I had once read in a weighty science publication that bad memories can be deleted by brain surgery. It seemed a brilliant solution to alleviate suffering and get rid once and for all of a psychological condition called post-traumatic-stress disorder; PTSD. What would happen to history books, public statues, museum artifacts and the weighty ceremonies conducted by governments where all the failings of the human race are re-lived in memory.? This amounts to an Academic and Government propagation of PTSD, and the trail also sweeps Art And Literature in its folds.
Bottom line do we need memories? I have always suspected that sanctified ceremonial grief is shallow and seldom experienced in the heart. Here I assume I shall be punished appropriately. Subscribers to my posts will run away and the valiant 16 who actually pay to read my scribbles will never renew. I shall perish alone with my orchid plant of nine blossoms.
If one dodges the company of unpleasant people and shuns contact and as the self improvement movements go Ra Ra then by the same token remebering global genocides or religious purges including hanging women who have been dubbed as witches then why cannot this maudlin and usually factually inaccurate exercise be banned using a simple surgical procedure? I really want to hear some cheers now. I mean who wants nasty when one can have nice?
Whenever I hear of tourists visiting sites where killings took place I am astounded. A visit to one of Hitler’s infamous concentration camps. This is accompanied by the slogan “We will not forget”….This time i experience horror at the decision not to forget? It takes a few bull dozers to bring down the structures of infamy, reduce them to rabble and finally powdered debris. Then build the most beautiful playgrounds for children and art camps.
In some obnoxious movements statues of people are toppled over as they do not meet the wretched Woke sensibilities. The Dundas Square in Toronto has been given an unpronouncable name. Large swaths of people living in bygone eras relying on memories recorded by those who are suspect.
The yogic dictates of today stress “ Live in the moment”. There is no past and future yet to be determined. But then we have the human brain with its serpentine coils of cells which will not give up stored rememberances. Future be damned?
Life, is continous motion. Collectively we move the great locomotive to reach new frontiers but there are trainloads weighed down by the excess baggage of rememberence. A blank slate like the empty canvas of an artist is the future as is the blank page of an author. Newness is the desired objective. Here lies the surprise of something brand new. Fortunes are ready to be made in this abstraction. Yet simply cherry picking from the oceans of events of bygone eras and recreating them with clever modern eyes can be an attractive proposition. This leads me to state that dystopia is a hysterical refusal to give rememberance much validity. I do want to head to the laundry room in my building and fold bedsheets next to an alien. Dont you?
The degenerative ailment Alzhimers is mysterious. Short and long term memory battling it out and reducing the afflicted to vacous states .where despairing family members seek retirement homes in panic. Is it possible to conduct more precise medical research to determine if an element of personal choice is involved here.
,She went for a walk and forgot where she lived and is wandering around until rescued by a stranger who took the initiative’, Was it possible that she was not ready to return or was looking for a new solution to her existence. An adventure perhaps?
I have a baroque and rather dramatic set of ancestors. So being partial to black and white photography there are a few framed portraits scattered on a long chest of drawers in my bed room. I can lie in bed and cast brooding and speculative glances at them. I also collect antique silver frames and tell myself that the old photographs are simply decor. No more or less. I am to have memory flashes and marvel at attractive faces and clothes. This is not the case as they are largely ignored, except for the odd visitor who steps into my bedroom. Eyes widen and awe struck comments flow from them. But these are strangers going through my memory box and i refuse to divulge anecdotal history.
With the advent of narcisstic social media how people eat or dress is recorded for posterity. When Madonna was questioned about her selfies she replied “I am a museum and I am in charge of the archives”. Humility or modesty were not part of her lexicon and yet the photographs have avid colletors. Unreleased pictures of Marilyn Monroe still provide a thrill. The world will never get over this trifling appetite which covert to money.
This years Nobel Peace prize goes to the memories of The Hiroshima disaster and the evil spawned by Atom bombs. It happened to everyone and the memory is kept alive. The people are called Peace Activists and the beat goes on. Doubt if anyone will throw a bomb anywhere. Everyone has a bomb and Uncle Sam cannot keep eyes on everyone.Onwards!
In this era with thrilling technologies medical cures and fabulous books the death of imagination has not yet occurred. So if boredom sets in lets not look back forward.
Time for the Aliens perhaps to make contact and teach us new things. I want a ride on flying saucer how about you?