When they trained your memory to likeness with boxes, storage and objects, they largely -amputated- your creative imagination. Memory isn’t storage. It’s like a forest, or a magical alive place. If yours looks like boxes? You got the dead kind. Memory isn’t a skill. It’s a -GOD-. It doesn’t instance -objects- because only -dead things- are objects. It instances -beings-. If yours doesn’t?

They sliced it off and gave you the dead remains as a trophy. Once that happens that trophy starts replicating itself as your mind, intelligence, ‘feelings’ and imagination. Living beings cannot be records, and our minds don’t make records. Ever. Unless they were circumcised in childhood, in preparation for the endless imaginary ‘courtrooms’ of idiotic adulthood.