“Time and memory are true artists; they remold reality nearer to the heart's desire.”
-John Dewey-
I stand on the 73rd floor of the tallest bar in the western hemisphere staring at the endless beauty of way too much of everything. To the west is the ocean, to the south and the north and the east, endless buildings, houses, parks, signs, lights, roads, trails, forests and mountains. The world is orange and pink pretending to nap. Night creeps into the corners of my witness. It is overwhelming.
I have been craving simple things. An apple. A sunset and sunrise. A record played start to end. A book with one page. A page with no words. A word with no purpose. “Chibbychow”.
Modern existence feels needlessly complex. I have a computer in the ass pocket of my torn shorts with over 114 different pieces of software I can choose from. These applications don’t feel applicable. I am an alien and I haven’t phoned home in months.
I’m looking for more time.
I’d like to be in a time where I become unaware of it. To live timelessly. Time dumb. Time fooled. I’d like enough time, to have more time. Time full. Time stuffed. The clock is a determined god, it keeps us together and on time. But it feels more spiritual when I am without it, after midnight around the campfire, who knows when I will see the sun again.
It is high time for no time. My best time is without time. But existence requires it. To live is to pass time. Without time I am not. I’ve spent a lot of time this year reflecting on my past times. How I got here. What I do here.
My reflection has become my pet. Here, mirror. Hear me roar.
I keep feeding time, and walking it, and picking up its shit. I feel the time has come to set it wild again. No more reflection, just reflexes. With total respect I’ll use my time to relax. Planning not to plan becomes the plan. I become a plant so that I can grow. How long will it take to bear fruit? Am I seasonal, annual or centennial?
Can I stop spending time and start saving it?
Time can’t be saved. The wealth of time is infinite, like Scrooge McDuck swimming in a pile of coins. What is one coin to him? What is one minute to me? One second. This second. Tick tock, tock, tock, tick. One coin. His coin. Quick quack, quack quick.
I have been craving simple things. Bread. Rivers. Scratching an itch. Time is simple. Time is my choice, I can play with it. What I do with my time is my character.
I find that the act of creation is to control time and to lose it. These words are dead until you see them. The letters are nothing until they touch. I like having the time to be with them, seeing what they might do or say to me. I lose my time here. I find the moment.
Am I selfish calling it my time? If you read this it is yours too. It is our time. Our time is now. Now time. New time. This time (approximately anytime). I appreciate sharing this time with you.
It took me a long time to get here. To type these thoughts into being. So out of respect to our time I keep this brief. May we all find the time to find more time. To lose track of it. And to see where we end up without it. Now time. No time. And without it, we can have a good time.
“Chibbychow”. I say. “Chibbychow. Chibbychow”.
“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.”
-Albert Einstein-
“Chibbychow”
-CansaFis Foote-
Thanks to
and for your feedback on the first draft of this. I think it is better than where it began and no where near as good as it might end up.But that will take some time.
FOOTENOTES
https://examininglife.substack.com/p/time-keeps-on-slippin-slippin-slippin
https://www.feedbackfreak.com/
Love the narration. And some great sentences in here. My best time is without time…truth
Yes, thank God for time! It would have been weird to leave this comment on your article before you had written it.