I look like I’ve risen from hell, but I’ve actually risen from seeing an angel.
I feel like rocks are hitting the inside of my skull every time I move my head and my left eyeball feels like it’s about to roll out of its socket.
Nonetheless, the body I have so far portrayed remains largely a static one. That is, I have operated as if the body were composed of a fixed mass of organs and abilities, only shifting its patterns of use to foreground or background a particular region. But in fact, the body as a whole is always shifting. As Leibniz writes, “all bodies are in a state of perpetual flux like rivers, and the parts are continually entering in and passing out.” This flux of parts can be understood not only in a physical but a phenomenological sense. The lived body constantly transforms its sensorimotor repertoire by acquiring novel skills and habits. In its use of tools and machines the body supplements itself through annexing artificial organs. A phenomenological anatomy cannot then be thought of as fixed over time, or even confined by the physical boundaries of the flesh. It must take account of the body as living process.
written by Drew Leder, The Absent Body.
I am forgetting the dates that memories happened. I am losing them one at a time. I know that remembering the exact sequence of things — times and dates — isn’t really as important as holding the recollections themselves, but I can’t help but feel a kind of loss. I can’t help but feel that I am fading away already. Or perhaps it is a feeling of weightlessness; of loosing the anchors that were holding me here — somewhere in history, in time.