what we remember…

The below photos are not my own. I came across them along with many blurry others – equally wonderful – in a found collection called “What We Remember” at the site SquareAmerica.com

Its funny to me, the way we struggle to remember each detail of things. The constant quest for crisper real-life photography. A more precise documentation. The most fail-proof means of archive like to bypass our minds’ own inferior memory system. Comparatively speaking.

But maybe we’re not meant to remember so clearly. Maybe its some kind of emotional survival to gloss over the bad parts of our past. Blur out the mundane. Filter facts down to that beautiful, soft and warm little core of the moment – of the person – the place – because, without it, moving on might be hard. Also, forgiveness. Or acceptance.

Or maybe what this is about is really just some really awesome old photographs.

it’s just a house…

Neal takes the screwdriver out of his pocket, works at removing a glass knob from the door. The rotted wood gives and Neal yanks the entire piece out in one pull, leaving a splintered hole in its place. On Jude’s face is a cringe, like this hurts. Neal rolls his eyes. “It’s just a house,” he says, “Not something alive.”

“A corpse isn’t either,” Jude says. “Still, you wouldn’t rip a thing off one like that.”

A part of what I read in writing workshop on Thursday, after which, my professor said: “But it’s not something alive. I don’t get it.” And, until the next morning, he almost had me believing it. Until I went to work the next day, walking a job site for the first time – a “historic” apartment complex in Hollywood that we’re supposed to move down the street, completely gut and turn into shiny new lofts – my professor almost had me convinced. I can’t explain my love for old spaces, but I guess I’d better figure out how if I hope to salvage this scene.