We just needed time … That’s what we thought. Time to think – time to work. Which really meant time in which to ruin our lives. To destroy ourselves in slow-mo.
It was a kind of torture, giving us time. It was mean, allowing us to learn how mediocre we were. How far we’d fallen short. Of our dreams for ourselves! To think, we even had dreams for ourselves …
We were made to experience our stupidity all over again. In slo-mo, this time. Prolongedly, this time.
Do you think Cicero was laughing? Was she amused by all thus?
We were given all the time in the world. To humiliate ourselves. To excruciate ourselves.
Cicero was holding up a mirror to us. Cicero’s was showing us what we were. Cicero was making us feel our own disappointment. And she liked that. Cicero was cruel …
Sentenced to our mediocrity. What a punishment. A mediocre punishment. A punishment for mediocrities. Letting us just live out their mediocrity. Mediocrity forever!
Which is why we’re always waiting for an apocalypse – our apocalypse. Why we’re always waiting for it to end – for an end to time. But the end is endless, apparently. The end is taking forever in ending. Which is another part of the punishment.
The incessant cruelty of our condition. Our incessant enduring of our condition. On it goes! To forever and beyond! To the endless end. In our endless endtimes.
The whole one-day-and- then-another thing. The whole treading-in-water thing. The whole staying-in-place thing. Remaining in place. Our petty infinity. Our tawdry nothing-ing. The whole I-can’t-go-on-I’ll-go-on thing.
Work in Progress 