noun \ˈmem-rē, ˈme-mə-\1a : the power or process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained especially through associative mechanisms b : the store of things learned and retained from an organism's activity or experience as evidenced by modification of structure or behavior or by recall and recognition
2a : commemorative remembrance
3a : a particular act of recall or recollection b : an image or impression of one that is remembered
*****
Friday Night Lights, Track 19/20:
When my story's told, how will they tell it?
Will they say I was a giver or will they say I was selfish
Will they say I was a sinner or pretend I was a saint
Will I go down as a winner, what's the picture they gon paint
*****
When my story's told, how will they tell it?
Will they say I was a giver or will they say I was selfish
Will they say I was a sinner or pretend I was a saint
Will I go down as a winner, what's the picture they gon paint
*****
J. Cole questions how he will be remembered in “Farewell,” a track off his newest mixtape. It’s a universal fear I think we all have. Of being judged, being forgotten (which could be a good thing) or being remembered (which also, very well could be a bad thing).
Sitting in class last Friday, a girl arrives late, yet is obviously not flustered. She takes her time to make her way to the back of the class and sits a row behind and a seat to the right behind me. Now, I am not a notetaker for no reason. I take good notes, even though sending and receiving text messages always take precedence. But this girl, unashamedly, immediately arms herself with a Blackberry (yes one with a ostentatiously glittery, jeweled case) and snaps a photo of my notes, holding the phone over my right shoulder.
How do I know she took a photo?
Sitting in class last Friday, a girl arrives late, yet is obviously not flustered. She takes her time to make her way to the back of the class and sits a row behind and a seat to the right behind me. Now, I am not a notetaker for no reason. I take good notes, even though sending and receiving text messages always take precedence. But this girl, unashamedly, immediately arms herself with a Blackberry (yes one with a ostentatiously glittery, jeweled case) and snaps a photo of my notes, holding the phone over my right shoulder.
How do I know she took a photo?
1. Her phone was not on silent, and the phone made the not-so-subtle shutter sound upon the press of the button.
2. Flash.
2. Flash.
I hope her photo turned out well. I know my notes did.
So I may remember this weird woman for a while. For the wrong reason I guess.
There are certain things that we think we will forget or things we suppress simply for convenience. It's not so bad though, if there's a someone (possibly holding your pathetic penguin hand all along).
There are certain things that we think we will forget or things we suppress simply for convenience. It's not so bad though, if there's a someone (possibly holding your pathetic penguin hand all along).
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