then, from this memory-free shore now disentangle from images — hi-res/word-less 3,000 per second copies of a thousand, thousand lives that, cross-indexed and cross-referenced beyond human comprehension and belief (for instant match/retrieval) seem to be pure mind, but there’s nothing pure about all these ancient family albums useless chronicles of so incredibly much and useless past
Some of these images you create and know that you create — others attack you unawares, smothering you with myriad feelings and uncertainties
Good for nothing, honestly better shed en masse, but we like them too much to simply ditch and abandon even though that is…
