2006-04-14

Time. Time. Time.
Eating us alive.
Time....

.

Good old time, dragging us onwards ever onwards to mortality. Now that I'm a whopping twenty-nine, I am regularly reading about people my age dropping dead of heart attacks, brain aneurysm, peculiar cancers, and the like. I would have thought I had at least ten more years before I would feel like the bad news was about my peers. But not so.

I was taught once in a science class that entropy is the only true measure of time. Meaning that death is the only true measurement of life. A pleasant thought.

Immortality isn't easy to come by, and in search of it I won't be one of those people who, in their wills, [request] that their memoirs be bound in their own skins.

But the ticking of a clock surely must be the most morbid thing of all. Which is why, I suppose, I am so infatuated with this clock.
(See more cool stuff by the designer here.)

Since I have to ask, I know I can't afford it, but it is cool.

.

Anyway, the clock is ticking now and I have one small task to complete before heading home.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

4 comments:

  1. I love that clock. I seriously want one.

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  2. Sweet ticker.

    Does it come in brushed nickel?

    ...

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  3. All the talk of entropy gives me flashbacks of the time I read "Entropy" by Thomas Pynchon. Followed by the flashbacks of AP Chemistry class, and of the time I fell asleep and the teacher took a bucket of ether and wafted a strong dose of it to my nose, jerking me up from my slumber with a harsh chemical violation. Ah, entropy.

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  4. Those headless dog woofers are seriously disturbing. But the other stuff is OK. (Although having that kind of stuff in my house would make me feel like I was living in a museum.)

    ReplyDelete