in reaction to manuscript / memories post on radiohead:

so its like there's many ways to remember the past, but the best, certainly not narration form, but the senses. that which was sight, touch, taste, heard, smelled.

a touch:
the cold snow, the soft warm clothing bundled around.

a sight:
the faces, of many people. the buildings, of Ohio State's campus. the gatherings. the confrontations, of Eddie and the Hall head.

a taste:
the vomity taste of beer, nati ice to be precise. the taste of Udon in your mouth. or of a Mirror Lake sub. or Adriaticos Pizza.

a sound:
the bands, many of them, like Radiohead, Metric, and the hundreds of others discovered through Oink, the music played through my speakers in my dorm room, in Kirby's room, in the many car rides, my own music.

a smell:
the horrible smell of sewage from raw and exposed drains. or the terrible smell of vomit, putrid. the nice smell of flavored soaps. the smell of cleanliness, of an apartment kept clean by roommates who cared, and the smell of filth, the smell of an apartment kept dirty by me, who didn't care.