“It happens that validation can never be satisfied. With solidity comes decrepitude. The more we become what we intended to be, the less real the earlier versions of ourselves appear to us, and yet there we were, who we were, forever for all time a monad on its travels. Through the dark times, the insoluble passage. An era can be just what it looks like, finally, with everybody’s footnotes crammed into the bottom of the frame. Everything begins to feel like an epilogue, or a summing up, when in fact all you want is, right now, to live in this minute, this world, not ever to go back, never to take up residence in the house of memory, or at the very least to leave some doors and windows open to whatever new breeze might be felt, because there is still time, time left over from time, every minute that you didn’t die is time and a half, so to speak. You even have time to learn to bake bread or repair a motorcycle. After time runs out you will persist in someone’s memory somewhere, the way alcoholics say, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.’” – Gary Indiana, “Five O’Clock Somewhere”
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