Sterile Memories, Tourist Class and Therapy
by Gary Beck Sterile Memories I visited the houses where I used to live for many years in New York City. I did not know there were so many. I stood before each building found no sign, no memento that I was there. Nostalgia didn’t possess me but I wondered how I lived somewhere and not a trace remained to mark my passing. Where I once loved, mourned, paced confining walls, burned with the passions of a young, obsessed man,, all is evaporated as if it never was. Strangers reside where once I dreamed of a wondrous life. I hope they dream. Now I fear we may be trapped in the consuming cycle of the ravenous city that tolerates some for a while, devours many ruthlessly. The crush of motion is inexorable, shattering unexpectedly fragile existence, a quick subtraction of illusions of safety. Tourist Class As America declines, roots of empire slowly retracting from a hostile world, tourists flock to the staggering land, burdened with Euros they must dispense to welcoming shopkeepers eager to serve the new money, making some of us wonder if tourists flocked to declining Rome, lusting to acquire diminishing products of civilization. Therapy Distortions of reality, commonplace since the invention of psychology that explains more confusingly then witch doctors of old, where patients expected simple answers, affordable fees, since there was generally one practitioner with a monopoly of services and the dissatisfied couldn’t take their business elsewhere, or risk future denial of necessary treatment. |
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