To The Possum Above and Forward

Been thinking tonight from a big blue chair, and big blue chairs are where I do my best thinking.

I go through extended periods of reminiscence that manifests itself in various ways. Lately it's been of my possum adolescense. Tonight I thought about the days when I regrew my Awesome Possum Shell. I was full of zingers. Sometimes I would toss something into the air, just so I could zing it down. Zinging made the world go round, with its taps to the side of the world. This was very handy, because previously the world had slowed down and I got sick from backwards inertia. I like the world's pace to maintain a healthy clop (It was decided a while back by the PEOPLE WHO ARE RIGHT to make references to the delightful noise made by horse's hooves the only recognized form of speed measurement).

Perhaps this memo could be a letter to the me who is nostalgicizing about this me right now. It's not right now for me, but I suspect it's right now for you (assuming the future hasn't smeared our current "concept of time" dollop (the concept of time has roughly the same consistency and texture of sour cream)). In a slight diagonal way, your right now is also my right now for as I write I feel connected to you energetically. How is me yournow? I feel a kind of forward nostalgia. It goes from behind me diagonally forward and up, lifting up the top of the hair on the back of my head. Most nostalgia makes me feel pulled heavily into time's river (true time, you may have noticed, is much less viscous than its concept, closer resembling water in its consistency and nature). This nostalgia lifts me up and forward, like the distance of my focus is equally spatial and temporal. Like this me I write to may be a ways in the future, or he may be here in this time now perched above and in front of me.

I'll finish this little missive with an excerpt from a letter sent to thenfriends (some who are also nowfriends), that I stumbled on amidst writing this one. It's from Spring 2001. It's interesting in a sort of NO COINCIDENCES way:

Hey, let's have an SAT party. We can all get together and take the SATs. We can even get an old man to proctor it and say cryptic Madagascarian proverbs that mean death and so much more. Who's with me. Who's with me. Who's with me. Who's with me. Who's wearing my shoe. I've been conversing with flamingoes for days and minutes. I'd love to stay but, I can only assume that my body will soon combust into poisonous gas if I continue at my present altitude. If he could, Vergil would (probably not) remove your arms as if they were hinges on a door. It's been huge my ducklings. Simply magnanimous.
I carry my shoe
And bid you adieu

Back in herenow.

Goodnight you and goodnight me.