another, shall we?
I wish I could remember what memory I associate this video with. I just can't seem to put my finger on it, but it's always there. My brain doesn't work the best, particularly when it comes to memory, so chances are that it's gone forever, which leaves a very weird feeling.
Have a listen, then keep going.
I remember that this song has a memory associated with it, but I don't remember what, so I've just got this wave of nostalgia and a hole in my heart that won't ever be filled with anything. Empty associations and feelings like a punch in the heart.
So here's my question...
What's the memory that is conjured when you think about memories?
For better or worse, what's the one that always comes to mind?
Is it the first time you kissed her?
Is it the first time he hit you?
Is it when you finally made it, when you finally knew you'd succeeded?
Is it when you touched down in that new country and knew you belonged?
Is it the time you knew you'd never see him again?
Is it the time you knew you never wanted to see her again?
Is it something as simple as that time you were on the swings at the park in spring and the day lasted forever?
Is it something so complex that it would take hours to explain every detail?What is the memory that's so stuck in you that it will never leave, whether you want it to or not?
Good or bad, we want to know The Truth, and I want to know what others think when they hear it.
Anonymous Comments are allowed for this entry, so you don't have to sign your name. I.P. Logging is also off, so I won't know where the messages came from.
Also, both of those previous entries are still open for comments.
Somebody has to start..
Current Music: "Soviet Snow" - Shona Laing
Tags: audience participation, memories, the truth
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 02:30 pm (UTC)|| |
it was the time he said 'I love you' and i said 'i don't love you'.
it haunts my memories and keeps me awake at night.
I somehow doubt that one's entirely uncommon.
I somehow doubt that anybody remembers that without hurting.
I think of being on the toilet when I found out my mother was dead.
You're never where you think you should be when you get news like that.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 02:43 pm (UTC)|| |
It's not a moment for me but a period of a couple of weeks. The day the Doctors told me that my Mother was going to die. The time during that week that she and I talked about what her wishes were, before she was so out of it that she didn't recognize me anymore. The last time I held her hand, the last time I helped her drink, eat, be comfortable. The last time my children made her smile. Seeing her after death, touching her cold hand and realizing it was real, that she was indeed gone. Making plans for her funeral, her memorial service... watching my children mourn. Me mourning. That was almost 3 years ago and it still hurts as much as it did when it happened. I miss her so much.
I don't know how I'd do in that situation.
I think I'd have the bravest fucking face ever when I was with her and that collapse into nothingness the moment I left.
It's a memory that's not a memory, really -- a two- to three-second loop, seeing the gravel road bend off to the left and feeling the car proceed straight, a field and a house in the distance and the Rockies and early evening sky as backdrop. I say it's a memory-not memory because I don't actually remember the accident at all. The only thing I have is that loop on permanent repeat, seared into my brain as vividly dreamlike as it felt when it happened.
I remember all of the car accidents I've been in--four--with astonishing clarity.
The look on his face when he asked if I was in love with David.
The pain I felt when I had to look at him, say "No", and could still see how destroyed he was that I'd cheated.
Douchebag, am I.
But we got past it.
"But we got past it."
Y'all did something few people can, then.
the last time he kissed me and meant it....I wish I could forget it....
My brain has this weird thing where it barely even registers kisses, first or last. I just chalk it up to all the other things wrong with it.
The moment that I’ve most often been reminded of these past 3 years is having waltzed with my ex-girlfriend in an empty cinema while the credits rolled and some poignant Jon Brion tune played following “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”.
It’s not a memory that I attach any particular sadness to, depending on my mood to begin with..it’s a sweet memory though, usually in and out of my head rather quickly, but it certainly does find it’s merry way into my thoughts quite, quite often.
Both the memory and the art are astonishingly beautiful.
Indeed, like something out of a movie.
It was funny that you should ask this because I was just thinking about this very memory today when I was walking in to work this morning.
When I was sixteen, we had a terrible ice storm, right around this time of year. It was a Tuesday, and I was in school that day. The weight of the ice was so heavy, so thick, that it knocked down a couple power lines and consequently my school lost power. We had a backup generator, but that day, for whatever reason, it was working at only half capacity. As a result, the school had no heat and minimal lighting, so we all got sent home for the remainder of the day.
Instead of taking the bus home, my boyfriend and I chose to walk to a nearby friend's home with a group of half a dozen friends and acquaintances. I remember walking through the streets and everything, absolutely everything, was coated in this thick crystalline layer of ice. I remember the frozen branches of the trees looking delicate and fragile and beautiful, and I remember realizing for the first time that I was young, and powerful, and beautiful, and knowing in my heart that there would never be another day like this again, a day where I was so close to some kind of subtle and inexplicable mystery. For the first time I realized that I had only a handful of days like this left before I became an adult and the joys of childhood - a snow day, for one - were all behind me.
We didn't tell our parents. We ordered a pizza and watched movies. At the end of the day my boyfriend gave me a ride home and I remember feeling a sort of sweet melancholy afterwards, as if I had already missed that moment, the frozen branches, that feeling of transcendence and being young and old at the same time.
Edited at 2007-12-12 03:20 pm (UTC)
Sometimes, when I'm in the right mood, I can still conjur the feeling of being "young, and powerful, and beautiful..."
Well, young and powerful.
After our boss and friend, Taki Iatropoulos, died, J.D.--aka Yannis--decided we'd keep the restaurant open to earn money for his widow.
The first day we went back into the restaurant after the funeral--not to open, just to be there--I put in a mix CD and the first song was "(Good Riddance) Time Of Your Life" by Green Day.
J.D. and I cried so hard it physically hurt.
I have two, and the only reason I'm listing two is because one of them is newer and I don't know how long if it will indeed be a lasting one.
The new one is the day I came home on the train. My mother called to tell me to come straight home. When I walked in my cousins Michael and Sarah were at the island with my mom, and they were talking and laughing. Nothing seemed amiss, family visits all the time, and I thought it was cool that Sarah was there, because she doesn't get to visit often. Then they told me the reason they were there was because my cousin Jackie was dead. Mom hadn't wanted to tell me on the phone while I was on the train. I remember feeling this flash of fury at them, it felt like I'd been set up.
The other memory is much, much older. Going on twenty years now. I'm little, somewhere between 7 and 9. My family used to go to Michigan during the summer and rent this green beach house on a small lake. There was an old-fashioned jungle gym on the sand. The kind where everything is made of metal and you have to haul buckets of water to pour down the slide on a sunny day or go down it on a towel to avoid a third-degree on your legs. There were monkey bars, in sort of a bell shape, and I remember finally being able to climb all the way up on the outside, slip into the inside and swing from that upper-most cross piece like the clapper of a bell. That same memory covers my cousin Rhett swinging on the weeping willow tree like Tarzan before he let go to splash into the lake, and my brother not going anywhere without the pillow covered in the E.T. pillowcase. That time was vaguely like heaven.
The first? Nobody thinks straight at times like that.
The second? I try so hard to remember times like that, but it's like they're all gone...
It feels stupid now, but one of my strongest memories happened when I was a kid - 8 or 9, was on vacation with my family and they wanted to go on paddleboats. My dad was overweight so I was scared and refused to get in the boat and told him I thought he'd sink it. He didn't go on the boat ride and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day. I know (and he knew) I wasn't trying to be mean, but I hurt him really deeply that day and it has haunted me ever since. Made worse by the fact that he died a few years later and I wish I had said sorry.
I have so many people that I want to say sorry, or I love you to, just to make sure that my paranoia is sated.
Some of them I know I'll never get to, maybe because I'm not sorry.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 03:39 pm (UTC)|| |
When I think about memories...
I suppose a really big memory is when I decided to move away from Omaha, cut ties to my previously miserable life, and start over in Illinois. It is a clear line in my history where you can see the "me that was" becoming the "me that I am now". I have more passionate memories (loves, triumphs, tragedies, etc), but if I was to choose I single one, that one defined just about everything concerning my character (good or bad).
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 05:25 pm (UTC)|| |
Re: When I think about memories...
I think one of my turning points was...the first time I told my father, "No, I'm not coming home this weekend" from college and thought "Jesus, is that all it took?"
I was nervous and ecstatic, as it meant I was finally just me.
We were in his apartment in Ramat Gan, and he had taken the day off of work. We were sitting in his room, because there was no living room, on the couch - eating scrambled eggs and potato chips and drinking Kinley orange cola. We watched the Simpsons for the entire day, playing hooky from work and school and responsibilities. I was young, but I don't know which summer it was.
This is the last concrete memory I have of loving my father.
I'd like to imagine that I never loved him, but it's not true. I did, as a child, before I understood how awful he was, before I knew any better, when you just kind of loved your dad and that was it.
No matter the ultimate realizations, what a beauitiful memory.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 04:14 pm (UTC)|| |
I'd love to participate, but my memory's absolute crap.
Thank God for my imagination, else I'd have nothing going for me.
You know that I'm going to tell you to stop saying crap like that, right?
32 faces that were plastered in every publication I read for a month after April 16. I know the names of the people that were my friends, and I remember a few others, but it's the faces that strike me most, laid out in that practically cliché grid that all the magazines and newspapers used. I read and heard so many stories about each of them that I go through this mental litany: she was so-and-so's girlfriend, he worked at the library when I was there but I never met him, she was a dancer, he was in the corps, her office was right across from my advisor's, he taught German, he survived the Holocaust, she went to high school near me... It just goes on and on.
I don't think I knew that.
I feel like I should have.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 04:23 pm (UTC)|| |
I've never heard the song. Sorry.
But you DO have a memory that fits the criteria, right?
The song was just an example of a brutal tear in my memory...
good memory: age 13 laying on the couch in the sun wearing my purple "100% mambo" shirt eating a green lime flavoured ice pop thinking "i dont have a care in the world right now"... good to know that was possible at one point in my life.
Bad memory actually happened just yesterday, a friend sent me a gross out link. it was a bunch of photos a guy had taken of a dead girl after her autopsy, then photos of necrophelia on said corpse... that memory is never fucking leaving my mind and its the first thing in my life i truly wish i had not seen. it's made me pissed at the world for containing such fucking evil, erk... sorry.
Good memory: So many involve ice cream, don't they?
Bad memory: As horrible as this sounds, I don't really have any brain parts that allow me to be disturbed very much any more, so at the risk of sounding horrible...would you be willing to e-mail me that link.
Everything about life fascinates and repulses and pleases me...
My memories are like Tetsuo. You open that door, and everything just floods out in disgusting clumps. Some things recognizable, others just actionless appendages or geysers of blood. Samples:
* Looking out my bedroom window during my first Christmas home from college, at the foot of snow that had fallen by 3 AM, seeing the nasty blue/white street light glaring off of it, and feeling a profound and internalized sense of desolation.
* Same Christmas. I called her. She said "you know you shouldn't be calling." I said "yes", though I really meant "yes I should."
* Two or three years old. Lights are off in the kitchen, I'm standing in the entryway next to the counter. Mom has just pulled some cheap Sarah Lee cherry pie out of the oven, and the tin pan splits in half. The only light in the room is coming from the gaping over door, and I watch these molten hot cherries spill all over the floor as my mom screams.
* Eight years old or so. Summer. I'm with family on a lake in Wisconsin or Minnesota or some such. The lake floor is just silt, and I sink into it. Also, I discovered tree frogs.
* Working late on a Friday, 2006, just after New Years. I walk into my front door, and the house smells incredible -- someone is cooking, and there's laughter and conversation coming from the kitchen. I walk in, expecting my roommates, but instead it was the first time I laid eyes on her.
* Four AM, sometime in February, 2004 maybe. It's been snowing all day and no one has been on the road for hours. The snow is perfectly still, flat, and undisturbed. There is no sound expect for the muffled crunch of the wind, and some wind chimes in the distance. I smoke a cigarette as I walk down to the corner, past the red pickup covered in snow, past the stop sign underneath the street light. I find a sewer grate that's puffing out a little cloud of hot air, and it's melted away a little shelf in the snow. On that shelf are a dozen little green prickly seed pods that forgot it was winter.
You sound like a movie.
A good one...
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 04:43 pm (UTC)|| |
I tend to not remember events, or exact conversations, but feelings.
I remember how I felt, and the ones I remember best are the ones where I was hurt beyond belief.
Sometimes, I can still feel it exactly the way I felt it when it happened. I suppose I am very emotionally tied to my past.
But the one memory of the bad stuff that I will probably never forget ever, was a time where I had my heart broken the worst and I cried so hard, I vomited. It's probably because I didn't see it coming and I had never vomited that way before.
I can't tell you exactly what was said, I just see the dark bathroom and me sitting on the tub across from the toilet. I remember him pacing around, but that's about it.
It's the feeling that sticks with me.
It's always the heartbreaks that stick with people.
Perhaps mine was never broken enough, but it's never really there...
If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts.
I sort of have a flash of things that come to mind strongly - the scent of marijuana and bright-colored autumn leaves in Blair Park; the first warmth of Southern Comfort warming up the back of my throat on a cold day; staring into a mirror alone in a bathroom at a party and thinking "the nice thing about being drunk is you can entertain yourself;" another alone bathroom experience at a party this one while using some variety of mind-altering drug, staring at my face and suddenly understanding how I was a product of my heritage, some conflagration of DNA and environment; being confined to my dark basement when I was very ill and the reaction to the drugs meant to make me better left me photo-sensitive; playing web sudoku and trying hard to drink alone when I figured out I was going to ask Bob to leave but really unable to get up the gumption to drink when all I wanted to do was sleep forever; and then all the feelings associated with my life-pattern of letting those who know me best and love me most down so terribly badly....
And what's it like now, if I may ask?
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 05:16 pm (UTC)|| |
My first date with my first wife, we ended up talking for hours at the ampitheatre at Krannert, even though it we were both freezing our asses off, we sat there and talked.
My father and I were coming home after a high school football game, and we came up to a bridge. On the other side there were police and ambulance crews. I had this horrible feeling something was wrong. The next day I learned that Cori Lowry had died.
I received a phone call at 3am, when a voice on the other end said "He's gone."
I remember the first thing I ever killed. I was young and had a BB gun, I shot a robin, it fell to the ground twitching and bleeding. I cried for hours, and in that moment I didn't know it, but part of my innocence was gone forever.
I find it troubling that despite all the joy and happiness I have experienced in my life, the things I recall the most are earmarked by tragedy.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 08:53 pm (UTC)|| |
Re: 4 things
I knew what two of yours would be.
I think that means i know you well.
How sad, though, that they were the bad ones.
Edited at 2007-12-12 08:54 pm (UTC)
Touching his cold made-up cheek with my ring finger and then yanking it back fast. The coldness, the deadness. Then watching the funeral parlor doors swing close as my Grandma got to say her final words to him.
The human body is so heavy when there's nothing left...
My oldest memory is probably somewhere around the time I was three. I remember I had these tiny crayons that were shaped like pop bottles, and they came in this tiny plastic case that looked like a six-pack, with a 7-Up logo on the side. I remember drawing with these crayons in the family room while my parents watched tv. It was night time, and it was winter.
One thing I will never be able to forget is my dad being in the hospital and almost dying when he had his quadruple bypass. I remember my sister saying "fuck" and slumping over to the floor when she saw a doctor she knew (from her days of working at that hospital) running into the ICU room: she was sure he wouldn't make it. It still gives me chills to think about, even though my dad is alive and well nearly two years later. I remember how he looked laid out on the table after the surgery, all swollen and iodine-stained with a bunch of tubes and monitors and things. And I remember how happy he was to see me when he woke up, even though he still couldn't talk because of the tubes in his throat. My mom said not to cry in front of him, because it would upset him, so I said "happy Valentine's Day" and he smiled.
I guess that's like a good and bad memory, right?
Oh, and there's the summer night in 2002 when I asked my best friend Tom if he wanted to go on a date with me the next weekend. He typed "I guess that would be okay maybe." Five happy years later, I still tease him about that response.
It's so odd. My family tends to live forever, so the number of people I've even seen in the hospital that are related to me is so very tiny.
All four of my grandparents are still alive, two over 86, two over 90. I knew three of my great-grandparents.
I wonder what it will be like, as horrible as that sounds...
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 07:21 pm (UTC)|| |
1. The night I lost my virginity. I'll never really forgive him, although I've tried.
2. The moment my current lover told me he loved me and I knew he means it. The feeling of something deep relaxing inside of my body, overwhelming and precious.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 09:08 pm (UTC)|| |
My virginity? She can fucking keep it.
|Date:||December 12th, 2007 07:43 pm (UTC)|| |
*Christmas Eve, 1994. My father. That beautiful, big, laughing man, shrivelled and silent and so very tiny in the ICU. I don't say anything. I simply look, and know he will never laugh again. The next day he is dead.
*The moment I told her I loved her. That single moment of desperate hope before she started laughing.
*A bitingly cold early morning. I am 12 or 13. It is very dark and very clear. I look up and see a shimmering curtain of green and purple. The aurora has come all the way to Virginia, the only time I have ever seen it, and I am the only person awake. It is my own personal aurora, and I carry it with me for the rest of my life.
1) No words will work,
2) That...yeah. I've been there.