I revisit a memory
The old bakery, the empty lot, every street named a state.
No landscaping, the cheapest gravel.
Can I recall his face? I remember the smell of his cigarettes on his clothing, in the air of the house.
I wonder what the yard looks like now?
I see the colors and know deeply my own associations: My grandmother’s operating system remembers the strange iron lamp better than I do.
As far as I can remember, it was a perennial ground fixture.
Linked: The shed with whitetail deer skulls.
I remember the heavy iron tools, I remember the gun on the highest shelf, I remember being told to ever go in without permission.
Linked: The open air fire pit, the clothing on the line, the dogs lined up against the fence, looking at us.
I wonder how my cousin’s landscaping business is doing?
I wonder how his brother is handling addiction?
I wonder if the graffiti is still there in the underpass?
I wonder if the desert is as vast as I remember?
Suggestion: Retrace where you grew up. Arrange travel infrastructure to your liking.
I remember the paved stone
I remember the sheet metal bender
The mailbox was made there
Linked: Sheet metal CAD tutorials watched over the last 20 years
Another video of my uncles
Another video of my cousins
Another photo of a Christmas
Another dataset: A collection of Homies
A collection of old magazines
A collection of old novellas
Highlighted in green:
anoche te añoré aunque no te he conocido aún
I see it in Spanish but I hear it in English:
last night I yearned for you even though I have not met you yet
Linked: When I think of the yard I see green
When I think of the tree I see green
When I think of the old plastic pool I see green
When I think of the smell of the carpet, I see green
When I think of my grandmother, I see green
Four years ago my grandfather died
When I think of my grandfather, I see red
Linked: The ash tray in the shape of a paisley pattern, or maybe an ear?
I can feel the way the smell of the cigarettes tasted, an index displays particulates in the air over the span of seventy years.
Do I love cigarettes because my grandfather loved them?
When I think of peak visits year-by-year, I see blue
When I think of visiting the nearest ocean, I see nothing
The sounds though, I can hear those
I hear us splashing in the shallows, chasing a blue crab
I hear someone selling us beads and mangos
I hear the sand when we all stop talking
I smell the gasoline from the dune buggy I cling onto
Linked: Vehicular Accident Law in Mexico
I revisit a memory
Linked: Another photo of my grandmother
Linked: Another photo of my dad
Linked: The feeling of being in my home city
A listing of my favorite places to eat
When I think of the desert I see green
Linked: My grandfather’s grave, a photograph I took four years ago