You know how sometimes you walk around on one of these errand-days, moving from the supermarket to the post office to the a gift shop to the bank, and everywhere you go the ladies give you that look, and you think, Man, I still have it, but then you get home and realize your fly was open and everyone in town is laughing at you now? Actually, I think it happened to me, but I can't be sure.
You get older and all of a sudden—and I don’t know if it’s simply an age thing or a twenty-first century phenomenon—but at some point you look back in a Blade Runner Director’s Cut kind of way, and you realize it may be true that you walked to school one day in your jammies, but maybe you’ve just dreamed about it years later. Or maybe you saw it on TV.
I was walking with a friend in Brooklyn and saw this guy fishing in the river, and all of a sudden this memory comes back, of the family on the beach, and this shadow on the wharf, and my dad takes us to talk to the man who lets us fish for a few minutes. And I tell my friend I even caught something. So I’m talking about this fond, picturesque childhood memory, but then halfway through I’m thinking, Did that really happen to me or did I see it in a movie?
Here I am trying to examine my past in order to understand the world in general but I'm thinking that maybe I'm doing the exact opposite. Maybe instead of understanding the world by understanding my own past I reconstruct my identity through my submission to contemporary thought.
It's not very clear to me either. I'm not ready.