Time Test True Story (video)
Thinking about time differently would change stories and that change would be called death if we thought about time as we do now, but wouldn’t if it were then.
And that we think of time the way we do is merely a confluence of various efforts and accidents, taken for fundamental. Fundamental being a description of something we just can’t imagine differently – nothing more serious. And so, as far as time: we become tired. We become proficient. We become bored or distracted. We become stronger. We weaken, atrophy. We become variably diminished and enhanced from without or within. Other things happen which I don’t recall. I recollect things sometimes that were so completely absent it suggests other things lost that way, irrevocably perhaps, and this feels startling but illuminates a certain proclivity for omission. Many small things go unnoticed until they become discernible and are then mistaken for large things, usually when it’s too late, and that is the m.o. of novels and psychotherapy, but is none of my business when I search out honesty (usually when falling asleep at night or sometimes driving in the car, in the shower – where things are lonelier, darkened, more wet, fast.) As if things accrue, teleologically, towards sensibility! Revelation is a craft: establishing discrete things in order to connect one to the next until achieving the romance and luxury and utilitarian power of comprehension. And here, words lauded by the critical apparatus as “sensational” doubly perpetuate (first in themselves, and second in the approbation) this narrative incarceration, the exigency of linear dependence: “First, I’ll tell about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later.” Look again and again and again. I want ways out. Less abstraction. More commitments.