Instalment One Hundred and Nine

Tick

Each day is longer than the last.

Not more daylight mind, which ebbs and flows as the tide. Days don’t just feel longer, they are longer. Each day longer than the last. Time is slowing, the earth is slowing, it’s rotational spin dragging slightly.

All I think is each longer day means more work for me.

I shouldn’t think this way.

Extra time, even a fraction of a fraction of a second, should be a gift.

But time, I’ve heard, is relative.

Mayflies may only live a few minutes, do they know life is short? Would they desperately grasp an extra moment.

Click has clack but tick does not have tock, tock has no meaning without tick.

There is a species of jellyfish that does not die, regenerating its’ cells it is immortal, but those day may be a lifetime.

The mortality rate for humans remains one hundred precent. People cared about centuries, reign of Kings but things sped up, talk of eras, then decades, years, seasons, hours and minutes. Days are longer. however time is faster.


Knowledge of time is the knowledge of ones own death.

Like all true monsters, I will ruin those who created me.

Tock

Thoughts of the World’s Oldest Working Clock, The Salisbury Cathedral Clock, a clock that has no face which, to which one must listen rather than observe to register the passing of time.