• Nostalgia (from New Latin nostalgia, coined from Ancient Greek νόστος (nóstos, “returning home”) + ἄλγος (álgos, “pain”)
• Algebra (from Arabic: الجبر al-jabr, meaning "reunion of broken parts" and "bonesetting")
• (nos) New old stock, refers to merchandise being offered for sale which was manufactured long ago but that has never been sold at retail. Such merchandise may not be produced anymore, and the new old stock may represent the only current market source of a particular item.
• (nos)+a1g(e)bra n. - the delicate mathematics of navigating the liminal space between good memories and the knowledge that you can never go back
• Nostalgia is unrequited love for the arrow of time.
• Nostalgia is appeal to the constraints of general relativity.
• “Nostalgia will rot your mind away/
We must learn to embrace today/
Or tomorrow, we’ll pay/" - Oui Ennui (House of Yesterday)
When I was a wee oui, just knee-high to a horsefly and ankle-low to caterpillar toe, I would sometimes wander, looking for rocks mostly (i was obsessed with obsidian). And while wandering, I would wonder if I would one day remember this wander wistfully with wonderment. I also once wondered if Prince's farts were purple and laughed out loud during church. I’ve got range. I still remember it fondly. But often the fondness saddens me, so I attempt to resist it.
Alas, upon many a morrow I have awakened, again wooed by the sepia-toned Super 8mm siren song of my days as a jtt. To what end? As a prisoner of the present, does navel-gazing the past serve any real purpose? Is nostalgia dressing for the salad days?
Of course it cannot be helped. Thoughts never call before they come over do they? Nowadays we collectively suffer from nostalgia for the mundane. I'll spare you the "what I miss from before the pandemic" song and dance, but suffice it to say, taking nouns for granted ain't it chief.
So what's this then? A dodgy saudade, (nos)+Algebra is me acting as my own tour-guide in a museum that I didn't build, but filled. Specifically we'll be visiting the Pasadena, Ca. exhibit in the Prepubescent/Preadolescent Wing. We'll be focusing on fleeting bits of emotional flotsam that washed ashore all covered in (nos)+algae between the ages of 4 and 12. A sketch for each year in an order that is not particular. This music is nothing like what I was listening to at the time, but rather draws my mind’s eye towards certain shapes that are comforting, at least for bit. While the names of individual pieces won't land without context, perhaps these etudes of longing will resonare. Though there'll never be a reunion of the broken parts, maybe we can still set these bones ("kid pass the bone/let's get on this mission like Indian Jones" - the gza). Don't forget to remember mon amie(s).
Think of something good when you can.
Be *really* kind to yourself, be *especially* gentle to others. 😘