I. These are colors of my memories… Memory of memories are the indistinct lines that necessarily define and confine who we were and who we are and sometimes who we will be. And all the interaction and reaction tangle up and unravel again over and over… beginning in a place.


II. that… was a tired old town when I first knew itSomehow, it was hotter then: … Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum. ” …and the high heat of August was a box…


III.  A place from which… Escape is such a thankful word …for… There is no frigate like a book – To take us lands away,…to a Little House on the Prairie or Villa Villekulla or to Somewhere Over the Rainbow to a place where the we are real …


IV. … and when the reallness was true. I looked into the Wishing Pond andturned around three times and began to have a queer feeling in[the] shoulders, like … was cutting teeth. It waswings coming through…. and NEVER again wished to be something different from what [I]really was.


V. …in this government of my temper, I remained … ;and my thoughts being very much composed as to my condition, and fully comforted in resigning myself to the dispositions of Providence, I thought I lived really very happily in all things, except that of society. ”


VI. … and these are the colors of my memories… dark matter memory, an effect that shapes a cause without offering itself up for deconstruction, improvable or at least, unproven, black chaotic mess…


VII.  … war inside … “Human conduct can be regulated,will be regulated! if only, if only…., if only… But he couldn’t! couldn’t believe like a child (in some stupid god!) Couldn’t listen !… Couldn’t sit! … –putrefied primitive (superstition!) … as a form of instruction …  penancewhat choice did he have? What else could he do?


VIII.  It became… A powerful monster, living downIn the darkness, growled in pain, impatient – As day after day the music rang – Loud in that hall, the harp’s rejoicing – Call and the poet’s clear songs, sung – …the message of the way things should have been until the monster was fed and fires burned themselves out.


IX. … and so I used up all my fear when I was seventeen. Beyond[that] place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade,And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.


X.and these are the colors of my memories… mercilessly untangled, unfolded and pinned down in layers like onion skin, each barely concealing the other. Available to me, but no longer allowed to be the definition of me. Under all of it is solid, “unconquerable” granite that is the foundation of courage.


XI. I learned that while “Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” and so when the “virus of restlessness” took “possession” of me and “the road away was broad and straight” I found myself with “good and sufficient reason” and I went.


XII.  … to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before!” … to find adventure and figure out that … “The Answer to the Great Question… Of Life, the Universe and Everything… Is… Forty-two,'” (or maybe just that we need a better question) …


 XIII.man should be proud of his unique heritage as a self-evolved race, having won intelligence from Nature herselfa chain of genetic and cultural uplifting that…” will continue to the final “… days of the galaxy,” … if we can only convince our young people that they are worthy.


 XIV.  … to speak to them and say,… You are the only creature in the entire Universe who has free will. You are the only one who has to figure out what to do next – and why…. Some personsare simply liking machines and hating machines. …” but “… in a universe which wasn’t meant to be reasonable.” … you are capable of reason…


XV. and these are the colors of my memories … immersive, compacted, overwhelmed, ideas tumble over the edges, pushing and shoving, demanding attention over the din of thought forming a special kind of madness that intrudes into the concrete plane with unwholesome regularity.


XVI. I heard them say… ‘You will hear me better there. I will be closer to you. You will hear the voice of my memories stronger than the voice of my death – that is, if death ever had a voice.’… “… So alive.”


XVII.  So It Goes… Life moves on around us. Each day its’ on lifetime of labor. Sometimes the best there is, is only an “almost good daySo it goes.


XVIII.  “‘… she can’t move, there in the deepest part of the jungle she’s trapped in a spider’s web, or no, the spider web is growing out of her own body, the threads are coming out of her waist and her hips, they’re part of her body, so many threads ” … strong enough to bind together the disparate constructs of self and build with them.


XIX.  …strong enough to do something that matters. To contribute. Something. As yet undiscovered something. Something Good. Happy. Thoughtful. Just. Brave. Free.


XX. and today, the color of my memory is subdued and softened, opened up and focused to expose the usefulness inside it. to be a tool to shape what will come.