I remember / je me souviens
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For those limbic bursts of nostalgia, invented by Proust, miniaturized by Nicholson Baker, and freeze-dried by Joe Brainard in his I remember and by Georges Perec in his Je me souviens.

But there are no fractions, the world is an integer
Like us, and like us it can neither stand wholly apart nor disappear.
When one is young it seems like a very strange and safe place,
But now that I have changed it feels merely odd, cold
And full of interest.
          --John Ashbery, "A Wave"

Sometimes I sense that to put real confidence in my memory I have to get to the end of all rememberings. That seems to say that I forego remembering. And now that strikes me as an accurate description of what it is to have confidence in one's memory.
          --Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason


Sunday, August 11, 2002
I remember lipomas. Fatty fist-sized benign tumors that I associated with male adulthood. My downtown grandfather had one on his arm, my father on his underarm, my uncle Cico (pronounced Tsitso) on his back. They seemed one of those features of adulthood -- not relevant to my life or any life that I would call mine, but nevertheless relevant to adulthood, like shaving and going bald. Cico (my mother's blood-brother, but also a distant cousin) had his removed. I met him twice -- two years in a row when visiting Yugoslavia. The second year he'd just had it removed and had a bandage over the spot: I remember him diving into the ocean with the bandage on his spine. He was my mother's age -- mid-thirties, smoked like a chimney, and had lots of casual sex which he told me about in an indulgent and avuncular way. I was impressed with his athleticism when he told me about coming in from behind (a tergo, not anal), partly because I was slightly off about female anatomy. His athleticism wasimpressive; I was just in the mode of wanting to be a serious runner, and I would run every morning (I must have been twelve or so), but he was much faster than me with greater stamina, despite his smoking. He had red hair and seemed salty to me. He died of a sudden heart-attack a year or two later, to my mother's inexpressible grief. I don't think I know anyone in my generation with a lipoma, so maybe I was right that it belonged to the adulthood of a previous time, not our own.


posted by william 2:55 PM
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