Fishin’ For Memories

In everyone’s life they have an internal soundtrack.  Now, not everyone will realize that this internal soundtrack exists.  It’s part of the subconscious only to be excited, but not realized, when this song is externally played.  It could occur in the oddest of moments; yet, when they hear it they regress to that time, that place, that thought.

It’s an interesting fact.  I call it fact, because I know no other truth.  This is how I by chance tapped into the subconscious and realized that reincarnation existed.  It was a funny thing to be honest.  I’ve so far, linked myself to three different generations.  All three different races, creeds and. Well we were just different.

A little about myself right now, in present day.  When you read this, I may be long gone.  Hell! I might even be a new person.  Wouldn’t that be funny?  I should tell you to play a certain song.  Maybe then you’d realize that you are I and I am you.  That would take the fun out of it.  It’s a really odd feeling of having the sensation of someone else’s life lucidly come to life from your own subconscious to the forefront of your brain.  I’m not sure anyone else has ever had this feeling.  I got off topic a little bit.

Myself, right now.   Right now, I lie in bed.  It’s 12:29 a.m. August 12th, 2014.  My bed is located in Kimaanya Supa, Masaka, Uganda.  I am 26 years old, single and a white male.  My name is Finny Murrey.  Those are the particulars that I can discuss right now.  It would ruin the story if I gave you the full run down.  This feeling of being connected to another being all started a few years ago.


I was on this great high.  I had a bottle of whiskey and had eaten a little more than an eighth of shrooms.  Before you get there, no I did not have some weird out this world experience.  I was high on drugs and was enjoying it.  I did not see something that was not in the room.  All I saw was breathing walls, trails of ghost lights and felt really weird.  A friend threw on Vashti Bunyan – I’d like to walk around in your mind.  I did not think that someone could walk around in my mind – nor, do I think my friend wanted to literally want to walk in my mind.  The thing that the song did do was brought me back.

I was a little kid.  About 5 or 6 years old.  I’m not entirely sure how old I was.  I was in a car, it was a faint blue Volvo.  I sat in the back trunk, it had the seats that faced the opposite direction, next to my sister.  I was on a family trip to Florida.  We were driving from Atlanta to see my family in Jacksonville.  The song played, I looked at the tree line that hugged the highway mile after mile.  I would periodically drift into looking at the clouds.  The clouds were stuck where they were.  We were moving away from them, but they did not move at all.  The blue of the sky was crisp and solid.  It was not playing tricks; it was a well-crafted construction paper blue with cutout white clouds.  The clouds perfectly shaped in the puffy cliché way.

It was only a memory.  It was a lucid moment of clarity that remained with me only for the time frame of the song.  It struck me as something beautiful.  I was not able to remember most of my childhood.  Or for that matter, anything five years in the past.  From time to time I would have indescribable moments of clarity.  I never knew how I remember what I did, but it was as if it had just happened.

It was that moment with the bottle of whiskey and shrooms that I realized that music was my trigger.  If an event happened with music in the background, I could clearly see that memory when I heard the song played.  It would be a little blip that if I chose to, I could latch onto and relive the memory.  The more I practiced, or became aware, the longer I could ride into these memories.

I never chose to discuss this with anyone.  I felt weird.  Odd in general.  I did not want to just add another thing to the list.  For a while, I wanted to stop listening to music.  The feeling of vivid memory reoccurrence – yeah, I just coined that – did not seem natural to me.  So, I avoided music completely for three years.  I avoided a lot of things for three years.  I gave up drugs, gave up the drink.  It was weird.  I didn’t want to think about the past any longer.  I just wanted to move on and forget.  Forgive and forget, but without the forgiving part.  I just wanted the ‘forget’.  That’s why I chose not to listen to music.  I wasn’t equipped to deal the memories, or this weird sensation I felt when they occurred.   Instead I chose to ignore them.  Just piled them under more and more shit, until they were being caked with so much shit that eventually they turned into a diamond.

I met her when I was 24 years old.  Of course there’s a ‘her’.  I mean, if there wasn’t a ‘her’ then it wouldn’t really have a purpose of a story.  I take that back, I know a lot of stories that don’t have ‘her’ in them.  Yet, when it comes to me, there’s always her.  She’s the same in every story.  It’s the one person I’m trying to run away from, but there she is story after story.  Her looks change, job, clothes and even her name sometimes.  Yet, this diamond in the shit never does change.  I still haven’t been able to decide whether she’s a diamond made of shit, or that she’s just covered in shit.  I hope that make sense.  If not, well consider yourself lucky.

Let’s start with my present shit diamond.  I met her when I was 24 years old.  I was at a party, visiting old friends I hadn’t seen in a while.  They were good people — I mean that in that they were like family.  As in even though we grew apart from each other, went different directions, nothing changed.  I don’t remember what the party was for, or whether it was really a party.  It could have been a get together.  I was so out of the loop of social scenes that I didn’t know the difference any longer.  More than four people to me was, is a party.  I was still in full hibernation mode at this point.

I know this will sound corny, but Boy From New York City by the Ad Libs was playing when my eyes caught her.  I remember it perfectly well.  My friends place was a three bedroom, on the fourth floor.  You walk in, bathroom on the right, first bedroom on the left.  Then you have the kitchen and then it opens up into the living room.  I was sitting in the living room at the far end of the couch from the kitchen.  I was sitting next to the window chain smoking and fiddling with an Arnold Palmer can.  She was standing in the doorway of the second bedroom that was closer to the kitchen.

She was talking to some guy.  She was wearing high heels, higher than I like them, tight solid dark blue jeans, green blouse.  Her jewelry was a thin silver necklace with a ring inside it.  The ring was silver band with a green stone inside of it.  She had a drunken sway about her.  To be honest what I just describe was not appealing to me.  High heals equaled high maintenance.  The jeans and blouse reminded me of L.A. and I was not a fan in general.  The jewelry felt familiar to me, like I knew it.  The drunken sway would have been great, but it was still early and I was in recovery, which meant trouble.

I was unable to stop watching her throughout the song.  There was something there that reminded me of something.  I don’t know what I was reminded of.  I couldn’t attach myself to the blip of memory.  I had been out of practice and to be honest, I did not know the name of the song.  I wanted to know why she held my gaze during the song.  After the song was over, I went back to my fiddlin’ and chain smoking.  I don’t think I looked at her again for the rest of the night.

The following day I tracked down my friend.  The feeling I had when that song came on overwhelmed me.  Or more importantly the feelings that I had for her when I heard that song were more powerful than I knew possible.  My friend was able to finally tell me the song.

I spent the remainder of that day listening to the song on loop.  At first I was unable to attach myself to the blip of memory that continued to pop up.  I would sense it and try to attach myself.  It wasn’t as simple as grabbing the figurative memory.  It was similar to finishing, or fly-fishing.  I’ve never been fly fishing, but I imagine it to be like fly-fishing.  It’s about the technique of flicking the line with your wrist.  The timing involved is crucial.  You have to flick and pull the line at just the precise moment to get the catch.  That’s how these memories were.  I kept flicking my theoretical line, but it wasn’t long enough.  I would then cast it out again, but only get the memory from the night before.

The vivid sensation of a past sensation overtook the memory.  The song would finish and the places where the memory was felt would simply become numb.  As if they never existed.  I continued until late into that evening.  Until eventually I fell asleep from exhaustion.

I gave up on the next day.  I never asked the girls name.  I wasn’t entirely interested in her.


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