Could I steal a moment?
29 July — 15 August 2020

Memory like death has a way of seizing time.

I think about keepsakes and mementos as symbols of fear. Fear of forgetting and fear of being forgotten. Emblems of evanescence. A key to unlock the door to a placeless time or a timeless place.

I often think about what I’d grab if the house was burning down. It could only be something small enough to run with. My phone or that photo? I can always get a new phone… I can also think of them without their picture. Have you ever closed your eyes and pictured a face? Forcing the image onto the backdrop behind your eyelids. I can secure a shape, but as I grasp at it and try to look closer, the translucent impression shifts and the details escape me.

There is an argument to be made that perhaps all existence is escapism. The only realities we are capable of inhabiting are our escaped ones. If this strong view turns out to be true, then the only way to directly experience escape would be to die. The ultimate crash.

In the car yesterday my chest got tight and I was scared we would die on that motorway. Why do I fear death? Maybe because it’s the ultimate surrender of control. Every time I dream I’m in a car I’m always in the passenger’s seat anyway. Why are we so obsessed with eternal life?

Sometimes I feel fine. Other times I’m gripped by uncontrollable fear. I disassociate and everything around me is a bit too bright a bit too abstract. Some omen is telling me something bad is going to happen. The consequences of living life like Hannah Montana. Hanging suspended from everyone I once was. A subject shaped in response to a network of associations, conversations, things I’ve latched onto; receipts of my existence. Every secret I hold onto is a notch on my belt, hung in the
wardrobe of my former selves.

Everything was forever until it wasn’t.