Tik, tok.
Tik, tok.
The clocks struck 13:00. A thousand clocks in a thousand pockets, counting down the hours.
A thousand clocks to help one thousand souls while away their powers.
The phones even mock you
“Tik tok” they are cackling
As you scroll on down.
I can’t hold onto time
It slips through my fingers
And trickles through the floorboards
I wake up one day and it’s been years.
Our whole lives are caught up in time but no one can grasp it.
Music and film revolve around events placed through time.
And yet when I try to focus my mind down, to grasp the bleeding edge of NOW, I can’t do it. As soon as I find it it slips into the past. The past and future are infinite but the Now is infinitely small. Conversely, now is the only time that ever actually exists.
Our measurements of time are inexact and confusing. This follows from the fact that they are man made, and so imperfect.
The clocks and calendars can count time, but they can’t pretend to its majesty. The moon doesn’t check the date when deciding what phase to wear. Rather, the Jesuits set the months to her shifting profile — shyly she smiles down at us, embarrassed by all the telescopes and cameras.
Even as I sit here writing, time is running. I came to TacoDeli with an hour, I ate a couple tacos and wrote a few insufficient lines and now I have to go.
On to the next commitment, the next mountain to climb.
“Tik Tok” said God.
“TIK TOK”
Charles Bradbury 10/14/21