when the memories fade it makes you feel like you don't own a thing.

when the memories fade it makes you feel like you don't own a thing.
Originally uploaded by kyra leseberg

"some people fear that they are no more than the sum of their cultural reference points: the books read, films seen, the posters on the walls, and records on rotation. i am happy to admit this. what then remains, for a vampire of pop culture when love is over? what of the books loaned, the records recommended? what gets passed to the next lover , what gets sold for cash? when a relationship ends, i sell none of it, filing it all away for future reference, marveling at how the most dreadful person can turn you on to the most beautiful music or film.
...it amazed me, as it always had, that there could be so much out there i had neither heard nor heard of before my love introduced me to it. it can feel frightening at first - if there are so many records i didn't know about, perhaps there are whole worlds out there too--yet, when love is over, it becomes comforting. perhaps there are whole worlds out there."

emma forrest, excerpt from the essay harold and maude is forever from the collection the revolution will be accessorized


i read this essay & it got me to thinking of music that reminds me of "past loves": boys of summer (don henley) & champagne supernova (oasis) are certainly "jonathan songs", along with the entire crazy/beautiful soundtrack; "thank you" (zeppelin), "i want you to want me (live)" (cheap trick), & a stevie wonder song (that i can never remember the name of) all remind me of joseph. then there's the punk rock boy i dated freshman year that gave me a cassette tape (i was thrilled by the vintage novelty of that) of dropkick murphys, dead kennedys, & black flag - all bands i'd never even heard of before this boy came along. & yes, there was even a country boy in there that i think of every time i happen to hear keith urban or george strait (which were apparently country boy's favorites) - i'll even admit to owning what i think was urban's first CD; i bought it once we broke up, without even realizing it was an artifact of that relationship, proof that it happened, as i had no photos or letters or mix tapes to remind me. the scientist (coldplay) was the soundtrack to which i pulled up in front of a boy's house & dropped an envelope into his truck (it was summer, because the windows were down. it was 1:30 in the morning). it's funny how someone can mean so much & a moment can be so critical & become part of your heart. & then, 6 years later, the moment is still part of my heart but the boy himself - i can barely remember why exactly he meant so much. does that make sense?

& that makes me think of the line of a song: "when the memories fade, it makes you feel you don't own a thing." but with all these songs on FM radio stations & old cassettes without cases, i doubt the memories will ever really fade.