wanted to talk about again?
You know, I don’t particularly remember.
Well, why not?
You know, I don’t particularly know.
Well, when did it all start?
When did what all start?
What you wanted to talk about.
I already told you, I don’t remember.
Okay, I gotcha. Maybe we take it from the beginning then. Let’s start from the beginning.
Okay, but I don’t know where the beginning is. I don’t know where I am. Come to think of it, I don’t know how I got here.
It’s alright. Just calm down. It’ll be fine. Just talk.
Alright, alright. Fine, fine. I’ll just calm down. I’ll just talk. I guess…
I guess.
I guess it all started when. Isn’t that how the story’s supposed to start? “I guess it all started when?” Kinda funny, right? You can already hear it playing out in your head, in front of your eyes, or really, if it’s playing out in your head, behind your eyes, unless it really is truly outside of your head, in which case it would actually be in front of your eyes.
…
…
go on.
Are you sure? I can stop. I guess it all depends if you’re going to continue patronizing me. I wasn’t the one who asked to be listened to. I don’t need to be heard.
No, please do continue – you were saying…
Yes, yes, I was saying.
…as I was saying:
Sometimes life is like a loading screen. But not an XBOX 360 loading screen. More like a Windows 95 loading screen. It’s got dial-up, and I’m just waiting for it to start. I hear it calling, seeing if it can make a connection. The noise isn’t pretty. It’s staticy. It’s calling out, and all it does is want to make a connection.
You know those apps these days?
Apps these days?
Yeah, you know, like apps on your phone.
You mean just like, apps on your cellular device, like Safari, Maps, and Facebook?
Yeah, you know, like apps on your phone.
You ever get that split second where you click on it and it hasn’t opened yet? You ever feel that utter misery over the tiniest of delays? That split second between anticipation and gratification? Impatient because it’s not instant?
Yeah, I suppose, haha. That, and the red bubbles.
I fuckin’ hate it, man. That’s the stuff nightmares are made of. Well, that, and talking on the phone.
So what are you up to today? What’s your plan after this?
I don’t know. Continue doing stuff, I guess. Continue doing things, I imagine.
Continue living, I assume?
Something like that. I don’t really know how else to put it. What really else is there to do?
What were you doing before you came in?
Living, I suppose. Not much of a whole lot though. Maybe some things here and there. Stuff and things. A little boring, but things.
Why are things boring?
I don’t know. I feel like ’cause I’ve seen them all so many times. Seen them all play out so many times. You know those movies that you watched as a kid? Those movies that you watched 100 times? They’re re-fuckin’ makin’ them now. They’re re-fuckin’ makin’ the movies you’ve already seen 100 times. They’re not remaking Pulp Fiction – thank god – but that scene, you know, that scene where Marsellus Wallace talks about Pride? Well, fuck Nostalgia. Nostalgia only hurts. It never helps.
So you’re not nostalgic for anything? You don’t ever yearn for anything from the past, look back fondly on cherished memories, long for something beautiful you once did or once had?
Cherished memories are just that, and nothing more. There’s a difference. And you know what happens to those cherished memories? At one point, I will be the last one who remembered them, and when I no longer remember them, they will die, and when I die, at some point, there will be a last time someone remembers me, and at that point, my spirit will cease, and my DNA will be for naught. To think otherwise is worse than futile – it is to be arrogant about our place in this world. Although, I’ve gotta give it to us.
Yeah?
For being such small blips in the entirety of history – on Earth and in the universe – we’re doing a wonderful job of defying our future and destroying our planet right now, recently, in the past X amount of years. We’re egotistical pricks, but at least we’re good at this.
That’s one way to look at it.
-You never described the difference, by the way.
The difference between what? The irony that we’re nothing but that we’re wrecking something that is something?
No, no – between nostalgia and cherished memories.
Oh yeah, that’s right. I guess the difference is one is a noun and one is verb. I have my cherished memories. Memories of really good times, really fun events, spending birthdays with friends at the park, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with relatives you seldom see, recess, first days at school with new shoes and new haircuts and seeing all your friends again, getting new video games or even better yet, a new video gaming system.
-But I’m not nostalgic for any of that. I don’t want any of it back. It happened, it’s over, I cherish it, but it’s in the past. Except, I guess –
You guess what?
I guess I am a little nostalgic for certain feelings that I once felt so greatly and purely at the specific time. Having so many friends, not having drama among them, and not knowing the pain to come with failed relationships, fallen-out friendships, and all of the fleeting pleasure between. To love the relatives you don’t often see and not yet have a full appreciation for who they are. To enjoy playing imaginary games on jungle gyms; to even have the time to play games or have the imagination to conjure fiction. So yeah, I guess I’m nostalgic for that. I’m nostalgic for the fact that there were once days where I could do these things, and when I did these things, I didn’t feel empty. I at least felt something, and in the memories I’ve generally held onto, I’ve usually been happy. So fuck Nostalgia, it reminds me of what I don’t have anymore. We’ve got all the high speed connections we could want in our houses and nothing but static in our lives. At least me.
How long would you say you’ve felt like this?
Long enough that day by day the memories fade further and the feelings begin to diminish until they disappear. But that isn’t my worst fear. My worst fear is that one day I’ll have lost all of my memories and the feelings that accompany those memories, and I won’t remember what it’s like to feel. And if I don’t remember what it’s like to feel, how will I ever be able to know it again? The void will be eternal, as eternal as me – which is fleeting, fleeting like the memories. There’s a lucky little beauty in all of it, though.
What is that?
Why, weren’t you listening? I said I didn’t need to be heard, but you acted like you were listening.
The void will be eternal, as eternal as me – which is fleeting, fleeting like the memories. Insignificant, we are, but significantly, the most important piece: one day the void will fade, and diminish until it disappears, and with it my spirit will be gone, and no one will think of me again. The void is only temporary. We are not permanent.
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