how do you blog when you have convenient amnesia

Wolverine, Gabriel Dell'otto, The art of marvel comics

Say hello to an unbidden future. I've lost all my music painstakingly collected since 2003. Not all, some random songs have surfaced on a frantic search. Each one had a specific memory embedded in it. And in the careful, and I swear it was very careful, transfer of files from temporary computer to new, it has slipped between the byte and the drive. I wonder if those straggling lonely songs that remain are significant, though now burdened with the memory of eras rather than moments.

There are fortunate losses like Natalie Merchant’s My skin, which was a favourite that descended to a whine, that only was bearable in the piano riff. Or was it the feeling that it always gave of the guilty desire and shockingly good feel of a new lover, while the old one still lives and breathes under your skin. There’s a strange once-again remanant of I’m on fire, cover version by Tori Amos. The only Tori Amos I could live with after the obsession with her through college. (And ofcourse simultaneously the woman who was Tori Amos for me in college, says hello across continents on the networking monster aka facebook). All of Rahman is lost except Fanaa from Yuva, which is the last-few-hours-for-an-article-deadline song. There is no explanation for how an entire Bonobo album, unheard and untested, emerges from nowhere. And all versions of any kind of tainted love, metallic or soft, sorry or twisted have been washed away.

Somehow I don’t feel much about this, there was a time when I would have wept about it and thrown phones around, like over a scratched DVD of Buffy. Is this ennui or numbness or belated adulthood of the 30s. Almost anything is funny, almost anyone is ultimately laughable.

It seems I hide too much these days, all those feelings that used to hang out especially here, are sitting in this room. Embedded in slippery lost songs. In too easily written over fantasies. In slight slight hopes.


All those obsessed with memory:
Wolverine whose healing power is in the fact that he forgets
Memento
Goldfish and elephants
Irreversible
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
Androids in Bladerunner
Mulholland Drive
Jenny in L word
Ralph Fiennes in Strange Days - unforgettable line by angela basset - memories were meant to fade, they were built that way for a reason
Karz (Ghai) - or is memory of reincarnation not counted