November 22, 2020
It's time again. Time. That time. You know. It's inside you. Left behind once or twice in a pile of rubble called dreams; it ate itself and was forgotten as a useless commodity, good for horse races and nothing much more. Vestiges of its plenty were qualified as fodder for the kilns in a dilapidated form as the methods of its creation were quantified in a carbon 14 kind of way. You left it behind. It had to go. What was it really? A means to chart wrinkles and decay? Be done. Extract its idea. Make for the timeless place.