#time and memory

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“You think that just because it’s already happened, the past is finished and unchangeable? Oh no, the past is cloaked in multicolored taffeta and every time we look at it we see a different hue.” ― Milan Kundera, Life is Elsewhere

[definegodliness]

Spun

You return to me, Cyclically: as a whiff of a hallucinated scent; As a flashback that Etches itself in the atmosphere, Lingering almost long enough to Return real.

Short-lived instances, these, wherein My inner world booms and blossoms By a sparked (mere) belief in your apparition.

If I am truly lucky, You return to me as a dream: Mine, for one night and a day.

So real, Almost real, That ever since you left, I have been wanting to make sense Of this

Returning.

First, I told myself it was the heart's Muscle memory:

The first time we met; our first kiss; The first time sex, and, Above all, The first "I love you" we Whispered into The aether.

All these golden threads tied to time's fabric. Yet time isn't cyclical,

Or is it?

Later, I considered The moon the culprit;

Thought Your returning Had something to do With its full pull, or new releasing All the water that makes me, or maybe At least my blood.

But despite wishful thinking Heavily influencing my pattern seeking, I could never Honestly link you to The phases of the moon.

In hindsight, I was only lying to myself. Cheating with the dates; what's a day, Anyway?

Everything, it seems.

Truth be told, I do not know Why your returning to me feels so cyclical, But when I look to the night sky each night And see the constellations slowly changing Places, as Earth is spinning, I realize this love is so much Bigger than me.

To me, You are love.

And love is all —

The All.

And I am spinning, Spinning, spinning.

--- 1-6-2026, M.A. Tempels ©

[vanpeltfoto]

not from the wrong side of the tracks, nor where they begin or end — but somewhere in between, still waiting

(Photo: d.)

INSTAGRAM

[elsewhereuniversity]

Memory & Time

Memory can be a really tricky thing at the best of times, let alone when you’re in a place where the Gentry live. (Most people throw out their maps once they realize that the building essentially changes its layout every day.)

Hallways move. Doors lock and unlock. Various seats and desks vanish at their leisure. Sometimes entire rooms shift floors if only because the school is having a laugh. It’s definitely enough to make you wonder “Is is a Gentry thing or have I gone slightly crazy and forgotten where something is?” But probably the worst part of it all would be the people.

Elsewhere is a big place, and meeting everyone is basically impossible. You can try, and you might meet most people, but never everybody. So there will always be that one person you can never really get a chance to finally introduce yourself too. You placate yourself on the rumours and bits of knowledge you overhear from other students, because this one person just eludes you at every turn.

So when you finally corner them, say hi, they nervously say hi back and then leave. It’s a fairly decent friendship. You help out with their art work, they give a hand with law studies, it’s great. But then Elsewhere decides to pull one of those tricks on you.

Time shifts, just as it always does in Elsewhere. Elsewhere has always had problems with Time, people from the future or past just randomly showing up and wandering about. People try to take it in stride, nobody is quite sure of what time period somebody comes from. (It’s impolite to ask, you don’t ask somebody what historical era they’re from.)

Sometimes Time speeds up. Sometimes Time slows down. Sometimes it even reverses a little. Corners and cupboards and old classrooms nobody uses anymore, all areas where Time is just the tiniest bit warped out of the norm. Those places are everywhere - and it’s not often surprising when places cease to be or grow bigger over Time. Try to take it in stride, even if everyone you love is a hundred years dead. Relax, you’ll get back eventually.

And then you find your friend again. After… You think days? Or months? Time is confusing. They’re different now, all big smiles and colourful clothes, surrounded by dozens of friends when before you were the only one they had. They make jokes that they’d said were stupid, and they’re pretty smart at doing the art for their studies.

And you realize - damn them. Damn Memory. Damn Time.

Because that’s one of the problems of living here. After spending so much time away from somebody you knew, your Memory of them becomes solid. You remember everything they did. But Time can change them, Time changes everybody eventually.

And so you have to sit there, wondering…

Has Time actually changed them somehow?

Or is your Memory right, and that’s a Changeling over there?

You’ll probably never know for sure.

Not until Time and Memory hits you as well.

x

[definegodliness]

Unravel

When you left It wasn't wind Knocked from my chest, I heaved my soul Out of this world, And even though I did not drop dead One day my atoms will realize Time, in fact, Has not stood still since then. Whatever bindings they have Will instantly unravel, And I will shatter into a million Fragments.

--- 5-5-2026, M.A. Tempels ©

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

time and memory

“You can’t go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, back home to romantic love, back home to a young man’s dreams of glory and of fame, back home to exile, to escape to Europe and some foreign land, back home to lyricism, to singing just for singing’s sake, back home to aestheticism, to one’s youthful idea of ‘the artist’ and the all-sufficiency of ‘art’ and ‘beauty’ and ‘love,’ back home to the ivory tower, back home to places in the country, to the cottage in Bermuda, away from all the strife and conflict of the world, back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for, back home to someone who can help you, save you, ease the burden for you, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time—back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.” 

 ― Thomas Wolfe

[sethnakht]

And what’s really amazing about that place is that it’s darker than anything could ever be. So dark that when you turn off the flashlight it feels like you can grab the darkness with your hands. Like your body is gradually coming apart and disappearing. But since it’s dark you can’t see it happen. You don’t know if you still have a body or not. But even if, say, my body completely disappeared, I’d still be there. Like the Cheshire Cat’s grin staying on after he vanished. Pretty weird, huh? But when I was there I didn’t think it was weird at all.

Haruki Murakami, "The Wind Cave"