The abusive muse barged in and told me I'd made you wait too long for news from the Cliffside.  I'm not sure if it will make you feel hungrier or more sated to read it, though.

The way I think nostalgia works is how I think of the 1990s.  I used to think that I was living in a time without cultural identity – like the 80s or 70s.  Now I'm two decades away and I'm starting to only remember stand out things.  Plaid flannels. Winona Ryder.  Printed floral dresses with black lace up boots.  Alanis Morisette. You get the idea. I think that's how a decade becomes defined, by what we remember of twenty-some odd years later.  What evokes an emotional response when we revisit video and film from that time period.  In the moment, you're not quite sure what is going to be a defining characteristic. 

We can really only assess what's happened with the luxury of time and space.  Our brain doesn't immediately process it.  I believe that's how grieving goes.  Our brain can't mentally afford to process it all at once.  So it's going to peel back the pain layer by layer so it doesn't kill you.  I suppose that's how I'm going to deal with this death.  Possibly for the next twenty years. 

- Over the Cliff's Edge. 

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