Here’s an old note-to-self I just came across:

This journal . . . the one I’m writing in now . . . the one I brought from THERE . . . was really always for me to share how much I love it HERE.

I think our parents were right, Mangelo’s and mine, both sets being different types of capitalists, maybe (all good in their own day and way…?).

Speaking of Mangelo, I started two more letters.

Here’s the first:

Mangelongelingelungelo!

Hey Bro!

How’s Mango?

I’ve taken an interest in videos on my device and stuff.

Seems pretty basic.

Just put some stick people together.

Figs (short for Figalo) will make a sort of entertaining appearance . . . just as fake, mechanical doppelgangers should.

Love it.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway…

~Apple

And here’s the other one:

Minglemux!

Can you imagine Figalo hyperventilating to warm his egg, all covered in uli* (*uli = plural of ulix, a gorse bush)?

He passes out and has what’s believed to be a Figs dream.

We can only study the effects of a Figs dream.

Some sort of negative-square-type situation.

“Hey, I just got smashed and had a Figs dream.”

Yeah, Figs isn’t the best breather, is he?

It seems breath is his natural weakness.

He used to exasperate on things, but occasionally new Figalos would appear out of the eggs, synethsesiating off of the debris.

Weeeeeeeeell, glad to hear things are going well, bro!

Yeah, just looking to add a few more fun activities, etc.

Seems real nice HERE so far.

I got invited to this festival in July, so might save up and go.

And I have that hippie thing in June, which should be cool.

Oooookaaaaaay, have an awesome day!

~Angle

P.S. I miss your parents.

They’re always commenting on all my stuff.

Honestly, why couldn’t I send those now?

It’s like after a while some potential conversations have to go in a folder until I can get myself ready to actually be a friend (or person) again.

What would I really want to say?

“Thanks for that research on how crazy teens are.

“Sorry for all the needless risk I put us through when that was us.

“I love how we’re each two different things…”

See, none of it matters, but…

I don’t know.

It just goes to show: I’m not there yet.

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