the impossibility of having an honest relationship with memory

Is there a way to be gone and still
belong? Travel that takes you home?

Is that life? – to stand by a river and go.

—last two stanzas of “Quo Vadis” by William Stafford

USA / Utah / Beaver / I-15 / Somewhere Along the Way/ Untitled, ©Jacek Fota / Anzenberger

They come hard, and fast, and have worn themselves into a series with anchored images: rainbow sweater, double queen room, a noisy air conditioner full blast in December. Then sensations follow: a specific kind of scratchy found only from the machine stitching of cheap hotel blanket covers, the coldest setting on the air conditioner running full blast in December, recede. I want you to distract me. Corrupt this circuit. Find a way. This is phoenix as purpose, not process. There is no ending, yet, only restarting, again and again.

 

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