#timefuck

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sometimes i feel like whole segments of my mind are trapped in the past

“We pass the time of day to forget how time passes.”

HYMN TO TIME by Ursula K. Le Guin

But is this really what having a self feels like? Do selves always seek their good, in the end? Are they never perverse? Do they always want meaning? Do they not sometimes want its opposite? And is this how memory works? Do our childhoods often turn to us in the form of coherent, lyrical reveries? Is this how time feels? Do the things of the world really come to us like this, embroidered in the verbal fancy of times past? Is this really Realism?

We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.

Time exists in order that everything doesn’t happen all at once … and space exists so that it doesn’t all happen to you.

Ma loosely translates to negative space, to emptiness, vacancy, blankness. It is a pause, in time, space, music, conversation. 'Ma makes nothingness palpable and tangible,' writes Ando. It’s a space ripe with an atmosphere of uncertainty, suspension, and possibility.