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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.
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I love that clock. I seriously want one.
ReplyDeleteSweet ticker.
ReplyDeleteDoes it come in brushed nickel?
...
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.
ReplyDeleteThose 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