"This Guy's in Love With You"

This is a stupid song title, mostly because it's a very minor text line in the song, which would be more memorably called 'I Need Your Love'. It does begin, with a whimper, the next section of songs, titled 'Best Songs of the Sixties'. This book is from 1972, so this is a very fresh retrospective.

There is too much to write. I think more and more how this is a record of my theoretically more important thoughts and theories and views of the world, for my daughter. She may never read any of this, for starters, but even supposing that she would slog through: will these writings make me any more 'known' to her?

What defines us? Is it all of our regular rituals, or the thought or lack thereof behind them? Is it what we most firmly believe, or our actions in the world? Our youthful passions, our sexual partners, our creative projects, our professions, the books we have read, our favorite songs? Am I defined by the way I move, by my hair, my voice, my touch? If you knew all these things about me, would you know me?

I think of the hundred thoughts that I have every day, ideas, plans, memories, warm thoughts of friends and family, and I know that I will never be able to capture enough of it to record myself, to give myself immortality. The spark of my life is broken up into a million pieces, and to bring the person to life, to three-dimensional breath and form, they must all be present. It's the past which has brought me to this present which carries me forth into the future that defines me, and it's why no photo, or film, or recording can ever bring us back the person that we miss.

I am fascinated by biographies of the people that I find compelling for some reason, and the most interesting thing is to witness the author's struggle to make some whole out of all the parts. There must be some speculation, even if all the external facts are present, because nothing can bring us fully into anyone else's head, or even shoes.

But this struggle to define myself in print is still worth the effort. To communicate the flood of ideas, stream by stream, or molecule by molecule, can be enough to impart some flavor of the whole, something of the magic of the hologram. And my daughter does and will live with me, she knows my touch and my voice, my love for her. Any of my writing that survives for her, or her children, or anyone else that has known me in three dimensions, it must be enough to remember me by.