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Impossible Mission To Captcha Infinitesimal Moment

Impossible mission to captcha infinitesimal moment alternately titled: tick tock runneth amuck seconds elapse imperceptibly leaving me dumbstruck, how quickly fleeting tempus fugit; ofttimes imagined as time thief. Hence following vignette: quiet as a mouse lurks the time thief The invisible hours hoarder stealthily steals precious seconds (like minute hors d'oeuvres) away during the dead of night surreptitiously and unsuspectingly robs and buries me alive by subtracting each and every precious second of my tender life. As the world spins, the days fly by at nearly the hummingbird wings at the deathly hallow supersonic sound, this little elfin grot sized goniff (groomed by Father Time) monopolizes and usurps a greater role like some unwanted guest who overstays his welcome. Mortality (visited by quick and painless demise) on the other hand would be an especial balm, relief and tonic to my countless decades long existential slog, which this model ’59 hew man cargo happens to be in sore need and want of that fairy tale genie in a bottle to grant me eternity. How quickly the hands blindingly whiz by instantaneously eclipsing memories from yesterday (when all my troubles seemed so far away) as I just barely shucked off the frock from today. Meanwhile faint hints of tomorrow (albeit dark shadows creeping imperceptibly closer from the edge of night as all my children frolic in the summer of their blissful innocence totally oblivious to the galloping generational gourmand grandfatherly clocker) hungrily prowling on the outskirts of styx strewn groveling grooved globe. Nocturnal creatures emerged from respective hideouts regaling in fleeting festivities (apropos to their species/ genus) before the curtain rises on another dawning day. Although an unseen yet palpable grim harbinger (per prescribed existential allowance) precedes, and allocates finite years sans spontaneous birth of life, the daily hubbub finds this introspective individual self-absorbed in gloom. Thus, he infrequently finds himself conscious of that eye popping, jaw dropping, mind boggling sheer speed of light flash representative of his passing life. Where in the world did those days, weeks, months, years, and decades go? Try as one might to catch the robber baron of ages, he/she also appears to be at least one second ahead. These immeasurable micro moments appear to leap ever faster as one inches closer to that average length of longevity. Odd though, that these indiscriminate discrete constituent parts of being consciousness well nigh impossible to isolate, yet recognition prevails at cradle to grave cycle. I feel utterly dumbstruck at diminishing residence on this planet now while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams. An indistinguishable blur (akin to the brushstroke of an artist across blank palette yet to be covered with an unpredictable product) the only evidence that tempus fugit. Now as one crotchety curmudgeon contemplating cumulative chapters of mein kampf (from childhood to doddering sexagenarian senescence), nostalgia for yesteryear like a parasite symbiotically festering inside for unrequited liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The second these minute, gnarled, bent arthritic fingers manage to lay hands on that bleeping son of a blank, hours and days will be like one endless months long week-end without parental supervision. Throughout mankind's awakened consciousness elusive abstract notion identifying past, present, and future adopted as avuncular personification; Father Time an apropos sobriquet impossible concept to grasp within the mind of one Finnish huckabuck, whose clodhoppers get mired in muckamuck analogous to quicksand yours truly stuck markedly challenged, hence mission scuttled when attempting to zuck. Ever since the advent of civilization contrivances crafted to measure days, weeks, months... years, decades, centuries... analytical “gifted” anonymous minds, wrought ever more sophisticated inventions to divide existence into manageable units. Now twenty first century *****sapiens technological atomic clock work mechanisms markedly catapulted by quantum leaps immense degrees of precision extremely accurate types of devices linkedin with state of the art electronics. At this fleeting instant (approximately 8:18 AM September 13th, 2022) ever so briefly wedged between what elapsed and future events to arise) impossible mission to isolate that illusory present, not only cuz the herein now flits away at light speed (or greater - you're right quite dubious), but also everywhere within cosmic space/time continuum infinite microscopic and macroscopic events occur. As an amateur thinker I feel baffled when pondering that crude convenient schema whereby greater minds than mine devised devices to measure passage of time. Yours truly can barely articulate his farfetched dumbfoundedness, me merely a simple brute (shortish but not so nasty), whose permanently creased furrowed brow courtesy his scrutinizing noggin encasing fifty plus shades of gray matter, whereby one percent bonafide Neanderthal deoxyribonucleic acid explains atavistic predilection issuing primal grunting, when foraging for small (lame) game, cuz feeble minded twenty first century run of the mill garden variety *****sapiens amuses himself (mentally) toying with Einsteinian paradigm. Though barely able to fathom mind bending and boggling concepts theoretically linkedin if an object subjected to travel speed of light (particularly an objet d'art - ha think The Persistence of Memory series of clock paintings by Salvador Dali) mass becomes infinite as does energy required to move entity. Obviously the ability to wrap one's head (or hands for that matter) around, humongous (super sized) material essence filling subsequent seconds, minutes, hours... defies feasibility to grasp, neither could ways nor means allow, enable and provide any semblance to hold (tangibly) as solid something so abstract as a singular moment, yes? The above (ambiguously stated) thought exercise equally as challenging where to locate beginning and/or ending point upon Möbius strip.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things