A Proustian moment

Worlds of extremes. Or maybe not. Having rummaged through old papers, the ghosts of the past emerged. I read the cards for my former self. The Magician conjures the Hanged Man, and he goes, Hermit style: ‘what do you want with me?’ I answered not, as I once did, when acting as professor, explaining many things, and in the process enchanting the academia with my wit. Instead, I invited sister dearest to a drive, so I may get my favorite food, smoked eel from another ‘corner’ of my sea. The sea was wild today and the surfers made me jealous. Having lost my own youth, there isn’t much to negotiate with, as I once could. Instead, I anointed myself back home with a magical oil I made myself, and thought about all the ways Proust may have remembered everything wrong. 


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