One night, bent over a coffee table strewn with crumpled cans of Pils, glass ashtrays full of bent half-smoked cigarettes and balls of darkened tin foil, Sunset and I developed our Unified Theory of Lines. The Theory basically states that time moves in one direction inexorably to death unless it curves or spirals or performs a curlicue before straightening out again. Memory is a hindrance because it slows our progress toward the goal of death and in all likelihood memory is our greatest human flaw because it bears forward from the past so many feelings of shame, inadequacy and regret it generates a state of paralysis which is often shaped like a spiral. “It’s like a prehensile tail,” Sunset said, leaning back from the coffee table quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while passing me the tightly rolled fiver with his right. “Memory is unnecessary. It was useful when our ancestors were clubbing mammoths to death on the Plains of Abraham or whatever but now what do we need it for? We got the internet and the microfiche and shit. Memory ain’t never been any good to me.” | image @seidmanart