absence / presence
Do you ever wonder where lost memories go? Do you ever think of me? I can't believe it's almost seven years since I first started writing memoir / personal essays. Some thoughts over the years: I liken Spiegelman to an optometrist, slipping discs of carefully cut glass before one’s eyes, bringing the past into focus. “The past [however] was not a fixed place one could visit. It was not static. It was a voyage, constant motion.” In an interview with Signature , she reflects that writing is a recorded past but this does not make it “more true … it’s still a subjective perception of reality”. All memoir is subjective; few admit this so explicitly. ( 2016 ) Memoir is cold milk hitting hot tea—pale tendrils, little eddies twisting, tangling—past melting into present. ( 2018 ) I thought my diaries would pave the way to truth. In relying on them, however, I didn’t allow myself to remember. A diary, in its singular plane, is not a narrative. Memoir, in any case, is séance rather t
