No Thrones. No Crowns. No Kings. →
On October 18, millions of us are rising again to show the world: America has no kings, and the power belongs to the people.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
Rules: no fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
On October 18, millions of us are rising again to show the world: America has no kings, and the power belongs to the people.
Late last month and early this month, I got a bit morose about the idea that I’ll never be able to travel again, a thing that’s also all wrapped up in the aphantasia and SDAM which preclude me from being to re-live old travels. As if to emphasize all of this, yesterday my Timehop reminded me of a trip I’d taken since moving to Portland about which I’d entirely forgotten until that moment.
It’s true that much like it’s easier for me to remember the events of a movie than it is for me to remember the events of a book, because there’s no “mind’s eye” required to generate the visual components and triggers for memory, it’s also generally easier for me to remember events during which I’d taken a a lot of photos. Which is what made it all the stranger that I’d completely forgotten my trip to Pendleton, my first-ever (and last) trip to eastern Oregon.
Fourteen years ago last night, I boarded a Greyhound in downtown Portland at around 11:45 PM. Something like six hours later, I disembarked in Pendleton and wandered in the pre-dawn dark.
Even once reminded by Timehop, I really only remembered three things: hiking out of the main drag across the train tracks and up a hill to (I think) a Denny’s, then hiking back down into town proper where I took photos of the only other soul I encountered until later in the day, and of a creeping Betty Boop in the window of a cafe. Even browsing through the photos now I only barely remember a few other moments upon seeing them: the F.O.E., the fisherman, the back door of the JCPenney, that obelisk, that lone boxcar, and this Greyhound “station”.
Most everything else, I just have to take it on faith that I took all these photos and saw all these things, because the photos are in my photoset not someone else’s. Looking at this or that other photo now, I can’t swear that I actually remember being there or if the photo simply is rewriting me back into the events based upon the photo. If travel happened, but I forgot all about it until an app reminds me with pictures, did it really happen to me?