I once looked at a friend while he was talking and reflected on how differently we actually thought.
I always admired the ability of people to talk from their own experience, in a non speculative-present based even-changing analysis of situations, but actually referring to real, physical,experienced situations. My memories from childhood are vague, and I cling to one or twosituations which I don’t really know if I remember living or if I saw them on a dvd. On my last session with my psychiatrist I asked him what should I do - should I just let go my fear of forgetting? My enigma with my almost forgotten past, childhood... should I just let it go? He looked at me not really knowing what to answer. I think he was not very much engaged with this topic.
The only time I took LSD, I did it with a close friend. I remember we sat inside a gazebo in a park; it was a rainy day, it was supposed to be summer but you could perfectly doubt it. I remember the gazebo was made out of rock. I remember it bone coloured. I remember it was one of the first days in my life in which I was voluntarily carrying an umbrella. Ive always been opposed to umbrellas. My mother was too obsessive in my childhood (is this a memory or an emotion? I think of it as a print - a record) which has made me repel throughout my life everything that logically makes sense to do, carrying umbrellas when it rains being a perfect example. I’ve gotten sick several times. I do genuinely enjoy it though. But yes, I doubt myself there. Do doubt me.
One day in that month of deep analysis and habit doubting posture, I grabbed an umbrella and left my house. Back in the gazebo. The bone colored rock gazebo stood in the middle of a moderately big park. It was raining and it was before sunset. There was a lake by one of our sides. On the other side there was a really big tree - a Pytholacca - and two people below it, in between its huge mountain-like roots. One of them came near us, he probably lived on the street, and asked if he could borrow the umbrella. We gave it to him. We then took the lsd. I was between excited and scared, but I trusted my friend who was really chill about it and had done it several times before, so I decided to dive into it. We watched the sunset before being “hit” and it was beautiful.
At some point my friend asked me if I remembered Poly. I had no idea who she was talking aboutbut the sound - the signifier - absolutely empty of content but in its state of form, limited form, four lettered word, was hand picked involuntarily by my mind (brain? unconciouss? neurons? ear?) and directed to its realms. I think theres a scene in Hercules, where three evil witch-like looking women mix something in a violet witch-looking pot, to define either the future or the memories of some character. Then the “poly” word was absorbed and I suddenly thought of a movie I saw when I was a child. It was one of my favorite movies. I didn’t watch TV and the content I had access to was pretty much limited to Disney. It was one of my favorite movies and I remember watching it with my cousin, and buying the vhs which came with a necklace, which she kept and I always regretted not keeping. Poly was the bird in the movie. Then I replied to my friend - Poly the bird? She said something like - what? I fervently asked her if she knew the movie, which she opportunely did. I wonder where was that hiding, inside my 20x15 head.
Maybe memories interact with one another. Past versions of ourselves, comprised moments, sympathising between them. The happy ones and the sad ones. And the sad ones claim they’re sad but feel somehow proud of their own sadness, and the happy ones feel sorry for the sad ones, but only moderately sorry, just enough to be able to continue being the happy ones. I guess the tricky point is the timeline, right?
We order events in a linear way. Not gonna get into the howlanguageaffectsthewaywethink thing. Still, no timeline inside. No left to right. No tiny arrows coming out of main line, pointing out events. But then - how come.
I have a glass of a Waitrose Apple and Matcha juice besides me and the matcha-apple dust that makes its consistency sedimented in the lower part of the glass. You see.
I remember the first time I actually had a notion of the past. I can remember how it felt. Now I have it regarding several instances in my life. Yesterday I spoke - messaged - a person I knew in one of those instances. Not so many years ago but theres a dessert in between. Apparently we are going to meet. He said he was really looking forward to doing so - I told him that I thought it felt like meeting someone from a past life. Then I fell asleep and I thought that it was just like watching anything that lies in the sky; stars - the actual present inexistence of everything we see, the light events from a remote and dead past, still visible.