One time my friend James staggered out of the bar I worked at, I happened to be off this night but was just popping in for a drink. This was maybe around 2004(?), not quite sure about that one, just like I'm not quite sure about most years unless something incredibly significant happened, or, which I always realize off and on that the only way I remember anything is by writing about it. Before I get to writing about something it's just sort of this Leviathan up there (down there?) and all that saying that would mean. But I've never liked memory, therefore I've had no use for it, unless I'm doing this which is an attempt to kill any memory I might have by a mix of euthanization/classification of said memories. And since I obsess, whatever that mechanism is has hijacked my memories and only lets me have the bad ones, and then force feeds them to me like a foie gras farmer fattening up a goose on grain alcohol. And then like that goose I'm distended and deranged and ready to be killed.