i'm going to teach you how to die.
in abundance; in plentiful amounts.
Every day a little death.
i just read somewhere that time perception, being biologically constrained, changes when you stimulate the brain. dose yourself with caffeine and a minute takes 100 pulses instead of the usual 50 of when you're longing for bed and the world seems blurry and your eyelids droop with heavy sleep. so it follows that in a world of constant unrelenting stimuli, where nothing can completely capture your attention the sense of time will shred. years will feel like hours
every year shorter than the last. no end to the wanting
months and weeks and days all failing. we're left only minutes (but in a minute there is time for a hundred visions and revisions that a minute will reverse)
and then you start to lose your x and z axes, leaving little to be done with the y.
the idiocy of clocks. and indeed there will be time
but she said
all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well
y que ya no habrán más penas ni olvidos, as the tango goes
(repent, harlequin! said the ticktock man) (and with her hand full of hours (another) she came to me)
and what do I know? i know nothing. i find myself in life as in a strange garment, the owl in daylight.
where does a body end?
in abundance; in plentiful amounts.
Every day a little death.
i just read somewhere that time perception, being biologically constrained, changes when you stimulate the brain. dose yourself with caffeine and a minute takes 100 pulses instead of the usual 50 of when you're longing for bed and the world seems blurry and your eyelids droop with heavy sleep. so it follows that in a world of constant unrelenting stimuli, where nothing can completely capture your attention the sense of time will shred. years will feel like hours
every year shorter than the last. no end to the wanting
months and weeks and days all failing. we're left only minutes (but in a minute there is time for a hundred visions and revisions that a minute will reverse)
and then you start to lose your x and z axes, leaving little to be done with the y.
the idiocy of clocks. and indeed there will be time
but she said
all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well
y que ya no habrán más penas ni olvidos, as the tango goes
(repent, harlequin! said the ticktock man) (and with her hand full of hours (another) she came to me)
and what do I know? i know nothing. i find myself in life as in a strange garment, the owl in daylight.
where does a body end?
