The Custodian began with a simple idea: what if the things we inherit aren’t objects, but responsibilities? Book One follows the quiet awakening of a man who discovers that memory, duty, and identity are far more intertwined than he ever imagined. It’s a story about stepping into a role you never asked for, and realizing the world has been waiting for you to claim it.
If you’re curious about where this journey begins, search: The Custodian – Michael Curry on Amazon.
Some mornings, I swear my hippocampus packs a small suitcase, leaves a note on the counter, and slips out the back door before I’m even awake. No warning. No forwarding address. Just gone.
And there I am, standing in the kitchen, trying to remember why I walked in there in the first place or how my glasses got on top of my head.
People tell me it’s age. I tell them it’s abandonment.
But here’s the strange part: even when memory wanders off, the feeling of the memory stays behind. The emotional imprint. The echo. The sense that something important happened — even if the details are now floating somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico or America, whatever.
It’s a reminder that the brain is not a filing cabinet. It’s a living, shifting landscape. And sometimes the tour guide goes missing.
The hippocampus is supposed to help us store and retrieve memories. Lately, mine seems to prefer the “store” part and forgets the “retrieve” entirely. It’s like a librarian who keeps shelving books but refuses to tell you where anything is, especially at my age.
But here’s the thing: Even when the facts slip, the meaning stays.
I may not remember the exact date something happened, but I remember how it felt. I remember the weight of it. The lesson. The way it changed me. And honestly, that’s the part that matters.
When the hippocampus clocks out early, language starts to wobble. Words take the long way around. Sentences stall mid‑air. Names evaporate. You start describing things like:
“The thing with the buttons.”
“That guy from the place.”
“you know… the… the… the thing”
And somehow, people still understand you. Maybe because they’re going through the same thing.
Maybe we’re all in this together — a generation of wandering hippocampi.
When memory loosens its grip, something else opens up. You stop clinging to details. You stop obsessing over precision. You start speaking from instinct rather than from recall.
It’s not about remembering perfectly. It’s about expressing honesty.
And sometimes the most honest thing you can say is, “My brain left the building, but my heart remembers.”
Not to preserve every detail — that’s impossible. Not to prove I still “have it” — that’s ego. But to leave a trail of words behind me, like breadcrumbs, so that when the hippocampus wanders off again, I can still find my way back to myself.
Writing is how I keep the lights on upstairs. Writing is how I stay present. Writing is how I remind the hippocampus that I’m still here, still paying attention, still trying to make sense of this strange, beautiful, slippery life.
And if the words come out crooked some days, well… that’s just part of the charm.
by M.N. Curry
Every story begins with a question. For this one, it was simple: What would you sacrifice for a perfect world? That question opened a doorway into memory, identity, and the quiet rebellion of refusing to disappear.
Search Return to Utopia – Michael Curry on Amazon.
By M.N.Curry
Life and time are like two restless travelers—always moving, never pausing. For young people, the key is to embrace their fleeting nature rather than fear it. In my 78 years of living on this planet, this is what I've learned:
Life drifts like ink on fleeting streams, whispering secrets in golden beams.
Time is the tide that pulls us all, soft as echoes, loud as a call.
Moments vanish, but dreams remain, woven in laughter, stitched in pain.
The past is a shadow, the future unknown, but today is a kingdom—yours alone.
Dance with the seconds, love the hours, watch them bloom like midnight flowers.
For when the moon trades place with the sun, the race is over, the journey done.
From this point forward, your life's purpose deserves more than passing thoughts—it calls for deep reflection and honest evaluation. When you're young, freedom of expression flows easily, often without the burden of foresight. And why not? Mistakes made early on are usually recoverable, even for the most naïve among us.
But here's the truth: life comes with no guarantees. Your time here will always be a mystery, and the choices you make shape what little time you have. You can spend it wisely, or gamble with whatever fate delivers.
Think about it—we're mere specks on the vast timeline of eternity. And when your moment ends, so does your story.
If I made you laugh or made you think about some abstract statement I've made. Then I've done my work.
"He lived. He died. The end."
Stay Healthy
M.N.Curry
The Custodian began with a simple idea: what if the things we inherit aren’t o...
