Playful Time

Watch this seasonally active sun oscillate on the cusp of the horizon.

My cheesy typing will wear off as time passes- please try to endure until then.

Addition of flare: My Blog is naked.

Come on Down to the corner store with me. Let us buy a cola and disperse the glare of the bustling, very-alive world.
Can you- Could you imagine the childish bliss and utter joy that would swell in your throat if the prospect of Woodstock's legends returning?

I find myself bored.

Time, the foe.

How horrid is it that we can never reattain a moment. I ponder often how blissful it would be to fall into the lap of the sixties.
My opinion of time fluctuates.
I enjoy her ability to build and admire her capability to extinguish life, but more often than not she is the topic of hasty complaints and resenting remarks.
I believe time to be more complicated than the clock that clicks for every second of every day that the double-A's survive.

It has a circulatory pattern (much like that of the clock on the wall) and is a painfully relentless host.
Our hopes fade
Our memories are forgotten
Our dreams are lost

I don't mean to be so pessimistic. The truth is- time is a beautiful sculptor who becomes weary of things that linger...giving us several great eras that we can imagine to be glorious without living in them- she may be productive after all.

A Start

Now the unnecessary ordeal of creating this blog is over. The placenta is all cleaned up.