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Time is an odd fucking thing when you’ve got all of it in the world.   Upsets the pace – changes the urgency.   Procrastination is so easy when meeting deadlines is just a moment of life and death for your next dinner date, and not for you.   Time stops being the approved tick of seconds into minutes into hours into days into weeks into months into years into decades.  

It becomes beyond measure.  

Stretched and contracted into subjectivity, where a moment suddenly has space in which to live several lifetimes, and half a century snaps past with all the elasticity half a day…

For a metaphysical concept though, time gets pretty bloody tangible – it’s something you take and have and make, and lose and gain and find and keep.   And in recent – times – I’ve been messing with it fucking significantly.   See, it’s only two months since I lost the opportunity to point a certain finger at a certain acquaintance of mine, but desperate times dictated that unless I intended on falling foul of my own social networking warnings so bloody long ago, it wasn’t the time to be forthcoming about my real wheres and whens lately.


You never know when someone might be reading.

But now?


Now it’s time to update you.





  1. sounds a bit maudlin, feeling poetic?

  2. *fidgets impatiently*

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