image – Flickr / Tim Roth
One of those days in which you fall into an “existential” gloom—you know, the kind you read about. I’ve been stuck in conversations—just one—that make me say, “I long to discover,” and then fall into determination. “Discovery”: so moving that you’ve never yet felt it. There is more to see, but we’re jaded about being jaded; discovery will remind of the feeling of novelty.
I know drunk, orgasm (not for a while—thank you, Prozac), stoned, falling in love, in love, and hold a refractive inventory of each of those states. They’re memories, and I think of my grandmother’s inherited dishes and the narrative she and I have spun of past.
Déjà vu may have a neurological basis, some say: a delayed synaptic response or something that means that by the time you’re conscious of an event, you already “know” the sense of sensing that…
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