One Month Later

Another year, another city, another fake age for which to represent and immediately forget. Same heart. Same valves. Same brain. Same desires. Contextually shifted. The scenery changes but the thematics do not.

C'est la vie. We've built ourselves this idea of time and thusly we'll let it roll, always just a few feet in front of our noses. Can you smell it? Time smells like nostalgia, like dust, like photographs untouched for years, or like a childhood puzzle found in the attic, mildewy and dank and with corners so bent and frayed you've got to force them in to fit, or like a lover's wet hair after getting caught in a midsummer's downpour with the two of you caught in a tangled, reluctant-to-part embrace. Time smells like obliterated civilizations. Let's push time. Let's catch it and throw it over the hill. Let's chase time until it gets tired, so tired it can hardly breathe, so out of breath and fighting for oxygen, or whatever it is that time would use to get by - most likely the lives and hopes and dreams and aspirations of mankind - that it can hardly maintain its verve, and when we get there, when we finally reach that point of contact, let's stampede time into the ground until all that's left is its impression, a crater, a valley for rain to fill, and then it's us, only us. Free, finally free. Let's roll.

So aside from rambling, I'm slightly shocked it took me this long to finally get moved in and hooked up with some semblance of an internet connection, but here it is, one month later. Off topic, not that I ever watched much television to begin with, I'm finding that living without it altogether is an intellectually liberating experience. I enjoy the way my brain works without television. My writing output, proficient to begin with, has suddenly found some kind of amphetamine addiction and races. My dreams are, well, as always, bizarre, absurd, and very surreal. "I like the way my brain works without TV." I wish that quote was mine, but it isn't. It's a musician's. Feist's, I think, but I can't find the interview and my bed is beckoning. One of those Canadian songstresses, most likely from Broken Social Scene. 

"I 

confess

 I

 do

 not

 believe

 in

 time."

 Nabokov