Deep Sea Diver, or, Message Bottles Bubbling Up From the Bottom of the Ocean

Yesterday I saw a photograph of a watch, an anniversary present, that had been found in a burned up van that was teetering on the edge of a cliff. Of course there is more to this story, but what is relevant to what I want to write, here, is that, aesthetically, it looked like something pulled out of the depths of the sea.

How things are submerged and then resurface has it's own murky history.  We push down into the pressured depths of memory at times, in order to search for particular lost or favorite images.  But there are other times that the memories surround us without our conjuring.  An instant and complete submersion. And what is seen in these instant envelopings can be as surprising as it is consuming.

What I cannot control (thoughts; memory) I research in order to understand.  It's childish, really.  Reading about the neurology of memory in hopes that some of these memories will fade away when, in honesty, I don't want them to.

I've thought about returning to that photo booth. White placards smelling of black markers.

But they have yet to make a photo booth that fits: One that plummets downward into the nautical abyss, equipped with a waterproof camera and adequate pop flash, its backdrop curtain staying put.



-k.


(image from airows tumblr)

[title is a nod towards the Angel Haze song I can't stop listening to, lately, for exact and general reasons.  Check it out, but ignore the video. (It's a lyric video and thus is just corny). Just listen, instead.]