Midnight Pub



It is almost surreal to realize that this moment, to some distant version of you, is perhaps "thirty years ago." To someone else, somewhere in time, it's "two hundred years ago."

I've been oddly fixated upon the passing of time for most of my life at this point. I vividly remember one day as a child where I had a hard time processing that the past felt like "now" when it was happening, but was no longer "now."

It is strange to be completely cognizant of the inescapable passage of time. Several times a day I stop to simply feel it evanesce. I don't know if I can change this or if I'd even want to. It lends me an interesting perspective, if nothing else.

Though I'd rather not depress all my friends and family by constantly reminding them "[x] was fifteen years ago now!"


In maybe a similar kind of vein, I view humanity as this greyish amorphous blob that grows over iterations, stretching its gummy surface over the globe as it tries not to eat itself before it reaches adulthood; currently in a state of adolescent angst as it slowly becomes aware of itself (that is: all of itself, not just the top loud parts) and reaches greedily for the stars whilst potentially succumbing to its own dreamed up fantasies