The hours are dripping by at a bafflingly prolonged and protracted rate this morning; like subway trains, the next one always seems to be delayed without explanation. What is going on with the time? So slow. It is normally already next Thursday by now.
And so, from beneath drooping eyelids, I observe a cone-shaped collection of dust roll across my living room floor like a lethargic, ineffective tornado; a curling cluster of things past that has been self-constructed from particles of ancient skin and hair; it travels in slow-motion time through parallelograms of too, too bright sunlight cast by an irregular arrangement of window shading. Drip. Drip. The Dali clocks have returned. Will we never be set free?
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Yhanks you
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Posted by: Thanks boys | January 31, 2008 at 12:11