Time! By it flies, days upon weeks upon minutes, as oblivious to your attention as trees outside an Amtrak window at twilight. Where do you go?! And why?! What’s so important about the past that everything must be put there as quickly as possible? And what do you do with it there?

You extinguish it, of course, but you don’t tell us. You snuff it out with such deft slight of hand that we don’t notice the difference between the thing and its afterimage, and leave us squinting drunkenly at shadows on the backs of our eyelids as we hurdle headlong and unaware into the gathering dusk.

Well, that got heavy. All I meant to say was that I should blog more, because writing it down is the only way to make anything of the shadows as they shift and shift and trick you into thinking they’re what they always were, though of course they never were.

There is a small black leather-bound book on the floor beside my mattress (which is also on the floor) in which I, at roughly half-a-monthly intervals, write some impressions of the day. Making these little notches in time is the only way to tell how far I’ve slid across its incomprehensible and bafflingly symmetrical surface, which otherwise would be content to see me slide around in circles for generations.

Generations of flies, or lizards, I guess. “Generations” wouldn’t make sense if it meant human generations. Or maybe “me” could be the one that requires a different interpretation.

This may be the first time you’re seeing what my stream of thought is like. Don’t worry, I still manage to make sandwiches occasionally and I never mistake teapots for toilets. In fact I was recently offered a higher-paid and much-more-stimulating position with a competitor’s company, which presumably would not have happened were I was batshit as I am presently appearing to be.

I’ll probably take the position. Still have 48 hours to decide. On the one hand, I have what appears to be superior-in-every-way sort of job. On the other hand, I have loyalty and gratitude to the individual who called me up out of the blue and trusted me to represent the company when I was doing my best to play at beach bum in an almost-tropical backwater. Also-to-be-considered is that I haven’t held one non-teaching position for more than one year since ever. Yes, this new job would be a step up, but on paper it just looks like more running around.

To hell with it. Keep your riches where moths can’t steal them and thieves can’t eat them. Keep ’em where only time can take them away, and even then only when he patiently unhitches each little joint until the whole loses its divine gestalt. If there’s anything to be done with them after that, well then, I suppose that’s beyond my control. I didn’t buy this ticket, and the final station has a name I can’t pronounce. Nothing to do, I suppose, but to watch the trees going by, and every so often, if you have the chance, blog a little bit.

Oh, and help the poor.

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One Response to Amtrak

  1. Hollacopter says:

    That was misleading. I’m probably going to take the job.

    Deepest sympathies to you.

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