somewhere in my mind, i knew the above image existed before last night -
however - it’s still a surprise to me.
the image is from the Zelda II: The Adventure of
Link and i never owned the game until now - having bought one
of those dandy nostalgia machines -> NES Classic
it’s odd. until last night the only time i played this game was with my
elementary school friend erik. he had all the video games and i was pretty
jealous of that.
but back to the point…
as i dive further into my memory box i wonder about the common “our memories
make our identity” thing. i’m not sure i believe it in that, my memories of who
i was and what i was doing at 20 are not me now. it’s as if i’m looking at a
stranger and wondering what the hell he was doing and why.
i go over my images that i’ve been compulsively making since youth and can’t
fathom the hand that made them. i remember every detail of doing so but that
memory is something similar to having read the story from a book. i see the
events, i can imagine what’s going on in my mind and yet…is that me? did that
i am error.
The Caretaker is an amazing artist. the work on perception, nostalgia, memory, etc. is beyond words.
there i am – easter 1986. the easter bunny had been generous with a new transformer.
i am also wearing pajamas that are advertising for Centurions: Power Xtreme – a cartoon that existed from april to december of the same year.
i don’t remember that cartoon anymore than i remember the boy in the photo.
i’m very pale because i was often sick and spent the majority of my time indoors and should, roughly, be in first grade which marked a significant beginning of the end in terms of who i was.
over the coming years i’d go from whoever that was to someone far more cynical, depressed and alone but i don’t feel like going into that tonight. mostly, this is a wondering about who that kid is.
i watch my son and can imagine that i was similar.
i know then that this kid would have been happy with that transformer along with the rest of the easter basket stuff. and there’s vague recollections about going to bed way too excited for sleep but also waking up excited and feeling happy.
but i want to know more. i want to talk to him, warn him about the future, about school and growing up, but i know he wouldn’t believe me – there’d be no reason for him to.
past that i mostly remember a constant question: why?
it was - and is - a tormenting question. it is one that accepts circumstances but still wonders about them and their necessity because the mind tells you that most situations that warrant a “why” never had to be that way to begin with…if only.
around 9pm i caught a scent that took me back to those sunday nights when i was
fresh, spring, night, slightly damp, chilly, some plants, freshly aired house,
etc. it was the smell of a weekend that was now over and another week of school
was to begin.
in terms of production i’ve been terribly off the rails with the last painting
being finished about a month and a half ago.
and the one before that
and i’m sitting on another 2 or 3 clown paintings that i haven’t photographed
i’m not sure where i’m going with all of this. clowns seem to be the perfect
metaphor at the moment but i’m not sure for what.
i’m getting haggard, i know.
Waiting for the system to recognize and improve based off of the upgrades is an interesting time. I assume it’s similar to adjusting to a new organ but with less rejection medicine. Regardless, unless things go terribly wrong, the body always adjusts.
Sixteen years ago at about this time I was siting in a number theory class with the professor explaining that the country would need mathematicians more now than ever before.
His words were prescient in that, given the revelations of later years, the growth of the data industry has taken off like gang-busters.
I remember mostly how quiet everything was. There were no planes in the sky. No lights, nothing. Just stars and wind.
memory can be gone in a heartbeat. a small rupture, a violent crash, a blockage, etc. and boom – goodbye memory.
it’s an amazing thing, actually, considering how fragile it is to begin with and how fluid of a material it can be under the best of conditions.
my memories from 17 years ago seem more like dreams. could they have ever been real in the physical sense? i know that i am not the same person who experienced those things even though i now carry them around in me as well as their consequences.
and i notice more how my dreams of 17 years ago are still similar to the dreams of today.
but mostly i wonder about the future of all these memories and dreams.
i recently learned of a recording of my grandfather that was taken during a birthday party about 35 years ago. i was 2 and i have no memory of this. both him and my great-aunt both are dead.
but fast forward 35 years. people are dying (as they do) left and right and leaving behind odd traces of existance and memories that’ll persist as long as someone keeps paying the light bill.
facebook pages, flickr albums, etc.
but i’m digressing too much.
a recording isn’t a person-it’s just information organized in a manner that provokes a memory.
to hear the words of a recording spoken by someone with a different voice or to read the words as they were transcribed would bring no memories to me. without knowledge of the creator whether that knowledge comes from being told “this is so and so’s words” or “this is so and so’s audio frequency”, etc. i am unable to attach any more importance to the existence of this information than if it were a automatically generated by the latest nonsense AI.
this is nothing new or profound.
but i wonder if i’m being overly foolish to think that it’s still very important.
also, i need to figure out a way to get graphs and drawings on this here dev blog. #sigh