Modifié le : 2019/08/06

Mem­o­ry is a fac­ul­ty that for­gets, and that’s good. Anan­damide is a bit of a fac­tor, a close rel­a­tive of THC that is so pop­u­lar with mar­i­jua­na enthusiasts.

If we had to remem­ber each of our actions, our looks, all the move­ments of a crowd, every noise of the roads, all the words, we would not last more than a few moments before we’d be stopped by the influx of infor­ma­tion. We are there­fore made to for­get, to delay, and to retain what will have mean­ing for us. We dis­crim­i­nate to under­stand bet­ter, embrace, even love.

This work is done with­out our con­scious super­vi­sion. I have as proof our dreams, which some­times reveal what is sim­mer­ing in this soup of mem­o­ries. Some beasts and gods have escaped our vig­i­lance. Our per­son­al world is thus slow­ly being built on a cau­tious foun­da­tion. Fate then sur­pris­es us by break­ing the bal­ance, by remov­ing this card, there, at the base of our house of cards. If it is easy to for­get, it is just as easy to get confused.

What if, in real­i­ty, the brain holds every­thing back and pos­sess­es the ver­tig­i­nous pow­er to cre­ate a coher­ent world before us ? See­ing the human-Earth turns the way it does must be an expla­na­tion of this kind. Peo­ple for­get and build exten­sive scaf­fold­ing to reach Spain. Real­i­ty escapes us and our free­dom pan­ics and destroys the air, trapped in the strings that a sleep­ing pup­peteer keeps pulling, him­self a slave to his dark nights.

I love these labyrinths, even if they some­times fright­en me. I don’t do drugs, actu­al­ly a lit­tle bit with caf­feine and alco­hol. So, so lit­tle. Yet my mem­o­ry is such selec­tive that it sur­pris­es me every time it sud­den­ly has fun, and for its only appar­ent plea­sure, rebuild­ing my words. I must not have all the pre­scribed anan­damide in my brain.