The Flood of Is Now

Is now friends with someone you don’t know, someone you both went to high school with, someone well respected in your shared milieu, someone you chatted with briefly at a party ten years ago, and 6 other people. Is now friends with a former coworker whom you secretly despise, the enemy of a friend, a dislike for someone whom you haven’t seen in a while that doesn’t really rise to the level of hatred but also never quite dissipates, the strangeness of feeling like you have actually grown up to become someone who has enemies, the digital equivalent of crossing the street to avoid meeting someone, someone whom you find somewhat gratingly impolite but who you think might be able to help make the right connections necessary to possibly get you published in that excellent new magazine you love, someone famous who uses a code name, and 2 other possible scenarios. Is now friends with the dream of the return of hats, a crumb of matzoh under a chair in the kitchen in the shape of an isosceles triangle, the end of the idea of coolness, the smell of the edge of the fried eggplant slice that fell out of last night’s hamburger, the memory of sleeping out under the stars in Joshua Tree National Park, the particular smoothness of one side of a Jesus Christ Superstar record that was left out for too long in the hot sun, drawings of skyscrapers that will never get built, and 42 other idealized notions. Is now friends with dogs, cats, horses, cows, and 3 other domesticated species. Is now friends with rocks, trees, bugs, and 15 other outdoorsy-type things. Is now friends with a, e, i, and 2 other vowels. Is now friends with the word “friends,” the word “like,” the word “news,” the old definitions of the words “friends” and “like” and “news,” nostalgia for former meanings of words overwhelmed by the emergence of newer meanings, and 98 other things that get lost in a now in which there is nothing but the flood.