Memory is like my knee joints – the older I get the less I rely on it. Climbing the stairs only to discover that you do not know why you made the ascent. Memories are precious little bundles stored away for a dementia addled future. Keep them special.
i don’t have good memory. people have very good memory. i know there is a medicine for memory power i have to take that medicine. and i think i have good memory power but i will not use.
When you look out into the sky,
the clouds begin to create a vortex,
you get sucked into it all,
find its so hard to remember,
but then you find that you can do
whatever you’d like,
so long as you don’t forget your towel,
when the rain comes, you’ll be glad,
you didn’t go without such bad luck.
Huh? What? I just can’t think…there was that one time…no wait…Did that really happen? Or was it just a dream? Was I awake? A day-dream? Ugg…why…can’t…I…just…re..what? Re—huh…REMEMBER!
I don’t know in which area of the brain our memory is located; I don’t know if the concept may be percieved as something tangible. I suppose it only has a tangible correlate.
i rememberwhen my memory used to work really well! But i mostly remember tht was a long time ago! What did i do wrong to destroy my memory so? Nothing I can really reemmber… wish i had a photographic memory, like my boss – his memory is rather amazing. memories light the corners of my mind.
do you have any memory of your childhood or a memory that is just outstanding. My memory is both good and bad of growing up and I hope to make positive memories with my grandkids. It’s amazing how you look at old pictures, smell certain smells and see things that will bring a memory back to you. It is great that we can have our memories to live with and to share with others around us..
something i have a considerable lack of since i cant even remember what did the instructions to this said….think, not dont write…or was it the other way? who gives, i tried my best anyway.
Memories are an important part of our existence. They help to define who we are, what we believe in, and where we will go in the future. A memory is a moment frozen in time, a perpetual remembrance of what was that some of us spend a lifetime trying to recapture. A beautiful but dangerous thing a memory can be.
Memory is the things that you remember. I remember a lot of things from my childhood, a lot of things I’d rather not remember but do anyway. It’s part of having an identity, even if it’s one that you’d rather not have. I think I would be unhappier if I didn’t have one, or maybe I would be happier. I don’t know. Anyway, I remember a lot of good things too, and I hope that the things I remember in the future are more good than bad. That’s what I think about memory. Honestly though, sometimes I wish I could just reset and start over.
I have such a poor memory… and memory is my identity, so each time I feel my self fading away… getting devoured by time, by the mere passing of the seconds.
I must put something down, to create something before fading definitely in the depths of my memory
I have a terrible memory. I cannot remember my own mother’s birthday.
Nothing reminds me of anything anymore. My childhood has slipped away and I only live in the here and now. I have no stories of my childhood to tell at parties. Nor even drunken tales of a few years ago.
Memories! All alone in the MOOOONNNLIGHT BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAH BLAH. However the song goes. Good or bad, we all have this thing called a memory. Well, not all of us. Some of us have like, accidents and stuff. But for those of us still stuck with a memory, we make do.
I hv a very weak memory. People say my memory is very good but actually in practical life it ain’t that good. All I can remember at some times of my life is absoltely nothing. Sometimes I just go blank. Sometimes I don’t remember what I am doing.
I remember my paternal grandmother.
She remembers everything.
She wrote me letters all the time.
I wrote back most of the time.
She told me how much that meant to her.
I’ll always remember how good that felt.
I hope that my grandchildren write to me.
It’s lost. There is no way it can be found again. Jack was looking all over the desk, but he knew that it was a lost cause. The things he had kept over the years to remind him of her where gone. The memory was all he had left now.
It’s a funny thing, memory. Some of our best ones are just a second away. But the worst ones are there just behind them, lurking in the dark waiting until you least expect it to come and slaughter your mood. I wish it was as simple as we could make the memory out to be. We only remember the most significant parts. What was going on really? What was the lead up to the lead up. Events start somewhere, don’t they?
Memory… what can I say about memories? Usually this word is pretty postive. When people think of the word memory all these good images are supposidly suppose to come rushing back all at once, so many at a time you can hardly handle it. But for myself, not too many good ones come back. I hope they aren’t memories of regret… then again my memory isn’t all that great so … i wish i had good memories to think of
I lost track of my life when I thought about the past. I could only think. Memories. Faded memories lifted ones. Ones that could clear even the cloudiest of days, or the most evil of demons in the darkest of caves. I remember things. The forest. The golden light. Memories of all these things…float in my mind. Drifting and flaking and falling to pieces on the ground.
I’m losing mine. It’s getting worse. I’d like to think that it’s a good thing–that I won’t have to remember the things I’d rather not. Instead, I remember things incorrectly and in ways that are probably a bit self-damaging. And then there’s the things that just won’t go away. Those things, somehow, are always there, always fresh, and never forgotten.
A bike ride with my father when we used to live in Texas. He would put me on to the bike and I would only make it about a hundred feet on my own before I stopped but I remember the rush that I felt when the wind would go past me and I would stare back, waiting for his approval. Of course, it was only met with scorn and annoyance at my frequent pauses. For me it was a rush to know that I was feeling so free and to be able to look back and share it with someone. I remember the way that my heart raced with those first few pedals.
i hav lot of memory about my day of past performance. Good Memory and Bad memory of career which has been up and down but good memory is always there in meind and shall remain in my memory
when i think of memory. for some reason it makes me think of my grandma. and it scares me because for some reason i feel like i would forget all the memories of her as time passes. its like one of my hugest fears. maybe there is a way that i could get over that. but i dunno.
The persistance of memory. As dali had painted, is a strange thing. We live our lives, everyday, and yet we forget most of it. Until you un-forget. Until the persistance of memory catches up with you. Something that subconciously has been affecting all your choices, finally comes to a moment of clarity. And this clarity, sometimes prompted by a smell is a sound is so clear-cut, i remember even the specs floating in the air, and the quality of light. Or I dont.
Or sometimes I can’t even figure out what color underwear i put on this morning, or what i ate for breakfast.
Memory is like my knee joints – the older I get the less I rely on it. Climbing the stairs only to discover that you do not know why you made the ascent. Memories are precious little bundles stored away for a dementia addled future. Keep them special.
i don’t have good memory. people have very good memory. i know there is a medicine for memory power i have to take that medicine. and i think i have good memory power but i will not use.
When you look out into the sky,
the clouds begin to create a vortex,
you get sucked into it all,
find its so hard to remember,
but then you find that you can do
whatever you’d like,
so long as you don’t forget your towel,
when the rain comes, you’ll be glad,
you didn’t go without such bad luck.
Huh? What? I just can’t think…there was that one time…no wait…Did that really happen? Or was it just a dream? Was I awake? A day-dream? Ugg…why…can’t…I…just…re..what? Re—huh…REMEMBER!
I don’t know in which area of the brain our memory is located; I don’t know if the concept may be percieved as something tangible. I suppose it only has a tangible correlate.
i rememberwhen my memory used to work really well! But i mostly remember tht was a long time ago! What did i do wrong to destroy my memory so? Nothing I can really reemmber… wish i had a photographic memory, like my boss – his memory is rather amazing. memories light the corners of my mind.
time spent wasted on thoughts, when all I wanted was a hot sandwich and a cold beer.
La memoria
do you have any memory of your childhood or a memory that is just outstanding. My memory is both good and bad of growing up and I hope to make positive memories with my grandkids. It’s amazing how you look at old pictures, smell certain smells and see things that will bring a memory back to you. It is great that we can have our memories to live with and to share with others around us..
something i have a considerable lack of since i cant even remember what did the instructions to this said….think, not dont write…or was it the other way? who gives, i tried my best anyway.
Memories are an important part of our existence. They help to define who we are, what we believe in, and where we will go in the future. A memory is a moment frozen in time, a perpetual remembrance of what was that some of us spend a lifetime trying to recapture. A beautiful but dangerous thing a memory can be.
Memories can be bad or good. It’s up to you to decide. Embarrasing memories are just as good as memories of pain or joy.
memory as if it is something easy, though we use it always…being able to remember is a great faculty…selective memory…
memory is good. ı dont hve much. ıcannt keep memories in place too much. ı always think of them as burdens. someone can remind me and ı will be fine.
water waves sand and sun. music on the beach. baby oil. campfires fireworks mom and dad. swimming again.
memory all alone in the moonlight
how can someone live without a memory yet how can you lve if you remember everything
life is simply amazing..:)
Memory is the things that you remember. I remember a lot of things from my childhood, a lot of things I’d rather not remember but do anyway. It’s part of having an identity, even if it’s one that you’d rather not have. I think I would be unhappier if I didn’t have one, or maybe I would be happier. I don’t know. Anyway, I remember a lot of good things too, and I hope that the things I remember in the future are more good than bad. That’s what I think about memory. Honestly though, sometimes I wish I could just reset and start over.
My youngest memory is of my babysitter yelling outside to the neighbours (whilst waving a scard to get their attention) “Turn the ruddy music down!”
She was a worry, she was.
i love you
I have such a poor memory… and memory is my identity, so each time I feel my self fading away… getting devoured by time, by the mere passing of the seconds.
I must put something down, to create something before fading definitely in the depths of my memory
my memory has decreased over time. Why? who knows. Old age, diet air pollution? Probably all my puter has
I have a terrible memory. I cannot remember my own mother’s birthday.
Nothing reminds me of anything anymore. My childhood has slipped away and I only live in the here and now. I have no stories of my childhood to tell at parties. Nor even drunken tales of a few years ago.
Memories! All alone in the MOOOONNNLIGHT BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAH BLAH. However the song goes. Good or bad, we all have this thing called a memory. Well, not all of us. Some of us have like, accidents and stuff. But for those of us still stuck with a memory, we make do.
We Make Do.
Some are good… some are bad… Generally you can’t tell which until far in the future.
I hv a very weak memory. People say my memory is very good but actually in practical life it ain’t that good. All I can remember at some times of my life is absoltely nothing. Sometimes I just go blank. Sometimes I don’t remember what I am doing.
I remember my paternal grandmother.
She remembers everything.
She wrote me letters all the time.
I wrote back most of the time.
She told me how much that meant to her.
I’ll always remember how good that felt.
I hope that my grandchildren write to me.
It’s lost. There is no way it can be found again. Jack was looking all over the desk, but he knew that it was a lost cause. The things he had kept over the years to remind him of her where gone. The memory was all he had left now.
It’s a funny thing, memory. Some of our best ones are just a second away. But the worst ones are there just behind them, lurking in the dark waiting until you least expect it to come and slaughter your mood. I wish it was as simple as we could make the memory out to be. We only remember the most significant parts. What was going on really? What was the lead up to the lead up. Events start somewhere, don’t they?
Memory… what can I say about memories? Usually this word is pretty postive. When people think of the word memory all these good images are supposidly suppose to come rushing back all at once, so many at a time you can hardly handle it. But for myself, not too many good ones come back. I hope they aren’t memories of regret… then again my memory isn’t all that great so … i wish i had good memories to think of
I lost track of my life when I thought about the past. I could only think. Memories. Faded memories lifted ones. Ones that could clear even the cloudiest of days, or the most evil of demons in the darkest of caves. I remember things. The forest. The golden light. Memories of all these things…float in my mind. Drifting and flaking and falling to pieces on the ground.
I’m losing mine. It’s getting worse. I’d like to think that it’s a good thing–that I won’t have to remember the things I’d rather not. Instead, I remember things incorrectly and in ways that are probably a bit self-damaging. And then there’s the things that just won’t go away. Those things, somehow, are always there, always fresh, and never forgotten.
Damned memory.. (or is it memories?)
A bike ride with my father when we used to live in Texas. He would put me on to the bike and I would only make it about a hundred feet on my own before I stopped but I remember the rush that I felt when the wind would go past me and I would stare back, waiting for his approval. Of course, it was only met with scorn and annoyance at my frequent pauses. For me it was a rush to know that I was feeling so free and to be able to look back and share it with someone. I remember the way that my heart raced with those first few pedals.
i hav lot of memory about my day of past performance. Good Memory and Bad memory of career which has been up and down but good memory is always there in meind and shall remain in my memory
sweet things
when i think of memory. for some reason it makes me think of my grandma. and it scares me because for some reason i feel like i would forget all the memories of her as time passes. its like one of my hugest fears. maybe there is a way that i could get over that. but i dunno.
My memory just isn’t what it used to be. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t subconsciously intentional. Isn’t there stuff that we all want to forget?
Memory. I enjoy my memories. The memories of me and my love wrapped in each other, lying in bed, thinking of each other whilst being with them.
He shot a man.
And my memories.
I remember
The dress. It’s blue and shiny and birlliant.
I’m trying it on, and I can picture you with me. Twirling. Always.
And I want to keep twirling. But I can’t.
I’m dizzy. The sound is everwhere. The tears. The end.
Where does the spinning of us stop?
Where does the spinning of the world begin?
The persistance of memory. As dali had painted, is a strange thing. We live our lives, everyday, and yet we forget most of it. Until you un-forget. Until the persistance of memory catches up with you. Something that subconciously has been affecting all your choices, finally comes to a moment of clarity. And this clarity, sometimes prompted by a smell is a sound is so clear-cut, i remember even the specs floating in the air, and the quality of light. Or I dont.
Or sometimes I can’t even figure out what color underwear i put on this morning, or what i ate for breakfast.
I don’t know, I forget. No, really, what are we talking about?