Time Marches On

Faster. Leaner. Meaner. Time is a machine.

A Steampunk invention from the golden age of engineering modernised with unwearable bearings, USB 3, and purified water. Steam pressure is normal the dials indicate no need for concern despite the wind whistling and rushing past the windows at haste. There is no need for a tender as there is a battery backup of one million Iphones in temperature controlled storage just withing reach. Meanwhile time is making ground. Perhaps light is time because its instantly in motion and there before distance has time to get out its titanium laser rule. If light is time then I have no hope with a life measured in years and darkness. I can’t clench my arse tighter or chatter my teeth faster or alter the repeat on my keyboard. Light is faster. The ideal. Why do I bother?

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