Mostly what you lose with time, in memory, is the specificity of things, their exact sequence. It all runs together, becomes a watery soup. Portmanteau days, imploded years. Like a bad actor, memory always goes for effect, abjuring motivation, consistency, good sense.
Interpretation
Memory tends to blend together over time, losing specific details and clarity.
In this quote, James Sallis reflects on the nature of memory and how time affects our recollection of events. He suggests that as time passes, our memories become less distinct and more fused into a vague amalgamation, akin to a 'watery soup'. This blend erases the clarity and sequence of past experiences, illustrating the unreliable nature of memory as it prioritizes emotional impact over factual accuracy.
In practice
In a speech about the effects of aging on cognition.
He existed a step or two to one side of the common world, largely out of sight, a shadow, all but invisible. Whatever he owned, either he could hoist it on his back and lug it along or he could walk away from it. Anonymity was the thing he loved most about the city, being a part of it and apart from it at the same time.
He who imitates what is evil always goes beyond the example that is set; on the contrary, he who imitates what is good always falls short.
He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on.
The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it.
Thoughtfulness for others, generosity, modesty, and self-respect are the qualities which make a real gentleman or lady.
To ignore Scripture is to ignore Christ.
Say I feel all sad and self-indulgent, then get stung by a wasp, my misery feels quite abstract and I long just to be in spiritual pain once more - 'damn you tiny assassin, clad in yellow and black, how I crave my former innocence where melancholy was my only trial'.
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