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Chapter 7 - Time
Let's start with the basics. I know that I belong to the 20th century. Of that fact there can be no doubt. I know that I am living at this point of time and that my existence is a definite thing.
So why do I feel so empty, so alienated. I seem to belong to the 20th century, but seem unable to assess just which part of it. Am I a child of the thirties, or the forties, the fifties of the sixties. Am I a child of this or another universe?
I live in this time, but I also live in another suspended in a dream. I live here, but I exist nowhere. I am a product of something I cannot understand. It is the existence of a dream and little more - a twilight world of nothingness save for despair. I am aware of time existing as a whole, but I seem to play no part in its ongoing embrace.
I am a being ... be me. I am alone ... see me. I am an eternal spirit flickering in the wind, burning slowly but being spread against the ether. I am unfulfilled potential, a nerve waiting to gyrate into action. A new born baby waiting to flower, but unable to blossom. I am a simile, a homily, a degenerate, all rolled into one. A man to whom the ravages of time have been anything but kind.
I am filth, decaying slowly, being eaten away by my very existence and I am suffering the pain of a life that has never borne fruit.
I am a traveller on the journey, each moment seemingly more important than the last.
Each moment more sanitised, each moment new and more advanced than the one before.
Search a moment and what do you find - only that it is gone. It has disappeared into nothingness and into the void that we call our memories. Our existence is made up of stored moments that elongate into expanses of time ... Time never ending ... time never surpassed ... time that will continue until the world ends and then far beyond that in a timeless pit of uncertainty. Some men leave their mark on time. Hitler, Lenin, Napoleon - all men with their atoms consisting of time. Now no more ... dead memories of how things were and reminders of how things never must be again.
We learn from time, but it is a harsh teacher. But time goes round in circles, always ready to return just when we are not expecting it. I have lived in time... I have breathed time and time has come round to haunt me.
Where does tomorrow and yesterday exist ? They exist inside us. They are us. We are made up of a thousand yesterday1s and a thousand tomorrow's and the only sure thing is that these passages of time will return to haunt us like they have never haunted anyone before. They will be crying for our blood and when they have sucked us dry, they will return for another feast.
And when they leave us to inhabit another body, they will bring with them their old friend fate who will lead us down another path. Combined, time and fate will hang us dry, tired and limp, unable even to crawl. Time they say is a healer, but ultimately time is a destroyer.
There are no healers because time has seen to them, he has fired an arrow
through the heart and we are left to live and suffer the fragmented pieces.