Sunday, January 17, 2010

Tissue

The indulgence of old photo albums. Each page separated from the next by a sheet of translucent paper, so as to spare the photographs the indignity of rubbing against each other, so as to give each trapped face its privacy.

There are days when I wish my memories were so distinguished, so well-preserved. So I could tell the difference between impression and image, dream and ghost.

7 comments:

Shazia said...

Beautiful thought. I wrote something about memories a few years back. May be you will like to read it.

http://sagittalsection.blogspot.com/2007/08/fortunately-or-unfortunately.html

frissko said...

Loved the analogy...

Anonymous said...

interesting article. I would love to follow you on twitter. By the way, did you guys learn that some chinese hacker had hacked twitter yesterday again.

Kaumudi said...

Lovely.

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km said...

Falstaff, your readers want you to go to Vegas. Give up the fear and loathing, man.

dya said...

agree,agree.Time blurs the line between real and imagined real.
PS:- You write so evocatively when you write of sadness, loneliness and longing.