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


Monday, September 26, 2011
I remember that my great grandmother, Babette, always had sucking candies in a special bowl in her sitting room.


posted by Rosasharn 8:02 PM
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Sunday, September 25, 2011
I remember doing yard work. I hated it. I hated raking--or maybe I remember raking most, since there was so much raking to do. I remember the boiling screaming fury I felt at my parents for making me, and how my rage would drive me at the work. And I remember how, even worse, once I'd finished the section or the task, despite my determination to stay angry, I did feel proud.


posted by Rosasharn 6:50 PM
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Friday, September 23, 2011
I remember "pucker power." The line repeated several times, and ending on a lower note than it started -- a little sourly, like what it was describing. It was I think a sour candy or gum, something to freshen your breath: "hour after hour: Pucker Power!" I remember the puckered mouths of the actors on the commercials.


posted by William 8:29 AM
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Sunday, September 11, 2011
I remember what everyone remembers: how blue the sky was on September 11. I remember what everyone remembers: a screen that showed a plane hitting a tower, a screen showing a tower falling. I remember what everyone remembers: two kinds of bewildered confusion—one from before we understood that the plane hit on purpose, and another after. I remember what everyone remembers: the sense that this had happened to me and that this grief belonged to each and all of us, and that everything was now different. But I also remember distrusting that last feeling—how could this be true, any more than it is always true—especially if we had to discuss at length whether to cancel Shakespeare class that afternoon. I remember feeling hinge-less and very afraid, and I remember that the movements of my fetus, my daughter-to-be, soothed and rocked me to sleep.


posted by Rosasharn 9:15 AM
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I remember Windows on the World, and the speed of the express elevators up there, how you had to swallow to keep your ears from popping, and how lovely the view was at night.


posted by William 12:20 AM
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Saturday, September 03, 2011
I remember when the big noisy "push-button-to-cross" boxes appeared on traffic light polea. They were very slow and noisy, and made me miss the slim elegance they displaced from the fluted lovely vertical columns. They seemed confused, like big dumb friendly animals. They'd pause to consider what you'd wanted (to cross!) for it seemed like forever, clicking and clucking. Then finally, as though shaking off some last vestige of a deep ursine nap, they'd make a sound like a metal cube turning over, and the light would change.


posted by William 1:51 PM
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