You’re sure you left it right here, right where you’d never remember look.
And you know you’d never look back here, right? You’ve checked the attic, the basement, the barricaded room with “leave these things in the past” scrawled on the door in your handwriting. You’ve ransacked the drawers of the shed in the garden, cleared the drop-all in your frontal cortex, you’ve fanned through the pages of your books and shaken them out for a clue, combed through your journals, practiced self-hypnosis, stared with intent into the swirls of your coffee and now you’re really starting to think you’ve made this shit up. You’re starting to think. So it’s back to square one because you shouldn’t be thinking at all. What you do know is that you definitely didn’t hide it in your conscious brain, and therefor it can’t be in any place you can think of.
You really wish you’d left a hint now. Don’t you? Wait a minute – what is it that you’re looking for? Ah yes, you don’t know, that’s the whole point. So you reach over and start to fumble through the glovebox again, this time with a renewed faith, keeping one hand on the wheel, keeping your eyes on the road, your mind trying to make out the shapes of things you’d forgotten; a frantic and curious negotiation that permeates through the membrane between what you know you know and what you’d forgotten you didn’t want to know.
All the objects that you come across seem to be clues, crumbs left to lead you in the right direction, and so you start to collect them, talismans, amulets, memories, an absurd and compulsive voodoo archeology taking place in your mind.
More photos and pieces from the series here