Echoes of a Distant Past (Woodstock, 1969)

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Word has it that Richard here now spends his solitary days carefully settling his increasingly corpulent self into his La-Z-Boy, non-queer-beer in hand, ready to absorb the televised punditry from Fox News, intent on doing his part to passively quell the wave of wokeism that is washing ashore from foreign lands and foreign minds, various and sundry.

Jane, on the other hand, after a contentious third divorce, still firmly believes that she has never lost her Revolutionary Spirit, and reposts any and all anti-fascist memes that she encounters on Facebook. She does so with what would seem to a disinterested observer to be a rather blank expression on her face. She quickly and nimbly strokes the Screen of Touch before her, never realizing that she is acting out the delicate manipulations of her fingers that she learned in that distant past while caressing an all-too ephemeral lover. Now her wrinkled digits only travel the seamless, unyielding glass that is her window to the World, never realizing that this window reveals to her only that which she wishes to see, and not what truly lies beyond.

Please excuse this example of post-Ketamine treatment neuroplasticity manifesting itself upon the Ether...



Darron