Ineffable

There are so many thoughts that swirl in my head that words simply cannot contain, or express. I struggle with this everyday.

Everyone has their fears of losing memories, experiences, the moment, life. Some write every detail of their lives down religiously. Every single information. Where they were at 12:45pm, what the weather was like, what they thought they felt at that exact moment, like a smiley footnote at the bottom of a blog indicating your mood for the day. Others take pictures. Of their lunch, of the funny looking car they rode in while exploring a new city, of themselves, as if some part of themselves would tragically disappear forever. Who would know or care? It doesn't matter. The fear is there, ominous to themselves. There is a consuming obsession with preserving the moment. For what? To avoid regret, or to have a taste of immortality?

Maybe.

This brings a Chuck Palahniuk concept to mind. "We do it every day. Kill the unborn to save the elderly. ... Every time we burn a gallon of gas or an acre of rain forest, aren’t we killing the future to preserve the present? The whole pyramid scheme of Social Security." Perhaps this is a parallel that is too cynical or dark to be drawn, but still.

For me, the lack of an effective medium allows my ideas to slip through the cracks. I'm not any different from everyone else. I fear losing the moment, and for me those are ideas, because ideas are pure and perfect. Some ideas last, but most don't. An idea at one point of time in your life is a unique idea in itself, and you either cement it or let it fade into oblivion. An effective capture is a snapshot of my state of existence at a point in time, like a contribution to my illusory immortality, or so my brain thinks whenever it happily rests knowing that moment was secured. Just like your lunch. Or the weather you experienced at 12:45pm. It's not easy to try and go back to a thought in its original form and retrieve all that power and force that faded away with it.

Memories can go right ahead and fade and get hazy, it doesn't matter to me; my brain can reconstruct them to be even more beautiful than they were. But ideas are my sacred haven and every time one slips through my grasp, a part of me I create dies away.