by uzwi

–not of memory but of pure disconnected visual imagery. In fact they are flash-throughs, I understand now, not flashes of something static. Something is passing through and sometimes I can slow it down, or it slows down of its own volition, allowing me to examine it a bit more–or at least catch a glimpse of some aspect I haven’t previously noticed. That dream train of early childhood, with the coloured dragon pouring from its chimney: why is the memory of it always followed almost immediately by an image of the board and wooden pegs of a game of “Chinese Chequers”? Well, it’s the colours–of the board, the packaging, the pegs. It’s the colour-relations between the dream and the game that are the memory. I am in a struggle with memory’s means of communication, like an early radar operator. What’s signal? What’s noise? What’s neither, only some artefact of the process itself? When I find a metaphor like this I am much happier.