Philip R. Sullivan

Published by Foremost Press at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Philip R. Sullivan


He was pretty young, and I really don’t remember him all that well; but what I do recall is almost like looking at him from the outside—like a TV camera on one of those mobile cranes, moving beside its subject, panning in and fading back, recording dribs and drabs of what’s going on, creating the illusion though that it’s taking in the real highlights. And every once in a while a thought will enter my mind of his private consciousness, superimposed on the TV picture like a soundtrack—or like the voice in a soliloquy coming through binaural earphones so I get the sense it’s right inside my head.

As I’m following the scenes along I get feelings, and sometimes the feelings are awfully vivid. Partly they’re feelings of empathy; but there’s something additional, a feeling of familiarity, a feeling that I’ve been there before in an earlier life—or as we usually put it, earlier in my life. Such feelings of familiarity are not absolutely trustworthy, and in exceptional cases where familiarity attaches itself to a new situation that our memory can’t locate, we describe the uncanny experience as dejá vu.

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