the flashes of spring, of warmth, soft air, explosions of blossom, clear skies and opening flowers takes me back/ i note i cannot seem to live in the present/ when i'm in the present (physically, say) my mind will cast back to another time i'm reminded of by say a smell, an image, a feeling/ this is pleasant (when, of course, the memory is pleasant) but i have no idea why i live predominantly in the past/ perhaps i find the present too prosaic wo have to overlay my present perceptions with memories and analysis of the past/ the con is that the memory if so untrustworthy, the rose tinted spectacles (or the terrible soiled ones) so unavoidable that i live largely in a questionable reality/ but when one says 'seize the day' what pray is there to seize?/ most daily tasks are mundane and thus need something to spice them up, or the mind needs some pleasant or stimulating diversion/ discuss/

When the mind is not focused, unreal monsers are imagined, like a sick man's dreams.

Everyone feels the impact of the imagination, but some are knocked down by it.

I have a short memory for injuries.

M Montaigne.

Memory is a great and powerful goddess.

Plato.

My memory is an odious death-cunt.

Will.