The priesthood of the red robed Lobster cult in charge of the Inquisition said, “It wasn’t cruel to break someone on the wheel.” With a labyrinth of pious accusations and rationalizations they would soak the ground with the blood of the yellow robed Crab cult. This ushered in the rocking age of Blue Oyster cult.
Or maybe I’ll just have another slice of the pie. I remember having long discussions with New Yorkers, I was working with, about pizza. Not about virtues, quality, or flavors; but about presentation. Many thin crust pizza around here are cut into squares, which incensed the New Yorker contingent, because they’re felt a pizza pie should be cut into wedges. They felt that it was the telos of a pie and not the logos of pie eating. Or some such nonsense. Keep in mind these were advertising pukes.
Oh, you mean that time. Not to be confused with this time, out of time, Miller Time, or Hammer Time. Not to mention Morris Day and The Time.
It was a different time
So excuse me while I take this time to do the ramble. I miss the arbitrary reckoning of big hand is here and the little hand is there; as opposed to the empiricism of the digital display. Or the solidity of everything happening everywhere all at once hypothesis. Times arrow. Time slip. How many times has this happened before. Déjà-vu all over. So many hypotheses, so little time. Or too much time? Time is what you make of it. If you spend that much time counting, or making time, it may leave too little time for anything else.
Do you remember the past?
Do you remember the future?
Forget it!
But there is always time for Pink. But which one is Pink this time.
Caught in a web of vendetta; The fly knew more struggle. More enwrapped. This sort of spider wanted one recourse. His narcissistic reflexology squeezed this way. More dough for him and his. Less for you and yours. “Stay cool.” Said the spider with a wheeze. “It’s for your own good.”
A Scroll Threw Life 