involuntary memory cont.

This secondary lubrication really only serves as reinforcement, as a kind of redoubling of my awareness. I suppose you'd have to imagine a sort of pulsating movement to understand it, similar to being overtaken by a bigger wave on a surf towards the shore of the beach, or perhaps to a brutal shift of gears in a Maserati, the acceleration taking you by surprise and the activation of pleasure centres in the brain momentarily blinding you to the present situation with sheer enjoyment. Were one to extract from this picture a logic and expect it under the guise of its total other-being, we would have a model for the vulgar spectacle of the 'nightmare' of the future's past (or the past's future, whichever term you prefer). Right, so I'm there, open-mouthed and half-expecting another crude temporal witticism, but there's a point at which irony, the sweet and self-distancing 'cream and campari' of life, simply recoils upon itself and enters a frenzied dance with knives in a complete manifestation of terror. I have a lot of affection for both the future and the past, Jesus I've been to their houses visited their families and stuff, but in this instance I'm siding with the past (I might say that these crazy bastards can be real dicks too, I once visited the guys from the future, inevitably bringing small fragments of the past with me... Needless to say the atmosphere was 'tense', the past awkwardly and rudely drawing attention to their whole life-story). With the now nowhere to be found there's simply no mediating movement out of this mess. Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya, the now is usually the grown-up, the 'delineator' of a limit that is limitless, but being a bit 'older' than the other guys always preoccupied elsewhere. But let's stick to the parties involved in this apparent feud. The reason I say apparent will become apparent in good time. The future is on the boiling point, demanding that the past return home with them; the past, denying to be courted in such an inelegant manner, tauntingly strips down to the nude. It's downright absurd. Not to be outdone the future applies the opposite strategy refusing, out of the blue, to enter into the past. This madness must have triggered the fury of the past because suddenly they are down on their knees asking for the future's hand in marriage; arms crossed and shaking their heads with closed eyes the future now resembles a tiny offended child. Calling their bluff, the past dashes off with a time-bending velocity towards the future's future; the future hot on their heels in pursuit of the time they momentarily lost. So I'm there in the bar exhaling audibly and trying to survey this perverse inverted world which has unfolded before me when the gravity of another memory is beckoning on the horizon. Fucking hell now I've really gone and lost it. At this point I would welcome any kind of disruption from the small shimmers and sparks scattered around the bar but my pint is still half-full, and I might say my supernova rather diminishes this 'artificial light'. You can sit around waiting for another sun for eternity, or perhaps you only ever find it mingled with the sea as Monsieur Rimbaud put it. But then I should go bathing I suppose, which is what I'll promptly do, waiting for the reappearance of that memory. Right. I'll be around.