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


Friday, October 28, 2011
I remember Twiggy. Some friends -- Marc Bilgray or maybe Michael Hoban or Peter Rogers -- mentioned her, mentioned the name. They were knowing. I didn't know what manner of thing Twiggy was; I think my first approximation was (naturally) a tree: some famous or symbolic tree or tree toy or something. But soon she was just Twiggy. I think I might have seen a photo of her and come to realize that.


posted by William 9:17 PM
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Sunday, October 16, 2011
I remember TV images of people with their heads hung low in green fields, or standing in front of pickup trucks, or next to silos, or in ditches, and I remember a sick, despairing feeling every time I heard the words, "Another family farm" on the nightly news.


posted by Rosasharn 1:07 PM
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Wednesday, October 12, 2011
I remember shutting down in ninth grade. After February vacation, I stopped going to school. Well, almost: I went in on Thursdays, most weeks. Things at school had become terrible, but they did not get better when I stopped showing up. No one from the school called, that I know of. I stayed in bed, or in my room, not well enough to face my class, not sick enough to need any attention.


posted by Rosasharn 1:34 PM
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Thursday, October 06, 2011
I remember that the girls in the grade ahead played an elaborate pretend game during every recess, every single day. It was the perfect game--a story that went on and on, where each person played her role perfectly, with autonomy, yet adhering to the generally agreed-upon outline of "what happened." I watched them every single day, apart, silent. It looked so fun. I was so shy, though, that even when they invited me to join, which eventually one of the nice ones (Emily, was that you? Or you, Ayelet?) did, I could not bring myself to accept my heart's desire.


posted by Rosasharn 9:21 PM
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