The funny thing about time – well,
not in the humour-implied sense of that adjective; if that ever
existed, the drollery, if not the irony, drained out of it soon before long ago – is that it has no beginning. It cannot be used as a
measure of itself. When did time start? Certainly not with a bang;
nor will it end with an entropic whimper. It is a movement together
with a rest.
Friday, 7 March 2014
Saturday, 1 March 2014
Rounding Down
A circle – slights tangentially to infinity - a square: smoothed edges at the hard right 90 – angles buffeted by roughage of intellectual refinery. A square peg circles the round poke hole. Around about. Swings. Pots. Kettles. Fire. Pan fried freight.
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