I think about my first memory so much that it atomizes before I can fully grasp it. Like a meta-memory from which all I can sense is this cognitive haze. I don't have great visualization either and I think almost exclusively in words and wizardly hunches. But I am fairly certain my absolute first memory is of me laying on the carpet, watching sunbeams and dust filter in through the blinds. So it is not totally impossible that only moments before this instance I was brewed in a flask of spit, morning dew, and horse blood.

12 Golden Country Greats by Ween is unironically one of my favorite albums ever. I think you need to have a latent suicidality in order to appreciate it. The Ween guys sing alongside these prolific Nashville session musicians about shit like, oh, I don't know... helping me scrape the mucus off my brain because I spent the dog food money on beer again. It's got heartbreak delivered with absolute sincerity and it's got dissolving into the recliner somewhere between your eighth beer and a psychotic break and if that isn't the conceptual duality of man idk/idc what is