flu to me

ummmm.
The world looks funny from this side of the sea, ten hours ahead of a reality I am aware of only via Facebook (<3). But time and space are nothing when you are flying. ummmmm.

A day of Nabokov (or more specifically, of his famous perv Hummm) and already my imagination has flown, literally flown, in a government plane named KC135, across the vast Pacific. An old friend flying fast toward a fuzzy-eyed me. Of course, not TO me, but in my direction... to those stubby, hairy-armed ancestral roots of mine, to the stubby, hairy-arms of my pride.

These spacio-temporal crossings, these high-altitude trips above unobjective truth up into the wiiiiiispy clouds of MAYBE, leave me airsick, seasick, totally unPacific. Those clouds are only wissssssspy in dreams. In the life of Us, they carry storms, don't you remember, Kacie135? ummmmmmmMaybe I am flying the "H-yi-N-yi"?

Fly, flew, flu........
forget, forget, forget