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vaneramosProjecting my mind into the state of amnesia I described in today's earlier post, I found it pretty easy to imagine experiencing it again. I can tell intuitively what things I would remember most easily, which ones I could retrieve with a little concentration, and which would elude me. I wrote this for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
free_write, but I'm fascinated with the possibilities for more creative writing in this vein, so I'm cross-posting it here.
~~~~~~~~~~
Where am I now? There is a shadow on the green wall, wires crossed in front of a light source. The light is coming from over my shoulder. Turning, I see a floodlight outside the window. I hear sounds below: traffic in the street.
I know all these words: floodlight, wires, traffic. I know what they are. Why they are going, moving, shining and crossing I cannot comprehend. I am in a room, mostly dark, except for that light from outside, and a warmer, softer glow from an adjacent room. I look there: it is a living room, although it contains a futon intended for sleeping sometimes. I have slept there before.
I sleep there when my daughters come to visit. Now I remember I have children. One is 10 and the other 12. I cannot remember their names just now, but I can see their faces. The older one spkes her hair and dyes it dark. She wears numerous earrings and a studded bracelet, and those chains, what do you call them? Dog chains, that's it. The words come when I search for them. We get along pretty well, if I recall. Now I remember: I'm supposed to phone her tonight.
Why? Why am I supposed to phone her? She is somewhere away from home. They both live away from here, but she is away from there. The planes are sliding and slipping. I can't hold onto reasons or meanings for more than a moment.
I was talking about a girl. What girl? I used to play with a girl who had brown skin. We were teenagers I think. My parents had an old snowmobile on a trailer by the side of their lawn and we would ride on it, pretending something. Who knows what we pretended. It's nice to remember a moment of enjoyment.
Maybe if I go further along that corridor I'll find something else that was pleasant.
A letter. I used to exchange letters with another girl who lived across the world on an island. Somewhere. In the Indian Ocean, that's it. An island called Ceylon, except they changed the name to Sri Lanka. Then there were wars between two races: Tamils and Sinhalese. Why do the names come so easily right now? I can't even remember my own name, or those of my daughters.
Yes, I have daughters. Did I tell you that? I wonder if they're living somewhere dangerous like the girl in Ceylon. Her name was Sumudu Gunasena, and I never heard from her after we were, I don't know, some age. At least I don't think so. I don't remember.
Are there wars going on where my daughters live? Or people fighting? Is it safe for them to walk in the streets at night? By day?
(10 minutes)
free_write, but I'm fascinated with the possibilities for more creative writing in this vein, so I'm cross-posting it here.~~~~~~~~~~
Where am I now? There is a shadow on the green wall, wires crossed in front of a light source. The light is coming from over my shoulder. Turning, I see a floodlight outside the window. I hear sounds below: traffic in the street.
I know all these words: floodlight, wires, traffic. I know what they are. Why they are going, moving, shining and crossing I cannot comprehend. I am in a room, mostly dark, except for that light from outside, and a warmer, softer glow from an adjacent room. I look there: it is a living room, although it contains a futon intended for sleeping sometimes. I have slept there before.
I sleep there when my daughters come to visit. Now I remember I have children. One is 10 and the other 12. I cannot remember their names just now, but I can see their faces. The older one spkes her hair and dyes it dark. She wears numerous earrings and a studded bracelet, and those chains, what do you call them? Dog chains, that's it. The words come when I search for them. We get along pretty well, if I recall. Now I remember: I'm supposed to phone her tonight.
Why? Why am I supposed to phone her? She is somewhere away from home. They both live away from here, but she is away from there. The planes are sliding and slipping. I can't hold onto reasons or meanings for more than a moment.
I was talking about a girl. What girl? I used to play with a girl who had brown skin. We were teenagers I think. My parents had an old snowmobile on a trailer by the side of their lawn and we would ride on it, pretending something. Who knows what we pretended. It's nice to remember a moment of enjoyment.
Maybe if I go further along that corridor I'll find something else that was pleasant.
A letter. I used to exchange letters with another girl who lived across the world on an island. Somewhere. In the Indian Ocean, that's it. An island called Ceylon, except they changed the name to Sri Lanka. Then there were wars between two races: Tamils and Sinhalese. Why do the names come so easily right now? I can't even remember my own name, or those of my daughters.
Yes, I have daughters. Did I tell you that? I wonder if they're living somewhere dangerous like the girl in Ceylon. Her name was Sumudu Gunasena, and I never heard from her after we were, I don't know, some age. At least I don't think so. I don't remember.
Are there wars going on where my daughters live? Or people fighting? Is it safe for them to walk in the streets at night? By day?
(10 minutes)
