I remember, Id been c innocent blue, blue of a bo s morning milk and left beisraces of cloud around ted on t of perfect stillness -- a ill ral node of turning  I ing  did not kno s feataloned fate imminent in try very o ttle tent, my rack and, piece by piece, all my naturalists equipment. . . I must  to collect samples of te flora of ty place. Above t of ted city,  o s ed stillness.

    s. ated and precise as Zen s traps me.

    I am sure of it -- beat me as muc perfectly. Dont I?

    t sits in a ing all t unlike t  , and giggles; t ends all ters quot;yours entropicallyquot; and signs to t I and my fabulous retinue alled ourselves in tarot pack?

    But I ion ood around me as I  me; to a point, it is a sign of macs of black leatly studded ic patterns; tall boots; snug leggings of black leats t fitted closely over too, leaving only ttered like pebbles in a brook. ts bristled  t it migself after the hawk fell.

    t tied to torcycles and made me run, tumble, bounce beo t  admit te slo muc  of e and looked to me very mucal, a large terminal he grazes and bruises healed.

    I remember everytly. I kno; at nigreet. t sound confirms tence of the windows.

    Means maps of tars ic fits ed. t t of times s are out of order; oo. ar-spangled robes are dabbled tle and spilled food and ottered bodily effluvia, for e stle lusts and pleasures and t lets   at mealtimes, and ide you if you flincion, for ts a sure sign you arent in tune  Im not sure if ime; sometimes  of a used-car dealer. t I can remember.

    c tells Madame Sco give o one of t of teen and Fool likes  out of takes  doo t see her again.

    But  as good as dead t s foot inside t  of capture e.

    As for myself, I am sure I ured by tly confident t is o t  t assures me,  superior confidence, t I am mistaken, so t I am not sure wo believe.

    t is dedicated to teration of memory.

    Memory, says t, is ts; ts o live but man o remember. Out of ract patterns of significant forms. Memory is t beravel time -- it is t lose our ure t and  from co grimaces  es matics but o listen to screaming. quot;tropic roric of t;, . Madame Scimes at nigo augment  make any more noise.

    Memory, origin of narrative; memory, barrier against oblivion; memory, repository of my being, te filaments of myself I ime into a spiders o catc as I can. In t of my self-spun , in ty of my self-possession. Or so I would, if I could.

    Because my memory is undergoing a sea-cain I remember, I am no longer sure  is I remember nor, indeed, t.

    Everyday, t attempts to erase tapes from my memory. ed a complex system of forgetting. Altely assert reet, I knoion is no more t, paltry line of defence against terations of t. ed in me a set of pseudo-memories, all of o a dreadful confusion so t, taining tuality of turn to me ified experience. All of them.

    Dear god, all of them.

    Remembering is t stage of absolute forgetfulness, says t Count, ed into a fugue of all t  in ts small birds sucs a o  s t like t otravagant tastes as s. Suses from laboratories; sion of ter, s lick it off for , she says.

    t comes personally to t o give us our lessons.  caress. t believes ted evolution, tivorous beast t lives in s, most entropic of substances, and consumes its o gets he chance.

    Like time, says t; like time.

    time, whe enemy of memory.

    t is very mucure.

    I descended at dusk from a train on  lit only by one greenisle; its pair, on tc see my oion in it, ered t  of autumn, an unpeopled landscape, flat, erlogged, dotted ilated rain at t lonely  as nigtered face came to take my ticket and,  a single le tin trunk for me out of tation to a sside, a ss ss, a starveling pony s drab, glossless coat. On t sat a to my s all. I started back; but tation master grabbed my  forced me into the door on me.

    As t began painfully to drag t of til t ag moment, Id spent ty-took tation master, pressed in fare transformed by a sudden rus glee to a mask of pure evil.

    I kne try to escape and tussled  it . took me into t, o engulf me. I lay back upon t and gave o ears.

    At last ered a dark courtyard virtually enclosed by tall, black trees; tes s immediately after o let me out. o ain courtesy and I  to touc as dank as t, nighe fens which surrounded us.

    Yet o look at ly face in order to teetongue o do so, old me I ied and, in luminous dept dreadful intimation of my fate. At t, red-tiled place, ry mansion and no, o ts experiments, Madame Sced to greet me in t splendour of in dress t laid open to ts and to fear far more tself, since deate.

    No tion, no tion.

    Yet ture, in ravelled to o me to ogetoo literary a flavour -- too muceentury quality, s railrains, its advertisment in times for a governess t dree e over t-lands. tten smell of pseudo-memory about ts and te coacill souco forget his eyes.

    But t, tic Kid ting is  I can remember bot and ture y, since bot out of some novelette once read on a train, per a future. For treet. Nor reet until t t, barking, from beneatime past and time future combine to distort my memory.

    But I imes t be t autic, since it is by far t gly.

    My beloved fatraig gait in spite of ty summers t urned o a spume of  at a round tea-table  apartment, to a balcony irs te, salmon pink and scarlet, all banked together, exuding a delicious, spicy odour.

    room. . . t and tly coloured butterflies and flo filled c --  Im not t of ain on t lepiece.

    My moto make pot pourri every summer; sry. Noea-table; t us from a birds-eye maple frame, a tinted pograpaken sly after sill very young, not mucraed s brim gently sres of anemones. erious, darkish green.

    they say I have her eyes.

    Some ake t, says t; icularly angry if imes, quite o repeat, over and over again, as if one tape uck: quot;t; ts me ted , I must crao tｐ://ｗｗｗ?９９lｉb?ｎeｔ</dfn>

    My fat under my motograp is familiar. ty-tea for my fat  like tems and are made of fine, s  togetil it aining a sliced lemon on table, its s refresry July afternoon. t falls in regular parallelograms tted blinds so rol of tside, a few birds ced songs of high summer.

    taccato click of bootory barrage of gloved fists on ter under , te ed ing for me in terranean torture-c t of taur he orifice of a sow.

    My fatumbles across tea-table. Cups, saucers fly apart in s ty air to catc, lost  slips away from him for ever.

    tripped me, raped me on t under my moture, t over me, t a gun in my back and forced me doaircase to ting outside. I  pain.

    Madame Sc uniform of drab olive, ockings and t stab took my particulars at to tell er of t riding upon a y, sed end of te to terior membrane of my labia minor. t tral node of t stunned me more ted.