It's a good day for an alibi, but I no longer let time spend me

I'm removing the hands of time. And the tickers too.

I'm releasing the fear of what others think about how I spend my time, where my mind presides, and what I say through the written word.

I no longer need an alibi to justify what I do, when I do it, for how long, or with whom because I no longer allow time to spend me.

And because I'm following my heart by allowing it to merge with the path of my mind and vice versa.


A type of sensory infinity if you will.
Time to me now is an orb.

What motivates me to change my perception of time, my valuation of my action or inaction?

Timelines. Clocks. Timetables. Life expectancy governed and defined in the context of time running out.

Being driven to meet and exceed, or even merely consider expectations of people who are not me, and who are not you, and who might not really even be themselves. This makes no sense to me anymore.

That illustrious race to move forward, to turn back time, or to trip too long in the present with a grinding unknown guilt that you should be doing something else instead.

Nonsensical.


Bracketing your experience, your moments, your sensory perceptions into units of calculable measurement detracts from the overarching gist, meaning, and miracle behind the experience itself.

In essence, I'm striving to shed the notion of time as currency, by no longer allowing time to drive me with it's perceived supply and demand of what must get done else something of value will be gained or lost.

For now, time to me is what you need, when you need it, for what you decide it should be used. Just like energy is neither created or destroyed.

I haven't lost my drive. I've revamped the fuel that drives it.

And with that said, I need to use my time catching a few winks of the eye in bed. I'm a bit slap happy from 8 hours sleep in the past 3 days.

It happens when autumn breaks and the writing streak returns. But you'll hear no complaints from me.