A short one:
No, this poem isn’t about my wife. She isn’t old.
My buddy Don sent me this quote by Douglas Hofstadter from I Am a Strange Loop, which makes me want to read it:
“In the end, what is the difference between actual, personal memories and pseudo-memories? Very little. I recall certain episodes from the novel or the movie Catcher in the Rye or the movie David and Lisa as if they had happened to me – and if they didn’t, so what? They are as clear as if they had. The same can be said of many episodes from other works of art. They are parts of my emotional library, stored in dormancy, waiting for the appropriate trigger to come along and snap them to life, just as my “genuine” memories are waiting. There is no absolute and fundamental distinction between what I recall from having lived through it myself and what I recall from others’ tales. And as time passes and the sharpness of one’s memories (and pseudo-memories) fades, the distinction grows ever blurrier.”
Douglas Hofstadter is fabulous. Metamagical Themas kept me busy for years. The footnotes are particularly wonderful.
Earlier this afternoon I was showing someone paint by number paintings im collecting for an upcoming show and she asked me if I used to do paint by number. I said, to tell you the truth, I have a memory of painting them but I can’t say for sure if its a real memory or one I made up from hearing people talk about making them.
Swear to god. And now an hour later I’m reading your post. Wierd, I tell ya.
there ARE no coincidences…
Freud also suggested that a made up dream was as telling about the inventor as a dream described.
As a fiction writer I’ve made up a fair share of dreams for characters, and for that matter, stories are made up. Some of them feel like memories to me. Conciousness. It’s a tricky business.
even made up dreams! oooh i like that idea…
I made up a dream once, but I forgot what it was about.
So this is my first post for your stuff. Let me get the formality out of the way by saying “I love your work.”
Anyhow with reference to this poem it reminded me of “The Time Traveler’s Wife” and how one of the main characters Henrey had said: “My life is a constant strand of deja vu…”