know time

er, ya know, some things don’t make sense, like when matter cooled down and condensed into different forms did time do the same thing? ah mean, we’re always talking about time as if it were this big old uniform thing and yet there is this persistent idea of relativity, so uh, if it’s like not behaving the same way under different conditions, is it not possible that it’s like, uh, not the same thing?
cool hours sipped at in afternoon seclusion with smooth tableau of womanskin beneath fingertips and he is singing a subtle melody as restless fingers trouble his flies and extract his throbbing penis.
hot stale hours of airconditioned failure hell crowd out the next day and he sticks to his shirt as prayers for a cool breeze escape his lips and die.
next day is consideration of the trap – and the taffy minutes stretch and distend out of recognisable shape as he remembers that soft cool skin and an afternoon of energetic fucking where reckoning of time mattered not.
a fly is sat in his tear-duct drinking. a red river whose wellspring is his crushed forehead explores the contours of his cheekbone. it was a lunchtime get away; a planned exit from office boredom: it had ended in automobile punctuation. time is confused and moves around at speed for certain durations and then slows down as mortality presses in and around the smashed shape of his outline.
how does time react? is different time gathering here? he feels like an experiment. he ceases to feel. no time.

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