when i write, Time

me when i when i when working hard

 

 I could say my blood would boil if I didn't write. But instead it is a slow and gradual progression; a marching of the blood, slowing to a slower state where the collective feet drag, the banner-folk flag and my limbs move with sluggish intent. Another way of looking at it - in the peaks of my creative hubbub, where the rivers of blood flow easy and joyful, I see wide, arcing stars shining bright in the eyes of those around me. The points are impossibly long and become thin, touching heaven and earth. But when I do not exert myself upon some art form, they shrink, only to peek from behind eyelids that flutter with nothing behind them but empty holes of grey.

 And yet the time will pass anyway, or however the saying or sentence goes. I could rot for one thousand years in a tomb of my own choosing (book now!) and come out, and the world would not have waited. Why would it? I am one in a billion, a trillion (and not in the Unique Individual way), etching out ideas that are so inconsequential that they become everything. think of the cave art and think of the gilded frame. Time will pass. 

So I've been thinking about Time. And of course, I've been thinking about it as a game. Or part of a game. I think the main way I process everything around me is by thinking about them as games. I should clarify - I do not gamify my day-to-day life. I tried that once, with an app, and it did not work at all. The world is not a gold-collection tally, the world is not a series of upgrades.

But think about how we could perceive Time in different manners, in different games. The Time will pass anyway.

paths that split will converge

engineers toil in rainbow skies

Imagine a line, that stretches evermore into the horizon. Straight and unwavering, untouched by the lapping sun or burning waves below. Now imagine another line next to it. To it's left, perhaps. Now another to the right. All of these are Time. 

 

Each is a Time that exists in the heart of one being. Each being exists on a point on their line, that may be further along or further behind than the others. But when one reaches the end, all reach the end and Something Happens.

 

They all die. They all live. They all move onto something new, next, and leave behind what they were before.

 

Maybe they make a new character and keep some of the old bits. Maybe this is a rogue-like. Maybe it is simply the end of the game. Or the current level/zone. Think of tabletop games in zones and levels. I do sometimes, and it makes my head hurt.

time is a coin which we must spend, sooner

Now imagine a circle and think hard, hard, harder to imagine it as a clock. It is a very bare and white (or black, red, yellow, blue, green) clock that will be filled in with segments.

 

Now think of your presence and your needs as spending Time. It all spends Time, and this is the true coin of man and woman and beast alike. Even animals know this currency, though not as we know it in our cruel, bill boarding ways.

 

You buy supplies from the shop in your game. Maybe it costs one straight, across-the-board cost of 1x TIME to be shopping. Or each item is 1x TIME, or certain amounts. It would add a certain weight to the item; it costs so much just to gain this resource. Think of this next time you are at the store. Think of all the TIME that it cost to make this item, now think of the TIME you spend to get it. The labour. The walking. The taking.

 

The Defense of the Sampo, Akseli Gallen Kallela

And travel, of course, costs. You move from point A to point B and it costs Time. Of course it does. The sun sets in the west and rises in the east. Still we are spending.

 

So what happens when you reach the end of your clock and it's all filled up? When it's no longer hungry for the coin or currency? Maybe you gain something more. You gain a boon, skill, class ability, special item - but imagine now there is a limit to all of these you can get. And when you get to the limit, maybe you die.

 

 Time is Dying, why can't i love this?

So I have clarified two things for myself here; 1. Time is an ever-rolling beast, gentle yet terrible; and 2. Time always ends with some kind of death. That death could hold more, but it's always an ending of some sort. We fill these moments before death, which seem endless, with so many words and acts and things to do - and when I am at the bottom of the mountain and stars are crying in sockets of grey, this seems so terrible. But I know that there are two sides to a coin. I'll finish a game, eventually.

 

listen to Hymnal by Lyra Pramuk for an insane audio adventure

 

Thanks for reading my ramblings ! feeling better now

 

one million blessings,

Alexandria.