Memory - Blog Posts
Segundo escrito que imaginé para Doomsday Daily, diario del fin de los tiempos.
Hubo un tiempo en que viví en Santiago y trabajaba como guardia para un condominio en Chicureo, fue en este periodo donde comencé a escribir los primeros relatos para este etéreo diario sin ningún fin de llevarlo a la fisicalidad.
Esta vez, lo que escribí tiene relación con una hipótesis recurrente que tengo, en donde siento que el tema de la reencarnación y las vidas pasadas tienen relación de cierta manera con la memoria muscular, que son los movimientos o ejercicios que quedan grabados en el cuerpo y que ya no necesitan pasar por todo el cuerpo para lograr una sinapsis, sino que pasan directamente del cerebro al musculo que se necesita utilizar. Esto lo vemos principalmente en atletas que ejercen su deporte. Un tenista o un futbolista no necesitan estar conscientes por completo al momento de cada jugada que harán en la cancha, sino que producto de su entrenamiento, su cuerpo reacciona antes de lo que reacciona su mente y terminan por moverse casi instintivamente, si es que no es completamente por instinto, o mejor dicho, por memoria muscular. Lo que me hace pensar que quizás la memoria muscular no solo se puede formar en vida, sino que también hay ciertos recuerdos que pueden heredarse genéticamente, solo que las memorias pasan ha ser parte de la memoria muscular de cada uno, de ahí que ciertos animales presentan instintos parecidos a la memoria al momento de enfrentarse a escenarios que para ellos son completamente nuevos. Como pasa en el experimento de los ratones que fueron obligados a resolver un laberinto con tal de llegar a su comida, lo que cada vez se les fue haciendo más fácil a medida que memorizaban cada vuelta y cada callejón sin salida. La parte interesante del experimento comienza cuando los científicos se dan cuenta que los ratones que nacían de estos ratones obligados a memorizar laberintos, eran más afines a encontrar la salida de manera más rápida que sus antecesores, hasta llegar al punto donde la generación actual, no tenía ya ratones familiares vivos que hubieran resuelto el laberinto conociendo su estructura, por lo que los ratones que quedaban, ninguno había experimentado antes el laberinto y sin embargo, conocían su estructura de memoria, por lo que en algún momento, investigadores postularon que la memoria no reside en las conexiones cerebrales, sino que residen en el interior de las celulas. Es por eso que mi hipótesis habla de como quizás aquello que llamamos reencarnación es al final solo la memoria que vamos traspasando geneticamente de generación en generación, como si estuvieramos realmente conectados desde el primer ser humano en existir.
El texto dice:
Científicos descubren relación entre vidas pasadas y la memoria muscular, Jesús y Buda sueltan una pequeña lagrima de alegría mientras científicos se esfuerzan en descifrar quien es la reencarnación de Ghengis Khan.
Ahora no lo recuerdo, pero quizás en el momento quería hacer una crítica a como la gente estaría más interesada en saber quien tomó el rol de Ghengis Khan, conquistador y monstruo de guerra en la actualidad que en buscar a los sucesores de figuras religiosas que buscaron la paz en el mundo. Uno es más interesante y morboso que los otros dos. A nadie le gusta que le digan como vivir.
It's already one month now since I finished this and I forgot to post this drawing T-T
Memory!Sans belongs to @undermemory
Fade
As I scroll through pictures of
My past, I wonder
How many moments have faded into
Oblivion,
With no formal record to remind me.
I used to keep receipts
From good times spent
Before everything was so
Well-documented.
My family would tease
For the habit I'd picked up
Somewhere
While I reminisced
That trip to a fast-food restaurant.
I still keep mementos
No one else would understand,
A piece of ribbon, confetti, a
Dried-out rose,
Unable to let go
Of the memories,
The people that have left my life
Where only scraps remain.
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Does it bother anyone else that there are parts of your life you don’t remember? You have done and said things that you don’t even know about anymore. That means you don’t even have the right perception of yourself because you don’t even fully know who you are. However, something that you’ve forgotten about could be a prominent memory in somebody else’s mind. It trips me out.
Anyone else have subconscious conversations they aren’t paying attention to and then all the sudden key in like “does anyone wanna explain what’s going on?” But no the thoughts just skitter away like shadows
Anyway so my brain wants to Baja blast someone or smth into the stratosphere - dunno why
To everyone who says “you need to find a place to keep your things so you won’t lose them and keep them there every time”:
Bold of you to assume I am aware of setting something down.
I hold things and then they disappear into the abyss.
hot girls who dream have two sides either your dreams are filled with random dumb shit, or you go on week tangents of dreaming about your friends to the point where you can't look at them anymore.
i find it so surreal on how even the most forgetful things hold so much memories, to one person a pen might just be a necessity and to another it might just be the meaning of love in itself
I am fickle with happiness. They say you don’t know a good memory is happening until it ends, but I do. I’m acutely aware of how precious the good times are—pair that with the odd feeling I get of being watched by my future self, having dealt with the deaths and tragedies that growing older brings, seeking refuge in the past. I feel anxious knowing it will be over, and that no matter how deeply and fully I cherish the strong legs beneath me, the wind on my face, my parents by my sides, it will end the same. All happinesses are doomed to be memories. And that bitters them for me; when I am at my happiest, and my smile is wide as it is earnest, I still taste the rancor in the back of my throat.
I’m A Demon?
So, a few years ago, my class well, not class, during school hours, me and a group of students aged five to seventeen and a teacher went to a nearby park. On the way, three third/fourth graders were beating this boy up with his own hat, and he asked me to shield him, so I did (I was insanely tall, five foot two at the age of ten). So, I’m saying three four and a half foot tall third and fourth graders were hitting me with a hat (it didn’t hurt at all, I was used to my six year old sister hitting me for (usually) no reason). The thing that I actually wanted to share was something one of them called me. It went along the lines of, “It’s like they’re a demon. A very tall demon.” I was holding back laughter, and then a thought came across me. It was pretty much, Am I actually a demon, or am I human? The usual.
finished the teal mask DLC, I liked it and it was a decent challenge when using the mons they introduced
hope i didnt post this already and forgot, I feel like that might happen allot
In that book which is my memory,
On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you,
Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.
Dante Alighieri, Vita Nuova
The Italians have a word for the store of poems you have in your head: a gazofilacio […] in its original language it actually means a treasure chamber of the mind. The poems I remember are the milestones marking the journey of my life. And unlike paintings, sculptures or passages of great music, they do not outstrip the scope of memory, but are the actual thing, incarnate.
Clive James, ‘The poems I remember are the milestones marking the journey of my life,’ The Guardian (26 September 2020)
Golden Moments
Remember all the times spent in the grocery store
Memories of long aisles to effortlessly explore
Never once thinking it was an unpleasant chore
As we checked our list of essential items galore
Not even remembering how it all started out
Putting together lists like an advisor o devout
Only scanning the list as we eagerly scout
Quickly finding everything with no doubt
Do you miss our frequent grocery store run
I know to many it’s not worth a note of fun
Nor is it an adventure story of reaching the sun
Nevertheless I still feel like I have won
For nothing measures up to trickles of gold
The small moments becoming grand and bold
Unlike any lavish riches or treasures to behold
Moments spent with you can never be undersold
Memento Memory
I wish I knew your name before you moved away
Before the memories became all fuzzy and gray
Like a discarded VHS tape in rapid decay
Sadly not remembering all the grand times of play
Only a remnant of the final memory was spared
A memory of a memento left sadly uncared
The loss of your parting gift is greatly despaired
For its abrupt loss couldn’t be prepared
I wish I knew your name before you withdrawn
So the memories could be a bright golden dawn
Instead of ancient words of a time now gone
I’ll hold onto the scraps of a memory drawn
Scraps of a memory o red and green
The lost gift you gave was plush pristine
It’s pattern was beautifully serene
I’ll hold onto its memory so keen
[Image description: text reading, #this is literally it. this has psychological support. #time as we perceive it "slows down" during new and/or challenging experiences #because our brains are encoding more details about the experience. more data = larger file size = a "longer" memory #hence time "slowing down" during highly stressful events. in fight/flight/freeze we take in A LOT of detail that we otherwise wouldn't # and one of the reasons childhood and adolescence feel so long in retrospect is because we were having novel experiences all the time! #the older we get the less "new" everything is #UNLESS we make an effort to continue learning and growing and trying new things whenever we can. #it's not only good for you but your life will literally feel longer. time will literally feel slower. #anyway i just think it's neat. :^) #psych #tags /End image description.]
literally though if you feel like your life is slipping through your fingers and every day goes too fast… try doing hard things, not just taking the easy route, like reading and making art and exercising and cooking a meal from scratch and journaling, doing these things without distraction, without being absorbed on a screen… the time will stretch and you’ll be reminded that life is long and beautiful if you make it so.
I've done this for years with cooking, just by myself: for example I'd point at the rice as I set it to simmer, and say "You're good to simmer for about fifteen minutes," and then I'd point at the sauce and say "You're just keeping warm on a low heat, but I need to remember to check on you in a little while and make sure you're not drying out." And then I'd turn to the vegetables I needed to chop and say, "Okay, I'm all yours." I'm so much better at keeping track of things this way.
doctors should do this, although perhaps with less yelling.
Poison
Beneath moon's lament, her laughter ebbs to tide,
a river's course to shadows, deep and wide.
Ensnared by currents, I struggle to withstand,
drowning in thoughts, that bind me to this land.
Her memory, a poison, I drink with bitter lip,
my poems, mere mirrors, of each somber sip.
by Weltenasche.
Men and women, we need a #supplement that helps us reduce #fatigue and #brainfogginess. With the rise of #dementia and #alzheimers, we need a product that enhances #brainhealth and #memory. Shop now at our website for https://bit.ly/2FaCoHE. It will be delivered to your door!
The human memory is so weird.
Example: every single time I smell a bar of dove soap, I think of this one kid I used to go to school with. Now, I can't tell you his age. I can't tell you his favorite color. I can hardly tell you his first name.
But I remember that he always smelled like dove soap.
No matter what. It's like he carried dove soap around in his pockets. Just plain old dove white soap. And it was so strong but not overpowering— like, it wasn't a dove deodorant or something, it was like straight-up smelling a bar of dove soap whenever you were near him.
So now every time I smell dove soap he pops into my mind.
Why?
I can hardly remember my tumblr password sometimes, I forgot my own age a bit ago and had to use a calculator to figure it out. But no matter what, I remember this kid from fifth grade always smelled like dove soap.
Science side of tumblr please explain
MAMAMOO in “DECALCOMANIE”
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MAMAMOO in DÉCALCOMANIE
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MAMAMOO in “DECALCOMANIE”
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