Pieces of Eight

The year has become an increasingly difficult unit of measurement for me to rely on. Not only has my concept of time and the pace at which it consumes (think velociraptor) changed as I've aged, I've also embraced my recent, awkward tendency toward nostalgia that has me looking ever backward, searching for comfort and meaning in the music, images, and heroes of my past. I don't want to relive those times -  honestly, you couldn't pay me enough - it comes down to the lens through which I'm viewing these these early influences. My adult mind has locked onto the afterimage of my high school treasures. Everything glows with new depth and a sort of classic sheen that makes it all seem visceral and relevant again. While this ongoing retro-dive has a way of obscuring the here and now, I'm still...