recently on the turntable

butterglory
crumble

I've been staring at pictures of myself over the past couple of days. Me as a baby; a young bow-tied boy; with longish hair and a paisley shirt. Pictures from my past.

I'm redoing the "bio" section of my web-page. The pictures are scanned and ready to go. I'm struggling with the words.

I look at myself on the screen, and I can recognise myself, my face, my features, my eyes, but I can't remember who I was then. I have to hunt hard for what I might have thought, what my dreams were, who I was.

A line from a Talking Heads song keeps running through my head - "these memories can't waaaaaaaaaaaaaitttttttttt, these memories can't wait".

I know I'm there somewhere, the sweet boy of yesteryear, walking hand in hand at aged four to kindergarten with the girl down the road, running excitedly at break time in school to play soccer on the big field down below, coming home on a rainy afternoon to my Dad working in the garage listening to the radio, teasing my sisters and walking up the road to my friends to play.

They're starting to flood back now. Memories. My life.

I often feel elegiac writing in this journal, as though I'm recapturing things that might otherwise be lost forever. I call it an ongoing reinterpretation. I find myself continually sifting through my life, winnowing it out, letting new parts of it come into focus and shine briefly.

Indulge me from time to time.