“I'm trying to stitch these scenes from a life together, I am trying to master the art of cinematic collage, but I find the material has become amorphous. I can no longer tell what is true apart from what I want to be tru anymore. It's like a movie I watched when I was high. The images shimmer somewhere in the mirky depths, I know I have watched this film before, but I can't pull up anything I would trust as real, true detail, because everything has been embellished by these years of grief, guilt and remorse. The celluloid has tarnished, it wasn't ever deemed to be worth much, it wasn't stored properly, so now the writer can't even decipher the director's name on the film can. I can no longer separate what happened on screen from the stoner wisecracks I made whilst watching it.” GriefMemory Book:At Certain Points We Touch Source: At Certain Points We Touch
“How hindsight embarrasses us. It’s almost as if that’s her sole function, not reflection, not contextualisation, no. Just a note to let you know, on private moments of contemplation, just to say ‘oh dear, look what an idiot you were then’.” HumourThe PastHindsight Author:Lauren John Joseph