Odorless selves bloom into polymer formations. Plastic sticks shoot sterile nodes. Anti-seasonal Season’s Greetings scream out of sweaty closets stuffed full of forgotten double-knit polyester suits. Sideburn caterpillars slink into the fireplace glow of display screens. The same artificiality as last year fills the air with the cheer of a wig bouncing on a slippery pate. A polyethylene coating for the tongue helps cough up holiday hair balls.
Have you ever come across a moment where the situation seems to have always existed in this particular way? What I mean is that sometimes I stumble across a seemingly insignificant moment like this one – dockworkers prepping and loading a catch in the early morning – and for a moment what I witness seems as if it has always been that way. Maybe a byproduct of memory snags my sleeve. The sensation of some eternal stain trails behind the simulation of the senses. And for a brief moment, an ephemeral scene seems as if it lasts forever in a strange loop or a pocket of simulated memory. A mise en scène stuck on repeat in a strange theater suspended somewhere accessible to other minds in other ages or even other planets. Transferred across other mediums. A mass of images collected behind the frame of consciousness seeping in over time from a cosmic hive mind.
Locked up makeshift storage of once useful things long forgotten can be opened up many years later. Short-term memory waves broke decades ago but still wash up on the shore today where a row of new worshippers sit on their meditation boards, as the old did, and wrestle with their desires while they gaze upon their floating temple that guides them through the oncoming set of watery frequencies. And the reflection of my shadow, of who I used to be and all that I was unaware of when transfixed by that practice, oddly fits back into this ramshackle lean-to memory shed that seemed less permanent at the time it was built.
Did you know that the potato inspired deer to grow antlers? Neither did I. But apparently potato hungry deer began sprouting their own antlers after countless years of tater munching. And certain northern European tribes that roamed in tandem with these wild deer had a trophy to bestow upon only the bravest of wanderers: the heart of the spud.
This phenomenon has also been documented in the Americas where the heart of the cactus was also bestowed as a trophy of bravery.