I had amnesia once or twice
Music dissolves into blandness. The vibrating log is on. I am in between point A, point 3, and home. I remember a joke or two from Steven Wright (the amnesia one). Yes, I have a bad memory - a little bit better than your average octopus. There’s no snow in this maze, yet. But its floor remembers drunk late nights, and its captives reminisce about layers on layers on layers, variable states of the vigil, remains of a hero, hair and husk, highs and lows. I find shortcuts in every path, wandering around like an innocent old baby and bumping into travelling friendships. Every city I discover turns into a collage. Every person I meet is already a collage. “Do you remember bits of this and that? Have we met before?” There’s a guy nearby eating a boiled egg, that’s the last thing I remember…
— Kaspars Groševs
I want to say that I woke up, but for me there’s no difference anymore between waking and sleeping. I only know when I’m awake because my muscles hurt. My are watering and I’m trying to unglue myself from the damp floor. If I had amnesia, would I even know it? The man beside me is telling a familiar story. “I’m sorry I…am I repeating myself again? Have you already heard this?” I’m embarrassed by what I forget, so I talk less. There’s less chance of saying something to reveal what’s wrong with me if I just shut up. Walking around like a living fossil. I am the one who waits.
— Christina Gigliotti