To Piceous and Back

Piceous (I). © Chris Bronsk 2013.

Piceous (II). © Chris Bronsk 2013.

Piceous (III). © Chris Bronsk 2013.

“Part of the recollection ritual was admitting defeat, recognizing that I could never remember everything. I had no choice but to remember just minuscule fragments, well aware that in no future would I be able to reconstruct the whole out of them. My dreams were but a means of forgetting, they were the branches tied to the galloping horses of our days, the emptying of the garbage so that tomorrow—assuming there would be a tomorrow—could be filled with new life. You die, you forget, you wake up new. And if I cared about God, I would be tempted to think that remembering was sinful. For what else could it be, what could remembering all those gorgeous moments when this world was fully present at your fingertips be but a beautiful sin? The sour grains of Oak Street sand on my tongue; Lake Michigan changing with each leavened cloud passing over the moon from inky blue to piceous and back; the smell of Mary stored forever in the curve of her neck.” —Aleksander Hemon, The Lazarus Project

(This post is for M.)

15 thoughts on “To Piceous and Back

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