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Level 12 - Scurrilous
Join Date: Jul 2005
Location: UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE UNBAN SHADE IMO
Posts: 5,320
Bincount™: 8627
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Time (the long hands)
She had time on her mind, her hands against her hips (akimbo) as she watched the long black hands of the clock tick away the days like some unholy thief in the night. Her thoughts spun crazily, bouncing between words and worlds, settling upon nothing at all as those long, black hands spun crazily across the face of the clock, sucking time down with them like a whirlpool. Her feet tapped readily (cla-clack clack) in rhythm (cla-clack clack) as she wasted moment after moment, a metronome beating out the meter of her own lost time. In time she would see that time is no reality, no natural cause of being or pain. Time is a human construct, that of a small, feeble, 3-dimensional, 2-eyed, single-minded creature feeling need to place undue order on a helplessly chaotic world. We can see the length and width, but so often we miss the depth and deeper meaning as we instead focus on the dimension above our own, the life before and after our own, the time before and after our own, and click (cla-clack clack) our precious moments away like a victim of a thief in the unholy whirlpool of the night. But stop!
This time right now is our own, to take our long, blackened hands off of our hips and instead grab onto the moment that lies before us. Take the hourglass and smash it like so many bottles and let the sand run freely out of its constraints. But our short. choked. breaths. (Gasp) draw out our strength as they press our lungs to our backs and ribs, and black and blue hands can only hold on for so long. “Let me out!” she cries “out into the free world of free thoughts and free actions and free speech and free hearts and free souls out to find their free way!” But we are not free on the freeway, trapped between the billboards and flashing neon signs intent on sucking our money and time down with them in fanciful mirage. Time is money, money is time, but we cannot buy back our yesterdays or bribe the fates, but we can invest in tomorrow. Spend these moments not before some god Time but instead spend time before God. Reach out! and grab onto that which is free and true and beautiful and clean and holy and stop! punching holes in our futures. Instead
punch! your hands into the air and cry out! Let it out! Let it be free and true and beautiful and clean and holy and pure and those black and blue and red and yellow and white hands: grab onto your souls! Yes, grab hold! and do not be held back by those hands which seem so strong yet have no direction at all other than to spin in circles and drag us along with them like a whirlpool. Yes, cry out! be it through speech or song or deed or action or prayer or love but do not hold back. Do not let those long black hands which can seem so strong as they smack across your face bring you down, and always know that what we do here will never be forgotten. These words which I have sent from pen to paper to mouth to air to ears to drums sending electrical signals across chemical pathways to bounce around between words and worlds, settling upon that holy mind of yours will never be lost.
The sighs and smiles and sweet nothings we whisper will always be with us. The worlds between us, infinite in space yet meaningless in their separation will vanish like some pitiful mirage and as one we will step forward into a free tomorrow. Our eyes lock as the sighs slide between our minds and we wonder why oh why this moment cannot be forever. And I say unto you now: know that this here, the here and now, this moment… now and ever more shall be, for now is forever, no more shall be. These hands keeping time, these words and worlds and whirlpools and rhythms and lengths and widths and depths and befores and afters and hourglasses and breaths and thoughts and actions and speeches and hearts and souls and ways and mirages and yesterdays and fates and tomorrows and gods and the free, true, beautiful, clean, holy and pure and innocent lives and pens and papers and mouths and air and ears and drums and signals and paths and sighs and smiles and sweet, sweet, sweet nothings we hold dear to our hearts will never. ever. be lost.
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give me a place to stand and i will move the earth
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