Strings of Time
“This is where it ends” he yells as if tearing the fabric of the world before him into thinly sliced shreds of floating paper. “This minimalistic complexity, my self deity, self awareness, open limitations of never ending infinite thoughts in cased in this broken reality, this is where I say nothing more than a single moment will slip past these fingers beyond my control” his yells resonate thought the crowd of people stunned in the streets listening to the stream of sound bellowing from his shaking, tense, muscular body. His yells visual to him, he could see the sound and its ability to travel within the space before him, and he finally takes his tense arm and reaches forward, and by the throat of time he squeezes will all his might shattering the lines of time leading into him from every which direction feeding his body age.
As he squeezes the life line of time, it begins to flicker and dance in what would be interpreted as pain. “I am my maker, I am this which holds truth to the sense of chemical reality, my mind will be freed of this juice that we wish to call time, and yet wish not to control!” His anger grows and powered by the entitlement to see his true size of mind he continues to hold the space of time in the smallest space he could muster in the palm of his hand. The people surround him, watching on as the strings appear before them, his anger revealing the very nature of reality, and like puppets these strings of time lead into the sky, and every set of eyes standing in the streets able to see up realize that its as simple as it is able, many close to the angry man begin to feel a sense of heightened energy, and their vision begins to extend to see what this one man alone can show, and he points to it. ” We feed this reality, as we are its blood, and this existence controls us, and covers our eye from the truth, and feeds us the lie of utopia; our self egotistical existence. We are linked, all in the same nature as time is to space, as we, us, all of us are the inverse. We fill this space but do not stay true to time, unless time itself is in hold of our being and conscience.” He stands posed as if ready for something, and one man calls “Are you god?”. “No you fool, there is no god, there is not this, how can you not see, the reality of nature is in the simple structure of time, the motion and kinetics of forward movement, this is the reality of our space, and our time, and we fill it. For there to be a god, the laws of time would need be different opposing that which we see as a true from of reality”. His delusion was quickly understood, his angry fully understood, his life, being sucked to turn to cog of time. “For you see, if there is nothing to realize that time itself is true, than time itself cannot exist”. His hand still firmly holding onto time, simply crushes the reality of its form and structure. “We are not time, time wants to be us, we are an inevitable body of filled space, we do not need to substance of time to flow with us, it needs us, we can continue now, in this space, without the fear of deadlines, as death is not the true path of this life. We are the pillar to the room, and as such, we hold this universe to its reality, we must not fade to the control of time”. With that, he turns and looks to the sky, “now we must learn to live with out the strings of time”.
