You would probably not understand the weird flashes of memory that come rising up on a daily basis. See, I’m living in the same area I lived some eighteen years ago, for the first time in about sixteen years. So, the memories I am having are the ones from my early days here. If I made the effort, I could fire up my dad’s Mini-DV camera and watch a few of the tapes I made from 1999-2000. I would have to be careful not to spook my wife too much with the scenes of me and my ex. I mean to say, we didn’t ever do anything on those tapes–other than behave as a couple in love which I could see would make a present day love a bit touchy.
As much as it has changed down here, with all of the chain restaurant and strip mall love one can handle, I sense a lot of non-change and not much being different. This side of the tracks, near S 1st St and Slaughter, is mostly a rather impoverished area outside of the fancy Southpark Meadows, and a few cookie-cutter developments, and my apt complex. I could get on my bike right now and be at the duplex I first lived in within fifteen minutes. It’s just a bit of a run down Slaughter past Manchaca.
I suppose you could say much the same about me. I’ve changed similarly. Yes, there are superficial and obvious outward differences between the me of 1999 and the me of 2017, but the gray, thinning hair and lines on the face are hardly the complete story. Much of me is still unmoved. I feel sometimes like Time itself is trying its damnedest to fuck with my mind, and my mind keeps resetting itself, and saying, wait, the underlying reality doesn’t behave the way the physical (or manmade physical) universe manifests itself.