If you had to recall half the things forgotten, then you’re missing something here. If all else fails, a photo or a note of what actually happened snaps, triggering the mind to remember most of what occurred at that particular time. Certain moments in our history have had a significant impact upon the present day as we know it. It’s group consciousness. Does everyone remember the event exactly as it went down? I don’t remember it happening that way.
Selective memory is what makes us think of only good parts and rejects the bad bits. I’ve been wary of the stuff that makes people think they’re authorities on a topic or subject. They want to be experts but lack the knowledge. In reality, knowing little to nothing of what they’re talking about. I can only talk about stuff that I know. Stuff that’s happened to me. I guess you had to be there to know first-hand. Dreams and crazy nightmares are buried deep. The subconscious mind festers and reinvents it, yourself. The good thoughts float to the top, while the bad ones sink to the bottom. The burning desire of your soul in a perfect moment. Impossible scenarios are better left to the imagination of a dreamer. Who knows better than you? What the future might bring in a menu of memories à la carte? Think whatever you like. Just remember if you can.
It leaves the dreamers free to dream about the same world the rest of us live, eat, sleep, and dream in. The one that isn’t perfect. It’s not all cut-and-dry in the madness of the real world. The days are fraught with life’s storms and overloaded, unpredictable disasters. Though they never last, they leave an indelible scar on your psyche. It’s possible to have other people's memories as your own. A catastrophic event that’ll set the stage for mysterious days for the rest of your life. Something that everyone will remember. The sinking of the Titanic, men walking around on the moon, Watergate, or the Reagan years. Flat Earth: Sasquatch vampires. The rise and fall of this country. If memory serves anything, it is to forget everything you thought you knew. Back to the drawing board. Straight to bed with you, and no supper. You ungrateful scruffy scamp. It’s all a scam.
The short- and long-term memories get lost in the jumbled mix ever-present in brain-fog synapses. Shuffling through your brain's greatest hits. All the fears and worries are part of a long list jukebox that can change your mind for a quarter play. You can buy a memory cheap for a song all day long. You never know about how things germinate in the seeds of past thoughts. I don’t know if it really matters once it becomes a widely-accepted fact. Your memory isn’t the same as mine, and it doesn’t matter what it feels like. For one to revisit the same things in the same way and in the original order of incidents is forgettable. You know how people like to rearrange things to beef up their stories and make them appear more interesting or exciting. You know, like this yarn right here. It’s only my imagination of a memory of mine just for you. In subjective reality, it's nothing more than a bunch of elaborate half-truths and white lies.
The dumbing down of this faulty narrative is merely a lot of bluster and a classic fish tale. Part fiction and part uncertainty. Irrelevant dates, names, and places. It’s a mixed bag of nonsense peppered with exaggerated information. It’s true, you can’t make this stuff up, but you can tell it as you wish. All this useful info piled up in the useless file cabinet skull. Subjectively invented for a broad interpretation of the original inconsequential thought. It becomes twisted and distorted, a broken record needle point skipping along the rut groove's memorized repetition.
My time has come and gone. So, like the memories I share with you, and maybe if your dumb luck comes along someday you’ll recollect the exact experience we had together in our days when there was excitement and danger in the air. I’ve never been so melancholy. I saw an old photo of me sitting in front of a bar café. I remembered that I was the only one still alive today. I had a future vision of someone else who looked at the photo and said, all the people in this pic are long dead.