I found myself today singing a childhood song: "the hands on the clock go round and round, round and round... the hands on the clock go round and round - all - day long." When I stopped to realize my brain had somehow twisted the original song "the wheels on the bus" with what what really on my mind, which was the concept of Time. My most intimate relationship, more intimate than even that of myself, my body... is my relationship with Time. It has become my master, and I its slave. A deeply dysfunctional courtship of sorts, where I am always obsessing over It. Wanting more of it, never having enough of it. And on the brink of anxiety and exhaustion every single day because of It. In fact, thinking about Time constantly has me completely drained and consequently Out of Time, which then makes me grasp out in vain as I try to lap up and enjoy the sweet moments of the present, as the seconds tick by - my awareness too keen on the hands of the clock circling in motion to my demise. the Keeper of Time, whoever she is, is the most powerful spirit yet there ever was. I imagine her to bear silver hair, long as the eons, aged with millenniums of memories and experience. Though she wears the face of youth, a mockery to all who stand a witness to her beauty. Life is transitory, her smile is coupled both with amusement and sarcasm as she decides, based on her mercurial nature, whether you are In or Out of Time. Why a woman? Because in every folklore, women are the most elusive and seductive creatures, filling the specimen's head with desire which perhaps before witnessing her existence, they were innocent of. All I know is, I have never felt so old in my youth, never buried so heavily by the weight of gravity that even when I turn my head to watch the leaves of this year's autumn falling, I am reminded again and again of this haunting figure. Time. Relentlessly. I am tortured by it, and it is making me sick. I have never looked at a clock as many times a day as I do these days - and any obsession is marked by illness of the most terminal and mental sort. What I really want? To spend my life exploring the fields of green, down to red canyons and deep blue waters where I never have to spend another moment looking at hands move in circles again. I know life is short - I don't need to be reminded of it every minute of the day. Honestly. |
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