like the corners

memory is a funny thing, and i find it chooses to assert itself at the most inconvenient times. this is why we wake up screaming in the middle of the night in recollection at long last of where we left our housekeys.

but memory is also strange for its very nature...the technicolor surround sound dream movies that play out so clearly, so swiftly that you can actually hear the song that was playing in the bar, feel the touch of the lover, smell the acrid exhaust of the train as it rumbled away...all of this good stuff.

ah, me.

oh, the um the oh the ah of this, the secret escape where in retrospect you can change the ending of the story to suit you, zoom in, replay, freeze frame however you choose, where your secrets remain safe and no one will ever know what you were dreaming about at the moment of clarity. where you can smell the photograph and know how it felt to be there.

i think about this as i sit in the suddenly and mysteriously air conditioned cubicle (where was this two weeks ago, when it was 105 degrees in this ridiculous excuse for a human drone habitrail?!) i share with young mister longacre and do my best to ride away from this horrid monotony on my own recollections of events not so long past.

let me tell you. i would much rather be there than here right now.

but, anyone who's been following the story would know that goes without saying.

yes indeedy.

mmmmmm. yep.