Somewhere in the back of your mind – or is it to the side? You hear Coltrane playing ‘A Love Supreme’ – Blow your horn Gabriel. A sequence of filtered memories flash past your eyes; you only want to remember the good things, don’t want to mess with your high. You were a singing boy, a dancing fool; you were in love with life and kissed the girls to make them cry. Everything is fragmented. There is no solid narrative in life – it’s not like the movies – things just happen and sometimes for no particular reason. Boys OD, boys drown and it isn’t anyone’s fault – there was nothing anyone could do. It wasn’t fate, or karma, it was just one of those things – that was the final page in the broken narrative of their lives.
Sometimes memories come jagged in sharp relief and sink their teeth into you like a shark – and won’t let go. The way they moved, they way they smiled – the way they laughed when they were stoned. There wasn’t anything anyone could do. You remember the difficulty of swallowing in the moment of the lies they told and the blood flush of late night confessionals. You remember the consolation of friendship against the bitter cold and the softness of the pillow, the lingering bitter-sweet of her scent long after she was gone. Far away across the ocean someone dreams of you. Things are found and things are lost. There wasn’t anything anyone could do. It just happened that way.
Memories pick at your brain like tiny mites devouring dead skin - uninvited visitors to your bed. They come unbidden like burglars to steal your peace of mind. They’re not like movies, you can’t change reels - you have to let them play out. This is no cinema of distraction; these memories are your life in all its glorious and gory detail. You ought to savour them, because in the end they are all that is left you.