"In an instant, I was back in the former cities
familiar cities, cities of memories, built on imagination and some facts
and houses, or homes
of me, myself, and the expats, or the refugees
and I knock on houses of memories, trying to salvage what is left
For memory works in strange ways. It replaces, and disfigures
and I am booked for ages
in the vaporised world
I float, run and sprint
away from nostalgia
but like a strange star
it catches up with me
Didn't I want this? Away from the facts of present, an unguided tour into the repository of the memory
Run, run, and then stop
feel my head, and it gets light, and it gets heavy
Nausea, and ecstasy
They alternate, fight for my attention
and i smile, and I brood
and then i walk through it all
but i can't think. Rather I can't see.
Your face is distorted. It is not configuring.
Is your nose that way? And your eyes like pools of glass. Cold, and icy, too.
I try to remember. Not too hard. Memory is fragile. It can run away.
You look sinister
Not so pretty as I would like you to be.
It is photoshopped. Your image. My image of you.
Memory is strange. It borrows from tears, hurt, and anger.
It preys on the heart. Plays tricks on the mind.
And there you are in the corner.
Standing against the wall of veins.
I want to redeem you, and make you look nice.
But as I said, memory is not my pet.
Among others, there's one in the yellow shirt.
Sipping his drink. Cropped hair, and a smile.
Blurred. But nice.
So, finally memory did you a favour.
In the streets, in a cafe, I stop.
And let memory entertain me.
Like a puppet show.
Here I am the master. I control some things.
I dare fate. I dare memory.
They dare me.
I feel the stab. Betrayal of memory.
But what is mine is always with me.
I can't disown it.
So, I keep playing games with memory.
Trust it to tell me the truths of life.
Of redemption and of salvation.
Like a slideshow."
