Scratch My Back...

[josslive]

Please post a comment with an entirely fictional and made-up memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - as long as it is fake. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised about what people don't actually remember about you.

Comments

You Won't Remember Me

[anonymous]

But I'll never forget you. I had so much hope from all the things you used to say you'd be and do. I was so completely enamoured with all your ideas, hopes, dreams, and plans. What happened? Where are you now?

I was just a mousy little thing when you knew me. Now I am many things to many people. Back then, I wasn't important to anyone. Except you. At least for a time. And that made all the difference.

I remember you spinning in the rain under an apple blossom tree, shaking the limbs while the tiny white circle-petals fell on you like snowflakes. You pulled me out into the chill just to twirl with you. It was the day before your wedding day. We laughed.

Coffee and Politics

[healingdrysuits]

Arabian Black and Greenwich Village is what comes to mind first. You with your beatnik throwback clothing waving at me through the window at another of our "we will change the world with poetry" meetings. We sat and chatted all night about those large ideas, those pretty words on the paper. Haven't seen you since I got evicted and had to move on without saying goodbye. Left town with 'you know who'. What ever happened with you though? Did you actually get to meet Bob Dylan after all or did your parents convince you to go that stuffy college?

Re: Coffee and Politics

[josslive]

I did eventually get to that college, but not as an enrolled student. I was still calling myself a Student of Life back then. And Bobby didn't turn out to be the participant I thought he'd be, but he was there sometimes. We were fighting the same fight back then, using our words and music to express all the turmoil inside, reflected in the post-war chaos around us. Anything was possible. We were a presence on that campus almost nine times before we just ran out of fuel. The whole movement turned introspective. And we dissolved into our families, letters, credentials, trying to join what everyone else called the real world, but to me still seems a dream.