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Tag Archives: time

Time is a great fucking motivator. You realise that, right? When you’re finite, you get shit done or you grow old regretting it. Your curse, boys and girls. And you even go on about what you could accomplish if you had all the time in the world – if you could, like, live forever, oh, the stuff you’d achieve, yeah? But you’re missing the fucking point.

When you’ve got forever, why the hell do it now? You lot have downtime in your lives, sure: slack-ass periods of apathy that might stretch into ellipses, but no matter what, yours are sped up by the next due date, scheduled event, birthday…

Ours – ours are fucking page breaks. Blank chapters. Stagnate things suspended in the slow roll of time when even the reappearance of an old acquaintance, or the consequent rush and fire of food-lust and satiation doesn’t seem to colour the void. The impetus for action, for anger – for hunger – winds down to quiet and stillness.Our kind of deadlines are gastronomical, not figurative, and even they start getting drawn thin at times like this.

Walking slumber. Reeling on through the infinite, the humdrum, the creak of time. Waiting, Waiting for something to wake us from the winter of our discontent. Something to pierce the torpor, rip into inertia, tear through the animate sleep of the dead, and warm me back into livelihood.




I’ve made myself kinda hungry just talking about this shit.




Well, fuck.

It’s been a while.

Go figure.



Who wants to meet me for a drink?…




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.



Here’s the thing about immortality.   Listen up, kiddies.   Lots of things become dull, dreary, soul-destroyingly (if I had one) usual.   Pick a synonym, and magnify your own petty little experience of the mundane by, say, a few hundred years.   People are all the same, places all look alike, the same old shit happens over and over, decade in and decade out; and for me? – the whole fucking school life just gets a little more crowded and out of control each year.   Okay – so at least that keeps it interesting.

However – when something happens that is actually up and out of the ordinary in the jaded circle of non-existence, you don’t second guess.  

There was no doubt that particular night.   My eyesight is perfect – and I saw an eye.   In my ceiling.

And in five centuries, that is something new.   And there are very few creatures in the world who have ever ever managed to surprise me.   The Cat was one.   Brix was another…   But only one dark monster managed to crawl back from death, and then introduce me to vampirism, and then crawl back from death.   Again.   I knew – knew without needing more – exactly who was living so disturbingly, destructively ‘close to home’.   You see, I can answer the whole ‘who watches the watchers?’ conundrum.   Only her.   Amelia has always been over my head and one up on me – and she’d taken it literally this time.

In the meantime (and the emphasis here is on ‘mean’) Py was in town and out for blood.   Er.   Okay.   Moreso than usual.   He wanted Amelia: he knew she was near somewhere, and he wanted to see her.   Preferably in pieces.

And I now knew precisely where she was.   Right above our heads.

And for a few days – I did nothing.   Just my usual routine, the eternal cycle of mundane time-fillers as yet another holiday season approached.   I didn’t say anything to Py.   I didn’t even take time to consider what I’d seen.

And in my apartment in the meantime – I just didn’t look up.

(Emphasis here is now on ‘I still have no fucking idea what that might mean’, but then? – I simply knew it couldn’t last for long.)