The arrow of time keeps pointing forward… or is it?
If the gods wanted to for once and for all torment humanity, it would be enough to make them conscious of the trespassing of dimensions. Change. Time.
We are weakened earthlings —if that word still describes us— who ignore what for us will come, and yet keep being pushed —or, pulled— by all we’ve done. Is this the torture that makes bluebirds escape from their jails? Or is it what inspires their subtle song?:
“…the biting desire to learn and love life which I will never quite fulfill, because there isn’t time, because there isn’t time at all.” (Sylvia Plath, Complete Diaries, 1982)
But what lies beyond is unimaginably frightening because what haunts us from before is frighteningly imagined. Yesterday or today. Torment. When was the fight? Who ever knows. Time is like so. How come we say it’s continuous? How come we say it has persistence? What allows us to set it in order? Memory is a subjectivity of happenings, and not the happenings per se. Memory is a traduction of our minds, and traduttore traditore. Memory is traitor.
Was yesterday after a week ago? Was today after so long “before”? All is confusion and daze. As life is but a whirl, time is a chimera. For it is change and nothing more, and the breaking of the traces with the laces we are today. Because time is, I’m not. I’m it’s persistence, will I live inside my memories?
Time, memory.
Time, memory.
Memory and time.
Tick, tack.
Tick.
No… I’ll break them. Isn’t it the only important thing that yesterday, today, all happened? They all befall, but they will fall:
If yesterday happened, it didn’t happen before today
And this brings the future closer. The present is not a product of the past. The future is not the becoming of today. The persistence of memory must disintegrate. I’ll break free from this jail, the darkness ahead is now light, I was, I am, and I’ll be. The persistence of memory must disintegrate. I’ll change, for I am time at all. And I will the persistence of memory disintegrate.
About the Creator
Matt B.
Matias Bohorquez C.
He/Him
Life demands creation.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
This was so profound and thought provoking! I loved it!
Very true! We can never escape it.