Threefold

You will never reclaim the itinterant moments of the week! Not the morning woken up by dew-heavy snowdrifts! Not the moment of realization of why you like everything you like! O son of man! Not the moments of alienation! Not the question-dodging! Not the groggy 5 a.m. "how the hell did I manage ot od that"! Not the poems of singing snowdrifts in a room whose wallpaper skin was peeling off! Not visions of fetid swamps reeking with the crushing apect of unconsciousness, narcosis, paralysis, anhedonia, omens, associations, magical talismans, sunrises, cloud fronts, constellations, tarot cards, the I Ching, cataplexy, the crud of a thousand sleeps, faeries! Can't you see the Sphinx has started to crawl up the Temple Mount?!

I might, if I'm lucky, remember the moment I almost fell through ice,, slipped on a hillside, charmed a squrrel, found my power animal in an unknown bird, stabbed my shamanic staff into the ground. Those might stay. But what else? Interminable hours and spinning lathes of undergraduate wisdom? Hardly. Tastes and smells? Not consciously. A thousand iterations of the same webcomic? Not at the level where it would be useful. But that should be driven form within anyway.

Part 3: wherein I rattle my cage and cut myself and get tetanus and think: "this would make a great title for a magical realist novel, or at least chapter", the title being "That One Summer Where No-one Was Sure Whether Pot Was Legal Or Illegal Or What?", but then it would really ba mich better title for a different genre, if we wanto t think of genres as separate and what would follow from that I dont know becayuse it's not in my customary train of thought to ask that kind of question, but more to go with the association that three lines down might take on from magical realism to Wikipedia, because associations have distinctly Wiki feel to them. Whatever that means.

Consider: "Since before time and space were, / the Tao is. / It is beyond is and is not. / How do I know this is true? / I look inside myself and see."